The Grey Ones

JUNIPER

The Vasaath had certainly not lied when he told her that he would build her a tent, and yet—even though it was finished, and she was inside it—she could scarcely believe it. The crimson canvas that surrounded her was familiar, but the interior was different from the general’s tent.

Hers was indeed smaller, but it was still quite large. She had her own reading nook, with soft carpets and pillows and furs. A large brazier burned in the middle of the tent, and beside it stood a low table, with soft pillow seats around it; a tea-table was placed in one end of the tent, with a teapot, a cup, a small cauldron, and a wooden box she recognised from the Vasaath’s tent; a low, sparsely filled, bookcase stood firmly on the ground in the back, next to a writing desk. Behind it, fabrics separated the tent into two more rooms. In one, there was a dressing screen, and behind it stood a bathtub, a basin, and a perfume table.

The details put into it all was rather sweet, she thought—surely, this was furnished for a lady of the mainland, and not a Kas woman. In the other, she found a bed. It was a real one, one that she was used to, and not a make-shift one as in the Vasaath’s tent. It was, however, made up with the same type of furs and pillows. It felt welcoming and comfortable—but she felt lonely. Lying in her bed, she missed knowing that the Vasaath was only a few feet away from her. Despite her lonesomeness, she felt strangely independent; more importantly, she felt as though she was home.

* * *

It was curious how things seemed to fall in place so easily during her stay in the Kas encampment. Juniper and the Vasaath had their routine where she would spend her meals with him, her evenings, and then withdraw to her own. As the days went by, she tried to adapt to a new life; she helped where she could, lending a hand in cooking and mending armour, but the ohkasenon seemed less inclined to accept her than the Kas themselves.

Kasethen was a loyal friend and an excellent conversationalist, keeping her intellectually stimulated and entertained. There was never a dull moment with him—and for every evening spent with the Vasaath, her feelings for the grey man grew.

He was a very serious man, indeed, but he had moments of endearing doubt, silliness, and laughter, sides she reckoned he rarely displayed to others. She felt serene, content, and in some ways, the days spent in that fort were some of the happiest days of her life.

One morning when waking up, she decided to indulge herself in a hot bath. She rose, put on her frock, and entered the main area. Her own main area. She lit the brazier, brought in some water from a barrel outside, and filled the small cauldron.

While bringing it to a boil, she examined the wooden box on the tea-table. It was the same box that had been at the Vasaath’s table, filled with herbs, spices and dried tea leaves; her heart always flared when she thought of the sweet sentiment—she knew how much he liked his tea.

When the water came to a boil, she poured some of it into the teapot before pouring the rest into the tub. She sighed deeply; she would need to heat at least eight or ten cauldrons to have enough for a warm bath, so all she could do was to fill it again and set it to boil.

The spicy scent from the tea she had come to love during her time spent with the Kas spread through the room like a perfume. She allowed herself to savour it for a few moments—the silence, the scent, she serenity. It was as though everything was still. She knew not how late it was, nor if she was expected somewhere, but at that moment, she did not care. She enjoyed her tea in stillness, listening to the soft crackling of the fire in the brazier, as she waited for the next cauldron to boil.

It must have been the smoke escaping the hole in the roof that called for attention, for not five minutes after she had had her first sip, the canvas flaps opened and Kasethen entered with a bow.

“Good morning, my lady,” said he. “I trust you slept well?”

“Indeed,” said she. “Can I offer you a cup of tea?”

He smiled. “Thank you, but I have just had mine. I only came to give you this.” He reached out his arm, and only then did she see the extensive fabric that hung from it—deep crimson satin, stitched in intricate, fishbone patterns.

He took the fabric in his hands and revealed a beautiful dress. “One of the ohkasenon is a seamstress. It is made in a traditional Kas fashion. I thought it might suit you.”

Juniper rose to inspect the gown. Although the fabric was lithe, it was very sturdy. The way the pieces were woven and stitched together reminded her of scales, or armour, and yet it was elegant and feminine. The shoulders were encased by black leather pieces, making it even more robust. Indeed, this was not the dress of any human culture, but clearly that of a warrior one.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “I can’t accept such a gift!”

“Nonsense,” said Kasethen. “It is yours.” He sighed. “The Vasaath has no eye for fashion, I can tell you that, but this will most certainly please him.”

She huffed. “Last I wore fancy clothing, he blamed me for being spoiled.”

Kasethen laughed. “Yes, it sounds just like him. Not to worry, my lady—you are no longer the enemy. If he gives you unfair criticism, you may tell him that it was I who clothed you and then he will have to answer to me.”

She snickered and hung the gown over her arm. There was some weight to it but it was not as heavy as it looked. “Thank you, Kasethen. You are very kind.”

He smiled wholeheartedly. “I hope it will fit you. The seamstress is certain of it, and she has never been wrong before.”

“I can’t thank you enough!”

“There is no need,” Kasethen assured. “I know you’re not part of our culture, or abide by our philosophy, but…” He creased his forehead. “I have come to regard you as someone dear to me despite that.”

It was heartwarming, and it was most likely the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.

“I’ll leave you to your own now,” said he and nodded. “Are you expecting company?” He gestured at the boiling cauldron and Juniper smiled, shook her head, and said that she was trying to fill her bathtub. To this, Kasethen only sighed and said, “I will see to it that it gets filled.”

She tried to tell him that she could manage it herself, but he had left before she could insist. Juniper placed the dress on her bed and inspected it more thoroughly. She had never seen such artistry before—surely enough, the gowns worn by ladies in the High Court of Illyria were most certainly works of art, but the nobles of the Free Cities would never be able to afford such luxury.

This gown was certainly not that lavish, nor was it as delicate as she knew the ladies of the Court wanted their apparel to be. This was, however, befitting for the Kas. It was lovely, and she would wear it proudly.

About half an hour later, several Kas guards came into her tent, all carrying cauldrons of warm water. She felt ridiculous, like a nuisance, and pleaded for their forgiveness—they were not her servants! They said very little but did not seem annoyed.

They were gone as quickly as they came, and the bathtub was lined with cloth and filled with water that was neither too hot nor too cold. Juniper was uncertain for a moment—what would those guards whisper about her? That she was spoiled? That she was treated differently? Surely, she thought, she had done all she could to make herself useful, but it was moments like this one that made her feel utterly useless.

Trying to shrug off any concerns, she scoured the small perfume table and found some essence of lavender and honeysuckle. She put some drops into the water and let the sweet scent fill the tent. Soon after, she sank into the tub and her muscles relaxed in the warmth.

Calmness came upon her as she lay there, all soaked. Leaning her head against the edge, she let her eyelids close as she disappeared for a while from the world around her. She hummed to herself, a sweet tune she remembered from her mother. She hummed it while she washed her body and her hair, while she rose from the water, and while she let the water rinse away her sorrows; she hummed it while she dried herself with a linen cloth, and while she clothed herself in her shift.

On the perfume table, she found a wooden comb the used to untangle her hair before she braided it. She put the gown on carefully, letting the fabric glide onto her body. It fitted mostly perfectly and the parts that did not could be corrected with leather lacing on the sides.

She felt regal, important, and she wished she had a looking-glass or a silver plate so she could see the dress in its entirety. This, she thought, would most definitely please the Vasaath—and even if it didn’t, is surely pleased her. Seldom had she felt this proud and powerful, and it felt as though she grew at least two inches.

Then, she suddenly heard shouting and screaming coming from the gates, and her heart stopped.