The Grey Ones

JUNIPER

Sleep would not come easily to her that night. She wondered where her courage had come from and what she had been thinking when planting that kiss on his cheek. She did not regret her actions. If anything, she was proud she had dared to do something that bold. She was, however, worried that the Vasaath did not appreciate her sentiment, even if she wished he did.

She kept glancing at the crimson canvas, half imagining and half wishing it would part and that he would come to her. In the fragile state between sleep and drunken consciences, she imagined him coming into the room and sitting on the side of the bed. She even thought she could feel the shift of the furs as he sat down. She looked at him, or so she thought, but his silhouette was dark. A steady hand fell upon the furs she had wrapped herself in, and soon, she felt his hand trail along the shape of her leg, slowly and intently, upwards—further, and further, and—

She opened her eyes wide, suddenly awake, sighing deeply. She was all alone in the darkness. Her head was spinning, but she felt the desire in her she had tried to suppress, but to no avail. It was unladylike, yes, but she could not deny it. The Vasaath stirred things within her she only thought existed in stories—lovers pining for each other with tragic ends.

Love was a luxury rarely bestowed upon nobles; marriage was strategic, political. Even her mother had once told her to keep love a fantasy, to not have impossible expectations, so her heart wouldn’t be broken. Now, she had the grandest fantasy of them all, something she knew was impossible, and her heart was broken about it.

When she finally fell asleep, she slept like the dead. She woke up the next morning to the excruciating sounds of hammering and chopping and every sound rang in her head thousandfold. Trying to keep her head from exploding, she buried herself underneath the furs and the pillows to drown out the noise. She did not want to leave the warmth and the comfort of the bed, nor did she want to go out and face the light of day.

In her awakened state, no longer drunk and half asleep, she felt an incredible shame for what occurred the night before. How could she possibly look the Vasaath in the eyes ever again?

She must have fallen asleep after that, because she was suddenly jolted awake by Kasethen’s soft voice as he said, “My lady, are you well?”

She stirred, turned in the bed, and looked at Kasethen who stood by the entrance. She had to narrow her eyes—the light spilling in from behind him burned her immensely. Her head still hurt, every noise was still loud, but at least it was manageable.

“Yes, Kasethen,” she mumbled. “I’m just tired.” She sat up with great effort. “I might have had a bit too much to drink last evening.”

Kasethen nodded. “Ah, I see. I will let the Vasaath know you aren’t feeling well.”

“No,” she insisted. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Very well,” said the advisor. “The Vasaath has requested your presence. I will fetch you some herbs for your…” A ghost of a smirk flashed over his lips. “Condition.”

Juniper glared at him and then nodded. “Thank you. And tell the Vasaath I’ll be with him in a few minutes.”

Kasethen bowed and left the room, and Juniper sighed deeply. She wanted to take a hot bath and put a warm towel on her head and soak until the next day. But she rose, put her dress over her shift and brushed her hair with her fingers. She tried her best to make herself presentable and put her hair in a braid and pinched her cheeks, but she was certain her hair was a mess and that her face was pale and dull.

She felt reluctant to even leave the room, let alone meet the Vasaath. Why was he requesting her presence? Was he going to tell her that her behaviour last evening was unacceptable? It wasn’t something she needed him to tell her—she already knew it. Drunken foolishness was rarely an attractive trait.

She knew, however, that she had to face him sooner or later. She sighed deeply and rose to meet her fate, but when she entered the main area, the Vasaath was not there. The hammering and banging noises were still present, and at this moment, when she was awake and alert, she followed the sounds to the outside.

Next to the battlement overlooking the bay, Kas and ohkasenon were all building a new tent. The Vasaath was supervising the project and once he spotted Juniper, he gestured her to join him. He did not look stern or vexed at all. In fact, he seemed rather uplifted.

“Good morning, my lady,” said he. Then he smirked, “Or, good day, I suppose.”

Juniper looked down and tried to hide her embarrassment with a deep curtsy. “Good day, my lord.”

“I heard from Kasethen that you weren’t feeling very well,” said he. “Is there anything I can do?”

Juniper shook her head. “I thank you, but no. It is only a headache. I believe I had a bit too much to drink last evening.”

“Yes,” the Vasaath said amusedly. “I was very impressed you could walk at all.”

The embarrassment worsened, and she felt her stomach turn. “Please, forgive me,” she mumbled. “It shan’t happen again.”

“Nonsense,” said he. “You have nothing to apologise for. I know our wine is a bit strong for your kind; only a few of the ohkasenon has mastered the drink.”

She smiled half-heartedly, but she could not bear to look at him. Her humiliation was too great.

“Tell me,” he then said, “why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad, my lord,” she said hurriedly. “Not at all. Just tired.”

“I wish you wouldn’t lie to me, Juniper.”

The way he said her name compelled her to look at him. It seemed to roll off his tongue so naturally and—dared she think it?—intimately. She swallowed. “It is not a lie, sir. I’m truly not sad. I am tired. But I am also…” She had to look away. “Well, greatly embarrassed.”

“And why is that?”

“It was improper of me to behave as I did last evening.” Her voice was small, and she wished the earth could just swallow her. “I should not have done what I did, and for that, I am ashamed.”

The Vasaath only chuckled—smugly, it seemed. “And what did you do that was so terrible?”

“Please, do not make me utter such impropriety!”

The general took a step closer and lowered his voice before saying, “My lady, you must think me a very cold man if you think I would be angry at you for showing such sentiment.”

His voice sent shivers down her spine and she felt the knees buckle beneath her. She looked up at him, tried to give a witty retort, but no words could escape her.

She didn’t have to as he gestured towards the tent being built and said, “How do you like the placement? You will have sunlight throughout the day and the battlements hinder the wind from the sea. I believe it will be most comfortable for you.”

She looked at the construction in awe. “You’re building this, for me?”

“Well, of course,” said he. “I said I would.”

Yes, that was right. She barely remembered their conversation about it. “But, it’s so big. Surely, the whole thing can’t be meant for me?”

“Why? Would you like it smaller?”

“It’s not my place to have opinions on—”

He grunted. “If you want it smaller, I’ll make it smaller.”

“No!” She sighed. “Please, forgive me. I—this is a lovely gift, something I am rarely spoiled with.”

The Vasaath grinned—an expression most unusual for him. “You’re an honoured guest. I would not want you to think us uncivilised, or unwelcoming.”

She smiled back, thankful to her very core. She also realised, observing his grinning face, that the general had granted her more smiles during the few days since she had escaped the castle than she had seen him smile for the entire two months she had known him. She wondered if he had noticed it too.

Translation:

Ohkasenon – foreign follower of the Kasenon; “follower of the faith of the people but not of the people”