The Grey Ones

THE VASAATH

He had been undone. He had to escape her lest he’d lose control, and that was beneath him. But oh!—how he wanted to taste her lips again. He wanted to taste all of her.

He could barely remember last time he kissed a woman on the lips; he was a boy and the woman was a maasa, that much he remembered, and he thought he had been in love. Such a ridiculous thought it was, but he was just a boy, and the maasa had soft, pillowy breasts and whispered soft, comforting words in his ear.

The infatuation quickly ceased and it taught him the difference between deep feelings and lust; a kiss was only bestowed upon those of one’s deepest care. It destroyed him to realise that he wanted to kiss Juniper again, and again, and again.

Not even Kasethen’s endless ranting about the benefits of a peaceful invasion could turn his head around. He kept thinking about the feel of her lips, of his tongue around hers, of her breath hot in his mouth, of her hands in his hair. He tried to push the thoughts away, but they were seared into his mind and memory for all eternity.

“Are you even listening?” Kasethen then snapped.

The Vasaath looked at his advisor. “No. My thoughts were elsewhere.”

“What’s bothering you, venaas?”

Shaking his head, the Vasaath let out a deep sigh. “It doesn’t matter.”

Kasethen sighed. “I take it the lady was quite upset, then?”

The Vasaath grunted, but said nothing.

“She was very angry with me, at least,” said Kasethen. “I suppose we will see more of that in the future—the Duke is not giving up, and I don’t see Juniper as someone who does, either.”

Looking out over the courtyard, spying his tent in the distance, he certainly hoped she’d never give up her fire. He would rather take a thousand arguments with her than see her lose it.

“So, was it her they came for?” Kasethen asked.

“Yes.”

“And did you tell them that she is free to leave?”

“Yes.”

“They won’t be honest with the Duke of Westbridge,” said Kasethen. “They aren’t that foolish.”

“No, I don’t expect them to be,” said the Vasaath.

“There are still several months until the White Wakening, and they won’t wait that long.” Then he sighed. “How many soldiers does Westbridge have?”

“Five thousand,” the Vasaath muttered. “Both Lord Sebastian and Lord Christopher said five thousand.”

“And do you believe them?”

“They’re both vain enough to be stupid,” said the general. “Juniper tried to quiet the Cornwall boy down, but he wanted to flaunt his strength. I think he genuinely thought it a good idea to tell his enemies how large his army really is. He undoubtedly thought he could frighten me.”

“My lord,” Kasethen muttered, “with the City Guard, we have six thousand enemies at our doorstep. Six thousand soldiers are too many, even if our men were to fight with the strength of ten mainlanders.”

“The Saath will come.”

Kasethen spoke no more of the matter, and the Vasaath was once again occupied by the thoughts of the lady’s lips. He kept reminding himself that a kiss was not as symbolic amongst the mainlanders as it was amongst the Kas.

A noblewoman would, however, not show such desire unless it meant something—and she had kissed him, with passion. It wasn’t he who let his discipline slide, it was she. Indeed, he couldn’t possibly interpret it as something else than interest. So his efforts had not been in vain. Now was the time to solidify their mutual attraction, and satisfy his needs—and perhaps he would be able to focus on the dire task at hand, at last, after the deed.

He prepared a fair but direct proposition for supper. He was to tell her that pining did neither of them any good. He wanted her, and she wanted him. It was a fair transaction, one she would surely see the sense and benefit of. Certainly, he shouldn’t have any qualms suggestion it, because it was fair and sensible and logical—and something he wanted so ardently, he could barely stand it any longer. Yet, he was nervous.

When the time came, he waited for her by the table in his tent. She came out from the bedchamber, looking rather miserable. She seemed weary, idle.

The Vasaath furrowed his brows. “Are you unwell, my lady?”

The girl sighed and slowly lowered herself down beside him. “You must think me so weak—and foolish. I can’t hold my wine.”

“I’ve already told you it’s not your fault. The drink is strong. When will you learn that?”

She glared at him. “I was upset, and didn’t think.” Then her cheeks flushed and she looked down on the table. “I didn’t think at all, and acted foolishly.”

He clenched his jaw. Perhaps she didn’t think, but that didn’t mean she was foolish. He grunted and looked at her. He couldn’t wait any longer. Now was the time. He was certain she wouldn’t deny him.

“When you spoke with my little brother,” she suddenly said, and the Vasaath grunted even louder. “Did he seem frightened?”

“He would never admit it, but he was frightened, yes,” said he, impatiently. “Let’s not—”

“He has a great burden on his shoulders, you know,” said the girl. “Being the next in line for the Dukedom has always weighed on him, even as a small child. He always wanted to make Father happy, but Sebastian is too kind-hearted. He and I have both suffered from our father’s cruelty, just in different ways.” She sighed. “He doesn’t deserve this.” She looked down, and she quickly dried a tear away from her cheek.

The Vasaath cursed to himself. He couldn’t possibly present her with such a suggestion now when her heart was sorrowful—that would make him nothing but an inconsiderate hound. Instead, he poured himself a glass of wine and drank bitterly.

Juniper looked at the food on the table, but did not touch it.

“You must eat,” the Vasaath muttered.

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Drink some water, at least.” He poured her a glass, and he was happy to see her drink it.

A moment of silence followed, and even the Vasaath found it somewhat uncomfortable. He wondered if they could truly spend the evening together without speaking about what had happened, without reaching for each other, craving. But in her current fragile state, he did not want to suggest anything.

“Kasethen helped me find new accommodations for the Kamani today.” Her voice was weary, sad.

“Is that so?” he muttered.

“Yes, with the ohkasenon and those… ready to convert. I—” She sighed. “I didn’t know there were so many of them.”

“They seek better prospects here,” said the Vasaath. “All their lives, they’ve only known famine and pain. Your Builder has never done them any good. Neither has your father, I presume. Here, they seek worth, honour, and respect. When they submit to the Kasenon, they shall have it all.”

The girl bit her lip. When she met his eyes, she was defeated. “I hope you can give them a better life.” She then sighed again and looked away.

The Vasaath tried to think of something to say, but nothing seemed appropriate. Instead, he had his supper, his wine, and the two of them spent the rest of the night in silence.

When the dark had fallen, Juniper said, “I think I might withdraw a bit earlier tonight. Now that my own accommodation is once again vacant, I can—”

“We will change your bedding tomorrow. Stay here tonight.”

Juniper shook her head. “No, it’s no trouble. It’s only been a couple of nights, and the children have been sleeping there.”

The Vasaath sighed deeply. “They might have had… fleas.”

“Now you’re just being unkind,” she muttered. “I’m not in the mood for an argument, sir.” She stood and then she curtsied. “I have a headache. We’ll speak more in the morning. Good night, my lord.”

He watched her leave, confounded. After a moment, he felt foolish. He thought he might at least spend the night next to her again—even though he had hoped it would be more intimate than that. It couldn’t be helped, though. He would have her, or he would go mad—if not today, then tomorrow, and if not tomorrow, then the day after that or the day after that.