The Grey Ones

JUNIPER

The Kamani had recovered some from the ordeal, but there was still sorrow. Juniper had done all she could, comforting, reassuring, and feeding the people. The children were becoming restless—their parents would not let them leave the tent, and eight small children in such a confined space were wearing on them all. Juniper could scarcely think straight during supper that evening; her ears were still ringing from child cries and screams.

It was a comfort, however, enjoying the silence with the Vasaath. He didn’t demand her to speak and wasn’t keeping unnecessary conversation. She could relax and recover.

When it was time for bed, neither of them said a word about sleeping arrangements. Perhaps it was wrong of her to assume their agreement would last, but she hoped she would be invited to his chamber, nonetheless. She was.

It was quite strange how they both found their comforts much quicker than the night before. She didn’t have to tell him that he could hold her, and he didn’t ask her. Instead, his arm fell comfortably over her and he pulled her close. Her heart went rampant, of course, and yet, she felt a peculiar calmness.

She let her fingers lace with his and pulled his hand closer to her heart. His fingertips almost reached to the bottom curves of her bosom and even though she had the urge to lead his hand further, she dared not. He did not move it, either—not further, nor back.

She caressed the top of his hand carefully, feeling the muscles, the tendons, the knuckles, and the skin at her fingertips. It was a feeling that resonated within her, like the song of a sweet blackbird in the morning.

She didn’t know when she fell asleep, but the morning after, she awoke tightly nestled against his chest.

He was already awake, and his golden gaze caressed her face. “Good morning, my lady. I didn’t want to wake you.”

Juniper sighed deeply and closed her eyes again. If she could spend the rest of her life with mornings like this one, she would be content. Very content, indeed.

“The sun is rising,” said he and gently moved a strand of hair from her face and placed it behind her ear, a motion that caused terrible tremors in her body. “A new day awaits us.”

“Can’t it wait, just a little longer?” she murmured, and his chest vibrated as he chuckled.

To her great delight, he seemed to settle in. “Very well.” His frame was so warm and inviting, she felt as though she was wrapped in a warm blanket as he tightened his arm around her.

She inhaled his scent of tea, spices, and leather—still, without his armour. Reluctantly, yet intrigued, she opened her eyes, just a little, and let her gaze wander over the general’s bare chest. As the light shone through the crimson canvas, a reddish hue was laid upon everything. The ink on his skin seemed alive as he breathed, and she simply couldn’t help herself.

She let her fingers slowly trace the black lines, and she felt his skin prickle under her touch. She murmured, “What do they mean?”

“They are warrior markings,” said he. “For every great feat, a marking is added.”

“But there are so many of them!”

He chuckled softly. “My lady, I did not become the leader of the Kas’s mighty military by doing nothing.”

“No,” she mumbled, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Of course.”

“I received my first when I was appointed kasaath,” said he, seemingly unfazed by her naivety. “It was a great honour.”

“Does every soldier get one?”

“No,” he said. “I had shown remarkable bravery for my age, and I was rewarded for it.”

She hummed. “Where I come from, men are rewarded with golden medals, titles, land, and sometimes even wives, if they have accomplished marvellous feats.”

“All of which can be taken away,” said the Vasaath. “Put a marking on a person’s skin, and it will always be there as a reminder.”

“Like scars,” she mumbled and let her fingers carefully trace over one of his.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Just like scars.”

At that very moment, Juniper felt smaller than she had ever felt before. There was nothing on her that could tell a story—no marking, no scar. There was no feat she had accomplished, no bravery to be rewarded for. She was completely blank. Bland.

She didn’t even have a scar from her childhood years; no scraped knees, no pox scar, no cat scratches. If she had any markings at all, they were long faded. She had bruises, of course, but bruises faded; enough time, and the memory of whatever had caused it would simply disappear from her body, as if it was never even there.

No, she had been sheltered from it all, just so that she could grow up a perfect doll for her husband to mark best he wished—then, the only story her skin would tell, wouldn’t even be hers. The mark of her father’s ring would perhaps linger, but it would tell an awfully sad story that would only fade in time.

In an attempt to swallow the bitterness, she shifted and said, “I think it is time we rise. The Kamani will need their breakfast.”

The Vasaath growled lowly, reluctant to move. “I never thought a few simple words could ruin this morning.”

Juniper sighed as she sat up and moved her feet from underneath the warm furs to the cold floor. “I know you don’t like them, sir, but they are my responsibility and I will not let them starve.”

“No,” he muttered. “By all means, go to them.” He was visibly sullen as he rose from the bed to put his armour on.

Despite it being rather childish, Juniper found his turn of mood somewhat endearing. She smiled and said, “I never saw you as a man prone to jealousy.”

He snorted, but did not reply.

“Are you too morose to even converse with me now?”

“No,” said he while strapping on his shoulder pads. “I simply don’t like to speak nonsense.”

She giggled as she carefully dressed herself in her lovely crimson gown, her back turned towards him. “Nonsense can do you good sometimes. Could you please help with my laces? They are so difficult in the back.” She knew it was a bold request, one that definitely wouldn’t be appropriate in any other situation—but she had been in his arms in nothing but her shift, so clothing etiquette was certainly not a scandalous subject anymore. She gently moved her hair from her neck, and waited.

He seemed hesitant, but soon enough, she felt his presence behind her as he tugged at the leather laces in the back. “How tight do you want them?”

“Tight enough.” She braced herself.

He tugged, and even though she tried to ready herself, she was still flung back like a ragdoll, causing her to gasp and giggle. He only grunted. He had been quite modest, Juniper could tell.

She nodded encouragingly. “Go ahead, tighten them more.”

“I don’t wish to hurt you,” he muttered.

“The dress is fitted,” said she. “You’ll know when it’s right. Just pull gently.”

He sighed in frustration and pulled again. The leather had formed itself after her previous wear, and soon enough, the laces fell into place. He fastened the knot and sighed again.

“I’m sorry for my rough hands,” said he. “I’m not used to the delicacy of female attire.”

His comment made her cheeks flush, and she quickly said, “Thank you.” She moved on to her hair, praying to the Builder that the general wouldn’t demand her gaze.

He did not. When he was done with his armour, he left the bedchamber, leaving Juniper to her hairdressing.

She exhaled deeply, feeling the relief wash over her like a spring shower while her heart throbbed violently. She was getting reckless, indecent. She was not a married woman, nor was she a harlot. She had no excuses to be this informal—with a leader, no less! She would have to be more careful, more thoughtful, in the future.