The Grey Ones

JUNIPER

Three full days had passed since Kasethen had gone missing. Storms continued to circle around Noxborough, just as they usually did this time of year, and the bad feeling inside of Juniper only worsened.

The Vasaath was beside himself. He was silent, more so than usual, and brooding. He had gone through deep emotions—tears, fury, hope, defeat, and everything in-between. His sleep was troubled and he was preparing himself physically for a fight.

Juniper didn’t really mind watching his gracious movements and his magnificent musculature as he exercised in the rain, but she knew he did it because he was troubled, angry, and grieving. She tried comforting him best she could, but some things could not be helped with soft words and songs.

She had her suspicions, herself, of where Kasethen might be, but she was hesitant to voice them—she knew that deep below Fairgarden, there were dungeons. For generations, traitors of the Dukedom had been placed in those cells, awaiting public execution. Thieves and murderers were hung down by the gallows behind Fairgarden, but the worst criminals were executed on the Town Square.

She was uncertain of how her father could have gotten hold of Kasethen inside the encampment—in a way, it would be impossible—and she dared not say anything to the Vasaath until she was certain such a ruse was plausible. She did not want him to do anything reckless.

That evening, after supper, they sat by the rugs in his tent in silence. He had his head in her lap, his eyes closed, and she gently caressed his hair and hummed. He seemed to like that and it seemed to calm him. She seemed to calm him. At least, that was something.

They made love that night, and she could feel his frustration. It was quite a strange affair and his mind seemed to be elsewhere. He did not seem content as they caught their breaths afterwards; he was distant, unfeeling.

Juniper felt uncertainty creep upon her. Insecurity gripped her as she feared the fairytale might be coming to a close. She was no longer enough.

She never expected him to consider her as his spouse or betrothed—indeed, the concept was certainly quite outlandish to him—but she could not help but see him as hers. Knowing the Kas did not have such relations, she wondered exactly what she was to him. In that moment of weakness, she thought she could have been replaced by any maasa. While coldness spread through her, she bit her lip. Perhaps a maasa would have been a better choice for him, especially now when he needed healing.

She knew not why the uncertainty had crept up on her at that moment—she had felt so loved and revered before and the Vasaath had told her that he held deep, profound feelings for her. The Vasaath did not lie, she knew that; he would much rather be harsh and unkind than lie, she knew that too, so why didn’t she feel loved now?

She turned away from him and curled up into a ball. She did not wish to cry, nor did she want him to see her so emotional at that time. It wasn’t fair, she thought. He was worried for his friend, he grieved for him, she knew that. Her selfish feelings and need for affection was nothing compared to the pain he must feel. No, indeed, she had no right to be selfish, to feel rejected—but as he gently wrapped his arms around her, she could not hold back the tears.

“What’s the matter?” he asked softly, his lips against her ear.

She shook her head. No words could escape her. Trying to identify her own feelings, the only thing she could recognise was disappointment—disappointment in herself, disappointment in her dreams, and disappointment in his distance.

He repeated his question, gently turning her to face him. Once they were face to face, he dried away some of her tears. “I hurt you, didn’t I? Do you need any ointments or herbs, for pain?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He frowned. “Then tell me, why are you so distressed?”

Looking into his golden eyes, she searched for approval, proof of her worth, but saw none. “I’m not enough, and I will never be,” she said, her voice weak. “I’m not a maasa.” She looked away, defeated and embarrassed.

There was confusion in his voice as he said, “I don’t understand.”

She returned her gaze to him. “I cannot comfort you. I cannot heal you.”

He knitted his brows, deeply, and swiftly pulled her underneath him. “Why do you say that?”

“I—I can’t—I don’t—” She was surprised by his sudden movement. She hitched her breath and gazed into his golden eyes. “Does it comfort you? What we do, does it comfort you?”

“Yes,” he muttered, but he was still wary.

She sighed. “Do you rather wish I was a maasa?”

He did not like that question—that accusation—and Juniper could see that. He clenched his jaw, but did not speak. He kissed her, with certainty and power, and pulled her down.

“You are not maasa,” he hissed against her lips. “I will never use you as one.” His breath was hot against her as he kissed her body. “I will not share you.” His lips trailed her form, burnt her skin, and caused her to tremble violently. “I will not lose you.” Grabbing her legs, he parted them gently, sensually, and said, “I chose you for myself.”

He then took her again, leaving all his frustration aside. She could feel him, all of him, as he had all his attention directed on her. Now, he was affectionate. He was proving his point, and her worries simply slipped away.

She revelled, cried out her delight, and allowed herself to be completely in his mercy. Her deliverance was divine, blinding, exhilarating—and as she came down from her blissful elevation, the Vasaath whispered, “Do you still think I am discontent with who you are?”

She could barely utter a single word as she tried to gather herself, and she just shook her head.

“No,” he said and kissed her, and she kissed him back with intent.

She lay in his embrace, elated and exhausted. Pressing herself close, she urged him to hold her tighter. She kissed his chest, and felt his body vibrate as he hummed.

“Don’t do that,” he muttered jestfully and yanked her head upwards. “Not unless you want another go.”

When she met his eyes, she smiled, and he frowned.

“Why would you think you weren’t enough?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. I felt… disconnected, as though your heart wasn’t here.”

He furrowed his brows. “You have my heart, menaan.”

With a frown upon her brow, she hoisted herself up on her elbow to let her face be at his level. “What does that mean? I hope it’s endearing!”

He smiled and gently brushed his lips over hers. “Ma enaan,” he said and caressed her face, “means ‘my love’.”

At that very moment, Juniper was sure her heart had exploded. Speechless, she gazed into his golden eyes. She knew not what to say or how to behave, but she knew that she loved him so much it pained her. Finally, she kissed him, her hand gently touching his cheek.

“I don’t want you do doubt my feelings again, Juniper,” he murmured. “You are very special to me. I don’t want you to think otherwise.”

She tried to keep her emotions in line, not to burst out crying, as she said, “My lord, I—I love you.”

He knitted his brows, tightly, as he slowly and gently traced her jaw with his clawed fingers. “Do you mean it?”

She nodded. She hadn’t been surer of anything in her entire life.

Knitting how brows even tighter, he kissed her forehead. “Good.”

She wanted to chuckle at his simple, stoic response, but she held her tongue and fell back against his chest. There, she was gently lulled to sleep by his soft caresses and steady breaths.

She awoke in an empty bed the morning after. The Vasaath had continued his search for Kasethen and Juniper had her morning tea on the battlements by herself.

She could not stop thinking about the confession of love she had received the night before. He was being sincere because the Vasaath never lied. She felt flustered just by thinking of his lips as they shaped the words. Ma enaan. They felt so strange, and yet so beautiful.

She tasted them on her own lips, “Ma enaan,” and they rolled beautifully off her tongue, like rain in spring.

Every Kas soldier was looking for Kasethen, and Juniper could see the worry in them all. It was touching, she thought, to see so much respect for Kasethen, and how they all cared about him—perhaps only a handful of soldiers from the City Guard would worry if Garret went missing, if any at all. Such care was uncommon.

Mostly, the City Guards did their duties, and nothing else. They cared not about anyone else but themselves and their own, and occasionally, their Duke. An advisor’s disappearance would be talked of, but no one would truly care—let alone worry.

With the Kas, everything was different. The People were their family, and Kasethen was as much their brother as any of them. In a way, Juniper envied them; she envied their ability to love each other so unconditionally. They loved each other like family despite different ranks and stations; the baker loved the solider, and the soldier loved the cobbler, and the cobbler loved the maasa, and the maasa loved the baker. It was all mutual respect, and yet, they all knew that they did not stand above their roles.

Juniper had never seen that. She was supposed to devote herself to her family, to be ready to die for them, and accept that her role was to obey her husband’s every whim without question or doubt, but not expect the same returned to her—such a frightening prospect.

She had thought quite a bit about what Neema had asked her, about whether or not she would feel differently if Lord Christopher or her father had respected her, but in truth, she did not know. There was no fantasy in which any of the two men respected her—it was simply unthinkable.

Indeed, as a child, she had dreamt of her father loving her, but already as a young girl, Juniper knew it would never be like that. He hated that his firstborn wasn’t a boy and he had never forgiven Juniper for such an insult. Growing up, she saw the horrors her mother lived through—lessons worth more than any threat she had received. So, it was rather difficult for her to truly understand how such collective love and care could exist. She was thrilled that it did, but it felt distant, like a dream.

When evening arrived, the Vasaath was back. Kasethen was not. As expected, the general was in a rather foul mood.

Juniper tried to soothe him, to comfort him, but the worry was tearing him apart. She considered telling him about the dungeons but figured it was better to leave such information for when he was calmer.

She sang to him again, with his head in her lap, and told him stories she had heard while growing up—she didn’t know if he truly liked them or not, but it seemed to lull him.

She was in the middle of telling him the story of when the first city of Edred was burnt down by a giant dragon when he gently touched her arm and said, “I will spare your brother.”

“What?” She looked at him, bewildered.

He lazily opened one eye. “I will spare your brother. If you could get him to submit, that is.”

“I…” Juniper didn’t know what to say, suddenly nervous—did the man truly put her brother’s life in her hands?

The Vasaath sighed and closed his eye again. A crease appeared between his brows as he said, “Kasethen’s disappearance has made me realise how much he truly means to me. I suppose it could be equivalent to your definition of family. I cannot spare your father, but I could make an exception for your brother.”

Her heart raced and her breath quickened. She wanted to cry, in relief and in shock, but she held it back. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, sir. I—I believe—no, I know, that in time, Sebastian will understand how magnanimous you’ve been and be grateful!”

His golden gaze was suddenly set upon hers. “I’m not doing it for him, Juniper.”

She carefully eyed the face of the man she loved. It was curious, she thought, how only a few months could have changed them both so profoundly. She gently caressed his lips, as though her fingers were lightly brushing paint onto them, as she recalled them saying, “Ma enaan means ‘my love’.”

Shivers crawled up her spine, urging her to kiss him. Softly, she placed a hand on his cheek and leaned forwards, slowly planting a kiss upon his lips. Her dark hair fell over his face like a curtain and shielded them both from the world. His hand fell upon the back of her head, pressing her closer.

“Do you still believe you have my heart?” he asked as they parted.

Juniper nodded. “Do you still believe I love you?”

The Vasaath nodded. “I do.”

The next day was much the same. The rain was still pouring. Juniper sat in her quarters, drinking tea to soothe herself from the loud claps of thunder that raged above her head. She did not like being alone in this kind of weather, but neither did she wish to leave the safety of her tent.

She tried to read and sing to distract herself from worry and fear, but it was fruitless. When the Vasaath came back from his search, soaked from the rain, she had him sit down for some tea. He was in his usual foul mood, but seemed to calm down after a few sips.

They spoke for a while and she could clearly hear the sadness and defeat in his voice. They were searching the shoreline for a body, he said, and she felt the gruelling, horrifying dread in her stomach; she knew they wouldn’t find a body on the shore. She knew it in her core.

With a deep sigh, she poured the last of the tea into her cup. It was dark, murky, and an uncomfortable chill went through her spine as it reminded her of the dark and foul drink—she suddenly froze in place, and her heart dropped to the floor as faintness came upon her. She had forgotten to drink the Shadow Veil, and now it was too late! Trembling, she slowly put a hand on her belly.

“Is something the matter, Juniper?” the Vasaath asked, always observant.

She just stared at him, not knowing what to say. Was it so terrible? Would he shun her for being careless? But he, too, had been careless.

“Are you in pain?” he asked and frowned.

She shook her head. “No, I—”

“Vas! Vas!” A kasaath suddenly came barging in, breathless and panicked.

The Vasaath rose and scolded the soldier—Juniper didn’t know what was said, but the general was not happy. The soldier said something that made the Vasaath tense, and his hands curled into fists.

“What is happening?” Juniper asked. “Have you found him?”

The Vasaath turned his head to her, his eyes dark. “There was a message. Your father has him.”

Juniper felt the air leave her body as she slumped down. “Oh…”

He gave an order to the soldier who left the tent, and the Vasaath turned to Juniper, his jaw squared. “Where is he being kept?”

She tried to tell him, but her voice was so breathless, she could barely hear her own words.

“Where is he being kept?” he demanded sharply, making her jitter.

“In the dungeons,” she said and looked down. “He’s probably in the dungeons below the castle.”

The Vasaath paced the room back and forth for a short moment, his chest heaving. “I will kill him,” he growled. “I will rip his heart out while it’s still beating and feed it to the dogs.”

Juniper took a deep breath. She wanted to think he was only upset, that he didn’t mean what he said—but she was fairly certain he did. She swallowed. “What were my father’s demands? I don’t suppose he just wanted to say that he had Kasethen.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said the Vasaath. “He will die, and this city will submit before dawn.” He then strode to the entrance, but halted just before he parted the canvas. “You will stay here, and you will not leave before I or one of my men come and get you.”

She frowned. “But I—”

“It’s not a suggestion, Juniper,” he growled. “The streets will run red tonight. You will stay here. Do you understand?”

She gazed at him, bewildered. She wanted to stop him, to keep him from doing something rash, but his gaze was so dark, so determined, so urgent, that she didn’t dare. She held her tongue and simply nodded before he marched out into the rain.

Translation:

Kasaath – warrior; “strength of the people”

Menaan – (ma enaan); “my love”; “an ardent confession of my deepest care”

Vas – leader; keeper; order