The Grey Ones
The Visitors: IV

JUNIPER

Her father didn’t even look at her while he greedily ate his supper. “So,” he said, “how did your meeting with the invaders go?”

Juniper shifted in her seat and looked down onto her plate. The food did not look very appetising at the moment. “It went well, I think.”

“So, no invasion yet?”

She gritted her teeth—she certainly hoped not. “I am to see him tomorrow as well, Father. Hopefully, we will begin to understand each other better.”

This brought the attention of the Duke who stopped chewing to look at his daughter. “You did not agree today?”

“He asked about my faith, and I expressed my opinion.”

Redness was spreading from his neck up to his ears. “Opinion?” The low, choking voice always came before the bellowing. “Opinion? I did not send you down to our enemies to express your silly opinions. You silly, silly woman. But I am not surprised. Never send a woman to do a man’s business, you make that very clear, my dear girl.”

Her heart raced and she had to catch her breath. “Father, I did not—”

“Now, what if they slit our throats in our sleep?” he continued. “What if they kill every child? Rape every woman? They can have you, for all I care. Opinions…”

Juniper felt tears prickle behind her eyes. The viciousness of her father always peaked when he had had one too many drinks of wine. Garret, his always present advisor, leaned in to tell the Duke to calm down, but her father’s face was already scarlet and he flung his chewed chicken bone across the table.

“I will not calm! I knew we signed our own death warrants the minute we considered my incompetent daughter to do the work of a diplomat!”

Juniper could take it no longer. She lowered her napkin to the table and left the dining hall, as calmly as she possibly could. She held it together until she had locked herself in her room, and then she cried. She fell onto her bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

This day had been disastrous. Absolutely disastrous. She was used to being put down by her father—Builder knew how many times her father had yelled at her and called her incompetent—but what made matters worse was that she actually felt incompetent. She knew she shouldn’t have said what she did to the general, she shouldn’t have been bold and retorted sharply. She should have obliged and nodded, just like her mother had always told her to do, and perhaps she would be in his good graces, if there were any.

When she closed her eyes, she saw his gaze—those golden eyes that burned through her like vicious cinder. Even in her room, high up in Fairgarden, far away from the docks, she felt flustered by his eyes. Through her tears, she cursed at herself for having such a weak heart.

She tried to focus on something else, to rid her mind of any thoughts of the Vasaath and his wretched eyes, but all that kept rushing through her mind was the horrifying sounds of screaming townsfolk as the Kas army tore the city to shreds. She wondered if she had any chance at all of rectifying the mistake she had made that day, if the Vasaath was as forgiving as he was terrifying. She doubted it.

That night, she barely slept. The little sleep she had was riddled with nightmares and when she was ushered up by her chambermaid, she felt as though she had been run over by a coach with four horses. She had her breakfast in the gardens and turned to some reading afterwards. There was an old, dusty book in the library about the Kas and their philosophy; it wasn’t The Statue of the Grey Ones, but that book had been banned from the city libraries decades ago for smearing the Arlington name. How, Juniper did not know.

She was far more worried today than she was yesterday. The red silk robe did no longer feel appropriate, and neither did the gold jewellery. The general had been right—she had been blind. The rift between the rich and poor was enormous. Due to her father’s aggressive taxes, the richer became richer, and the poorer only became poorer.

Sickness was spreading, crime was escalating, and the discontentment of the people was growing. Small uprisings were getting more and more common, and as a result, the Duke had granted the City Guard more violent authority. Her father only said that commotion like that came and went—it always had done so, and always would. It was nothing to worry about, so Juniper had tried not to worry.

But she was all too aware of the unfortunate people of the city, and yet, she didn’t do all in her power to change anything. She tried, indeed, but she was only a woman in a city ruled by men and sovereigns.

When her brother received important diplomatic missions, she was given the more sensitive tasks, such as charity and representation, things that held no true power. She had always known that her work was worth nothing. Surely, she could bring some gold from the treasury to hand out after Week Mass, but that would never be enough.

She knew she lived in luxury while most people lived in poverty, and she would be lying if she said that she would trade it all for equality. She lived a very comfortable life, and seeing the misery of the poor made her feel sad, yes, but also very lucky. Now, she just felt ashamed.

She dressed in a plain frock, put her dark hair in a simple braided bun, and refrained from any glittery accessories. She allowed herself to adorn her neck with a simple golden necklace of the Hammer of Edred, the only thing she had left of her mother. She put on her woollen cloak and headed down to the outer courtyard where four guards were waiting and they were all looking rather nervous—almost as nervous as she felt.

When they arrived at the encampment, in a convoy of four riders and a carriage, they were met by Kasethen and two massive warriors, one of which had manners enough to help the lady down.

“Vahanan, Lady Juniper,” said Kasethen and bowed. “I am delighted to see you again. Please.” He motioned her to enter the fort but as she had passed him, he stopped the guards. “I am afraid you have to stay out here.”

Juniper quickly hurried back to the nervous men and turned to Kasethen. “They are my personal guards, Kasethen. They are with me everywhere I go.”

The advisor smiled. “I respect that, my lady, but you are perfectly safe inside our domain. You are under the protection of the Vasaath and his Saathenaan. No harm will come to you, as according to our customs.”

She wrung her hands together and swallowed, looked at her guards and then back to Kasethen. “Very well. But please, make sure they are comfortable out here.”

Kasethen nodded. “Parthanan, it is done. Now.” He motioned her again to enter the fort, and she gave her guards an apologising look. She was terrified of leaving them behind, but she did trust Kasethen. If he said that she would be safe, she trusted that she would be.

The Kas warriors seemed to try to ignore her presence, but few succeeded. Even humans ignored her with intent. She heard them whisper, but it was all in their own tongue and she didnʼt understand any of it.

She was led to the great crimson tent and at once, she felt her pulse rise. She kept wringing her hands together, faster and faster, and she had to take a deep breath before she could enter. She felt so small, so insignificant, as she once again stood inside the immense billowing structure.

The Vasaath was standing by his desk, his black armour making him look even wider, and turned as Kasethen announced Juniper’s arrival.

“Shokaan, kasethen venaas.” The Vasaath nodded at Kasethen and then he turned his golden gaze to the human girl who thought she would crumble under his stare. Then, he nodded at her, courteously. “Lady Juniper.”

The way her name rolled off his tongue caused an odd tremble in her legs. She looked down and curtsied deeply. “Vasaath.”

He moved with surprising ease despite his mountainous build. He stopped a few feet from her and gestured her to the table. “Sit.”

She quickly obliged—she wouldn’t dare to defy him. Surely, she thought, he would reprimand her for what she said the day before. Carefully, she lowered herself by the same place as yesterday. The Vasaath sat down next to her, and being this close to him, she could feel his scent—leather and spices. She hadn’t noticed it before.

“I realise that I might have been too harsh last we spoke,” he said. “It was unfair of me to judge you so harshly. It is not your fault your city is starving, I recognise that.”

Juniper looked down on her hands, not wanting to reveal her surprise. “Thank you, my lord.”

There was silence for a moment before the Vasaath spoke again. “You are dressed much more moderately today, I see. It becomes someone willing to learn the Kasenon.”

She blushed deeply but was relieved her appearance was approved. At least, it was one thing less for him to replace disagreeable.

“Kasethen,” he then exclaimed. “Tea.”

The advisor nodded served them each the copper liquid.

“Shokaan. Parthanan,” said the Vasaath, and Kasethen bowed and left the tent.

She was once again alone with the giant, sitting frightfully close to him, with a smoking cup of foreign tea in front of her.

“Now.” His voice rumbled like distant thunder. “I want to hear more about your faith. I have some understanding of the ground principles, but there is much I do not understand.”

“But I have seen humans in your midst,” said Juniper, confused. “Some of them must be Edredians. I am sure they have great knowledge.”

The Vasaath’s eyes hardened a little. “Most of the ohkasenon turned to us for salvation—they were poor and ill-treated, often uneducated or simply non-believers. Some even pray to different pantheons. They have no obligation to teach me about a faith that never did them any good.” He exhaled deeply and looked down his nose at her. “You, on the other hand, have thrived, haven’t you? You are educated enough to teach me. So teach.”

Juniper shifted in her seat, trying to replace a more comfortable position before replying. “Well, the faith constitutes of the Vault and the Pillars, the construction of the Builder. The Pillars are the principles the people need to follow, and the Vault is what brings them all together and completes the construction. It symbolises home and family, equality and community.” She bit her lip and dipped her head. “I know it might seem contradictory to how we live, but that is the foundation of our belief.”

The Vasaath nodded. “And what about Edred? I believe he’s your prophet?”

Juniper had to think for a moment. She had been taught the story of Edred as a child, as all children were taught the story, but she had to think to remember it. “Long ago, before the Void, mortals and deities lived together in chaos. The deities ruled over the mortals, but they were cruel.”

The general leaned in, his brows tightly furrowed, as he listened carefully.

“One of them, whose real name is now long forgotten, recognised the pain the mortals suffered in the hands of the deities and decided to separate them. He built the Netherworld to imprison the cruel deities and the White Void for himself and the benevolent ones, thus becoming known as the Builder.”

His face sunk into deep thought as he contemplated her words. “Go on.”

Juniper swallowed. “It is said that many tried to replace the Builder again, to follow him as their one true ruler, but mortals could not enter the Void. Hundreds of years of wars followed—without the deities as their common enemy, the mortals turned on each other, realising that power was for those who would take it.”

“Naturally.”

“The Builder saw the destruction he left behind but could do nothing to interfere. He had built his prison too well. Then, one day, a boy heard his calls, a boy who could see and hear beyond the Void. That was Edred.”

The grey man leaned back again, disbelief written in his stoic face.

Juniper tried to ignore his scepticism and continued. “The Builder made him the first Architect, whose role was to teach the mortals the way of the Builder and bring peace to the world. He was taught the art of divine construction and built the first temple in what is now the Illyrian Empire.”

Sighing deeply, the Vasaath pondered this. “And you believe in this story?”

Juniper bit her lip. “I’m not certain. To every story, there is a grain of truth, I suppose.”

“So, without the principles of your Builder, mortals would fall into chaos once again?”

She suddenly felt as though this might be a trick question. She considered her words carefully before saying, “There are in total six pillars that hold the vault, and those six pillars are called the Structure. They are piety, duty, family—love, compassion and perseverance.” She felt relieved having remembered them in the correct order.

“That was not my question.”

She brought her hands together in her lap. “If the structure crumbles, then so does the vault, leaving us divided. If we are divided, chaos ensues, yes.”

“But you are already divided,” said he. “Such a belief builds on the notion that all mortal beings follow the same principles, which they don’t. That is a fact, an undisputed fact.”

“Well, the Architects argue that we’re all children of the Builder. Some people just don’t know it yet.”

“And what is your argument?” the Vasaath asked.

Juniper looked down at her hands. “I should not dispute the Architects. I’m not that knowledgeable.”

“I do not ask for knowledge,” said the Vasaath seriously. “I ask for your opinion.”

Her father’s voice echoed in mind, telling her that no one wanted to hear her opinions. The mighty Vasaath asked for them, but she felt a harsh pang of disbelief in the pit of her stomach and she finally shook her head, very shyly. “I have no opinions on the matter, my lord.”

The general furrowed his brows, grunted, and nodded. “Of course you have.”

She looked at him, begged of him not to press any further—if her father found out that she had been telling the Kas what she really thought about the Architects and their interpretation of the Structure, she would be sold like cattle to the highest bidder. But the Vasaath’s gaze was stern and demanding, and finally, she said, “I’ve put my faith in the Architects. They carry the words of Edred and the Builder now.”

His eyes narrowed. “Daan. Lies. Do not lie to me.”

Her cheeks flushed and she swallowed hard. Was it that obvious? She sighed with a shaking breath and said, “Do you truly expect me to speak my mind when I am here to teach you about my culture?”

The Vasaath leaned on one elbow and eyed her, much like he had done the day before. “I do not see you as an ambassador of your faith,” said he with a soft rumble, “but as an intelligible woman with a mind of her own. If I want to speak with a devotee, I’d speak with one of your Architects. Yesterday, you spoke much more freely. Now, if I frightened you by my harsh manners yesterday, I beg you to reconsider. You are in no danger from me or anyone else here. As my guest, you’re under my protection.”

She shifted again. “Thank you, my lord, but perhaps there is one thing you should learn about my culture—a woman ought not to speak of things she does not know.”

The Vasaath stared intensely at her, his golden eyes gleaming and glittering. “In my culture,” he then said, “men and women are equal in all matters of the mind. In here, your opinion matters just as much as mine. In that, we are equal.”

There was honesty in his words that she had never heard before. His words were touching and frightening, all at the same time. Never before had she heard that her thoughts mattered, that her voice held weight. She could scarcely believe it did, herself. She wrung her hands together and said, “I do like the pillars. I think it’s amiable to strive for virtue. I only wish some of the principles were interpreted differently.”

“Differently how?”

“Well, for one, the pillars of family and duty are often interpreted together as one. Do your duty to your family. As a woman, that means obeying your husband and birthing him sons. A woman should follow. It is known.” She swallowed hard. “The Architects and the family patriarchs often use that to justify arranged marriages.” She was surprised at herself for speaking so frankly, but the general’s ardent gaze felt genuine and curious. No one had ever listened to her before.

He was silent, urging her to go on, as he had a sip of his tea.

“I want to interpret duty as what you owe your peers, and about doing what you ought to, considering your situation. Doing your duty should be doing what you can to make things better, for as many as possible. And family should be interpreted as honouring your mother and father, but also as recognising your role as a part of something bigger. We’re all here together, from all cultures and races, as a family.”

Something changed in the Kas’s eyes. “You speak with great wisdom despite your tender age, ohkas. It seems as though you might not replace the Kasenon so foreign, after all.”

“Then tell me about your philosophy.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Have you not read the works of Alvaros Tyrio?”

“No,” said she and shook her head. “I haven’t had the opportunity. My father claims he is a liar.”

The Vasaath glared at her for a moment before he straightened. “The Kasenon teaches us eight tenets: order, duty, honour, respect, strength, justice, knowledge, and equality. We live each day to stand by our tenets and a true Kas would rather die than abandon the philosophy.”

Juniper tilted her head. “What do the tenets mean? I assume you don’t leave it open for interpretation?”

The Vasaath smiled, only slightly—a sentiment Juniper guess was rarely bestowed upon anyone, least of all an outsider.

“Indeed, we don’t,” he then said. “The Kasenon require order through submission, that you live your role and do your duty to the Kas, that you strive for honour in all your endeavours, that you respect yourself as well as others, and that you covet physical and mental strength.”

He took a gracious sip of his tea, and Juniper allowed her gaze to slowly trail his handsome features.

“Rightness will be rewarded and wrongness will be punished, you shall seek the truth and share that knowledge with the Kas, and you shall know that you do not stand above the Kas.”

Juniper thought about his words for a moment. They weren’t that different from the words of the Architects, and yet, they were strange. “What about compassion?” she asked. “What about love and family?”

“The children are raised within the community,” said the Vasaath. “The Vasmenaan is our Great Mother, and the nemethans are our teachers. Once one has reached a ripe age, one is placed within a role. It could be anything from a kasaath, a warrior, to a maasa, a healer. You have already met a kasethen, an advisor.”

She furrowed her brows. “So, Kasethen isn’t his real name?”

“We do not keep names under the Kasenon,” said the Vasaath. “We are what we do.”

Juniper fell into deep wonder. She reached for the cup of tea that had been cooling at the table. It smelled of spices she did not recognise and as she tasted it, she was surprised to replace it smooth as velvet against her tongue. Thinking about the rigorousness of the Kasenon, she gripped the cup with both her hands and stared into the glittering liquid.

The Vasaath noticed her silence and asked, “What has led your thoughts astray?”

She shook her head and looked at the general. “It all seems so—cold, and stern.”

“How is it different from your interpretation of your own faith?” he asked. “We recognise that we are all family, and that we are responsible for each other. No, we are not brought up by the women who birth us, but by the men and women who are born to raise us. No, we are not taught by our fathers, but by men and women who are born to teach. We are given the best chances of becoming great individuals, ones who can seek honour in our lives and strengthen the Kas.”

“But do you ever experience a mother’s love, if you’re brought up in such a, well, institution?”

The Vasaath clenched his jaw ever so slightly. “You are speaking of the feeling of being special, of receiving unconditional affection from one single individual. You do not stand above the Kas. All are equal. All deserve equal respect.”

Her heart tightened. The man before her, so strong and so stern—had he been formed into this statue, this stone, by not received enough love from a mother’s warm embrace? Had he ever felt the soft touch of compassion? Of kindness? Was his heart as stony as his expression? Was he even able to feel the warmth of love and affection? The realisation hit with striking force and she breathed, compassionately, “You cannot love.”

His face twisted into a disdainful snarl. “Of course, we can. We feel just like any other. We love our nemethans, we love our Vasmenaan, we love our friends. Just because we don’t have what you consider family, doesn’t mean we don’t have love.”

Juniper felt her cheeks redden as she lowered her head. It was foolish of her to suppose such a thing. How little she knew of other cultures, how little she understood of foreign ways. “Forgive me, my lord.”

“Perhaps that is enough for today,” said the general darkly.

Juniper nodded and hurried to her feet. She curtsied deeply, careful not to look him in the eye. “Thank you, my lord, for your valuable lesson.”

“Parthanan. It is done.”

Juniper hurried away. She wondered if there would ever be a day when she didn’t make a fool out of herself in front of the general.

Kasethen waited for her outside the tent and greeted her with a friendly smile. “Ohkas-enaan,” he said. “Did you have a pleasant conversation?”

Juniper smiled nervously. “Yes, indeed.”

“Then we can expect you back tomorrow?”

“If you want me,” said she.

“Vahanan,” said Kasethen and bowed. “You are welcome.”

Juniper smiled and curtsied and was then escorted to the entrance where her four guards were waiting. They had been served food, and seemed to have gotten along just fine with the Kas warriors guarding the fort. They greeted their lady with proper salutes and guided her into the carriage.

The ride back was silent, solemn, and many thoughts weighed heavy on Juniper’s mind. She felt so ashamed for her ignorant assumptions and wondered if she would ever be able to look the Vasaath in the eyes again.

At supper that evening, her father said nothing about Juniper’s task and only grunted when Garret reminded him of it. Her brother spoke about his coming travels, without as much as a thought of the looming threat his sister tried to avert. Her words were shut down by her brother’s and father’s conversations, and even though Garret—the ever caring Garret—tried to converse with her, their words held no volume in the same room as the Duke’s wine-fuelled bellows.

When she went to bed, her ears rung from the men’s drunken laughter and shouts, and she found herself longing for the calm and soothing voice of the Kas general, his intense stare, and his awe-striking stature. She knew she should feel shameful for it, but she did not. In her bedchambers, all by herself, late at night, she felt no shame in longing for him.

She was a woman, after all—and although the Vasaath was a terrifying and militaristic warlord, not to mention rather outlandish, he was surprisingly handsome to look at. That realisation made her a bit giddy inside. It could indeed have been the wine, or the terrible sting of loneliness she felt in her own home—but for that evening, she imagined that some of the tales she had heard of the Grey Ones might not be so horrible and she allowed herself to dream, just a little.

The thoughts were nearly gone by morning. All that remained was the shame she felt for presupposing—in front of the Vasaath himself, no less—that the Kas could not love. It clung to her mind like a plague the whole way down to the encampment, but when she again met the general, he seemed unbothered by the conversation they had the day before.

He greeted her with his same dark and stern voice, but listened to her with the same keenness and attention as before. They spoke about politics, and despite the fact that Juniper seldom received diplomatic missions, she knew more about the city’s politics than her brother—perhaps not about politics in practice, but certainly about their laws, principles and history. She even earned the general’s respect with her knowledge, something he was generous enough to express.

He told her of the political structure of the Kas, about the three Heads: the Vasaath as the Head of Military, the Vasenon as the Head of Philosophy, and the Vasmenaan as the Head of State. She found it fascinating to listen to, how their society had evolved from a land of savagery into a highly sophisticated society with a strict military rule and a firm belief in equality and solidarity. The Head of State was even a position solely for women—the embodiment of the Great Mother that watched over them all.

“Where do you come from?” she asked him in earnest.

“From the great island of Kasarath, of course,” said the general.

She smiled. “Yes, but where do your people come from?”

The Vasaath’s face twisted into a deep frown as he grunted. “We don’t know for certain, but we’ve been on Kasarath for over a thousand years. Some claim we come from the mountains in the west, but no one truly knows.”

Juniper hummed. “You haven’t met others of your kind?”

A corner of his lips twisted upwards. “We haven’t gone looking.”

Their conversation that day was deep and engaging, but there were things he told her that frightened her; their strict rules meant black and white judgments. The punishments were harsh, but part of Kas politics. The Kas held no prisoners; either the criminals were re-educated, or they were killed. Either their enemies submitted, or they died.

Juniper wondered if any of the stories she had heard as a child was true—if the Kas were strict enough to deal such harsh punishments, would they also be savage enough to steal humans from their beds? Were humans kept as slaves? She knew well enough, of course, that they were only tales told by the Architects and the nobles to frighten the mainlanders from converting to the Kasenon. She couldn’t, however, refrain from thinking that there might be some truth to those stories.

She visited the encampment every day. Each day, she had interesting conversations and discussions with the Vasaath, and sometimes even with Kasethen. She learnt about their history, their culture, their food, their poetry, and their everyday life. She told them about her culture, her customs, and her history. She enjoyed their tea, their food and their music. Kasethen even taught her to play a board game that was invented by the Kas.

The Vasaath was indeed a stern man, but at times, he listened with almost a childish keenness. In some ways, it seemed as though he rarely spoke with people the way he spoke with her. He forgot himself at times, but was quick to regain his sternness and poise. If anything, it made Juniper more comfortable, calmer. She enjoyed his company, and she dared to believe that he enjoyed hers.

Her father never asked her about how things were going with their threatening guests. In fact, by each day that passed, he seemed to ignore her just a little bit more. Juniper found herself longing for the soothing words of the Vasaath, more and more for each day that passed, to help her cope with the dreadful words of her father.

One day when she came to the encampment, the Vasaath was not in his tent, where he usually was. No, this day, he was sparring with his warriors in the sun—and what a display of power it was! Juniper had never witnessed anything quite like it.

His stature was monumental; his strength, awe-inspiring. The warriors watched and listened with gusto, savouring each word and each movement as if it was a rare treat to see the Vasaath himself instruct. Their respect and trust was nothing a person could doubt—they would follow him to the death without hesitation.

Juniper understood why. The Vasaath was a mighty creature, indeed, and even more beautiful without his black armour; his grey skin stretched over his muscled arms and torso, and every movement displayed new statuesque features of the man; the scars on his body proved his experience and prowess; the ink on his skin seemed to awaken with his movements, as if they were magic. While people spoke of powerful leaders, the Vasaath was power itself.

He fought many of his warriors, most without even breaking a sweat. When he declared the sparring over, the warriors all bowed and thanked him for the lesson, and he handed his heavy weapon over to one of his officers. Seeing Juniper, he confidently started towards her—surely, he realised what such a presence would do to a woman? She tried to compose herself, and not seem flustered.

“Lady Juniper,” he said with a slight nod. “I didn’t realise it was noon already. Shall we?” He gestured with his big hand towards the tent, and Juniper nodded and walked beside him.

“It is comforting to see that you care about your soldiers,” said she as they closed in on the tent.

“I do what is required of me as their leader,” said the Vasaath. “But I am sure your generals do the same with your soldiers.”

Juniper smiled faintly. “I would not know.”

“So, tell me,” he said, “what do you know about your generals and your army?”

She looked at him. This, she realised, was a difficult question. She did not know that much—indeed, she wouldn’t be lying if she said she knew close to nothing about the matter—but if he required her to tell him everything that she knew, wouldn’t that compromise them?

Another thing she had learnt from years of listening to her father and brother was that the best way to beat an enemy was to know his weaknesses. Now, there were certainly weaknesses in her culture and political drabble, but they did not seem as threatening as weaknesses in their army. At least not in their current state of affairs.

She wrapped her arms around herself and said, “I would rather not answer that, my lord.”

The Vasaath chuckled as he withdrew the crimson canvas for her. “I would think not.”

She halted to look at him. “Then why did you ask?”

“I would not want to make assumptions.” His gaze told her a great more than his expression, and she knew, right there, right then, than he had not forgotten her ignorance and her ridiculous assumptions about his people.

Her face was brilliant red as she entered the tent. As the Vasaath let the canvas fall, the sounds from the outside world disappeared, and it was once again just the two of them. Juniper sat down by the table while the Vasaath went for the tea. He didn’t ask if she wanted any but poured her a cup anyway. She knew she didn’t have to drink it, but she did. If anything, it was to have an excuse not to speak.

The Vasaath lowered himself down by the table, his chest still bare and his muscles still engorged from the physical activities. His golden eyes were set on her, she could feel it, but he said nothing.

They enjoyed their tea in complete silence, and she had to admit that it wasn’t uncomfortable. At times, it was even relaxing. Indeed, she knew she had to maintain her bearings in front of the Warlord—especially since he had a very peculiar effect on her—but she felt as though there were no demands as to her femininity and her status. She was perfectly at ease drinking tea with the Vasaath, slouched if she wished, even though his gaze made her wary from time to time.

They only kept a very casual conversation that day, about tea and food and songs, and when their conversation came to a close, Juniper thanked him for his time, curtsied and left the encampment. This was a daily routine she did not mind having.

Translation:

Daan – lies

Kasaath – warrior; “strength of the people”

Maasa – healer

Nemethan – teacher; wise woman

Vasmenaan – queen; nation leader; “Leader of Our Deepest Care”

Venaas – friend

Saathenaan – elite warriors; “deepest strength”

Shokaan – thank you; many thanks; “expression of gratitude”

Shokaan, kasethen venaas – “thank you, wise friend”