The Grey Ones
The Visitors: VI

JUNIPER

Supper was dull, as usual. Juniper ignored her father’s and brother’s mindless chatter and kept the memory of the powerful and beautiful display of the Vasaath fresh in her mind. Sometimes, she let her eyes remain shut for a few moments longer just so she could imagine herself sitting by the Vasaath’s table, relaxing in her own existence, but her vision was always interrupted by her father’s sputtering laughter and shouts. Then, to her great surprise, her father addressed her.

“Oh, and Juniper,” he said, “the Duke of Westbridge is to join us the day after tomorrow. He is bringing his son and I expect you to take good care of him.”

She looked up, unable to fully comprehend what had just been said. “What do you mean?”

Her father raised his brows and leaned onto his elbow. “Well, I want you, dear daughter, to entertain the Duke’s son.” Sebastian snickered, but her father continued. “If things go as planned, you will soon be his wife anyway.”

At once, her heart sank. “You,” she started, her voice weak. “You can’t decide that.”

“Of course I can,” said the Duke. “I’m the Duke, and your father. If anyone is to decide, it’s me.”

She felt the cries rise in her throat. “So you would send me to be a… a harlot?”

Her father glared at her and lowered his voice. “Hopefully, he’ll make an honest woman out of you soon enough. Don’t pretend like you haven’t been warming the sheets of that demon down by the docks for the past two months. You didn’t think I’d replace out?” He leaned back. “Well, why not put your talents to use and actually accomplish something instead of tarnishing my good name?”

“You sent me there!” Juniper hissed.

“And that was indeed my mistake,” the Duke grunted and returned his attention to his food once more.

Juniper felt hot rage sear through her, as well as stinging shame and humiliation. She glared at her brother, who only kept his gaze steadily at the table, and then she turned her eyes back to her father. She wanted to scream at him, and a thousand words came to mind, but she said nothing. She could not.

Instead, she left the table and rushed to her room. She was too angry to cry, and yet tears streamed down her face and neck and she could do nothing to stop them. She paced back and forth, feeling how her anger and disappointment raged through her.

Suddenly, a gentle knock fell upon her chamber door. She knew it well, and it made her roll her eyes. “Leave me alone, Garret!”

“My lady,” said the advisor through the door. “You must excuse your father. You know he speaks rudely when he is under the influence.”

She walked closer to the door. “Is it true?” she asked. “Am I to be sold to Westbridge?”

Garret sighed deeply behind the door. “It is talk of an alliance, yes, but nothing is yet decided. The Duke of Westbridge is coming here to negotiate. You are right in being upset, my lady, but if it comes to it, you are expected to do your duty.”

She curled her hands into fists. Her duty? Yes, she had always known it would come to this, but she was surprised and shocked nonetheless.

She bit her lip and then replied, “But if I am to be given to the next Duke of Westbridge, you cannot assume that my soon-to-be fiancé would replace it appropriate that I spend my days with the Kas general.” She took a deep breath and continued, “And don’t you think the Kas would be rather upset if the one they have spent so many hours speaking to about their philosophy suddenly became unavailable? Do you truly believe they would be patient enough to teach someone else?”

Garret sighed again. “Let me speak to your father, but please, meet the Duke’s son the day after tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Juniper said. “But I will make no promises.”

“Fair enough. Good night, my lady.”

She listened to his fading footsteps before sinking to the floor by the door. Her heart pained, her chest tightened. She had never been to Westbridge but she had heard it was more or less a mud hole with nothing else to show for but the enormous drawbridge that led people over the Dawning River. That, and their famous Illyrian army. If Noxborough was the gateway to the Winter Sea, Westbridge was the gateway to Illyria.

But Juniper cared not for drawbridges or Illyria. She did not want to be married off to some pompous lord who thought he owned the world, but it was her duty. She had known it since she was a child; she would be married off to a lord just like her mother was married off to her father. She was to leave her home to fall in line somewhere else while her brother was to become the next Duke of Noxborough. It was her duty, her purpose—the Structure said so.

That night, she was riddled with terrible thoughts, tossing and turning without getting much tranquillity. When dawn approached, she had barely slept at all. She spent her morning trying to think of a way to dispel the Duke’s son so that he would not wish to marry her at all. If she was lucky, she didn’t have to do anything—perhaps the Duke’s son would replace her so repellent that he wouldn’t want anything to do with her.

Her body ached from her lack of sleep, and worry tore through her like a disease. Knowing that it might happen someday in the future was one thing, but knowing that it was imminent was something else. In her mind, she was already trapped.

At noon, she visited the Kas encampment, as usual, despite the harsh and unforgiving rain that had started to pour. The warriors were so used to her presence by then, they barely noticed her arrival at all. Some were keener on greeting her than others, and she thought that they perhaps had a small infatuation with her—at least, that was what she wanted to think of the smiles and the painfully ungraceful displays of power they presented whenever she walked past them. Men were men, she thought, no matter what race. She didn’t mind, however, and found it rather charming.

The Vasaath was in his tent. A fire was burning lively right beside the table, and the warmth was a welcomed change from the cold outside. She found the Vasaath’s large frame leaned against a whole set of pillows and cushions on the floor, brooding over a book. He seemed very comfortable, had it not been for the deep line that had formed between his dark eyebrows.

He looked up, and his face softened once he noticed her. “Vahanan, ohkas.”

Juniper curtsied. “My lord.”

He then returned to his book, and the line reappeared. “I am reading this fascinating book about your political history,” said he. “So many city coups, so much treachery. It seems as though you Free Cities have a history of playing games, and cheating.”

Juniper smiled and walked closer. “Yes, it’s—quite remarkable, I agree.”

He looked at her again. His golden eyes were inquisitive, and then they narrowed. “You look tired.”

She bit her lip. “I didn’t sleep very well last night, I’m afraid.”

He hummed, returned to his book, and said, “Then why don’t you lie down for a while?”

She raised her brows. “I’m sorry?”

Without taking his eyes from the book, he gestured towards the space next to him. “Then lie down for a while. Sleep.”

She knew not what to answer. Shifting awkwardly from one foot to another, she said, “I don’t think that’s appropriate, my lord. What about our conversations?”

He looked up, his gaze hard and unamused. “How good a conversationalist are you when you look as though you could fall asleep standing up?” Then he sighed and returned to his book. “Do what you wish, but I am not finished reading yet, so whatever you do, conversation has to wait.”

She stood there for a moment, considering her options. She could sit down by the table and wait, but for how long? It could be hours for all she knew.

The cushions he leaned against, elegantly propped up on a heavy rug, looked very comfortable, indeed, and she was very tired. But there was little space left for her, and she would have to be quite close to the general. Heat in her stomach flared by the mere thought of being so vulnerable, so close to him, and perhaps it was that dangerous allure that made her carefully move towards him.

She sat down as gracefully as she could, and even though she had done her best not to sit down all too close to him, her shoulder still touched his muscled arm. She flushed violently and pulled her knees to her chin.

The Vasaath said nothing and continued reading his book.

Juniper looked at him, but when she realised that the book had all his attention, she took a deep breath and leaned back against the pillows. They were soft, like clouds, and smelled of rich spices. She let them encase her, and as she closed her eyes, she felt perfectly safe.

She could hear the general’s steady breaths next to her, and his gentle turning of pages in a slow rhythm. The air was warm and comforting; the embrace was soft and forgiving. The smell of the burning fire and foreign spices dulled her senses, and the sound of the rain hitting the canvas lulled her. Before she knew it, her mind wandered off and she drifted far, far away.