Glandera
With her hands on her hips, Hilde stared at her daughter. “I can tell by the tip of your nose that you know more. Tell me, where did this basket come from?”
Remorsefully, Glandera looked at the third delivery they had received this week. It was enough for the whole weekend. On the one hand, the young woman was grateful, but on the other, she was plagued by a guilty conscience.
“Alright, I admit I've met someone.”
Her mother listened up. “Who is your patron?”
Glandera staved her off with raised hands. “No! Please, I can't tell you who it is. Not today.”
“You know the consequences.” Hilde pointed her finger at the table. “No lad gives his beloved such valuable gifts without expecting something in return.”
She rolled her eyes. “He asked if I would meet him. But I said no.”
“Does he want to meet you in secret?” Hilde's fingertips tripped on the table.
“No, where everyone can see us. And no, mother, he's not pushing me to do anything.” In Glandera's head, the sound of Hilde's fingers became a loud drumming. “I refused him because I don't know him.”
“If you don't meet him, you can't get to know him.” Tired, Hilde dropped onto the chair. A long day at the market lay behind her.
“I know.” The noise had stopped and she sighed.
“He's wealthy if he makes gifts like that.” As if nothing had happened, Hilde helped herself from the basket. She polished a plum with her hands. “You should think about it. Or does he not have a comely face?”
“It's not that,” Glandera replied, stretching and letting her mind wander. Ferron's skin was tanned and even. His short beard was always well-groomed and his thick dark hair shone in the sun. He was older than her, certainly in his early thirties, and expressed himself in an educated way, something she couldn't say about any other man she knew. She hadn't given it a second thought because she was so scared, but she thought he was handsome. She remembered the disappointed look on his face when she had turned down his invitations. Every time they met, he was friendly, even considerate, and accepted her boundaries. Her heart warmed. She shook her head vigorously – he was a mage, and the idea of meeting with him seemed completely absurd to her.
Glandera said goodbye quietly, trotted up the stairs and retreated to her room. Lost in thought, she reached under the bed and pulled out the quartz crystal. Today, she had received a perfect amethyst and a smoky quartz as a gift from him. But why did she know their names? She sat down on the chair in front of the window and placed the crystals on the windowsill in the sunlight. Then she folded her hands and rested her chin on them. The precious stones were at eye level and the crystal surfaces were so perfect that they reflected her face. She stared into them thoughtfully, and the longer she looked at them, the more she noticed tiny needles and inclusions in them.
As carefully as if it were a newly hatched chick, she stroked the quartz crystal with her fingertip. She smiled as the familiar tingling sensation began. For her, these stones meant the world. Did the Magister know that? Wouldn't a man rather give his beloved a rose? She was poor and without a dowry, she couldn't even find a husband. What on Earth did this earth mage want with her?
