This story has the 'non-erotic' tag. There are no depictions of sexual activity in this chapter, and no suggestion of sexual activity between characters under the age of 18.
*****
Was Glasha my girlfriend?
If her intent was to make me address the question, to think about her and our relationship, then she succeeded admirably. She knew very well that I was analytical to a fault. It was Nathal who planted that idea in my head; Glasha merely brought it up again, and then left me alone so that I could think it over.
I was the son of the Duke, while her half-orc mother had died a week after Glasha was born. Her father was unknown. There was a vast gulf between us, in terms of social standing. That made no difference at all to what I thought of Glasha, but I knew very well that my parents would never allow me to marry her.
She'd been my friend - my closest friend - for 9 years. I don't believe that we even have friends until the age of 5 or 6. Children play with their siblings, with the other children who are nearby, or with playmates provided by our parents. There's little choice involved. And choice, it seems to me, is the essence of friendship. Of all the people I knew, I chose Glasha to be my friend.
We were too young, of course, and too inexperienced to enter into a romantic relationship. Yet Glasha was very clever - and very wise - to start me thinking about this now. Sometime in the future, our thoughts would begin to turn to love - but would those thoughts be of each other?
How would I take it if she fell in love with someone else?
But what did I have to offer Glasha? A juvenile infatuation? A passionate, but short-term love affair? Or a longer relationship as... what? Mistress? Concubine? I couldn't imagine not having her in my life. But in what capacity? What were we to each other? And what would we be, in future? Strange things to be pondering, as my 16th birthday approached.
It was up to her, of course, as much as it was to me. But I had to at least think about what I wanted before I asked Glasha what she hoped for.
She succeeded in changing me in one respect: the way I looked at her. She'd always been my friend, my fellow student of magic, my confidante. But now I found myself thinking of her as a girl - as a young woman.
When we first met, Glasha was a scrawny, almost ugly little girl. Nine years had made several changes. Her darker skin made her exotic, and her wide mouth gave her character. Her big brown eyes still appealed to me, but I wasn't blind to the other transformations that had taken place over the years.
Glasha was slender now, rather than skinny. I'd always liked the way she looked, but now I had to admit that it wasn't solely because she was my friend; she was attractive in her own right.
- "You've completely scrambled my thoughts." I admitted to her, days later. "As soon as I begin to understand what I want, I start to wonder about what you want."
- "You can only yoke the horses to the wagon one at a time." she said. "Make up your own mind, first." Then she placed her hand on my arm, and smiled.
"We have time."
***
I turned 16. My mother and father forgot my birthday - either that, or they considered it beneath notice. My brother Aludar, my sister Sanatha, and Glasha did not forget.
***
My brother Nathal turned 19. He began to take on a larger role, offering to assist our father in whatever way he could. It was mostly just noise, I thought - my father being who he was, there was little chance that he would let one of his sons be involved in anything important.
But Nathal attempted to make himself useful, or noticed. He invited a poet to Elmina, and paid the fellow out of his own pocket. Father grudgingly allowed this poet to perform during the darkest, coldest days of winter.
Gedere was a very homely man. His hair looked as if someone had placed a bowl on his head, and then cut off anything that stuck out with a pair of dull shears. He had the face of a bloodhound, with droopy jowls and a perpetually sad expression.
He was, as it turned out, something of a scholar as well. His voice was deep, and resonant. He recited a song entitled 'Olden Days, Olden Ways'.
It was full of respect for tradition, due reverence for the past, and frequently called on his listeners to 'preserve our heritage' - whatever that meant.
It could not have been more calculated to appeal to my father. These were all code words for conservatism, for thinly veiled opposition to change. These attitudes I'd heard before, and I knew them well, because they often included a resentment of foreigners, and dislike (scarcely concealed) of non-humans.
The conservatives (encouraged by my father) liked to propagate the myth that tolerance for non-humans had begun with my great-grandfather, who had invited them to his court and even into his household.
That was patently false: it was Arivan Cunedda himself, the founder of our dynasty and first Duke, who had made overtures of friendship to non-humans - over 200 years ago. My father's friends were falsifying history in order to suit their own beliefs and prejudices.
My brother Aludar read widely, and certainly knew better. He'd shared those texts with me, as well. Even had Glasha not been my friend, I like to think that I would have come to the same conclusions on my own, even without magic to enhance the power of my mind.
Father also liked to surround himself with scholars, or learned men. They would share their knowledge, or debate which one of the Gods was closest to Varna, or if we enjoyed a special relationship with a particular God or Goddess.
The Cuneddas have never been particularly devout, nor did they ever express any desire for a closer connection with a single deity. Arivan Cunedda himself was supposed to have said 'I would prefer to remain on good terms with as many of them as possible'. The story is probably apocryphal, though.
For my father, however, I suspected that his interest in the subject was intellectual or political rather than spiritual. Or perhaps he was considering the possible commercial benefits. What if pilgrims could be enticed into travelling to Varna?
These discussions or debates were not always scintillating. Very few of Father's scholars were men of wit, or orators. Yet we children often attended the proceedings - especially in the winter, when it was too cold and too dark to do anything other than go to sleep.
Aludar was there, genuinely interested in the subjects being addressed. So were Nathal and his poet, Gedere. Nathal was still trying to ingratiate himself with Father. Sanatha was present as well, out of curiosity, and Toran, too, probably from a sense of obligation.
Glasha was with me. There was nothing better to do, really, without burning precious candles. But I will admit that I was growing more concerned about my father's conservative entourage and the nonsense they sometimes spouted.
- "Whydah, of course, is well beloved of Tomuun, the Weeping Mother." said one of them. Tomuun was Goddess of the Sea, and Whydah was our port town - that was the extent of it. The Goddess had never given the slightest indication that she favoured any part of Varna (unless sending storms to drown our sailors could be counted as a mark of affection).
- "Nay," said another, "Whydah is devoted to Egan. That is clear." Egan was the God of trade and profit, known as the Golden-Handed.
- "Obviously incorrect." said a third scholar. "Egan has made Galtin's Port the wealthiest emporium in all of Leinyere; even Portoa cannot compete."
The fellow stood up. He was tall, and had a particularly sour expression.
"No." he said. "Varna reveres Kelthala, and pays all due reverence to Tomuun. But if there is a Goddess who watches over us, it is surely Kitara."
There were a few surprised looks in the room, and even a gasp. Kitara - also known as She Behind the Blade - was the Goddess of Vengeance. She was often invoked before starting a war, launching a vendetta, or initiating some act of petty jealousy.
