Chapter 32
Kings and Queens
Winter thrust and lunged with his magical sword in the deep hall of the Triton palace. His concentration was not on his practice, though. He had been getting mixed signals from Cindarina for days. She had showed him a particular way she would fold her hair in her hands that looked to be toying with it, but said she would use it when she was 'thinking about him'. She had been doing that almost constantly when he was around, but beyond that, would not talk to him, and seemed to be all but avoiding him. He did find her looking at him furtively through reflective surfaces, but could not read her expression or guess her intent.
In one class Penelope was discussing a certain type of flourish found in a mosaic and challenging them to decide if it was older or newer than a similar motif found elsewhere. Inspiration struck and he told her that he thought he had once seen something like that in a deep chamber in the depths of the ruins. He said he would go there after class and sketch it. Since that was, unquestionably, from the great building period of the site, it could be compared to the other two and a chronology devised.
Penelope was very praiseworthy of this suggestion and Winter used the excuse to grin sheepishly at the rest of the class. He saw Cindarina's hands clenched around her folded hair. She was looking out into the distance, towards the surface. But she slowly brought the fold up, kissed it, and let it fall.
He took this to be an acceptance for a rendezvous. But after pacing up and down for a while, he began to have his doubts. Things seemed tense in court, in a way he couldn't read. Perhaps she was finally being pressured to turn on him. Had he given her the perfect setup for an assassination? He didn't want to think that of her. But he split the difference and drew his sword for practice. If it was to be an ambush, he would be prepared. If it was not, this was something she had seen him do before.
Finally his ears brought him the sound of movement. Someone was coming through the corridors. They were in haste and were not silent. He listened intently but continued the set moves of the practice form. When he finished he looked up and saw Cindarina there, biting her lip, looking worried.
He bowed formally, and twisted the hilt of his sword, causing it to snap back into a spear and disassemble. Seeing this she rushed upon him and threw her arms around him, pushing him back against the wall in the fierceness of her embrace.
Winter stiffened in astonishment and awkwardness. He hesitated to put his arms around her in return, but thought himself foolish for hesitating. He considered that it had been a very long time since he had been held such, or even touched. Only his mother had really embraced him like this. The sea folk were generally averse to touching. And he saw precious little of her.
But, he decided, it was nice to be held. It did remind him of his mother. And he did like that. Slowly, he put his arms around her as well and held her too, though not as tightly. His feelings for Cindarina ranged the spectrum from complete fantasy to the reality of the different worlds they were destined to. He had thought on it endlessly and of all of the complexities and political horrors it could lead to. However, right now it was simple. Holding her, and being held by her felt nice. He didn't need any more. He didn't want anymore. He just wanted it to go on forever.
But it didn't.
She drew back and moved her hands to his face. She looked deep into his eyes and he thought, for a moment, she was going to kiss him. But instead she spoke. Or tried to speak. She took a deep breath after a halting attempt and then tried again. “The gods have started their attack.”
Winter felt a deep cold in the pit of his stomach. The warmth of the embrace completely left him and his limbs felt like wood. “Where?” he said. “Do they come here? Have they destroyed the above already?”
“No,” she said. “No. The spear has been cast, but their first blow has not landed yet.”
“We have time to warn them?” he asked, suddenly understanding her caution and conflict. Would he have risked as much to warn her if the attack had been from his side?
She shuddered and bent her head to his breast, holding him close again. “We can do better,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “If we dare.”
“No,” he said, firmly. “You have dared enough. It is my turn. Tell me what you know and I will take the burden from here. I do not want you in any further danger.”
She shook her head against him. “If I do not act, I am dead. If I do act, and you do not, then I will be the instrument of your mother's destruction.”
“My mother!” said Winter, fiercely. He held her back and looked in her eyes. “They strike at my mother? How dare they!"
Cindarina looked past him. “Balanoptera has asked me to arrange for an exchange student visit with the surface. With the provision that he and some of his hooligan friends go along.” She then looked at him, her eyes wide. “I believe they plan to assassinate your mother.” Her voice tailed off in a hoarse whisper.
“Balanoptera is a fool,” said Winter, a calmness slowly replacing the chill. “I have been outsmarting that idiot since childhood.” He renewed his grip on her shoulders. “I will not let him hurt you. I will not let him hurt my mother.”
She smiled up at him, weakly. “It is the gods you fight. They are...”
“They are as foolish as the tool they are trying to use if they think he can do anything,” he said dismissively.
“I do not think they expect him to succeed. Even his father is quite aware of his failings. The goddess must also.” She shook her head. “The best they can hope for is to spread confusion.”
Winter pursed his lips and nodded. “That makes sense. Which means their first strike is not at Irontree. This means we are not fighting the gods. Just their agent.” He slid his hands down her arms until he clasped her hands. “I would spare you this, but I think you are right. You are inexorably linked. Will you do this?”
“Yes'', she said, without hesitation. “I would do anything...”
Winter had lunged forward and kissed her full on the lips. Her breath drew in, surprised and hesitant in her turn. But then she closed her eyes and returned his warmth.
And then it was over, before either of them wanted.
“I said I would take you from here when it all started, anyway,” said Winter. His mind spinning. “He's given us the golden opportunity. I don't even think we need to tip off Penelope or the troops. They're always looking to extend an olive branch.”
“But shouldn't we warn them?” asked Cindarina.
“No,” Winter said firmly. “I do not trust their priorities. If they know, they will probably evacuate immediately, take me away, and leave you here.” He shook his head. “That would put you in mortal danger. I do not like cutting it fine, but I do not trust them to put your safety over that of their nation.”
She stood up straighter and looked at him seriously. “I will tell no one either. I will not play favorites with which classmates I'd rather see rescued and which I would not. I cannot think what might happen to those we leave behind.”
“Cindarina,” said Winter, taking her hand, gently this time. “This is not permanent. I will come back. You will come back.”
“You said before the surface does not care what happens here. There is no coming back,” she shook her head. “I am prepared for that.”
“I am not,” said Winter. “My price for this information to them will be the emancipation of your people. I swear to you I will make it so.”
“Do not swear,” said Cindarina. “Do not promise. We do not know where this will lead. Let us hope. Let us try. But the dice will fall where they will and we cannot help that.”
“I don't know,” said Winter, with a lopsided grin. “My mother is pretty influential. If we destroy all the gods and I ask for the Underwater as my fiefdom, she can probably swing it!”
She laughed softly. “If that comes to be I will hail you as a better King of the Sea than we have now.”
He kissed her hand before letting it go. “Don't think you will get
off so lightly. If it comes to be I shall make you Queen and defer to you in all matters!”
She laughed and then her lips brushed his cheek as she swam away.
Winter watched her leave until she was out of sight, and then out of hearing. Then he turned back to his practice and did not leave it for several hours. However, this time, instead of blindly following the set moves as an abstract exercise, he had a face before him to target with every cut, blow and strike.