The Winds of Change (Cecilia, 2nd)

He waves off the statement.


"You haven't tried to kill me, or pry unnecessarily into my private life," he says, reaching for the bottle of wine. "And I daresay you've held back on what you're most curious about,"
 
"More or less..." Cecilia has really been holding herself back. So much she wants to know about the Dellebron, about Urteal, about her family and more stories he would know about her grandmother her family wouldn't tell. She drains her glass of wine and sets it down.


"I doubt there's much I could really answer in return anyway. You've known my family three generations now."
 
The Dellebron grins, placing his pawn at your King. A retreat is possible, but the pawn is within range of the King itself. At this point, considering Urteals play style, either response could be a trap.


"I met Gwyneira as a young man, almost the same age that you are now. I honestly don't know how we became friends. We were forced together, by parents and peerage, to the point we grew sick of one anothers company. Soon, we started to hate each other, figuring that the only way to be rid of the other was by death. There were countless attempts to poison one another, a few hired knives, and I distinctly remember that at one point point your grandmother stranded me in Outreach, chained to a particularly large and rather violent species of polar bear,"


He stares past you, eyes glossing over before coming back into focus, searching your face.


"I suppose it grew to be something of a game. Check, by the way,"
 
Cecilia regards him with some surprise as she hears these stories of her grandmother in her youth. She's not entirely sure if he's joking or not but then... she's heard many a tale of what her grandmother has done in the past and more besides of what she could be capable of.


She observes the board carefully before moving her King to take the 'attacking' pawn.


"That sounds a little extreme." She laughs. "I'm glad you managed to become friends in the end."
 
"They were different times," he responds offhandedly, following up his closing trap with a newly crowned Queen. "Skyships had only just become commercial, so the Spires were clamoring over one another to control trade. Anyone with a direct link to somewhere profitable had to make sure they took advantage of it, or risk losing massive income and dying out,"
 
"Ah. I've read about that. It was a big topic in my history studies as well as business." She nods. He's got this game but she makes an aggressive move on the new Queen. "I'm glad things aren't as...vicious as they were back then."
 
"Oh, they still are," refutes Urteal soundly, cornering your king at the expense of the Queen. "The world just seem less so outside of hindsight. Checkmate,"
 
Cecilia sighs as the game finally ends, then smiles at him. "That was fun. I hope it was halfway entertaining for you. I haven't had a game last that long in a while." She pets Helmine, and then starts to put the pieces back to their respective places on the lowest board. She ponders over his words as she does so. She would like to disagree but given what happened in her own home the previous year... He speaks truth.
 
He smiles, one not dryly predatory, but something seemingly more genuine, a quirk of lips that bare no fangs.


"Good drink, good company, good game," he lists off nonchalantly, arching his eyebrows as he leans back in his chair. "All in all, a rather enjoyable way to spend an evening,"


The Dellebron pauses, narrowing his eyes and throwing a quick glare around the room.


"...though generally this is around the point when something conspires to ruin my good mood," mutters Urteal, his expression softening as his gaze returns to you. "Perhaps I shouldn't temp fate, and bid you a good night,"


Rising smoothly out of his chair, his drains the remainder of his glass, a good two thirds of the amber liquor disappearing down his throat. The tumbler is placed solidly back upon the table with a clink.


"It has been a pleasure playing and conversing with you Miss Arrington,"


Behind him, Snow pushes herself from her resting place at the wall, shaking out her arms. The movement is accompanied by a several considerable cracks and crunches, adding to the low burbling of noise from her breathing.
 
"The pleasure's been mine, Urteal. Have a good night." Cecilia smiles at him brightly, rising from her seat as he sets his glass down. She bobs in a polite curtesy, then glances to the serpent still on her shoulders.


"Helmine, would you like to say goodnight to Urteal too?" She grins.
 
"Goodnight, Master Snow and Sky," murmurs the snake quietly, eyes unstraying from the Dellebron.


Behind you, Dell bows deeply with the words "Lord Dellebron,", hand pressed to her chest in respect.


"Goodnight Miss Arrington," finishes Urteal, giving the barest of nods before he departs. Snow disappears after him, the most cursory of bows as she passes.


The night is uneventful afterwards.


Days pass agonizingly slow, with no word yay or nay to your possible adventures. Your father will not brook conversation on the subject and with each passing day, his facade grows infinitesimally more troubled. Of the Lord Dellebron, you catch fleeting glimpses or short meetings, but he does not accompany dinner again, nor does he seem to have time for a summons as before.


Eventually, three days after the dinner, during your time of private study, you find your father rapping lightly at the door.


"May I come in Cecilia?" he asks you solemnly, face clear of expression as always.
 
Cecilia looks up from her notes and books, surrounded by all manner of organized paper chaos and a very small building structure of clear ice for her architecture study. Putting her pen down, she turns in her chair.


"Come in, Father." She replies with a smile, brushing down her skirt and rising from her seat. She does her best to keep her own expression neutral, but can't help but hope just a little that this might be news she's been hoping for.
 
The man strides in, easing down and sitting stiffly on the edge of one of your armchairs. He leans forwards, elbows resting on his knees, his hands folded in front of him.


"Cecilia, it's... come to my attention that I may have been too...."


Jonathan pauses, watching you carefully, lips pursed in concentration.


"....hasty... with... arranging a marriage, or so your mother informs me," continues the Lord Arrington haltingly. "More than that, you've also been... denied... experience, of life outside of the Spire, something both your sisters were allowed to have, and Victoria has made very clear to me that this is... well, may be... something that would negatively impact your growth as a young woman,"


He inhales deeply through his nose, breathing out in a stilted sigh.


"Now, I don't particularly approve of the Lord Dellebron, for... personal reasons... but... he has done nothing but good for the family, and has proven himself time and again to be trustworthy. Not only that, but there are several other factors that would benefit us all... which your mother has rigorously educated me on,"


"As such... we... have agreed to let you venture out on this... venture... he has suggested,"


"With several conditions," adds the cryolyte hastily.
 
Cecilia sat again as her father did and heard him out, keeping her expession neutral, and nodding as he spoke. She couldn't help but smile towards the end as he told her she was allowed to go.


"Thank you, Father. I'm sure you have nothing to worry about and I'm glad you've thought it over with Mother. The trip and the marriage." She tells him. "So, what are the conditions of being allowed to go?"
 
All traces of uncomfortableness are stricken from your fathers stance, and he sits up straight. This is more akin to his area of comfort, telling others what must be done, rather than being forced to rebel a choice he has already made.


"Firstly, Dell is to accompany you, the entire way. She too will benefit from the journey to Cree, and she has made it clear that it is her choice,"
 
Cecilia smiles at him. "Of course. I would hardly have expected to go without her."


That relieved her somewhat, she would have been considerably more nervous than excited without her friend.
 
"Secondly," continues your father, gesturing with two fingers. "You are to present yourself as an immaculate representative of Arrington Spire. Not only in decorum and manner, but in act. I do not wish to hear rumors of a young Arrington engaging in duels, drinking with pirates, upsetting the Infernal Houses, or any other manner of ill thought of behavior,"
 
"Oh, but that takes all the fun out of it." Cecilia jokes, pretending to be disappointed. Seeing her father's expression, she laughs. "I'm joking. Of course, I'll be on my best behaviour, Father. I know how important it is that we Arringtons represent ourselves well. You don't have to worry about that at all. I promise."
 
It's at this point that your father reveals the box he's been holding this entire time.


"Finally, your are to remain protected," he explains, handing the box to you.


It's a small enough box, a foot across and long, but only a few inches deep. Mahogany makes up the majority of its construction, but the lid is inlaid with jade, shaped into the symbol of the Emerald Sea.


"This is for that purpose,"
 
Cecilia looks it over in surprise, not having expected him to be giving her anything.


"For protection?" She asks as she takes the box and balances it on her lap before carefully opening it to see what lies within.
 
From first inspection, it's a gown. A gorgeous gown of pale blue satiny fabric, soft and cool to the touch. Spiraling silver patterns are embroidered around the hem, the sleeves, and the throat. An under gown accompanies it, black and form fitting.


But something about it is strange. The fabric feels too soft, too fluid, rolling out of your hands like water. The gelid quality of the cloth is another thing. No matter how much you handle the gown, it never seems to warm up, always retaining that same pleasant chill of clothing unworn.


The most unusual thing about it, however, is that you can feel the telltale prickle of magic beneath your fingers as you hold it.


"Dormir Lis," announces your father, hints of a sad and weary, but nevertheless contented, smile upon his face. "A beautiful gown for a beautiful girl-"


"-No," the man corrects himself. "A beautiful young woman,"


"A young woman with a will as hard and fierce as ice itself, now with garb to match,"
 
"It's beautiful, Father." Cecilia murmurs, admiring the cloth, its designs and wondering at the magic she can feel through it. "It's enchanted, I can feel the magic." As he said it is for protection, she knows the initial look of the gown hides the power of the magic woven within it.


"How does it protect?"
 
"Much like ourselves," explains the Lord Arrington. "It hides its true nature until it is needed. Should you feel threatened, or you command it to, the dress will shift to ice as hard as steel, armoring your body against assault,"


"Unfortunately, it does not have an accompanying helmet, but it should protect you from most dangers until Dell can step in to deal with them,"


Helmine peers at the garment, sidling around your collarbone to get a closer look, though mercifully, she remains silent.
 
"This is such a wonderful gift..." Cecilia smiles, carefully putting it aside and then standing to embrace her father and kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Father. I will cherish it."


She knew this would let him relax somewhat while she was away, knowing she was armoured and protected.
 
He smiles again, a crack in his normally rigid facade showing the care and worry of a man for his youngest child, but too stoic to allow it to show. The expression does not last long, and your father composes himself in moments, once again showcasing the cool, collected face of Arrington Spire.


"It has been some years since an Arrington has ventured forth with a Dellebron," Jonathan tells you. "Your sisters may have had their own journeys and whatnot, but they were often missions of trade, or of courting. Yours will be vastly different to that. You will carry upon your shoulders the future of our Spire's dealings with the Dellebron,"


Cold blue eyes, mirrors of your own, watch you carefully, searching for any sign of hesitation or discomfort.


"Will you be capable of holding up that burden?"
 
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