Wenyihuo

When he entered the Council chambers for the first time, it was merely to escort his mate to her seat on the Perching level. There were murmurs of displeasure from the assembled Necromancers as he stood on his hind legs, the Mirror on his head, as she stepped gratefully onto her perch.

What was he doing here, not yet ranked properly?
What arrogance to think he could just waltz in whenever he wanted!
How snobbish must she be, to borrow an elevated lift to take her to her seat!
What an entitled attitude!

He shook his mane at the naysayers, but held his tongue. Entitled attitude? Not him. And not her, either. He had taken it upon himself to escort his mate into the Council chambers. She hadn't wanted it, had foreseen difficulty arising from it, but he had insisted. Now she was proved right, but that didn't take away his intentions or his feelings.

She was entitled to everything, and he was entitled to nothing.

Entering once again as a Standing member, he curled around the base of her pillar and lowered himself to the ground; a courtesy he and the other larger breeds showed to the smaller ones. He allowed others to scramble over his body, reaching up into the heights as though treading on his scales made them better than he.

He didn't mind. He only gazed up at his mate, her true-red Plague eyes flashing as she watched the conversation shift from side to side and rank to rank. When she spoke, it was brief and to the point, clarifying a question that was in many dragon's minds. When she voted, it was honest and true to her convictions, not swayed by politics.

She was entitled to rise above, and he was entitled merely to adore from below.

Day 20: Standing

He knew why they called it Standing, of course: there were no available seats and the young ambitious Mancers or the older resigned Mancers had to fight for their positions in order to hear. But he chose to think of it differently. He considered himself Standing to serve. To be available. To be the receivers of the Council's mandates and hurry to carry them out. To be the hands and feet of the Plaguebringer. All Necroservi should be Standing rank at least, he thought, and Wraiths, and Ghouls, and Neutralized Ghouls, for even through them the Council's will was carried out, and through them the Mother's will. Even some Necromancers he could name should listen and learn rather than aspiring and conniving.

Day 14: Rite

A scuffle, a small splash in the darkness.

"Hssh!"

The pair stop by the nest, frozen, waiting to see if the parents stir. When nothing changes, they breathe again, approaching ever more cautiously.

"There were two announced this morning," the female Mirror breathes. Her companion nods.

Quietly, ever so quietly, she reaches into the nest. The first, a Guardian dracling, is nearly too large for her to carry. She passes him to the Imperial, who quickly heads to the entrance, where the moonshine illuminates the nearest tidepool.

The Mirror follows slowly with a Pearlcatcher oysterling, still clutching his pearl in sleep. Together they stand, hidden from the watchful clan Guardian by the mouth of the cave.

"Quickly," Achlys hisses.

Her Imperial mate begins the rite, whispered words under his breath, scarcely audible above the hiss of the tide. She follows suit, cradling the Pearlcatcher babe in one forearm while the other hand traces the symbol of the Mother on his brow, around his tiny horn-nubs. She feels the fever begin to burn. The babe whimpers softly and clutches his pearl more tightly.

The Guardian child cries out in pain; Wenyihuo shushes him instantly, rocking him and murmuring the final words; the Plague slowly withdrawn in a red arc to his claw once more. With a soft moan the child returns to his slumbers.

Achlys completes the ritual; the Pearlcatcher blinks awake and looks up at her. He is not frightened by the ghastly circle of pestilence circling her brow; something deep within him calls to it, and he responds by coughing up a tiny amount of black nacre. Achlys stiffens, but allows him to sleepily rub the nacre over his tiny pearl. He curls around her arm and is still.

Silently the two Necromancers return the sleeping infants to their watery nest. They slip out of the cave, blending into the shadows against the sea-cliff.

"The rite is complete," Wenyihuo whispers. "They need not fear the Plaguelands, or any diseases. They are safe, protected. They will survive."

"The Pearlcatcher," Achlys murmurs. "He will not be a Tideling, I think. He acknowledged my wreath."

"Did he?" The Imperial smiles. "Good."