Communion

The Ice flight is not known for producing monsters. It is not a haven of disease and destruction like plague, nor is it inclined to dangerous magic the way the Arcanist’s flight is. However, the Southern Icefield is a land of cold death, and sometimes that death is carried to the rest of Sornieth by dragons born with ice in their veins.

Communion would not deny being one such dragon.

The past is hazy to her, cluttered with frosted puffs of breath and the sting of feathers in the icy wind. Figures run together in bright color against the gray and white backdrop of the mountains, the blue sheen of the ice. There is nothing behind her that carries deep attachment or burning memory save for the sense that it was a pittance compared to her lavish life now.

And now, the most important parts of her life lie within the Shifting Expanse. The most important part of all is LaCroix, and after that is her dear Ice flight kin, Chalice. The former, she would die for, and the latter, she would willingly kill in spite of their shared history as sisters beneath the Icewarden. Kinship matters little to her now. What matters is serving LaCroix, and removing Chalice from her position of royal favor.

Originally, there had not been such a rivalry. In fact, Communion had appeared to be the least jealous dragon in the clan. Despite her devotion to LaCroix, she held no grudge against Isaac for her intimate relationship with the Skydancer, not to mention that she did not hate Naxos for the steady way that she held the queen’s ear. She was Ceinwen’s handmaiden and had little use for anything more than the plush life she lived tucked at the queen’s side. Even after Chalice’s adoption, she bore no ill will in her heart; Ceinwen was known for her way of picking up refugees and tucking them under her wing, burying her guilt under mountains of generosity. Another dragon given shelter was no cause for alarm, and an Ice dragon? Communion could establish a bond based on that, if she really tried.

But losing her duties was certainly a disaster. The moment the cup was taken from her claws, the moment Chalice was named Ceinwen’s new cupbearer, now and forever, a bitter seed took root in Communion’s heart. She had been usurped. Cast aside. Relegated to a lesser role without that gilded goblet in her grasp. Chalice had been a child spoiled by Ceinwen’s affections, and to Communion, she had not put in adequate work to receive such honors, let alone the stellar servitude that Communion prided herself on.

A bead of hope sprang up in her when the plague arrived. Communion ached to see Ceinwen’s children succumb to the disease, dying one by one with the weakest of cries; she may have been bitter towards their mother’s choices, but these were children, and they had received less of their mother’s attention than Chalice had, a fact that earned them Communion’s pity without second thought. Communion stood firm through the effects of the illness as it played out before it, mourning the innocent, and waiting for Chalice to fall as well.

Instead, Chalice survived, and took the place of Ceinwen’s children as heir to the throne, still carrying the cup that had once belong to Communion.

Communion decided that day that Chalice needed to die. There would be no more wishing or hoping for the cupbearer’s demise. There had to be action.

Grasping at shreds of independence, Communion turned to LaCroix, not for instructions as she usually did, but for advice as equals. LaCroix wanted to see Ceinwen done away with, and in a moment of brilliance, Communion realized that LaCroix ought to feel the same about Chalice; there would be no sense in deposing Ceinwen only for her spoiled heir to lay claim to the throne and continue where the Guardian left off. If Communion could lay claim to Chalice’s coveted rank, then when LaCroix’s coup was complete, she would gladly defer to the jester prince, who really ought to be the jester king by then.

But their plans, crafted in secret, have yet to pan out. Chalice is devilishly difficult to draw near to, and Ceinwen’s eyes never seem to roam far enough away to give Communion the moment she needs to fulfill her desire. Naxos’s constant vigilance is equally frustrating, because her loyalty outweighs any other emotion the frigid warrior might have once been capable of feeling. So Communion bides her time, attending to Ceinwen’s whims even as she caters to LaCroix’s enigmatic commands. The sense that there is a larger game afoot plagues her, but not enough to provoke a change of heart. Never enough.

She is the rightful cupbearer, and she will have her way in the end.

Bio by Tues.