Sunset twirled her fork clockwise, then counter-clockwise, paying no real attention to the lone noodle she’d drawn from the tangle. Her mind remained in her study, deep within the pages of Kanthaka’s Facts and Artifacts. She’d checked it out from the Canterlot Archives, alongside twenty-seven other books of varying scopes, not long after escaping Cadance’s tower. Anything even tangentially relevant had made the list, ranging from The Confounding Copiosity of Cordiform Crystalline Curios right through to Gems: A History. She’d only had two hours to peruse them before dinner, but she would have all the time she needed afterward. A scent-free taper candle already waited back home—her only companion for the long night ahead.
Early signs weren’t promising, but she’d hardly scratched the surface. Given a few more hours, Sunset was confident that she would be able to write a whole thesis on the Everheart. After all, if Equestria’s own Research Rodeo Queen—four years running—couldn’t pinpoint such a potent artifact given so many resources, it must not exist. But she had already ruled out that possibility, having seen it herself, so it was only a matter of time.
At present she was mulling over a peculiar footnote in the “Pins & Brooches” section of Kanthaka’s. It stated that magical objects of such designs were often reconfigured into necklaces or amulets after a few centuries, if deemed important enough. That tidbit made her want to double-check Magical Compendium: Volume XVII for potential—
“What has you so distracted, my student?”
Sunset snapped back to the moment. She glanced across the dining table to Equestria’s reigning monarch and shrugged, her focus falling to the pesto-drowned pasta. “Nothing. It’s just been a long day.”
“Indeed it has,” Princess Celestia said, her fork clinking against the porcelain. “You must have had quite an early start this morning, considering your most recent assignment.”
“Uh huh.”
Most ponies would have taken the ensuing pause as just that, but Sunset knew better. Princess Celestia was always saying something, even with her silences. Especially with her silences. Not that Sunset could decipher the meaning most of the time, but being aware of the message at all was an acquired skill.
“Speaking of which,” Princess Celestia continued, “how did you find your first meeting with Princess Mi Amore Cadenza?”
Torture, thanks for asking. “It was fine,” Sunset said. The pasta no longer appealed to her, so she switched to the side salad.
“Only ‘fine?’”
“Mm-hmm.” She skewered a cherry tomato and popped it in her mouth.
“Did anything noteworthy take place? Anything you would like to share?”
She swallowed the tomato whole, partly hoping that it would lodge in her throat so she’d have an excuse to end this conversation. “Not really.”
More silence, which suited Sunset just fine. Seizing the opportunity, she gathered up random clusters of spinach and began shovelling them in, barely tasting anything beyond the vinaigrette. She hoped it would prolong the pause long enough to force a shift in topic.
Nothing so simple ever worked on Princess Celestia.
“Strange,” the princess said, underscored by the ambient hum of her magic. “Mi Amore Cadenza had quite a bit more to say on the matter.”
The next bite froze at her teeth. Sunset looked up into Princess Celestia’s smoky smile right as it vanished behind a goblet of water.
All right, let’s get this over with. Sunset lowered her fork and said, “Like what?”
Finishing her sip, Princess Celestia grinned. “For one thing, I believe your eagerness for learning is already rubbing off on her. I invited her to join us here this evening”—she nodded to the third place setting that Sunset had deigned not to mention—“but she declined. She wanted to spend more time practicing the mental exercises you taught her.”
“Good,” Sunset said, her gaze scurrying away. “She needs it.”
Another break, but brief—a silent exclamation point. “From what I could gather, she also seems to have taken quite a liking to you personally.”
Sunset met the princess’s eyes, furrowing her brow like she'd been tasked with solving one of Erudite Enigma's infamous riddles. “…Really?”
Princess Celestia nodded. “I believe her exact words were ‘passionate and inspiring, if a bit brusque.’”
Oh, that little— Sunset pursed her lips. “That’s nice,” she said, then pushed her dinner away—flecks of green sauce splattered onto the tablecloth. “Princess, I’m not very hungry, and I have a lot of studying to catch up on. Can I go?”
“You may,” Princess Celestia said, levitating the dishes away. “I only ask that you answer one small question first.”
“What?”
Not a wrinkle of mirth on her face, the princess said, “I would like to know why you refused Princess Mi Amore Cadenza’s invitation to join her book club.”
Sunset blinked. She waited for a moment to see if the princess intended to ask a genuine question. When she didn’t, Sunset said, “Forgive me, Princess, but that hardly seems like something worth discussing.”
“And yet, here we are discussing it.” Princess Celestia’s eyebrows sulked. “It’s an activity that seems right up your alley, so I’m confused as to why you wouldn’t want to partake.”
Maybe because being forced to see her three times a week already makes me wish for stonesleep. “My schedule’s full enough as it is. I don’t have time for any clubs.”
“If that’s your only concern, I’m certain we can rearrange your lessons to accommodate.” In a flash of gold, a quill and spiral planner winked into being. Princess Celestia opened the notebook to a red-tabbed page, and her eyes flitted across it like she were reading a grocery list. “Perhaps we could eliminate one of your seven study hall sessions.”
Sunset rolled her eyes. “Fine. I just don’t want to.” She stood, and her chair reeled backward with a wooden squeal. “Happy?”
Had Sunset not been so familiar with Princess Celestia’s many frowns, she would have needed a microscope to see the corners of her mouth dip. “May I ask why?”
“Why does it matter?”
“It’s important to expand your horizons beyond the classroom, Sunset, and you lack any other extracurricular activities. A book club would be a good choice, especially considering your common ground with Mi Amore Cadenza.”
“‘Common ground?’” She spoke the words like they might be laced with arsenic.
“She tells me that you share some literary interests,” Princess Celestia said. She placed the planner right in front of Sunset. “You’ll be spending a lot of time with her. You may find it helpful to get to know her outside of tutoring sessions.”
Sunset’s gaze dropped to the schedule and bounced off. “I don’t see the benefit.”
“Perhaps not yet, but the most valuable teachings can often be found in the most unassuming places.” The quill hovered over, and the aura holding it bled from gold to teal. “I believe the two of you could learn a great deal from one another.”
Sunset narrowed her eyes at the page before her. Small, colour-coordinated blocks filled the six rightmost day columns in a rainbow mosaic of academic perfection—the far left column an unbroken black streak that tied it all together. She took a few moments to admire the sheer beauty.
Once she felt like she’d feigned consideration long enough, she set the quill down and said, “I’d rather use the time to study. Like I should be doing right now.”
Princess Celestia initiated an impromptu staring contest, which Sunset immediately forfeited. The planner and quill poofed out of existence. “Sleep on it. You might have a different perspective come morning.”
“Fine.” Sunset flicked her tail. “I answered your question. Can I go now?”
“Of course.” Princess Celestia offered the sort of smile that reminded Sunset of her mother, which admittedly made her heart hurt. “Enjoy your evening, Sunset Shimmer.”
“Thank you, Princess.” She bowed hastily. “You too.”
With that, she trotted from the dining hall and quickened to a canter as she gained distance through the corridors. Already she felt the conversation slipping to the back of her mind and being replaced by the many articles and indices waiting in her suite—seeds of knowledge ripe for harvesting.
Sunset smirked, her blood turning electric. By tomorrow morning, she would be one step closer to the end of her quest—the start of her legend. The answers she needed were just a few tomes away.
Next dawn’s light stabbed Sunset in the eyes, angering the swollen beast in her skull. She grumbled and rolled to the other side of her pillow, which was actually an open copy of Mistmane’s Reliquary. Her mane sagged around her face, slick from the heat of the midnight oil. She glared into the dusty shadows of her study.
The floor had become a wasteland. Tumbleweeds of balled-up notes littered the arid stretches between towering book-hoodoos. Traitors, Sunset thought as she scanned the crooked silhouettes.
Apparently the Everheart didn’t exist. Not on paper at any rate, which meant that it might as well have been adrift in Limbo for all she could learn about it.
She’d come up with two theories: either Cadance had lied about the name, or she had been lied to about the name and had never bothered looking into it herself. The latter seemed more probable for a dunce like her. Besides, she didn’t strike Sunset as a good liar.
Still, even that hadn’t seemed like much of an obstacle six hours ago. After sniffing out the name as a red herring, Sunset had assumed that the relic simply went by another name, so she had reoriented her search around its ability to amplify emotions instead, hoping Cadance had at least been right about that. But even if she had, that trail had so many branches and dead ends that a solo expedition across Labyrinthia sounded easy by comparison. Emotional resonance happened to be the single most common trait among heart-shaped magic objects, doubly so if it was a gem or crystal. Go figure.
Forget the books then, her inner pragmatist said. You have a primary source.
Sunset scowled. The truth occasionally made that happen.
Cadance, by her own admission, knew horseapples about the amulet. Yet somehow she had still been able to trigger its magic, and while she didn’t understand how it worked, Sunset undoubtedly would. All she needed were details—details both Cadance and Princess Celestia had left curiously vague, only alluding to “an inspiring feat” at the coronation. Just as well. For Sunset, hearing that story would be like pouring water on a grease fire.
Of course, that had been before the Everheart. If that amulet turned out to be the key she needed, enduring Cadance’s tale of ascension might be a necessary evil. Unless she could get her hooves on the Everheart directly, in which case—
Sunset’s ears twitched, barely catching the gentle crackle behind her.
Then the window exploded.
Earlier than usual, Sunset thought. Otherwise she did not react to the waves of heat crashing around her, the white embers slicing past, or the screech shrill enough to curdle blood—all the wrath of a supernova packed into two heartbeats. It soon dwindled to little more than torchlight, leaving the room no worse for wear.
“Nice try,” Sunset said. She peeled her cheek from the book and sat up, grinning at the divine bird on her windowsill. “I almost flinched that time.”
Philomena warbled dramatically. She closed the distance with a single flap and perched on the edge of the desk. Her head dipped to Sunset’s level with the uncanny motion of a drinking bird, and she leaned in for a nuzzle.
Sunset returned it, heedless of the beak strong enough to snap obsidian. She nickered and said, “Thanks. It’s been a…” A yawn crept out between her words. “…long night.”
Rising to her full height, Philomena glanced about the study. Her forge-coal eyes narrowed at a nearby stack of books. Following her gaze, Sunset read the topmost title: Lichdom Through the Ages: Art of the Phylactery.
She grimaced. “Independent research study,” she stammered, and it technically wasn’t a lie. That particular theory had been a long shot, but she needed to consider every possibility. “There wasn’t anything useful in that one anyway.”
Philomena cocked her head.
In an attempt to climb free of the hole she was digging, Sunset said, “What are you even doing here? Breakfast isn’t for another hour.”
Ignoring the fact that it was physically impossible, Philomena smirked. She soared across the study on golden winds, coming to a hover by the door. Her talons turned the knob and revealed the gloomy living space beyond. Before Sunset could even begin to respond, Philomena pumped her wings and shot out the window, melting into the sunrise.
“Uh, bye?” Sunset said, then shrugged. She’d learned long ago not to question Philomena’s antics. Ever since their bombastic first meeting which had earned Sunset her cutie mark, she’d understood that the phoenix harbored wisdom beyond her comprehension. And oddly enough, she was okay with that.
Deciding that she had moped too long already, Sunset blew out the wax flower that had once been a candle and rose onto wooden limbs, stretching like a nap-fresh cat. Trotting out of the study, she lit her horn and gathered the discarded notes into one corner, simultaneously pushing all the books into another. She meandered across the loft to her kitchenette where a dark Smoky Mountain brew sang its siren song.
She only got halfway before the knocks came: three timid thuds she definitely wouldn’t have heard had she still been holed up in her study.
Sunset frowned. She corrected her course for the railing overlooking her little foyer. “Who is it?” she called, making zero effort to sand the edge in her voice.
“It’s Cadance!” Of course it is. “Sorry for coming by so early. I just know you probably have a busy day, so I wanted to catch you before you got going.”
Sunset’s eyes sharpened—daggers hot from the grindstone. She marched for the double doors, considering what sin she must have committed in a previous life to deserve this. Murder, probably.
She yanked the handles with her magic. The doors hadn’t even finished opening when she said, “How did you find out where I live?”
If Cadance was put off by the harsh welcome, her smile hid it well. “A little birdie told me,” she said.
Rustling leaves pulled Sunset’s attention upward. From the tree just opposite, Philomena winked and took off like a red-hoofed colt.
“Hey!” Sunset cried, trying and failing to catch her tail feathers in an arcane vice. A feral groan ripped from her throat.
Cadance frowned. “Have you been up all night?”
“So what if I have?! I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“No, you certainly don’t,” Cadance said, her voice frustratingly even—a flaccid attempt at mimicking Princess Celestia’s tone, no doubt. “I was, um, hoping to have a little chat, if you have time. May I come in?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. In fact…” Knowing and not caring that she was crossing a line, Sunset grappled Cadance in her magic and shoved her like one might shove broken furniture from their home. Cadance gasped and skidded a few hooves backward, stumbling when Sunset released her. “That’s about close enough. Now what do you want?”
For a razor-thin moment, Cadance’s eyes hardened into what could generously be called a glare. It looked wrong among her soft features, like a butter knife in a bouquet. She hid it behind her eyelids, exhaled audibly, and her eyes came back as shiny amethyst bubbles.
“Okay,” she said, putting on a new smile, “clearly this isn’t the best time for you, so I’ll be quick. I was hoping, if you’re free, that you might join me for a picnic later this evening. Maybe around six o’clock, if that works for you.”
Sunset gave the incredulous face of a pony who’d been asked to spend the night in Tartarus. “You’re inviting me to a picnic? With you?”
“I am!” Cadance said, and her smile widened until her dimples were showing. “There’s a lovely spot in the east castle courtyard I had in mind, unless you’d prefer someplace else. You know the grounds better than I do, after all. Oh, and do you have any allergies I should know about?”
A thousand biting retorts swarmed in Sunset’s mind, but she ignored them all in favour of, “Why?”
“I want to know what kinds of food I can and can’t bring.” Cadance giggled and took a step closer. “This one time, I went for lunch with my neighbor’s daughter, Honeysuckle, and I made honeysuckle sandwiches because I thought, ‘Oh, that’ll be cute,’ but ironically enough—”
“Not that,” Sunset said. “I really don’t care. Why are you inviting me in the first place?” What makes you think I’d say yes?
Some of the brightness drained from Cadance’s face. “Well, I feel like we got off on the wrong hoof yesterday, and I was hoping we could start fresh. I thought a picnic might be a fun way to do that. I’ll understand if you’re not up for it though, especially if you haven’t slept much.”
Sunset’s upper lip curled. Venom boiled on her tongue, but her rational brain put a lid on it before it could erupt. Primary source, remember? Could be a good chance to get some information out of her. And it might get Princess Celestia off your back about the book club nonsense. Two parasprites, one trombone.
Sunset groaned. “I don’t know,” she said, mostly to herself.
“I get it,” Cadance said. “I’m probably being too forward, and you’re clearly not comfortable with it. Maybe some other time.” She offered a curt nod and turned away, starting down the path. “Good luck with your summoning exam! See you in a couple days.”
Window’s closing, Shimmer. What, you hoping to find something when cross-referencing The Unabridged History of Amulets for the twentieth time?
Biting her lip, Sunset pinched her eyes shut and sighed. “Six, you said?”
Cadance’s hooffalls stopped. “Pardon?”
“I can do six,” Sunset said, hating herself more by the second. “For the picnic.”
The air had gone still and silent, as if the world was holding its breath. “You mean you’ll come?” Cadance said.
“Only because I don’t have anything better to do tonight.” Sunset opened her eyes and met Cadance’s owlish stare. “But we’re doing the west castle courtyard. It’s quieter.”
“Of… Of course!” Cadance’s wings fluttered like party streamers. “I can handle the food, so all you have to bring is yourself. Unless you want to bring something, of course. Did you want to walk there together or—?”
“I’ll meet you there,” Sunset blurted. “Now get out of here. I have classes to prepare for.”
Folding her wings in, Cadance beamed and said, “Right, I’ve kept you long enough. Just one last thing.” She lowered her head and squinted, giving Sunset a look similar to what one might expect from a surly stallion in some dodgy back alley. “Where d’tha timbah widows creep by midnight?”
Sunset raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
In a blink, Cadance became her chipper self again. “That’s all I needed to know.” She turned tail and cantered off towards the castle. “See you tonight!”
Remaining on the threshold for a full minute longer, Sunset replayed the conversation in her head to see if she had missed something. She arrived to the conclusion that Cadance was insane, which actually answered more questions than it raised. She shook her head, plodded back inside, and finished her grand odyssey to the coffee pot.
She skipped the mug and chugged the whole carafe.