He Who Speaks for the Sun

by Corah Il Cappo

Dispatched with Haste

Chapter 1: Dispatched with Haste

Solar Court meetings were always a dreadful affair. The old council chamber was beautiful, no doubt—marble floors, high ceilings, and an entire wall of stained glass windows—but there was no mistaking the fact that it was old. The room was always too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter, and the glare from the windows made everypony squint as slashes of red, yellow, and orange shifted across their eyes. That particular morning, the chamber was hot, stuffy, and steaming with tantalizing breakfast scents from the kitchen below that they were being kept from. It all would be easy to ignore if the company was good. 

Unfortunately for Prince Blueblood, he hated everypony in the room.

The Court met at the crack of dawn, and the prince was anything but a morning person. He yawned and cupped his cheek in his hoof as he leaned forward in his chair. A glance around the table showed he wasn’t the only one who would have preferred to be in bed. The Minister of Agriculture, Petalbreeze, had her straw hat over her face as she leaned back in her chair. Still, she was doing better than the Minister of Education, Glitter Glow, who was face down on the table snoring loudly.

“There’s one final piece of business to address before this meeting is over.” Lord Hardscrabble, the wizened and greying earthpony, croaked out the words as he tapped his hooves on the table. Everypony who wasn’t fast asleep audibly groaned at the idea of spending more time stuck in the stuffy chamber, to which Hardscrabble rolled his rheumy eyes. “You haven’t even heard what it is yet!”

“Really, Councilman,” Blueblood shifted uncomfortably and tugged at his collar. Celestia’s mane, was he sweating already? “If this doesn’t concern Foreign Affairs, then I’ll just see myself out.” He rose with a practiced huff of indifference and kicked his chair back into place. “Not that this hasn’t been a deeply enlightening session, but if I stay any longer, my mane will wilt. And believe me, I certainly don’t want to bill the council for my stylist! Cutthroat doesn’t even begin to describe her!”

“Actually, it does concern Foreign Affairs.” Hardscrabble exhaled and rubbed his temples. “So, if you would please sit down.”

Huffing, Blueblood sank back into the chair. “Go on then, let’s get this over with.”

“Her Royal Highness Princess Celestia has requested that we replace our current ambassador to Saddle Arabia.” The earthpony brushed a lock of his black mane out of his eyes and adjusted his spectacles. “She’s noted that there’s been a lack of reports coming from—” He frowned and squinted at the page. “What was his name again?”

“His Sarabic name or his Equestrian one?” Blueblood arched an eyebrow.

“Equestrian, please.”

“‘Rough Cut’.”

“Yes, there’ve been no reports from Ambassador Cut in four months. I presume you noticed?”

Blueblood sighed and folded his forelegs across his chest. “Of course, I’ve noticed. Are you implying I can’t do my job, Minister?”

“Nothing of the sort. I’m sure you’re very busy.” Hardscrabble tapped his papers. Petalbreeze snickered from her seat, only for Blueblood to silence her with a deathly glare. “Regardless, Her Majesty has requested a change, and a change she will get.”

“I’m sure you’ve all noticed we’re extremely short on available diplomats,” Blueblood replied with a wave of his hoof. “Auntie dearest will understand-”

“She certainly has understood, my prince.” Hardscrabble’s wrinkled face held the slightest twinkle of a smile. “She’s suggested you for the role.”

Blueblood narrowed his eyes. His ears flattened against his head. “I’m sorry, Minister, I must’ve misheard you. Surely you’re not suggesting that-”

Hardscrabble slid his note across the table with a flick of his hoof. Blueblood unfurled it to see for himself. It was a mistake. An old-timer like Hardscrabble was certainly misreading. Perhaps his spectacles needed correcting or-

Celestia's deliberate, curving calligraphy stared back at him from the page.

“My dearest nephew,” His eyes drifted across the page like he was reading a death sentence. “Ambassador Rough Cut has failed to report back for some time, as you've certainly noticed. As Saddle Arabia is one of our closest allies, this post requires immediate filling. I have chosen to dispatch you, my esteemed prince, to take up the position. This is a delicate situation and requires only our brightest diplomatic minds. As High Diplomat of the Solar Court, I can think of nopony more qualified for the task! With my seal and signature below, I officially charge you as Ambassador to Saddle Arabia. I leave this manner in your more-than-capable hooves.”

Her swooping signature was below, along with an imprint of the royal seal in red wax. A demand couched in flattery was so like Celestia that it hurt. Blueblood exhaled a breath that he’d held in since the start of the letter. He swallowed hard and managed to form the words, “But why?”

Not waiting to hear the minister’s reply—Interior never had anything worthwhile to contribute anyway—Blueblood sprang from his chair and headed for the doors at a brisk clip. He needed to speak with the princess herself. Surely, her letter had been a mistake. She’d been misled, clearly. An errant advisor with some spiteful agenda must have suggested that they assign him. After all, it came at the crux of his negotiations with Zebrica. Their ambassadors were on the way, drawing closer with every hoofbeat of his that echoed through the opulent marble of Canterlot. Somepony wanted him out of the country. Somepony wanted to handle negotiations themselves. Somepony wanted the credit for the heavy lifting he had invested.

A pair of guards parted as Blueblood clip-clopped past them, looking at him with sidelong glances as he ascended a bifurcated staircase coated with ruby-red carpeting. He turned on one of the soldiers. “You, there! Where is the princess?”

“Which one, my liege?” The pegasus rumbled. 

“Celestia. Princess Celestia. My Aunt.”

“Taking tea in the observatory.” The guard’s ear flicked behind his crested helmet. “She’s requested that she not be disturbed.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of disturbing her.” Blueblood smiled around his lie. “Thank you.”

Up the stairs, round the corner, and into another stairwell, narrow and spiraling. The distinct age of Canterlot was reflected around him. Fresh coats of paint had been laid atop ancient, scarred stone. Slender slanted arrow slits sliced into the wall allowed light and warmth, relics of a time when Canterlot had been Equestria’s impregnable bastion rather than an opulent capital. He rarely went to the observatory. In fact, Blueblood rarely spent time outside the diplomatic wing of the palace. The palace felt liminal to him—home, yet unfamiliar.

By the time he reached the top of the steps, he was sweating through his suit jacket. He loosened his tie and half knelt as he took deep breaths of air. The stairs plateaued in a small, empty space, shrouded with dust with a single ladder leading to a trapdoor. It looked like nopony had been there for centuries. He scrambled up the ladder and threw open the door.

The sound of smashing china and clattering flatware preceded him as he clambered up into the observatory. He brushed the dust and cobwebs from his shoulders, fixed his mane, and prepared to face Celestia.

The old guard tower had been retrofitted by the princess into a sort of quiet retreat. Plush velvet cushions lined what had once been stark stone benches. Pillars of unadorned wood were festooned with carefully cultivated ivy and aromatic clematis. A round table had been set for tea. Had previously been set, as it then was knocked to the floor, contents scattered. Celestia was seated on a soft bench, wings spread and luxuriating in the rising sunlight. Across from her was—

Oh no.

The princess Twilight Sparkle sat frozen, hoof outstretched for a teacup that was no longer there, mouth agape. Blueblood inhaled and turned his face from her.

“Princess.” His eyes landed on Celestia, who was as unperturbed as a statue. He kept his tone formal and clipped. It was a time for seriousness. “I believe you’ve made a grave error.”

“Blueblood! Nephew!” Celestia’s lips curled in a smile. His formality bounced right off her armor and melted against her cheer. “Come, have a seat! Twilight and I were just about to have some tea. It’s chamomile. Your favorite!”

Blueblood sniffed. The spilled tea smelled deliciously floral. He was tempted to sit down and have a cup, but he steeled himself.

“Hi, Blueblood!” Twilight waved as her horn glowed a glittery violet. The tea table began to right itself, the shattered cups snapped back into place, and the spilled silverware reset itself in its proper places. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here! I feel like we haven’t really gotten to know each other yet, even though we work in the same palace.”

Just looking at her made Blueblood feel incomplete. The space on his back where a set of wings ought to be ached. Phantom limbs longing for existence. So he didn’t look at her. “Auntie, I’ve just come from the council meeting. You wouldn’t believe the audacity of some ponies. I was presented with a falsified royal seal and forged signature that authorized my transfer to Saddle Arabia.”

“Oh!” Celestia’s eyes sparkled in the rising sun. Her mane shimmered like a solar flare in a nonexistent breeze. “There was no forgery there! You’re the perfect candidate for the job! Plus, you’re always itching to get out of Canterlot! Consider it a long-term vacation with a little work attached.”

Twilight rolled her eyes and sighed. She blew on her tea and took a sip, glowering at Blueblood over the rim of her cup.

“I want to leave Canterlot, Auntie, when nothing is happening here!” Blueblood prodded at the table with a manicured hoof. “Not when I’m only days away from securing a trade deal with Zebrica! A trade deal that, might I add, you yourself requested of me!”

“Oh, of course! The Zebrica deal!” Princess Celestia brushed off the pleading edge of his voice with a wave of her wing. “Don’t worry, the last leg of negotiations is in good hooves.”

“Whose?”

“Hi, Blueblood.” Twilight waved again, a knowing grin teasing her lips. The second time, he couldn’t ignore her. He wheeled on her and exhaled sharply. She slurped her tea in reply.

“But—” The prince’s voice faltered. Something choked his throat as he tried to speak. So that was her game: steal his accomplishment from him and pin it on her prize-winning student. Another medal pinned to her chest, another feather stuck in her cap. Blueblood wanted to scream. He had to bite his tongue hard enough that he tasted blood. “My dearest Aunt. While I don’t doubt your student is capable,” Student. Never Princess. “I regret to inform you that she is not a qualified diplomat. This really ought to be handled by—”

“By who, exactly, Blueblood?” Celestia cocked her head. Her voice took on a measured hardness as she went on. “Do you have qualified diplomats at the ready? If I recall correctly, you told me that you were distinctly strapped for help. But if you have somepony on call, I’d be glad to give them the assignment.”

Twilight snickered subtly through a mouthful of tea. Blueblood’s tail whipped sharply against his flank and his ears drooped. He hated when other ponies learned to play the games he was good at. What good was a diplomatic talent when your own aunt outflanked you?

“Nephew,” Celestia reached out a hoof to cup his cheek. He recoiled like he’d brushed a branding iron. A flicker of forlorn sorrow flickered through her expression quicker than a blink. “You are the best diplomat Equestria has at her disposal.”

He didn’t argue with that. Blueblood met her gaze, his sharp, gunmetal eyes level with the warmth of her own periwinkle. Her lips curled in a fragile smile.

“I’m sending you for a reason, Blueblood. You’re good at your job. Always have been. And right now, I need my absolute best in Saddle Arabia. Equestria needs its best.” She touched his hoof, giving it a loving pat. 

Blueblood wanted to believe her. He truly did. He wanted to melt back into a world where his regal auntie was somepony whose word he could trust. But as his eyes left Celestia they flitted to Twilight. Twilight, who sat where he had dreamed of sitting. Twilight who, with one simple spell, had enraptured his princess. Twilight whose wings were spread wide to shield her from the heat of the sun like a feathery parasol. His spine twitched with jealous pangs.

No. Everything was political. Everything was calculated. Blinking, he averted his eyes from Celestia and abruptly cleared his throat.

“As always, my princess, I go where I am needed.” Blueblood effortlessly slipped back into his full regal register and bowed. His glare fell on Twilight as his coat bristled. “It’s clear Canterlot is not where I am wanted. I’ll return to my room to pack.”

“Oh! Let me help you!” Twilight set down her cup with a clink. “I’ll save you the trouble of taking the stairs again!”

“If you’re going to offer to fly me to my quarters, I’ll have to—” Before he could finish his rejection, Twilight’s horn flashed like a phosphorus flare. When he blinked the sparks from his vision, he found himself standing directly outside his bedroom.

“Oh, I hate her.” He muttered as he threw open the door.

“And for her final trick,” Trixie narrowed her eyes as she slid a hoof across the brim of her peaked hat. “The Great and Powerful Trixie will require a volunteer. A brave and noble one! One with an indomitable spirit and a will of starforged steel!”

Trixie surveyed her crowd. Modest by her standards, but times were tough. She'd have played to pigeons if she thought they might drop a bit or two in her donation box. Most eyes were watching with dispassionate boredom—never a good sign. As she scanned the front row, however, she spied a school-age filly with a dappled blonde coat and a pretty little pink dress. Trixie smiled. Well-dressed fillies meant wealthy parents willing to splurge for their special little girl.

“You there!” Trixie thrust a hoof towards the child. “Trixie senses mighty forces at work within you! Step forward, if you dare!”

The filly glanced about to make sure she'd really been chosen and approached the stage with a nervous swallow.

“Your name, mighty one! Speak loud, so the Great and Powerful Trixie may hear you!”

“My name is Clotted Cweam!” The filly squeaked, standing at the foot of the stage. She stiffened and put on a brave smile. “Um… The Gweat and Powewful Clotted Cweam!”

“Careful, kid, that's copyrighted,” Trixie whispered as she helped Cream onto the stage with an outstretched hoof. “Clotted Cream! A noble name! Surely a pony as mighty as you has never known fear. Have you?”

Cream vigorously shook her head.

“Then steel yourself for Trixie's final act!” She removed her hat and flipped it upside down as her horn began to glow. “A surly old dragon has taken up residence within my hat, and despite Trixie's most fiendish spells, she has been unable to remove him! But now, with the help of Clotted Cream, the bravest warrior of Equestria, I shall draw him forth! Hero of Equestria, reach within and face destiny!”

Trixie's pyrotechnics display was supposed to have gone off to punctuate that. She grunted and stomped a hoof on the stage twice before the fireworks roared to life and set off streams of blue-green sparks on either side of her.

Clotted Cream looked like she was about to cry as she reached a hoof into the hat. She closed her eyes so tight that Trixie worried the kid would pop a blood vessel. The last thing she needed was somepony's medical bills on her back.

“I got it!” Cream yelped. “I- I feel the dwagon!”

“Now tug! Tug with all of your might!” Trixie reached with her magic and kicked a fog machine, shrouding the stage in greying gloom. Cream pulled something from the hat and squealed loudly. “Ah ha! You dare show your ugly snout at Trixie's show? Take this!” A flare of blue light burst behind the smog. “And this!” Two sparks of green followed the first.

That was enough theatrics for the time being. Trixie threw out another spell and dispersed the fog with a poof. Clotted Cream stood clutching a very safe plush dragon with its tongue sticking out. Sure, it wasn't exactly mind-bending magic as advertised, but the kid seemed happy enough. The applause from the audience was less than inspired. Trixie tried not to cringe at that. Hopefully, the kid's parents made up for it.

“And just like that! The dragon has been transmogrified into a safe plush toy! Truly, the Great and Powerful Trixie knows no weakness!” She bowed to modest claps. “And, of course, her generosity is boundless as well. Clotted Cream, you may keep Trixie's mortal foe, if you so please.”

The filly beamed and hugged her new stuffy, which squeaked in her forelegs as she leapt down from the stage.

“And that's the end for tonight! The Great and Powerful Trixie is spent after such feats of wizardry!” She clutched a hoof to her brow and tried to look faint. Straddling the edge of her stage, she tapped an iron lock box. “And of course, the donation box is right here! Now, away!”

Trixie billowed violet smoke from her cape as she vanished from the sight of the crowd. She stumbled over her own hooves and tripped over one of her stage lights as she ducked into the dressing room of her wagon. She peered out through a crack in the brightly painted door and watched as the crowd dispersed. One or two dropped a bit into the lockbox with a shrug. Trixie cursed silently. Backwater yokels were supposed to be easy to please. They were supposed to be wowed by a few firecrackers and card tricks! Yet now they seemed disappointed that she hadn't pulled a real, living, fire-and-scales dragon from her hat!

“Ingrates!” Trixie huffed as she slouched down into an overstuffed beanbag chair she had picked up two towns back. “Plagues! Pestilence! Fire and wrath upon their stupid town!”

She kicked her hooves and sighed, flopping back and staring up at the peaked ceiling of her wagon. Posters from Las Pegasus magic acts stared back down at her. She wondered if one of the casinos might have an opening for a fresh act. As if her act was fresh. With a pout, she discarded the thought. Trixie rolled from her seat and crossed to the “kitchen”—really just a stove and pantry set into the opposite wall—and rummaged through her options. A bottle of cheap wine, a few wilting greens, a pair of bananas that were rapidly becoming mush, and half of a cold hayburger were all that remained. Her coin purse was as dismal as the pantry. Enough to maybe afford some rice or beans at the market, if they weren't closed.

Things looked bleak, but Trixie assured herself that it was nothing she hadn't seen before. Did all great artists not suffer for their craft? The knowledge didn't fill the grumbling of her stomach. She settled on what was left of her hayburger and the remnants of her wine. Lifting the bottle to her lips, she drank first, silently toasting to better prospects in the next town.

A knock at the door nearly made her spew white wine all over her coat. Covering her mouth with her hoof, she choked it down and exhaled harshly. “The Great and Powerful Trixie needs her rest! If it's an autograph you're looking for, then perhaps she can pencil you in for a signing tomorrow! At a reasonable cost, of course!”

“Open the door, Trixie.” A familiar voice replied through the wood. She pressed her eye to the crevice that served as her peephole and took another swig of wine. When she saw the Prince of Equestria standing outside her door she nearly spat it again. “I know you're in there.”

“Trixie refuses! Absolutely not!” She yelled back, her voice dampened by the plush acoustics of her wagon. “Whatever it is, Trixie isn't interested!”

“Please, don't make me invoke my auntie.” Blueblood winced. “Just open the—”

“Not interested!”

“You haven't even heard the offer yet!”

“The last time you made an offer to Trixie, she was dragged to Manehattan for a month and forced to perform for bratty Gryphon hatchlings every other night!”

Blueblood rolled his eyes and flicked his tail sharply. “Which was in your contract, and you were paid quite well for.”

“One of those little pests grabbed a candle and set Trixie's tail on fire!”

“And I reminded you that your contract covered personal injury under section thirty-two, which stated, and I quote-” The door flew open before the prince could finish. “So you've reconsidered?”

Trixie scratched at her mane and blew through her nostrils. “Let's walk and talk, then. Trixie has dealt with you enough to know you don't take no for an answer.” She held out the wine bottle in his direction. “Care for a drink?”

“What is that?” He sniffed at the mouth of the bottle. “Ugh… Moscato? Really? And is that- Oh, Celestia and Luna both, are you drinking Appleoosan Vineyards? That stuff is gutter swill!”

“It's cheap.” Trixie took another pull. “We can't all be drinking Canterlot Reserves every night, like somepony.”

“Now, now, I hardly drink Reserve every night.” He held up his hooves defensively and smirked. “Some nights I drink imports.”

Trixie rolled her eyes. The two followed the winding curve of a dirt road—Blueblood taking great care to walk on the grass—and found a seat at a metal bench beside a marble fountain. A pair of Seaponies spit arcs of cool water that seemed to glow golden under the street lamps that were just flickering to life. 

“In case you couldn't tell, Trixie is at her limit. And if you’ve left Canterlot, you must be too.”

Blueblood wiped down the metal with a handkerchief before sitting. He exhaled long and slow as he folded his hooves in his lap. “I’m very much at my limit right now. Guess I’m worse at hiding it than I thought.”

“You were never really good at hiding it.” Trixie chuckled softly as she took another pull of Moscoto. “You’re sure you don’t want some?”

“It’s tempting, but, unfortunately, I have standards.”

“Suit yourself.”

They were quiet for some time. Trixie took a deep breath of the rapidly encroaching nightfall. The summer breeze was redolent of fresh-cut grass, blooming honeysuckle, and the coppery smell of old pipes in the fountain. She stared down at the nearly empty wine bottle and rubbed her cheek.

“So, why are you here?” Trixie eyed the prince lazily.

“The project I’ve spent the past eight months devoting my every waking hour to has been pried from my hooves at the last second,” he said bitterly. “Celestia saw fit to give it to her Princess of Friendship.”

Trixie slugged another drink of wine at the mention of her name. “Trixie sympathizes with your plight.” She gestured towards her wagon with its frequently empty donation box. “It’s why the Great and Powerful Trixie has been reduced to playing provincial backwaters when she ought to be performing for Canterlot Nobility.” Her expression brightened briefly. “Have you come to offer Trixie a show? Have you scheduled her to perform at the Grand Galloping Gala or the Lunar Masquerade?”

Blueblood shook his head and she crossed her arms with a huff.

“I’ve been reassigned. Away from Canterlot and Equestria entirely, in fact.”

“Where to?”

“Saddle Arabia.” He rapped a hoof on the metal bench. “That’s why I’m here. I was hoping you’d accompany me.”

Trixie narrowed her eyes. “And what’s in it for Trixie?”

“A place to stay and free meals, for one thing.”

“As if the Great and Powerful Trixie could be bribed with the bare necessities!” She harrumphed and turned up her snout. 

“Plus a thousand bits up front.” Blueblood shrugged. “If that makes a difference.”

“Up front, you say?” Trixie’s violet eyes sparkled under the glow of the gas lamps. “And Trixie presumes there will be bonuses along the way?”

“There’s a daily stipend, plus extra if you can justify the expense as work-related.”

“And, of course, there’s a payment upon her return?”

“Payment upon successful return, presuming we meet all of our diplomatic goals, is two thousand bits. Average diplomatic payment.”

“Make it three thousand up front and Trixie might consider it.” She flashed a toothy smile.

“Two thousand,” Blueblood replied without expression. 

“Twenty-five hundred.”

“Five bits.”

“Oh, be serious!”

“Fine, two thousand.”

“Trixie will settle for four thousand.”

“You know I don’t need to take you right?” Blueblood cocked his head. “I have wizards lined up back in Canterlot who would do this for free if asked. Interns who need to bump up their resumes tend to be willing to do a lot of unpaid labor for a good review from royalty…”

Trixie replied with a catlike grin. “If you wanted a Canterlot-trained wizard, you wouldn’t have come to me. Besides, how could any of those pathetic mages compare with the raw arcane potency of the Great and Powerful Trixie?!”

She puffed out her chest with pride, inadvertently spilling wine on her coat.

“Twenty-five hundred bits,” Blueblood said coolly. “And I’ll treat you to dinner and drinks tonight.”

“You’d do that for Trixie?” She narrowed her eyes a bit. There had to be a catch. “Really?”

“Nopony should have to drink Appleoosan Vineyard.” He stifled a gag at the name. “Come, let’s get you some proper wine.”

“If you’re paying for the drinks, Trixie will be drinking something much stronger.”

“Cocktails then.” Blueblood rose and stretched, extending a hoof towards Trixie. “Welcome aboard.”

She shook his hoof and kicked off the bench. “A pleasure doing business.”

Her grip held firm as he tried to pull away.

“Trixie will take her upfront payment now.”

Blueblood’s magic levitated a jingling purse from within his jacket and dropped it into her outstretched hoof. Trixie shook it and raised an eyebrow. Without another word, he sighed and removed his coinpurse, and silently counted another five hundred bits.