Unlike that of Cirrus, the captain’s office aboard Nimbus was an actual office, designed at standard naval proportions for a single pony’s use. Thus the Princesses found themselves in the senior staff briefing room, which was still a bit cramped, but workable. The stools around the map table that dominated the room were standard navy issue — unsuitable for alicorns, in other words. The three stood awkwardly around the table with nothing but each other to focus on.
It would have been easier if Twilight and Luna didn’t seem to repel each other to opposite corners of the room — an odd reversal of the situation Celestia had stumbled into this morning. Celestia waited through a few moments of awkward silence as the two alicorns avoided eye contact with one another before admitting to herself that she would have to be the one to drive this discussion. She cleared her throat.
“We’ve all been rather busy since last we saw each other. Even when it’s not disrupted, our messenger network isn’t ideal for days like these, so before we all flit off to different corners of the globe again I was hoping we could update one another on everything that’s happened. Luna, would you like to go first?”
Luna straightened and locked her gaze rigidly on Celestia, as if any accidental glimpse of Twilight would have some dire consequence. “The battle over Baltimare Bay went perhaps as well as we could have hoped given the strength of enemy forces. We’ll have to revisit our assumptions about what the dragons can field, as we encountered much greater numbers than we previously thought possible. The loss of Cirrus is a heavy blow, but I considered its sacrifice a worthwhile trade to prevent casualties among our forces.”
Celestia had spoken to the captains of both Nimbus and Cirrus this morning. Enough to know that Luna wasn’t telling the whole story. She decided to prod. “I’m told there was some worry about you after the flagship was abandoned. Did something happen?”
Luna quite clearly didn’t want to talk about it. As if at the flip of a switch, Luna and Twilight had gone from each completely avoiding the other’s gaze, to what appeared to be a fairly involved nonverbal conversation.
“Any such worries were misguided,” Luna said finally, prompting a slow shake of Twilight’s head.
Between Twilight’s reaction and Celestia’s own memories of the moon’s bright flash the night before, Celestia knew something rather significant had happened. It was just as clear that Luna wasn’t willing to talk about it now, though. Pushing would only agitate her; better to change the subject.
“Twilight, you woke up at a convenient time,” Celestia said.
Twilight made a sour face. “A few hours earlier might have been better. Canterlot was completely overrun by Vespida’s changelings before I could do anything about it.”
The look of shock on Luna’s face suggested that this was the first she’d heard of changelings. Celestia had gotten a rather muddled description of the invasion herself when she’d stopped briefly in Canterlot earlier in the morning — enough to know that changelings has been in the capital, but not much otherwise. That it was Vespida and her brood raised a number of questions, but they were probably only of academic interest at this point.
“I trust they didn’t present any challenge to you?” Celestia asked.
“It didn’t go quite as I’d hoped. Vespida was at peak strength when she found me.” Twilight held up her right foreleg for inspection. A long, jagged strip of fur was missing, showing the still-healing skin underneath. Even some scabbing was still visible, which said a lot about the depth of the wound, given alicorns’ natural healing abilities. “In the end I got rid of them though. I wasn’t able to stay in Canterlot after that, but hopefully they were able to restore order once the changelings were gone.”
“I was there this morning, as it happens. Ash and the guard were only just getting everything sorted out,” Celestia said, not really bothering to keep the annoyance out of her voice. Leaving the capital in disarray was hardly the way to build her reputation among a population of ponies still acclimating to the idea of her very existence. “You left Canterlot to join Luna here?”
“No.” Twilight shook her head, scowling in response to Celestia’s unsubtle implication. “I wanted to find who was actually behind the attack; Vespida wouldn’t have done it on her own initiative. It wasn’t hard to get her to tell me who and where.”
“So?” Celestia asked.
“A dragon. Not the elder himself, but fairly senior by the look of him.”
Luna raised a suspicious eyebrow. “You found him that easily?”
“He wanted to be found,” Twilight said.
Luna frowned. “Explain.”
“He waited where he knew Vespida would tell me to look. He wanted to talk to us.”
Celestia found herself sharing Luna’s suspicion. “He arranged the changeling invasion just to get our attention?”
Twilight seemed uncertain. “I got the impression that it was already part of the elder’s plan. Carmine just used it for to his own purposes as well.”
“And what was he so eager to discuss?” Celestia asked.
“He wants us to oust the elder for him,” Twilight said. “In return he’ll share intelligence of dubious quality.”
Celestia couldn’t help but smirk at that. “I assume that’s not exactly how he presented it. Did he tell you why he wants to turn against the elder?”
Twilight met Celestia’s smirk with a slight grin of her own. “He thinks the elder is crazy — obsessed with his own lack of divinity, so he’s just been poking at us to pass the time. My words again.” She paused and her grin disappeared. “To hear him tell it, the elder has poured centuries into trying to affect us in various ways, and this war of his is just the latest and most visible manipulation.”
“Nonsense,” Luna declared. “Misinformation to make us doubt ourselves.”
Twilight didn’t seem so sure. She wasn’t as easy to read as she had been when she was younger, but Celestia thought she saw deep misgivings in the short glance she shot at Luna before looking down at her own hooves.
“Did you take him up on his offer?” Celestia asked.
“I wouldn’t,” Twilight protested as she looked back up in surprise. “Not without speaking to the two of you first.”
“You told him we’d get back to him, then?”
Twilight hesitated. “I left a bit abruptly. There was news.” She looked at Luna again, but this time Celestia couldn’t read her expression at all. “The dragons may believe that Luna is dead.”
“What would give them that idea?” Luna demanded, fixing Twilight with an intense glare. To Celestia’s eye, she was either offended by the mere thought of it, or feeling defensive about some shame she wished to hide. The latter fit better with Celestia’s observations that there was some part of the previous evening Luna did not want shared.
“It was reported by dragonfire to Carmine. He passed it on to me as a sample of sorts. I don’t think he believed it, which might mean that others are skeptical as well, but the story is out there, anyway.”
“That little whelp must have bragged to his entire race,” Luna growled. “I doubt he told them he merely watched as I was knocked over the head with my own airship. No, he wove some glorious tale about how he—”
In the back of her mind, Celestia noted the revealed details of what Luna hadn’t wanted her to know, but now there were much more important things to consider. The possibilities were overwhelming; she could hardly believe they’d been given such a gift.
“Maybe they don’t know if they believe it yet, but we could help them,” Celestia said, keeping her voice even despite rising excitement.
“What?” Luna snapped, looking sharply at Celestia.
“Think about the advantages that would grant us,” Celestia urged. “You could be anywhere; they’d never look for you. They would believe us crippled in your absence.”
Luna seemed to calm herself as her tactical sense overcame her wounded pride. “To maintain the deception, I would have to stay out of the war. Hardly an advantage.”
“You would just have to stay out of sight,” Celestia countered. “There’s plenty you can do from the shadows — or is that not the kind of thing you enjoy anymore?”
“How would we go about it?” Twilight asked.
Half-formed plans were still swirling in Celestia’s mind. They all had one thing in common, though, and she didn’t think Twilight would much like it.
“How do you feel about playing the avenger?” Celestia asked, almost timidly.
A look of suspicion immediately found its way onto Twilight’s face. “What do you mean?”
“Show the dragons how angry you are about Luna’s supposed death. Remind them that you’re the pony who left a crater in place of a major city the last time you were upset.”
Twilight flinched visibly at the blunt retelling of Mareis’ end. “That’s not who I want to be. Not even if it’s an act.”
“You want to win don’t you?” Celestia asked. “You didn’t have any trouble showing the elder we meant business when you crushed your prison orb in front of him.”
“That was different,” Twilight said, her voice rising along with a burning anger in her eyes. “Those wyverns were already dead. Worse than dead. And the dragon… I gave him a chance. He chose his fate.”
Celestia raised a curious eyebrow. She hadn’t heard any of this before, but decided now wasn’t the time to press for details. Despite her defense of the act, it was clear from her reaction that Twilight wasn’t at peace with it. Dwelling on it would only make convincing her more difficult.
“I’m not saying you have to go blow another hole in Prance,” she said, falling unconsciously into the soothing tone that had once worked so well with Twilight. “Just show them enough of the wrath of the goddess of magic that they think they’ve hit a nerve.”
“Why me?” Twilight demanded. “Why can’t you do it?”
Luna, who had apparently been content to fade into the background for this part of the conversation, caught Celestia with wry look. Celestia sent a matching grimace back.
“The dragons don’t forget quite as easily as our ponies, you know.” Celestia spoke carefully, watching Twilight for signs of agitation. “Your relationship with Luna was hardly a secret, before. They surely remember it.”
The room was silent for a moment. It was the first time any of them had spoken openly of this since Twilight’s return, at least in Celestia’s presence.
When Celestia spoke again, it was more to break the silence than because she was desperate to continue the conversation. “Besides which, I have a long history of stability under such circumstances. You are quite the opposite in that respect, I’m sorry to say.”
Twilight glared at Celestia, but said nothing. There was nothing to say, and Twilight, to her credit, knew it.
“I don’t think I can do it,” Twilight said finally. The anger was drained from her voice, replaced by something like grief. “I’ve never been good at faking that kind of thing.”
“I can help,” Luna said.
Celestia looked at her in surprise. Luna, in turn, was looking at Twilight, a reassuring expression on her face. Celestia wasn’t sure whether she was imagining that vaguely unsettling glint in Luna’s eyes; Twilight didn’t seem to see it, as she gave Luna a slow nod after studying her for a long moment.
“You’ll have to make yourself scarce, of course, Luna,” Celestia said, putting her sudden anxiety aside. She was probably just inventing problems where none truly were. “Maybe we can find a way to let you coordinate forces without giving yourself away, until we’re ready to use you openly again.”
“Has word of Luna’s return to Nimbus already been sent out?” Twilight asked. “The entire command deck crew and a few others saw us arrive.”
“I don’t believe so,” Celestia said, considering the possibility. “Our courier networks were disrupted rather severely by so many simultaneous threats. As of this morning, Canterlot hadn’t heard the outcome of the battle here. I had to come myself to see what had happened.”
“We’ll have to talk to the crew members that saw her last night, and explain to them that they did not. Even then, we’ll have to find somewhere out of the way for them to stay in the meantime.” Twilight seemed skeptical; probably still searching for reasons the plan couldn’t work because she didn’t like her role in it.
“One of us can maintain command of Nimbus. It’s the flagship now anyhow. There will be no crew transfers until we’re ready.”
“Won’t that look suspicious?” Twilight asked.
Celestia smiled. “It will. It will seem as if like we’re trying to conceal news of something. With the report they’ve received from one of our own, along with the show you’ll put on for them, what do you think they’ll assume we would hide?”
Twilight let out a resigned sigh. “Yes. That could work.”
“I think we have a plan, then,” Celestia said, and turned toward the door.
“You haven’t told us what happened with the mammoths,” Luna said.
“Not much of interest,” Celestia said, turning back again. “They were just a diversion, I’m afraid. The dragons drove them into Equestria by setting fire to their home range. We’ll be hosting them at a camp we’re building in the south until we can help them heal their homeland.”
Luna scowled. “Can we really afford to be taking care of them when our resources should be spent—”
“Who led them?” Twilight interrupted. Her displeasure seemed forgotten, her bright eyes focused intently on Celestia.
“I’m sorry?” Celestia asked, confused by the sudden interest.
“The herd leader, who was it?”
“Arko, was his name, I think,” Celestia said. She ought have remembered more easily, but she’d had a lot on her mind and hadn’t actually interacted much with the mammoth. “The one I spoke to was named Mora, though — she was the only one that spoke any Equestrian.”
“Mora,” Twilight repeated, recognition clear in her features. “I knew her — well, her mother, mostly. Mora was very young then. Her mother used to lead the herd. They owe me a favor, provided I can convince them I’m the same pony. We may be able to use them.”
“I see,” Celestia said, exchanging a glance with Luna. Every significant conversation with Twilight seemed to produce a smattering of hints about the lives she’d been living since Mareis — none of which they ever had time to explore. It almost seemed as if she saved these little tidbits for times when she knew neither Celestia nor Luna would be tempted to follow up. “We can discuss that later. They’ll need time to recover, anyway. The journey was quite draining for them.”
“Fine, the mammoths will keep,” Luna said, waving a hoof dismissively. “So, I’m playing dead. Twilight is playing bereaved avenger. What are you doing, Celestia?”
“I was thinking I’d return to Canterlot, first of all. One of us should be publicly visible and calm for our ponies for at least a short time today.”
“She’s playing Celestia,” Twilight quipped across the table to Luna, prompting a slight grin and possibly even a suppressed giggle.
Celestia paused a moment to analyze the interaction, her gaze flicking between the faces of both alicorns several times while she tried to decide what she thought of it. She was torn between optimism that their relationship had apparently rebounded to the point where they could share a joke, and dread at the realization that she was their only common target for any such humor. It was a wash. She pressed on.
“Yesterday was quite trying for large parts of the kingdom. Besides just making an appearance, there’s the normal bureaucracy to deal with. Funerals and promotions after the battle. Speeches and explanations. We can’t pretend we aren’t at war now, and morale among both the military and general populace will need to be carefully managed.”
“Bureaucracy,” Luna said. There was a special sort of disdain that could really only be expressed by Luna, and only when uttering that exact word. “Isn’t that what you have Ash Scribe for?”
“Ash can handle arrangements and details, certainly, but he’s hardly an inspiring presence, particularly among the military. At the moment we don’t have any compelling public figures besides ourselves for the ponies to rally around. Captain Sails might do eventually — I was thinking we should promote him to fleet admiral. But until we can pretty up his story and get it into the newspapers, he’s just another uniform as far as the populace is concerned. Twilight is still largely unknown to this generation, so she’s not ideal. You’re dead, Luna, in case you’ve forgotten. That leaves me.”
“Someone needs to speak to this Carmine dragon that Twilight met,” Luna said. “It can’t be me until we know where he stands. Twilight won’t be able to do it until after her little show, for the same reason.”
Celestia mentally estimated how long she’d need for what she’d already planned for herself. There really wasn’t enough time, but that had never stopped her before. “I should be able to find time for it. Can you tell me where to find him, Twilight?”
Twilight nodded. “If he still wants anything to do with us, he’ll either be waiting there or leave a clue as to where he went.”
“It’s settled then,” Celestia said. “I’ll return to Canterlot. Twilight, I think you should take Nimbus — I don’t want it sitting over Canterlot, even if nopony disembarks.”
Luna nodded her agreement. “I’ll return to the capital as well — after I speak with Twilight, that is. I’m well practiced in staying invisible there, so until we decide how I’m to actually further our efforts, that is where I’ll wait.”
Before Celestia could reach it, there was a knock at the door. She hoped that whatever it was wouldn’t require them to stay in this room any longer.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice raised slightly so that the pony in the corridor could hear.
“A critical message, Your Highness.” Captain Sails’ slightly muffled voice came through the door. Apparently he was now serving as a courier, since he had no ship to captain.
Celestia sighed and pulled the door open. “Enter.”
The Captain stepped in with a hurried bow and closed the door. “Princesses, I’m sorry to interrupt, but—”
“Go ahead, Captain,” Celestia said, trying to keep her voice pleasant but unable to completely conceal her impatience.
Captain Sails flinched slightly at the interruption, but did as instructed. “The Stonehoof garrison has fallen.”
The room fell silent, Captain Sails standing awkwardly next to the doorway as the three alicorns exchanged looks of surprise and displeasure.
“The village?” Twilight asked.
“Evacuated,” Sails said. “The last scouts out report that the attackers were only interested in the something under the town hall.”
“If they got—” Twilight started.
“Was there anything else, Captain?” Celestia interrupted. Twilight would apparently need some time to remember what conversations were and were not suitable to hold in front of subordinates.
“No, Your Highness.”
“That will be all, then. Thank you,” Celestia said.
Captain Sails bowed again and exited.
“Any idea what that means?” Celestia asked once he was gone.
“There are magical properties to dragon bones,” Twilight said. “I don’t really know much about them beyond that, and I was never tempted to… play with them. Dragon magic is different to ours in many ways I don’t yet understand.”
“If my count is correct, that is the fourth prong of their attacks yesterday,” Luna said. “Baltimare Bay, the mammoths, Canterlot and now Stonehoof. If that was their true objective, it was judged to be worth two attacks and another diversion to get whatever of value was in those bones. We have to assume it’s potent.”
“Maybe Carmine can shed light on their motives,” Celestia suggested.
“Or mislead us completely,” Luna added.
Celestia smiled. “Even lies can be instructive, provided you can identify them as such. Does this change our plans?”
“It might make speaking to Carmine an even higher priority,” Twilight said. “Otherwise, I don’t think we have enough information to change anything.”
Luna seemed to agree.
“Very well. No time to waste.”
---
Ash Scribe’s patience was clearly near its limit as he closed the door to Celestia’s office and turned to face her. The two had just finished a leisurely walk through the most visible parts of the palace complex following Celestia’s arrival by carriage. Along the way they’d talked about factions of parliament, infrastructure plans for the city and beyond, and public opinion on a few upcoming initiatives — none of those being matters that either of them actually wanted or needed to discuss. Still, after yesterday, Celestia needed to make a point of being seen, and of course she couldn’t discuss details of the war — or anything else even remotely sensitive — in the same places where she could meet that objective.
Ash took a deep breath, his expression suggesting that he’d practiced what he was about to say before a mirror more than a few times.
“Princess, you have to say something to everypony about Princess Twilight. Now that the average pony has started to see the effects of everything that’s going on, they connect it all to her return. You’re acting like it’s a non-event, and it’s letting rumor take over. They need to know that you trust her and why you trust her, and that she didn’t bring this mess with her.” He paused, as if weighing whether to continue. “And so do I.”
Celestia gave him a measuring look, considering how much she could share with him without making either of their jobs unnecessarily difficult. Not much, in this case.
“I understand. Thank you for your counsel,” she said, trying to insert a bit of appreciation into what was otherwise her standard diplomatic smile.
“That sounds like a brush-off,” Ash said, looking disappointed but not surprised.
Celestia suppressed a sigh. If he was going to sulk about it, she had to give him something.
“It’s not, I assure you. Nothing can be done immediately. Twilight is away and I’m not sure exactly when she’ll be back, or what her disposition will be when she is. I know it’s frustrating, and I know you get stuck managing the side effects. I do appreciate it. I wish I could have thrown an impromptu gala celebrating the return of Princess Twilight and expounding upon her virtues for all Equestria the moment she revealed herself. That wasn’t possible then, for a number of reasons — foremost being that it might well have driven her back into hiding. Now, she has an important duty she has to complete before we can even consider her image problems.”
“As you say, Princess,” Ash said. If he was reassured at all, he didn’t show it. “Will you be holding court today?”
“No.”
Ash’s expression soured further.
“I need you to arrange two events for me,” Celestia said before he could complain. “The first will be a military funeral for those lost in the Battle of Baltimare Bay. The guard should have a final casualty list to us within the next couple of days. Try to make it about a week from today. The second should be at least two days later — a military appreciation event, at which we’ll be promoting Captain Sails to fleet admiral. Keep the agenda flexible on that one. We’ll try to feature Twilight heavily there, if conditions are favorable.”
“Yes, Princess,” Ash said, scowling at his note pad as he wrote. “Anything else?”
“Princess Luna will return to Canterlot later today. She won’t arrive by carriage — she’ll be keeping a low profile in general. She may need to talk with you at some point. You’re to make no mention of any interactions with her to anypony else.”
Ash looked up briefly, his eyes questioning, then his gaze returned to his notes as he wrote. Here, at least, was something Celestia could use to make Ash feel included and trusted. He would need to know about the Luna situation anyway, since she’d need him to pass on orders while she was keeping herself out of sight.
“We’re trying to convince certain parties that she’s dead,” Celestia said.
Ash seemed to puzzle over that for a moment. “I see,” he lied. “Wouldn’t it be easier to hold a funeral?”
“A bit too obvious. They would expect us to hide it for as long as we can, so we’re not going to say or do anything public on the matter. Besides that, it’s better if the citizenry does not believe this; we need to keep morale as high as possible. Luna won’t be seen until it’s time to reveal her.”
“And when might that be?” Ash asked.
“That remains to be seen,” Celestia said. Ash’s scowl returned — he clearly didn’t like the idea of playing along with the ruse for any length of time. Celestia resisted the urge to lecture him on the requirements of the job. He’d had a difficult couple of days; she could afford to let his little snit play out.
“Will there be anything else, Princess?”
“I’ll be departing again shortly. Would you walk with me back to my carriage?”
Ash opened his mouth, closed it, took a deep breath and held it a moment, then slowly released it. His shoulders slumped and head bowed down as his lungs deflated with an audible hiss.
“Of course, Princess.”
---
In the range of snow capped peaks and jagged ridges that sat between Cloudsdale and Van Hoover, Celestia found the cave where Twilight met Carmine. Except at midday, its entry would be hidden by shadows of surrounding mountains such that it would be nearly impossible to see except by ascending from the valley below. It was only because Celestia knew where to look that she found it at all.
The most popular routes through these mountains, including the railroad, took advantage of lower elevations and gentler grades to the south. Celestia’s carriage drivers were likely the first ponies in decades to set hoof on the valley floor as they landed. Not surprising, then, that the cave was not included on any maps of the region.
Mountain goats dotted the steepest slopes of the surrounding mountains, none sparing a glance for Celestia’s party. Their apparent disinterest in everything but scuffling around on cliffsides — maintained for as long as Celestia had known of them — was at once perplexing and enviable. On days like this, Celestia wouldn’t mind having her entire worldview shrunk down to a question of which ledge to jump for next.
She left her drivers and guards with the carriage and flew at a leisurely pace to the cave mouth, making no effort to hide her approach. There was no sign that it had served as a long-term residence for a dragon any time recently, but it could definitely fill that role if needed. She’d have to remember that, if peace wasn’t reestablished soon. She might need to order a survey for similarly ignored caves inside Equestria’s borders, as well.
Going by appearances, Carmine had not been expecting her. He was sitting near the mouth of the cave as she approached, alternately grumbling to himself and glancing nervously towards the exit. She stood silhouetted against the cave mouth for several moments — impossible to miss, she would think — waiting for him to notice her.
Finally, a sharp inhalation suggested that she’d been spotted. The dragon took a few seconds to gather his composure.
“Princess,” he greeted, his attempt at a carefree tone marred by his evident uncertainty.
Celestia waited, knowing an advantage when she saw one.
“I had nothing to do with what happened to your sister.”
Celestia arched an eyebrow and maintained her silence.
“You can ask the other one. I was with her when it happened! I told her about it. I didn’t have to do that!”
Interesting — if Twilight’s description was to be trusted, Carmine hadn’t been bothered by or convinced of the news of Luna’s supposed demise a day ago. Something had changed his mind in the interim, and done so in such a way that he was now visibly frightened by the ponies he had only recently sought to negotiate with. Twilight’s fears about being unable to sell the act were clearly unfounded.
“Tell me everything you know,” Celestia said slowly, her voice low.
“It’s just as I told your Twilight Sparkle yesterday. I received word that Princess Luna had been killed in battle while we were speaking.”
Celestia narrowed her eyes, though she was unsure whether the subtlety of the expression would be lost on a dragon not accustomed to reading ponies’ comparatively miniscule features.
“It was reported by a younger dragon that was only present at the battle to observe,” Carmine added when it became clear that Celestia expected more information from him. “He was to report on the presence of any of you at the bay, but Luna flushed him out. They fought, and… he didn’t offer any details. It struck me as either an exaggeration or a fabrication. A whelpling looking to make a name for himself.”
“You’ve changed your mind,” Celestia observed in low monotone.
“Whatever happened made somepony extremely angry,” Carmine said, a sardonic note making its way into his voice as he seemed to grow confident that Celestia had not come to harm him. “Two of the North Sea sentries are missing without a trace. The entire western coast of Gryphonia is ablaze with flames that cannot be extinguished by normal means. The gryphons’ ancient nesting sites have been cast into the sea.” He gave a short chuckle. “The gryphon ambassador has informed our liasson that the empire can no longer be a part of our efforts.”
Celestia contained her reaction thanks to long practice and force of will. Could the dragon be lying? He’d been visibly uneasy even before he’d noticed Celestia’s arrival, but it was possible that he’d been aware of her presence for longer than he let on. Still, he would have to know of their plans for a lie like this to make sense. Surely there was no way their discussion could have reached him already — even if there was a spy aboard Nimbus who had somehow managed to overhear their conversation without being noticed, the few unicorns on the crew were nowhere near advanced enough to learn how to send dragonfire messages. And when would they have had the opportunity to form the necessary link, if they were?
It had to be genuine — or, rather, Carmine had to genuinely believe it. Whether it was true or not, it was the news the dragons were sharing amongst themselves. How long had it been since she’d left Nimbus this morning? An hour and a half in the carriage to Canterlot, two hours in Canterlot being conspicuously present and speaking to Ash, and two more hours of carriage time to reach this cave. Not quite six hours for the reluctant agreement Twilight had shown when they’d spoken to become whatever fiery passion now fueled this destruction — destruction that was much more severe than anything they had discussed.
Her mind wound back to that shadow in Luna’s eyes as she’d promised to help Twilight carry off her act. She would need to talk to her sister upon returning to Canterlot. A part of Celestia’s mind was already sorting the potential consequences into the proper categories: effects on Twilight’s mental state, effects on Equestria’s relationships with other races, effects on the current conflict, and assorted others. Too many to think about in depth.
For the moment, she needed to focus on immediate practical realities. Even if he hadn’t truly been before, Carmine was now thoroughly convinced that siding against the alicorns was not a healthy choice for him. To make a valuable ally of him, though, she’d need his trust rather than just fear.
“You should know that you were right about Luna. She suffered a minor injury in the battle but was largely healed when I saw her this morning.”
“All this is a reaction to a minor injury, then?” Carmine asked incredulously.
Celestia considered her response carefully. She didn’t want to imply that Twilight’s actions were anything other than the unified will of the alicorns. Revealing to him any kind of rift among them might tempt him to exploit it.
“We try very hard to keep our relationships with other races cordial. We’re forgiving of transgressions, receptive to complaints or requests, and tireless in the pursuit of diplomacy over open conflict. Unfortunately, despite all of this, we are sometimes forced to remind this world why it’s best not to take advantage of our good nature.”
“I hope you aren’t expecting the elder to take that to heart.”
“No, for the elder himself my hopes are the opposite,” Celestia said. “Is he as convinced as you were that Luna is dead?”
“Ah,” Carmine said with a smile of realization. “A ruse. The elder doesn’t share his impressions on such things, but Twilight Sparkle is certainly putting on a convincing show. Even after Mareis, I wouldn’t have guessed she had it in her.”
Celestia opted to change the subject rather than risk revealing that she shared his surprise at Twilight’s newfound ferocity. “What is the significance of Spike’s remains?”
Carmine frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Celestia briefly considered the possibility that Carmine was only feigning ignorance, but concluded that were he still loyal to the elder, an admission like this would serve his interests worse than any other answer. Spinning a fantastic tale about the remains’ powers to panic the alicorns, and perhaps lure them into some foolish action to counter that imagined threat, would seem like a more effective use of any influence the dragon might have.
“It seems that the attacks yesterday were arranged at least partially to allow his remains to be retrieved from Stonehoof unopposed.”
“Interesting.” Carmine struck a contemplative pose for a moment. “Dragons of Spike’s age don’t die often. Most who die do so as whelps — at least, that was the case until now. We’ll see where we are at the end of today. Anyhow, it’s a unique opportunity. As I understand it, dragons are unlike ponies in that our magic is, in a sense, a physical part of ourselves. It grows within us, and is shaped to our needs as we mature. Not all of it dies with us.”
“Why would the elder want whatever remains of Spike’s power?” Celestia asked. “Was he considered a particularly magical dragon?”
“No, I don’t think so. But it may be the nature, not the strength, of his magic, that interests the elder. He spent much of his life among ponies, and if I’m not misinformed, had a great deal of interaction with the alicorns during this time. Perhaps the elder hopes Spike’s magic holds a key to fighting you.”
Celestia frowned and glanced over her shoulder out the mouth of the cave as if to make sure the outside world was still there, then turned her gaze back to the dragon. “Is it even possible for one dragon to harvest the magic of another? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“I don’t know,” Carmine answered with an apologetic shrug. “There have been rumors for as long as I can remember that the elder was not the first of our kind — that he initially had rivals, all of whom eventually disappeared, leaving behind one stronger, more complete leader. Of course, there’s only one likely source for those stories, and we both know how credible he is — particularly on the subject of himself. Probably more idle fantasy and revisionism than truth there, but I certainly can’t say for sure.”
“Spike’s magic didn’t help him much with his own insurrection,” Celestia said with a scowl.
“That depends on how you judge his results,” Carmine said. “He didn’t survive, so that’s obviously a mark against him.” Carmine paused to let out a low chuckle. “But he effectively rid the world of an alicorn for four centuries. And, judging by the events of today, when she came back, she was a changed pony.”
Celestia had no answer for that.
---
There was — theoretically, at least — some difference to Luna’s palace suite when she was keeping a low profile. The chambers were unlit tonight, but Luna often preferred it that way. They hosted no palace staff at the moment, which was also not at all rare. Perhaps the only distinguishing features Celestia could identify at a glance were the closed blinds on oversized windows designed to drink in the splendor of the night sky. Only a muted glow leaked in around the edges of the thick fabric. Celestia struggled to see for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the dim light.
“Luna.”
A grunt answered her from some corner of the room.
“We need to talk.”
“Talk, then.”
Celestia finally found her sister with her eyes, lounging on a sofa against the far wall, her eyes closed and her posture suggesting that she had misplaced her spine.
“You did something to Twilight.”
“I helped her get into character.” The response was delivered with an air of mischief that made Celestia hope her sister did not understand the gravity of the situation.
“At least two dragons are dead. Many more gryphons. Large parts of Gryphonia may be uninhabitable now. The nesting sites are gone.”
Luna sat up, her eyes opening to look disbelievingly at Celestia. She was silent for a long moment.
“The dragons provoked this conflict. The gryphons joined in willingly — eagerly, even. These things happen in war.”
Celestia fixed the other alicorn with a hard stare, silently daring her to defend Twilight’s actions further.
“It wasn’t supposed to last long enough for this to happen. I only meant to spark a believable performance.” Luna’s tone was still defiant, but growing regret was visible in her expression.
“What did you do?”
Luna looked down to her front hooves. “It’s a dream magic technique. A strong suggestion to her subconscious. I made her believe in my death — made her feel it, the way I felt hers. Only for a short time. Longer than I intended, evidently.”
Celestia gaped disbelievingly at her. “This wasn’t even about our strategic needs. This was revenge on her for hurting you.”
“Is it so wrong for her to feel for a few hours what I felt for centuries?” Luna snapped. “Complain all you want about the collateral damage — deaths of the very beings who made war upon us — but the objective was achieved, was it not?”
“You know it isn’t that simple.” Celestia sighed and shook her head. “You have to stop trying to keep score. If every transgression must be answered in kind, we’ll never be free of this nonsense.”
Luna snorted. “Spare me the lecture. To say that I answered in kind is an exaggeration of such magnitude it’s not even worth dignifying with argument. And don’t act as if you’re above it all, either. You’re just the same, when it suits you.”
“If I behaved as you do, I would have sent you back to the moon the moment the nightmare was defeated.”
“It sounds like you regret such benevolence now.”
Celestia felt anger surging inside her and turned to leave before it could erupt. “We’ll revisit this later,” she warned as she threw open the door with her magic.
Twilight stood on the other side, a hollow look in her eyes. Every part of her seemed to hang limply towards the floor.
“Hey,” she said flatly. She craned her neck stiffly to look past Celestia to Luna. “Fighting?”
Celestia felt herself being pushed backward into the room as Twilight shambled forward to occupy the space where she’d stood.
“Cut it out, you two.”
“Twilight—” both sisters started, but Twilight silenced them with a shake of her head and plodded toward the sofa where Luna sat, eyeing her apprehensively.
“What I did was necessary, both for our immediate goals and so that you could understand—”
“Don’t care,” Twilight cut Luna off without meeting her eyes. “Done with that now. Wasn’t a great day. We’ll try again tomorrow.”
Luna was lifted off the sofa in a cloud of translucent purple, and Twilight settled into her place before lowering her again.
“Twilight—” Celestia tried again.
“Good night,” Twilight said, as she wrapped her forelegs around a visibly confused Luna. Something in her voice — maybe her clear exhaustion, maybe the steely undertone to every word she’d spoken since arriving — left no room for argument.
“Good night,” Celestia replied.