Solstice

by Scorpius

A Second Mistake

This combination of Maghurst’s Lock woven into the Illusion provides an additional layer of security: a standard Disillusion will not be able to find a point of entry! While counters to Maghurst’s Lock are now common knowledge, the spell was relatively unknown in the classical era, and its application in Illusory Architecture* earned Ragfell a great deal of praise and recognition (eventually resulting in his appointment as vice-chancellor).
—from Architecture of the Pre-Classical and Classical Eras, Mundane and Magical

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Her room was dark and cold, but pushing open the door and seeing that the familiar four walls hadn’t been changed always gave her a warm feeling. Still, because it wouldn’t do to let the room get too cold, Maria lit the fire with a quick flicker of hornglow—she didn’t know how she had survived the first months of first year, before she had looked up the firestarting and safety spells in the library. She supposed the curriculum wasn’t designed for the few students who didn’t have serving-mares to set their fires for them.

After taking a moment to herself to drink in the wonderful feelings of being at home, Maria’s horn sparked to life once more, and with a flurry of hornglow—she wasn’t yet practiced enough to levitate all her things at once, but she was getting good enough to do each one very, very quickly—she threw open her trunk and began to unpack. A few photographs for the mantel were treated with care and respect, but everything else (including all her formal gowns and robes) were stashed without much care into her wardrobe and drawers.

Which left her personal library.

Maria thought that this was her proudest achievement to date. It was the result of two years’ hard work and practice: enlarging spells were fifth year material, she knew, but they were as temporary as Illusions, intended only for emergencies when one needed to move a lot of things very quickly. With a lot of hard work and practice, she’d managed to cast one on her trunk that should have lasted long enough to get her to the Arcana and through the feast. It was time to see if her efforts had paid off.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the enchantments, Maria tugged at the Illusory door in the wall of her trunk. It opened, slowly and with a fairly loud creak, to show a small alcove, about three times the height of the trunk—and even after months of getting used to the effect, the fact that she couldn’t see anything solid in the air over her trunk when she raised her head confused her—packed wall-to-wall with bookshelves.

It was things like this, she reflected, as she gently levitated the first book from the Illusory bookshelves and onto the real shelves that lined her bedroom, that had gotten her a reputation as a bit of a bookworm. Not that she minded, of course—though the students might spurn her for it, at least they left her well enough alone, and her teachers would regard her with a little more respect than one might expect for her station. But it was the principle of the thing. She didn’t like books—she needed them to survive.

He might have fulfilled his duties in teaching her what he knew about society and formal behaviour, but Arpeggio was a bit of a recluse: he didn’t really know that much more than she had, at first. He really helped in the little ways (which cutlery to use for which course, and all that kind of nonsense), but he couldn’t teach her the traditions and the customs because he simply didn’t know any more than when to stand and when to sit down again. If she hadn’t been reading up—

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. Sighing, she dropped the next book on her shelf and turned to open the door, a professional smile plastered on her face.

“Maria Everfree?” asked the young pony who stood outside the door, before Maria had even finished opening it. A little rude, that. “I’m here to deliver a message from Professor Everfree.”

The mare was a little older than Maria, if she had to guess. She was already reaching into her saddle-bag to retrieve the note as Maria stepped to one side and beckoned her into the room with a nod. The strange mare stopped, hoof half-twisted around her torso, and stared blankly at Maria, who nodded again—perhaps a little too vigorously for polite company, but this wasn’t polite company.

“Come on in,” she said, when it had begun to seem that the mare had no understanding of what it was that she was offering. “I can get you a cup of tea, if you’d like?”

After a moment or two of sputtering, the young mare seemed to finally find her voice.

“Ma’am, with all due respect,” she began, her bright, amber eyes darting nervously and very obviously between Maria’s face and horn, “I am just a serving-mare. I really don’t think it would be appropriate…”

“This is my room,” Maria said, firmly. “And I have been taught to offer my hospitality to anyone who steps hoof at its door.” The mare still seemed nervous, and Maria chuckled, adding gently, “I’m not going to bite. Besides, I’d often spend the evening with serving-ponies back home.”

Turning, Maria reached for the kettle and hung it in the fire, another flicker of hornglow filling it with water. She heard a few tentative hoofsteps on the marble behind her, and turned to see her guest fidgeting in the doorway. Something about the nervous glances the mare was giving her told Maria that maybe she'd crossed a line, here. Perhaps she was being too forward: it must seem odd, to an earth pony, to have any unicorn treat them with hospitality—even a student. Her books hadn't given any advice on the matter, which in retrospect suggested that it simply wasn't done.

Why was she inviting this mare for tea? They'd only just met, after all, and it wasn't like she'd ever invited other serving-ponies to come in for a chat. Am I really getting that lonely?

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” she said, smiling softly. “I don’t very often get company here, and maybe I got a little over-excited.”

“I understand,” said the other mare, almost smiling. “Though you probably should be seeking the company of unicorns. I know it’s not my place to say, but I suspect that the Professor’s message might have something to do with that.” With that, she carefully put the envelope down on Maria’s dresser, and smiled properly. “Thank you for the invitation to tea, but I’m afraid I must decline.”

“I understand.” Maria tried to hide her disappointment. She wasn’t even sure why she was feeling disappointed. “If you ever decide you do want tea…?”

“I’ll be sure to come over at once, Ma’am.”

“Good.”

There was a silence, for a moment, and it hung heavily in the air between them. Soon enough, though, the serving-mare nodded and curtseyed, before turning with a gentle flick of her braided mane and walking out the door.

It wasn’t until some hours later, as Maria struggled to keep her Enlargement open while she retrieved the last of her books, that she realised she still didn't know the serving-mare's name.

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*It was only a century before an enterprising young vandal realised that, since every house in Canterlot was secured with the same spell, a sufficiently strong counter would cause widespread chaos, and used the opportunity to loot half the city—Vandal’s Key is named after this incident, and believed to have been the spell used. The modern expense of Illusory Architecture is entirely due to the extreme difficulty in crafting a unique and secure lock upon the illusion, so that none but the architect can break it.

Comments

[fourths]

Well, I am intrigued! Take me on a journey, Scorpius.

[Scorpius]

7417067 I'm glad to hear you're enjoying the story so far! I hope you continue to enjoy it—I'm hoping it'll be one heck of a ride

[fourths]

7417080 If you bail on me you're fired.

[Scorpius]

7417094
... looks like the accountability thing's working out for me

[Writer Guy]

This is definitely the most unique story I've read on here thus far.

[LittleKhan]

This story looks like it could be absolutely awesome, but I feel like I need some more backstory/context to this world.