Sunset Shimmer is assigned to be Princess Cadance's private magic tutor. Surely this can only end well.
Sunset Shimmer has hated Cadance since before they even met. After working her tail off for so many years as Princess Celestia's personal protégé, striving for perfection and aiming to eventually earn a royal title of her own, to have some random, two-bit nopony fall out of the sky and steal her crown felt like a kick to the horn.
So you can imagine Sunset's absolute delight when Princess Celestia assigns her to be Cadance's private magic tutor.
While at first it seems like some cruel punishment, Sunset quickly sees a golden opportunity. If she does this right, she might stand to gain far more than a mere grade.
Sunset half-knocked half-punched the door. It rattled companionably in its rose gold frame, the sound far too similar to snickering for her liking. Laugh now, door, she thought, irrationally. You’ll be mine one day.
“Be right there!” came the voice of the pretender, known to others as Mi Amore Cadenza: the pony as ridiculous and out of place as her name suggested. Even internally, Sunset refused to put any title before that name. By her count, Equestria still had only one princess.
“I don’t have all day,” Sunset called. “I’m coming in.” Feeling around the other side of the door with her magic, she flicked the lock and turned the knob with practiced ease.
The door yielded, and Sunset stood face to face with the pink horror herself. The alicorn blinked at the doorknob, one hoof uselessly outstretched. She snapped it towards Sunset and smiled wide enough to show off every tooth.
“You must be Sunset Shimmer!” she said. “Call me Cadance. It’s a pleasure! Auntie Celestia speaks very highly of you.”
“Of course she does.” Sunset shouldered her way into the room and gave it a once-over, her eyes straining from pastel fatigue. Sour apples filled her mouth at the sight of the plush violet carpet, the fuchsia four-poster, and the vanity overflowing with more beauty products than Sunset had awards on her Walls of Achievement. Ceramic planters accompanied every window and lined the entire balcony. Each one held a different herb or flower, giving the whole space a suffocating, earthy smell. About the only thing in the room that didn’t cloy her senses was the study table at the far end, cluttered by a wide assortment of books, quills, scrolls, and inkwells. A dresser beyond displayed knickknacks galore, including a gaudy pendant in a glass case, its heart-cut gem the same sky blue as Cadance’s cutie mark—a blatant symbol of narcissism if she’d ever seen one.
“Pardon the mess,” Cadance said, pulling the door shut with her hoof—not her magic, Sunset noted. “I wasn’t expecting you so early.”
“I’m not early,” Sunset said, levitating her saddlebags over to the table and trotting after them. “I always arrive precisely when I mean to.”
Cadance gasped, verging on a squeak. “Was that a quote from Lord of the Reins?”
Sunset shot her a look. “You read Folkien?”
“Oh, all the time! He’s one of the best, right up there with King and Yearling.” Her face glowed like a filly’s on Hearth’s Warming Eve. “Sorry, I’m kind of geeking out. Nopony back home knew any of the classics. Do you have a favourite?”
Sunset almost fell for the trap and blurted her answer: Skyspark, obviously. “What’s yours?” she countered.
“I’ll admit that I have a soft spot for Where the White Raspberries Grow, but it couldn’t be anything other than Skyspark.”
Figures you’d steal that too. “Mine’s more obscure. Paleopony piece. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”
“Maybe I could borrow it sometime,” Cadance said, taking tiny steps closer. “I was actually thinking of starting a book club, if you’re interested.”
Scrunching her muzzle like she’d been force-fed Meadowbrook’s Tincture No. 9, Sunset said, “I’d rather catch horn rot.”
Cadance’s smile fractured. “Oh. Okay. I suppose that’s fair, seeing as we’ve only just met. Sorry if I offended you.”
You offend me by existing. It took all of Sunset’s willpower to refrain from giving voice to the thought. Had this not been a direct assignment from the princess, she would have shouted it with zero remorse. “Whatever,” she said instead. “Let’s just get started.”
“Let’s!” Cadance trotted up to the table, bouncing from hoof to hoof. She took a few books from their piles, again without magic, and began laying them out. “Miss Inkwell gave me a few recommendations, so I brought as many as I could carry from the archives.”
Taking a cushion, Sunset scanned the titles: Modern Spellcasting;The Thaumaturge, Vol. I;Houyhnhnm's Guide to Magical Arcana;Filly’s—
She balked. “Filly’s First Phantasm? Seriously? I read this when I was three.”
Cadance’s cheeks pinkened, though it was difficult to tell since she was already a walking blush. “Well, I was a pegasus before all this, so I’m essentially starting from square one. Prismia, my old teacher, showed me a few things, but her methods were a bit… eccentric. I only really grasped the basics.”
Sunset sneered. “How basic?”
“I’ll show you!”
Planting her hooves like the earth might quake, Cadance wrenched her eyes shut and screwed up her face, looking primed to explode. Her horn sparked, flickered, and came alight with a cornflower blue aura. It brightened momentarily, then dimmed to a sustained level. Her eyes popped open and she grinned.
Sunset searched for what had changed. Nothing on the table had moved. No illusions danced around the room. All the plants remained the same size. Every door and window was still shut. She even examined her own body and found not a hair out of place.
“What did you cast?” she asked.
Cadance’s grin tightened to a seam. She pointed to her still-glowing horn, as if that explained everything.
Then it clicked, and part of Sunset died. “That’s it?”
“Um… yes.” Her hornlight fizzled.
Sunset's temple throbbed. “You have got to be kidding me. You’re an alicorn princess”—she forced the words through nearly clenched teeth—“and that’s the best you can do?!”
Cadance’s ears pressed against her head as though afraid to be seen. “I’m sorry. Like I said: pegasus.” She flared her wings like Sunset wouldn’t believe her otherwise. “But I’m a quick learner! And if you’re as good as Auntie says you are, I bet I’ll be doing… that floating spell in no time.”
The black storm of a migraine thundered on Sunset’s mental horizon. “First, it’s called levitation. Second, I’m better than you were told.” Which is why I shouldn’t be wasting my time playing magic kindergarten with some tiara-wearing ditz! Again she managed to bite her tongue, if barely.
“Okay!” Sunset said. “Obviously we have a lot of work to do, so let’s stop wasting time.” With a thought, she set about unraveling scrolls and unstoppering inkwells in a well-rehearsed dance. She slid Filly’s First Phantasm across the table—Cadance had to hold up her hooves to stop it from careening over the edge. “The intro is fluff; start at section one. I’ll take your notes until you learn to magiscribe. It’ll be faster that way.”
A little frown crossed Cadance’s muzzle. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You seem a bit on edge.”
I jumped that edge back at ‘Call me Cadance.’ Now I’m drowning. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Late night?”
“It’s really not any of your business. But if you must know, I was studying for my advanced summoning exam.” That much, at least, was true.
“I’ve been there. Not so much the advanced summoning—though that does sound interesting!—but I’ve had my fair share of all-nighters.” Eyes shiny as polished buttons, Cadance smiled and said, “Would a nap help? You’re welcome to use my bed.” She gestured to the fuschia nightmare. “Arabian cotton, so I’m told. And I promise I didn't leave any stray feathers.” Her eyes went stark like she’d realized some horrible truth. “I think.”
In that moment, Sunset convinced herself she could melt Cadance’s horn if she glared hard enough. “Just read,” she said, a harsh sigh in the same breath.
Cadance flinched. Her hooves wandered lamely back to the table, and she shrank a bit. “Sorry,” she said, drawing the book closer. “I just know that a nap usually helps me, so I thought it might—”
“You thought wrong, okay?!” Sunset slammed her hooves down, scattering quills and spilling ink. She quietly lowered to her cushion and said, “I don't want to be here any longer than I have to, so please just”—shut your mouth and—“open to section one already.”
At first, Cadance did not respond. She simply stared at Sunset with the wide eyes and frozen features of a cockatrice victim. Eventually, she bowed her head and gazed at the cartoon ghost on the book’s cover like she could read straight through it.
“You’re right,” she said, her bubbly tone dead and dry. She shook her head as if to clean dirt from her mane, then leafed through the book’s worn pages. “Let’s get to work.”
Finally. Sunset rolled her eyes and organized the crooked quills back into tidy rows before setting them off to the side. Magicking open her saddlebags, she whisked out her own phoenix quills—Philomena’s finest—and prepared her familiar workstation.
“I, um…” Cadance said, still flipping pages. “I browsed these a little before you got here, so I’ve actually read most of chapter one already.”
“Fantastic,” Sunset deadpanned. “Skip to the second one, then.”
“Well, I have a quick question first, if that’s all right.” She landed on a page with stars in the margin.
Sunset looked down her muzzle at Cadance like she’d told her the square root of four was heliotrope. “It’s a book for foals. What could you possibly be confused about?”
“I’m not really confused. I’d just like some clarification on this point.” She tapped the page right where a black-stenciled witch was saying something in a bloated speech bubble. “It talks about how, in order to begin using magic for anything, you’re supposed to treat it less like a force you want to control and more like a friend, or teammate. The example Mama Mana uses is, and I quote: ‘Imagine you and your BFF are playing a rousing game of keepie-uppie. You wouldn’t boss your friend around saying things like, “Go there!” or, “Hit the ball like this!” That’s no fun for anypony, and the game wouldn’t last very long because your friend would get very angry and frustrated!’”
“Relatable,” Sunset said, resting her head lazily on one hoof.
A pause. “‘Wouldn’t it be easier,’” Cadance continued, “‘if you and your friend worked together to keep the ball going? Absolutely! That’s the whole point of the game! It’s the same way with your unicorn magic. Show it some trust, kindness, and care, and you’ll keep that ball (or spell) going right until suppertime, no sweat!’”
She looked across to Sunset, her ponytail drooping over one shoulder. “The idea is lovely, but it seems a bit esoteric. I’d like to befriend my magic, but I’m having a hard time identifying it. I can feel it, kind of, but it’s not as concrete as the book makes it out to be.”
“To your credit,” Sunset said, hardly believing she’d said it, “it’s a bad analogy. It works well for foals, but it’s less useful when you’re older—once you get into real magic.”
Cadance raised an eyebrow. “‘Real magic?’”
Sunset sighed through her nose. “Advanced magic. You know, the kind that I’ve spent the last decade training under Princess Celestia to master.” Wisps of flame had risen in her voice. She smothered them and kept on. “That kind of magic can’t be controlled by ‘kindness.’ It takes hard work, discipline, and commitment.”
“I see. So the friend metaphor…?”
“Forget it.” Sunset swiped the feathered end of her quill across the page’s margin, erasing Cadance’s marks with a crackle. “If you have to compare it to something, it’s more like an extra muscle. Weak at first, but you can hone it with a strict regimen and lots of time.”
“Huh. Okay, I think that makes sense,” Cadance said, nodding. “Thank you. Would you be able to write that in my notes, please?”
Haphazardly, Sunset jotted it down on some unfurled scroll. “Is that all?”
“That’s the only question I had, so, yes.” She turned past a rough dozen pages. “Onto chapter two, I suppose.”
And so the morning went.
By some miracle, Sunset almost found it tolerable. Without Cadance’s prattling, progress came remarkably quickly. No proper magic happened, other than a few miserable tries at levitation, one of which ended with Cadance’s mane covered in ink, a memory Sunset would cherish. But they breezed through the underlying theory—Cadance turned out to be a startlingly quick reader. Her questions were many, the answers mundane, and the hours crawled by as the orange sunlight faded white.
A knock at the door broke their concentration near the end of section six.
“Oh!” Cadance said, her ears perking. “I completely forgot that I sent for refreshments.”
“When?” Sunset asked as she finished scribing a line about how to avoid feedback loops. “You’ve been here the whole time.”
“Before you arrived. I asked Chef Sprig to send somepony by around noon since I figured we’d be hungry by then.” She rose from her cushion and offered a little grin. “Be right back!” she said, trotting for the door.
Noon? Glancing at the mounted clock, Sunset grimaced. She didn’t have any other plans, but her patience was thinning by the minute. Frankly, if she had to answer one more of Cadance’s questions about how leylines worked, an ink-stained mane scrunchie would be the least of her problems.
“Actually, I need to get going,” she said, parading her supplies through the air and into her bags. “Got that big summoning exam tomorrow. And an astronomy dissertation due.” A paper she’d finished last week, but Cadance didn’t need to know that.
“Oh, please stay!” Cadance said, wheeling around. “Just for a quick bite—ten minutes at most. It’s the least I can offer after all of your help.”
Sunset scoffed. “You don’t need to offer me anything. It’s not like I’m doing this because I want to. It’s an assignment, and—”
“I asked for sparkling guava juice,” Cadance said. Her eyes twinkled, persistent as trick birthday candles. “Auntie said it was your favourite.”
Sunset had half a mind to chew her out for asking Princess Celestia for such invasive information. But on the other hoof, it was her favourite, and her mouth had gone drier than the San Palomino after answering so many inane questions.
“Fine,” she said. “Five minutes.”
“You won’t regret it!”
Too late. While she waited, she scanned the table for any supplies she might have forgotten. Predictably, she found nothing. Her eyes continued to wander, for a lack of anything else to do.
The heart pendant in its glass case caught her attention. A strand of glossy pink pearls supported the indigo gem, all displayed on a black neck bust. It admittedly didn’t look nearly as gaudy up close. Still tacky, but hardly, and clearly quite expensive. Sunset wondered what—
She blinked. That heart had not been indigo when she’d arrived.
Peering closer, she noticed clouds of stardust swirling around in the gem’s facets, not unlike the special crystalline mist she used occasionally as a catalyst in potions class. The heart also looked to be glowing—dimly, but definitively—and it instantly went from some prissy noble’s jewelry to the most interesting object in the room.
Rising from her cushion, Sunset approached and heard the unmistakable hum of magic. It was faint and muffled, like pressing her ear to the leaded wall of an arcane vault. She had never been one to turn away from an artifact, even if it belonged to this sow. And while all thirty-six volumes of Magical Compendium in her collection bore cracked, blistered spines, as well as her copy of Iomudan’s Inventory of Eldritch and Arcane Artifacts, nothing about this necklace jumped out at her. She privately cursed herself for putting off reading The Unabridged History of Amulets.
Checking over her shoulder—Cadance was chatting with some bellpony—Sunset wrapped the case in her magic and tried to lift it, but her seafoam aura slipped off like oil over water. Drat, enchanted. Probably Agnoscus. Scrutinizing the glass, she couldn’t find any mechanism to exploit; the case seemed nearly fused to the rosewood base. Barring shattering the glass outright or destroying the dresser, both of which she considered longer than she should have, she didn’t see a way in.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Sunset flinched. Cadance had stepped up beside her, quiet as a librarian. Her eyes looked almost ethereal as she stared into the amulet, her muzzle plastered with a dopey grin.
“What is it?” Sunset asked.
“It’s called the Everheart.” Cadance turned to Sunset, her face half-cast in the watery sheen. Her smile went sheepish. “To be honest, I don’t really know much about it. It can amplify the emotions of the pony wearing it, but I think there’s more to it than that. It’s what ultimately gave me this.” She crossed her eyes up towards her forehead and the horn that parted her mane.
And suddenly, nothing else mattered. Sunset’s eyes darted briefly to the Everheart before returning. “Can I hold it?”
Cadance shook her head. “Even if I wanted to remove it, Auntie Celestia put a spell on the display case that prevents me from opening it. She’s worried that I won’t be able to control its power until I have a better hold on my magic.” She beamed, eyes a bit dewy. “That’s why you’re here. Partly, anyway.”
Sunset could practically feel the gears turning in her brain. “Is that so?” she said in a ghostly voice.
“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Sunset followed her back on numb hooves. She nearly crashed into the silver dining cart that had appeared at the tableside.
Grabbing the pitcher from the top tray, Cadance set about pouring two goblets of pink-orange liquid. “I hope you’re hungry, because I also managed to please-and-thank-you my way to two helpings of rarebit, which is my favourite.” She took the cloche’s handle in her teeth and lifted, revealing two plates of melted cheese and parsley, though Sunset could see patches of toast trying to breach the ooze. The savoury aroma further addled her senses.
Her expression must have given something away, because Cadance tilted her head and regarded her with sad filly eyes. She set the cloche down and said, “It’s fine if you don’t like it, but I hope you’re at least willing to give it a chance.” She took her own seat, carrying one plate with her. “And I know I’ve already said it more than enough, but… thank you. Even if you don’t especially enjoy being here, you’re helping me more than you realize. I’m still so new to all of this.”
A wayward strand of mane fell in front of Cadance’s face, which she brushed away. Taking up her goblet, she held it towards Sunset, center table. “To… fresh experiences?” Her pupils wobbled for a moment, then she shrugged and held her cup higher.
Sunset nodded absently, forcing her gaze away from the Everheart. “Sure,” she said and lifted the goblet in her magic. “Fresh experiences.” The clink barely registered in her ears.
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.
Still hazy from her power nap, Sunset ambled across the bridge into the west castle courtyard. The area theoretically remained open to the general public, but few ponies ever frequented it—mostly students and guard cadets. The east courtyard tended to be the busier spot by and large. Sunset didn’t particularly care why that might be, only that it held true today. The fewer distractions, the better.
Naturally, her hunch had been spot on. She saw only six other ponies in the park: two young students sharing a picnic table plus a family playing by the stream. Not ideal, but acceptable.
She made her way to Firmament’s Font at the far end of the courtyard, briefly admiring the great golden astrolabe. Her saddlebags clicked open and she drew out her battered copy of Skyspark—the only thing she’d packed other than her scribing tools. It had been on her mind recently, and she had a few minutes to kill, assuming Cadance even arrived on time.
Flipping past the cover and acknowledgements, she started on the prologue. Dormant memories glowed alive, complete with the illusory scent of her fillyhood home—candy apples and ozone—as the words stole her away:
-- Prologue --
In all my worldly travels, I have never known a greater beauty than the naked perfection of this scarred yellow sky. Rarely does nature yield but chaos, and nowhere may that be more truly seen than amid the riptide storms of the South Luna Ocean. Yet through that black tumult lies the purest peace I have ever known. So encompassing is the calm that I think it should surely be my final mortal sight.
Balderdash, that. If there is nothing else that my father embedded in me, stubborn griff though he was, it is the time-weary truth that nothing is sure until you make it so. Should these furious winds cast me to the salted crags and deliver me beyond, it shall not be by my own abstention. I refuse. I pray only that my companions are of equal mind.
Of Grimsby I have no doubt. While he is naught but bumbling oblivion, I would trust him with all my family’s fortune. He has been my second since we both were cubs. None other of Griffonstone would have endured so long short of a crown promise, and this would yet be their turncoat moment. He reeks of terror, but Grimsby is no coward.
I am less confident in Asphodel. Ponies are peddlers of pyrite fates, and she could pass for merchant queen. For all that she may excel in value and virtue and skill, she lives off poisoned wheat. Regrettable, so it is, that she has become so integral. The Idol of Notus remains in reach by her hooves alone.
It matters not. The time for second guesses has long since passed. The whorling waters hunger, and soon the leviathans will—
“What are you reading?”
Sunset went to speak, but her tongue tripped over her ears. She’d had a reply primed for when Cadance inevitably interrupted her, but that wasn’t Cadance’s voice. She looked up into a face she didn’t recognize: some random filly, her head cocked like a curious puppy.
Sunset scowled. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to talk to strangers?”
The filly shook her head exactly once, as though dictated by a metronome. Her gaze stuck to the book as she trotted closer. “Can I read too?”
“No.” Sunset pivoted to the right, dragging the book with her.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s mine.” She tried to find her place on the page again. “You wouldn’t understand half the words anyway.”
“Yes I would!” The filly leered over Sunset’s shoulder like a classmate trying to copy her answers. “My teacher says I can read books meant for fillies twice my age, and I was the only one in class who spelled ‘con-shee-en-chiss’ right on our test last week.”
“Good for you.” Sunset summoned an opaque teal disc in front of the foal’s face, moving it in tandem with her head as she squirmed to peer around. “Now go away.”
“I just want a peek!” She poked her horn nub against the disc like it might pop. “Sharing is important. Shiny said so.”
“Who’s—?”
“Twilight!”
Sunset glanced over her shoulder just as a broad-barreled colt came charging their way. She… knew him? His image lay buried somewhere in her memory, but she couldn’t place it. Something about his eyes, or his mane, or his cutie—
Shining Armor. The name struck her like a cragadile from ambush, mangling her stomach into a knotted mess. She ripped her eyes away and flipped her mane strategically to hide her face.
The heavy hooffalls slowed as Shining Armor drew close. “I turn my back for two seconds to grab the ball, and suddenly you’re over here harassing somepony?”
“I’m not harassing!” the filly—Twilight, apparently—said. “She has a book!”
“I don’t care if she has a whole library. You can’t go around disturbing ponies just because they’ve got something you like.” A low, arcane hum filled the silence. “Now what do you say?”
Twilight heaved a sigh. “Sorry, Miss.”
“Whatever,” Sunset mumbled. “Just leave me alone.”
Nopony said anything for an agony of a moment. Sunset held strong and listened for them to leave. Eventually she heard a dull thump followed by the staccato rhythm of tiny hooves galloping away, but Shining Armor’s shadow still loomed at her side.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Sunset said, louder. “I’m busy. Get lost.” She turned a page despite not having finished reading it.
“Sorry. It’s just…” He trotted up next to her. Sunset craned her head away as if magnetically repulsed. “You remind me of an old friend.”
Ha! Right. Some friend you turned out to be. Sunset suppressed the urge to conjure a force field around herself and said, “Don’t really care. I’m not your friend, so take a hint already.”
He lingered for a heartbeat longer. “Right. Sorry for bothering you.” Sunset watched his shadow recede and listened until his hooffalls faded behind the rushing fountain.
The breath she’d been holding tumbled out like ice cubes. She hunched down and tried to get back into the story, but the rattlesnakes in her skull wouldn’t let her concentrate.
Slamming the book shut, she shunted it into her bag and relocated to the far side of Firmament’s Font, blocking her view of all the other ponies. It also placed her in the fountain’s cold, damp shadow, but it was well worth the peace of mind. Once settled, she closed her eyes to let the trickling water and quiet birdsong take her somewhere else. Anywhere else.
Unknowable time later, a gentle poke to her withers pulled Sunset back. She glanced up into Cadance’s candied smile, which would have looked fake on any other pony. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “Flight practice ran a little long.”
“That’s—” The logic center of Sunset’s brain short-circuited. “Wait, ‘flight practice?’”
“Mm-hmm!” She flapped her wings a few times, barely inching off the ground before stumbling into a landing. “Mister Wind Rider is a great teacher, but my wings are really atrophied, so it’s probably going to be a while before I can do much more than that.”
A vein pulsed in Sunset’s temple with the beat of a war drum. “‘Atrophied?’”
“It’s when your muscles get really weak, usually because you don’t use them enough or—”
“I know what it means!” Sunset shot to her hooves, matching Cadance’s height.
Cadance frowned her stupid, condescending frown. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes something’s wrong! You’re honestly telling me that you’re an alicorn who can’t use magic or fly?” She stomped a hoof in the mud. “What can you do?!”
Against all common sense, Cadance grinned at that. “I give really good moral support! Plus I’m a fantastic listener. Oh, and, not to brag”—she shrugged airily—“but I’ve been told that I give the best hugs.” She offered a hoof and fluttered her eyelashes like a succubus. “Do you want one?”
“No. I do not want a hug.” She smacked Cadance’s hoof down. “I want an explanation. The magic? Whatever, I get that. But you were a pegasus! How in Equestria do you not know how to fly by now?”
Cadance raised her hoof again, but defensively, like she thought Sunset might hit her. In fairness, Sunset couldn’t deny that possibility. “I’ll be happy to explain, but only over some persimmons.” She started around the fountain. “We’re here for a picnic, after all!”
Sunset’s chest tightened. “What’s wrong with right here?”
Cadance stopped, her eyes dancing around the gloomy, mud-strewn patch. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that I’ve already set everything up on this side. It’s a better view, too—we’ll be able to see the sunset.”
Yeah, that’s kind of the problem. A protest had already formed on Sunset’s tongue, but she swallowed it. Cadance would get suspicious if she pushed the point, and the last thing she needed was Miss High-and-Mighty prying into her personal life. Besides, once she got busy with her mission, she would completely forget that he was even there.
“Fine,” Sunset said, plodding after her. “But walk and talk.”
“Fair enough.” Cadance led her to the bright side of Firmament’s Font. An awful pink- and yellow-checkered blanket lay neatly on the grass, and an overwhelming assortment of snacks had been spread overtop, like she’d used a food pyramid as a packing guide.
“It’s actually a pretty simple reason,” Cadance said, “why I can’t fly, that is. I didn’t have anypony around who could teach me, and I never had a reason to learn. My old home was pretty sheltered.”
“What,” Sunset said, sitting with her back to the rest of the park, “were you cloistered away in a hidden fortress on the edge of civilization or something?”
“Okay, not quite that sheltered.” Cadance lowered to her stomach and reached for a bowl of glossy orange fruits. “Woodwind was an earth pony village—I was the only pegasus. The best I could do was read about flying, and books can only take you so far.”
“Tell me about it,” Sunset grumbled. She floated a hollyhock sandwich to her mouth and ate it mindlessly.
“Speaking of books,” Cadance said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin, “I brought you something!” She started searching through the dark wicker basket, which looked large enough to store a royal banquet.
“Whatever it is, I’ve probably read it already.” Having finished the tiny sandwich, Sunset fought the urge to glance over her shoulder and busied herself with the rosemary and peony salad.
“I can guarantee you haven’t. Otherwise you would have noticed when I quoted it earlier.”
Oh, so not insane. Just pointlessly cryptic. Sunset squeezed a lemon wedge over her salad.
Cadance produced a shiny, book-shaped present wrapped in red paper with a garish orange ribbon—it had clearly been hoof-wrapped, and shoddily. She held it toward Sunset with the care of an archaeologist handling a crown jewel.
Sunset levitated the gift over, fixing it with her stinkiest eye. It had considerable heft—at least five hundred pages, she estimated. “Why did you wrap it?”
“I like watching ponies unwrap presents.”
The stink eye switched to Cadance herself. “That’s weird.”
“I don’t have to watch if it makes you uncomfortable.” She covered both eyes with her hooves, still smiling.
Sunset wrinkled her muzzle. “No, that’s weirder.”
Cadance dropped one hoof but kept the other up, like she was nursing a black eye. “How about this?”
Sunset snorted. “Whatever.” She tore off the wrapping paper in one violent motion.
The book had a mottled black binding, and the cover depicted an ominous mountain beneath a glowing emerald sky. Smoke-grey clouds twisted above the landscape, loosely forming the title: The Drag.
She didn’t even manage one word before Cadance jumped back in. “If you’re a fan of Lord of the Reins, this one’s a no-brainer. It leans a bit more into horror since that’s Love Craft’s usual style, but I think you’ll still like it!”
“Uh huh.” Sunset flipped the book over and instinctively started reading the blurb, but she caught herself after the first sentence. She set the book aside and returned to her salad. “I hope you’re not expecting me to give you anything.”
Cadance giggled. “That’s not how gifts work.” She slathered some marmalade on a piece of toast. “Just let me know what you think of it. Only when you get the chance, of course. No rush.”
“You’ll be waiting a while. I have more important things to focus on”—like literally anything else—“and I’m not exactly bursting with free time.”
“I appreciate you spending some of it with me, then. Based on what I know about you, I’m guessing you’d rather be studying for your next big exam right now.”
What do you know? She’s not completely oblivious. Sunset didn’t respond. Now that she’d suffered enough small talk, she decided to move on to the next stage of her game plan. She chewed on her salad, considering how best to breach the topic she actually cared about.
Unfortunately, Cadance seemed intent on dominating the conversation. She swallowed her toast and said, “How was your summoning exam, by the way?”
Sunset huffed. “Easy.”
“That’s good! Studying all night paid off, I take it?”
Like a trained archer, Sunset saw her shot and took it. “Ha! Like I would need to study that much for one little exam. That’s not why I stayed up.”
Cadance started filling two tankards with some amber liquid. “Why, then?”
Knew that would get your interest, nosy. “Funny you should ask. I was actually doing a bit of research on the Everheart.”
The pitcher jostled in Cadance’s hooves as she started filling the second mug. She looked up with shimmering eyes. “The Everheart? Really?”
“Did I stutter?” Sunset said, grabbing hold of the full tankard. “You said Princess Celestia wants you to learn magic so you can handle its power, right? Having some idea of what that power is would help me structure your lessons better. I could tailor them in the right direction to prepare you for the Everheart instead of focusing on schools of magic that won’t help you.” She flexed a grin—she’d spun that particular yarn during study hall.
The smile Cadance gave in return was different from her typical saccharine smirk, but Sunset couldn’t pinpoint how. “Thank you, Sunset. That’s… really thoughtful of you. I’m quite curious about the Everheart too, honestly.” She continued pouring the second drink. “But I’m guessing you didn’t find anything.”
Sunset narrowed her eyes. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, Prismia told me that the Everheart is barely older than I am, so I would be pretty surprised if anypony had already written about it. Especially given how few ponies even know it exists.” Cadance took a smug sip of her beverage.
Are you actually—? The pieces snapped into place—pieces she’d been trying to jam into the wrong puzzle entirely, it seemed. Sunset squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her muzzle. “It’s not a relic,” she said, as if putting it out in the world might prove it false.
“Not in the traditional sense, no.”
A scream welled up in Sunset’s throat, so she took a deep swig of her drink to suffocate it. Her face twisted the moment the liquid hit her tongue. It was as sickly sweet as the pony who’d poured it, tasting of maple candy drenched in honey. At least it gave her annoyance a second target.
“Okay,” she said, her voice infused with steam. “Since I wasted so much time trying to figure it out myself, hopefully you can just tell me. If it’s not an ancient artifact, where did it come from?”
Cadance’s smile dropped like a falling curtain. “Oh, um, that’s—”
“P-pardon. Princess, uh, Mi Amore?”
Sunset turned her glare to the side. The two students she’d noticed upon arriving in the courtyard stood there, gawking at Cadance like she was on display at Canterlot Museum.
Unsurprisingly, Cadance met them with all smiles and cheer, though her eyes looked wider than normal. “Oh, hello! Can I—?”
“It’s an honour to meet you!” the colt said, the words tumbling out like he’d tried to say them all at once. He pressed his face to the ground in an attempt at a bow, and the filly scrambled to follow suit. Sunset rolled her eyes over a scowl.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Cadance said, bowing her own head a little. “You, um, don’t have to do that. And please, call me Cadance. We’re all friends here!”
“Of course, Princess!” the filly squeaked, shooting back up. Her horn sparked cyan like a cheap firecracker.
Ugh, I don’t have time for this. “Hey, newbies, you blind?” Sunset said, gesturing to the picnic at large. “We’re obviously busy here. Whatever you want to say, spit it out and get going.”
“It’s fine, Sunset,” Cadance said. She turned back to the interlopers. “Did you need anything?”
The filly bit her lip. “Oh, well, you see, we were just, ah, wondering… or, hoping, really… um…”
“Today would be nice,” Sunset said, weighing the pros and cons of dumping her drink over these two.
“Would you be able to sign our notebooks?” the colt said, producing one from a rough-looking bookbag. “We would be forever grateful!”
“Truly!” the filly added. “I-if it’s not too much trouble.”
Cadance’s ears threatened to droop, but they held firm. “No trouble at all! Do you have a quill, or…?”
“Yes! Certainly, Princess!” A quill fluttered out of the filly’s saddlepurse and over to Cadance.
Sunset intercepted it, overtaking the filly’s aura like a hydra stomping a mouse. “Yeah, no.” She got up and advanced a step towards the sycophants. “You two have a lot of nerve, wasting such an important pony’s time.” Namely, mine. “Obviously we want to be left alone, so take your notebooks, learn some manners, and get out of my face.”
She waited, ready to snuff out Cadance’s objection, but it never came. Looking over, she saw that Cadance had taken a newfound interest in her own hooves, staring down as she rubbed one over the other. “That’s a bit harsher than I would have put it, but we were kind of in the middle of something.” She glanced back at the students with a wilted smile. “If you two don’t mind, that is.”
The filly blinked quickly a few times. “O-of course not, Your Highness! A thousand pardons.” She bowed again.
“Yes, yes of course,” the colt said, dipping his head too. “Terribly sorry for the intrusion. We’ll let you get back to your…” His eyes ping-ponged between Sunset and Cadance. “…date?”
Twin volcanoes erupted in Sunset’s cheeks. The heat swelled up to her horn, through her magic, and incinerated the quill. “We are not—”
“We’re just friends,” Cadance said simultaneously.
“Obviously!” the filly stammered, throwing the colt a stiff elbow. Both of them stared at Sunset like they were gazing upon Nightmare Moon incarnate. “We’ll just, um, be going now.” The filly turned tail and galloped away.
“Sorry again!” the colt squeaked as he rushed to follow.
Sunset watched until they had cleared the picnic tables and crossed the bridge leading out of the courtyard. Lowering back to the blanket, she gathered up the ashes of the quill and cast them into the fountain. “Ridiculous,” she mumbled, her face beginning to cool.
“Thanks for the assist,” Cadance said, “but you didn’t have to be so rude. They were only—”
“They were the ones being rude! Who just butts in on somepony’s conversation like that? And then they have the gall to ask for your autograph? You should have shot them down yourself.”
“I…” She sighed. “I know. It’s just hard for me. I never had to deal with that sort of thing back home. Everypony in my village was so close—like one big family. Here it’s so much more… impersonal, I suppose.”
“Welcome to Canterlot.” Sunset took another pull of her drink. “Now, back on topic.”
Cadance blinked a couple of times and shook her head. “Um, right. You wanted to know where the Everheart came from?”
“Among other things, yes.” Sunset whisked a quill and parchment from her bag.
Cadance’s tail flicked about aimlessly. Her eyes wandered away from Sunset’s as she said, “My old teacher, Prismia. She gave it to me.” Her brow furrowed, but only by a wrinkle, like she’d sniffed a rotten peach in a fruit basket. “Well, that’s not quite right. She took it from me when I was little, then gave it back later. I originally got it from my mom, but I don’t know where she found it.”
The quill spun in Sunset’s magic. “You never thought to—oh, I don’t know—ask her?”
“We have a complicated relationship,” Cadance said, pulling over a bowl of mixed grapes. She took a red one, changed it for a white one, and popped it in her mouth.
Sunset took a white one as well. “Well, it sounds like she might know something useful. Think you can uncomplicate it enough to get in touch with her? Write a letter? Leave for a visit?” Maybe don’t come back?
Cadance gave a tiny nod, chewing more than anypony in history had ever needed for a single grape. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.” She cupped her tankard in both hooves and took a long sip.
“Better than nothing,” Sunset said. She jotted down: Cadance has mommy issues. “The origin won’t be as important anyway if we can just figure out how it works. That’s what I wanted to ask about next.”
Her eyes finding their way back to Sunset’s, Cadance smiled and said, “All right, but I don’t know how much help I’ll be. Like I told you yesterday: I don’t really understand it that well.”
“You might not, but you’re talking to the pony who single-hoofedly uncovered the hidden properties of Myriad’s Mask before even losing all her foal teeth.” Really though, it hadn’t been surprising that an artifact based on changeling magic might be harboring some dark secrets.
“Now there’s a story I need to hear!” Cadance leaned in, and her ears perked up like a student whose teacher had unexpectedly called upon them. “That sounds quite impressive.”
“It was,” Sunset said with a smirk. “But that’s besides the point. All I need is for you to tell me what you did to trigger the Everheart. I can figure out the rest from there, or at least get a good bead on it.”
Cadance’s smile tightened. “Oh, that.” Her tail curled around herself, hugging one side of her body. “I mean, I would love to, but we’re having such a nice picnic. I don’t want to spoil the mood.”
Sitting up straighter, Sunset prepared another bite of salad and asked, “Why would it spoil anything? I figured it would be a happy story, given the”—her eyes narrowed at Cadance’s horn—“outcome.” She stuffed the bitter greens in her mouth.
“Don’t get me wrong: it all ended more wonderfully than I ever could have hoped. The weeks leading up to that, though…” Her mouth dug into her cheek, like a chipmunk concealing nuts. “Let’s just say that this”—she nodded up—“is pretty much the only good thing I’ve seen the Everheart do.”
Ooh, now we’re getting somewhere. “So it’s evil?”
Cadance’s eyes nearly popped from her face. “No, not at all! It’s just powerful. In the wrong hooves, it can…” Her eyes unfocused as she trailed off, gazing at something a thousand yards distant. She quietly ate a single cracker before continuing. “Anyway, it’s not really something I want to talk about. Not yet, at least.”
Sunset tapped her quill against the parchment, being careful not to stab right through. “Look, you want to understand it better, right? I can help with that, but not unless you give me all the details. It’s tough to solve a puzzle without every piece.”
“I get that, and I appreciate you wanting to help. Really. It’s just…” One of Cadance’s hooves tapped idly atop the other. “It’s hard to explain. I just need more time. Besides, we’re still a long way off from when we actually have to worry about the Everheart.” Blue light crackled on her horn. A red grape lifted from the bowl, wobbled in the air, and tumbled to the ground.
Sunset clenched her teeth. “The sooner I know what I’m training you for, the faster we’ll get there.” She paused, watching the tug-of-war between Cadance’s expressions, then added, “If you don’t want to talk about it, can you at least write it down? That would probably work even better.” She passed Cadance a quill and scroll, being extremely careful to give her a fresh piece of parchment.
For a few seconds, Cadance just stared blankly at the page like she’d never seen paper before. She frowned, but it quickly twitched neutral. She opened her mouth, closed it, started again, failed again, and finished with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” she said, shoving the quill away. “It’s too soon.”
A groan clawed from Sunset’s throat. “Come on. How bad could it possibly be? Whatever it was turned you into a princess, for pony’s sake!”
When their eyes met, Cadance’s were glistening like sun-dappled puddles. “Sunset, I can tell you’re frustrated, but it isn’t that simple. You don’t know what you’re asking me to relive. I will tell you, but not here. Not now. Unless you really want to see me ugly cry, and personally, I don’t want you or… anypony else seeing me like that.” Her gaze drifted over Sunset’s shoulder.
Sunset’s head whipped around like a wolf defending her territory. She caught Shining Armor staring their way from across the park. He quickly switched to look at Twilight, who seemed to be writing equations in the dirt. Sunset glared for a good few seconds, mentally scorching his horrible, deceptive cutie mark.
“He keeps looking over here,” Cadance said. “I’m starting to get used to everypony staring at me, but… I don’t know. There’s something different about him.”
“Ignore him,” Sunset said, turning back. She grabbed the discarded lemon wedge and crushed the rest of it over her salad. “He’s a”—liar cheater backstabber coward pathetic guttersnipe—“loser.”
Cadance’s focus snapped to her like a vulture to carrion. “You know him?”
“Knew,” Sunset said. Eyeing her salad, she realized that she wasn’t even hungry anymore. She picked up the quill instead. “We had magic kindergarten together. Never got along.”
“Why not?”
“We just didn’t. That’s all there is to it.” A touch of grit snuck into her voice at the end. She poked the quill harshly against the paper.
“There must be some reason.”
“There isn’t, so drop it already. Some ponies just rub each other the wrong way.” Why am I playing along with this? Get back to the Everheart.
“I used to think so too, but once I got to know the ponies I didn’t get along with, I discovered that there’s usually more to them than I first thought. It all starts with a conversation.” When Sunset didn’t reply, Cadance nudged a plate of brownies towards her. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Sunset shoved the plate back before Cadance’s hoof even left it. “Does it look like I want to talk about it?” she said, then cursed herself for admitting there was an “it” to talk about at all.
Pulling her hoof back, Cadance said, “No, but sometimes those are the things you need to talk about most.”
“Try taking your own advice, Princess.” Her quill skated across the parchment in mad spirals—the written equivalent of incoherent screaming.
Cadance winced and bit her lip—a small victory, Sunset mused. Without another word, Cadance hung her head and glanced at the plate of brownies. She took one and nibbled at it.
Both of them fell silent. They picked at the food, and the minutes weighed heavy. Sunset kept a close eye over her shoulder, hoping to see Shining Armor and his family leave, but they stuck by the stream like burs in her coat. She occasionally glanced to the horizon, watching the sun fight its losing battle against dusk.
She brainstormed how best to pull more information out of Cadance. The direct approach hadn’t worked, so she needed a new tactic. Wait and see? Not realistic. Guilt trip? She’d just tried that—at least it had shut her up for a bit. Threat? Too risky if word got back to Princess Celestia, which was as certain as the sunrise. Blackmail? That might work. After all, it would be awfully embarrassing if the press caught wind of how Equestria’s new princess couldn’t even—
“You’re right,” Cadance said.
“Of course I am,” Sunset said—force of habit. “About what?”
Cadance sighed like she’d been awake for a week straight. “Even if I don’t want to talk about it, I need to.” She looked Sunset dead in the eyes. “And if… if you have all the details, do you really think you can help me understand the Everheart?”
Huh, that was easy. Sunset blinked and chuckled. “I didn’t get to be Princess Celestia’s protégé because of my good looks.” She gave her best reassuring smile—she had little experience with them, but Cadance would buy it; she would trust her finances to a diamond dog.
After a long, awkward stare, Cadance swallowed. “Okay,” she whispered. Then, louder, “Okay. Once we’re done here, if you want to, you can come back to my room with me. I’ll… I’ll tell you everything I can.” She smiled and puffed out a laugh, sweeping a wayward hair behind her ear. “Try to, anyway.”
Sunset's mouth twisted in a coy smirk. “Sounds perfect,” she said, stuffing her belongings into her saddlebags. She took a brownie in her magic, eyeing Cadance sharply. “You know, suddenly I’m a whole lot hungrier.” She took a bite, savouring the off-sweetness of the dark chocolate.
They finished the picnic in a colloquial haze as the sun set.
Cadance obviously didn’t have any special skills, but her ability to stretch mundane conversations to their breaking point was at least noteworthy. Despite Sunset’s best efforts, the picnic had droned on for a full hour longer. How anypony could go on for so long about the intricacies of cultivating grapes for icewine was beyond her, let alone how Cadance even knew so much about the process.
And that was to say nothing of the targeted questions Sunset had been forced to dodge and deflect like spells in a magic duel. Honestly, who asked somepony they’d known for barely a day what their birthstone was? Or how many siblings they had? Or anything beyond a simple: “How are you?”
But she had endured, and they finally reached Cadance’s chambers by the final needles of daylight. While Cadance fiddled to find her key, Sunset just magicked the lock open and pushed inside. “All right,” she said as the wall sconces flickered awake. “Now we have privacy, and you’ve had plenty of time to think over what you want to say.” She laid her scribing instruments across the table like surgical tools. “Ready?”
Cadance nestled the wicker basket near the door. She pinned her ears and rubbed her foreleg shyly. “Not quite yet. I’d like to, um, take a few minutes to meditate, if that’s okay.”
Sunset pursed her lips. “Meditate? Really?”
A small smile grew on Cadance’s face. “My village elder, Elder—that’s his name. Confusing, I know.” She giggled. “Anyway, he taught me all about it years ago. He even gave me some therapeutic plants as a moving-out gift.” She tipped her head to the balcony, where a small jungle grew in ceramic planters. “They’re great for calming nerves. You’re welcome to join me, if you like.”
“Not a chance,” Sunset said—the response had been on her tongue before the offer was even made. She sighed. “Go ahead. Just don’t take too long. I don’t want to be here all night.”
“Of course.” Cadance stepped out to the balcony. “I’ll only be five or ten minutes at most. Make yourself at home in the meantime!”
Wish I could, Sunset thought as she turned to the Everheart. The gem glowed a deep maroon.
She wasted a couple of minutes trying to find a way into the display case. No luck, but she did manage to identify the presence of an Agnoscus enchantment as she’d assumed. It wouldn’t be the only spell protecting the Everheart, but it would be the lynchpin due to its binding strength. It could be cast by just about any unicorn who could read, but to dispel it was notoriously difficult without the unique magic signature of the pony who’d cast it. Given that this one had been conjured by the single most powerful magic-user in Equestrian history, Sunset put her chances of breaking it at roughly the same probability of finding a new dimension in her bathroom mirror.
Shelving that, she perused the other knickknacks scattered across the dresser. Most of them she guessed to be mementos: an oval stone, an artificial carnation, a rough wooden carving of a fang, a shiny black scale as big as her head. But the only one that really grabbed her attention was the book: a dusty, mud-coloured tome with The Cadance Collection embossed in gold on the front. She flipped open the cover to a rendition of Cadance’s cutie mark in the same golden ink, and a short message below that:
We know how much you love a good fluttertale, so here are a few of your favourites to remember us by! Best of luck, Princess (!!), and don’t forget to write!
Love always, ♥ Olive & Honey ♥
Sunset snorted. Fluttertales? What are you, five? She flitted through the pages. A few of the titles she recognized from the stories her father had read when she’d been a filly, but the vast majority she had never heard of. A couple weren’t even written in Ponish. What did she say the name of her village was? Woodwind? I should find out where—
She blinked, then flipped back a few pages to the title of the current story:
The Kingdom of Everheart
Her eyes narrowed. Not a relic, she says. She only had a moment to process it before Cadance called, “Hey, Sunset! Come outside for a second!”
Quickly closing the book, she gave the balcony a glare she normally reserved for ponies who interrupted her experiments. “Why don’t you come here? If you’re done with your ‘meditation.’” She threw the Everheart a brief glance—its light swirled on the border of yellow and green.
Only silence answered. Sunset groaned and started towards the balcony, but she paused mid-step when Cadance said, “Okay!” Moments later, she trotted back inside.
Only now she wasn’t alone.
Sunset’s eyes softened. “Philomena?”
The phoenix turned to her and chirped brightly. She launched from Cadance’s back and landed at Sunset’s side, leaning in for their usual greeting. Sunset paused to shoot Cadance a dark look—which she correctly took as a warning to avert her eyes—before returning the nuzzle.
“She was on the railing when I finished meditating,” Cadance said, her smile oozing mirth. “I’m really glad she’s here, to be honest.”
“Why are you happy to see her?” Sunset said, sidling closer to Philomena.
“Oh, she’s been just great in helping me adjust. She always seems to know when I need some company—sometimes she’ll even spend the night when I’m homesick. It’s almost uncanny.”
“Is that right?” Sunset said. She turned a cool stare on Philomena, who nudged her side with a wing. Sunset rolled her eyes and huffed. “Well, she’s been my friend since I was a filly.” Way before you showed up. “She even helped me earn my cutie mark.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Cadance said. “You two must be really close.”
Practically sisters, Sunset nearly said, but Cadance didn’t deserve to know that. “Right, well, are you ready to talk now?”
Tension cascaded down Cadance’s face. Her smile held strong, if wounded. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” She meandered to the four-poster and climbed up, collapsing in an awkward sitting posture atop the blankets. “Where to begin?” she said, her pupils wandering as though searching a cluttered attic.
Sunset waited, her quill primed. Philomena swooped up onto the dresser and perched beside the Everheart, which shone pale blue.
A few moments passed, punctuated by the tedious tick of the wall clock, as Cadance chewed on her words. Eventually, Sunset’s patience ran out. “Just start with the main event. What did you do to get that?” She flicked her quill towards Cadance’s horn.
Cadance crossed her eyes up, and her mouth formed a little “o” like she was just noticing it for the first time. “Sure, that’s easy enough. There’s a lot of, er, context you’re missing for this, but what finally did it was… well, when I reminded Prismia how much I loved her. After that, there was this bright light, and the next thing I knew I was talking with Auntie Celestia.”
Sunset waited for Cadance to continue. When she didn’t, Sunset said, “That can’t be it.”
Cadance sighed, her body buckling. “You’re right. It’s not. I suppose you need to know more about Prismia for it to make sense. She, um… I told you how the Everheart amplifies the wearer’s emotions, right?”
“Duh. That’s literally the only thing I know about it.”
“Right. Well, Prismia had worn it for a really long time—pretty much since the day she took it from me, so about sixteen years. And…” Her gaze broke away, slumping to the blankets. “She wasn’t exactly the nicest pony most of that time.”
Amplifies good and bad emotions, Sunset noted. Then her brain caught up with her ears. “Hold on, sixteen years? How old are you?”
Cadance scratched the back of her head. “Seventeen next month.”
Sunset’s eyes widened, if barely. “She stole it when you were a baby?”
With a slow nod, Cadance said, “She found me out in the forest where…” Her eyelids fluttered. “…where my mom… where she left me. Alone. The Everheart was around my neck.”
“Oh.” It was all Sunset could say. She coughed, pretended to make a note, and rolled straight past the ursa in the room. “What did she do with it?”
“Um…” The glaze in Cadance’s eyes tarnished. “Well, it wasn’t what she wanted to use it for at first, but she discovered she could use the Everheart to… to, ah… steal emotions. Love, mainly.”
Can steal love. Other emotions? Sunset tapped her quill idly as she played connect the dots in her mind. “Like a changeling?”
Cadance shook her head. “That’s what I thought at first—we’ve had to deal with them in Woodwind before—but it wasn’t the same. Changelings drain your love, but you can still feel it. It just gets exhausting after a while. Prismia used the Everheart to”—she stopped to swallow—“take it away entirely. When that happens, you just can’t love anything, or anypony. All that’s left is…” She pawed at the blankets with one hoof. “Hate.”
“Fascinating,” Sunset said, jotting down a couple more notes. A feather swept across her withers, dragging her attention over her shoulder. Philomena stood statuesque, her gaze firmly fixed on the Everheart. Its light sparkled the dark blue of final twilight. Wrinkling her brow, Sunset asked, “Do you know why it changes colour?”
“Hmm?” Cadance pulled her head up, blinking like she’d just awoken. “Oh, uh, not really. It never used to do that. I think it’s tied to my emotions somehow, but I usually don’t even notice when it happens, to be honest.” As she spoke, yellow pinpricks stabbed out across the Everheart’s facets like blinking stars. The navy light swallowed most of them as soon as they appeared.
Tied to your emotions? Geez, how long’d it take to figure that one out, Shadow Spade? “Not important right now,” Sunset said. “So, Prismia was using the Everheart to steal love. What then?”
“It took a while to realize what was happening.” Cadance shuffled off of the bed and made for the picnic basket. “I started noticing it a few weeks before… well, before everything. Ponies who I’d known my whole life started acting like I was a thorn in their hoof any time I talked to them.”
So they gained common sense? Sunset stifled a snicker.
Cadance continued, “But it was all ponies I wasn’t super close with anyway, so I thought they might have been sick, or maybe I’d hurt them without realizing it. Ponies being harsh with me wasn’t exactly a new thing.” She drew the pitcher and tankard from the basket and poured herself a drink.
“But then it got… worse.” She gulped down roughly half of her mug and took a seat next to the basket. “My neighbors, my best friends, my… my guardian. None of them wanted anything to do with me. All of the good times we’d shared. The happy memories. It was like they didn’t remember any of it. Or… didn’t care.”
Cry me a river, Sunset thought with only the thinnest sliver of regret. “Sounds terrible,” she said, emphasizing the deadpan in her voice.
Cadance’s face crumpled. “It was. They were the only ponies who had ever really loved me. And it took me a long time to accept that it wasn’t just pity.” She chuckled harshly. “It might sound silly, but I started to think of us like… well, like a family. And… all of a sudden…” She took another sip—likely trying to hide her sniffle. “Palm Heart just… she just—” A hiccup cut her off. “She kicked me out one night. Sh-she told me to… t-to…” The tankard trembled in her hooves.
A warm gust blew through Sunset’s mane as Philomena took off, landing atop the picnic basket. She leaned down and gently pecked Cadance’s withers. Cadance offered a flimsy smile but didn’t otherwise react.
Sunset shot daggers at Philomena—sheathed, but daggers all the same. She made to interrupt, but pins and needles suddenly hammered down her back like stampeding buffalo. She threw a deadly look over her shoulder, which was instantly washed slack.
A thunderstorm raged in the Everheart. Grey magic roiled in thick swirls across the facets, and arcs of white energy sparked throughout. Sunset lost herself in the fathomless dark. Wicked memories she’d buried ages ago clawed to the forefront of her mind.
“Sunset, your turn!”
“You should go, sweetheart. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Who invited you?”
“Everypony, get out!”
“I never want to see you again!”
She yanked herself free of the hallucination because that’s all it is and squeezed her eyes shut. Tears rolled down her cheeks in thin streams. She quickly wiped them away and said, “All right, maybe we should take a breather.” No response came. “Cadance?” She glanced across the room.
Cadance lay on the ground, hooves clutching her head as waves of tears pressed out between her eyelids. Philomena attempted to nuzzle her, but she didn’t seem to notice. And despite how warm Sunset knew that gesture to be, Cadance trembled like a leaf on the edge of winter. She choked out a few haggard sobs.
“Uh,” Sunset said, “you okay?” A stupid question, but the only one that came to mind.
Cadance shook her head wildly, as if trying to escape a nightmare. “I trusted her. Even after all of that, I still trusted her. I wanted to believe she was good. That she’d changed. That she actually wanted to be friends.”
“What are you…?” Sunset started, but a sudden icy wind whipped the words from her brain. The air fell glacial in a matter of moments, and she darted away from the Everheart. She peeked at it from the corner of her eye. The gem had gone nearly black, but faded colours rippled across its facets like raindrops in an ocean. “What’s—?”
“We talked about personal things, Sunset,” Cadance said, meeting Sunset’s eyes through wet lenses. Have they always been blue? “Really personal things. The stuff you only tell somepony if you trust them. If you really care about them. After everything I told her… After everything she told me… How could she still be so… so awful?!” A banshee in Cadance’s mouth screamed the last word.
The Everheart boomed like thunder in a bottle. Sunset turned just in time to see a few twinkling lights fade from around the gem.
Then it pulsed white in a blinding shock. It cracked the display case and rattled the dresser.
Sunset inched towards the door. “Okay. Whatever you’re doing, stop,” she said. “Seriously.”
“Do you know what the worst part is?” Cadance said, as if she hadn’t even heard. “I knew she was using me. Everypony told me not to trust her. But I… I-I convinced them to give her a second chance and… a-and…” She buried her face in the plush carpet and punched the floor. “I’m so stupid!”
More cracks spiderwebbed across the glass case, and Sunset took that as her cue to teleport out. She closed her eyes, imagined the warm, quiet interior of her study, and—
Her horn burned as the spell failed. Her whole body tensed up in the half-moment before the Everheart exploded. A horrible sound like howling windigos ripped through the room. The glass shattered and the dresser ruptured, the drawers flying out.
The shockwave flung Sunset through the air. She slammed into the nightstand, tearing all the air from her lungs. She collapsed on her side with a yelp, then just caught sight of Philomena careening off the balcony. Cadance still lay curled up in the middle of the room, her sobs unnaturally loud in the roaring wind.
The room had gone dark too, the sconces all snuffed out. And on the far side of the chamber, the Everheart floated in the air on its own. Sunset assumed it was the Everheart anyway; she couldn’t see past the searing pink light.
She attempted a shield spell, but her horn wouldn’t even ignite. When she tried to command any magic, it felt as though she was fighting a black hole for control. Giving up on that, she stood on shaky hooves and made a beeline for the door, but the wind bowled her backwards like a paper doll.
Sunset glared through her windswept mane at the blubbering, silhouetted heap. “Snap out of it! This is dangerous! And it’s only happening because of you! Get a grip or… or…”
Her tongue went numb as she stared up at the Everheart. Its rosy light had extended into a long cylinder. Blurry at the edges, but it gained more definition with each passing second.
Sunset’s heart jumped to her throat. “What is it doing?” No answer. “Cadance. What is it doing?!”
“I should have known better,” Cadance said between wheezes. “It wasn’t even her first time doing something like that. And she didn’t even have my help back then! She took… Sh-she took Flow’s emotions without… She said it was an accident!”
The lightform stretched and tightened into a slender, serpentine shape. The nearest end bulged, swelling into a… head? A lion’s, or something close to it. Hundreds of thin tendrils snaked out behind it in a twisting, eerie mane. The Everheart itself protruded from its forehead, glowing bright pink.
Sunset retreated to the wall. “Okay, what is actually—?” Survive first! Questions later! She blinked lucid and scanned the room for options. Magic-less options, she reminded herself.
She could duck under the bed, which would have been sheer genius for a foal. Given how this thing had broken Princess Celestia’s enchantments like sugar glass, a bedframe probably wouldn’t stop it. The only other route she saw was to the balcony. She could leap, but the tower was tall, and she couldn’t guarantee that her magic would be back in time to save her. Of course, Philomena might still—
She froze, staring at the plants on the balcony. She looked from them to Cadance, still a useless mess, then to the light creature—which had grown a full set of shining teeth and two broad, feathered wings. Lustrous purple spirals spun in its eye sockets like angry, molten galaxies.
And they were aimed squarely at Sunset.
Now or never. Crouching low, Sunset launched herself forward. She somehow breached the windstorm and tackled Cadance, who clutched her hooves around Sunset in a death grip. “Get off!” Sunset said, wriggling out of the embrace. She tugged Cadance’s hoof, trying to make her stand, but she may as well have been attempting to lift a sleeping cow. “Get up! If the Everheart really is tied to your emotions, this thing might stop if you just calm down!”
The serpent slithered into the air above them, hissing like compressed steam. It circled slowly, coiling lower and lower.
Sunset’s stomach clenched. She doubled her efforts.
“I-I’m sorry,” Cadance stammered, her eyes halfway open. “I… B-but I…” She yanked her hoof free and covered her face like a filly afraid of the bandersnatch. “I-I can’t!”
“You have to! This is your fault!” Sunset's vision rimmed red. “This never would have happened if you weren’t so sentimental! The Everheart amplifies emotions! Why would you want to be right next to it when talking about this?! Did you plan this?! Honestly, you deserve—”
Deathly cold punched Sunset’s whole body and sent her flying onto the balcony. She skidded on her already-bruised side and knocked a plant over the railing. Panting, she looked up to where the dragon, for lack of a better term, lorded over Cadance, radiant as a neon sign. A grey force field sheltered them both.
Standing and spitting dirt, Sunset looked the monster in its ridiculous swirling eyes and shouted, “All I wanted was to learn more about you! Why are you making it so difficult?! Because Cadance is upset?! Is that all?!” She marched a step into the chamber. “Let me in and I’ll give her a good reason to be upset. You stupid, gullible, weak—”
The dragon struck her quicker than lightning. It sank its teeth into her chest and lit her on fire. Or that’s how it felt—she couldn’t move her head to look. In fact, she couldn’t move anything. Not her head or her legs or her tail or her eyes or—
The monster released her. She still couldn’t move, but at least the burning sensation faded. The beast returned to Cadance, but Sunset briefly caught her reflection in the Everheart’s facets.
Rather, the reflection of a statue. Carved in her likeness.
Which was impossible, of course. Only a cockatrice could petrify somepony, and only extraordinarily strong beings could induce stone sleep. Alicorns, for instance. Which the Everheart had created…
All right, maybe.
Still, nothing she couldn’t manage. She simply lit her horn and—
No, that wouldn’t work.
Well, she could scream for Philomena or Princess—
Couldn't do that either.
Fine! Maybe it’s not so easy, but there’s no challenge I can’t beat. Just take a deep breath—
Nope.
She started to hyperventilate, or well she would have if she could have but obviously she couldn’t because statues couldn’t breathe but how could she be a statue like honestly these things didn’t happen to her she was smarter and stronger than this and the Everheart was just a dumb piece of dumb jewelry so there’s no way it could best her like this and Okay, haha, brain, very funny. You got me! I’m ready to wake up now. Joke’s over. Anytime.
Any. Time.
Any—
Still a statue.
Sunset discovered that there was no worse feeling than trying to cry through stone eyes.
Right then, a crimson missile split the darkness overhead. Philomena pierced the barrier, swooped beneath the monster—which didn’t even seem to notice, its maddening gaze still locked on Sunset—and wrapped Cadance in her wings.
Sunset tried to cry out that she needed the hug more but of course that didn’t work why why her why did you go for her instead of me?! She attempted to shoot a flare from her horn which also didn’t work so she just tried thinking really hard because yeah obviously that would work but it wasn’t like she could do anything else besides—
Princess Celestia thundered to the balcony like an angel from on high. She kneeled down and touched Sunset’s cheek, which Sunset couldn’t actually feel, and she decided she’d been wrong about the ‘crying through stone eyes’ thing.
A few tears glimmered in the princess’s eyes. “You’ll be okay, Sunset,” she said. “I promise.”
Sunset had never been one for hugs, but she would have broken the world for one in that moment.
Turning away please don’t leave me, Princess Celestia called, “Mi Amore!” Her voice boomed over the pandemonium. “You are safe. There is nopony here who wishes you harm.”
Sunset rolled her eyes but argh!
“A-Aunt Celestia?” Cadance said between sniffles. Her half-cast face peered out from beneath the red- and orange-feathered bunker. “Is that you?”
“Yes, Mi Amore. I’m here.”
The tumult slowed, then redoubled. The dragon's roar shook the room, and Sunset swore she felt cracks form along her body and Princess please help I can't—
Stop. Just don't think about it. Focus on anything else.
At least that she could do.
Cadance sobbed sharply. “I’m… I'm so sorry. I… I don’t deserve any of this! Not this room. Not this horn. Not… Not you. None of it ever should have happened.”
Finally, something we can agree on. The thought rang in Sunset’s head like a funeral toll.
Princess Celestia took a step closer. “That isn’t true—the Everheart is only making your fears more potent. You must fight it. Believe in yourself.”
The dragon growled, but did nothing more.
“How can I?! I’ve caused ponies so much pain. Ponies I care about more than anything! Who does that to their family?! Everypony would be better off if I just… disappeared.”
The pause before Princess Celestia spoke, brief as it was, weighed heavier than the moon. “You may believe that, but how do you think those ponies would feel if they heard it? They care for you just as much as you do for them. Such is family, and it is beautiful. To disappear from their lives is the greatest pain you could inflict.”
Long, dark shadows loomed on the edge of Sunset's mind. She ignored them.
Cadance’s sobs fell quiet. The gale turned to a zephyr, and the dragon reared up with a snarl. “B-but… what if I hurt them again?”
“You will, and that is okay. We tend to hurt those closest to us the most—it’s an unfortunate consequence of love. What matters is how we handle that pain. And from what I’ve seen, you manage it better than anypony I’ve ever known. Where most would let that pain fester for fear of confronting it, you take it head on and do all you can to resolve it, even at great personal risk. That takes incredible strength, Mi Amore.”
Sunset tried to fold her ears. It wouldn’t have silenced the phantom voices in her head, but it was the best she could do.
“I-I… I don’t… I haven’t…” She stopped for a horrible moment, and Sunset half-expected the dragon to lunge at Princess Celestia. “I’m not ready for this…”
“Of course you're not. You’ve hardly been here a month.” Princess Celestia unfurled her wings, standing tall and regal. “But with patience and faith in your friends and yourself, you will be. You already have three good friends here at your side. Embrace that feeling.”
It was probably best that Sunset couldn’t speak in that moment.
And just as the thought crossed her mind, warmth flooded her chest like hot spring water—a feeling greater than a thousand perfect grades. The winds died to little more than a breeze, and the dragon gave a low grumble as it receded into the Everheart.
Sunset barely knew what happened around her next. Adrenaline hammered through her veins in tidal waves. A deafening crumble filled her ears as the stone dropped from her body in clumps. Her legs came first, and she stretched them because she could, then her body, and she had never been so relieved to feel pain in her side, then her head, and—“Princess!” Her voice came out chalky and dry, but that didn’t slow her charge. She ran up and threw an embrace around Princess Celestia, burying her face in her coat.
The princess returned it, wings and all. “Are you hurt?”
Sunset shook her head. Then she remembered herself and pulled back, running a hoof through her mane. She tried and failed to meet Princess Celestia’s eyes. “I’m fine. Just… shaken.” She bowed her head. “Thank you so much, Princess.”
“Don’t,” Princess Celestia said. “I fear this was my fault for leaving the Everheart so loosely protected.” She guided Sunset’s chin up with a hoof. The smile Princess Celestia wore looked off on her usually stoic face. Pleasant, but off. “There will be time for discussions later, but for now I think you have more than earned a good night’s rest. I need to speak with Mi Amore. Why don’t you gather your things and—?”
“C-can… can she stay?”
Sunset’s focus broke away. Philomena stood on the floor next to Cadance, who had risen to her hooves. She resembled a swamp horror with her mascara-matted face and savaged mane—her mane scrunchie had gone loose at some point. She looked to Sunset with glistening eyes. Somehow her smile had weathered the storm.
“I… suppose,” Princess Celestia said. “I do owe both of you an explanation, as I have not been completely forthright about the Everheart. But there are many things I would like to discuss with you, Mi Amore—some of them quite intimate. Are you certain you don’t want privacy?”
Cadance snort-laughed. “I don’t think it gets much more intimate than what just happened. I’d be more comfortable if Sunset stayed.” Her face tightened as she turned back to Sunset. “If you want to, that is. I would understand if you want to be alone.”
Did you forget the part when I called you stupid and gullible? Sunset kneaded her lips together for a moment. A massive part of her wanted to just tell Cadance off and go collapse into bed, but a louder part knew she wouldn’t want to miss this.
“Honestly,” she said, “I kind of need the company right now.”
Princess Celestia’s mouth curved into another weird smile as she looked between Cadance and Sunset. “Very well. But before anything can be said, I feel I should find a safer home for this.” She levitated up a gold-trimmed, black clamshell box. Icy blue light shone in a thin line through the box’s opening.
Cadance’s smile fell and she nodded. “Probably for the best.”
Sunset bit her tongue.
“Then shall we?” Princess Celestia tipped her head to Philomena, who took a perch on her back. The princess started towards the door, saying, “We can stop by the vaults on our way to my study. I’ll send for some tea as well.”
Cadance fell into step beside her, and the two alicorns crossed the threshold to the ramp outside. “Sunset?” Cadance said, tossing a filly-like look over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”
Sunset blinked from her stupor and said, “I’ll, um, catch up. Need to get all my stuff together first. I’ll be quick.”
With a soft nod, Cadance took one step, paused, mouthed the word, “Sorry,” then followed Princess Celestia’s lead down the tower, leaving Sunset alone.
Dozens of disjointed thoughts swam through the quagmire of Sunset’s mind, none of them quite breaking the surface before getting pulled back under. She fell back on her hindquarters, closed her eyes, and took a few long, slow breaths. A cocktail of sweet and earthy smells met her nostrils, sending a calming stream through her whole body.
A minute or so later, true to her word, Sunset gathered up her belongings in numb silence. Once she thought she’d gotten everything, she stepped over to the broken dresser and hesitated just a moment before swiping The Cadance Collection into her saddlebags. She galloped into the night to catch up with the princesses.
On any other day, Sunset would have been giddy to receive an invitation to Princess Celestia’s personal study. It had been her haven as a filly. Many of her fondest memories involved cozying up in a nest of plush, purple cushions, working on her homework by the light of candles that shouldn’t have been bright enough to illuminate the chamber, yet were. The princess herself would be there too, of course, and her presence would warm Sunset nearly as much as the everburning fireplace, the mouth of which could have passed for a gateway to another realm. The picture turned perfect whenever Philomena joined in, most often asleep on her perch by the stained-glass night sky mosaic.
The princess had invited her there less and less as she’d grown older, but that only helped to preserve the magic. Within these walls, nothing bothered her. She could check any and all distress at the door and shut out the rest of the world. Everything she needed was right there.
Unfortunately, tonight would ruin all that. Not only would she have to tolerate an invader in her sanctum, but she hadn’t even actually been invited—not by the princess, anyway. She was only there as an accessory to the real conversation. Sit tight, Sunset. The Princesses are speaking. Combine that with the cold pebbles still rolling around in her gut from earlier, and she would never feel the same about this place again.
Just one more thing Cadance has stolen from me. Add it to the list.
She stowed the thought in her mental junk drawer and focused on the opportunity at hoof. A better chance to learn about the Everheart wasn’t likely to come around, so she had to make the most of it. Princess Celestia would probably cover the broad strokes of what she wanted to know, but she would have to play her cards right to get all the details. Thankfully she had a few aces in hoof, not the least being that she had a right to understand something that had attacked her.
Should worse come to worst, she could always play up her trauma if she needed more information. It wouldn’t even be that hard, considering…
Well, considering.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Princess Celestia said as they all crossed the threshold. “I hope not to take up too much of your evening, but I imagine you both have many questions.”
Oh, just a few. Sunset stole a glance at Cadance’s eyes, which had reverted to their natural purple. For whatever reason, that was the detail that perplexed her most.
By some prognostic force, the drink platter had beaten them to the room. It boasted twin teacups, a pot probably full of chamomile, a jar of sugar, and a mug of espresso—Sunset had never been much for tea. The coffee’s strong, bitter bouquet warmed her senses, undercut by the barest notes of herbal sweetness.
Three velvet cushions surrounded the platter. Sunset crossed to the far side and took the pillow nearest the fireplace. Cadance settled on the one next to her, so she shuffled away, feigning a stretch. Philomena took her perch between the window and fireplace.
“Now,” Princess Celestia said, seating herself and filling the two teacups, “I know you must both be exhausted after all that’s happened, but I must ask: what precisely were you doing that elicited such an aggressive response from the Everheart?” She zeroed in on Sunset like a prosecutor eyeing up her witness.
Sunset donned her hard-study face and took the coffee in her magic. Let the games begin.
She spent the next few minutes nodding along as Cadance recounted the night’s events in vague detail. It only seemed fair—most of the ordeal had been Cadance’s fault after all. Sunset only spoke when directly addressed, and even then mostly in monosyllabic replies. Princess Celestia had had more than a millennium of political practice to perfect the art of reading ponies, so the fewer chances she got to divine Sunset’s true motives, the better.
“And that’s when you showed up,” Cadance finished, eyelids aflutter. “I, um…” She sniffled and wiped a hoof across her muzzle. “How did you know we needed help?”
“Philomena alerted me.” She nodded to the phoenix, whose gaze lingered on the fireplace. “Though even before that, I sensed my enchantments had been broken. I had hoped it was a mistake. I knew that the Everheart contained a powerful magic, but clearly I underestimated it. It is troubling that it was able to subvert my protections so easily.”
If by ‘troubling’ you mean ‘promising,’ I agree completely.
“I’m sorry,” Cadance said, pinning her ears. “I always thought that the dragon was just something Prismia could do. I had no idea it came from the Everheart. If I had, I wouldn’t have…” She closed her eyes. Then, in a voice barely louder than breathing, she said, “I just wanted to keep it close.”
Sunset blinked. She had grown so used to tuning out Cadance’s rambling that she’d nearly missed it. She fixed her with steely eyes and said, “You’ve seen that thing before?”
Cadance opened her mouth, closed it, and gave a stiff nod. Her eyes went hollow, stuck on something Sunset couldn’t see. She met Sunset’s stare and said, “I’m so sorry you went through that. I wish I could have stopped it sooner. That’s not something anypony… any creature… I know how scary it is.”
In a moment that Sunset would deny ever happened, she found a bizarre comfort in Cadance’s eyes. They were eyes that understood. Eyes that knew the blind panic she’d suffered. Eyes of kinship.
She looked away and blew a raspberry. “Scary? Please. It wasn’t even five minutes. No big deal.”
Cadance paused. It sounded out of place, like she had meant to say something but dared not invoke the words. Eventually she said, “I’m happy to hear that. Still. Sorry.”
The silence begged Sunset to respond, but she refused. She gulped down a mouthful of coffee too quickly and burned her tongue.
Princess Celestia cleared her throat. “Regardless, it is no one’s fault but mine. I should have exercised better judgement and stored the Everheart in the vaults to begin with.” Her mouth lifted in a matronly smile. “We can at least be thankful that you are both unharmed.”
Sunset flicked her tail, freeing some of the residual stone dust.
The princess’s smile flattened. “However, should your studies continue in this vein, I doubt this will be the last time either of you contend with the Everheart. In light of this, you both deserve to know the truth, if only to avoid a similar situation in the future.”
She turned to Cadance, the firelight casting her face in a grave silhouette. “In all honesty, this is something I should have discussed with you much sooner. I refrained because I couldn’t decide how best to breach the topic. For that, I apologize. Perhaps this wouldn’t have escalated so dramatically had you known.”
Little stars danced in Cadance’s eyes. “Had I known what?”
Finally, something useful. Sunset assumed her lecture posture: back straight and ears perked.
Pausing for a breath, Princess Celestia said, “Do you recall one of the first nights you spent in Canterlot? You were being fitted for your coronation gown, if memory serves.”
Cadance smiled—the first one Sunset had seen from her since leaving the tower. “Of course. I wanted something to match the Everheart, but you didn’t think it would be safe for me to wear it. Then you took it overnight to set up protections.”
Princess Celestia nodded. “And while that was indeed the truth, I’m afraid it wasn’t all of it.
“When we first met, I felt an odd sense of familiarity about you. At first I assumed it was simply your presence. After all, it had been quite some time since I had enjoyed the company of another alicorn before you.” Her smile warmed in a way that typically made Sunset feel safe—right now it just irked her. “And what lovely company it has been.”
Cadance’s cheeks went rosy, and not just from the firelight. Sunset ground her teeth. She brought her mug to her lips and sipped slowly.
“But as we spent more time with one another, I came to realize that it was not your presence—not uniquely, at any rate—but that of the Everheart as well. I felt as though I recognized it, but I couldn’t place how. Like something from a dream, or a hazy childhood memory. I found it… strangely frustrating.
“I took it that evening to study it in closer detail. To see if it would reveal anything, or if it might jog my memory. And while it took some doing, I eventually discovered a detail that made sense of it. As it turns out, I have seen it before. Exactly once, a very long time ago.”
Sunset fended off a scowl. I knew she was lying about how old it was! She eyed Cadance carefully, watching for any cracks in her facade.
None appeared. Rather, she looked as though she’d just been told her coat was green, not pink. “Auntie, that can’t be right. The Everheart isn’t nearly that old.”
“Are you certain?” the princess said. Without even looking, she levitated the second, untouched teacup to Cadance’s hooves.
“Yes, it…” Cadance gazed into her drink. She probably saw something other than the bottom of the cup, judging by how her pupils searched.
“Mom left me a letter,” she said. Each word came out methodically, like she didn’t know what the next one would be. “To try and explain things. In it, she said that… that she made the Everheart. Just for me. To protect me.”
What happened to “I don’t know where she found it?” Now suddenly she made it specifically for you? Sunset dug her hooves into the carpet.
Cadance shook her head. “Maybe you just saw something that looked like it. Heart-shaped necklaces aren’t exactly uncommon, right?” She chuckled with all the fervor of an undertaker.
“Very true,” Princess Celestia said. “Which is exactly why I wanted to examine it more closely. I needed to know for certain that my assumptions were correct, lest I give you false hope. Although, I suppose ‘hope’ might not be the correct term in this circumstance.”
Her voice chilly but still level, the princess continued, “The magic within the Everheart—and, indeed, the magic you harnessed in your ascension—is of a very particular type. It is a magic I have only known one other pony to possess. It just so happens that she was the very same pony who once wore that necklace, more than a thousand years ago.”
Sunset leaned in.
Cadance gazed up with the eyes of a lost lamb. “Who?”
At first, Princess Celestia didn’t respond. She regarded Cadance with a look that would make a dragon feel small. These weren’t the eyes of Sunset’s teacher, nor were they the eyes of her benevolent princess. These were eyes that had witnessed a millennium of history and carried the weight of every moment.
She trotted to the stained-glass window, gazing across the beveled starscape. She reached out a hoof and started petting Philomena, who barely moved at the touch.
“It belonged to a princess,” she said, no longer sounding like the words were directed at anypony in particular. “The leader of a kingdom long lost to history, and one of Equestria’s oldest allies: a place known as the Crystal Empire.”
Crickets chirped in Sunset’s head. Her knowledge of nations beyond Equestria covered everything from modern day Maretonia to the formerly sovereign states of Trotsylvania and Ancient Ponylesia, but no “Crystal Empire” existed in her mental index.
“I… don’t think I’ve ever heard of it,” Cadance said.
“You wouldn’t have.” Princess Celestia sighed through her nose so imperceptibly that it might have been Sunset’s imagination.
“When I say that this empire was ‘lost to history,’ I mean it quite literally. It was… erased. Banished by the curse of a usurper king, along with all the ponies who called it home. I didn’t believe that any piece of it had survived.”
She turned around, fixing Cadance with those ancient eyes. “Clearly I was mistaken.”
For Sunset, the implication was obvious.
Unsurprisingly, Cadance had more trouble. Her expression struggled between “wow” and “what,” ultimately landing somewhere in between. She raised her teacup, but stopped before it reached her lips. “Wait, so… What does that mean? How did… Am I… What does that mean?”
“Quite honestly, I do not know.” Princess Celestia trotted back to the tea circle. “It could be sheer coincidence that this artifact found its way to you, or it could be entirely prophetic. I believe that is a question only you will be able to answer.”
“How?” Cadance pulled her teacup close to her chest. “I… I barely know anything about the Everheart. And apparently the one thing I thought I knew ended up being wrong. Where would Mom even find something like this?”
“I cannot say. No other trace of the Crystal Empire has resurfaced since its disappearance.” The princess settled in front of Cadance, laying on her stomach to roughly match her height. “Tell me, Mi Amore. What do you feel when you’re near the Everheart? Is there any specific emotion? Any kind of bond?”
The little shifts and cracks in Cadance’s features were adding up—like watching an earthquake in slow motion. “I mean… yes. I’ve always had a strong connection with it. I feel… safe, I suppose, when it’s nearby. Like I’m at home, or… I just always thought…” She shrank in on herself. “Well, I don’t know what I thought anymore.”
Nopony spoke for a small eternity. Sunset couldn’t help but feel like she was peering in on a moment she wasn’t meant to see. More than that, it seemed as though she’d been excluded from a whole side of the conversation—one shrouded in silence.
But it hardly mattered. She’d learned a key detail about the Everheart, and her mind was already tooling away with it. Princess Celestia had said that the magic within the Everheart belonged to a princess, which meant that the relic wasn’t merely enchanted. It contained a reservoir of magic all its own. A reservoir of princess magic. Alicorn magic.
And if that magic could be put into the Everheart… Her idea forge sparked to life.
“Mi Amore,” Princess Celestia said. “Are you all right?”
Cadance winced at the question. “Auntie, I know this is random and kind of petty but… could you please not call me that anymore?”
The princess’s eyes widened by atoms. She worked her mouth for a moment before saying, “What would you have me call you instead?”
It should have been an easy answer, but Cadance apparently couldn’t manage it. She opened her mouth, closed it, bit her lip, glanced down to where her tail hugged her flank, then into her tea, then—
The steel cable of Sunset’s patience threatened to snap, so she caved and said, “She, uh, prefers ‘Cadance.’”
Cadance flinched, almost like she’d forgotten Sunset was still there. She gave the suggestion of a smile and said, “Thank you, Sunset.”
Sunset returned to her espresso.
“Very well,” the princess said. “Are you all right, Cadance?”
“I… maybe?” Cadance set her tea to the side, spilling much of it, and rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know. I’ll be fine.”
“Which means you are not currently fine.” Princess Celestia rested a hoof on Cadance’s shoulder. “I realize this is quite a lot to take in, but we are here to help you through it.”
“I appreciate that, but I don’t… It’s not…” She fidgeted in place and ruffled her wings like the air itself had grown uncomfortable. She hid inside her bedraggled mane and said, “Never mind. I’m being stupid.”
What else is new?
“Your feelings are not stupid.” The princess brushed Cadance’s mane out of her face and smiled the way one might when trying to coax a frightened dog from hiding. “Whatever is troubling you, I would hope that you trust me enough to share it. Remember: you are in a safe place.”
Cadance shook her head. The strands of her mane swayed like willow leaves. “It’s not that easy.” She peeked to the side, abruptly locking eyes with Sunset.
Again, Sunset found some peculiar camaraderie in those eyes. She glared and turned to the fireplace, tracing the log’s smouldering veins in an attempt to distract herself. Cadance would not manipulate her. Not that easily.
A few bristly moments later, Cadance carried on. “The Everheart… It’s always been special to me, but not because of its magic or any weird connection or anything like that. It’s special because it’s the only thing my mom left me. Her letter said it was a symbol of her love—the love she could never give me in person. And I believed it. I had to believe it.
“But… it wasn’t true. The Everheart wasn’t meant for me. Mom didn’t have anything to do with it. It… doesn’t mean anything.”
When Cadance spoke again, her voice held a cold edge that failed to mesh with anything Sunset knew about her. “That necklace was the only piece I had of my mom. Of my home. The one thing that proved she cared enough to at least try and protect me. And now… now it’s not even hers?”
Sunset glanced back right in time to see a scowl cut across Cadance’s muzzle. Cadance could never hope to look intimidating, but the genuine anger bleeding off her lips gave Sunset pause.
Princess Celestia wrapped her hoof around Cadance’s withers and rubbed in small circles. “Regardless of where it came from, your mother still meant it as a gesture of love. That need not change. Only now it may also be a link to your heritage.”
“Then why didn’t she tell me that?!” Cadance forced the princess’s hoof down. Her eyes flashed apologetic, but they hardened just as fast. “She could have told me the truth. Instead she just made up some story to make herself seem like a better pony.”
Tears pooled in her eyes, reflecting the red firelight. “Do you have any idea how upset I was when I found out Prismia had stolen the Everheart? I worked so hard and waited so long to get it back, because I thought… I thought…” She squeezed her eyes shut and stomped her hoof hard enough to topple the teacup entirely. She choked out a sob in mangled pieces.
“Cadance…” the princess said, reaching her hoof out halfway.
“I just wanted to believe that she really loved me. The fact that she made me something so special, something that was ours, was the only proof I had. And now…”
A tear-soaked laugh ripped from her throat. “I guess it’s my own stupid fault, right? Why did I ever trust somepony who would leave their foal to die in the woods?”
Sunset edged closer to the fireplace. Part of her considered leaving—let Cadance handle her own baggage—but she couldn’t look away. Something about Cadance’s eyes. Her voice. She radiated a furious passion that had Sunset spellbound.
“Please, Cadance. Remember your breathing exercises.” Princess Celestia moved her hoof the remaining distance, touching Cadance’s chest. “I have seen the letter your mother left you. It is clear that she loved you a great deal, and—”
“I don’t know that!” Cadance shot to her hooves and flared her wings. Her mane fell around her face in feral strands. “I don’t know anything about her! Not her name. Not her face. Not her family. My family. How do I even know she’s the one who wrote the letter? She lied about the Everheart. Who knows what else she lied about?”
“Not all lies are ill-intentioned. Perhaps she was only trying to protect you. She may not even have known—”
“Please stop defending her!” The glare she fired the princess could have cut diamond. Sparks crackled around her horn—Sunset readied a shield spell, just in case. “You know even less about her than I do! She’s a liar and a coward and… and…”
She reared back and unleashed a scarred, damaged scream. “I hate her!”
Light ruptured the world.
Sunset managed to throw up her shield and warded off the worst of the blast, but her mind buckled against the force. Heat swelled out in dense waves, briefly turning the room into an ironworks. Through the cacophony, something shattered.
The surge quickly passed, leaving only an echo in its wake.
Blinking the spots from her eyes, Sunset dispelled her shield and gazed dumbly at where Cadance stood in the far corner of the room. The hair immediately around her horn had been singed. She otherwise seemed unharmed, but her eyes gave the impression that she’d seen beyond the veil of death.
Scanning the rest of the chamber, Sunset spotted the teacup—or where it had been, anyway. Had she not known what it once was, she would have been unable to piece it together.
“I…” Cadance squeaked.
A high trill pulled Sunset’s attention to the opposite end of the study. Philomena swooped the breadth of the chamber and landed on Cadance’s back. She tucked her beak into the multicoloured mess of a mane and began lining frizzy hairs back into place.
Sunset didn’t have the capacity to be mad about that. Right now, her brain was pulling overtime trying to reconcile what she had just seen with the Cadance who, barely four hours ago, hadn’t even had the backbone to turn away a couple of whimpering fanponies by herself.
Princess Celestia immediately closed the distance to Cadance and inspected her horn. “Are you hurt?”
“N-no. I just…” Her pupils shrank. She charged past the princess to the ceramic blast zone. “Oh, no! Auntie, your teacup. I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know what happened.”
Aaand she’s back to being a doormat. Sunset let her muscles relax. She added this little incident to her mental ammo box.
“Don’t concern yourself with that.” Princess Celestia stepped up beside Cadance and sat down, frowning. “All that matters is that nopony was harmed. Did you get everything out of your system?”
“No, not really. But I’m okay for now.” Cadance collapsed on her hindquarters like her own weight had become too much to bear. Philomena hopped from her back, landing between her and Sunset. “Honestly, I think I just need some sleep. Today has been… a lot.”
Understatement of the century.
Princess Celestia wrapped Cadance in her wing, cradling her in a side hug. “I apologize. Perhaps it would have been better to wait for emotions to cool before discussing this.”
Cadance heaved a sigh. “No, I’m glad you told me. Really. I think I needed it.”
She lay her head on Princess Celestia’s side like it was the most casual thing in the world. Sunset sneered, hiding it behind her mug. She sidled closer to Philomena.
Smiling an orphan’s smile, Cadance said, “Part of the reason I agreed to come to Canterlot in the first place was because I wanted to discover myself. To figure out what being a princess even means for me.
“But after everything else tonight, this was just… too much. Finding out that I might be the heir to an ancient empire? One that doesn’t even exist anymore?” She shrank into Princess Celestia’s wing. “I don’t know what to do with that.”
Good, because I do. A surge of vindication nearly lifted a smirk to Sunset’s face. Cadance’s horn having been bestowed upon her by some weird magical destiny made a lot more sense than her having earned it through love or some garbage.
“You needn’t ‘do’ anything with it,” the princess said, offering a pity smile. “It is important to understand our past, but we need not let it define us. Our decisions in the present are far more important.”
She retracted her wing. “At any rate, try not to think too hard about it. You’ve had a long enough night already.”
Cadance matched her smile with a tired copy. “All right.”
Sunset saw the conversational window closing. Not yet.
She raised a hoof and said, “Pardon the interruption, Princess. While this has all been very… interesting on its own, I feel like we’ve gone off topic. You still haven’t explained why the Everheart reacted the way it did, or how it reacted, for that matter. I thought it was only supposed to sense the emotions of the pony wearing it.”
Cadance’s sleepy eyes clicked in clarity like she’d suddenly realized the presence of an audience. “Oh, that’s true. I didn’t even think about that.”
No surprises there.
Turning her way, Princess Celestia nodded and said, “An astute observation, Sunset,” but she used the blasé voice that always made Sunset feel like an idiot. “Thank you for the reminder. I suppose we have gotten rather sidetracked.”
You think?
Rising to her hooves, the princess stepped into the more open area of the study and said, “Unfortunately, I do not have all the answers. As I said, I have only seen the Everheart once before, and there were far more pressing concerns at the time, so I know little about its true function. However, I believe I can shed light on one particular aspect.”
Squaring her stance, she closed her eyes and set her horn aglow. Dim at first, it steadily grew in intensity until a miniature sun had coalesced on her forehead. The light morphed and flowed in nonsense directions like a gravity-confused stream. Shimmering white waves ran up its length, sculpting the light in strange ways until—
Oh no. Paralyzing cold tore through Sunset’s every nerve. Her eyes sank from the dragon to the floor, gazing straight through.
Get a grip. The princess is controlling this one. It isn’t going to hurt you.
She shuddered as a low snarl filled the chamber.
“The being that emerged from the Everheart was a dracoform,” Princess Celestia said. “Powerful magical familiars—manifestations of unicorn magic—that are typically used for self-defense. Eastern unicorns have employed them in magic duels dating back as far as the Sable dynasty.”
A hoof touched Sunset’s shoulder. She glanced sideways at Cadance, who was spearing the princess with a look Sunset had once thought her incapable of. “Auntie, I don’t think the demonstration is necessary.”
The chorus of light and magic died instantly. Princess Celestia knelt down in front of Sunset like a mare rushing to her injured foal. “Oh, Sunset, I’m—”
“It’s fine,” Sunset snapped. She shrugged Cadance’s hoof off and flashed the princess a grin. “I’m all right. Just tired.”
Her words did nothing to shift the princess’s frown. “I am so sorry. The way you spoke about it, I didn’t think—”
“Whatever. I’m good.” Sweat beaded beneath her mane as she struggled to hold the princess’s eyes. “Let’s just move on, okay? Don’t worry about me.”
Philomena brushed her head against Sunset’s, cooing quietly. Sunset leaned into the warmth for a blissful moment before jerking her head, shooing the bird away. She already felt too small and fragile with the princess coddling her like this. Philomena’s therapy phoenix act certainly didn’t help, nor did—
“Sunset,” Cadance said, “it’s okay to—”
“Shut up!” She bared her teeth and shot a green corona from her horn. Cadance flinched away.
Sunset straightened her back and flipped her mane out of her face, barely containing her tremble. “I want to go to bed at a half-decent time, so I would appreciate it if we could just get through this already.” She turned a loaded frown on the princess. “Please.”
Putting on her “we’ll talk about this later” face, Princess Celestia returned to her cushion and said, “Are you certain?”
“Yes,” Sunset tried to say, but the word fell apart in her throat. She settled for a nod.
“But—” Cadance started, but she crumbled under Sunset’s brimstone glare. She hunched over, her mouth collapsing in a frown.
Sunset hated how long the silence lasted.
“Very well,” the princess said, at last.
“As I was saying, dracoforms are potent magical guardians. Most often they are only conjured for a brief amount of time to complete a specific task, but they can be bound to objects or locations for a purpose. In such cases, they act on the will of the one who created them.”
No longer feeling the pressure of a thousand judgmental eyes, Sunset said, “So the one in the Everheart was made by that long lost princess you mentioned?”
“Potentially. From what I could tell, it seemed highly protective of you, Mi— Cadance, which would make sense if you are indeed a descendant of the Crystal Princess. Perhaps it perceived a threat and reacted accordingly. Though what it deemed as dangerous, I cannot say.”
Sunset tried to vanish into her mane.
“But that is only conjecture on my part. How did it feel in the moment? Did you sense any kind of connection with the dracoform?”
“Um…” Cadance flicked her eyes to Sunset, then to the ground. She shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t really notice it at the time.” She clambered to her hooves, shaking one leg like it had fallen asleep, and said, “Auntie, would it be okay if I excused myself? I feel like I already have enough to think about for one night. Unless there’s anything else you think I need to know.”
Sunset narrowed her eyes. She knew a conversation escape attempt when she saw one. She’s hiding something.
Whatever it was, Princess Celestia either didn’t notice or ignored it. She smiled and said, “Nothing that can’t wait for another time. I won’t keep you any longer. When you’re ready to talk, I will be ready to listen.”
“Thank you. I just need to figure out what I need to talk about first. But I will. Promise.” She trudged forward and wrapped the princess in a full-on hug. She said something, but it was muffled by the princess’s mane.
Princess Celestia returned the embrace—hooves only, no wings, which made Sunset feel a bit better. “And I you, Cadance.” She nudged Cadance off and said, “Rest well.”
Cadance nodded, then turned her glossy eyes on Sunset. She seemed to consider her for a second, gave a meek wave, and trotted for the exit. Neither Sunset nor the princess said another word until Cadance’s hoofsteps faded.
“Philomena,” Princess Celestia said. Philomena had already been looking her way, as though the two of them shared one mind. “Please see that Mi Amore arrives in her quarters safely.”
Sunset rolled her eyes.
With a swift nod, Philomena took to the air. She turned and gave Sunset a bright chirp before swooping out the door.
“My offer extends to you as well, Sunset,” the princess said, gathering the remains of Cadance’s teacup onto the platter. “What happened to you tonight should not be taken lightly. If you ever need to talk, my door is always open.”
“Thank you, Princess, but I’ll be fine,” Sunset said, and she believed it. She had more important concerns than some post-petrification jitters. She’d shake it off by morning.
And if not, there was always the next morning.
A couple questions still sizzled in the back of her mind: Why had Cadance’s eyes changed colour, and how had the Everheart shut down Sunset’s magic without affecting its own? She considered posing them as veiled academic inquiries—the answer to the latter could legitimately solve the Antimagic Paradox, after all—but she held her tongue. All of the vital information had been provided, and the path forward was revealing itself by inches. Asking anything else would be superfluous at best and suspicious at worst.
Plus, she was beat.
She downed the last of her coffee and grouped the mug with everything else on the platter. “I should get going too. Divination starts early tomorrow.”
“Of course. Before you go, however…” Princess Celestia stepped past the platter, looking down on Sunset with a strange, syrupy smile. “I would just like to let you know how very proud I am of you.”
The comment struck Sunset so far from left field that she nearly lost her balance. “Uh, thank you?” She paused. “Any particular reason?”
“Many. I have always been proud, as I’m sure you know, but it doesn’t hurt to say it every now and then.” She caressed Sunset’s cheek with a hoof. It felt shockingly warm through the golden slipper. “You are shaping up to be a wonderful young mare. I hope you can see as much for yourself.”
Did I do something wrong? Sunset gave a lopsided smile and said, “What can I say? I’ve learned from the best.”
Princess Celestia giggled. She ran a hoof through Sunset’s mane, freeing a few tangles along the way. “Sleep well, my student.”
“And you, Princess.” She bowed, a bit clumsily, and scurried out the door.
Her heart was beating in her throat. Had she given something away without realizing it? Had she been too harsh with Cadance, and this was the princess’s way of making her feel bad?
Too many thoughts pulled her in too many directions. She latched onto the most powerful one and allowed it to drag her down the corridor:
Bed.
Sunset had half-expected Cadance to accost her on her trip home like some night-stalking apology demon, but the universe had finally given her a break and she made it all the way to her bedroom unimpeded. She dumped everything from her saddlebags at the foot of her bookcase and chucked the satchels themselves in the corner. A flame jumped from her horn to the bedside candle and cast the room in dim, pre-dream light.
The golden title of The Cadance Collection glimmered in her periphery. She considered it for all of zero seconds—rounded down—before nixing the idea. Her bedtime ritual did often involve falling asleep while thought-deep in a book, but that particular book could wait. She’d had enough Cadance for an alicorn’s lifetime.
She picked up Skyspark, turned it over in her magic, and replaced it on her shelf. The final book in the pile, The Drag, wouldn’t fit anywhere on her bookcase, so she stuffed it in her nightstand drawer. Out of sight, out of mind.
She skimmed her other titles for a while before giving up, crawling onto her bed, and wrapping herself in a blanket cocoon. She extinguished the candle and prayed that the world would melt away the moment her head hit the pillow.
It didn’t.
Colours bloomed across the black canvas behind her eyelids, blending and bleeding into ghostly snapshots. Figures emerged, and she willed each of them away in turn: Shining Armor. The princess. Philomena. The dragon. Cadance. She didn’t want to think about any of them.
She wanted to be alone.
Fighting her bruises, she turned onto her other side. Her head whined and butterflies swarmed in her stomach, but she powered through. If she could just manage to escape into the dream realm, everything else would fall into place.
Slowly but surely, she clawed her way to the edge of slumber, ready to plunge into its timeless abyss. She—
She heard a growl.
She couldn’t move.
She couldn’t move!
Spikes shot down her legs and she flailed awake, getting tangled in her sheets. She sat up with a gasp. Her stark eyes whizzed about the room, only catching the silver shadows of midnight.
Nothing. She was alone.
Heat flooded her eyes, but she squeezed it away. Ignoring the thunder in her heart, she slammed her head into the pillow and willed herself to sleep. No more distractions.
A peculiar tocking noise shattered that notion.
She pretended not to hear it at first, but the longer she waited the louder it became. It droned in the darkness with the steady rhythm of a grandfather clock. It chipped away at her resolve until she became more annoyed than tired, and she sat up again. This time, though, she instantly spotted the perpetrator.
A golden, bird-shaped beacon sat outside her window, pecking at the glass. Sunset scowled, held a mini-debate with herself, then magicked the window open. Philomena fluttered inside, landing at the foot of her bed.
“Shouldn’t you be with your new best friend?” Sunset said. She crossed her arms and fell back into her pillow. “She’s probably wetting the bed without you there to help her sleep.”
Philomena said nothing.
“You’re lucky I even let you in. I could have just ignored you. You know, like you did to me?”
No response.
“Did you even care? Did you even notice?!” She sat up again, her glare meeting Philomena’s cool, even eyes. “You flew right past me and didn’t even hesitate. You just went straight for her. Her! Over me! What kind of friend… I could have been dead!”
Philomena bowed her head.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter though. Not next to a princess! I guess she’s just so much more important than… than…”
Feeling tension around her eyes, Sunset buried her face in the pillow. “Whatever. It’s not like I needed you. I don’t need anypony. So go ahead and just… just…” She shuffled her shoulders, drawing the blanket higher on her body. “Just leave me alone.”
Air wooshed by, and for a moment she believed Philomena had actually flown away.
Then a warm, feathered blanket draped itself over her.
Sunset shivered. She went to say something, but she choked on the first word.
And the second.
Whatever she had meant to say devolved into haggard sobs. She tried to stop, but she didn’t know how. She curled up, hiding in her bed as the day’s weight crashed over her.
She had no concept of how long she cried, but it didn’t feel long enough.
Sunset knew hundreds of spells, many of which would make even S.G.U. alumni blush. She could rip tunnels through spacetime via teleportation. She could rewrite entire genomes through theriomorphic transfiguration. She had even mastered five of Star Swirl’s Seven Safeguards.
All of that paled in comparison to the restorative magic of a good night’s sleep.
Not that sleep cured everything, of course. She had still awoken the next morning with sour eyes, a brain-gouging headache, an espresso-confused gut, and the worst case of bedmane since the time she’d fallen asleep by her father’s old lightning amp. And while Philomena’s company had been welcome, plucking phoenix feathers from her bedsheets hadn’t been her ideal start to the day.
Even so, the tide of exhaustion had receded, and the seas of her mind were calm and clear. Monsters still lurked in the salt-crusted depths, but she could comfortably ignore them in favour of what really mattered: breakfast, coffee, and classes—not necessarily in that order.
She spent the rest of the day easing back into her natural rhythm. She likely wouldn’t be seeing the Everheart again anytime soon, so it didn’t make sense to stress over it. Better to focus on what she could actually control.
Yet despite her best efforts, some part of her brain conspired against her. In the shadows of her every thought, the spectre of the Everheart loomed. Through every class, every break, and the entirety of study hall, anxious voices clamored for her attention, never more than a moment’s distraction away.
How do you plan to get alone with the Everheart?
Is it even possible to extract its magic?
The magic sees you as a threat. How do you get around that?
Can the magic reject you?
Even if you pull this off, what happens next?
She ultimately excused herself from her final class early and skipped out on dinner with the princess, citing illness in both cases and only half-faking it. Instead she spent the evening chewing on eucalyptus gum to relieve her pain as she pored over The Cadance Collection, if only to scratch the itch.
“The Kingdom of Everheart” wound up having precisely zero useful information. It told the story of a princess who wanted to find the secret to eternal life for her aging father, but she spent so long searching for it that she missed out on the final years of her father’s life. The Everheart itself only came up once, and not even by name. All of the other stories in the book—the ones she could read, anyway—proved equally useless.
She went to bed early that night.
The following day went much the same, with the glaring exception of some colt stopping her between classes to ask if she was actually friends with “that hot new princess.” Her patented “stop talking if you value your face” look had sent him scurrying with his tail between his legs, but in hindsight she should have demanded to know who’d told him that. She had a hunch—only so many ponies had seen her interacting with Cadance, after all—but she would need to find out for sure so she could nip that rumor in the bud.
Her next tutoring session with Cadance was slated for after school that day. She hummed and hawed over whether to blow it off until she had her head back on straight. Seeing her would only make things worse right now, and Cadance wouldn’t have the nerve to ask why she hadn’t shown up anyway.
She mulled it over in study hall, simultaneously taking notes on the properties of inlaid photometric enchantments in various refractive mediums, when a long shadow stretched across her books. Her eyes flicked up, meeting the plastic smile of one of the many teacher’s aides whose names she’d never bothered learning.
“Sunset Shimmer?” he said.
“Obviously.”
He pulled a pink envelope from the pocket of his sweater vest and slid it onto the table. “The new princess delivered this to main. She also wished to relay an apology that it was not delivered sooner.” He nodded and cantered off, vanishing into the bookshelves as if he had only existed to deliver that message.
Sunset stared at the envelope as though it were radioactive. A blue wax seal held it shut. She assumed it was meant to look like a heart, but one half dwarfed the other, and some of the wax had bled, giving the impression of a ruptured artery. The tiny scorch marks surrounding the seal told the rest of the story.
Whispers off to her right pulled her attention. Shooting a glare sideways, she caught the eyes of three students at the other end of the longtable. They all took a sudden fascination with the skylight. One of them—a round-faced filly—boasted a jester’s grin, looking like she might break down in laughter at the barest tickle.
Taking another look at the envelope, one that she now realized looked straight from a Hearts & Hooves Day stationery set, Sunset’s face broiled. She gathered her things, fired a threadbare hex at the filly’s knapsack, and made for the door.
The filly squealed behind her, followed by a clatter as all of her knapsack’s contents tumbled to the floor. Sunset smirked.
Exiting into the afternoon sun, she ripped open the envelope and unfolded the mouthwritten letter inside. In a twist nopony could have seen coming, the paper was also pink. She let muscle memory guide her towards her duplex as she read:
Sunset,
Firstly, I would like to apologize that I’m not telling you this in person. Ordinarily I would have, but I have a hunch that you probably don’t want to see me very much right now. That’s actually the main reason I’m writing this.
I’m really sorry about the other night. The whole reason I asked you out to that picnic was so we could have a second chance at a first impression, since our actual first meeting was so rough. I guess you did get a different impression of me, but not in the way I had hoped. Not only did you see me at my worst (twice), but I also put you in real danger. I never dreamed that it would go so poorly.
You have every right to be angry for as long as you need to be. I hope you can forgive me one day, but I’ll understand if you can’t. Nothing I can say or do will fix what happened. I’m still going to do what I can to try, though.
On that note, I would like to give you the option to terminate our magic studies. You have made it quite clear that you aren’t too fond of me to begin with, and now I’ve given you a pretty good reason to dislike me. Even though I still consider you a friend, I would understand if you didn’t want anything to do with me after all of this. Nopony is worth the trouble I’ve put you through.
I haven’t spoken with Princess Celestia regarding this yet. I wanted your input first so as not to speak wrongfully on your behalf. However, I have no doubts that she would understand if you weren’t willing to continue this assignment, and it would certainly have no negative impact on your scholastic career. These are wildly unforeseen circumstances, but I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that.
Should you wish to discuss this more in person, you know where to find me. If you don’t show up for tonight’s scheduled tutoring session, I will assume that you have chosen not to continue, and you won’t have to worry about dealing with me anymore. No hard feelings either way.
Your All the best, Cadance
Sunset had stopped walking somewhere around “terminate.” She flew through the message again, trying to read between the lines. There had to be some hidden meaning.
If the guava juice was any indication, Cadance had been trying to get in Sunset’s good graces since before they had even met. Sunset didn’t understand why—even her most persistent peers had given up—but she had been grateful for it. Those naive attempts at friendship had been the perfect opportunities to squeeze all the information she needed out of Cadance.
So what was her angle now? Why work so hard at being nice only to give Sunset the option to walk away, no strings attached? Had she realized that befriending her was pointless and just wanted to cut her losses? Maybe she felt that Sunset had learned too much about her past and wasn’t comfortable around her anymore. Or had she somehow sussed out Sunset’s real motives and this was an attempt to call her bluff?
All right, don’t give her too much credit.
Whatever the reason, Cadance had intentionally put the ball in Sunset’s court, and Sunset had to return volley just right. Game over, otherwise.
Sunset tucked the letter into her bag and cantered the rest of the way home. All the while the gears in her brain chunked and whirred, threatening to spin off their axles.
Fifteen minutes past due, Sunset stood at Cadance’s doorstep. Twittermites buzzed in her gut, and her saddlebags weighed on her like Tartarean shackles. Never had she thought a pony made of cotton candy and bubblegum could fill her with such dread.
She raised a hoof, hesitated, and knocked.
“It’s open!” Cadance called. Her chipper tone made Sunset want to blow the door off its hinges. She didn’t, but she made a point to slam it behind her.
She couldn’t see Cadance at first. Filly’s First Phantasm lay on the study table alongside a pile of scrolls. A bowl of salad and a dish of mixed nuts sat untouched at one end of the table, because of course she’d thought that far ahead. Behind the table, the splintered remains of her dresser had been replaced by a dark wooden armoire. Several framed pictures hung on the wall next to it, but Sunset didn’t care enough to examine them in detail.
Cadance stepped in from the balcony carrying a tray of what appeared to be art supplies. A tan bandana held her mane back, splattered with enough colours to make Sunset wonder whether a rainbow had leaked on her. A frilly, light blue smock covered her front, similarly stained tie-dye.
She placed the tray on a side table near the archway and turned to Sunset with an annoyingly satisfied smile. “I’m glad you came! I didn’t know if you would, but I prepared everything just in case.”
Keener. Sunset scanned her up and down, her eyebrows sharpening. “Didn’t have much faith I’d show, did you?”
Cadance shrugged. “I was fifty-fifty.” She pulled the bandana off and shook her mane. “Sorry, I was just painting some of my ceramics while I waited. It’s a little hobby I picked up from a friend back home. Did you want to take a look?”
Sunset didn’t bother responding. She just rolled her eyes and started for the study table.
After a moment, Cadance followed suit. Removing her smock, she tossed her clothes to the bed and said, “I take it you got my letter.”
“Yeah,” Sunset said, though it came out as a cold grunt. She shrugged her saddlebags to the floor.
Using her lungs like a bellows, she heated her voice and said, “Before you make this weird, let’s get one thing very clear.”
She cut in front of Cadance and prodded her chest. “I. Don’t. Forgive. You.”
Cadance lifted her hoof to Sunset’s and eased it down. “That’s fine,” she said, her smile softening like melted chocolate. “I didn’t really expect you to.” She stepped around Sunset and to the far side of the table. “Honestly, I wouldn’t forgive me either.”
Sunset’s upper lip twitched. She whirled around right as Cadance took her seat. “The only reason I’m still doing this is because it’s a direct assignment from Princess Celestia. I’ve never given up on anything in my life, and I’m not about to start.”
“Fair enough.” Cadance took a scroll from her pile and nudged it open with her nose. “I probably should have expected that.”
Feeling her blood simmer, Sunset said, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing bad!” Cadance glanced up, her face far too bright. “It’s just the impression I get from you. When you commit to something, even if it’s something you don’t particularly enjoy, you always see it through, don’t you? No matter what?”
“Yeah, I’m stubborn. You got me!” Sunset slumped to the cushion Cadance had probably fluffed for her. “Get used to it.”
“‘Stubborn’ isn’t quite the word I would use. More like… ambitious. Dedicated! It’s really admirable, actually.” She chuckled, her shoulders going slack. “Reminds me a lot of a friend back home.”
Sunset clenched her teeth. “Well, I’m not your friend.”
“I know, and I can respect that. Sorry for trying to push you into it. You won’t have to worry about me bothering you anymore.” Cadance blinked, then opened Filly’s First Phantasm to the bookmark. “Once your assignment is over, we can just go our separate ways.”
A cold wave of realization slapped Sunset in the face. Once she finished tutoring Cadance, she wouldn’t have any excuse to come back. Her only link to the Everheart would be severed. Outside of staging a heist to steal it—a nigh guaranteed ticket to Canterlot Dungeons, or worse—she might never see it again, let alone get close to it. Her plan would dead-end there.
Not an option. Not after all of this. Time to improvise.
Sunset folded her ears in an effort to look as endearing as possible. “That’s a bit extreme. We wouldn’t have to go our separate ways. Not entirely.”
Cadance hit her with a flat stare, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Come on, Sunset. You don’t need to sugarcoat it. I know you can’t stand me. And even though I…” Her smile dipped, and her eyes sank to the book. “Even if I want to be friends, it’s probably for the best. Like you said in our first session, you don’t want to be here any longer than you have to, right?”
“Right… but…” Sunset searched her mental scatterplot for any data point she could use to weave a path forward.
“But nothing,” Cadance said, a cheerful veneer over her empty voice. “You don’t want anything to do with me, and that’s fine. After what happened with the Everheart, I can hardly blame you.”
What happened with—? And she found it.
Sunset gave a half-real sigh. “All right, let me be straight with you. Back at the picnic, when I said I wanted to help you understand the Everheart, I meant it. Especially now that I know what it’s capable of. Even once you have better control of your magic, it would be irresponsible of me to leave you to figure it out alone. Somepony could get hurt.”
“That’s very kind of you, Sunset, but you’ve already been hurt. I can’t let you put yourself in danger again.” Cadance went to unstopper her inkwell, but her hoof froze halfway. Her eyes bounced between the inkwell and the book, and her face turned stony. “Besides, I’m sure Princess Celestia will be able to help me when the time comes.”
“She won’t.” Sunset’s eyes darted to her saddlebags, a resin rendition of her cutie mark latching them shut. “She might be able to, but she won’t actually help. Take it from somepony who’s trained under her for most of my life. She’ll want you to figure it out on your own.”
“Thanks for the heads-up, but that doesn’t change the fact that the Everheart is dangerous. Nopony but me should be near it until we know it’s safe.”
Sunset kneaded the carpet with her hooves. She fired a glare across the table—Cadance had lit her horn, wrapping the inkwell in blue sparkles. “I don’t need you to protect me. I can handle myself. I was caught off-guard the first time, but now that I know what to expect, I can prepare for it.”
“You can’t be sure of that.” Cadance scrunched her muzzle. A few hairs around her horn frizzed up like frayed threads. “We know so little about the Everheart, there’s no telling what it might do. I know you just want to help, and I wish I could let you, but you’re smarter than I am. You know it’s too risky.”
“You’re right.” Slamming her hooves on the tabletop, Sunset leaned forward with the purposeful lethargy of a horror movie monster. “I am smarter than you. I’m also stronger”—more in touch with reality—“better prepared”—more qualified to be a princess—“and more emotionally stable. If anypony shouldn’t be near the Everheart, it’s you.”
The inkwell rattled. “That may be true, but that’s why I’m doing this. The magic training, the meditation, the therapy. The Everheart and I are connected. I want to understand it. I have to—”
“Then you’re doing a lousy job. You didn’t even know where it really came from until a couple of days ago. If you seriously want to understand it, you need me. I’m not blinded by emotion like you are.”
Cadance pursed her lips but didn’t immediately respond.
So Sunset went for the heart. “Don’t deny it. You’re a wreck anytime you even think about the Everheart. Or was that whole ‘I hate my mom’ thing an act?”
The bottle cracked. A single hairline fracture down one side—not enough to spill ink, but close. Cadance stared at Sunset, unmoving. Her eyes were like stones in a riverbed. “That was uncalled for.”
Sunset leaned back with a catty grin. “Proved my point, though.” She floated a box of tissues over from the vanity and dropped it on the table.
Cadance stared dumbly at the tissues for a moment before snatching one up and wiping her eyes. “You aren’t going to drop this until I agree, are you?”
“Hey, look who’s finally catching on! Honestly, why are you even resisting this much? I just want to help.” Help myself, that is.
When Cadance met her eyes again, Sunset’s mind went fuzzy. Despite being downright allergic to social interaction, she took pride in her ability to read other ponies—a product of too many hours with Princess Celestia, probably. So the fact that she didn’t recognize the look Cadance was giving her, not even slightly, threw her train of thought entirely off track.
Cadance broke the stare, stood, and trotted over to the wall-mounted pictures. “Sunset, can I be honest with you?”
Had she been a dragon, Sunset would have shot fire from her nostrils. “You mean you haven’t been honest with me so far?”
“I have, but…” Cadance fixated on a photo. It showed a large group of ponies, but Sunset couldn’t make out much else at a distance. “You know how I said that it would be for the best if we went our separate ways after all of this? That wasn’t only for your benefit. I… I think it would be better for me, too.”
The words made Sunset’s ears tingle. “What? Why? I thought you wanted to be friends.”
“I do! I really, really do.” She wheeled around, giving Sunset a smile reminiscent of a parent leaving on a work trip. “But after everything that’s happened, I’ve realized just how… fragile I am. If I want to be a stronger pony, let alone a good princess, I need to start taking better care of myself. And while I feel horrible saying this, the honest truth is that you’re…” Her eyes fell. “…detrimental to that.”
Is she really going there? Sunset managed to restrain her inner manticore—she wouldn’t give Cadance the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her. She scoffed and crossed her arms. “Tell me how you really feel.”
Cadance trotted to Sunset’s side of the table and plopped down an arm’s length away. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but… you’re a bit of a bully. Far from the worst I’ve had, but still.”
Guess I need to try harder. The thought rang hollow as more twittermites flocked to her stomach, popping and sparking.
“I can’t be around somepony who puts me down the way you do. It isn’t good for either of us. You’re allowed to not like me, but I’m allowed to not want to put up with it.”
Cadance scooched closer. “If the Everheart really is affected by my emotions the way I think it is, you being there is only going to make it more volatile.” She reached out a hoof and touched Sunset’s shoulder. “And I think you know that.”
Sunset’s lower lip shook. Don’t let her get in your head.
The thought had come too late. She couldn’t meet Cadance’s eyes. A heavy, slimy lump had embedded itself in her chest, making her heart feel tight. Heat gathered in her face, and the tingle in her ears had spread down her spine like a festering virus.
She hated it. A lot.
She swatted Cadance’s hoof away and forced herself to look her in the eye. “If being around me is so awful, then why even give me the choice of coming back here? Why not just find another tutor? Why would you want to be friends at all?!”
Some of Sunset’s rage got muddled by Cadance’s smile—a rough-edged, lopsided thing. “Because you’re smart, passionate, bold, interesting, and… Honestly? Because you’re the only pony in Canterlot who doesn’t treat me like a princess.”
Sunset just stared at her. She legitimately had no response for that.
“Don’t get me wrong! Being a princess is wonderful, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s every filly’s dream, after all. But even with so many ponies fawning over me, it’s… lonelier than I expected.”
Bolting from her stupor, Sunset barked out a laugh. “That’s a quality problem to have.”
“Isn’t it?” Cadance tittered, her mane bouncing a bit. “I know I shouldn’t complain, but I can’t pretend that it doesn’t bother me. Most ponies are either too scared to approach me or treat me like a sacred object. It’s impossible to have a real conversation. The only ponies I’ve made any kind of connection with are Aunt Celestia, Miss Inkwell, my therapist, and you. I know it’s a bit silly to say that, considering I’ve only known you a few days, but that’s how I feel.”
A frown eclipsed her smile. “I was willing to put up with some abuse because I didn’t want to push you away. I even found it kind of comforting because it was so familiar, awful as that sounds. But I’ve struggled enough to get my self-esteem up to where it is. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you damage it just because I’m a little lonely.”
It felt like Sunset had a lodestone lodged in her throat—she swallowed, which did absolutely nothing to help.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Sunset had counted on Cadance to keep taking her treatment lying down, like everypony else did. That or lash out at her, which Sunset had years’ worth of built-in counters for. What Cadance had done instead… Sunset had no defense for it. It was like being forced to look in a mirror and having every little imperfection pointed out. It felt… horrible. It felt—
No! Stop it! This is exactly what she wants. You’re stronger than this.
Of course she was. That didn’t change the fact that Cadance wasn’t going to play along anymore. She had changed the rules of the game. And as loathsome as it would be, Sunset would have to play by those rules if she wanted to get any farther along with her master plan.
Nopony said she would have to play fair, at least.
“I’ve been that bad, huh?” Sunset said, slouching her shoulders to sell it.
Cadance folded in on herself, nodding. Her gloom only lasted a moment before she bounced back, offering a consolation grin. “But hey, no big deal. It’s like you said before, some ponies just rub each other the wrong way.” She meandered back around the table. “We’ll both be happier if we just—”
“Cadance, I—” Sunset cinched her lips. She had to choose her next words carefully. A heel-face turn would be too obvious, even to Cadance. This would require a more clever approach.
And fast, because Cadance was staring.
Sunset forced a sigh. “You’re right, okay? I don’t like you. Not even a little. But that doesn’t mean I want you to be totally miserable. To be honest, it sounds like your life’s been miserable enough without my help.”
Ears drooping, Cadance settled on her cushion. Her eyes remained locked on Sunset. Good. She’s buying it so far.
“I… may have taken things a bit too far. Talking down to you, pressuring you into telling me about your past, making fun of you when you spilled that ink on yourself.” A laugh had crept into her voice—she could only hope it made her sound more genuine. “You didn’t deserve all that. The only reason I was being so… cruel, I guess, is because… well…” Need a plausible reason. Think. Think. Think!
Sunset brushed her mane out of her face and gulped. “Sorry. I’m not great at this.”
“I get it.”
Sensing a way out, Sunset glanced up. Somehow Cadance was smiling. “You do?”
“Of course! Trust me, you’re not the only pony who’s upset that there’s a new princess.” She pointed her muzzle at the nearest picture on the wall: a portrait of her standing side by side with Princess Celestia. It made Sunset think of a filly trying to look grown-up by putting on her mother’s makeup. “Equestria’s only ever had one princess. Then I showed up, literally overnight. Such a sudden change is weird and confusing, especially since I’m not exactly on par with her. Not everypony is going to be okay with that.”
That’ll work. “Yeah, that about sums it up.” Sunset managed to prop up a smile. “But now that I’ve gotten to know you, you’re honestly not half bad. Still not exactly princess material, but you’re a good pony. I should have taken the time to appreciate that before judging you based on what you represent.”
Tracing small circles on the table with her hoof, Cadance asked, “So, what exactly are you trying to say?”
Sunset grimaced. “I’m not about to apologize, if that’s what you’re after. I meant everything I said. But I really do want to help with the Everheart. It seems important, and after what happened…” She gritted her teeth—she didn’t have to fake that, at least. “Now it’s personal. So I’m willing to tone it down and… maybe try this whole ‘being friends’ thing, if that’s what it takes.”
Cadance’s smile turned to honey. “I suppose that’s the best I can hope for.” She held her hoof out and said, “Ready for another first impression? Third time’s the charm!”
Moth? Meet flame.
Reaching forward like Cadance’s hoof was a white-hot branding iron, Sunset nudged it. “Hopefully with fewer tears this time.”
“Hopefully,” Cadance said through a giggle. She turned a page in her book. “Well, I guess we should finally get on with the reason you came, huh?”
Already taken care of. Sunset nodded, drawing an armada of study supplies from her bags. “With pleasure.”
Their study session lasted only two hours, but it felt closer to two days. Forcing herself to play nice—well, nicer—with Cadance had exhausted Sunset more than she ever could have imagined. By the end of it, she felt as though she’d taken a double dose of Hydia’s Hypnagogue, undiluted.
Worse, it hadn’t even been worthwhile. They’d finished off Filly’s First Phantasm, the final section of which claimed that Cadance should be able to “conjure and manipulate a marble-sized ball of light,” but in reality she still hadn’t even been able to complete the most basic levitation exercises from section three. She could hold a quill aloft for maybe five seconds, not even in stasis, and that was it.
How she’d managed to generate a power surge strong enough to strain Sunset’s shield spell, even accidentally, Sunset had no idea.
“I don’t get it,” Cadance said, sweat dripping down her temple as she failed to lift the empty salad bowl, again.
Sunset smirked as she filed her things away in her saddlebags. “I told you, you’re probably just”—defective—“trying too hard. It should be as effortless as breathing. You look like you’re trying to give yourself a hernia.”
Lifting her head, Cadance followed the stream of objects in Sunset’s magic with her eyes. She smiled. “You make it look so easy.”
“That’s because I’m amazing. Also, it is easy. This is magic kindergarten day one stuff. Don’t know why you’re struggling so much.”
“I don’t know either. I feel like I’m doing everything right, but it’s almost like there’s some kind of block. Like my magic is stuck in blackmud.” She shook her head, then bounced back, sitting up straight. “I’ll get there, though! I’ll keep practicing those mental clarity techniques you showed me. Could we go over that ‘inner eye’ concept one more time before you go?”
Ugh. “I’d love to, but I’m crazy tired. Haven’t been sleeping well lately. Just read the notes again. Nothing I can say that I didn’t already write down somewhere.”
“Right. Okay.” Cadance closed the book and stood, stretching her back and wings. “I should be heading to bed soon, too. I’ll have plenty of time to practice tomorrow, so hopefully I’ll be much more consistent next time.”
“Hope so. We really should be past the basics by now.” Sunset shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out in a couple days.” She strapped on her saddlebags and made a brisk trot for the door. Really, she could have teleported out, but that would only exacerbate her already-splitting headache. Although that might have been worth it to deny Cadance her inevitable sappy goodbye.
“Before you go,” Cadance started.
Called it. Sunset stopped but didn’t turn around.
“Thanks again. For coming tonight. I know what I said earlier might have been hard to hear, but I’m happy we were able to talk it out.”
“Don’t mention it.” Seriously, don’t.
“And, um, since we’re starting over, that invitation to my book club is still on the table if you’re interested. I’d love to have you there. I think you would find it fun!”
The “not a chance” almost rolled off Sunset’s tongue without a second thought, but she caught herself. A little extra suffering could prove invaluable in securing Cadance’s trust. If she was going to play this part, half measures wouldn’t do. New game. Old strategies need not apply.
Cadance must have picked up on her hesitation, because she said, “If you change your mind, the first meeting will be in the Clover Lounge at seven o’clock, Saturday night. It should be pretty short since we’ll just be deciding what book to start with.”
Sunset cast a wary glance over her shoulder. “Who else will be there?”
“Oh, nopony so far,” Cadance said, waving a flippant hoof. “I asked a couple of other ponies, but Miss Inkwell is too busy, and Cousin Blueblood still won’t talk to me.”
Smart colt. “So if I don’t come, it’s just going to be you reading by yourself?”
“Pretty much, yes,” Cadance said, her head bobbing.
Sunset stifled a snicker. How pathetic can you be? “I’ll think about it,” she said, then continued her exit.
“That’s all I’m asking.” The sounds of shuffling paper and clattering bowls filled the silence. “Either way, see you Friday. Have a good night!”
“Thanks,” Sunset said. She paused in the doorway, weighed her options for a moment, then added, “You too.”
Cadance flashed her one last smile before the door closed.
Finally free, Sunset nearly collapsed. This whole night had gone so much more simply in her head. Nothing could have prepared her for such a massive wrench in her plans.
Still, she had won in the end. At a cost, sure, but a little patience and flexibility would go a long way on the road to ascension. All she had to do now was not crack under the weight of feigned friendship, string Cadance along long enough to have a clear shot at her prize, and figure out how to sap the Everheart’s magic, all without raising suspicion.
Might as well kick me to Tartarus with a pair of hoof nippers and a bag lunch while we're at it. She brought a hoof to her temple. “Celestia, help me.”
Sunset peeled her face off of the table, where a groove the shape of her muzzle had no doubt begun to form. “Believe me, if I knew, I would tell you.”
Cadance sat in the middle of her bedroom floor, her whole body slumping like a half-melted ice cream cake. Even at a distance Sunset could tell how sweat-matted her coat had become—thankfully some sort of fruity perfume masked the stench. She had cast aside her scrunchie too, leaving the stripes of her mane to tangle and overlap with one another as if fighting for dominance.
Ahead of her lay a pile of papery viscera that had once been an issue of Vanity Mare. The last several hours of “spellcasting” had burned and torn it beyond recognition.
Staring down at the abomination, Cadance shook her head and pushed to her hooves. “One more try. I can do this.”
The look Sunset gave her was more eyelids than eyes. “You know you’ve been saying that for the past hour, right?”
“Well, hopefully it’ll be true this time.”
“Whatever.” Sunset rested her chin on the table and tried balancing a quill on the end of her muzzle. “Not like you can do much worse.”
Cadance’s smile skewed into a smirk. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She narrowed her gaze at the magazine like it had personally slandered her, then took a quick breath and closed her eyes.
Ugh, here we go. “Hey. Eyes open, remember? You can’t levitate something you can’t see.”
“I know, but I kind of psych myself out if I don’t do this first. It makes it easier for me to concentrate.”
Sunset grunted in ambivalence and returned to her quill, nudging it with her magic to keep it upright.
A soft tinkle filled the silence as Cadance lit her horn. Her eyes popped open, and she smiled far wider than she deserved. Her aura grasped the magazine and hovered it to chest level. Amazingly she managed to keep it steady the entire way, leaving the scarred image of the cover mare face up.
Sunset barely moved. Even though Cadance’s magic had doubtlessly improved since her previous lesson, she’d already managed to get this far a few times today. Next came the “hard” part.
Examining the magazine like a mathematician confronted by the Riemane hypothesis, Cadance tilted her head to the left. The entire magazine flipped on an invisible axis, twirling and wobbling like a demented gyroscope.
Holding in her sigh—mostly because it would have upset the quill’s balance—Sunset said, “Stop thinking of it like one object. It’s an array of objects—pages, in this case. Dedicate part of the spell to holding the array in place, then use the rest of your magic to manipulate the pages. Simple stuff.” Of course, Sunset’s version of simple was linear algebra for Cadance.
“See, that all makes sense in my head. I just can’t get it to work in practice. Holding the magazine on its own is hard enough. Trying to split my concentration on top of that feels nearly impossible.”
“Well, it shouldn’t. Comes second nature to most unicorns.” Sunset gave a limp shrug. “Guess you’re just slow.”
Cadance frowned. Her magic flickered out not a moment later, leaving the magazine to plummet to the ground with a miserable thud. She stomped her hoof in the most Cadance way possible, like she was worried about hurting the carpet’s feelings. “Shoot.”
“Case in point.”
Her frown going sour, Cadance gathered up the magazine debris in one hoof and said, “You know, I don’t mean to criticize your teaching methods, but a little bit of positive encouragement from time to time would be nice.”
Sunset huffed, sending the quill flying. “Oh, so now it’s my fault you can’t levitate?”
“Of course not.” Cadance fell back on her haunches, hugging the magazine tight to her chest. “Sorry. You’ve done a lot to help me, and I’m extremely grateful, but it’s frustrating. I feel like I’m doing everything right, exactly the way you taught me, and I still can’t get it.”
Catching the quill as it fluttered down, Sunset set it aside and said, “Weren’t you going to practice between lessons?”
“That’s the thing. I did practice!” Her voice trembled on the verge of cracking. “I stayed up late Wednesday reading and rereading the notes you made me. I spent nearly all day yesterday doing mental exercises and trying to cast the spell. I even got in trouble with Mademoiselle Bon Vivant earlier for skimming Filly’s First Phantasm during dinner rehearsal.
“And even after all of that, I still can’t levitate a stupid magazine for more than ten seconds!” She hurled the magazine to the side. It landed in one of the window planters, skewered in a miniature rose bush. Cadance unfurled her wings, letting them hang by her sides like deflated balloons. “I don’t know if I’m missing something, or if my magic is just that weak, or if I’m just too much of an idiot to do it right.”
Definitely the last one. As much as Sunset wanted to believe that, even she had to admit that Cadance wasn’t that dense. In fact, she had put in far more effort than Sunset had anticipated, and she had shown a surprising aptitude for general arcane theory. It might have even been impressive if she had the talent to back it up. Still, no matter how weak Cadance’s magic was, the fact that she had made such little progress despite her dedication seemed bizarre.
Sunset sat up and fixed Cadance with a hard stare. “Okay, listen. You are getting better—barely, but you are. And I’ve explained everything so well that I don’t think anypony could misunderstand it. Not even you. More than likely, you’re just slow on the uptake, which is”—annoying—“fine.
“But just in case, let’s assume for a second that you are missing something.” She yanked the magazine free of the rose thorns and dropped it in front of Cadance. “Walk me through the spell as you cast it, and maybe we can figure out what.”
Cadance’s eyes flicked up. “Really?”
Sunset shot her a withering look. “Yes, really. I don’t pass my assignment if you don’t learn magic properly, so if this is what we have to do, then let’s get it over with.”
A tiny smile crossed Cadance’s lips. Folding her wings, she got to her hooves and said, “How much detail do you want me to go into?”
“Excruciating. Explain it like I’m a first-grader.” You know, like how I explain things to you.
“All right. Well, the first thing I do is square my stance.” She spread her hooves wide, planting herself to the ground. “You explained that energy flows more easily through the body when it’s balanced, so this makes the spell easier to cast.”
“Right. Good.”
“Then I clear my mind as much as possible.” She closed her eyes. “The fewer distractions, the more focus I can put on my magic, and the stronger it will be.”
“Shouldn’t have to close your eyes, but that’s the idea.”
“That’s not really why I close my eyes, actually.”
This ought to be good. “Why, then?”
“Because the next step”—her brow wrinkled, and her smile wavered—“is easier if I only focus on my body. Establishing my magical connection is still a little tough, but it comes eventually.”
Sunset raised an eyebrow. “‘Establishing’ your…? You mean channeling your magic?”
“That’s the next part, yes, but I can’t do anything unless I find my magic first.” Her horn glowed to life, and her eyes slid open. She offered an oblivious smile. “Maintaining the connection once it’s there is starting to get easier, at least.”
“Whoa, back up for a second,” Sunset said, her mind stalling as she tried to process Cadance’s words. “You’re not making any sense. You’re always connected to your magic—it’s literally part of your body. You shouldn’t have to ‘establish’ or ‘maintain’ anything. That’s like saying you can’t walk because you forgot where your hooves are.”
Cadance opened her mouth, then paused, face like a guppy. Sunset could practically smell the smoke as her brain overclocked. “But I… You don’t have to…?” She frowned. “Does that mean there’s something wrong with me?”
Are you trying to get me to insult you?
“Maybe,” Sunset said. Stepping into her scholar’s horseshoes, she scanned the collection of books at the far end of the table and located Arcane Anatomy 101. Opening to the index, she pored through the “L” section. “How much do you remember about leylines?”
“I would have to check your notes for all the details, but I think I remember the gist of it.” Her voice grew closer, joined by muffled hoofsteps. “They carry magical energy from the… arcane core out to the rest of the body. Kind of like veins, but for magic, right?”
“Exactly.” Sunset flipped to the appropriate section. A scientific diagram took up much of the first page: a simplified depiction of an alicorn with its leylines drawn in violet. They grew from a spherical structure at the approximate center of the pony’s body and sprawled out like the limbs of a ghostly octopus. Four thin lines ran to each of the hooves, two moderate lines extended to the wings where they exploded into dozens of small branches, and a thick, bold line curved up the neck and straight to the horn. Several dotted lines also broke off from the primary pathways, connecting with the mane, tail, and eyes.
“And just like veins,” Sunset continued, “they don’t always work right.” She slid the book to the center of the table to give Cadance a closer look. “If you have a blockage or deformity or something along this track here”—she traced the path leading to the horn—“your magic won’t flow properly, which could explain why you can’t connect with it consistently.”
“That sounds promising! Awful, but promising.” Cadance ran her hoof down the paragraphs, as if she could understand any of the technical writing. “What would cause something like that?”
“Usually an illness. Sometimes a magical one, but even things like hoof cough and the cold can disrupt leylines if they’re severe enough. You feel fine otherwise, though?”
“Completely. Is there a way to check my leylines directly?”
Ice gathered in Sunset’s hooves. “There, uh… There is.” She suddenly realized how close she and Cadance had gotten, leaning in over the same book, and scrambled back to her cushion. “But I am not doing that.”
Cadance glanced up and cocked her head. “Why? Is it dangerous?”
“No. It’s just…” Sunset’s face burned, glowing hotter every time her gaze wandered near Cadance. “Invasive.”
The silence lasted only a moment, which was still far, far too long. Sunset wished she knew time magic specifically so she could avoid this conversation.
Perfectly straight-faced, Cadance said, “Is it the ‘Oops, you just walked in on me preening’ kind of invasive? Or more the ‘Hey, why are you reading my diary’ kind?”
Yes. “Doesn’t matter—I’m not doing it, so we’re not discussing it. Period. Get the castle doctor to check if you want.” Sunset violently shook her head to try and escape the thought of doing… that to Cadance and said, “Besides, we don’t even know if anything is wrong. Not like there’s any other examples of pegasi getting unicorn magic. Maybe this is normal.”
Cadance plopped back in her seat. “Maybe, but it doesn’t feel normal. Is there anything else you think it could be?”
“Ugh, no.” Sunset propped her elbows on the table and rested her cheeks on her hooves. “I can barely even wrap my head around it. Not being able to feel your magic… Unicorns have a sense for it from the moment they’re born. Most foals even call on it by accident! That’s how you get—”
An idea clicked in her mind like a key in a lock. “Wait, that might be it.”
“What might be what?” Cadance said. “You kind of lost me.”
Typical. The theory quickly grew legs, so she ran with it. “You said that you need to concentrate on your magic to establish a connection, but that’s not true. Not always. There was at least one time where you used magic purely on instinct, without thinking: your power surge the other night, right after… you know, everything.”
If the mention of that evening bothered Cadance at all, it didn’t show. “I suppose that’s true, but I don’t really know how I did that. It just kind of happened.”
“But the fact that it happened at all proves that the connection is still there, even when you’re not focused on it. And that means your leylines might not even be a factor.” As threads connected the pins on her mental corkboard, Sunset got up and paced a path between the armoire and table. “Right before the power surge, you were getting really worked up about your mom and the Everheart and all that junk, right?”
Cadance gave a dry chuckle. “‘Worked up’ is putting it mildly. I was… angry. Furious, really. Probably more than I’ve ever been.” Her voice tapered away, and she clopped her hooves together softly. “Do you think my magic is tied to my emotions, then?”
“Um, duh. Every unicorn’s magic is tied to their emotions. At least a little bit. Leylines run through the limbic system, so it’s pretty much unavoidable.” Sunset stopped and tapped her chin. “Still, the effect isn’t normally that pronounced. Could be that your magic is just abnormally reliant on emotions for some reason.”
“That would make sense,” Cadance said. “After all, I got my magic from the Everheart, and its magic is linked to my emotions. Why should mine be any different?”
“That’s—” Sunset froze. She had planned to follow up with “ridiculous” since Cadance rarely had anything of value to say, but the more she considered it, the more it seemed like—“actually a decent point.”
Cadance’s eyes snapped to Sunset and widened. “It is?”
“Well, kind of. I read up on emotional resonance when I was first looking into the Everheart. Most of it related to how artifacts are affected, but there were some mentions of how it can influence ponies directly. I ignored it at the time since it didn’t matter, but it might be worth looking into.”
She shook her head. “Before I waste any time on that, though, we should make sure there’s actually something to this and that it’s not just some weird coincidence.”
“Okay. How do we do that?”
“Simple.” Sunset turned to her and said, “Get angry.”
Cadance looked at her like she’d just been asked to rip her wings off and hand them over. “Pardon?”
With the worn-out sigh of a remedial teacher, Sunset said, “If your magic is dependent on your emotions, the easiest way to tell is for you to feel something. Strongly.” Trotting back to her cushion, she sat down and stared Cadance dead in the eyes. “Think of something that makes you mad.”
Cadance seemed almost queasy at the request, but eventually she said, “Well… I can try.” Inhaling a long breath, she closed her eyes and donned a mask of absolute calm. For a second, Sunset thought she was going to have to define what “angry” meant.
Then Cadance opened her eyes. Her bottom lip jutted out, and the tip of her muzzle wrinkled like she’d smelled something mildly unpleasant. She set her cheekbones in sharp, angled lines and pointed both of her ears out to the sides. After a moment, one of her eyes twitched.
As did one of Sunset’s. “Okay, you’re just making a face to try and look angry. Are you actually thinking of anything?”
“I am!” Cadance said, bursting out in a smile. “I’m thinking of those ponies who bend the corner of a page to keep their place in a book. Like, is it that much trouble to find a bookmark? What did the book ever do to you?”
Her mane feeling ready to catch fire, Sunset glanced down at the still-open Arcane Anatomy. She lifted the book in her magic, held it close to Cadance’s face, and dog-eared the page without mercy.
As though expecting more, Cadance kept staring at the page—her smile didn’t even shrink. She met Sunset’s glare, and only then did she say, “Oh, right!” She returned to the book and resumed her “angry” face.
Drawing on willpower that had once moved the sun, Sunset suppressed the urge to slam the book into Cadance’s face, thrusting it to the table instead. “Fine. Maybe anger’s not your thing. Can you think of anything else that would make you emotional? Happy? Sad? Scared?” Over Cadance’s shoulder, she spotted the fake carnation adorning the nightstand. “Don’t you have a bunch of mementos from your hometown? Those do anything for you?”
“Hmm…” Cadance swiveled her head, looking all around the room. She paused on the books at the end of the table. Her eyes flashed with clarity but quickly went dull again. “Well, that would have worked.”
“What?” Sunset said, her gaze zipping to follow Cadance’s. “What would have?”
“When I moved away, everypony in Woodwind gave me something different to remember them by. My neighbors made this sweet little book with all my favourite stories in it—they even called it The Cadance Collection.” Her smile waned. “But I haven’t been able to find it since the other night, when the Everheart destroyed my dresser.”
A small knot formed in Sunset’s stomach. She ignored it and said, “If it was just a collection of stories, you could always get copies from the library.”
Cadance half-laughed half-sighed. “That’s a lovely suggestion, but it’s less the stories themselves and more the fact that they made me something so personal. Honestly, it’s not even the book itself I was thinking of. Remember how my mom left me a letter?”
The knot twisted. “Yeah?”
“I think reading that would be the best way to get me really emotional, but I lost it with the book. I kept it in a little pocket at the back since I figured it was a safe place.” Her eyes sank to the floor. “Guess I was wrong.”
“O-oh,” Sunset said. She cursed herself for failing to stop the stammer, but it had practically been a reflex.
Why, though? She’d known full well that Cadance had a personal attachment to the book, and she’d stolen it anyway. The fact that it held more value than she’d originally expected should have been good news.
Even so, the twist in her stomach only grew tighter at Cadance’s downcast face. Get it together, Shimmer. “Well, I hope you find it.”
“Thanks. Me too.”
Hey, at least you know what you’ll be doing when you get home tonight, a voice gloated in her head. Her mind came to a standstill as she decided whether or not she agreed.
It became too much to consider, so she buried the thought and pressed on. “There must be something else that’ll work.” Her eyes roved for options.
The mountain of pillows on Cadance’s bed caught her eye, and an idea whispered itself in her ear. Sunset grinned, all else forgotten. She had never settled on a course of action faster in her life.
She took a small throw pillow in her magic, spun it as she aimed her shot, and fired. It arced through the air and struck Cadance in the side of the head. She twisted and toppled face first to the floor with a squeak and a thud. Sunset tried to hold back her laugh, but a snort still snuck loose.
“Um… ow,” Cadance said. She spat out carpet fiber as she sat back up. “What was—?”
The pillow looped back around and slammed her in the face, sending her sprawling onto her back.
“I’m trying to make you angry,” Sunset said. “For science.” She painted on her most innocent smile and trotted around the table to lord over Cadance. “Is it working?”
The pillow still covering her face, Cadance dragged it off and…
Smiled?
“You thought this would make me angry?” She grabbed the pillow in her teeth before rolling backwards and somersaulting to her hooves. She tossed the pillow skyward and said, “You just challenged the wrong pony to a pillow fight!” When the pillow came back down, Cadance pivoted on her forehooves and bucked it squarely at Sunset’s face.
Sunset flinched. She barely caught the pillow before it made contact. “Okay, no,” she said, her frown mutating into a grimace. She glared past the pillow at Cadance, who had already charged halfway to the bed. “I’m here to teach you magic, not play some stupid game.”
“Too late. You started it!” Cadance grabbed a long pink pillow. She whirled on Sunset and raised her eyebrows like a temptress.
Rolling her eyes, Sunset stole the pillow in her magic. She simultaneously grabbed every other pillow on the bed and moved them to her side of the room.
“Hey!” With a flap of her wings, Cadance leapt and tackled a small cushion out of the air. She skidded on her landing and turned to Sunset with a sharp grin that didn’t match her face. She held her pillow in one hoof, stance wide like a pony facing down a herd of buffalo.
Sunset held the other dozen or so pillows in a matrix around herself. Why does she have so many? “I told you, we’re not doing this. If this isn’t making you angry, then let’s try something else.”
“Ah, so you’re forfeiting?” In that moment, Cadance’s expression became the dictionary definition of “smug.” She set down the cushion and grabbed her mane scrunchie off the floor, resetting her ponytail. “I didn’t expect to win quite so easily, but fair enough. I guess we should get back to the matter at hoof.”
Sunset snarled. She’s obviously goading you.
Yeah, and it’s working.
“First off, I didn’t forfeit. There was never a fight to forfeit. And even if there was, it wouldn’t matter. We both know I’d wipe the floor with you.”
“Excuse you! I’ll have you know that I’m a veteran of at least ten pillow wars from my time foalsitting the Chestnut twins back in Woodwind. I might be able to put up more of a fight than you think.”
Sunset scanned the battalion at her command, then turned to Cadance and her sad, lonely pillow. “You’re kidding, right? You wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Maybe not.” Flipping her ponytail over her shoulder, Cadance lifted her cushion and spun it lazily on one hoof. “But there’s only one way to find out.”
“Pfft, nice try.” Sunset turned away and began piling pillows in the far corner. “You’ve sidetracked us long enough. I’m not going to—”
The words halted on her tongue as a pillow whomped her upside the head.
She glared fire at the offender by her hooves. That fire turned infernal as she switched to Cadance. For her part, Cadance tilted her head to one side and gave a “What can you do?” kind of shrug.
And so her fate was sealed.
Half of the pillows still in her magic, Sunset launched the densest one at Cadance before gathering the rest of them. It hit Cadance’s chest with enough force to send her into a full backflip. She grunted on landing, spread across the floor like a fledgling pegasus.
“You asked for this!” Sunset raised the pillows high above herself in a storm of fluffy death. She held a volley of five in the back as her finisher, then slung the others one by one, each with a different curve and spin.
Cadance’s eyes popped open just in time for a pillow to strike her in the face. She rolled to one side and pumped her wings, successfully returning to her hooves. Another shot clipped her wing, but she danced and weaved around the next few, then caught one and used it to deflect a couple others.
Sensing a blind spot, Sunset fired two at once—one head on and the other in a wide left arc. Bottles of hoof polish clattered and spilled across the vanity as the curveball sailed by, suddenly dousing the room in a sour, chemical smell.
The sound pulled Cadance’s attention, spelling her doom. Sunset made a split-second adjustment to her trajectories, sending the first pillow beneath Cadance and sucker punching her almost to the ceiling. The second caught her midair and spiked her down. She landed hard on her side but used the momentum to roll back to her hooves, wobbling in place and staring ahead with stark eyes.
Warned you. Sunset threw one more pillow before revving up her final strike.
Cadance blinked. She leapt over the pillow and kicked it straight down. Landing behind it, she swept her hoof and fired it back at Sunset in a low arc.
It caught Sunset in the hooves, knocking her legs out from under her and sending her into a faceplant. She winced on impact and her magic winked out, dropping her remaining ammo.
“Oh, sorry! Are you all right? That looked like it hurt.”
Molten iron coursed through Sunset’s veins. She got to her hooves, stared daggers through her split mane, and summoned her magic. The air cracked like lightning as a mass of turbulent energy gathered around her horn.
Everything on the study table behind her flew off sideways, papers scattering and ink bottles smashing against the wall. Sunset lifted the entire table, galloped back a few steps, and slammed it down on its side to form a makeshift barricade. All of the pillows around the room shuddered and swarmed to her. They coalesced into one massive heap held together by arcane electricity.
The sheer effort was enough to make Sunset’s head pound, and sweat poured from her mane in warm trickles, but the pale, terrified look on Cadance’s face made it all worthwhile.
Cadance glanced left and right, seeking salvation where none lay. She dove for the four-poster, whisking up the comforter and holding it between herself and her demise.
Pathetic. Sunset heaved the mass of cushions behind herself to gain as much inertia as possible. She eyeballed her trajectory and—
A thunderous sound made her flinch. She felt her weapon collide with something at the same time. She knew she hadn’t struck the wall, so what—?
“Sunset!” Cadance shrieked. “Move!”
Glancing over her shoulder, Sunset went stiff. She’d forgotten about the heavy wooden armoire behind her—the one now leaning forward to crush her like a titan’s hoof. Her mind blanked. Her body braced for the worst.
The armoire froze at her horn, caught in a pale blue glow. It only held for a heartbeat, but that was enough for Sunset’s adrenaline to kick her sideways. Her tail grazed the wood as the wardrobe crashed to the floor. The harsh crack of splintering wood boomed outward. The entire room rumbled, knocking all of the wall-mounted pictures from their hooks.
Sunset didn’t even get a second to think before her world went dark, smothered away by a great, pillowy tomb. When she did get a second to think, her first thought was the mental equivalent of white noise.
She could already hear Cadance’s muffled cries. Not a moment later, the pillows started shifting above her, and a thin ray of light pierced the dark. It swelled to brighten her whole field of view as another pillow got tossed aside.
Cadance’s face appeared in the opening. A frown etched deep in her muzzle, she said, “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Sunset said, but her dazed mind translated it into, “Nnngh.”
“Hold on! I’ll have you out in a second.” No sooner had Cadance disappeared from view than the mass of pillows ahead of Sunset lurched forward. They spilled out across the floor, carrying her with them like a linen tidal wave.
In an instant, Cadance grabbed Sunset’s hoof and guided her up into a tight hug. The cold sweat saturating both of their coats mingled, making Sunset shiver.
“I am so sorry!” Cadance said. “I shouldn’t have kept pushing you. It was just supposed to be a fun, quick game to lighten the mood. I didn’t think…”
Sunset tuned her out, her brain only now processing what had happened. She caught the wardrobe, came her first thought, and it was the only one she cared about.
“Hold on,” she said. “Shut up. Hold on.” She wrenched out of Cadance’s death grip and held her by the shoulders. “How did you do that?”
By the glossy look in Cadance’s eyes, she was still two steps behind. As usual. “Do what?”
“What else?! Ma-gic.” Sunset levelled her hoof at the wardrobe. “You should not have been able to stop that, not even for a second. But you did, which means you must have had another power surge. How? What were you feeling?”
Cadance glanced around like a filly lost in a museum. “I… I don’t know. Worried. Scared. I didn’t know what else to do—there was nothing else I could do—so I just… reacted.”
Despite her fragmented expression, Cadance managed to laugh. “About you, Sunset. You were going to be hurt. Badly hurt.” She shook her head. “I had to stop it, no matter what.” She started blinking fast, then hurled herself forward and embraced Sunset again. “And I’m so glad I did in time.”
Too dumbstruck to stop the hug, Sunset just sat there, numb. “You were worried,” she repeated. “About me.”
“Of course.”
Her heart rate doubled.
She had been worried? That couldn’t be the only reason. It had taken Cadance discovering that her love for her mother had been built on a lie for her magic to flare up the first time. No matter how big of a heart she claimed to have, no matter how much she wanted to be friends, it was impossible that she cared enough about Sunset to have anywhere near as potent of a reaction. Not even close. Especially not after how Sunset had treated her. There was more to it. There has to be.
Obviously she must have put all her lame family stuff in the armoire after her dresser was destroyed. She would never admit it, but that’s what she cared about protecting most.
She let it fall, though. All she stopped from getting damaged was you.
Maybe she didn’t have enough power to stop it completely.
But she had enough to strain your shield spell? The one you’ve practiced for years? Not likely.
Different power surge. That proves nothing.
Yeah, because she definitely cares more about the mom she’s never met than all her family keepsakes. You saw how much she cared about the book you stole.
Whatever! Even if she does care about me more than I expected, so what? That just means she’s even more gullible than I thought, which is a good thing. Who cares?!
You do, clearly.
Sunset bolted to her hooves, forcing her way out of Cadance’s arms. “I should go.” She stormed around Cadance, not so much as glancing at her.
“Sunset? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. We figured out your magic is triggered by strong emotions. That’s all I need to know.” She combed the mess for her saddlebags and whatever else she’d brought—she barely remembered anymore. “I’ll look more into emotional resonance before Sunday. Get your leylines checked in the meantime.”
“Are you mad? Did I say something? I’m sorry if—”
“What part of ‘nothing’s wrong’ didn’t you get?!” She wheeled around and bared her teeth. Cadance stood a small distance back, one hoof outstretched, and she flinched away. “It’s later than I wanted to be out of here anyway, and we’ve finally made progress, so we’re done. That’s all.” She turned, stumbled on the table leg, and marched for the door. “Good night.”
Neither of them said another word until she neared the door. “Okay, if you’re sure,” Cadance said. “Have… a good night.” A little pause, then in a quieter voice, “I guess I’ll just… clean up.”
Sunset hesitated, hoof on the doorknob. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Cadance standing amid the chaos, staring at the ink-stained wall and scattered glass shards. A frail spark in her heart urged her to go help.
The thought to teleport to her suite crossed Sunset’s mind more than once, but she just kept walking. Her nerves had refused to settle since leaving Cadance’s tower, and some part of her hoped that a long, quiet walk across the castle grounds would put her mind at ease.
That part of her was an idiot.
By the time she arrived home, her brain had become a living storm. Turbulent thoughts and feelings buffeted her no matter how hard she tried to ignore them. She felt adrift in a sea of emotion, desperate to escape its harsh current but helpless against its force.
One thought anchored her, though. In all of the evening’s chaos, she had learned one concrete detail, and that would make this all worthwhile. It had to, because it was the only solid thing she could grasp right now.
She didn’t bother closing the front door behind her, making a beeline for her bedroom. She lit her bedside candle, grabbed The Cadance Collection from the floor, and slammed it on her desk. Without hesitation, she flipped to the back inside cover.
Cadance hadn’t been lying. It took Sunset all of five seconds to locate the hidden slit at the top of the page and the little paper square within. For a letter that was supposedly seventeen years old, the paper was in immaculate condition.
And that was the only observation she made before her determination drained through a pit in her stomach. Suddenly feeling cold, she took a seat, cupped her hooves, and stared. The tick of her wall clock chided her for her indecisiveness.
Focus on what you know. On what’s important.
On the one hoof, this letter had been written by the only living pony who might know anything useful about the Everheart. The odds that the letter itself held any of that information were slim, but not zero. After all, Cadance had kept the letter secret until Princess Celestia had gotten involved, so maybe it held more value than Sunset assumed. Plus, she had literally nothing to lose by reading it.
On the other hoof…
What, exactly? On the other hoof, what?
Nothing. Nopony will even know. Just get on with it.
She reached for the letter.
But what’s the point? I already know everything I need to about the Everheart. The general details, anyway. I can sort out the rest once I have access to it.
She pulled her hoof back.
You don’t really believe that. There are still plenty of questions left to answer, and who knows what you might uncover? You have to follow every lead if you want the best chance for this to work.
She bit her lip.
If the letter had any crucial information about the Everheart, Cadance would have told me already. This letter is between her and her mom. Even if I hate her, everypony deserves privacy when it comes to family stuff.
She grabbed her head in her hooves.
Well, you deserve to be an alicorn princess. That didn’t stop her from swooping in and stealing your thunder. She brought this on herself. Show no mercy.
Her hooves slid behind her neck, and she pressed her forehead to the desk,
I don’t have to be cruel about it. Besides, I have her right where I want her, don’t I? She trusts me. She… cares about me. Why should I risk losing that?
She swore she could hear her own pounding heartbeat. She pinned her ears.
Listen to yourself! Trust? Care? When have those ever brought you anything good? They’re tools, nothing more. Means to an end. Use them and get rid of them. Unless you actually want to be her friend.
Of course not.
Prove it.
Sunset sat up straight, pushing against the chair’s backrest. Before she could get cold hooves again, she gripped the letter in her magic and lifted it to eye level. She undid the first fold, then—
Something moved in her periphery. Shooting a glance to the side, she spotted the unmistakable glint of a dracoform’s fang in the window’s reflection.
She forgot how to breathe. Bolting to her hooves, she swirled around—toppling the chair as she did—and fired a blind arcane blast to try and stun the beast.
Her spell missed the candle by inches, punching a hole in the wall behind it.
Realization sank in, and Sunset’s heart turned to lead. She scanned the room regardless, searching for any movement. Anything out of place. Anything to prove she wasn’t crazy.
There was nothing. She had seen the candle flame reflected in the glass. That was all.
She could have cried. Should have cried, maybe. Everything in her wanted to break down then and there.
Instead she forced the agony up into her horn, where it ignited green. Her aura clamped around The Cadance Collection hard enough to crack the spine. She unleashed a throaty scream and hurled the book across the room. Its open face splayed across the wall with a crunch, then the book flopped to the ground.
Her breaths came out fast and hot, each one carrying away a shard of vigor. She glared over her shoulder at the innocuous scrap of paper lying on her desk. If she stared long enough, maybe it would catch fire.
Her glare gradually cooled, leaving only dull embers behind. She slumped to the floor in defeat. She rolled onto her back, if only to prove she still had control of herself, and stared at her bed.
This wasn’t something she had to deal with right away. The letter would still be there in the morning, and her head would be that much clearer. Although she would deny it to the grave, Sunset knew that even she had limits, and somehow Cadance had driven her to one.
What are you saying? Since when do you give up so easily? You can achieve anything you set your mind to, remember?
Giving her bed a longing look, Sunset pushed herself to a sitting position and glanced to where her saddlebags lay near her desk. The sunburst clasp fastening them shut sparkled in the dim candlelight. Those bags had been a gift, once upon a time.
Sparing a look outside—the sky was somewhere between evening and dusk—Sunset got to her hooves, snuffed the candle, and trotted out of the bedroom. She made for the front door of her suite, grabbing a cloak on the way out.
She should have known better than to hope the park would be empty. Dreamers’ Vista played host to the most beautiful landscape in all of Canterlot, which naturally made it a hotspot for dates, family reunions, cuteceañeras, and whatever other inane things ponies gathered for. Beyond that, the far-reaching view of the Unicorn Range had likely inspired hundreds of paintings, especially at this time of day, when the sun’s final rays cast the distant city of Cloudsdale in molten shadow.
Of course, Sunset didn’t care about the scenery. She cherished this place for far more important reasons. Sentimentality rarely suited her, but she knew she needed this. Maybe Cadance was rubbing off on her in some small way.
With that grotesque thought out of mind, she set off across the park, ignoring the hoofpath and avoiding other ponies until she reached the far edge, where the mountain dropped off. From there she followed the railing up to the rockier section of the park, climbing to the highest plateau. Mercifully, she found herself alone up there. She turned west, gazing to where the sun had just vanished beyond the horizon.
She rarely came this far into the city proper, and almost never by choice. Between her chambers, campus, and the castle, she had everything she would ever need: labs, libraries, privacy, and the princess. All she had ever wanted in life.
Almost, anyway.
But after the week she’d had, what she needed more than anything was distance. And for her, it didn’t get much more distant than this exact spot.
She trotted closer to the railing and ran her hoof along the metal. Even all these years later, the scorch marks remained. Many were small and unassuming, freckling the bar with dark spots that could have passed for dirt or rust if nopony looked too closely; and if they ignored the three-hoof-long black scar marring the middle of the railing. Her hoof caught a few small bumps in places where the metal had melted.
They’d had over ten years now to replace the railing, yet here it remained. Rationally Sunset knew that was because it still served its purpose well enough and would cost more to replace than it was worth. Even so, part of her liked to believe that Princess Celestia had preserved it for her sake.
She closed her eyes and took a long, slow breath, the late summer air wet with the smell of lichen. Far to her right, the Alicorn Falls roared down the mountain as they had for centuries. Dandelions and tufts of grass peppered the rocky outcrop beneath her hooves.
Nothing had changed since that day. The only thing missing was the warm sunlight beaming down on her face.
Opening her eyes, she stared out to the horizon. A fading, fiery glow hung over the western mountains like smoke in the sun’s wake. Pooling magic into her horn, she reached out and searched the sky.
She had only grasped the sun once before, and even then only with Philomena’s guidance. She didn’t actually want to make the connection this time, though. Princess Celestia would notice, and tonight had been complicated enough without drawing her attention.
No, she just wanted to get close. Close enough to remember.
Her magic grazed the solar corona, and Sunset smiled. Despite only being an echo of the sun’s full power, it was more than enough to set her blood aflame. Light and energy buzzed through her as naturally as magic, pumping her full of fresh, brilliant life. She felt like a filly again.
Princess Celestia chuckled. “With such ambition? I believe you can achieve anything you set your mind to, Sunset Shimmer.”
Her smile broadened. Nearly everything else from that memory had long since been lost to a fog of shock and excitement and delirium, but those words remained. That one assurance had meant the world. It had driven her for years. Given her confidence. Affirmation. Purpose. Strength nopony could deny her.
It stood in bold contrast to the only other thing she recalled from the meeting: her first coherent words to Princess Celestia, which she only remembered for how stupid they were.
“Can I keep the phoenix?”
She shook her head. How naïve she had been.
And how far she had come. How many ponies could say they had single-hoofedly moved the sun, let alone as a blank flank? And that had been her starting point—already leaps and bounds ahead of her colleagues without any formal education. While everypony else was aiming for the top, Sunset was building the tower. Even with a lifetime of opportunities, most ponies could never hope to match her prowess.
Cadance certainly never would.
Yet she’s the one who became an alicorn.
Sunset’s eyes turned to steel.
Everything she’d done as the princess’ protégé had been in service of one goal. A decade of hard work trying to reach a destination without knowing the path. And a talentless, airheaded, emotional trainwreck of a pegasus had beaten her there by pure happenstance. No amount of sob stories, pillow fights, or well-placed kind words would make her forget that.
Long ago, not far from this very spot, a young Sunset Shimmer had promised herself that nopony would get in her way ever again. She had promised to never let anypony tell her what she could and couldn’t do. She had promised to be the best at any cost.
Time to make good on that.
The fact that you are reading this means that the worst has come to pass. I wish I could say I was surprised. All I can do now is pray that you are kind of heart. Please, hear me out.
The foal you hopefully found this letter with is my daughter. Her name is Cadance, and she is the only good thing I have achieved with my life. I have made a lot of mistakes, but she is not one of them. Unfortunately, all those mistakes mean that I can no longer protect her. That’s where you come in.
I realize that this is a lot to ask of a stranger, but I beg of you with all that I am, see that my daughter has a chance at a normal life. Whether that life is with you or somepony you know or whatever other million possibilities I can’t fathom, I don’t care. I’m in no place to bargain. All I ever wanted was for her to have a happy, healthy upbringing, and it breaks my heart that I can’t provide it. She deserves so much better, and this is my final, desperate attempt to make that a reality.
I’m sorry I can’t give you any more details. Anything that can be used to identify me puts both you and Cadance in danger. Do not try to find me. You won’t. And if by some miracle you did, I would only be in a worse place than I already am. Forget about me. Cadance is all that matters now.
Should she grow into the smart, loving filly I know she can be, please give her this letter. It holds a second message that will only reveal itself to her. ˙̶̤̏ɥ̴̨̛ǝ̶͒ͅɹ̸̖̍ ̷̺̎ɔ̵̳̍ʇ̴̣͆ḋ̵̤ʇ̸̘̕ɹ̵̥̎ǝ̵̱͗o̵̻͛ ̴̭̀ɐ̷̣̕u̶͚͑p̶͉̍ ̸̺͐p̷̹̍ō̴̫ ̵̠̿'̷͍͗s̵̬̒ᴉ̸̺͂ ̸̠͛ʎ̷͉͛ő̷͙n̵͎̈ ̵̱̓Ḯ̷̧ ̷̍ͅs̷̜̉ǝ̵͈͝ǝ̷̥́ɐ̸͍̈́ĺ̷̻ḏ̸̕ ̷̬̚ʍ̷͕̓ɥ̵̭̇ɐ̴̗̽ʇ̵̭́ ̵͉̏˙̶̱̔ɔ̷̹́ù̷̦ǝ̷̠̉ʞ̴̳̌ ̵̬͝ɥ̵̥͊ǝ̶̬̈ɹ̶̱̄ ̵̬̆ʇ̷͕̐ᴉ̵̩̆ ̸̱̕q̶̨̈́n̵̖̅ʇ̵̜̍ ̵̨͐ʌ̸̼̿ɯ̵͕̏ǝ̴͚́ɹ̸̰͛o̵̩̅ǝ̶̙̐ ̴̹͝l̶̡͒ǝ̴̝̽l̴̪̂ʇ̴̙̇ ̵̳̋l̴̜̀ĺ̸̼ʍ̴̥̄ᴉ̷̰͆ ̸̜͂ʇ̶̫̈́ɥ̶̝̎ǝ̷̢͗ ̵̘͊o̶̧͒ʇ̵̹͆u̵͔͒ ̵̳̏ʇ̶̛͕ᴉ̷̮̈́ ̷̜̀ʇ̴̰͂,̵͈́ü̴͉ɐ̷̠́ɔ̵̼͐ ̷̛̜d̸̮͂ʇ̴͍͂ɐ̴̯͑u̷̲̅ǝ̵̖̔p̵̼͌u̴͇͠ ̷̩͛o̷̢͐ɯ̴̹͝ɹ̵͉̓ɟ If the duchess yet smiles then I will be able to tell her everything in person, but otherwise this message will be my only chance to explain myself. Please grant me that chance.
I’m out of time. Thank you, truly and fully. May the stars grant you fortune.
Midnight had come and gone, Sunset had read and reread the letter more than a dozen times through different mediums—mirrors, ultraviolet lamps, and every caliber of suppressor lens she owned—and all she had managed to learn was that the paper beneath the illusion was blank. The message itself remained stubbornly unfazed.
Illusory scripts, by and large, were notoriously flimsy enchantments designed to misdirect ponies who couldn’t see past them. Their uses in modern times were so limited and subtle that they rarely needed to stand up to intense scrutiny. As a result, the majority were cheap, low-energy spells that anypony with a shard of onyx could subvert.
So the fact that Sunset, with more than a decade of magical knowledge and the most cutting-edge tools at her disposal, couldn’t so much as differentiate between this letter and a non-magical one meant that somepony had gone to incredible lengths to obscure the true meaning. That raised an obvious question: what information could be so sensitive that it required a multi-layered, patchwork legion of abjuration spells to make sure that only one pony could read it?
I’m sure it has nothing at all to do with the alicorn magic-infused artifact that isn’t referenced anywhere in the false message.
And all that was without mentioning the message itself, which stirred up its own set of questions. The fate of Cadance’s mother aside, why hadn’t the Everheart been mentioned? It had supposedly been around Cadance’s neck at the time, and it seemed like a fairly important detail to gloss over. Maybe it was written behind the corrupt glyphs near the end, but then why had that part been obscured? And what the hay did “If the duchess yet smiles” mean?
Despite everything, though, Sunset left her lab with a grin. All those answers would come in time, and it wasn’t like she had a deadline. No matter how well-crafted the spell was, a prolonged, thorough analysis would give Sunset all the information she needed to crack it. Ultimately she only needed to learn how the letter detected who was reading it. From there she could reverse-engineer a way to fool it.
And if worse came to worst, Cadance could read it. One way or another, Sunset would be able to coax that information out of her if she had to. Definitely a last resort, but a promising one.
Her smile slipped at the thought of Cadance. Being friends with her, even fake friends, still freaked Sunset out more than she cared to admit, but she at least felt confident that she wouldn’t succumb to another panic attack. At the end of the day, it was just an obstacle; one of many she would need to conquer on her way to the top, and Sunset had never met an obstacle she couldn’t overcome.
Back in her bedroom, Sunset locked both The Cadance Collection and the letter in one of her desk drawers. She turned and collapsed into bed without a second thought.
Part of that had to do with it being Saturday—her favourite day of the week. Yes, she still had classes to attend, but only electives, all of which were far more interesting than anything in the basic curriculum anyway. The school day was shorter by two periods too, leaving her plenty of time to work on personal projects.
And there lay her true source of joy. With fresh eyes and a clear mind, her productivity today would surely skyrocket. Her primary target would be researching emotional resonance in order to fast-track Cadance’s magic training, since that remained Sunset’s biggest hurdle. Secondary to that would be unravelling the enigma around Cadance’s letter, which honestly excited her. She’d always loved puzzles, after all. The more challenging, the better.
With so much to look forward to, not even the looming threat of Cadance’s book club could spoil her mood.
There was one thing that could, however, and even before opening her eyes, Sunset could hear that thing vibrating on her desk.
In an instant, all of her pep and enthusiasm was sucked away by that glowing, hardcover vacuum. She groaned and buried her face in the pillow, hoping it might be some sleep-addled illusion.
When the princess had first given her the correspondence journal, it had been a dream. After all, what filly wouldn’t want a direct line to Princess Celestia whenever she wanted? Sunset had spent far too many nights in her youth huddled under her blanket, scribbling questions and inanities by hornlight until she grew too tired to write.
Over time, though, she had found fewer and fewer reasons to contact the princess outside of their scheduled lessons and dinners. Nowadays, the journal served as little more than a glorified meeting agenda, although Princess Celestia still liked to use it to chastise Sunset for any minor transgression she made.
Some things never changed.
When it became apparent that the buzzing wasn’t in her head, Sunset rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She hovered the journal over, skipped past the litany of foalhood embarrassments and preteen ramblings, and read the newest message.
My dearest Sunset,
I hope this message finds you well. Although given the reason I am writing this in the first place, I presume it may not.
Before I address the issue at hoof, let me be clear: I am not angry. I understand that you have been under considerably more stress this week than is typical. The nature of your most recent assignment has undoubtedly placed you outside of your comfort zone, and I can’t imagine that the harrowing events of Monday evening helped in that regard. Combine that with your already substantial workload, and some frustration is inevitable. If I have personally contributed to this frustration in any way, I apologize. I am, however, disappointed to discover how you chose to handle the situation.
I visited Mi Amore in her chambers last night in order to check on her progress. Imagine my surprise when I find her cleaning broken glass from the carpet and scrubbing ink from the walls, not to mention the damage to her furniture and personal belongings. While it is bad enough that you chose to lash out at somepony like this, to then leave her to deal with the mess all by herself is inexcusable. I had hoped you beyond such behavior, especially towards somepony who claims to be your friend and has shown you nothing but kindness.
But perhaps there is more to this situation than I know. Mi Amore has already vouched in your favour and requested that I not discipline you. I hadn’t intended to regardless, but I would still like to hear your side of the story. Rest assured, I only wish to help, but in order to do that, I need to understand.
Please meet me in the arboretum once you have finished your classes for the day so that we might discuss this further. I look forward to seeing you.
With love, Princess Celestia
Sunset let the book fall, smothering her face.
How could she have been so careless? Of course Princess Celestia would find out about the pillow fight. She kept eyes on nearly everything Sunset did, and that probably went double when she was with Cadance—her precious niece. Frankly, it stunned her that she hadn’t received this message sooner.
She allowed herself a few minutes to wallow in despair before slumping out of bed and plodding off to the bathroom. She absently brushed her mane as she sorted through her thoughts.
Realistically, did Princess Celestia learning about the pillow fight matter? It technically didn’t compromise Sunset’s plans. In a roundabout way, it actually helped. If Princess Celestia was distracted trying to deal with something that was ultimately meaningless, she’d be less likely to notice Sunset’s real scheme.
When it came down to it, all Sunset had to do was explain her behavior in a way that didn’t implicate Cadance, since that would be too suspicious. There were plenty of other ways she could explain it away, though. And while fooling Princess Celestia wouldn’t be simple, it was by no means impossible. She had done it before, and she still had several hours to cobble together a convincing excuse.
Everything would be fine. The logic was sound.
Unfortunately, logic was a poor defense against the creeping tendrils of paranoia. So much for an easy day.
Nothing else for it, she finished grooming, made her way to the kitchen, and brewed up some Black Skull Island roast in her deepest to-go mug. She had a feeling she was going to need it.
The tedium of schoolwork had helped, as it so often did. It had forced her mind to act like an abacus: rigid and objective. That, in turn, had allowed her to consider her options more clearly, brainstorming the best way to steer this meeting to her liking.
Non-answers wouldn’t work. Given the extent of the damages, Princess Celestia would demand a reason—good, bad, or otherwise. And despite her best efforts, Sunset had been unable to concoct a lie that didn’t sound fake or shallow. Against any other pony she could make such excuses work, but Princess Celestia was Princess Celestia. Sunset needed something ironclad.
Which left her only one real option. An option that had been stuck in her mind like a dull knife since first receiving the message. An option she had been avoiding.
“Truth be told, I’ve been pretty on edge since the dracoform attack, and I guess I lashed out. It helped me work past it, though, and I’m doing better now. You won’t have to worry about anything like this happening again.”
She had rehearsed the excuse until it had become a detached, emotionless script. It still wouldn’t be easy to discuss, but she had come to terms with it. Not only was it the simplest, quickest way out of this, but it was believable. The princess would have no reason to doubt it.
It would work. She was confident it would.
That confidence carried her down the long trek to the castle’s eastern wing, the game plan looping through her mind all the while. Even as she navigated the final few corridors, she felt entirely serene.
All of that evaporated the moment she reached the trellis archway. Suddenly she wondered why she hadn’t just tried faking sick again. Based on the sweat beneath her mane and her heart pounding in her throat, it hardly felt like a lie.
Come high tide or Tartarus, though, she had to confront the princess eventually. She took a steady breath and crossed into the arboretum.
The trees and bushes showed the first tinge of autumn, but the foliage remained dense enough that Sunset couldn’t see the princess immediately. “Princess Celestia? I’m, uh… I’m here.”
“I’m by the flowerbeds, my student,” came the princess’ voice. “Join me, won’t you?”
Head bowed, Sunset took the long path through the shrubs. Before long, it breathed open into a clearing wreathed by colourful flowers. Princess Celestia stood near the marigolds—Sunset’s favourite—nurturing them with sunlight from her horn. Real subtle, Princess.
Sunset trotted up beside her and held silent. When it became clear that Princess Celestia wouldn’t make the first move, Sunset said, “So… you wanted to talk?”
“There are a few matters we need to discuss, yes.” The princess gave a disarming smile. “But it is nothing so urgent as to skip the pleasantries. I trust that you’re feeling better?”
Up until this morning, yeah. “For the most part. Must have been a day flu or something.”
“I’m relieved to hear that. With everything else you’re dealing with, the last thing you need is to fall ill as well.”
“Yeah…” Sunset’s mouth went dry. The sooner I get it over with, the better. “Princess, I don’t mean to rush this, but I did have some projects I wanted to work on this afternoon. I already won’t have as much time as I wanted, what with the…” She broke eye contact. “…the book club, and everything.”
“Oh! My apologies.” Sunset could hear the smile in the princess’ voice. “Mi Amore didn’t mention that you would be attending. I’m happy to hear that you’ve reconsidered.”
“I’m still on the fence about it, actually, but I wanted to leave enough time. Just in case.”
“Very well. I’ll try not to keep you too long, then.” Princess Celestia moved to the stone bench in the middle of the clearing. Sunset followed close behind, slumping into the seat beside her.
“I suppose there’s no sense in dancing around the subject. You know why you’re here.” The princess stared down at her through that blank, daunting mask she wore so often. “Care to explain?”
Sunset cast her gaze to the ground and pawed at the gravel around the bench. “There’s, uh, not really much to say.”
She proceeded to recount the evening exactly as it had happened. It wouldn’t be smart to lie—the princess already had Cadance’s version of events, after all. Sunset did take care to downplay how Cadance had instigated the whole thing, though. Much as it made her grind her teeth, Sunset needed to take all the blame on herself, both to endear herself to the princess and to keep Cadance well outside the conversation. The safer she played this, the better.
To finish, she added, “I would have stayed to help clean up, but I guess I was still a bit shaken from the whole wardrobe thing. I figured the maids would handle it anyway.”
Princess Celestia responded with one of her insufferable silences. Sunset’s best guess as to its meaning was, “Oh, Sunset. You know that Cadance— sorry, Mi Amore is much too incompetent to think to call in a cleaning staff. You shouldn’t presume she can handle anything by herself.”
What the princess actually said was, “That is perhaps a discussion for another time. And while I appreciate you owning up to your actions, I am less concerned with what happened as I am with why.”
Here we go. Sunset’s throat went tight. She opened her mouth to begin her rehearsed explanation, and…
…offered a weak shrug instead. “I don’t know. I guess I was frustrated with how little progress we’d made. It was the end of the week, too, so I was already tired, and I guess I snapped. Cadance just happened to be there.”
“Frustration after a difficult day is one thing, but by the state of Mi Amore’s chambers, I sense there was more at work here. By the sounds of it, she was only trying to engage you in a lighthearted, if ill-timed, game, yet you responded as though she had personally attacked you. Where did that anger come from?”
With a chuckle, Sunset caught the princess’ eyes and said, “Have you met me? I’m not exactly the calmest pony in the world, especially when it comes to games. How many rounds of Monopony have ended with me flipping the board?”
She had been gunning for a laugh. A smile at least. Anything to show that her lame attempts at deflection might be working.
But Princess Celestia’s frown was carved in stone. “You certainly have a competitive streak, and that in itself is not a bad thing. But I know you, Sunset. While you have struggled with self-control in the past, you have come a very long way. Even at your most irritable, I would hope that you draw the line at destruction of property.”
Make her feel bad. She won’t press as hard. Sunset shrank into her mane. “Well, sorry I don’t live up to expectations. Maybe I’m not the pony you think I am.”
“That is not what I meant to imply.” Princess Celestia placed a hoof on Sunset’s shoulder, making her shudder. “Everypony has moments of weakness, my student. I only wish to know what caused yours.”
Sunset grit her teeth. “Why does something have to have caused it? Is it that unbelievable that I was just having a bad day?”
Princess Celestia dragged out the pause before she spoke again, as though she were considering something. “If you can look me in the eyes and honestly tell me this incident was purely the result of a stressful day, I will believe you. However, I think we both know that is not the case.”
Sunset didn’t even bother looking up.
Again, she tried her excuse, and again, the words wouldn’t come. The memory of that terrible night blocked her like a monolith, steadfast and uncaring towards her attempts to break through.
Tears lurked behind her eyes, but she blinked them back. Why is this so hard?
She must have let the silence hang too long, because Princess Celestia said, “It may sound trite at this point, but it bears repeating. You can talk to me about anything, Sunset. I may be your mentor, but I am also your friend, and I am worried. Please, allow me to help you.”
Against her better judgment, Sunset did look up this time, straight into those welcoming lilac eyes.
Suddenly, she was a filly again. She had just spent weeks preparing for her first magic fair at the school, determined to show exactly why the princess had picked her over anypony else. She had been so sure of herself.
So when her experiment had literally blown up in her face, she had run off crying, convinced that she’d ruined everything. The princess would be so disappointed with Sunset’s performance that she would denounce her as her student, send her back to magic kindergarten, and revoke her cutie mark. She could probably do that. Princess Celestia could do anything.
It had only taken minutes for the princess to track her down. At first, the wall of sheer panic had prevented Sunset from listening. But once the princess had torn that wall down, everything had changed. Sunset didn’t remember what had been said—only how she had felt. All of her dark, irrational fears had melted in the warmth of Princess Celestia’s embrace. The whole world had become a brighter, safer place.
That had been the moment Sunset had realized that she didn’t just look up to Princess Celestia. She loved her.
It almost worked. Nice as the memory seemed, it was still just a single photograph in a thick, weathered album. Too much had changed since then, and the princess no longer had the power to fix everything.
She never had that power. I just didn’t want to believe it.
Sunset looked away, scowling with less energy than she would have liked. “It doesn’t matter why it happened. It’s out of my system now. It won’t happen again.”
“Forgive me if I’m not convinced.” The princess eased closer. “By your mannerisms alone, this issue clearly still bothers you, and ignoring it will not help. You cannot solve a problem until you acknowledge it exists.”
Feeling trapped, Sunset worked her jaw uselessly. “I…”—can’t do this—“don’t know what you expect me to say.”
And for a long time, neither of them said anything. The silence grew dense, broken only by the passive breeze. Eventually Princess Celestia removed her hoof from Sunset’s shoulder, allowing the tension in Sunset’s chest to bleed away.
Her plan had completely fallen apart, but maybe this conversation could still end the way Sunset had hoped. Clearly the princess realized that this was a sensitive subject. She would let it drop for now, giving Sunset more time to prepare herself. If she played her cards right, maybe she could even avoid—
“I was scared too, you know.”
The ground fell out from under her. Sunset jerked her head up to see Princess Celestia staring ahead distantly. “Princess?”
The princess’ eyes didn’t move. “When I arrived that evening and saw what had happened to you, there was a part of me that thought I had lost you. Genuinely.”
A frown cut Sunset’s muzzle like a serrated dagger. “Princess, stop. Please.”
Princess Celestia turned to her, forcing Sunset to break her gaze. “We must work past this, Sunset. The first step in doing so is talking about it.”
“Fine, but…” She shook her head. “Just give me some time. It hasn’t even been a week yet.”
“I wish I could, but I fear that if I allow this to sit for too long, you may choose never to resolve it at all.” She paused.
Then took a step too far. “It would not be the first time.”
Sunset wanted to punch her. She probably would have, were it anypony else. “Don’t you dare bring them into this.”
“Then talk to me.”
“No. I don’t want to.”
“And there may never come a time that you will. Believe me, I have seen firsthoof what can come from bottling up these feelings.” Her wing extended, delicately wrapping around Sunset. “I know that it is not easy, but—”
“You’re not—” She zipped her mouth shut before she said anything stupid, then pulled out of the embrace and turned her back on the princess, sitting off the side of the bench. “Just… don’t, okay? This isn’t what I need right now.”
“Then what do you need? What will help?”
“Nothing. I don’t want your help.”
Silence, then, “There’s nothing wrong with discussing your emotions, Sunset. It is not a sign of weakness. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
Sunset pinned her ears. “Stop.”
“Nopony is meant to handle these things alone. It is perfectly natural to—”
“I said stop!” Sunset bolted to her hooves and whirled around, slamming the princess with the full brunt of her glare. “You asked what I needed and I told you: nothing. I’m fine. Why would you even ask if you were just going to keep going like it didn’t matter?!”
The princess looked taken aback, but not as much as she should have. “Because you are very clearly not fine. I respect that these feelings are still raw, and I am not asking you to spill your heart here and now, but it will never get better if you don’t allow it to. Trust me, this is for the best.”
“How do you expect me to trust you when—” you’re the one who put the Everheart there in the first place? Sunset had to bite her foreleg to stop herself. She turned and trotted a few steps away, trying to let her breathing level out.
“Please, Sunset,” Princess Celestia said—too soon before Sunset was ready to hear it, “it breaks my heart to see you in such pain. I cannot help you if you won’t let me in.”
Not falling for that one again.
Speaking through frozen teeth, Sunset said, “I don’t need your help. I don’t need to hear what you think is best for me. And I definitely don’t need to be reminded of things I’ve been trying so hard to forget. Let me handle my own problems.”
If the princess replied, Sunset didn’t stick around to listen. She pictured the warm solace of her suite, gouged a hole in spacetime, and hurled herself through.
The hours scraped by as Sunset struggled to escape her gloom. She tried her usual relaxation tactics—losing herself in research, focusing on personal projects, and screaming into a pillow until her throat hurt—but her anger didn’t care. It lorded over her like a black thundercloud, saturating all her thoughts in acid rain.
Seven o’clock drew near, and desperation had set in, so she decided to make the trot of shame to the Clover Lounge and whatever misery lay within. It couldn’t be any worse than stewing in her own smoggy thoughts, she reasoned.
But if anypony can find a way, it’s Cadance.
Despite being a few minutes early, Sunset wasn’t the first to arrive. Cadance lay across the room in the window nook, reading something by the dying sunlight. A small, three-tier bookshelf stood flush in the corner near her, dwarfed by the three grand bookcases that were typical of the lounge.
Before Sunset even crossed the threshold, Cadance glanced up and smiled. “You came!”
“Mm-hmm.” Sunset lumbered towards the sitting area, launching a spark into the fireplace as she went.
The gently crackling wood was actually somewhat soothing, but then Cadance had to go and ruin it. “Is everything okay?”
“Yup.” Sunset sank into the nearest armchair and stared into the flames, hoping they might put her in a trance.
“Oh, all right then.” Cadance hopped from the nook, her hoofsteps muffled by the wooly carpet. “I brought a few books from my collection. I have some idea of what you like, so I picked most of them based on that, but I brought a little of everything in case you wanted some variety. Did you want to come help me pick one?”
Sunset briefly flicked her eyes to the side. She’s really not going to pry any more than that? “Uh, no, I’m good. Just pick something so we can get on with this.”
“Okay, if you’re sure you trust me to choose something you’ll like.” The dusty sound of shuffling books filled the lounge. “Hmm, Red Velvet and the Hunky Hippogriff might be a good place to start.”
Sunset threw her head against the backrest and groaned. “Fine, I’ll help.” She slid out of the armchair and dragged herself over. “I need a distraction anyway.”
A smirk played on Cadance’s muzzle as she put the book away. “Reading is a great distraction—though I’m sure you knew that already. That’s part of why I wanted to start a book club to begin with.”
Sunset scoffed, levitating a book from the shelf at random. “What could you need to be distracted from?”
“A lot, actually. But talking about any of that would kind of defeat the purpose, so I’ll just leave it there, if you don’t mind.”
Warmth tickled Sunset’s cheeks. In retrospect, it had been a silly question anyway. Even from the little bit Sunset knew about her, Cadance had plenty of things she probably didn’t want to think about. Guess we have something in common after all.
Aside from the odd trashy romance novel, Cadance’s collection honestly had a pretty robust selection. Most of them fell into two broad categories: high fantasy and horror, with a lot of overlap between the two. Sunset had read all the fantasies already, and none of them had interested her enough to warrant a second read. Some of the others looked good, but hardly any eclipsed two hundred pages—nothing she could really sink her teeth into.
“What were you reading when I got here?” Sunset asked, grimacing as she shoved The Black Rose of Trottingham back into place.
Glancing over her shoulder, Cadance contorted her face and made a pitiful attempt to levitate the book over, only succeeding in knocking it to the floor. She scooped it up and held it towards Sunset, who recognized the cover instantly. “I was going through Skyspark again. I haven’t read the sequels, so I wanted to refresh myself before getting into them.”
Sunset wrinkled her muzzle. “I thought it was your favourite book. How have you not read the rest of the series?”
“I didn’t know there was a series. The library in Woodwind had a pretty limited selection. Olive—the librarian—was really nice about bringing in new books for me; otherwise I wouldn’t have anywhere near the collection that I do. But even she didn’t realize that there was more after the first one.”
Sunset shrugged. “You’re not missing much, honestly. Skyspark is the best one by a long shot. I’m just hoping Spur can pull it back for a strong finish in Earthshine.”
Cadance lit up like a filly caught by a surprise party on her birthday. “You never told me you were a Skyspark fan!”
“Didn’t I?” Sunset said, rolling her eyes.
“I could never convince my friends back home to read it. Olive did, but we never really got a chance to discuss it. It’s so exciting having somepony else to talk about it with!”
The glee in Cadance’s voice almost made Sunset want to laugh. “I guess.”
“Maybe we should just start with Skyspark then, since we both like it already. The last book comes out in a couple months anyway, right? Might be a good way to refresh yourself on the series if you need to.”
The suggestion wobbled around Sunset’s mind like an indecisive coin. Honestly, she wasn’t that big on the other books in the Gale Strider Chronicles. Seabreak had been mediocre at best, and she’d had to force herself to finish Firecall, so she wasn’t especially keen on repeating the ordeal.
Then again, she’d technically started rereading Skyspark anyway, even if she’d barely gotten a page into it. Not to mention, the sooner she agreed to something, the sooner they could move on. And she could always force Cadance to pivot to a different series once they finished Skyspark, if Sunset even bothered sticking around for more than one book.
She met Cadance’s giddy smile with an exhausted one. “Sure, why not?”
“Yay!” Cadance leaned forward like she was going in for a hug, but she pulled back just as quickly, still beaming. “This is going to be so much fun.”
“If you say so.” Sunset returned to her armchair. With that part out of the way, all she had to endure now was…
It dawned on her that she didn’t actually know what ponies did in book clubs—other than read, obviously—and a cold surge of anxiety pulsed through her.
Thankfully, Cadance seemed to have some idea of what she was doing. She tucked the book under her wing and followed after Sunset, saying, “So, how much do you think you can get through before next Saturday?”
Sunset looked at her like she’d asked if she knew how to breathe. “All of it? Probably twice, if I really wanted to.”
Cadance chuckled as she took the armchair across from Sunset’s. “Same, honestly, but we should probably break it into smaller chunks if we want to be able to discuss it in any depth.” She opened the book to its final few pages “There’s thirty chapters total—thirty-two with the prologue and epilogue—so maybe we could split it in four. Eight chapters a week?”
“Sounds about as good as anything else. There’s hardly anything worth talking about in the first part, though. It’s a great setup and all, but it’s such a slow burn. Doesn’t get to the interesting stuff until around chapter twelve.”
“Actually, the first act might be my favourite. I’m a sucker for good worldbuilding, and Kindle Spur does it so well. I still get chills during the whole Klugetown masquerade sequence.”
Sunset frowned. “You get chills because you know what it builds up to. None of it actually pays off until they meet Sybilex at the Brackish Isles. What good is great worldbuilding if you don’t do anything interesting with it?”
“I get what you’re saying, but I have to disagree. The world and characters are so much fun that I could probably read a whole book of them just going about their day-to-day lives and not get bored. Especially Asphodel.” Cadance hugged the book tight to her chest and bounced back in her chair, her smile swelling into a goofy grin. “That mare has a special place in my heart.”
And just like that, the slim thread of respect Sunset had gained for Cadance snapped under the immense strain. “Tch, you would like Asphodel.”
Cadance blinked, her smile melting away. “You don’t?”
“I mean, she’s… fine. I guess her backstory is kind of cool. But she’s so useless on her own. And she makes the dumbest decisions. Think about how much drama could have been avoided if she hadn’t abandoned the Scrimshaw of Gales during the first hurricane. But no, she just had to choose saving her friends over, you know, the world.”
Sunset crossed her arms and shook her head. “Honestly, the book would have been better if Gestalt just had Grimsby steal the scrimshaw like they originally planned. Then they wouldn’t have had to worry about dragging her around everywhere.”
“That would be missing the whole point, though!” Cadance leaned forward, pressing the book into her lap. “Del was the only one who could use the scrimshaw safely, so Gestalt didn’t have a choice. And even though he only kept her around because of that at first, he eventually grew to really care about her. It was such an adorable character arc! How can you not love those two together?”
“Uh, maybe because of how forced it was? The fact that Gestalt didn’t ditch her the moment she lost the scrimshaw is ridiculous, practically to the point of being out of character. At that point she’s just a liability. Sure, she eventually redeems herself, but why would he keep her around long enough to redeem herself?”
“Because you don’t just ‘ditch’ your friends!” Cadance’s frown mined new depths in her muzzle. “You make it sound like she didn’t even care, but she struggled for a long time before picking them over the scrimshaw. And Gestalt understood how hard that decision was. That’s when he realized just how important they were to each other.”
“Give me a break.” Sunset leaned her head on her hoof and smacked Cadance with a smirk. “Next you’ll be telling me you’re one of those weirdos who wants them to end up together.”
Cadance’s face turned pinker than usual, and her eyes cowered away. In a small voice, she said, “It’s not weird. Asphodalt would be a great couple.”
Sunset smiled wider than she’d thought possible. “‘Asphodalt?’ You have a name for— for—!”
Like a potent charm spell, laughter seized total control of Sunset’s mind and body. She doubled over and squeezed her eyes shut to prevent them popping from her head. Time and space blended into abstract concepts as she became lost in the sheer hilarity.
She could hardly say what was more ridiculous: the ease with which Cadance had said it, the fact that she’d said it at all, or the absurdity of the name itself! Some combination had ignited a firework show in her chest—mirth purer than anything she’d felt in years.
Her stomach eventually ached in protest, and that was all that stopped her from laughing any longer. As her wheezing died down, though, a gentle giggle reached her ears. Sunset glanced across the table to see Cadance grinning at her, one hoof over her mouth.
Sunset coughed a few times to regain her breath, then asked, “Why are you laughing?”
“I just didn’t expect that kind of reaction from you of all ponies.” Her smile dripped with sap. “It’s refreshing, seeing a different side of you.”
Aw, she’s trying to turn me mocking her into some kind of bonding moment. That’s cute. “Well, don’t get used to it,” Sunset said, wiping away her tears. “Unless you feel like talking about Asphodalt some more.”
“Shut up,” Cadance said, tossing a throw pillow at her, which Sunset batted away. “All right, Miss Killjoy, this is supposed to be a discussion. If you don’t like Asphodel, what do you like about the book?
“Literally everything else,” Sunset said, leaning back in her chair. “She’s the only weak aspect I can think of. If I had to pick a favourite part, though, it has to be the betrayal arc.”
Cadance raised both eyebrows. “Really?”
Wow, I didn’t know a pony’s voice could get that condescending. “Why is that so hard to believe? It’s a great section.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t. I’m just… surprised. I always found it so depressing.”
“That’s what makes it good. Gestalt giving in to his darker, power-hungry side after Sybilex tempted him for so much of the book?” Sunset threw up her hooves in resignation—the story spoke for itself. “And you’re lying if you say you didn’t get actual chills when he switched sides in the battle at Vanishing Point.”
“Oh, that scene always makes me cry. Seeing him turn on Del was bad enough, but the rift it created between him and Grimsby? That was heartbreaking.”
“Exactly! Sybilex knew just how to get inside Gestalt’s head to make him turn, even on his best friend. It was brilliant. That’s when I knew he was the best character.” Until Spur butchered his redemption arc in the sequels.
Strangely, Cadance chuckled at that. “Okay, now you’re messing with me.”
Sunset glared as though she’d been slapped. “What does that mean?”
Either oblivious or actively trying to get on Sunset’s nerves—probably both—Cadance simply smiled and said, “Come on. Sybilex? He’s a good foil, I’ll give you that, but better than all three Gale Striders? That’s pushing it a little.”
“‘Pushing it’ my flank. The only one who’s even close to being as interesting as Sybilex is Gestalt, and he’s the main character. Besides, I’m not about to take criticism for my favourite character from somepony whose idea of ‘the best’ is a flirtatious pegasus who’s more of a plot device than an actual pony.”
Cadance gave a darker frown than Sunset would have expected. “I’m not criticizing. You can like whoever you want. I’m just saying that Sybilex wouldn’t be my first choice. He doesn’t even show up until almost halfway in, after all, and he gets almost no exposition after that.”
Oh, you absolute— “The mystery is what makes his character work! We don’t know where he’s coming from, what his endgame is. We don’t even know why he’s after the idol. His dialogue alone makes you want to know more about him.”
“That’s true,” Cadance admitted, then smirked. “Though I’m not sure he’d be nearly as compelling without Asphodel there to give Gestalt an internal conflict.”
Unable to resist rolling her eyes, Sunset said, “Puh-lease. Del barely factored into Gestalt’s final decision.”
Cadance’s jaw fell slack like a moron. “How can you say that? She was the most important part of his decision!”
Sunset raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure we read the same book?”
Cinching her mouth shut, Cadance opened the book and began scouring pages. “Maybe it’s been too long since you’ve read it. I know just the scene that’ll remind you. Give me one second.”
“Yeah, no.” Sunset ripped the book from her clutches and dropped it on the coffee table. She leapt from her chair and began flitting through the pages herself. “If that’s the game we’re playing, then you’re going to reread Sybilex’s introduction first so you can admit how great it is.”
“I never said—” Cadance closed her eyes, pulled in a sharp breath, then met Sunset with a cool, distant look. She joined her at the table and said, “Okay, deal. But that means I get to show you how the chase through the Underwell proves Gestalt cared about Del before she sacrificed the scrimshaw.”
“You are so on.”
Sunset nibbled on the last chocolate scone, eyeing Cadance like a teacher fed up with her student’s excuses. “You’re not going to find it.”
Flipping pages in vain, Cadance said, “I will if you give me more than thirty seconds.”
“We could be here all night and you wouldn’t find anything.” Sunset tossed the remains of her scone onto the dining cart—it had shown up sometime during the “best leviathan” debate. “Just admit it. There is zero evidence that Gestalt ever saw her as more than a friend.”
Cadance didn’t respond. A few moments later, she stopped on a page, turned back a few, and smirked. “Oh, really?” She thrust the book towards Sunset, pointing to one paragraph in particular. “Then what do you call this?”
Sunset yanked the book closer and read the passage.
Asphodel beheld me with those haunting sapphire eyes, rendered all the more striking through the veil of moonlight. Her lips cracked in a wistful curve, and her golden locks bounced with her laughter. “Can’t say the feeling’s mutual, Gessy.”
She skimmed the parts above and below, just in case Cadance had been pointing to something else. “I call it character description. Or scene setting. What’s your point?”
“Don’t you think it’s just a bit more romanticized than Gestalt’s usual voice? Not to mention, he always calls her mane blonde before this point, but he suddenly switches to ‘golden?’ And his last name is Goldenclaw?” Cadance boasted the grin of somepony who’d called “checkmate” one turn too early.
“All right, there’s literary analysis, and then there’s reading into things that aren’t there.” Sunset grabbed a chunk of pages in her magic and turned back to the start of the book. “Kindle Spur writes flowery prose; one look at the prologue will tell you that. It doesn’t mean anything unless you want it to. By your logic, Gestalt must have a crush on every other character too!”
Cadance’s ears drooped, and she hit Sunset with a half-lidded insult of a stare. “That’s only true of Spur’s imagery. Her character descriptions are always simple and to the point, which reveals Gestalt’s impersonal demeanor. That’s why this part stands out so much.”
“That’s a lie and you know it.” Sunset started skipping through pages again—a well-honed skill at this point. “I bet I can find—”
A heavy knock nearly made Sunset jump out of her coat. She and Cadance turned to face the door, where the plumed head of a royal guard poked in. “Pardon the intrusion, Princess. I was instructed to come find you if you were out this late without warning. Is everything all right?”
What does he mean “this late?” Sunset thought, checking the grandfather clock. It’s only…
The clock’s cold, inarguable hands shoved her back into reality. How is it quarter past eleven already?
Apparently she wasn’t alone in her surprise, given Cadance’s wince. “Sorry, Viridian. I guess we lost track of time. We’ll be finished shortly.”
The guard smiled the practiced smile Sunset had grown to loathe. “No rush, Princess.” He spared Sunset a nod before closing the door.
“Well, that certainly got more… heated than I expected.” Cadance gave a flushed grin and eased the book out of Sunset’s hooves. Sunset gave it up without a fight. “I feel like we hardly even need to read the book anymore.”
“Yeah, I, uh, guess not.”
“I’d still like to, though. You made some great points about Sybilex. I’m not saying he’s my new favourite, but it’ll be fun going through the story with a different perspective! I’m looking forward to it.”
She paused, baiting Sunset to respond in kind. Which is what a “friend” would do. Don’t screw this up now.
Putting on her best smile, Sunset said, “Same. I’m not about to start an Asphodel fan club or anything, but I guess I can give her another chance.” Her smile deflated. “You’re still sailing that Asphodalt ship by yourself, though.”
Cadance laughed and said, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She sidled up to Sunset and pulled her into a one-winged hug. “You’ll come around, though. Nopony can resist the cuteness forever.”
“Challenge accepted.” Suppressing the tingle in her chest, Sunset ducked out of the embrace and said, “We, uh, really should call it a night, though. I’ve got a long walk back, and we’ve got to be up early for your magic lesson and everything.”
“Right, of course.” Cadance awkwardly folded in her wing and opened her mouth.
Then she closed it, and her eyes wandered away. “But you know, my chambers are closer. You could always sleep over if you wanted to save yourself a trip. We’re meeting up in the morning anyway, so it kind of makes sense to…”
Sunset’s face must have given her away, since Cadance stopped talking the moment she looked back.
“…And I’m being too forward again.” Cadance facehoofed. “Wow, I am so bad at this. Sorry for putting you on the spot like that. My… friend and I used to have slumber parties back home, so I thought that maybe—”
“No, no, I get it,” Sunset stammered, even though she had no clue what to say next. “And, you know, I’m flattered, and normally I’m all about efficiency, but I have a… homework, thing, I have to do.” Dynamite excuse, Sunset. A+ for that one.
“Totally! That’s fine. It was a silly idea anyway.” Cadance extended a hoof, her expression betraying nothing. “See you tomorrow, then. Bright and early!”
“Yeah, definitely.” Unsure how else to proceed, Sunset quickly shook Cadance’s hoof and made for the exit. “Well… good night.”
“Good night! Thanks again for coming. I know this sort of thing probably doesn’t come easily to you, so I appreciate you giving it a chance.”
“Sure. No problem.” It was fun, she almost added, but that might have made things too weird. The night had gone well, as far as earning Cadance’s trust. Why risk messing it up?
Would have been better if you’d accepted her invitation instead of freezing up like a dork. A sleepover might not even be that bad, if tonight was any indication.
The thought left her cold. She made for her suite before Cadance could poison her mind any further.
