1. The City of Zyre

The docks of Zyre bustled with activity. Ships flying colors from every nation of the world rocked gently in the harbor, their stowed sails a quiet bastion of calm in a sea of movement. The decks and piers were swarming with sailors of every species and nationality, from Equestrian pegasi, to Dromedarian camels, to griffons from the Saladi desert, but by far the most common were the zebras who populated the Golden Isles and nearby southern Zebrica. The chaos was impenetrable to an outsider, but an experienced eye could see methods in the madness—hauled barrels of sugar and rum found their way onto ships, nets full of fish slowly emptied into wheelbarrows to be trundled off to the city’s innumerable carnivore-serving restaurants, and weary dock workers groaned under enormous crates filled with gold and silk from distant continents, brought across the sea to the world’s greatest trading city. It all moved with purpose, each merchant and ship owner driving their workers to meet their deadlines.

Personally, Tyria thought it was a lost cause. Nothing in this city ran on time.

She adjusted the front of her beige Equestrian Navy fatigues, feeling a nervous twinge at the size of the crowds today. The docks were always busy, but never more so than at noon on a Saturday. Ambassador Milliden couldn’t have picked a more dangerous time for this meeting if he’d tried; she was going to have a difficult time even keeping track of him, let alone do her duties as a bodyguard.

At least he’s easy to spot, she reflected, glancing over her shoulder at the earth pony ambassador, who looked sour as ever in his bright, canary-yellow robes. Tyria had seen a lot of ambassadorial uniforms in her three years on assignment to the Equestrian embassy here in Zyre, and she still considered the Equestrian one to be the worst. It was impossible to look dignified when you were dressed like a block of cheese.

She pressed on through the sea of stripes, nudging aside zebras with polite insistence. Most spared only a glance at her, but Tyria still felt flashes of self-consciousness. A light blue earth pony with a long brown mane stuck out like a firecracker in this mass of black and white equines. All were welcome in Zyre, but that didn’t mean she belonged here.

Ambassador Milliden grunted irritably behind her. “Do you see the ship yet, Ensign Metrel?”

Tyria craned her head above the crowd of zebras, most of whom were shorter than an average pony. “The Albatross, yes? I think that’s it over there on the left, with the Equestrian flag. The one between the two camel ships. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes to reach it.”

“Let’s pick up the pace,” said Milliden, brusquely shoving past her into the press of zebras. “It’s important I see Captain Zahakis as soon as possible.”

Tyria followed, suppressing annoyance. Milliden hadn’t told her what this meeting was about, and frankly she hadn’t cared enough to pry. Their working relationship was unpleasant enough already. The ambassador had a short fuse and a hot temper, and being stuck as his bodyguard on so many occasions left Tyria as the most frequent target of his ire. She spent most of her days at the embassy finding ways to avoid him.

They reached the Albatross’s pier at last, pausing at the bottom of the ramp as a pair of zebras carted down a crate labeled EQUESTRIAN WHEAT GRAIN 115KG. Tyria felt an unexpected surge of homesickness. It had been a long, long time since she’d been home to her family’s little manor in the Whitetail province.

Scarcely had the zebras left the ramp when Milliden raced up. Tyria followed, her eyes flicking between the dozens of sailors on the deck, scanning for potential threats. It was doubtful that anything would go wrong on an Equestrian-licensed trading vessel, but that was no excuse for slacking off in her duties.

The captain, a zebra wearing a cream-colored jacket with a timepiece pinned to it, was deep in discussion with one of his crew as they approached. The two zebras spoke in quick, muttered zebrillic to each other, the captain gesturing sharply. The second zebra, wearing only a green shemagh around his neck, nodded and turned to head for the steps leading belowdecks to the cargo hold.

Tyria’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the zebra’s garment. Green cloth had taken on a new meaning in recent times. A regional group of pirates had banded together over the last year, calling themselves the “Pit Vipers”. Their members identified themselves with green clothing matching their flag, a crude pictogram of a serpent winding through an equine skull. No one knew where they were based, except that it had to be somewhere in the islands. No one knew how they had become outfitted well enough to attack Equestrian, Gryphan, even Zyran ships, with seeming impunity. No one knew much of anything about them, it seemed, except the name of their enigmatic leader “Viridian”. Whether a he or she, whether a pony, zebra, or antelope, they were as elusive as their hiding place. Some thought Viridian was a myth, spread by the pirates to make them seem more organized than they were.

Tyria had a friend in the city watch, Zanaya, who had talked about little else in the past few months. She eyed the olive-clad zebra suspiciously as he descended into the hold. Not everyone with a bit of green clothing was a pirate, of course, but it was hard to believe that the sailor didn’t know what he looked like.

Captain Zahakis cleared his throat, drawing Tyria’s attention. “Greetings, Ambassador Milliden.”

“Captain.” Milliden nodded. “How was your voyage?” His concern sounded polite and disinterested.

“No pirates, if that’s what you’re asking.” Zahakis checked his timepiece. “But it wasn’t all smooth sailing. When did this ridiculous inspection business begin? I’ve never been stopped at the harbor entrance by navy ships before.”

Tyria shrugged. “The Marquis is trying to clamp down on the Pit Vipers. They’ve been getting into the city with distressing ease.”

“Quiet, Metrel,” snapped Milliden, cowing her, but Zahakis barked an angry laugh.

“A likely story,” he said. “Marquis Zahira’s just using them as an excuse to rummage through our cargo. It’s insulting. Since when are our manifests untrustworthy?”

Tyria resisted the urge to snicker as the captain and ambassador exchanged complaints about the heightened security. Zyre’s black market was legendary. If there was a single merchant captain in this port who wasn’t up to his ears in it somehow, she’d eat her horseshoes. But Zyre’s ruling Marquis had never seemed to care about small time smugglers, as long as they didn’t get bold enough to start eating into the sugar trade that was Zyre’s lifeblood.

Sugarcane was the most valuable crop in the entire world, worth more in its unprocessed forms pound-for-pound than tobacco, cotton, and even gold ore. Due to an incredibly fortunate—for Zyre, at any rate—quirk of geography, none of the major continents had arable land around the equator, the only place where sugarcane thrived. The Golden Isles, with their fertile soil and tropical climate, gave its ruling city a near monopoly on the production and sale of sugar and its innumerable byproducts, all of which were in perpetually high demand around the world. Combined with the Isles’ location near the center of the vast Ceracen Ocean and they became a natural trade nexus for the entire western hemisphere.

This nexus was owned by Zyre, the largest permanent settlement in the Isles, a former Gryphan slave city that had revolted and gained its freedom in the dying days of the old empire. Now ruled by the zebras whose ancestors had built the city in chains, Zyre had risen to economic supremacy, squeezing out all rivals to dominate the entire Ceracen. Her navy was unmatched, her political reach unparalleled, her wealth unimaginable. She was not omnipotent, however, as the Vipers had been consistently proving for months.

As Zahakis and Milliden’s conversation continued on to current events in Equestria, Tyria turned her head again, eyeing the open cargo hold as pulleys hauled up barrels of fine red wine from Trottingham. Zahakis would be replacing all of it with crates upon crates of raw sugar to bring back northeast to sell in Equestria’s Delta City and Grypha’s Port Talshan. A tempting target for the pirates, no doubt. Was that green-clothed zebra an inside stallion of some sort?

Zahakis was saying something about the wine. “Six more barrels than last month. We’ve got to be close to the quota now.”

“Nearly. But not yet.” Milliden glanced aside at Tyria. “Let’s go to your cabin to discuss it in detail.”

“As you wish.” Zahakis gestured with a hoof, and the two walked toward the ship’s stern. Tyria trailed behind, coming to a halt at the cabin door. Zahakis entered immediately, but Milliden paused and held up a hoof. “Wait outside, Ensign.”

Hiding frustration, Tyria nodded. She didn’t particularly care about what they had to say to each other, but she wished Milliden wouldn’t treat her like a dog being told to sit. She took up a position beside the door as the ambassador closed it behind him. Muffled voices began speaking on the other side.

She watched the zebras wrestle the wine barrels from the lift onto the deck. One of them was different than the others, splashed with red paint and a sigil she couldn’t make out from her position. It must have been a particularly expensive vintage, perhaps destined for the Marquis herself in her manor atop the hill rising in the center of the city.

Tyria looked out at the horizon, visible between the two rising cliffs on either side of the harbor entrance. The water glittered in the midday sun, tiny ships bobbing in the distance like little white dots. She wished she had a canvas and an easel.

Sighing, she looked back at the paintbrush emblazoned on her flank. She hadn’t painted anything in a week or so. It was getting harder and harder to find the energy, though she never felt more alive than when she was bringing the jungles and cityscapes of Karran Island to life. If only she hadn’t listened to her father—

She closed her eyes and lowered her head. No good going down that road of what-ifs again. He was right, anyway, she’d never have made it as an artist. The navy was a respectable career, something she could support herself with, something her family could be proud of… the familiar demands couched as encouragements sounded bitter in her thoughts. Too late to wonder if he’d been wrong. Too late to change. She was stuck here, now, half a world away from home and babysitting the most pompous and bad-tempered noblepony in Zyre.

Her depressing reverie was broken by movement on the pier below. She peered curiously down at a pair of zebras dressed in the deep cerulean blue of the Zyran Navy, who reached the bottom of the ramp and began stomping up. Perhaps the inspectors Zahakis complained about had decided his ship needed another pass.

Trouble was brewing. Tyria’s muscles tensed, and she bit her lip. The navy sailors pulled aside one of the zebras on deck and began speaking to him. Behind them, the zebra with the green scarf was coming up the steps from the hold. He spotted the navy zebras first, and froze. Tyria paused, wondering if she should get the ambassador off the ship.

One of the navy sailors saw him and shouted. The green-clad zebra dashed back down into the hold. The navy zebras shoved the crewman they’d been speaking to aside and raced after him. Yells echoed from below, and a shattering crash as some item of cargo was knocked over.

Tyria cautiously approached the open hold, looking down over the edge. The navy zebras had their quarry pinned to the ground, and were attempting to fasten a pair of manacles onto his forelegs. The zebra was resisting fiercely, swearing at them both in zebrillic. Tyria watched uneasily, wary of involving herself in a Zyran arrest. The zebras seemed to have it under control without her assistance.

The suspected pirate suddenly slipped a hoof free, punching one of his assailants in the face. The navy sailor fell back, and the green-clad zebra jerked up to his hooves, beating his forelegs against the other. He whipped around and ran for the stairs.

Tyria galloped toward the top of the steps to stop him, but the zebra below was not heading up. He vanished deeper into the hold. Tyria paused for a moment, wondering if there was some secret hatch below, but the zebra reappeared with a burning lantern hanging from a metal ring clutched in his mouth. He swung the lantern at the heap of cargo still in the bay, shattering it and raining flaming oil all over the rope and wood.

Tyria’s eyebrows shot up in panic. “Fire!” she shouted, echoed by dozens of alarmed zebras in the hold.

“Lai! Lai!” screamed one of the ponies on deck, putting a hoof to his mouth, screaming the zebrillic word for fire toward the harbor.

Below, the flames were spreading rapidly. The wood had been sitting in the sunlight all morning, and the dry timber was burning swiftly. One of the wine barrels suddenly erupted in a fiery blast, raining cinders across the deck. More screams rang out below.

Tyria ran back for the cabin, her heart pounding. She slammed the cabin door repeatedly. “Ambassador! Ambassador!”

Milliden ripped the door open, anger and alarm on his face. “What’s going on? What was that sound?”

“There’s a fire belowdecks,” said Tyria, out of breath. “We have to get off the ship. Right now.”

The ambassador drew his robes together at the neck. “A fire? How?”

“We can discuss it later but now we need to go,” she said, pulling him out of the cabin.

Milliden gave an angry yelp. “Metrel! Release me at once!”

Ahead, the green-scarved zebra ran down the ramp and pressed his hooves to the side of it. The plank, not actually attached to the ship deck, slid easily sideways and fell down into the water with a splash. The zebra ran back up the pier, past the panicking sailors down below. Captain Zahakis ran past the Equestrians, shouting orders to his crew in zebrillic.

Tyria hauled Milliden over toward the railing, ignoring his protests. They needed to get some distance from this ship before the rest of that wine went up. Zebras on the deck were pulling up buckets of seawater from the bay and pouring it down into the hold, but the frightened yells from below told her that it wasn’t working.

Reaching the starboard rail, Tyria looked at Milliden, who was spluttering with indignation. “We’ve got to jump, ambassador.”

“Jump?! Are you mad? Let go of me, you—”

Tyria snarled and embraced him with both forelegs. She heaved backward, hauling the ambassador over the railing and down into the water below, where he landed in an undignified flop. She braced her forelegs and dived after him, plunging into the warm waters of the harbor.

She came back up, taking a gulp of air and blinking the stinging seawater out of her eyes. Milliden was floundering beside her, spitting curses at her. Tyria grabbed his robes in her mouth and started paddling toward the shore.

“Ensign Metrel! I’ll have your job for this!” Milliden swatted at her with a furious hoof. “Just because you’re the daughter of some puffed-up war hero—”

He was cut off by a massive roar. Tyria’s head whipped around to take in the sight of a massive column of flame bursting up from the deck of the Albatross. A deafening noise blasted over them, and the wood shattered and splintered, sending dozens of zebras flying into the water. Captain Zahakis vanished in the flaming pillar, followed soon after by the sides of his ship as they exploded outward. Tyria squinted into the blinding flare, breathless.

The fire died down, leaving a massive cloud of choking smoke in its wake. The sails above burned merrily as the ship began listing to port, sinking into the water. The mass of dock workers on shore had paused, gaping at the scene.

Tyria reached the shore, dragging the stunned-silent ambassador behind her into the soft sand. She pulled him under the framework of the docks, taking a moment to catch her breath, casting a glance back at the flaming ruin of the Albatross.

“Sisters preserve us… what… what happened?” asked Milliden, shakily.

The few zebras who’d gotten off the ship alive were swimming away in all directions. Tyria felt a rumble in the ground as the ship’s hull came to rest at the bottom of the shallows. One of the sails’ ropes finished burning through, sending the flaming sail fluttering down, an incendiary tombstone for the smouldering wreck.

“We’ve got to get you back to the embassy,” breathed Tyria. She pulled the ambassador to his feet.

“Where’s Zahakis? Did he make it out?”

“He’s gone,” said Tyria, swallowing as she remembered that all-consuming blast of flame. “I’ve never seen wine explode like that before. Every barrel in that hold must have gone up at once.”

Milliden was staring, wide-eyed, at the scuttled hunk of wood and smoke. “Yes… the wine…” He sounded half in shock.

Tyria shook him lightly, looking up toward the pier above. Firefighting teams were rushing up to the wreck with buckets of water. A unicorn wearing the silver circlet of the Zyran City Watch around his ankle was heading up the effort, his horn glowing as he brought waves of water washing up against the sides of the Albatross.

Tyria scanned the crowd, looking for an opening to get through and back toward the embassy district. The ambassador was still limp in her forelegs. “Hey, snap out of it. We’d better get out of here before—”

Her voice caught in her throat. The zebra with the green scarf was standing at the edge of the crowd, watching the fire crews rush past. The two Zyran Navy zebras hadn’t made it out of the ship in time, they were probably among those bodies floating in the water. She might be the only one who knew that this zebra was responsible for the fire.

“Ambassador, wait here.” Tyria began moving under the pier toward the steps leading up to the street above.

Milliden finally regained his focus. “Wait a minute, you can’t just leave me—”

But leave him she did. Tyria trotted up the steps, merging with the crowd. She weaved through the slack-jawed onlookers, her eyes focused on the green-scarfed zebra as she approached from behind. No hoofcuffs, no rope, no real way to restrain him… walking in without a plan wasn’t a smart idea, but she couldn’t just let him get away. If she got close enough to grab him, maybe she could hold him down until the City Watch diverted from the ship to help her capture the perpetrator.

She bumped into a griffon holding a basket of crabs, spilling several to the ground. The griffon snarled “Hey! Watch it, you oaf!”

The pirate heard the commotion and looked back over his shoulder. His eyes locked with Tyria’s and they both froze. The griffon muttered to himself, picking up one of his fallen crabs. “Damn Equestrians, think they can walk all over us now…”

Tyria held her breath for a moment. The zebra moved first. He broke and ran, shoving his way through the crowd. Tyria pursued, but she had to fight through the angry zebras who’d already been pushed aside once. “Stop him!” she shouted. “He’s a pirate! He set the fire! Stop him!”

Confusion reigned. Her cries for aid went unheeded as the crowd milled around in chaos, still torn between the spectacle of the tower of smoke and the evolving commotion in the street. Tyria forced her way through the press of Zyrans, trying to keep her eyes on that green scarf.

The zebra had nearly reached the edge of the main crowd, a point where the mass of Zyrans thinned enough that he would be able to run deeper into the city. Tyria wasn’t going to make it to him in time. She looked left and right, hoping for something she could use to bypass the crowd, and then she saw the ladder. A warehouse on the left side of the street was under repairs, though all the construction workers had stopped to watch the show in the harbor. A steep ladder was leaning against the side of the building, whose roof was low enough to jump down from without breaking a leg.

Tyria pushed through, reaching the ladder in moments. She raced up the rungs, ignoring the belated protests of the workers, galloping along the roof. Below her, the pirate was emerging from the crowd, finally free of the crushing mass of Zyrans. He paused for one crucial moment, looking behind to see if she was still following him.

She hit him from above. Leaping down from the roof, Tyria collided with the pirate, and both of them rolled down into the dirt. She struggled to get a grip on him, taking a flailing hoof to the chest, feeling the wind woosh from her lungs. Tyria wrapped a hoof in the green shemagh, yanking it toward herself. The zebra gagged, fumbling with the knot.

“Stop,” she gasped, “resisting arrest!”

The zebra jerked his head back, taking her in the face with a violent headbutt. Tyria reeled backward, her nose bloodied, and toppled to the ground. The green scarf came with her, knot undone, as the zebra staggered to his hooves. Before Tyria could regain her footing, the pirate had taken off once again.

She stood woozily, seeing double. The striped coats of a hundred zebras filled her vision. Tyria tried to focus, but without the green scarf singling him out, the pirate was hopelessly lost in the endless zebras filling the Zyran streets.

Tyria spat blood onto the ground, holding her snout. It didn’t feel broken, just bruised. Small mercies. She looked down at the green cloth still wrapped around her hoof. Not much to go on. Still, she’d bring it to Zanaya at the Watch headquarters. Maybe her inquisitive friend could make something of it. After she’d brought Milliden back to the embassy, of course.

Milliden! Tyria swore quietly. The ambassador wasn’t going to forget her throwing him overboard and then abandoning him at the scene of a crime. If she got back quickly enough she might still be able to extract him from the docks before they got pulled in for questioning, which would be sure to piss in his coffee for the next month. And Captain Petalbloom was going to be furious with her as well.

Tyria gave a weary sigh. Best to get it over with. She pushed the green cloth into her breast pocket, slowly making her way back into the crowd to find the ambassador.

2. The Ambassador

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The clock ticked slowly forward. The small study could get uncomfortably warm in the summer afternoons, but the window was propped open to let in cool air. Rich mahogany cabinets lined the ivory-white walls. A delicate-looking but sturdy bookshelf sat tucked away in the corner, filled with volumes about distant nations and cultures. The center of the little room was filled by a desk covered with disorganized piles of parchment. A plaque on the desk bore the words Ambassador Strudel.

An unusual pony sat on a stacked pair of cushions behind a large desk. His coat was gray, and his mane brown, an odd contrast to his canary-yellow robes. The ambassador was short, nearly a head below the height of an average stallion. His most arresting features, however, were the stubby horn on his forehead and the wings poking through his robes to lie folded at his back. The pony’s head rested on one hoof, the other toying with a quill. He pushed it around, idly watching it spin in its inkwell.

Rye hated being bored. He looked down at the parchment on the desk, raising an eyebrow as if daring it to finish itself. He’d been working on this report for over a week and he was still no closer to being done.

He leaned back and yawned. Cracking his neck, he stretched his wings to get the blood flowing through them again. He looked at them and smiled with quiet pride. His entire life, these wings had been too little to give him flight like a pegasus, but that was no reason for him to let them look ragged and mottled like a dying bird’s. Over the last few years he’d begun taking better care of his feathers, and it showed. They were neatly preened and cleaned, though a bit ruffled from a long day of work.

Turning back to his desk, Rye tapped a hoof on the wood. He glanced at the clock and sighed. His stomach grumbled, and his mouth twisted. It wasn’t often that he skipped lunch, but then, it wasn’t often that he had the promise of dinner at his parents’ to look forward to. One of the downsides of living on his own had been leaving behind his father’s cooking.

He shrank guiltily, remembering that he still hadn’t bought his mother a birthday present. He’d have to make a stop in the market after work. Maybe he’d get her some flowers or fruit seeds; she’d taken up gardening a few years back. Of course, what she really wanted from him… well, maybe someday.

There was a knock on the door. Rye perked up, welcoming any change from the monotony of paperwork. “Come in!”

The door opened to admit a tall, graceful-looking pony. Her mane flowed softly, despite the still air. The crown on her head gleamed in the sunlight from his office’s window. Rye’s eyes widened. “Princess!” He paused, protocol warring with practicality. If he bolted upright, he’d likely knock every paper off of his desk. He compromised by bowing his head hastily.

“Hello, Rye.” Princess Celestia smiled at him. “How have you been?”

“Still working on that report you wanted about the Kingdom of Dromedaria.” Rye squinted at the parchment. “I’m certain they’re up to something. The last time I was there, their minister of trade kept finding excuses to avoid me.”

Celestia made a hmm of agreement. “I suspect they’re trying to find new buyers for their precious metals without offending us.” She shrugged. “But I’m not here to ask about the camels.”

Rye blinked. “Is this a social call, then? Or…” He sat forward excitedly. “Have you got a new assignment for me?”

“I do.” Celestia smiled faintly. “I know you’ve been going a little stir-crazy, cooped up in the capital.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love Canterlot, it’s just…” Rye sighed in aggravation. “My mother.”

“Ah.” The princess’s smile grew, but only her eyes laughed. “How is she?”

“She’s doing well.” Rye tapped a hoof on the desk. “You mentioned a new job?”

Celestia nodded, turning a shade more serious. “We have a growing problem. Our shipping routes to the Golden Isles are coming under attack.”

Rye’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think it’s Grypha, do you?”

“No. Relations with the griffons are… strained, as ever, but though King Aelianus is still sore about losing the war, he wouldn’t dare break the demilitarization treaty so soon.”

“Surely not the llamas.”

“Certainly not. No, the attacks aren’t coming from any nationality, it’s a band of pirates who’ve started leading systematic raids on our vessels.” She frowned. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how important the sugarcane trade is.”

Rye nodded. He was well-versed in the subject; his father was always complaining about the price of sugar. “So where do I come in?”

“The attacks themselves are not the problem, exactly. Our fleet is plenty large enough to protect our trading vessels, but the Marquis of Zyre refuses to let foreign military ships into her waters. I understand her concerns, but they are beginning to cost us ships, cargo, and lives. I need you to go to Zyre and convince the Marquis to permit us to send our own escorts to protect our merchants. Be delicate, I don’t want to imply that her own escorts are insufficient.” Her lip curled in irony. “Even though they are.”

Rye nodded. “Your wish is my command, Princess.” He stood, careful not to disturb the mounds of parchment. “When do I leave?”

“You’ll have to go to the Delta to take a ship. I’ll arrange your passage on one of our merchant galleys. I assumed a week would be sufficient notice.”

“I can go sooner than that. I can leave tomorrow, actually.” Rye fidgeted.

Celestia gave him a wry smile. “That anxious to get out of the city, hmm? All right. Tomorrow it is, then. I’ll send word ahead to one of our captains.”

“Ah… I was wondering, have you considered what I mentioned last time?”

“Oh, that’s right.” Celestia pursed her lips. “An assistant. I’m afraid I don’t have anypony to spare from the diplomatic offices…”

Rye shrugged. “I just need somepony to help me triage diplomatic party invitations for anything useful and carry luggage. Anypony who can read and write will do.”

Celestia’s eyes twinkled. “Oho, there’s an idea. Most of the Firewings aren’t busy at the moment. I’ll have the Guard-Captain send somepony with you. Go see him after this.”

Rye pressed his hooves together. “Ah, excellent. Having a decorated officer along might help to impress the Marquis. Anything else I need to know?”

“I’ll provide briefing material for you to read over on the trip. This one won’t be easy. The Marquis is… a difficult mare.”

He bowed. “Very well. I’ll go speak to Captain Dragonslayer, then.”

“Good luck, Rye. Oh, and…” Celestia smiled. “Wish your mother a happy birthday for me, won’t you?”

“Certainly.” Rye bowed again, and the princess took her leave.

* * *

The royal guard compound was on the far side of the new castle, built to replace the one destroyed in the war four years ago. Still under construction, the castle was rising up from the mountainside like a golden claw, its towers reaching to the sky like talons. Rye walked past the countless scaffolds and ladders that belonged to the construction teams, making his way through the stone and wood.

He arrived at the new Firewing barracks at last. The building was a short, squat little block of stone, large enough for fifty or so ponies to live within. The flag of Equestria hung limply from a pole at the building’s fore, rising as a light breeze carried past.

Rye watched the flag flutter. Once, he’d have given anything to live in these barracks, to dress in the golden armor of the Firewings, and join their daily training regimen. He blinked thoughtfully.

“Ambassador Strudel.”

He turned to find a cherry-red pegasus in a blue military uniform looking evenly at him. Rye tilted his head. “Captain Dragonslayer.”

The two stared at each other as the seconds passed. The captain’s mouth curled at the edges. Rye raised an eyebrow, and then both of their stern expressions vanished as they burst out laughing.

The captain grinned at him. “I thought ambassadors were supposed to have good poker faces.”

“I never was very good at cards.” Rye clapped him on the shoulder. “So Inger, how’ve you been? I haven’t seen you since I got back from Dromedaria.”

“Busy. Recruitment drives have been picking up lately. We’re a long way from pre-war levels of readiness, but the Firewings are getting back on their hooves.” Inger smiled. “And how are you? I never see you anymore, you’re always locked up in that stuffy little study.”

Rye snorted. “You get to fight trolls and dragons. I have to battle dignitaries.”

Inger gave a mock shudder. “Better you than me.”

“Are you coming to the party tonight?”

“Of course. Who’d pass up a dinner with Apricot Strudel?” Inger licked his lips. “Cranberry’s coming, too. Her sister offered to foalsit the colts.”

Rye shook his head. “How do you and Cranberry juggle your jobs and those two munchkins?”

Inger rubbed his eye. “It’s exhausting, I’ll admit. I’ve been trying to spend as much time as I can spare at home, but my poor wife’s been handling most of it. She keeps trying to find room in our schedule to head up north to the dig site in Sleipnord, but…” He shook his head.

“Can’t you take a year or two off to watch the kids? The Princess couldn’t object.”

“I can’t leave the Firewings right now. Most of them are still raw recruits, they need somepony experienced around.” He sighed. “At least we’re stationed in the city. Otherwise I’d never see Cranberry at all.”

Rye was familiar with the stresses of a military family. He frowned in sympathy. “The two of you should talk to my mother.”

Inger smiled faintly. “I guess I’ll never be too old to take advice from Captain Strudel.”

With a sudden start, Rye remembered why he’d come. “Oh, Inger—the princess sent me to talk to you. I’m headed out on a new assignment tomorrow—”

“Already?” Inger looked dismayed. “You just got back a month ago. We haven’t even been out for drinks.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I meant to, but…” Rye shrugged guiltily. “Work, you know.”

Inger sighed with regret. “Well, when you get back this time, come talk to me before you let yourself get drowned in paperwork.” He smiled wryly. “You need to live a little.”

“I will, honest.” Rye fiddled with the clasp of his robes. “Um, so, I’m headed out to the Golden Isles tomorrow to work out a trade agreement with the zebras. I need an assistant. The princess told me to ask you for one of the Firewings.”

“The Carriagibbean, eh?” Inger’s eyebrow rose. “I think I can spare a pony. Hmm…” He tapped his chin. “Staff Sergeant Specklestraw’s available. Wheatie’s been itching to get out of town for a while, anyway.”

“Excellent. I’ll meet him in my study tomorrow morning, I have a few things to pack up beforehand.” Rye nodded his head. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. See you later, Rye.” Inger waved farewell.

Rye turned and headed for the stairs that led from the castle down into the city. He still had a few hours to find a gift.

* * *

The bakery looked as welcoming as ever. Rye’s old home had finally closed for the day by the time he arrived, carrying a small wrapped bundle. The bakery’s stone walls still bore black stains from four years ago, when the two neighboring houses had burned down. They had since been rebuilt as a pottery store and the city district’s new post office. His father had been ecstatic about the post office, and the business it brought with it.

The windowsills of the bakery were covered with delicately arranged flowers. Most had already bloomed and faded months ago, but several summer flowers were still vibrant and colorful. Rye wondered if his mother planned to take up tomatoes and other fruit, or stick to purely aesthetic plants.

He knocked on the door, jingling the bell, and waited expectantly. The sound of hooves on wood echoed from inside, and the door creaked open. A beige unicorn wearing an apron beamed at him. “Rye!”

Rye raised a hoof, smiling. “Hey, Dad.”

“You’re just in time. I’m finishing up dinner, you can help me get everything out of the ovens. Come in, come in.”

He wiped his muddy hooves off on the welcome mat, breathing in the smell of baking bread. With a sigh of happiness, he followed it into the kitchen, and kept going into the dining room beyond.

He put his gift on the center of the table, making sure it stood up correctly. The table was already set for five. The plates were his father’s favorites, the ones with the hippocampi borders. Rye smiled and turned to go help his father in the kitchen.

The two Strudels removed the baked goods from the ovens, placing them on the counters. Rye’s stomach grumbled as he sniffed the indelible aromas of roasted alfalfa seeds, banana bread, and chocolate cake. His father busied himself with the food, shooing him off into the foyer.

Rye wandered out just in time to hear the familiar creak of somepony walking down the bakery stairs. He turned to see a blue pegasus descending with a broad smile on her face. “Rye!”

He returned the smile. “Happy birthday!”

Windstreak Strudel raced down the stairs as fast as she could, and met him with an embrace. “I’m glad you made it. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t get back from Dromedaria in time.”

Rye shrugged. “That last trip took longer than I expected.” He pulled away, looking at his mother.

Windstreak was a pegasus almost as unusual as her son. Her wingbones were slightly crooked near the joints, and her gait was stiffer than age could account for. The left side of her face was a darker blue than the rest, almost black, but the old burn scar had long ceased to draw attention. Her most striking feature was her fiery red mane, streaked with strands of gray. It fell artfully over her shoulder, longer than it had ever been during her career in the Firewings.

“Did you see Inger up at the castle, today?”

Rye nodded. “The Sugars will be here. Inkpot’s not going to make it, though, she’s foalsitting for them.”

Windstreak smiled. “That’s fine. I’ll go say hello sometime this week.”

The door jingled. They turned to see Inger and a golden-maned, bright pink mare with a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose entering the bakery. The mare’s face lit up as soon as she saw them.

“Windstreak! Rye!” She came to meet them, positively glowing. “It’s been forever!”

She hugged Windstreak while Rye grinned. “Evening, Professor.”

Cranberry rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, stop that.” She shook his hoof, smiling. “I see the princess still has you wearing that gaudy thing.”

Rye, wounded, touched a hoof to the bright yellow robes covering his chest. “Hey, I think they look good.”

“You never did have any taste.” Cranberry smirked. She looked at Windstreak and jolted. “Inger, honey, did I forget the—”

Her husband put up a hoof. “Don’t worry, dear, I brought it.” He had a satchel slung over his back. Inger looked around the bakery storefront. “We should come down here more often. I can’t remember the last time I had a plain old blueberry muffin.”

Apricot’s head poked out from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready!” He gestured to them all.

The ponies entered the dining room and sat down around the table. Apricot whisked in and out, setting platters of food down. The platters began making rounds as the ponies served themselves. All of them were familiar with Apricot’s culinary expertise, and the conversation was set aside until the first course had been completed.

As Rye finished off a slice of banana bread, his mother asked, “So, Cranberry, how are things at the university?”

Cranberry fiddled with her half-moon spectacles. Rye still wasn’t used to seeing her with them, but that was probably his fault for being gone so much. He swallowed his bread.

“Things have settled down for the summer. Now that the term’s over I can get back to doing research, and spend some more time with Strawberry and Apricot.”

Rye’s father grinned. He’d been tickled pink when the Sugars had named their second child after him.

Windstreak smiled. “Ah, foals. One colt was tough enough, I don’t know how you manage two.” She sighed wistfully. “I’d love grandchildren, though.”

Rye restrained himself from looking at the ceiling and groaning by taking another bite of alfalfa. Here we go again.

Cranberry looked at him teasingly. “You know, Rye, I figured after saving the kingdom from that invasion and becoming a big, important ambassador, you’d be drowning in girlfriends.”

He grimaced and stabbed at his dinner with a fork. “One would think.” Humorlessly, he swallowed a bite of food. “I've got too much work on my plate to waste time with... personal matters.”

Her face fell. “Rye… it’s not healthy to spend all your time at work. You need to get out of the office a bit.”

To find a mate, you mean. Goddess, even his non-relatives were starting, now. It wasn’t like he could go to the store and buy a wife, though he was starting to wish he could, simply to shut up his parents.

Besides, who in their right mind would want to spend their life with a stunted mutant? His lack of a significant other wasn’t entirely due to non-effort on his part. He felt a twinge of old, familiar pain. “Well, it’ll have to wait until after my next assignment.”

Cranberry gave him a disappointed look. “You’re leaving already?”

“The princess is sending me out to the Golden Isles.”

Finally diverted, Cranberry’s eyes lit up. “Ooh! Zebra country. We went out that way on our honeymoon.” She flashed her husband a sunny smile, which he returned.

Rye adjusted his robes as he explained, “The sugar shipping industry’s being harassed by pirates. I’m supposed to put an end to it.”

Apricot coughed, spluttering. “Well, if you don’t, I’m going to start charging you to eat here.”

Rye grinned. “Relax, O Maker of Sweets. I just have to convince the Marquis to let us send our own escorts with the merchants. How hard can it be?”

Cranberry’s brows furrowed. “Just make sure to send postcards, this time!”

Windstreak frowned in agreement. “I get worried when you don’t write.”

Mares, honestly. “Okay, okay, I promise. I’ll send a letter back every month.”

Satisfied, his mother nodded. Beside her, Apricot stood. “I believe it’s time for dessert. Why don’t you open your gifts, sweetheart? I’ll get the cake.”

Windstreak, with a bemused smile, reached forward and pulled Rye’s parcel toward her. She unwrapped it carefully, revealing a pot filled with beautiful pink flowers. Her face lit up. “Hollyhocks! Oh, thank you, Rye! I’ll transplant them to my window garden tomorrow morning.” She set them respectfully to the left of her plate, sniffing the petals.

Rye smiled, pleased that he’d chosen well. On the other side of the table, Inger pulled out his satchel, and removed a thin package. He handed it to his wife.

Cranberry laid it on the table and pushed it to Windstreak. “From me and Inkpot.” The package opened to reveal a book, titled The War of Whitetail. Windstreak’s eyes rose. Cranberry grinned. “The first publishing run just came in last week. There’s a few whole chapters dedicated to a certain pegasus we thought you might be interested in.”

Windstreak touched the book’s cover, smiling faintly. “Thank you, Cranberry.”

Inger pulled out another, slimmer package. He set it down before her, then folded his legs back. Windstreak unwrapped it and her breath caught. She held up the gift, a decorative blue star, the kind that might adorn gilded armor. On it were scrawled dozens of signatures in tiny black ink.

“Signed by every active member of the Firewings. That big one in the middle is Wheatie’s.” Inger smiled wryly. “Happy birthday, Captain.”

Windstreak held it to her chest and smiled with tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Inger.” She set it down tenderly on the book. “This means… a lot, to me.”

Just then, Apricot re-entered, carrying a giant chocolate cake with him. Rye’s eyebrows rose. The cake looked amazing, as always, wreathed in white frosting and sprinkled with coconut shavings. Strawberries in nests of icing ringed the top, interspaced with candles. Apricot carried it around the table and set it down beside his wife.

Windstreak clapped her hooves in delight. “Oh, it’s coconut!”

Apricot pecked her on the cheek. “My first gift of the evening.” They rubbed noses with knowing smiles. Cranberry and Inger snickered. Rye felt the urge to gag. He’d rather not think about his parents—eurgh.

Inger balanced his wineglass on a hoof and raised it. “To the twentieth birthday of the best soldier I've ever known.” They all clinked a toast together, and Inger smiled. “May she have twenty more.” They drained their glasses.

Dessert passed too quickly, and soon the cake had been reduced to a bare few slices. Apricot packaged them up for the Sugars to take home, and they all bid each other good night.

As Rye left the bakery, he breathed in deeply. The cool night air of Canterlot was too familiar, almost stale. With a grin, he started off toward his house, daydreaming about the coming weeks. He was headed for a nice, easy assignment in the tropics, practically a paid vacation. He was looking forward to it.

3. Welcome to the Isles

View Online

Rye was dying.

He’d been close to death before; he knew what it felt like. He’d nearly lost his life a dozen times over on a mission to Sleipnord four and a half years ago, but this, he knew with certainty, was the end.

A moan escaped him as he bent double over the railing. The water below churned as the ship sailed on, breaking smoothly through the waves as it crossed the ocean. Rye clutched his stomach, and waited for the sweet release of death.

He heard the sound of hooves on the deck beside him. A light, youthful voice said, “Morning, Ambassador.”

“Please,” Rye mumbled, “Help me, Sergeant.”

Wheatie Specklestraw laughed. “Not sure what I can do, Ambassador.”

“Kill me, if you have to. Just make it sto—” Rye felt his stomach heave again. He bent over the railing to bid farewell to breakfast.

The Firewing watched with amusement and sympathy. “A lot of ponies get seasick. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Rye spat over the side of the ship, trying to get the foul taste out of his mouth. “Goddess. Every trip. This is worse than the last time. I need to stop taking assignments that require sea travel.” He turned his head up away from the waves. “How long until we’re on dry land again?”

Wheatie glanced up at the giant white sails of the merchant vessel, billowing in the wind. “The captain said we should reach Karran Island sometime today.”

“I must admit, I’ve always wanted to see Zyre.” Rye looked off into their direction of travel, scanning the horizon. “They say it’s the largest port in the entire Ceracen Ocean.”

“Hm.” Wheatie raised his eyebrows skeptically. “I doubt it’s larger than Cairoan, back in the Delta.”

“We’ll see soon enough, I suppose.” Rye pulled away from the railing, grateful he’d managed to avoid staining his robes. He eyed the water below with loathing. “I’m going to speak to the captain. My briefing material’s been woefully inadequate on a few key points. I’ll talk to you later, Sergeant.”

He left Wheatie and headed toward the stern. The aft section of the ship was raised above the deck like most other ships he’d seen. The captain of the Sugar Queen could often be found at the helm. He seemed to prefer steering the ship himself.

Rye climbed the stairs to reach the wheel. Sure enough, Captain Sembarolla was there, guiding his vessel through the warm waters of the Carrigibbean. Rye cleared his throat, and the captain nodded to acknowledge his presence. “Can I help you, Ambassador?”

“I’ve got a few questions. I’ve been reading through my material for a week and a half now, but there are some things my books don’t cover.”

“Certainly.” The captain rested an easy hoof on the wheel and half-turned to face him.

Rye looked around at the ocean. “These pirates, the… Pit Vipers, they’re called?” The captain gave a nod. “There’s nothing in my notes about them.”

Captain Sembarolla frowned. “There wouldn’t be. They’re a recent development.” He cast a dark glance at the horizon. “There have always been pirates around here, of course. The sugar trade is too tempting a target to pass up. But lately, they’ve started banding together under the flag of somepony called ‘Viridian.’ She—or he, nopony’s quite sure—has organized the pirates into a little fleet. There are about thirteen captains under Viridian’s command at the moment. More than enough to attack and pillage any single merchant ship and her escort.”

Rye raised an eyebrow. “A thirteen-way cargo split? That can’t be profitable.”

The captain shrugged. “They’re also in deep with the smuggling business in Zyre. Rum, molasses, ethanol, raw sugarcane, as well as more general things like gold and wheat. I’ve run into some of them before.”

Rye nearly asked when and how, but restrained himself. He wasn’t a law enforcement agent; it wasn’t his job to poke his nose into the captain’s business dealings, no matter how much he wanted to. Still, fantasies of uncovering a vast smuggling ring began playing in the back of his mind. Anything to liven up his boring life for a while.

“Captain!”

Rye and the captain looked up to the crow’s nest. The sailor inside was pointing to the fore, waving his other hoof. “Land in sight, Captain!”

Sembarolla smiled. “We’ve made good time. This voyage usually takes another two days, but the wind’s been with us the whole trip.”

With relief, Rye peered into the distance to catch a glimpse of the island. It was a thin black line on the horizon. “Excellent. I’ll head down and get my things ready.”

It took them the better part of an hour to reach the island. As they approached, Rye stared at it in wonder. Karran Island and her sister, Serran Island, were two of the largest in the Carrigibbean Sea. Karran was the child of an ancient volcano that rose from the waters on the island’s southern tip, whose peak could still be seen to glow at night. The sides of the volcano were covered with verdant jungle that extended north and covered most of the island, but the most striking feature was the giant arm of land that encircled the island’s bay, lined with watchtowers to protect the city and the ships beyond.

There was a narrow passage permitting entrance, and as they drew closer Rye spotted a pair of warships stationed on either side. The ships moved to meet them, presumably for the inspection the captain had warned him about. Rye breathed in the salty air and smiled. Soon he’d be back on land, and his work could begin.

* * *

The docks were buzzing with activity, as always. Tyria fiddled with her uniform’s collar nervously. She hoped the ship would arrive soon. Her dress whites were not nearly as comfortable as her service khakis, and they didn’t match her paintbrush cutie mark nearly as well. She wanted to be out of them as soon as possible. Of course, she thought with dismay, the captain might make her wear them for the duration of the new ambassador's stay.

Captain Petalbloom had been furious, as she’d expected. Leaving the ambassador on his own to go chasing pirates through the city streets had been a big mistake, and she’d been terrified for a minute that her boss was going to have her court-martialed for dereliction of duty. But Petalbloom had always had a soft spot for those under her command, underneath all the bluster. So after a long lecture about the stupidity of ‘playing cowpony,’ instead of formal disciplinary action she’d assigned Tyria the tedious duty of receiving the princess’s new agent and escorting him back to the embassy safely.

That, she could handle. She was used to babysitting pompous nobles by now. Somehow she doubted this was what her father had in mind when he’d pushed her into a Navy career, but if she was honest with herself she’d rather be here, tending to the whims of the ambassador, than back home fighting griffon invaders or wild monsters.

One of the hundreds of ships on the bay caught her eye. It was flying Equestrian colours, but also the less-common flag that signified a ship under the princess’s personal command. Tyria headed down to greet it as it pulled into the dock.

The boarding ramp hit the wood as she arrived. Sailors, mostly earth ponies, rushed down off of the ship and began tying ropes to the pier to keep their vessel from straying. Tyria waited patiently, watching for the canary-yellow robes of an Equestrian ambassador. But the first pony to catch her attention was something else altogether. Her eyebrows rose.

He was a white and brown-speckled pegasus in military uniform. His cover was white, like her own, and his uniform the same with gold embroidery. The periwinkle star of the Firewings on his shoulder was unmistakable. He walked down the ramp, hauling a large pair of suitcases with him.

Tyria snapped an involuntary salute. “Hello, sir.” It was a trifle formal, considering she technically outranked him, but this was no ordinary sergeant.

The Firewing smiled and returned the salute. “Staff Sergeant Specklestraw, at your service. And you are?”

“Ensign Metrel.” Tyria tried to covertly scan the Firewing’s large collection of medals and her eyes widened even more.

Specklestraw laughed. “A bit much, aren’t they? I don’t normally wear them all at once. The ambassador thought it might make a good first impression on the Marquis when we go to see her.”

Tyria nodded, astonished. That white and gold medallion around his neck was the Medal of Valor, the deceptively-simple sounding award that signified extreme courage, dedication, and sacrifice in the line of duty. She’d never heard of somepony receiving it non-posthumously. Of course, the Firewings were no ordinary ponies.

“I didn’t realize this was so important,” she said, looking back up to his face. “If the princess is sending the Firewings…”

He shook his head. “I’m not here in a military capacity, to be honest. I mostly fly a desk these days, anyway. The ambassador just wanted an assistant.”

“A goat to haul my luggage, more like,” called a voice from above. Tyria looked up as the wooden plank creaked, getting her first glimpse of the ambassador. He was short and unassuming, with bushy brown hair and a broad grin. Tyria felt a jolt of surprise as she caught sight of his horn… and his wings.

The ambassador reached the bottom of the ramp and stepped off onto the pier, sighing. “Back on land at last. So to speak.” He turned to her and smiled. “Ambassador Rye Strudel. A pleasure.” He raised a hoof.

Tyria shook it, politely not-looking at his horn or wings. “Ensign Tyria Metrel. I’m here to escort you to the embassy.”

The ambassador’s face brightened. “An escort! The last embassy made me find it on my own.” He grinned again. “I might enjoy this after all.”

Saying nothing of Captain Petalbloom or her unofficial punishment detail, Tyria simply nodded. Ambassador Strudel turned to his aide, the Firewing. “Did we get everything?”

“I think so. My armor’s packed away with your spare robes, and the books are in the other suitcase.”

“Excellent.” The ambassador turned back to Tyria. “Shall we—”

He caught her staring at his wings. The ambassador’s face closed off like a slamming door.

Tyria’s cheeks flushed red. The ambassador cleared his throat. “Shall we head off, then?” he asked quietly. Burning with shame, Tyria nodded and set off down the pier.

A pegacorn. She certainly hadn’t expected this. Tyria had heard of them before, of course, but she’d never thought to see one herself. She was fiercely curious. How had a magic- and flight-crippled hybrid unicorn-pegasus ended up as a royal ambassador?

Probably through a lot of blood, sweat, and tears. And you just insulted him. She winced. She’d seen stranger things in Zyre—a city this large and diverse had at least two of everything—so she had no excuse to make the ambassador uncomfortable. She desperately hoped she might retreat back to the security offices once they reached the embassy, and avoid him and any further awkwardness for the rest of his stay.

Still, he didn’t seem like most diplomats she’d met. None of them would have called somepony as decorated as Staff Sergeant Specklestraw a goat, for instance. She supposed it might be his upbringing. His last name was Strudel, he must not be of noble birth.

She jerked to a halt. “Strudel?” She turned in surprise. “Wait a minute, isn’t that the name of the Firewings’ captain?”

The two ponies behind her shot each other knowing looks. Ambassador Strudel shook his head. “Former. She’s retired, now.”

Tyria blinked. Maybe that was how a pegacorn had risen so high in the royal court. “I didn’t know she had a son.”

“I get that a lot.” The ambassador's mouth twisted wryly.

She’d better get moving before she stuck her hoof any deeper in her mouth. Tyria started walking again, leading them into the city.

Behind her, she heard the ambassador clear his throat. “So, Sergeant, is it bigger than you expected?”

“Much.” The Firewing sounded impressed. “You were right, this city is larger than Cairoan.”

“We’ll have to buy a street map. Don’t want to get lost on our way to see the Marquis. Which reminds me, we need to set up a new appointment; we got in a few days sooner than expected.”

“Have you figured out how you're going to convince her yet?”

“These people are all the same. Power, money, fame, love, lust—you just have to figure out what makes them tick and play to their desires.” The ambassador sounded confident. “Marquis Zahira’s been in power for a long time, though. She should be an interesting opponent.”

Tyria looked back over her shoulder, puzzled. “Opponent? I thought Zyre and Equestria were allies.”

Ambassador Strudel grinned at her. “The key to politics, officer Metrel, is that everypony is an opponent. Doesn’t mean you have to be unfriendly, though.” He looked around as they passed through the dock district. “Have you ever met the Marquis?”

“No.” Tyria turned back to watch where she was going. “Ambassador Milliden speaks with her on occasion, though. You could ask him.”

“I will, Ensign, thank you.” The ambassador yawned. “I hope the embassy has better beds than that ship did. I can never get the hang of hammocks.”

Tyria wondered if he was making a pun or not. She blinked uncomfortably. The ambassador was so… informal. She wasn’t quite sure how to react.

At last, they left the docks behind and entered the embassy district. Most major cities had at least a few embassies, but Zyre had so many that an entire section of the city had been appropriated for their use. Tyria felt obliged to point out some of the more important ones as they passed.

“There’s the Dromedary embassy, over there.” She pointed a hoof. “And there’s the one from Zeropia, and Zema, and there’s the Zerusian embassy. Actually, most nations from Zebrica are represented here.”

“That’s a lot of Zs,” said the ambassador with amusement. “The zebras never were fond of variety.”

Tyria felt an involuntary smile rising and quashed it. “And there’s the Gryphan embassy, just across the street from ours.”

“Grypha?” Sergeant Specklestraw sounded faintly alarmed.

Tyria paused and turned around. “Of course. This is the most important trading port in the western hemisphere. They’d be crazy not to have a hoof—er, claw—in it.”

Specklestraw frowned. Ambassador Strudel lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “What about the whole ex-Gryphan slave colony thing?”

Tyria shrugged. “That was centuries ago. Zyre’s been an independent city-state since the old Empire fell. The griffons certainly don’t have the resources to retake it, even if they wanted to.” She frowned. “Especially after the last war.”

Sergeant Specklestraw’s face darkened. “I hope not.”

She looked at him with interest. “Were you part of the battle in Canterlot, Sergeant?”

“As well as Whitewall. And Trellow.” Specklestraw grimaced. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Of course. My apologies.” Tyria looked to her side and gestured at the little white building. “Well, here we are.”

She and the Firewing doffed their covers, and the three of them pushed inside. Tyria was greeted by the familiar striped face of Zedara, the embassy’s secretary. There weren’t enough Equestrians on station to fully staff the facility, so they’d hired out to locals for the less sensitive jobs.

“Greetings, Ensign.” Zedara bowed her head to the two newcomers. “Ambassador Strudel. Sergeant Specklestraw. Welcome to Zyre. We’ve been expecting you.”

The ambassador nodded. “Thank you. Which way to the beds?”

“We’ve set aside a room for the both of you, up the stairs and to the left.” Zedara pointed helpfully.

“All right. Need any help with the luggage, Sergeant?”

Specklestraw shook his head, but Tyria, eager to make up for her earlier faux pas, said, “Oh, I can take one of the bags.”

The Firewing shrugged. He sat one of the suitcases upright, and she slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll show you to your quarters.”

She led them up the stairs, and into the little two-pony bedroom reserved for important dignitaries. It was smaller than the four-person room down the hall, but having only two beds made it appear roomier. She set the suitcase down beside one of them and nodded to the other two ponies. “If you need anything, talk to Zedara downstairs. Enjoy your stay in Zyre.”

“Thank you, Officer Metrel.” The ambassador gave her a warm smile. “Have a pleasant afternoon.”

“You too.” Tyria blushed again, and hurried out of the room.

Goddess, she’d sounded like an idiot. She sighed in embarrassment as she descended the stairs. Hopefully she would be able to stay out of the pegacorn ambassador’s way for the next week or two, and avoid any more awkward social missteps.

* * *

As the day ended, Tyria undressed and hung her uniform back up neatly in her locker. She checked the clock and swore. Bidding her fellow security officers a hasty goodbye, she threw on her saddlebags and rushed from the building out into the streets.

She was always late for dinner with Zanaya. Her friend was patient, but Tyria felt guilty every time she made the poor mare wait. Luckily, the restaurant wasn’t far from the embassies, and she made it there only five minutes past seven.

Tyria entered the little diner, flushed from the run. The usual dinner rush had started to end by now, so there was no line. The front counter was tended by a bored-looking zebra, who gave Tyria an apathetic glance. “Welcome to Vera’s,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I’ll show you to your table. Will this be herbivore or non?”

“Ah, actually, I’m meeting somepony.” Tyria looked over the zebra’s shoulder and caught sight of her striped friend, sitting far in the back. “There she is. If you’ll excuse me…”

She made her way over to Zanaya’s booth and scooted in on the other side of the table. The zebra’s smile was dry. “Hey there, soldier girl. Another long day at work, huh? You look stressed.”

“Very.” Tyria rubbed her temples.

Zanaya shook her head. “You need to take some time off. Work out a bit of that tension. When’s the last time you went out and had yourself a roll in the hay with someone, hmm?”

“Zanaya!” Tyria blushed. She and Zanaya had become very good friends over the years, but her sex life—or lack thereof—was none of Zanaya’s business. “Honestly.”

The zebra grinned. “Suit yourself.” She shrugged. “So what’s the trouble at work?”

“There’s a new ambassador in town for a few weeks.” Tyria sighed. “I got stuck escorting him this afternoon.”

“Blech.” Zanaya rolled her eyes. “Politicians.”

“He didn’t seem so bad.” Tyria winced, remembering their awkward dock meeting. “I don’t think I made a good first impression, though.”

“Oh?”

“He’s a pegacorn. He, uh, caught me staring a bit.”

“Really.” Zanaya’s eyes narrowed with interest. She was intensely curious about everything, something Tyria supposed was part of her job. “I’ve never actually seen a pegacorn before. I've heard they usually die young or go mad. How crazy was he?”

Tyria shrugged. “He seemed normal enough to me.”

“Hm. How’d one end up becoming an ambassador?”

“His mother's Windstreak Strudel, the old royal guard captain.”

“Aha.” Zanaya looked satisfied with that explanation.

Their waiter approached, a youthful looking zebra stallion, and cleared his throat. “Welcome to Vera’s, ladies. Here are your menus.” He passed them each a strip of parchment, pressed and sealed to keep them clean. “What can I get you to drink?”

Tyria’s eyes scanned her menu. “I’ll have a Sparkling Ruby.”

“Just water, for me.” Zanaya didn’t bother to look at her options. She always got the same thing, anyway. Tyria smiled, remembering Ambassador Strudel's crack about zebras not liking variety. Maybe it was some ingrained herd instinct.

As the waiter left to get their drinks, Tyria looked up. “So how was your day at work? Any more luck than last week?”

“None,” sighed Zanaya. “The City Watch is overloaded this month. We’ve been dealing with the usual summer crime spree on top of the Pit Vipers. The only two zebras available for my investigation are me and Zed, and he's already swamped with the Ricolo case.”

“I’d have thought that blowing up a ship in the middle of the harbor would cause more of a stir.”

“It’s been ruled ‘accidental destruction of property.’ That wouldn't be my read of the situation, but the commissioner knows best.” Zanaya's mouth scrunched unhappily. “Thanks to you, we know the Vipers were likely involved, but it doesn’t seem like premeditated sabotage—meaning that instead of Trade Crimes, it got assigned to Petty Theft and Vandalism. We poor PTV detectives are stuck trying to find information on this mysterious pirate of yours with no additional department resources and no leads.”

Tyria frowned. “I wish I could give you more. I didn’t get a very good look at him.”

Zanaya smirked. “Most ponies can’t tell one zebra apart from another, anyway.”

“It’s the stripes,” said Tyria with a grin. “We get dizzy.”

Their waiter returned with their beverages, and took their orders. As he left again, Tyria sipped her red fruit drink. “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, just ask.”

“Thanks.” Zanaya took a drink of water. “Got any weekend plans?”

“I was thinking of heading out to the market tomorrow. Looking for a gift for Captain Petalbloom’s birthday in a month.”

“A bribe, you mean,” said Zanaya with another smirk. “She’s not still mad at you, is she?”

Tyria buried her head in her hooves. “Oof. Milliden's still upset about that incident on the docks, so he's making her life miserable. Which means she's making mine miserable. Feels like there's been a new punishment detail every other day. I’m lucky she hasn’t got me digging latrines.”

“I didn’t think they did that to officers.”

“Only if you really foul up.” Tyria took another swig of Sparkling Ruby. “Not that I’m very high on the totem pole to start with.”

Zanaya softened. “Hey, now, we've been over this. Being an ensign is perfectly respectable.”

“My father got promoted after his first year.” Tyria nudged her glass glumly.

Her friend frowned sympathetically. Zanaya knew all about the admiral. Tyria had let a lot more slip about him than she’d intended to over the years. She sighed. “I’ve got another two months to go before my required service period is up.”

“Are you planning on resigning your commission?”

“I don’t know.” Tyria fiddled with her drinking straw. “It’s paying the bills. Not sure what kind of job I could find back home in Equestria, anyway.”

Zanaya smiled encouragingly. “What about painting? I bet you'd make a good living off of that.”

Tyria shook her head. “I don’t—my work's not good enough to sell.”

“Listen, soldier girl. Humility's a virtue, but so is honesty. You're good at painting. Really good. ”

“Maybe.” Tyria swallowed. “Dad would… not be happy with me.”

“You’re a twelve-year old mare, Tyria. I think you’re capable of making your own life choices.”

She sighed. “I know, I know. Maybe you’re right.”

“You know I am. You smile when you paint. I never see that when you're talking about the embassy.” The zebra gave her a worried but friendly look. “Just something to think about.”

The waiter returned with their meals, and the two of them dug in. Zebra food was good, if spicy, but Tyria found herself missing more traditional Equestrian meals. She’d been searching for an Equestrian-style restaurant around Zyre for ages, but she’d had no luck yet.

The conversation turned to less stressful topics. Zanaya talked about her last trip out to the sugarcane fields on Serran Island and the investigation she’d been running on some thieves at the docks there. Tyria listened with interest, munching on her rice.

As they finished their dinner, Tyria sat back and pushed her empty plate forward with a hum of satisfaction. “Same time next week?”

“Sure. Good night, Tyria.” Zanaya stood up and began rummaging through her satchel. She pulled out a silver coin and dropped the tip on the table. Tyria left a half-bit of her own. Few restaurants in the area took Equestrian money, but the trade city had a currency exchange on practically every street corner, so most of the service zebras didn’t mind.

Night had fallen by the time she made it back to her apartment. The building was relatively tall for Zyran architecture, rising about five stories above the ground. She opened the door with her key and started climbing the creaky wooden stairs.

She entered her little home on the third floor, sliding the door shut and locking it behind her. With a yawn, she dumped her saddlebag beside the door and made her way into the bedroom, stepping gingerly through the disaster area she called a living room. Sketches and charcoal pencils lay everywhere. Her paints were kept much more carefully, in a small cabinet tucked into the corner of the room. The canvases themselves were stored in a series of large racks behind her couch. A two-room apartment was fairly luxurious in a city this crowded, but she needed the space for all her paintings.

Tyria fell onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Zanaya was right, as usual. The thought of painting for a living was a fantasy she barely dared to entertain. She hated her job at the embassy, but the thought of facing her father’s disapproving glare made her squirm.

She sighed, turning over on her pillow. That wasn't the only thing her friend was right about. Though she'd never admit it, Zanaya's rather crass jab about rolling in the hay had hit home. Tyria was lonely in this foreign land. After three long years stationed here, the pressures of her dead-end job and suffocating life in the city were starting to wear on her. She felt like a spring being compressed and coiled, worn out beyond repair. A poor girl’s hoof could only relieve so much of that tension by itself. Tyria groaned into her pillow in frustration. Maybe when she went to the market tomorrow, she’d buy herself some chocolate. She needed something sweet.

4. Settling In

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The voyage had not greatly improved Rye’s opinion of ships. Almost worse than his churning stomach was the awful travel lag that persisted even after they had left the Sugar Queen behind. He found himself incredibly weary despite the early hour of the afternoon, and upon arriving at the embassy he promptly fell into bed and slept dreamlessly for the rest of the day and night.

When he woke the next morning, it took him a moment to get his bearings. The first day in a new country was always a little disorienting, but he’d gone through the process often enough by now that the sensation passed quickly.

He sat up, finding the sergeant still asleep in the neighboring bed. Rye stretched his forelegs out and yawned, resisting the urge to crawl back under the sheets and spend the morning hiding from the world.

Sliding out of bed in a sleepy fog, his hooves found the floor. He fumbled underneath the bed for the suitcase containing his spare robes, until his hoof connected with the strap and he pulled it out onto the floor. A few minutes later he was dressed and ready to begin the day. It was still too early in the job for any real work to have piled up, so Rye rummaged through his reading material for the volume on Zyre.

Book in hoof, he leaned back on his bed and propped it open. He flipped through to find the place he’d left off, and spent the next hour reading up on the various districts of the city.

The one that caught his attention was the market district. The market back home in Canterlot was large, but even it had nothing on the great port city trading hubs like the Great Bazaar in the Delta. Zyre’s market was on a different order of magnitude altogether. There were goods here from all four corners of the Earth, legal or otherwise.

Curiosity seized him. He had nothing else to do today, no pressing meetings to attend or reports to write. Rye glanced over at the sleeping sergeant and decided against waking him. He hated being nannied by bodyguards, even well-meaning ones. Today would be his last day of freedom before the security teams descended to smother him once more.

Rye grabbed a coinpurse from his suitcase and grinned. Being the Princess of Equestria’s personal ambassador had its perks. He wasn’t exactly rich, but he had enough funds to buy some souvenirs for his family and friends back home. He nestled the pouch inside his robes with a jingle of coins.

He scribbled a brief note, “Gone to markets, be back for dinner –Rye,” and left it on his bed, then slipped quietly out of the room.

The secretary apparently had weekends off, for the embassy’s foyer was empty when he reached the ground floor. Rye snuck a glance in either direction before rummaging through her desk to look for a map of the city. He found one in short order, nestled under a weathered copy of Your Stripes and You: A Guide to Keeping Your Coat Fabulous. Tucking it into his robes, he trotted outside.

The markets were on the west side of the city, near the docks, only a fifteen minute walk from the embassies. Rye forged ahead into the cobblestone streets of Zyre, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the city of zebras. Even at nine in the morning on a Saturday, the city was packed. An incredible crowd of passersby stemmed the roads, but thanks to his small size he was able to slip through them with relative ease.

Rye carried on through at a light canter, watching the variety of creatures in the city with amazement. There were zebras everywhere, but there were also ponies, griffons, camels, antelopes, and if his eyes did not deceive him, even a pair of the reclusive elk. Upon turning another corner, he found himself gobsmacked to see an elephant lumbering down the street. It was rare to see one of them so far from Elefala; few ships could support the weight of an elephant crew. He wondered what on earth she was doing here. Probably buying sugar, he reflected, remembering the heavy focus of his briefing material on the sugar trade.

As he made his way through the city, Rye began to feel a strange sensation. It took him several minutes to pinpoint it. He didn’t feel like he was being watched—he felt like he wasn’t. For the first time in, well, for the first time he could remember, the surrounding ponies and zebras weren’t staring at him. Bored eyes scanned his horn and his wings, and kept on moving. The Zyrans had seen it all; to them he wasn’t even a curiosity. After all, compared to elk and elephants, who would spare a second glance at a little crossbreed pony in yellow robes? He felt insensibly cheered.

By the time he reached the markets, the noon business rush had already gotten under way. Countless shoppers crowded the streets, pressing up against the outdoor stalls and fighting to enter overfilled stores. Shopkeepers yelled out advertisements for their wares, while customers haggled and shouted. The noise was incredible, as thousands of voices strained to be heard over each other.

There was no single plaza, as the markets were much too large to be contained by one. Rye wandered through the streets of the district, curiously letting his hooves carry him to one stall after another. The merchants were selling an unimaginable variety of food, clothing, trinkets, and Celestia-knew what else.

Rye sniffed the air and smiled as he caught the scent of baking bread. He followed his nose to a small building on the side of the road, marked by a hanging sign that said Zerrick’s Bakery—The Finest Baked Goods since 653 AS. He pushed through the doorway, hearing a bell jingle just like at his father’s place.

The inside was already occupied by several zebras and a pony or two. They were milling around the storefront, picking out pastries. Rye browsed the selection, looking for apricot strudel.

It had become something of a tradition for him to seek out a new city’s bakery and buy his father’s favorite dish, just to compare it to Apricot’s work. He was so intent on searching that he bumped into somepony standing next to him.

“Oh, sorry—” he began automatically, as the other pony began likewise apologizing, and then they both paused. He found himself face-to-face with a blue earth pony mare. It took him a moment to recognize her without the uniform. “Ensign Metrel! Fancy meeting you here.”

Metrel looked surprised. “Ambassador! What are you doing out of the embassy?”

He grinned. “Enjoying my last few days of freedom before the politicking starts.”

“Where's your bodyguard?”

“The sergeant's not my bodyguard, he's just here to help me with paperwork and be window dressing for the Marquis.”

She cringed. “You mean you're wandering out here alone?”

Rye dismissed her concern with a hoof. “I'll be fine. I haven’t made anyone here angry enough to send assassins after me. Yet.”

She gave him a hesitant glance, apparently unsure if he was joking or not. “Um… I think Captain Petalbloom would feel safer if you had an escort, Ambassador.”

“Nopony’s going to try anything in the middle of daylight.” Blast it, he’d hoped to spend at least one day not being watched like the chick of an overprotective hawk.

She did not look convinced. “But now that I’ve seen you, it’s my hide on the line if you get hurt. I should walk you back to the embassy.”

“I’d planned to spend most of the day out here.”

Metrel sighed. Rye could almost hear her bidding farewell to her plans for the morning. “Ambassador, you need security. I’ll stand in as bodyguard until you’re back on embassy grounds.”

Rye restrained himself from frowning. At least he’d have a guide. “Very well, Ensign Metrel.”

He smiled involuntarily at the rhyme. The cadences of her name rolled pleasantly off the tongue. Metrel, Metrel, dancing in the dell… It seemed like a familiar surname, but he couldn’t place it. He looked around the bakery. “Have you seen any apricot strudel in here?”

Metrel shrugged. “I’m sure they have some. Zerrick is the best baker in the city.” She smiled. “Actually, he’s the best baker I’ve ever bought from, period.”

“Is he, now? We’ll see.” Rye’s mouth thinned and his eyes glinted with amusement. Metrel’s brow rose uncertainly. She seemed quite off-put by his casual friendliness. Rye managed to keep himself from grinning. After years of close association with military personnel, he’d discovered a low taste for unsettling them by breaking the unwritten rules of protocol between soldiers and politicians.

She tapped a hoof awkwardly, looking conflicted about her new, unexpected job for the day. “So, Ambassador, do you… need help finding anything in the markets?” Her voice had an anxious edge.

There was more to this than her sense of duty, he realized with a blink of surprise. She was trying to make up for yesterday. That was kind of her; most ponies he caught staring at him settled for pretending the incident hadn’t occurred. It was rare for somepony to feel guilty enough about it to apologize, even indirectly.

“No, thank you, just window shopping today.” He paused. “Wait, actually, yes. Do you know where I can find a jewelry store? I promised I’d get some souvenirs for Cranberry and my mother.”

“Certainly.” His acceptance of her offer seemed to bolster Metrel’s confidence. “I can take you there once you’re done here.”

“That will be fine.” He resumed his search for strudel, thinking curiously.

Metrel… he felt with growing certainty he’d heard the name before somewhere. Connected with his mother, perhaps? Rye’s hoof tracked across the shelves, seeking pastries. No, he realized, not his mother; the military at large.

It hit him in a flash. She must be related to Admiral Jerric Metrel, commander of the Equestrian Third Fleet and captain of the Levanah, one of the biggest ships in the entire Navy. He was famous in certain circles for his involvement in the battle of Gallopoli fifteen-or-so years ago, where his crew had singlehoofedly captured two enemy vessels in intense boarding actions.

Interesting. So what was his… sister? No, Jerric Metrel was at least twenty-five; his daughter, then. What was she doing in a frankly awful post like embassy security? Maybe she was trying to avoid accusations of familial privilege. Rye was familiar with that situation. He felt a pang of sympathy for a kindred spirit.

He found the apricot-filled treats at last, and shuffled a few of them into a bag. He waited in line to pay, with Metrel in tow. Rye glanced over at her own bag. “What’ve you got?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “Just some chocolate cupcakes.”

Rye smiled. “My father makes some wonderful chocolate cake. He’s a baker, back in Canterlot.”

“Ah.” She glanced down at his bag. “I haven’t been to Canterlot since going through the academy.”

“Where are you from, then?”

She still seemed uneasy about making small talk with him, but her voice was warming up. “My family has a little estate in Whitetail.” She looked briefly wistful. “I haven’t been back home in years.”

Rye scratched his ear. “When’s your next leave?”

“Oh, I’ve got thirty days or so saved up. I just never really felt like going through the hassle of traveling.”

“That, I can empathize with.” Rye tilted his head. “But don’t you want to go back and see your mother and father?”

At the word “father,” Metrel’s face instantly reverted to yesterday’s bland, emotionless, officer-on-duty look. Bingo, Rye thought. Got it in one.

“Maybe sometime this fall,” she said, in a tone that signaled the end of the conversation.

They finally reached the front of the line, where they paid, and then they took their parcels of pastries outside.

Officer Metrel led him through the markets, weaving through the crowded streets, until at last they arrived at a store with dozens of gold and silver pieces of jewelry displayed in the windows. Rye looked around as they entered, biting his lip. “Mind helping me look?”

Metrel smiled uncomfortably. “I’m not sure I should get involved in personal matters…” Rye got the impression she was trying to become invisible.

Well, he decided, he wasn’t going to let her. He wanted her to look past the yellow robes, the wings, and the horn, and see him; not as a dignitary or a biological curiosity, but as a pony. He wanted them all to see. “Please?”

She gave a little breath of resignation. “Very well.”

“Great! Cranberry’ll love anything cultural. I think mom would want something more traditional, though.” With Tyria closely following him, he began walking through the store, inspecting the displays.

He eyed a bulky, ornate necklace with a tentative frown. “What do you think?”

“Um.” She blinked uncertainly.

Rye gave her an encouraging look. “I’m hopeless with this sort of thing. Give me a mare’s perspective.”

“Well,” she said cautiously, “It looks a bit heavy. And the gem in the center isn’t cut very nicely.”

He pointed to another, much smaller and made of silver. “How about that one?”

“Too thin. It looks fragile.”

“This one?”

“Not worth the price.” A faint smile crept onto her face. She looked like she was starting to enjoy herself.

“How about this?” Rye eyed a curved, floral-design necklace with a circular emerald set in a golden filigree.

“Ooh.” Tyria nodded approvingly. “Very nice.”

“Excellent.” He rapped the glass to summon a store worker over to package the necklace up for sale while he looked for a matching piece for Cranberry.

They made their way around the store, inspecting the locally-styled jewelry. Many pieces were cheaply made, or too expensive, while others looked so delicate he feared they would not survive being shipped home. A pair of cobalt-blue earrings briefly caught his attention. They would match Cranberry’s eyes, but they didn’t really say zebra to him.

A few bits of jewelry were practically hidden in a case in the corner of the store. One in particular captured his eye. “Oh, my.” It was a simple necklace compared to most of the others around it, but striking. It was made of white and blue beads arranged in geometric patterns, primal but not primitive. It had no precious metals adorning it, but then, that wasn’t the point.

Tyria gave a murmur of appreciation for the necklace. “That’s certainly eye-catching.”

“Yes. It’s perfect.” Rye had an employee package it up, too, and paid. He walked out of the store with two packages and a much lighter coinpurse, pleased that he’d managed to find something for his family and friends. He’d have to look around later for gifts to get Inger and his father, but at the moment, lunch called.

He slid the packages inside his robes and grinned at Tyria. “The best things about these,” he said, tugging on his robes, “are the really deep pockets on the inside.” She managed a faint smile. Rye’s stomach growled, and he looked down at it with bemusement. “Know any good places to eat around here?”

Tyria listed a few, and Rye chose the closest. They headed off again, passing dozens of storefronts filled with fascinating baubles and knickknacks. Rye’s eyes flicked past them all with interest.

They arrived at a little café on the outskirts of the district, far enough away from the main market hub for the noise to fade. The building had several tables outside on the edges of the street, with worn seat cushions at each. Rye and Tyria entered, shouldering past a zebra on the way out. “I’m surprised the line’s so short,” said Rye.

“This place is a little out of the way. The ambassador—Milliden, I mean—likes to come here.”

Rye scanned the menus while they waited. “Tell me, Ensign, are you a tea or a coffee pony?”

“Mm. Coffee. I’ve developed a taste for it while I’ve been here. Much better than the stuff we import back in Equestria.”

“Tea, for me. I’m a traditionalist.” They reached the front of the line at last, and Rye ordered his tea and a biscuit. Tyria stood at some semblance of attention beside him, until he gave her a curious look. “Aren’t you getting anything?”

She frowned. “I’m on duty, Ambassador.”

“You’re not in uniform.” He raised an eyebrow and half-smiled.

Tyria bit her lip, and then turned to the cashier to order a drink and a bagel. With their light lunch in hoof, they retired to one of the outdoor tables.

They sat on opposite sides of the little round table. Rye took a sip of his tea, and smacked his lips in satisfaction. He looked up at the clear, blue sky, and let the warm sunlight play on his face. “Is the weather always this nice around here?”

Tyria gave him a hard stare. “Why are you doing this?”

“Sorry?” Rye blinked in confusion. “Going shopping, you mean?”

“Talking to me. Asking my opinion on those gifts for your family. I’m supposed to be your bodyguard.”

Rye smiled sadly. “Does that mean we can’t be friends?” He sighed and took a drink of tea. “Everywhere I go, I’m surrounded by guards and diplomats. They all think I’ve been politically appointed as a favor to my mother. I see the glances of contempt, though I pretend not to. And then there’s these.” He flapped his wings.

Tyria flushed guiltily. “I’m sorry for yesterday.”

“It’s quite all right.” Rye bit off a chunk of his biscuit and swallowed it. “Most ponies haven’t seen a pegacorn before. I’m used to it by now.” He glumly drank his tea. “I just wish I had somepony to talk to, out on assignment. It gets lonely, with everyone holding you out at leg’s reach.” He looked up at her. “I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

They sat quietly for a few moments while they worked on lunch. Finally, it was Tyria broke the silence. “So how did you become an ambassador?”

Rye laughed. “Now that is a long story. A few weeks before the War of Whitetail, I was out in the woods, when I ran into a courier and a group of griffons…”

A new voice, silky and smooth, spoke from behind him. “So, you’re the new Equestrian in town.”

They turned to see a griffon clothed in red gazing evenly at them both. The griffon’s mouth curled in a smile. “Apologies for interrupting.” He raised a claw expectantly. “Tatius Gableclaw, Gryphan Ambassador to Zyre.”

Rye shook it with a hoof. “Greetings, Ambassador.”

“When I heard the son of General Firemane would be in town, I was hoping I would get the chance to meet him.” Tatius sat down with them, to Rye’s annoyance. The griffon folded his claws on the table. “My hapless brother met Firemane once, actually. I’ve gathered that she left quite an impression.”

“She doesn't like that name very much.” Rye squinted. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I simply wanted to see for myself if the stories were true. And I see they are.” Tatius’s eyes flashed over Rye’s wings and his horn. “You are... rather young for your position.”

A wit, eh? Two can play at that game. Rye smiled thinly. “We don’t live as long as griffons. We have to get more done while we can.”

The griffon took the implied insult with a grin. “So, what brings you to Zyre, Ambassador Strudel?”

Rye took a wary sip of tea. “Pirates.”

“Ah, yes, our local snake problem.” Tatius’s tail swished idly through the air. “Annoying little vipers, aren’t they? I hear they’re led by an Equestrian.”

Tyria snapped, “A pony, maybe, but not an Equestrian.”

He turned to Tyria. “Forgive me, if I’ve offended your patriotic sensibilities. Care to introduce me to your lady friend, here, Ambassador?”

“Bodyguard,” said Tyria coldly. “And I’m on duty.”

Tatius gave her coffee and bagel a dry look. “Clearly.” He stood and stretched his wings behind him with a yawn. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t stay to chat. Some of us have important work to do.” He bowed—Rye was unable to detect any hint of mockery, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there—and left, fading into the crowded streets.

“What an ass,” said Rye, scowling. “Is the whole Gryphan embassy like that?”

“They’re not all that bad, but Tatius…” Tyria shook her head.

Rye tapped his chin. “I wonder what his important work is?”

“Who knows?” Tyria gave a start. “It’s nearly one in the afternoon, Ambassador. I should get you back to the embassy.”

A fierce curiosity was burning inside him, now. Rye wanted to know where that griffon was going. But he’d never convince Tyria to follow Tatius.

“Certainly. Let’s—” His hoof knocked into his cup, spilling the lukewarm tea all over Tyria.

“Gah!”

“Oh, damn, I’m sorry—” He grabbed the cup and placed it upright. “I’ll find a napkin or something.”

“No, don’t bother,” Tyria sighed. “There’s a water spigot inside the café, I’ll go wash up. Wait inside, please.”

He nodded. “Of course.” They entered the little building. Rye waited for her to disappear into the back before tearing out of the store and into the crowd.

He could still see a flash of red in the distance, and he threaded through the passersby to follow it. As he drew nearer, he caught a glimpse of the griffon as Tatius swept out of the main street and into an alleyway.

Rye reached the entrance of the alley and peeked his head around. The griffon had turned somewhere deeper into the spaces behind the buildings. Rye followed, listening carefully.

“You’re late,” came a rough grunt.

“Apologies,” said Tatius’s silky voice. “I saw an opportunity too good to pass up.”

“Buy trinkets on your own time.”

Rye crept closer to the second alleyway, craning his ears.

“So what message do you have for me? Have you incompetents lost another shipment?”

“Viridian needs another two dozen barrels by the end of the month.”

Tatius’s voice instantly grew sharp. “He can’t be serious. Do you realize how difficult it is to account for missing—”

“Look, griffon, can you do it or not?”

Rye heard an irritated sigh. “I will try.”

“You’ll do more than try, or we’ll go back to taking what we want from Gryphan ships.”

“I—very well.” Tatius’s voice drew lower. “I was led to believe that you would be using them to raid shipping vessels, but I haven’t heard of any ship sinkings. Where is this material going?”

The other voice growled. “We’re done here, griffon. Twenty-four barrels. End of the month.”

Rye heard the faint sound of hooves on cobblestones as the speaker left. The scrape of claws echoed in the alleyway and he realized with alarm that Tatius was coming back in his direction. Rye cut and ran, galloping out of the alleyway and vanishing into the crowd.

He made his way back to the café, mulling over what he’d heard. So the Gryphan ambassador was involved with the pirates, but how deeply? What was he stealing for them? Was his government aware of it?

Tyria was standing outside the café as he approached, scanning the crowds with a frantic look on her face. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He stepped out of the traffic and caught her attention with a wave.

Her face pale, she rushed up to him. “Where were you?” She ran a hoof helplessly through her mane. “If you’d gotten hurt, I could lose my—” Tyria gave him a look that was a curious mix of desperation and aggravation.

“I followed the griffon. I overheard him talking to somepony very interesting…” Rye quickly filled her in on the conversation he’d eavesdropped on.

“Tatius is helping the Pit Vipers?” Tyria looked stunned. “But Gryphan ships have been getting hit, too. Why would their government work with the pirates?”

“I think he’s acting on his own. I’m more curious just what he’s smuggling for them. It must come from Grypha, whatever it is.”

Tyria dragged a hoof down her face. “Argh. Argh. Ambassador, please don’t run off again. We’re going back to the embassy, right now. I’ll report this to the City Watch, later, and let them handle it.”

“But—” Rye silenced his own protest. The Watch was no doubt better equipped to investigate than he was. He could think of no good reason to keep it to himself, yet he couldn’t help but feel his chance for a little excitement slipping away. “Very well.”

Tyria, muttering under her breath, led him back through the streets until they reached the embassy at last. She held the door open, and paused awkwardly. “There’s no need to mention today’s little… excursion to Captain Petalbloom, is there?”

Rye cleared his throat. “Ah… no. No, I think not.”

“Thank you.” She bowed her head gratefully. Rye stepped into the embassy and she shut the door behind him.

“Well,” said a familiar voice from beside him. Rye looked to his left to find Wheatie on a seat cushion, leaning back against the wall. “I wondered when you’d get back.” The Firewing had an amused smile. “How was your trip?”

“Mm,” Rye murmured noncommittally. “It was… interesting.”

“I’ll bet.” Wheatie’s eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter. “Did you enjoy your ‘excursion’ with Ensign Metrel?”

“Yes,” said Rye blandly, “she’s been very helpful.” Laugh it up, Sergeant. It’s not my fault she attached herself to me like a bloody remora. Not that he’d minded, really.

Saying nothing, Wheatie grinned and stood, stretching his legs. “Well, I took the liberty of filing an appointment with the Marquis while you were out. She’ll see us Monday afternoon, at four.”

“Ah, excellent.” Rye brightened. “In the meantime, I’ve got something to tell you. Let’s go upstairs.”

As they walked back up to their room, Rye flashed a backward glance at the door. He shook his head and continued on.

5. Paintings and Parley

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Tyria took a deep breath and surveyed the canvas in front of her. It was white and empty, but filled with promise and undiscovered secrets just waiting to be uncovered by her brush. She opened her new case of colors, bought at great price from a shop down near the docks, and looked down at the hues with growing excitement. Her explorations in watercolor had only begun a few weeks ago, but the medium was quickly becoming one of her favorites.

Wrapping the bottom half of her charcoal in a napkin to keep the taste out, she grasped the little black stick in her mouth and began to lightly stroke out the broad outline of the picture she would be creating. She edged in the rocky shoreline, arcing around and off the canvas. Somewhere beyond the borders of her painting it curved back and re-entered the scene, forming the long arm of the bay’s sheltering cliffs. The ocean beyond became a fuzzy black line stretching above the mouth of the bay.

She debated with herself whether or not to put ships in the picture, then decided against it. With this one, she wanted to capture the natural beauty of the island, stripping away the trappings of civilization. Her outline completed, she sat back and put away the charcoal.

With tentative anticipation, she grasped her second-largest watercolor brush to begin the color blocking. She tilted the canvas up and to the left to reproduce the bleeding effect she’d discovered last week; she wanted to see how the sky would look if it was applied here. Carefully, she dipped her brush into the pale violet, waited for the drips to cease, and then brought it over the canvas.

As the sky’s color and texture took shape, Tyria alternated her brush and her sponge to create a pattern of colorful strokes and splotches. She dabbed at the edges of the darker splashes of paint, thinning them to meld better with the others. She guided the colors through the narrow passages between the outlines, shepherding them to their destinations.

The base color of the sea was next. She selected a dark blue and watered it down to filter out the strongest tones, then resumed her work. The waters of the Carriagibbean spread from the shore to reach upward for the sky. At the horizon, purple and blue met and melded together to blur the edge of water and air. She ran her palette knife along the horizon to sharpen the border, but watercolors didn’t behave like her familiar oils. The colors smeared along the line, leaving a muddy streak.

Tyria frowned and began to dab the horizon with her sponge to re-blot the paint. Errors happened. She’d ruined more promising paintings with a single mislaid stroke than she cared to remember. This piece was far from unsalvageable, however. With a careful eye, she finished the sea blocking, and sat back to survey her work so far.

Satisfied with the morning’s progress, Tyria set the canvas aside for the first layers of paint to dry. She’d do the shoreline tomorrow, after work. Mondays were always horrendous, she’d need something to look forward to.

Her stomach grumbled. She rummaged through her cabinets for food, looking for oats or carrots, anything she could eat without having to prepare. There was a kitchenette in the basement of the apartment building, but Tyria was a dire cook.

Alas, her cupboards were bare. It had been weeks since she’d been to the farmer’s market down by the docks. She should have stopped by yesterday, but—Tyria sighed. If only she hadn’t run into the ambassador. He had the absolute worst timing, going into the bakery while she was there. She could probably have pretended not to notice him, but she was on shaky enough ground without risking a dead dignitary on her watch.

At the thought of yesterday, she suddenly remembered her cupcakes. They were still in her room. She retrieved them and pulled two out of the bag to sate her secret chocolate addiction. As she chewed, she flopped back on her bed and stared up at the ceiling, trying to decide how to spend the rest of her afternoon.

She still needed to report that incident with Tatius in the markets, but she’d delayed until she could figure out a way to do so without revealing that the only reason she knew about it was because she’d completely lost track of the pony she was supposed to be guarding. Perhaps it would be better to simply forget about it. I owe Zanaya, though. I’ll point her in the right direction, at least, when we eat dinner on Friday.

Her conscience absolved, Tyria returned to her living room and pulled another work in progress out of her filing system. She arranged the canvas on her painting easel and frowned. The portrait of Captain Petalbloom wasn’t coming out as well as it would if the captain had actually sat down and modeled for her, but she’d seen that disapproving frown often enough to capture it in oil.

Tyria gave an aggravated sigh. How pathetic is it that the only subjects I can think to paint are my coworkers? She’d done a few others, including a portrait request for Zanaya that she was rather proud of, but the thought of just going up and asking somepony to sit down and be painted was mortifying. Tyria much preferred painting landscapes; the trees and vines didn’t care if you asked permission first.

Idly, she pulled out her oils and brushes, and began working on the Captain’s dress uniform. She delicately followed the contours of the collar with white, edging them with blue embroidery. The white uniform was terribly boring, she realized. They looked spiffy in real life, but in pigment the lack of color was static and lifeless. She’d rather do blue and gold, or maybe ambassadorial yellow…

She paused. Now where had that thought come from? She’d never done a painting of Milliden, for obvious reasons. Tyria painted to relax, and the ambassador was about as far from a relaxing influence as one could get. Of course, he was no longer the only yellow-robed pony she knew.

Tyria let her brush rest in its holder and smiled thoughtfully. Yesterday’s jaunt through the markets had been awkward, surely, but she couldn’t help but admit that she was beginning to like Ambassador Strudel’s cheerful enthusiasm. If only he was a permanent replacement for Milliden. She’d rather deal with the former’s apparent waywardness than the latter yelling at her. And he never did tell me how he got his appointment… I’ll have to ask him tomorrow, if there’s time.

With a shrug, she picked up her brush again and resumed her work.

* * *

Rye ran the comb through his mane and frowned into the mirror. “I hope the Marquis isn’t big on appearances. I think I need a haircut.” It was only two o’clock in the afternoon, but it was going to take them time to cross the city and reach the manor on the north side of Zyre.

“From what I’ve heard so far, I get the impression she’s less concerned with clothes than business.” Beside him, Wheatie was adjusting his uniform to properly display his collection of awards. At Rye’s insistence, he was wearing the actual medals instead of the service ribbons.

“I hope so. I’ve always found the pragmatists easier to deal with than the high-society twits.” He glanced over at Wheatie. “Remember, you’re here to show how seriously the Princess is taking this. Just nod and agree with me whenever you’re asked to.”

“Of course.” Wheatie dusted off his hat and tucked it under a leg. “Shall we, then?”

The two of them left their room and headed down to the embassy’s first floor. The secretary pointed them off to the right hallway. “The security offices are down there. Captain Petalbloom can get you an escort to the Marquis’s manor.”

They padded softly over the carpet as they went down the hall. The door at the end had CPT. PETALBLOOM written on a plaque, and was slightly ajar. A muffled, angry voice was speaking within. Rye raised a hoof and knocked.

“Come in, come in,” called a harried mare’s voice. He pushed inside with Wheatie in tow. There were two ponies already in the office, the captain herself and the increasingly-familiar Tyria. Rye smiled at her, but she simply nodded in recognition.

The captain, a severe, orchid-purple earth pony in a khaki uniform, looked up at their entrance. “Ambassador, Sergeant. I assume you’re headed to speak with Zahira, yes? The ensign here can escort you.”

Tyria’s mouth opened in dismay. “Captain—”

“I don’t want to hear it. Take these gentlecolts to see the Marquis. Unless you’d rather stay here and finish this conversation?”

Her face fell. “No, ma’am.”

Petalbloom frowned, and turned back to Rye. “Good luck, Ambassador. We’ll all feel safer once you’ve convinced the Marquis to let our fleets into Zyran waters.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Rye dipped his head. “Let’s be off, shall we?”

Tyria, grimacing, stood and led them out of the room without a backwards glance. Rye looked curiously over his shoulder and shut the door behind them.

As they walked back down the hallway, he pulled even with her. “Problems with the boss?”

Her expression of irritation faded to tiredness. “Just the usual.”

“You didn’t tell her about Saturday, did you?”

“Sisters, no.” Tyria nodded to the secretary as they passed, and held the door open for Rye and Wheatie. She followed them out, putting on her hat. “So you two are headed up to Manor Hill?”

Rye nodded. “Have you ever been up there with Milliden?”

“Occasionally.” Tyria started off into the streets, occasionally checking to ensure they were still behind her. “The Marquis has a nice house.”

Wheatie cleared his throat. “So, Ambassador—”

“Oh, call me Rye. We know each other well enough by now.” Rye grinned at him.

With a half-smile, Wheatie continued, “So, Rye, what are you going to say to Zahira?”

“This first meeting is just to test the water. See what makes her bite, and what makes her back off.” Rye fiddled with his robes’ clasp. “She’ll be doing the same thing. We’re just getting a feel for each other.”

Tyria looked back curiously. “How many heads of state have you dealt with?”

“A few.” Rye’s eyes rolled up as he sifted through memories. “There was the king of Dromedaria, though I only said about six words to him. I’ve met the prime minister of Antellucía, and the leaders of a few of the smaller south Zebrican nations when they attended a state dinner in Canterlot a year back. I’ve never had the ‘pleasure’ of being introduced to King Aelianus. With my mother being who she is, I’m not the ideal pony for improving diplomatic relations with Grypha.” He made a hmm sound as he thought. “Oh, and how could I forget Eberhardt? He’s the king of Sleipnord.”

Tyria’s jaw hung slightly open. “You’re on a first-name basis with the Nordpony king?”

Rye smiled broadly. “I knew him back when he was just a butler. Sort of.”

“I… see.” She looked confused, but didn’t press for clarification. Rye was a little disappointed, he was hoping for an excuse to tell the story of his trip to the north.

As they moved north, the hill gradually came into view. It was not extremely high, but Rye could see the top floor of the manor peeking above the surrounding buildings. There were no house flags hanging from the manor’s roof; Zyre had no official aristocracy. That didn’t mean there wasn’t one, of course, just that it was based on money instead of blood.

It took two hours to cross the city, and they made it to the base of the hill scant minutes before their appointment. A wide set of stairs zigzagged up the side of the rise to the front of the manor. Rye hiked up his robes, and the three of them rushed up. They were stopped by a pair of zebra guards at the doors, but Rye’s yellow robes and the two military ponies’ uniforms quickly got them through.

The inside of Marquis Zahira’s manor was absolutely splendid. The floor was polished wood, made of interlocking dark and light diamond patterns. The walls were exquisitely detailed wood carvings from the floor to chest height, and alabaster-white painted wood from there to the ceiling. Stands displaying no-doubt priceless antiques were positioned every few meters down each of the halls. The main entrance room was as large as Rye’s house back in Canterlot, with two grand staircases curving up to the second floor. Red carpets snaked down along the stairs.

A zebra butler was waiting for them within. He bowed and ushered them upstairs. “The Marquis is waiting for you in the study. Down the hall and to your left.”

They walked through the beautiful house, while Rye admired the architecture. “This is really something. According to my reading material, this house was actually built by the griffons when the empire still ruled the islands and most of Equestria. This wood is all from the Everfree Forest.”

“Wow,” said Tyria, raising her eyebrows. “This place is over six hundred years old?”

“The griffons build things sturdy, I’ll give them that.” Wheatie nodded in approval.

At last, they reached the study door. There were no zebras standing watch outside. Rye added a mental note to his growing profile of the Marquis. She’s confident enough not to want bodyguards for a private meeting with a foreign soldier present.

He paused at the door and looked at Tyria. “Um…”

She nodded. “I’ll wait outside.”

Rye frowned unhappily. “I’m sorry to kick you out.”

“I’m not in my dress uniform. I wouldn’t want to insult the Marquis.” She gave him one of her rare smiles. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it. Good luck, Ambassador.”

He nodded and pushed inside with Wheatie. They were greeted by the sight of one of the most lavish studies Rye had ever seen. It was carpeted with the same deep red as the stairs. Shelves full of countless books locked behind glass doors lined all the walls. A small, round table stood in the left corner, bearing an intricately detailed model ship with half a dozen sails and hundreds of ropes. A giant map of the entire Ceracen Ocean hung on the far wall above the window, covered in dozens of red curves that could only be shipping lanes. All of them converged on the nexus of the Golden Isles.

The center of the study was occupied by a large desk, much like Rye’s back in Canterlot. An oil lamp stood on one corner, casting light over the two neat piles of parchment that sat beside it. She’s organized and efficient.

Behind the desk sat the Marquis herself. She was a fairly typical-looking zebra, her hair standing up in a natural mohawk. She was wearing no clothes and little jewelry. A necklace much like the one he’d bought for Cranberry hung around her neck, but that was it. Definitely not somepony who cares much for appearances, then.

The Marquis looked up and smiled. It was not warm, but almost predatory. “Welcome to Zyre, Ambassador.” Her voice was like velvet, rubbing softly over his ears.

Rye bowed, and Wheatie followed suit. “Greetings, Marquis Zahira. Princess Celestia sends her regards.”

“I’m sure she does.” Zahira’s eyes were half-lidded with some unreadable emotion. Amusement? Anger? This zebra was being maddeningly enigmatic. “Would you like something to drink? I can have Zedrick bring us something up from the wine cellar.”

“No, thank you.” Rye had no intention of dulling his mind during a negotiation.

The Marquis bowed her head in aquiescence. “Please, take a seat.”

Rye and Wheatie sat down on the pair of cushions in front of the desk. Rye noticed instantly that he was now at eye-level with the Marquis. That meant she wasn’t trying to pull any height illusions to compensate for the difference between zebras and normal ponies. He was… intimately familiar with the tactic. So, she and her guests are on equal footing. That’s a curious message to send.

Preparing his opening salvo, he quickly reviewed his profile of the Marquis. Efficient, pragmatic, and secure in her own position. I can work with that. “Let’s get right to it, shall we?”

The Marquis’s eyes opened fully at last, and she focused on him with renewed interest. “Straight to the point, hm? Very well, Ambassador.”

He leaned forward and pressed his hooves together on the desk. “We have a problem. These pirates have been harassing our ships with near impunity for far too long.”

“I agree.” Zahira’s eyes narrowed. “And believe me, Ambassador, that problem won’t be around much longer. I’m devoting almost all our naval power to hunting down and destroying these Pit Vipers.”

Rye gave her a thin smile. “That’s encouraging, but the Princess sees an even simpler solution. Equestria has the second-largest fleet in the western oceans, after your own—but we aren’t responsible for protecting nearly so many vessels. We can provide protection for our shipping at absolutely no cost to you, and at the same time free up more of your ships to hunt down these pirates.”

Zahira nodded. “That’s certainly true.”

Rye paused. “Which begs the question, why haven’t we reached this arrangement already?”

The Marquis pointed to a painting hanging on the wall beside the door. “Do you know what that is, Ambassador?”

It was a large picture of a city with elaborate towers and buildings, all crumbling before a vast wave of seawater. Rye nodded. “Phoenixia.”

“Yes. Once the greatest trading city in the Golden Isles, until they lost everything.” Zahira frowned.

Rye was familiar with the story, of course. “Pardon, but I fail to see the relevance.”

“Ah,” said the Marquis with a very slight eye roll. “You think I’m talking about the disaster.” She shook her head. “No, no. Phoenixia fell from grace decades before the volcano erupted and the city slid into the sea.”

She gave him that catlike smile again. “They had the greatest navy in the world, hundreds of ships strong, with thousands of sailors to crew them. No fleet could stand against them in battle, because their sheer numbers alone would win the day. They were peaceful and prosperous. And they got complacent. They let their colonies and principalities take more and more control away from Phoenixia itself, until the nation ripped itself apart in a dozen civil wars.

“The city failed because they could not centralize. They failed because they let power diffuse throughout the seas, instead of keeping direct control of every ship that entered their waters.” Zahira’s smile thinned. “I will not make the same mistake. I know every ship that passes in and out of this bay.”

And yet the pirates are still getting into the city. Rye frowned. “One mare can’t control an entire ocean by herself.”

“I have help, of course. Subordinates, committees, advisors. There’s a whole bureaucracy to run Zyre, but it all feeds back to me. As long as I remain the Marquis, Zyre will not allow other nations or colonies to infringe on our sovereign rights and powers in our waters.” She blinked, relaxing. “And when I’m old, and retire, the next Marquis will inherit that unbroken power base. It’s how we’ve kept our position as the world’s greatest navy for four hundred years.”

“I see.” Rye snarled internally as he placed the Marquis at last—a micromanaging power junkie. This was going to be more difficult than he’d anticipated.

They talked for hours, bantering back and forth in verbal swordplay, seeking weaknesses in each other’s defenses, but finding none. The conversation traveled far from Rye’s purpose there, meandering from history to economics to politics to entertainment. He led her on in a mental dance, trying to find some vice, some fear, some goal that he could play on to reach his own ends, but Zahira played along with a knowing smile and revealed nothing.

At last, she looked up at the clock and pretended to be startled. “Oh, my, it’s nearly seven. It’ll be dark soon. I expect you will want to return to your embassy.”

“Yes,” said Rye, standing. He forced a smile and bowed, and then turned to leave. Wheatie followed him out and shut the door.

Tyria was dozing on the wall with her mouth open. Rye smiled. He nudged her, and she blinked awake. “Hwuh? Oh! Ambassador. How’d it go?”

“Not well.” Rye strode off with the two soldiers in tow. “She’s an interesting zebra.”

“Milliden hates her.” Tyria snorted. “He’s always complaining about how intractable she is.” She paused. “Um, you didn’t hear that from me.”

Rye grinned. “Of course not.”

As they left the manor, he glanced west to see the pink sun vanishing over the horizon. “I’m starving. Tyria, do you know any good restaurants around here?”

“Uh, there’s a nice place a few streets down, Griselda's. They mostly serve griffons—you know, fish and the like—but they have a pretty good herbivore menu, too.”

“Great. Wheatie?”

Wheatie looked at the two of them with a strange, bemused expression, and said, “Ah… actually, I’m not hungry. I think I’ll head back to the embassy. You and Ensign Metrel can go get dinner.”

Tyria looked conflicted. “We should really stay together…”

“It’ll be fine; I can fly over. I've been looking for an excuse to stretch my wings this whole trip, anyway.”

“Well…” She sighed. “You’re a Firewing, you can certainly handle yourself. Just… please be careful.”

“Sure.” Wheatie nodded, then turned to Rye and inexplicably winked. Rye raised an eyebrow. Wheatie just smirked. “I expect the place will be crowded. I’ll tell the captain not to expect you back for a while.” He bowed, and then took to the air, vanishing into the twilight.

“Well, then.” Rye blinked. “Which way to Griselda’s?”

6. The Warehouse

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They reached the diner ten minutes later, well after the evening’s main crowd of customers had already left. It was a small place, nestled in between a clothing store and an office. They were greeted by Griselda herself, an aging griffon with a wide smile and a warmly accented voice, wearing a frilly pink apron.

“Hullo there, Ambassador! Welcome back.” She shuffled out from behind the counter as they entered. “Your usual seat’s free.” Griselda pulled up short as she got a closer look at Rye.

From behind him, he heard Tyria give a tiny laugh. “Wrong one, Griselda.”

“Oh!” The griffon blinked in surprise. “I’d heard there was a new Equestrian diplomat in town, but I didn’t think I’d see you here.” She bowed to him.

Rye returned the gesture. “Rye Strudel. A pleasure to meet you.”

“No, no, hon, the pleasure’s all mine. Have a seat over there, would you? I’ll come get your order in a minute.”

The ponies made their way to the far end of the diner. Rye sat on one side of the table, cracking his neck. Tyria stood beside him, at a relaxed parade rest. Rye looked up at her and smiled uncertainly. “You don’t have to just stand there, you know.”

“I’m on duty, Ambassador.” Her eyes twinkled. “And this time, I am in uniform.”

Rye tipped his head to acknowledge the point. “Still, you can sit, if you’d like.”

Tyria rolled her eyes. “All right.” She sat down on the opposite side of the table, a seat down from him.

Rye felt briefly concerned. “What, I don’t smell bad or anything, do I?”

She grinned at him. “No, I’m just staying out of tea range.”

“Oh.” Rye had the grace to blush. “I’m… I’m sorry about that.”

“Hrmm.” Tyria mock-glared at him, before her expression faded into seriousness. “I forgive you. Just… please, don’t run off again. I don’t want you to get hurt.” She blinked. “On my watch.”

“You have my word.” Rye placed a hoof over his heart and bowed dramatically. He was rewarded with another smile.

Griselda returned. “Alright, then, dearie. We got fish, berries, hay, oats, enough seasoning to knock out an elephant, and a soup selection that’ll blow your mind. Our wine list is in the back, but we’ve got a fairly wide selection.”

This griffon was certainly unlike any other he’d ever met. He wondered where on earth that accent had come from. Rye raised an eyebrow at Tyria, who was maintaining a straight face. He turned back to Griselda. “I’ll have some oats and a glass of Chardonneigh, please.”

“Anything special you want done to ‘em?”

Rye thought for a moment. “Boiled for three minutes, then put in a pan with a quarter-cup of honey and a cup of water, then add in a dash of milk and let it simmer till the water’s boiled off and the honey’s soaked in.”

Griselda smacked her beak. “Fancy, aren’t we? Alright, darlin’, just sit tight and I’ll get it ready for you.” She vanished into the kitchen, leaving the doors swinging.

Rye watched as the doors came to rest. “Does she run this whole place by herself?”

“No, but the rest of her employees usually go home by seven. Griselda stays late; she lives upstairs, I think.” Tyria tilted her head curiously. “Where’d you get that recipe from?”

“My father.” Rye smiled, remembering long-ago days spent in the bakery kitchens. “I think, deep down, he always wanted me to be a cook like him.”

“Oh.” A brief look of sadness flashed across her face, but it was gone before he could react.

Griselda returned with the wine and a glass of water. Tyria took the water and smiled in thanks. Rye sipped his wine and nodded in approval. “Thank you.”

“Those oats are coming right up, hon. Another three minutes.” She vanished again.

Rye drank from his glass, searching for the right words. This was the best opportunity he’d had yet, and might be the last he’d get. Keeping his voice carefully neutral, he asked, “I feel like I recognize your name, Tyria. Are you by chance related to Commander Jerric Metrel?”

Tyria sighed. “I was wondering if you would ask.” She sounded disappointed. “He’s my father.”

Rye set his glass down. “Uh… do the two of you not get along?”

“No, we get along fine. It’s just… well…” Tyria rubbed the back of her neck. “Everypony always compares me to him when they find out who I am. He’s had his own ship command since he was eleven. I’m already older than that, and I’ve yet to make anything of myself.” She bit her lip, apparently having revealed more than she meant to.

“You feel like you’re getting smothered by his reputation, hm?”

“Exactly.” Tyria frowned, then looked at him with surprise. “I guess you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”

“Very much so,” he said quietly. “My mother’s a legend. I’ll be living in that shadow my whole life.” His face hardened in determination. “But that doesn’t mean that I—that we—can’t do great things, too. Don’t give up on yourself, Tyria.”

Tyria’s eyes clouded thoughtfully. “I won’t. Thank you, Rye.”

They were on a first name basis now, he noted with happy surprise. Suddenly, he realized that he’d been calling her Tyria for days. Well, she hadn’t said anything. He hoped she didn’t mind.

Griselda arrived at last, carrying his order on a tray. She placed the steaming hot plate of honey-drenched oats on the table before him. Rye sniffed and grinned. “You put some pepper in there, didn’t you?”

“You got it. A spoonful of diced bell pepper.” Griselda looked impressed. “You’ve got some nose, hon.”

Rye sliced off a bite and chewed. “That’s excellent. I’ll have to try adding that next time I make this. Hm, and maybe some onions…”

Griselda tapped her beak. “Say, you mind if I write that recipe down?”

“Sure thing!” Rye whipped out a small sheet of parchment, a stopped-up inkwell, and a quill from within his robes. He scribbled down the recipe and a few notes on the parchment and handed it to Griselda.

“Thanks, hon. I’ll put it on the menu, we’ll see if it sells. You enjoy that, now.” She nodded and left.

Tyria gave him an amused glance. “You keep parchment and ink on you?”

“I’ve got some paper, too, but I save that for important documents.” Rye twirled the quill around before laying it on the table. “You never know when you’ll need them, in my line of work.”

“Speaking of which…” Tyria rested her head on a hoof. “What exactly happened during your meeting?”

Rye frowned. “It's going to be much harder than I thought. I figured that she wanted Equestria to stay out of her waters because she wants her stranglehold on the sugar industry to remain unthreatened, but it’s more than that. She’s one of those leaders that has to have control of every little thing that goes on in her domain.”

“I’m familiar with the type,” said Tyria blandly.

“Zahira doesn’t see our request as an attempt to protect our ships, she sees it as an attack on her sovereignty. I can guarantee the Princess doesn’t want control of the Isles, but convincing the Marquis of that is going to be a challenge.”

“Great things, right?” Tyria gave him a smile.

“Right.” Rye returned it. He began working on his dinner. “Want a bite?”

Tyria rolled her eyes. “Are we going to have this conversation every time you eat somewhere?”

He shrugged with a guilty grin. “Probably. You sure you don't want any?”

She sighed, then waved her hoof in a gimme motion. Rye passed the plate down the table. Tyria took a bite and munched thoughtfully for a few moments. Rye raised his eyebrows expectantly. She swallowed. “Pretty good.” She made to pass the plate back to him, but paused. With a faint smile, she took another bite of the oats, then gave him the plate.

The oats were gone in a few short minutes. Rye smacked his lips, enjoying the little piece of home. Across the table, Tyria looked up at the clock that hung from the wall, and started in surprise. “It’s getting pretty late. We should try to get back before ten, or the captain will have my head.”

“I’m ready to go when you are.” Rye set down the payment and a tip on the table, and the two of them left with a wave of goodbye to Griselda.

Outside, the sun had long descended past the horizon, and the sky had turned dark. The streets were lit only by the glowing windows of the few stores and restaurants still open for business. Tyria frowned nervously. “Stick close. This town can be dangerous at night.”

For once, Rye felt inclined to agree. “Right behind you.”

They started off down the road, heading for the southern side of the city. The nighttime city was filled with noises, more than even Canterlot. Barking dogs and hissing cats were accompanied by the sharp report of hooves on cobblestone as the last few zebras made their way home.

Soon they had left the government sector far behind. They weaved through the dark streets, led on by Tyria’s practiced steps. Suddenly, she turned off of the main road, heading into a narrower side street. Rye followed, curious. “I noticed we took this detour earlier this afternoon, too. I figured it was to avoid traffic.”

“No,” said Tyria dryly. “If we follow that street for another sixty meters we’ll hit the city’s red-light district.”

“Oh.” Rye was suddenly glad for the darkness, it concealed his pink cheeks. He coughed. “Wouldn’t want to besmirch our nation’s fine reputation.”

“I'm more concerned about getting mugged. That district has the highest crime rate in the entire city.” Tyria looked around as they walked. “The docks are a little safer... usually.”

They emerged from the street to find themselves at the edge of the bay. Tyria gestured to Rye to follow her. The street out here was dimly lit by burning oil lamps hanging from posts along the piers. Barrels and crates lined the wooden docks, awaiting shipment in the morning.

“It’s nice out here.” Rye inhaled. “Peaceful.”

Tyria murmured in agreement. “I like to come out to sit on the pier sometimes, and listen to the water lap up against the shore. Sometimes I try painting in the lamplight.”

“You paint?” Rye’s ears perked forward with interest.

“Oh, uh…” Tyria’s pace quickened. “Yes. As a hobby. Nothing special.”

“Nothing special?” His eyes flicked to her flank for a brief moment. “Your cutie mark is a paintbrush, Tyria! I’m sure you’re wonderful at it.”

“Um, well…” She sounded quite flustered. “I’m okay, I guess—”

She froze. Rye came to a halt behind her, peering around to see what had stopped her. A pair of zebras were walking toward them, talking to each other in a tongue he did not know. Tyria’s head whipped around, her eyes wide in the faint light. “Hide!” she hissed.

They ducked away from the lamppost and back behind a pile of barrels that lay on the side of the docks. Rye peeked around to catch a glimpse of the zebras before Tyria pulled him back. “Keep down,” she whispered. “They were wearing green scarves. Those are Viper colors.”

Rye’s eyes widened. “How do they keep getting into Zyre?”

“Who knows? Just stay down. There’s no way I can fight off two of them at once.”

Part of him was irked that she discounted him so easily, but he had to admit he was of little use in a fight. Instead, he leaned up against the barrels and tried to listen to their conversation. They were talking in some local variant of Zebrillic. Rye sorely wished he had taken advantage of any of Cranberry’s many offers of language lessons.

“Any clue what they’re talking about?” he asked. Tyria shook her head, and put a hoof to her lips.

The sounds of the zebras’ voices grew louder. He heard a door opening, and then it slammed and the voices were gone. Rye poked his head up above the barrels and stared straight ahead at the warehouse opposite their hiding place. “I think they went inside that building.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here before they come back out.”

He bit his lip. “Aren’t you curious what’s inside there?”

“Not in the slightest. Let’s go, we can report this to the Watch later.”

“It’s our job to keep Equestria safe. These pirates are planning something, and I’m scared it has something to do with our ships.”

“And my job is keeping you safe!” Tyria looked around in panic, then lowered her voice. “Please, Rye! Let’s go!”

He ducked his head guiltily. He’d promised, after all. “Okay. Lead on.”

They crept out from behind their barrels, and began quickly cantering away from the warehouse, when Rye heard the door open once more. “Uh-oh.”

He looked over his shoulder to see four zebras, all carrying barrels on their backs, stepping out of the building. The first looked up and stared right at him.

“Tyria, I think we’d better—”

“Ai!” yelled the zebra, shrugging his barrel loose and onto the ground. “Stop!”

Tyria swore. “Run!”

They raced across the docks, their hooves thudding on the wood. Rye spared a glance behind him to see that all four of the pirates were now pursuing them. He turned back to Tyria and tried to speak between gasps of air. “Split up! They can’t catch us both!”

“Are you nuts?”

So much for respecting the office. “We can double back and meet up at Griselda’s!”

“This is—” Tyria skidded to a halt as another group of three zebras, drawn by the shouts of their fellows, rushed out in front of them. “Oh, hell. All right, into the alley!”

They turned left and headed back away from the docks, with the pirates in hot pursuit. Rye’s hoof knocked into a can filled with some kind of pellets, sending it flying and scattering the pellets all over the ground. As the pirates entered the alleyway after them, he heard one slip and crash into another, cursing.

Rye and Tyria hit a dead end, and the alleys branched left and right. “You go right,” Rye said, panting, “I’ll head left. Meet me.”

“Okay,” said Tyria, looking desperate, “but you’d better be there, so help me.”

He nodded, and then they broke away and ran.

His path ran parallel to the way they’d come, and he raced through the narrow spaces and out into the streets, careening through the city in an attempt to lose his pursuers. Soon he found himself back near the docks entrance. Rye paused to listen for the zebras’ hooves, praying that he’d lost them.

Clip-clop came the sound of their approach, and he grimaced. Rye ducked back into the alleyway, looking for a hiding place. A door in the back of a brick building beckoned, and he rattled it to test for a lock. It opened at his touch, and he gratefully slipped inside. He crouched behind the door as it closed, listening intently.

The sound of hooves rushed past, but they didn’t stop to open the door. He sighed with relief. Give it a few minutes, let them get farther away. Then he’d head back out to the street and find Tyria. At least, if she’d escaped, too—he felt a sudden spike of adrenaline-fueled anxiety. She’s fine. If I can lose them, she definitely can.

Rye looked around at the building he’d entered. He was in a small space between the back wall and a giant pyramid of barrels. They all had red and white markings on them. A closer inspection revealed that it was the familiar sigil of Grypha, a howling griffon backed by a crimson shield. He must be in a Gryphan warehouse.

The front door opened on the far side of the warehouse, and then slammed shut. An angry voice he did not recognize growled, “They lost him.”

Rye’s heart skipped a beat. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. It seemed he had stumbled back onto the same warehouse the pirates had come from.

“What about the mare?”

“Zelvan’s group hasn’t come back, yet.”

“I want to know what they were doing down here, and what they saw. None of this leaves the docks, are we clear?”

“You got it, boss.”

Rye calculated his chances of opening the door and escaping undetected, and licked his lips nervously. He slid his hoof under the handle and began slowly pulling it toward him. The wood creaked, and he nearly had a heart attack.

Suddenly the other door slammed open again, and he heard grunts and shouts as at least half a dozen zebras entered. Then a familiar voice snarled, “Get off of me!” Rye’s heart sank.

“So,” said the leader’s voice, “You’re the trespasser. How much do you know?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Tyria sounded angry, but unhurt. Rye crept to the side of the barrel pyramid to discover that the warehouse was a maze of crates and packages. He started slinking through them, trying to get close enough to get a view of the zebras on the other side.

“That’s an Equestrian uniform. Is Milliden spying on us?”

“The ambassador doesn’t know anything about this. I didn’t even know you were down here.”

“Why were you out on the docks?”

“Buying blue dust.”

The lead pirate snorted. “Sure. Who was that other pony?”

“My dealer.”

“Cut the crap. You ain’t got the eyes of a dusthead, sweetie. 'Course, you don’t stop lying to me, and I may give them to you. Now I’ll ask you one more time. What. Were. You. Doing?”

She’s trying to protect me, Rye realized with horror, and they’re going to kill her for it. He finally reached the end of the line of crates separating him from the zebras, and poked his head around.

Tyria was held by two zebras, her forelegs outstretched, and pushed down to the ground. A third zebra, the leader, was standing in front of her and glaring down. Six other zebras stood around them, some holding short, bladed weapons he recognized as sugarcane machetes. Dimly, he applauded whoever had thought of that—they could pass the weapons off as harvesting tools if their storehouse was ever raided.

The leader growled. “Give me a knife.”

Tyria’s eyes were wide, but she said nothing. Rye watched with growing terror as the lead zebra grasped a machete and approached her. “Hold her still.”

He had to do something. Rye swiveled back and forth, looking for anything he could use as a distraction, but nothing presented itself. Closing his eyes and repressing a groan, he jumped out and yelled, “Hey!”

The pirates whirled to face him. The leader shouted around the knife in his mouth, “After him!”

Rye ran back into the maze of crates. He heard the zebras close behind him, the sound of their hooves nearly drowned out by the pounding of his heart. He raced back out into the back row behind the barrels and did the only thing he could think of.

He swung his hind legs up and bucked the barrels hard. There was a groan of wood, and the entire structure began to slowly tilt. Zebras rushed around the corner, knives at the ready. Rye took a step back.

The pyramid collapsed. Over a hundred barrels came crashing down, burying the zebras. More barrels fell on top of Rye, and he was knocked to the ground. The barrels smashed into the crates on the other side, starting a domino-like cascade of falling wood. He heard cries of surprise from the distant side of the warehouse.

Barrels broke open as they fell, spilling out a black, powdery substance that was clearly not sugar. Rye caught a faceful of it as another barrel whacked him in the head. He blinked, stunned, before pushing himself upright. Ahead, the zebras were digging themselves out of the ruined barrels, snarling.

Rye leaped onto the pile of cargo, running over the barrels with his wings spread wide to keep his balance. He glanced forward to see that Tyria had seized the distraction to break free of her guards. She was locked together with one of the zebras, wrestling for his machete. Another was closing in from behind her. The rest had been knocked over or buried by crates.

He hit the ground on the other side of the collapsed goods, racing toward her. He slammed into the zebra she was tangled with, knocking him aside and sending the machete spinning across the warehouse floor. Rye pulled away before the zebra could recover, running for the door. “Let’s go!”

Tyria was right behind him, and they rushed out into the street. She looked frazzled, her normally neat mane sticking out at odd angles. She gave him a look of mixed frustration and gratefulness. “Let’s not split up again.”

“Yes, bad idea,” he agreed. “Let’s argue about it later.”

Tyria rolled her eyes, and shook her head. “Follow me.” She took off running, and Rye followed suit. He looked behind them, but no zebras were following. Hopefully, the mess he’d made in their warehouse would keep them busy long enough to cover their escape.

The minutes passed with agonizing slowness. Rye didn’t think they were headed south, it felt like they were crossing east through the city, directly away from the docks. “Where are we going?”

Tyria paused to catch her breath. “They recognized my uniform. They’re going to try cutting us off from the embassy. It’s too dangerous to go back tonight, we’ll have to wait until morning; but my apartment is on this side of the city. We should be safe there.”

“Okay.” Despite the sweat and the fear, Rye felt a sudden curious rush at the thought of seeing her home.

They reached the building without incident. Tyria unlocked the door, and they pushed hurriedly inside. She locked it behind them again, and the two of them breathed easy for the first time in an hour. “Well,” she said, her voice weary but happy. “We’re alive. That’s something.”

Rye grinned. “Nothing quite like the adrenaline rush after somepony tries to kill you, eh?”

She gave him an appalled look. “Are things always like this around you?”

“What can I say? I’m a magnet for excitement.” Rye felt the familiar exhaustion after escaping danger settling over him. “So where’s your apartment?”

“Third floor. Come on, I’ll show you up.” She led him up the stairs, still panting slightly from the run. They reached the door with a brass 313 above the knocker. Tyria opened it and ushered him inside.

Her apartment was fairly roomy, larger than he’d expected. He looked around the living room, noticing the faded brown couch and the cabinets. Paintings hung from the wall, but it was hard to make anything out about them in the dark. He resolved to get a better look tomorrow morning.

Tyria cleared her throat. “It’s not much, but it’s home. The bedroom’s through that door. You can have the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“What? No!” Rye adjusted his robes. “I’m the guest, I’ll take the couch. I’ve been sleeping in that ritzy thing back at the embassy for nearly a week, anyway; one night on this won’t kill me.”

Tyria shrugged, too tired to argue. “All right. Do you need sheets or anything?”

Rye grinned at her again. “Nah. You know what the best thing about these robes is?” He unclasped his robes and pulled them off. “They make a great blanket.”

She gave him a weary smile. “Okay, then. See you in the morning, Rye.” She went into the bedroom, and he heard a faint thump as she collapsed onto the bed.

Rye lay down on the couch and snuggled into the cushions. He pulled his robes over himself and tucked them under his hooves. He inhaled and raised an eyebrow. The couch smelled unmistakably of paint. He yawned, decided to ignore it, and settled down to wait for sleep.

7. Brushstrokes at Breakfast

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Tyria woke with a start. Her heart was beating rather faster than it should have been. She swallowed, remembering flashes of a dream filled with soft, yellow fabric and gray feathers. The details escaped her, but she felt with disturbing certainty that they had been extremely unprofessional.

She ran a hoof down the length of her mane, trying to compose herself. Tyria supposed it wasn’t entirely unexpected—she’d been spending a lot of time with Rye—Ambassador Strudel, she reminded herself—over the past few days. Still, simply seeing him in her dreams was one thing, that was quite another.

Goddess, how embarrassing. Yet part of her was disappointed the dream had ended so soon. The dream-Rye’s mane had felt wonderful on her skin…

With a shake of her head, Tyria got out of bed. She combed her mane down into a half-respectable shape, and adjusted her uniform’s collar. Last night, she’d been so tired that she hadn’t even undressed before falling asleep. Her khakis were rumpled and dirty from the fight in the warehouse. Alas, all her spares were across town in the embassy.

When she left her bedroom, she found that Rye was still asleep on the couch. He was wrapped in yellow cloth, his chest rising and falling softly. Tyria blushed as more memories crystallized in her mind. I wonder if his robes really are that soft…

No. No, no, no no no. Stop it, Tyria. He’s an ambassador, and the son of a bloody war hero. Well, so was she. In truth, she doubted she’d ever meet somepony else who could understand that situation the way Rye could.

He’s a reckless idiot. Still, that excitement in his eyes last night had been infectious, and she couldn’t help but smile as she remembered that stupid grin on his face.

He’s a pegacorn. Tyria blinked, looking at the sleeping ambassador’s horn. Somehow, that didn’t bother her as much as it should. Everypony knew pegacorns were supposed to be dangerous, or feral, or mad; but if Rye was crazy, his lunacy was a kind she found strangely compelling.

Life. That was it. Rye was full of life, bursting with it. The same wonderful rush of happy abandon she hadn’t felt since taking this post in a distant country, shackled by her career. Tyria turned to her painting storage racks, running a hoof along the top of a canvas. Until Rye had taken her on that silly shopping trip, painting was the only thing that had made her feel that way.

She pulled out the painting of the bay that she’d started on Sunday and set up her easel. Her watercolors were hidden in a cupboard along with her tools, and she removed them to set up for brushing in the land. Tyria glanced back over her shoulder to check if Rye was still asleep. Seeing that he was, she decided not to wake him. The captain was going to have her hanged for not reporting in last night anyway, she was in no rush to head back to the embassy.

Tyria dipped the brush into a golden, sandy brown, and then brought it over the canvas. She drew the brush across the emptiness, filling it with color. Slowly, she sank into that trancelike state of joyous discovery, as she revealed the painting that lay waiting beneath the blank spaces.

The brush darted up and down, side to side, bringing warm earthen tones to create the shoreline. The watercolors spread and melded, creating random and intricate patterns in the sand. She added texture with a piece of sandpaper, scratching it against the wet canvas with a tender touch. She leaned back, eyeing her work, and smiled.

“Wow,” came an awed whisper from behind her.

Tyria’s eyes widened. She turned to see Rye, sitting on the floor and staring rapturously at her canvas. He rubbed his bleary eyes, looking suddenly nervous. “Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to—I just woke up, and didn’t want to interrupt you.”

She couldn’t help but notice he’d left his robes on the couch. Unbidden images sprang into her mind, and she felt her cheeks heat. Oh, stop it, Tyria. She blinked. “Don’t worry about it. Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” he said, yawning. He scraped a bit of that black dust from the warehouse off of his cheek. “That’s gorgeous-looking, Tyria.”

“Thanks,” she said, feeling suddenly self-consciousness. “It’s… I guess it’s okay.”

“Well, I’m no artist, but it looks wonderful to me.” He fidgeted with his hooves. “Would you, um… would you show me some more?”

Someone actually asking to look at her art? Tyria’s pulse quickened. “I… sure!”

Feeling a little dazed, she stood and hovered over her canvas storage racks. Dithering momentarily over the selection, she settled on a painting she’d done of the Karran jungle just outside the city walls about a year and a half ago. Withdrawing it from the rack, she spun the bulky canvas around to face Rye. “Karran Wilderness. What do you think?” she asked nervously. She couldn’t crane her head around the huge painting to see his reaction.

“That’s fantastic, Tyria…” he made a little murmur of delight. “I love these trees, here. You can almost hear them rustling in the breeze. And the way the light plays off the vines in the middle…”

“Really?” Tyria’s heart lifted a little. “I thought I screwed those up, to be honest with you. They’re not all quite aligned correctly, and I made the sunlight a bit too—”

Rye chuckled. “I’ve yet to meet the artist who loves their own work unconditionally.”

Tyria replaced the painting in the storage rack, smiling sheepishly. “Well… how about this one?” She pulled another out.

This painting was a picture of the Marquis’ manor, carefully constructed during a week of leave she’d taken a year ago. Days and days spent sitting at the base of that hill, her easel resting in the grass as she captured each whorl of the wood, each shifting color of the marble steps. She’d added a number of zebras in gloriously opulent evening wear, purely from imagination. “I call this one Dinner at Zahira’s.”

She set the enormous painting to her side, holding the top, so that she could see his reaction this time. Rye leaned forward, eyes wide, his hoof unconsciously tracing the air as he studied the details. “That… is…” He seemed to lose the words, his eyes flickering across the canvas.

Tyria felt a strange burst of pride. He was only being nice, she was sure; these weren’t that good, not compared to a real professional. Still, her inner artist fed off praise like a starving hound.

“You ever tried framing these?” he asked at last, a faint smile of wonder still on his lips. He put his hoof to his lips. “You ought to… Those gowns are beautiful. Though I think my favorite part’s the bored little zebra foal peering out the window on the left, there.”

“You noticed him?” Tyria smiled. “I like him, too. I messed up his stripes a little, though. They shouldn’t be quite so black-heavy, most foals have more white in their coats.”

“Tyria,” said Rye, grinning, “Look. I live in the capital. I work in the Sun Castle. I see the best paintings in the country every day on the way to my office. Trust me, this could fit right in on those walls.”

“I—I…” Tyria wilted in a sudden attack of shyness. That went a little beyond being nice. Was the praise genuine after all? “I don’t know what to say.”

“You ever tried doing this commercially? Selling paintings, or commission work?”

“Sisters, no,” she said, putting the painting back in the racks. “My fa—I mean, I’ve never… um.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve got a good job, at the embassy. I haven’t felt the need to… try my luck on the art market.”

“Hmm.” Rye tapped his chin, giving her a keen look. Tyria had the feeling he was already all too aware of how much she hated that “good” job at the embassy.

To divert him, she began pulling out another painting. “And this one… Sweet Sunset.” With a grunt, she managed to haul the huge painting out of the rack. It was her longest canvas, nearly two meters on the horizontal sides. She’d had one devil of a time getting it up the apartment stairs.

Rye inhaled audibly. This time, Tyria had no doubts that that awestruck look on his face was real. It had better be, said a smug little voice in the back of her head, considering how many weeks you spent on it. She internally quashed the spasm of pride.

The canvas depicted the bay down at the base of the island, filled with ships. Over a hundred tiny, detailed zebras were present, racing around between the docked vessels with their loads of cargo. The sun was setting, the golden-orange disk half-swallowed by the ocean through the bay opening. The light shone through every sail, reflecting off of every barnacle and line of ship rigging. The piece was named, in a pun she hadn’t been able to resist, for the centerpiece, a zebra accidentally dropping a crate of sugar. The crate was bursting on the ground, sending a massive cloud of sugar grains into the air. All around, other zebras were shielding their eyes or scrambling to catch the crate, too late.

“That actually happened,” she said, “one day while I was down there painting the ships. It got everywhere; I was still washing sugar out of my mane a week later. I figured I’d add it in.”

Rye, spellbound, nodded slowly. He reached out, nearly touching the painting, then withdrew his hoof as if pricked. “This is a masterpiece, Tyria. Everything—the ships, the zebras, that sunset…”

Tyria shrugged in embarrassed happiness. They were quiet for a few minutes, while Rye examined the painting. With effort, she restrained herself from pointing out the finer details. It was a much better experience to discover them on your own. Rye’s face lit with delighted amusement whenever he caught one, like the tricorn hat-wearing zebra captain with a peg leg she’d slipped in on one of the ships.

At last, however, the nagging thoughts in the back of her mind forced themselves to the fore. “Well, Rye… the morning’s getting on. Captain Petalbloom must be going mad with worry that you’re not back yet. We should head out soon.”

Rye tore his eyes away from the painting, apparently with some effort. “You think the streets are safe?”

“I expect those pirates have given up trying to catch us, by now. If I were them, I’d be focused on getting that warehouse emptied out before the authorities arrive.” She jolted upright with sudden realization. “I need to tell Zanaya about that.”

“Who?”

“She’s a good friend in the City Watch.”

“Ah.” Rye rubbed his hooves. “Um, all right, would, um… would you like breakfast first?”

“Er…” Tyria raised an eyebrow. “I suppose. I haven’t got much food, though. I think there might be a few eggs left in there, but I don’t know if they’re any good.”

Rye began rummaging through the cupboards. She watched him curiously. “Do you cook a lot?”

“All the time.” Rye emerged with a single egg. He held it up to his ear with both hooves and jostled it lightly, nodding. He set it down on the counter and dove back into the cupboard. “I borrowed a few of Dad’s old cookbooks when I moved out. It’s just not the same, though… He wields a spatula the way you do a paintbrush.”

Tyria wasn’t able to hold in the laugh. “How long has he been a baker?”

“Nearly fifteen years, I think.” Rye emerged with another egg and repeated the shaking ritual. Walking back to the couch, he swung his robes off of the cushion and over his back. His wings poked through the holes and gave a single flap. Clasping the robes in front and fluffing them, he returned to roll the eggs into a single pocket. “That’ll do. Where’s your kitchen?”

“It’s a communal one. Bottom floor, offset from the rest of the building so that the smoke doesn’t rise up through the living areas. Here, you’ll need a pan.” She fumbled through her bottom cupboard and pulled out a frying pan, made of black iron and worn from use, and a food-turner.

Rye took them and nodded his thanks. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes or so. Um…” He smiled around the handle. “Thanks for showing me your paintings.”

“You’re welcome.” Tyria smiled. Rye did that little bow of his, and then opened the door and disappeared.

She sat back down in front of her easel, staring at the drying watercolors. Her brush sat untouched on her palette, as she thought about the admiration in Rye’s eyes as he’d looked over her work. A little tingle in her chest had started, and showed no sign of stopping with his departure. Oh, this is not good.

Right?

* * *

Rye found the kitchen easily enough. The door, hidden beneath the apartment stairs, opened to reveal a dimly-lit room dug into the ground. There was an oven and a fire pit inside, and a pipe in the ceiling that bent toward the wall to carry the smoke away from the building. The walls were black with soot. He sniffed in disapproval. His father would have thrown a fit to see a kitchen in this state.

A pile of firewood was stacked along one of the walls. He grabbed a few pieces of it and threw them into the fire pit, then wrestled with the flint for three minutes before getting the tinder to light. While the fire spread, Rye used the water pump in the corner of the room to wash his face off. Soon the flames were crackling in the pit. He found a metal rack hidden beside the oven, and set it up over the fire to support the pan. After cracking the eggs on the edge of the cast-iron frying pan, he threw the shells into the fire.

As the eggs began to cook, his mind wandered. Those paintings… I've got to see if I can convince her to let me buy that one of the manor. The only question would be where to hang it, at home or in the office? He turned the eggs over idly. Goddess, I must have sounded like an idiot up there. Had she realized his talk about breakfast had been panicked babble? Rye shook his head. He wasn’t sure why he cared what his bodyguard thought.

Because you’re falling in love with her, you idiot.

Rye froze, and stared at the eggs. “Oh.” He blinked. “Hell.”

When had this happened? About ten minutes after I figured out who her father was, I bet. Rye’s eyes tracked aimlessly across the room as he mulled over this realization. Clarity did not bring comfort; rather the opposite, in fact.

She’s attractive, sure, and I’ve been desperately lonely for Celestia-knows how long, but… it’s not that superficial. This morning, when he’d watched her paint, he’d seen a fire and a passion that warmed him all over. Tyria was creative, dedicated, and kind—he couldn’t remember the last time somepony had tried to apologize for looking at his wings.

The wings. The horn. Does she mind? He hoped, prayed she didn’t, but how could he know for sure? Her smiles seemed genuine enough. Rye wanted more of them. Whenever she broke her mask of professionalism and revealed the happy Tyria underneath, he felt fluttery all over. Listen to me. I sound like I’m five again, all raging hormones and no sense.

A sizzling noise alerted him that the eggs were beginning to burn. He flipped them over again. I think Wheatie figured it out before I did. And he said he’d cover for us if we were late… He paused.

Oh, no, he’s going to think— Rye groaned.

The eggs were done, but Rye felt suddenly terrified at the thought of going back upstairs. What do I do? What do I say? Just… pretend everything’s normal? He stared forlornly down at his eggs, kicking some dust on the logs to smother the fire.

Well, if he stayed down here much longer, she was going to start wondering what had happened to him. Rye swallowed, adjusted his robes, and took the pan. He left the kitchen and began walking back up to the apartment.

He found her inside, painting. Rye paused for a moment, spellbound. The way her brush dashed across the canvas was entrancing, the colors it left behind spreading out to meet each other. Not wanting to seem like a voyeur, he cleared his throat.

Tyria turned and smiled. “How’d the eggs come out?”

“Fine, just fine.” Rye hoped he didn’t sound nervous. He set down the pan on the counter. “Got plates?”

“Oh, don’t bother.” Tyria walked up and pulled her egg right out of the pan, chewing on it. “We’re late, we haven’t got time to spare.”

Rye ate his own egg, barely tasting it. “Ready to go when you are.”

They headed out of the apartment building, passing a zebra on the stairs who nodded to Tyria. Exiting into the street, they found that Zyre was having a sleepy Tuesday morning. A few zebras walked past, headed to work. Tyria and Rye started off for the embassy district.

Rye made small talk, asking her about the city. Tyria seemed happy enough to humor him, telling him all about various activities to occupy his time in the city districts. Maybe I should ask her if she wants to see a play, or something. Rye cringed. Sisters, I’m terrible at this.

They reached the embassy without incident—social or otherwise—and paused at the doors. They looked at each other with shared apprehension.

“Look, if the captain tries to hassle you…”

Tyria frowned with dismay. “She’s not going to be happy that we didn’t come back on time.”

“You saved my life last night. That’s got to count for something.”

She barked a humorless laugh. “I thought it was the other way around, actually. Those pirates would have killed me if you hadn’t knocked over those barrels.”

Rye shrugged, unsure of what to say. “Whatever happens, I’ll back you up.”

“Thanks.” Tyria inhaled. “Well, we’d better get this over with.” She pushed open the door.

The secretary looked up as they entered. “Ensign! Where have you—” she caught sight of Rye. “Oh, Ambassador, you’re back. Thank goodness.” She looked between the two of them. “Um… Captain Petalbloom will want to see you, Ensign.”

“Yeah.” Tyria swallowed.

“Ambassador, your assistant is waiting upstairs.”

“After this, thank you.” Rye held his head up. “I need to speak with the captain, too.”

“I see.” The secretary’s eyes twinkled. “Good luck.”

They walked down the hall, passing the security offices. Petalbloom’s door stood at the end, tightly shut. Tyria knocked.

“In,” said a voice on the other side.

Rye entered first. The captain was sitting on the other side of her desk, scowling. As Rye stepped inside, her face broke out in surprise. “Ambassador! You’re safe!” Her eyes flicked behind him as Tyria came into the room.

“I need to thank you and your department, Captain,” said Rye. “Ensign Metrel here has shown exemplary service. On our way back from the Marquis’s dwelling last night, we were attacked by a gang of Vipers. The Ensign got me out safely and hid me in her apartment while the pirates searched for us. I owe her my life.”

The captain, clearly prepared to begin an angry tirade, appeared to be thrown by his appearance. She looked back and forth between them. “I… I see.” She glared at Tyria. “Pit Vipers, hm?”

Tyria nodded. “I need to report this to the Watch after we’re done here.”

All at once, the captain's anger seemed to deflate out of her. Petalbloom sighed and rested her forehead on a hoof. “Tyria… please don’t do this again.”

“I won’t, ma’am.” Tyria shrank with guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“All right, go. Tell the Watch. I’ll get your report later this evening. Ambassador, you’re free to go about your business. Please be a little more discreet about your wanderings.”

Rye nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

The two of them fled the office. Rye gave Tyria a happy look. “Well, that went better than I expected.”

“Yes, thanks for the help. She was getting ready to ream me out, I could tell.” Tyria swallowed. “Hopefully she’ll be mollified enough to let it slide.”

“If not, come to me; I’ll talk with her.”

“I appreciate it. Really.” She nodded.

Rye paused at the base of the stairs. “Ah… I, uh, enjoyed last night. Aside from the pirates, I mean.” He grinned nervously. “And Saturday, too. I guess what I’m trying to say is, um…” Spit it out, you fool. “Would you like to show me around the city again, sometime? Maybe see one of those shows you mentioned?”

Tyria gave him a curious smile. “Ambassador, are you—” her mouth opened, and then closed. She tilted her head, still smiling. “Well… I can clear Friday afternoon. They’re running The Changeling and the Princess over in the playhouse at seven.”

“Great!” he said, a little too quickly. “Uh, well, I’ll see you then!”

Tyria laughed, sounding slightly surprised. At him, or herself? “Okay.” She nodded. “I’ve got to go tell the Watch about the pirates. I’ll… see you Friday.”

Rye bowed, and Tyria left to head out of the building. He raced upstairs, feeling like his face was on fire. Well, at least this proves that you can't die of embarrassment.

But… she said yes!

He entered the room he and Wheatie were sharing. The Firewing was sitting on his bed, reading. Wheatie looked up as Rye entered. “Oh, you’re back. Where’ve you been all night? I told them you’d be returning late, but I didn’t think it’d be this late.”

“I stayed at Tyria’s place overnight.” Rye sat down on his bed.

Wheatie’s eyebrows rose, and he grinned. Rye realized what he’d said, and stammered, “We were, uh, hiding. We ran into a gang of pirates, down on the docks. Had to get away. She didn’t think we could make it back here at night, with pirates roaming about, so we slept in her apartment.” You’re digging yourself deeper, Rye.

“Then it went well, I take it.” Wheatie’s grin widened at Rye’s obvious discomfort.

“What, hiding?”

“Dinner!” Wheatie set his book down. “Come on, tell me.”

“Uh…” Rye looked up at the ceiling. “Well, we ate at Griselda’s—I did, anyway—talked a bit about her father. Ever heard of Jerric Metrel?” Wheatie nodded, clearly amused. “Then we started walking back toward the embassy, when we ran into the pirates down on the docks.” He suddenly remembered the incredible picture of the ships on the bay. “Did you know she paints? There’s this piece she did of the docks—”

Wheatie laughed. “Rye, the pirates.”

“Oh, right.” Rye told him about the warehouse, and their flight from the zebras.

With an interested frown, Wheatie rubbed his chin. “I wonder what they were doing.”

“Probably moving goods from a smuggling warehouse.”

“Did they have sugar stocked in there?”

Rye shook his head. “Most of the barrels had something else in them, I think. At least, I’ve never seen black sugar before.”

“Black sugar…” Wheatie’s face drew inward. “Hmm. Sounds vaguely familiar.” He shrugged, and picked his book back up.

“Whatever it was, it’s the Watch’s problem, now.” Rye flopped back onto his bed, grabbing one of his books on Zyre and flipping it open to the chapter on the arts and entertainment district. He found the section on the city’s largest and oldest playhouse, the Flightfeather theater. He started reading, skimming over the words. He was only absorbing about half of them.

“Rye.”

“Yes?”

“Can you stop humming? It’s distracting.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I was.”

“So I gathered.”

Rye bit his lip and returned to his book.

8. A Date on the Docks

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The local City Watch station was a tall, stone building on the corner of Kerel Street, a fifteen minute walk away from the embassies on a good day. Traffic had picked up since Tyria had left her apartment, but she made the trip with little delay.

Tyria pushed her way into the building, sidling past a zebra officer on his way out. Inside, a dozen zebras were bustling back and forth, carrying stacks of parchment on their backs. Tyria dodged a few and approached the front desk.

She rapped a hoof on the desk to get the secretary’s attention. “Excuse me, I’m here to see Detective Zanaya.”

“Oh, Tyria, hello.” The secretary nodded and pointed to the stairs on the right side of the building. “Zanaya’s up in her office. You know the way.”

Tyria walked up to the second floor, passing another pair of harried-looking zebras. She reached the top of the stairs and caught Zanaya’s eye from across the room. Tyria smiled and waved, and her friend waved back with a curious expression.

She walked up to the zebra, who was clearly buried in paperwork. “Morning, Zanaya.”

“Hi, Tyria.” Zanaya leaned back and cracked her legs. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have work?”

“I’m here on work-related business, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, no.” Zanaya dragged a hoof along her face. “Don’t tell me the ambassador’s caused another incident.”

“No, no, Milliden’s not involved.”

“Thank the gods.” Zanaya rolled her eyes. “I swear, it’s like that stallion wants to piss off the Marquis. Who thought he would make a good ambassador?”

Tyria shrugged. “This isn’t about the embassy. It’s about the Vipers.”

Zanaya’s levity instantly vanished, replaced with an intent stare. “What happened?”

“Two things. I didn’t think the first was worth reporting until last night, but…” Tyria swallowed. “The Gryphan ambassador? Tatius Gableclaw?”

“I’m familiar with him.”

“He’s in with the Vipers. I don’t know how deeply, but he’s been smuggling something for them.”

“Tyria…” Zanaya slowly sucked in breath through her teeth. “That’s quite an accusation to make.” Where’s the proof? went unspoken.

“It’s not an accusation, not yet. But I overheard—” Tyria paused, “Er, the ambassador overheard him talking with one of the pirates about a deal.”

“The ambassador?” Zanaya raised an eyebrow and frowned. “Tyria, Milliden hates Grypha almost as much as Tatius hates Equestria. That’s not a very reliable source.”

“Not Milliden. Rye.”

Zanaya gave her a blank look.

“Rye Strudel, the new ambassador who just arrived last week. Remember?”

“Oh.” Zanaya blinked. “The pegacorn.”

Tyria felt a strange jolt of irritation. “Does that made his word invalid?”

“Hey, hey, I’ve got nothing against the guy.” Zanaya held up her hooves in supplication. “But Tyria, one overheard conversation isn’t going to hold up in court.”

“I don’t expect you to go out and arrest Tatius. I’m just saying you might want to look at him a bit more closely.” Tyria cleared her throat. “Besides, what happened last night is more interesting, anyway.”

“Go on, then.”

“Rye and I were coming back from a meeting in the government district late last night, and we took a detour through the dock district.” Tyria told Zanaya about the pirates, the chase, and most importantly, the warehouse.

“Hmm. We’ve suspected that the Vipers have a storehouse in the city for a long time, now.” Zanaya nibbled a hoof, thinking. “It’ll take me a few days to get a warrant. You said it was by the Dromedarian section?”

Tyria nodded. “With a green door.”

“Okay. I’ll head upstairs to talk to the commissioner. She’ll want to hear this.” Zanaya sat back, looking bemused. “First that incident on the bay, now griffons and warehouses. What is it with you and pirates?”

Tyria shook her head, dismayed. “I don’t go looking for them.” She blinked in surprise. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have to cancel on Friday.”

Zanaya shrugged. “Not a problem. I expect I’ll be busy with this warehouse of yours, anyway.”

“Thanks. Let’s do lunch on Saturday, okay?”

“You got it. Why, out of curiosity?”

“Oh, I, uh…” Tyria’s lips felt dry. “I’m going to see a play.”

“A play?” Zanaya peered at her, and then the corners of her mouth turned up. “Who is he?”

“What?” said Tyria, putting on her best innocent face.

“You’re a terrible liar, Tyria. Come on, tell me!”

Tyria felt her cheeks reddening. “Ambassador Strudel wanted to see the entertainment district, and he requested my help as a guide—”

Zanaya snickered. “Guide, my hoof.”

“It’s not—” Tyria scowled. “Quit laughing! He’s… he’s really sweet, and cheerful, and… I just want to get to know him better.”

Zanaya gave her a genuine smile. “Well, I’m happy for you. It’s about time you stopped moping around.”

Tyria coughed pointedly. “I’d better get back to the embassy before Petalbloom thinks I’ve run off again.”

“All right, all right. Stay safe, Tyria. Don’t go chasing any more pirates, okay?” Zanaya grinned. “And… enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks.” Tyria smiled nervously, and turned to leave. Behind her, she heard Zanaya laughing softly.

* * *

For Rye, the week passed with agonizing slowness. The Marquis’s schedule was full until a week and a half from Friday, so there was little for him to do. He grew antsier and antsier, and by the time Friday finally arrived he was bouncing off of the walls so much that Wheatie kicked him out of the room to go burn off energy. Rye took the opportunity to head out to the markets, accompanied by a new ensign that Captain Petalbloom had assigned him. He bought a few more pastries and some souvenirs for his father and Inger, and picked up tickets for that evening's show.

When he returned to his room at the embassy, he found Wheatie poring over a gigantic book. Rye tilted his head to read the title. “Trade Goods and Economics in the Golden Isles? Sounds like a real page-turner, Sergeant.”

“It really isn't.” Wheatie frowned and tapped a page. “I’m looking for this black sugar of yours. It sounded maddeningly familiar.”

Rye shrugged and fell onto his bed, to fidget quietly. The silence did not last long. By the time lunch had passed, Rye’s incessant, nervous babble had driven Wheatie into his bed with both ears flattened and his head under a pillow.

He walked back and forth, talking endlessly. “Do you think I should wear these robes, or the triple-layered ones? Or none at all? Is that too informal? It’s a play, not an opera. I shouldn’t need a suit. Is this yellow too bright?”

Wheatie, peering out from under his pillow, gave Rye a dry glance. “You look like your mother when you pace like that.”

“I get that a lot.” Rye sighed and glanced at the clock. “Ten more minutes.” He reached into his robes and pulled out his two slips of colored paper. He set them down on his bed. “Oh, Sisters, Wheatie, I think I'm going to start hyperventilating.”

Wheatie looked up at the ceiling. “It's just a date, Rye.”

“I'm not… good at those.”

The pegasus placed a hoof to his forehead and gave a long-suffering sigh. “There's no trick to it. Just relax and be yourself.”

“Uh, well…” Rye sat on the floor. “That hasn't worked out so well for me in the past.”

Wheatie blinked. “Oh.” He sat up, looking concerned. “Is this about the, uh…”

“Yeah. I’m a pegacorn.” Rye swallowed. “But she doesn’t seem to care. I… I really hope she doesn’t.”

At a loss for words, Wheatie shrugged. “I’d say act natural, but I have the feeling you’re going to act like an idiot anyway. So… just don’t worry about it.” His mouth twisted. “After all, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“The worst?” Rye grimaced. “The last time Cranberry pressured me into going courting, I wound up in some bar with a pegasus. Pretty girl. Yellow coat, creamy-white mane. Stared at my forehead through the entire dinner, kept asking if I could do any magic. When she found out I couldn’t, she looked disappointed, but asked if I wanted to go cloud-diving the next day. I told her I couldn’t fly.”

Wheatie looked apprehensive. “And?”

“She said that her friends had been right, that I was a—” Rye stopped and took a breath. “I mean—she said some unkind things. I don’t remember much of the rest of the night, but the hangover the next day was pretty unforgettable.”

“Ah…” Wheatie winced.

“Could’ve been worse. At least she finished dinner. That one unicorn…” Rye gave a chipper grin. “But hey, you’re right. How bad can it go? Tyria’s not a pegasus, I doubt she’ll offer to go cloud-diving.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Wheatie, with an uneasy smile. “You’d better get going.”

“Right.” Rye swallowed, and retrieved the tickets. He tucked them into his robes again, and straightened the collar. With one last, fortifying breath, he left and headed down the stairs.

Tyria met him in the foyer. She was dressed in her work khakis, cleanly pressed; not too formal, but not completely casual. Rye was glad he’d gone with the standard robes.

“Hello, Ambassador.” Tyria nodded. “Ready to get going?”

Rye held the door open. “Let’s.” With a wry smile, Tyria left the embassy, and Rye followed her out.

Their hooves clopped softly along the cobblestones. “So,” he said lightly, “I forgot to ask. What’s the Watch doing about that warehouse?”

“Oh,” said Tyria, “I haven’t seen Zanaya since I told her. I’ll ask when I see her tomorrow.”

They chatted while they walked. Rye found that his numb-tongued awkwardness around members of the opposite sex wasn’t nearly as bad as usual. Talking with her was… easy. Fun. Don’t screw this one up, Rye.

Traffic thickened as the sun went down. By the time they reached the edge of the embassy district, it was difficult to move forward. Ahead, the press of Zyrans trying to make it past into the entertainment district and the markets beyond before the stores began closing had grown impassable.

“We’re going to be late if we try fighting through there,” said Rye. “Know any shortcuts?”

“Shortcuts make long delays,” intoned Tyria, before laughing. “We can cut west through the docks.”

“The docks? Again?” Rye rolled his eyes. “Why do we keep ending up there?”

“Hey, we can watch the sun set over the bay. If you thought that painting was pretty, wait till you see the real thing.”

“All right, then.” Rye beamed. “Lead on.”

Tyria took him back into the embassy district, and they made their way through the clearer streets and out onto the docks. They were fairly empty at this hour on a Friday afternoon, only the barest scattering of zebras still milling about the ships.

The sun was low in the sky, staining it red and purple. Its reflection glimmered on the water, like a thousand golden coins falling through the air. Rye inhaled. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” Tyria looked contemplative. “I’ve been here so long, I barely ever watch this anymore. I guess I take it for granted.”

“There’s no water back in Canterlot. Not like this. It’s beautiful.” Rye stood beside her, looking out over the bay.

“I… I admit, sometimes I miss Equestria. The Golden Isles are gorgeous, but…” Tyria sighed. “They’re not home.”

Rye made an affirming mm. “I know what you mean.” He moved a little closer, resisting the urge to whistle nonchalantly. “I’ve been to half a dozen different nations, but the only place I ever feel like I belong is back in Canterlot.”

Tyria nodded absently. “It’s been a long time since I went back to Whitetail. Mother’s probably mad at me.” She snorted.

“Well, I—” A sudden gust of wind took Rye’s robes, billowing them around him. One of the tickets came flying out. “Hey!”

He chased it down the pier, his robes flapping around him in the wind. “Get back here, you little—”

The ticket fluttered to the wood as the wind died. Rye picked it up and tucked it into his robes. He turned around to see Tyria standing at the end of the pier, stifling laughter with a hoof. Rye gave a dignified bow. “Ambassador Strudel; diplomat, cook, chaser of paper. I’ll be here all week.”

Clapping her hooves together wryly, Tyria raised her eyebrows. “Very impressive.”

Rye heard a cracking sound. He looked down at the rotten wood of the pier beneath him. It was bending dangerously under his weight. “Oh.”

The wood splintered and broke. Rye plunged into the warm water. He felt a moment of panic before he hit the bottom, and realized it was only half a meter deep. Scowling, he waded out, soaked from his breast down.

Tyria was waiting for him on the shore, a hoof over her mouth. Her eyes were twinkling with suppressed mirth. “Are you okay?”

“A little soggy, but unharmed.” Rye pulled the tickets out of his pocket. They were damp, but still intact. “I think we can still make it in time, if we run.”

“All right. Let’s get moving, then,” she said, giggling. “You can dry on the way.”

Rye was about to reply, when his vision went dark. He felt rough fabric cover his head and pull tight around his neck. Whinnying with surprise, he bucked his hind legs instinctively, and hit something.

“Damn!” said somepony unfamiliar.

Tyria’s voice yelled, “Hey!” before there was a thwack and silence. Rye felt a hard kick in his side, and he fell to the ground, curling against the pain.

“See the robes?” asked a gruff voice.

“Yes. Definitely the same two ponies.”

Rye raised his head, unable to see anything through the bag. “Whoever you are—”

“Shut up.” Another kick silenced him. “It’s been days. They’re bound to have reported the storehouse by now.”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing we were already clearing it out, isn’t it?”

Rye's eyes flicked uselessly back and forth in the blackness. His ears strained for the sound of Tyria's voice, desperately hoping she was still alive.

To Rye’s immense relief, he heard her moan. The rougher voice said, “So what do we do with them now?”

“Well, we can’t just kill them. Bodies mean investigations. The captain won’t be happy about investigations.”

“All right, then. We’re shipping out tonight, anyway, we’ll take them out to sea and dump their bodies in.”

“What about the navy inspection? They won’t take kindly to us shipping corpses.”

“Stick ‘em in the brig. The navy won’t care if we have a few mutinous crewmembers locked up.”

“Then let’s get moving.”

Rye was hauled upright. “Wait—please, whoever you are—”

A cloth pressed against his nose and mouth through the bag. He recoiled, his nostrils filled with a scent both sickeningly sweet and musty. For a brief moment, his mind was filled with a horrible memory of dark caves and chittering monsters before his eyes rolled back and his consciousness abandoned him.

9. Captured

View Online

The fuzzy edges of reality slowly returned. With his eyes still shut, Rye gradually became aware of the creaking of wood, the smell of saltwater, and the gentle rocking of the floor. He groaned, trying to get his bearings. Cracking his eyes open, he tried to make sense of the blurred shapes around him.

As his vision began to clear, he saw that he was surrounded by crossed iron bars. The cell was surprisingly spacious, large enough to hold half a dozen ponies. Right now, however, it held only two.

Tyria was leaning against the bars on the far side of the cell. Rye lifted his head and winced as his forehead throbbed. Tyria jerked upright. “You’re awake!”

He sat up unsteadily, blinking. “Unfortunately.” His head felt like somepony had taken a hammer to it.

Tyria breathed a sigh of relief. “You were out for hours. I was starting to worry.”

“I’ll live.” Rye held his head, willing the room to stop swaying back and forth. “Where are we?”

Tyria looked over her shoulder through the bars. A lantern swung from a support that ran from floor to ceiling. Barrels and crates surrounded them, blocking off a better view of their surroundings. A small hole in the ceiling permitted a ray of sunlight to shine through, letting them know that it was still late afternoon. “I believe we’re on a ship.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Oh, Goddess, more sea travel. Rye rubbed his eye. “What happened?”

“We got jumped. I don’t know how many there were, but they drugged us with something and I lost consciousness. Next thing I knew, I woke up here, with you. You’ve been lying there since I got up.” Tyria's face was pale. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Rye massaged his temples with a hoof, relieved that the pain was already beginning to subside. “Whatever they hit us with, they used too much. I’m just a little pony.” His memory was beginning to return. His eyes snapped open in alarm. “Oh, Sisters, they said—”

“That they were going to kill us? I remember.” Tyria swallowed. “But it’s been hours since we were captured, and they haven’t thrown us overboard yet.”

The creak of wood bending under hooves alerted them to somepony’s approach. A zebra mare with a green bandana tied around her forehead appeared from behind the barrels stacked to the right of the cell. Rye’s breath caught in his throat. Was this to be their executioner? The mare spared the two of them a glance, snorted, and walked past to vanish deeper into the hold.

Rye exhaled slowly. “How long before anypony notices we’re gone?”

Tyria shook her head. She looked ruffled. Her mane was matted from lying on the floor, and her uniform’s collar was crumpled. Rye was sure he looked equally disheveled. He hoped he hadn’t drooled on himself while comatose.

She fiddled with her hooves aimlessly. “I’m supposed to have lunch with Zanaya tomorrow, but she won’t be worried if I don’t show up. Nopony’s going to figure out I’m really missing until I don’t report in for work on Monday. What about you?”

“No better.” Rye slumped against a wooden support beam that stood inside the cell. “The Sergeant’s the only one who’ll notice I’m missing, and uh… I don’t think he’ll raise an alarm for a few days, at least.”

Frowning, Tyria asked, “Why not?”

Rye cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks turn rosy. “Erm, well, he just doesn’t, uh, seem like the type to panic.” Sisters, Wheatie’s going to think we’re—hell, I wish. But perhaps the Sergeant would realize something was wrong. I can dream, anyway.

“So, it’s going to be at least three days until anypony figures out something bad has happened to us.” Tyria bit her lip.

“By which time we’ll be getting intimately acquainted with the seafloor.” Rye stood, trying to get blood flowing back through his stiff muscles. “We have to get out of here.”

“How?” Tyria stared listlessly at the swinging lantern. “We’re locked in. I have no idea where the key is.”

Rye began pacing. “We can call a guard in and jump him.”

“They’re not idiots, they’re bound to have at least two zebras on hoof any time they open the cell. I can’t take two of them at once.” Tyria winced. She must have a headache as bad as his. “Frankly, I doubt I could take even one of them right now.”

“Work the door hinges free?”

“With what? I don’t see any crowbars lying around.”

His hooves thudded nervously on the wood. “Well, we can’t just sit here.”

Tyria shook her head. “I don’t see what else we can do.” Suddenly she slammed a hoof against the bars. “Dammit. This is all my fault.”

“What? No it’s not.” Rye gave her a reassuring look. “Tyria, you said it yourself; there were too many of them. There wasn’t anything you could have done.”

“I’m supposed to keep you safe! I’ve done a terrible job of it so far.” Tyria hung her head. “If we ever get out of here, Petalbloom will have me discharged.”

This wasn’t good. If they were going to get out of this alive, Rye needed her to be proactive, alert, and focused, not drowning in guilt. And… he didn’t like seeing her upset.

He walked across the little cell and sat beside her. “Hey, don’t hog all the blame. I’m the idiot who wanted to look at that warehouse in the first place.”

“I should’ve heard them coming, or seen them, or—” To his dismay, she bent her head as if to hide tears. “Just another in a long list of failures.”

Rye touched her shoulder. “Tyria…”

“Dammit.” She shook her head, pulling a hoof across her eyes. “I’ve never been good at this. Dad wanted me to be a perfect little officer, just like him. I went along with it, middling along like the mediocre pony I am. I’ve been stuck in this dead-end posting for nearly a quarter of my life already.” She gave a strangled laugh. “And now I’m going to die, still middling along.”

Rye looked down quietly. “So, your father forced you into a military career?”

“Not forced.” Tyria sniffed. “But Carina and Breslik both joined as soon as they were old enough, and with my siblings and father all in the same service branch, what was I supposed to do? Become a painter? Hah.” She turned her head away. “Mom might not have minded, but Dad… he wouldn’t say anything, you understand. But every time we ate dinner or got together for some stupid nobility social function, he’d show his disapproval in all these little ways. He’d introduce me as the non-military daughter. I’d have to sit through all those speeches about the service…”

“He does sound a bit… overbearing.”

“Sisters, I don’t know why I’m even telling you this.” Tyria buried her head in the crook of her leg. “You’re not a therapist.”

Rye felt a dry smile on his lips. “No, I’m not. But I do have a war hero for a mother.”

At last, she looked at him, her eyes red. “Was she like this?”

“No. But she did want me to follow in her hoofsteps.” Rye stared distantly. “From the time I was three until I turned seven, my only goal was getting into the army and proving I could do it. I just wanted to make her proud.”

“Is she proud of what you do now?”

“Very.” Rye smiled. “Military or not, in the end she just wanted me to be successful.” He turned his smile to her. “And I’d bet my robes your father feels the same.”

Tyria smiled faintly. “You think?”

“Not a doubt.” Rye grinned at her. I have no idea. I’ve never met Jerric Metrel. But I can’t let her get caught in that trap of doubt. Doubt was the death of action, and they needed action.

He reached into his robes and removed a handkerchief. With a smile, he proffered it to her. “So come on, think positive. Let’s work on getting out of here, and leave the blame game for later.”

“I…” She took the handkerchief, wiped her eyes, and nodded. “Okay.”

Rye put a hoof to his chin. “We don’t have a crowbar, but we might be able to use a plank of wood if we can pry one loose.”

“I don’t think we’ll be able to… but we could try—” Tyria stopped short as the sound of hooves told them that the zebra from before was returning.

The green-clad pirate walked past, hauling a barrel on her back. They watched her disappear to the right. Rye heard a door creak open and slide shut. His eyes narrowed. “I bet the stairs to the top deck are that way.” He nodded slowly as a plan began to form. “We can wait until nightfall, then head up and steal a lifeboat. Once we’re off the ship, we can sail for the nearest landmass and try to get our bearings.”

“Are you sure we’re anywhere near land?”

“It’s the Carriagibbean, there are islands everywhere.” Rye sighed. “Still, I wish I had a head-compass.”

Tyria rubbed the back of her neck. “If we’re going to steal a boat, we’ll have to get out of this cell first. Any idea where the keys might be?”

“I’m sure whoever’s in charge of the brig has them. Now, getting them, that could be tricky.” Rye felt a sudden lurch as the ship crested a small wave. His stomach swam.

Tyria tilted her head. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little green.”

“Mm,” he mumbled. “That gives me an idea.” Willing his lunch to stay down, he stood and approached the cell door. He banged a hoof on it, raising a clamor of ringing metal.

Soon, a large, well-muscled zebra appeared, wearing a green scarf and looking irritated. The pirate stood on the other side of the door and glared at Rye. “Quit it, prisoner, unless you want to go swimming.”

Rye gave a theatrical moan. “I refuse to suffer this barbaric treatment any longer. I have a delicate constitution. I demand a proper bed and food. And some ginger, to prevent illness from the rocking of the boat.”

The pirate’s eyes narrowed, and he grinned. “Feeling seasick, Ambassador? I’ve got just the thing.” He walked around one of the stacks of crates, and came back holding a bucket in his mouth. Shoving it through one of the square gaps in the bars, he dropped it to the deck. “There you go.” Laughing, he turned and walked away.

Rye frowned. “Blast. I was hoping he’d go get the keys, at least.”

Tyria’s mouth twisted. “You sounded like Milliden for a second.”

“Well, I’ve spent enough time among pompous dignitaries to get the act down.” Rye eyed the gap in the bars, appraising it. “Hmm… if this bucket can fit through there…”

“You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.” Tyria raised an eyebrow. “That space is barely a quarter of a meter wide.”

“Like I said, I’m a small pony. If I take my robes off, I bet I can fit through.”

“And then what?”

“We’ll wait for it to get dark out. Night can’t be more than an hour away.” Rye looked up at the hole in the ceiling, where the beam of sunlight was rapidly fading. “I’ll squeeze out through the hole, sneak into the crew’s quarters, find the key, steal it, get you out, and then we steal a boat and get off the ship.”

Tyria shrugged. “Better than sitting here, waiting to die.” She nodded. “Let’s do it.”

The minutes passed slowly. The rocking of the boat intensified and calmed repeatedly, making Rye’s stomach do somersaults. He stared intently at the hole in the ceiling, their only indication of time. Eventually, he saw blackness beyond, signaling nightfall. They waited another two hours to make sure the majority of the crew would be asleep.

“Okay, Rye, if we’re going to do this we’d better do it now.”

“Right.” Rye shucked off his robes. He felt naked without them—well, he was naked, but it was a strange feeling nonetheless. With a deep breath, he bent down to the lowest gap in the cell bars.

He stuck his forelegs through first. When he tried to push his head in after them, he found there was not enough room. Pulling one of his legs out, he cleared enough space to awkwardly fit his head through like a puzzle piece, the tip of his horn scraping against the metal. “I’m going to need some help.”

“This is insane,” Tyria muttered as she came to aid him. Rye pretended not to hear.

“All right, push.” With Tyria’s help, he managed to squeeze his head and part of his upper body through the gap, wincing as the metal dug into his sides. About halfway through the bars, he felt a sudden jerk and his progress stopped.

“Uh-oh.” Rye swallowed. “Uh, push harder.”

He heard Tyria grunt and shove, squashing his hindquarters and back legs painfully up against the cell. “I am.”

“Um.” Rye blinked. “I think I’m stuck.”

He couldn’t actually see Tyria rolling her eyes, but he could picture it vividly. “Great.”

“Look, check my robes. Maybe there’s something in there we can use for lubricant—ink, maybe.”

He heard rustling behind him as she dug through his clothing. “How many pockets are there in this thing?”

“Never enough,” he sighed regretfully. “Hurry up, before somepony—”

Clip clop clip THUD.

Rye looked up in alarm. “Did you hear that?”

Clip THUD clip clop clip clop THUD clip clop.

A bead of sweat dripped down Rye’s forehead. Hoofsteps. We’re dead.

Clip clop clip THUD clip clop clip THUD.

What in the blazes was that sound? A peg leg? How droll.

Two zebras emerged from the shadowy hold. The smaller one was the bucket-giver, but the larger was one Rye had not seen before. He was the size of a pony, with his eyes narrowed and his head covered by a large tricorn hat. A green strip of cloth ran around the hat and off the side.

As they walked into the light of the lantern, the source of the strange noise became clear. The captain—for so he must be—was wearing a hoof-mace on his right hoof. Rye swallowed. I’d have preferred the peg leg.

“Well, well.” The smaller zebra grinned. “Looks like we got a prison break in progress, Captain.”

“Aye, it seem that way.” The captain raised an eyebrow. “I be curious, where exactly be ye planning to go once ye’re free?” His voice was slightly accented, but not as strongly as some others Rye had heard in the port. “We be in the middle of open water fer leagues around, and we’ll not be pulling in to port 'til we reach our destination. If ye were planning on hiding in the cargo hold until then, well, you’re insulting me crew’s searching ability.”

Rye smiled blandly. “Just thought I’d get out and stretch my legs a bit. It’s cramped in here.”

“If ye be eager to spread yer wings, I can oblige.” The captain favored him with an unfriendly smile. “Water’s lovely this time ’o year.”

Tyria snarled. “So why haven’t you gotten it over with and killed us already?”

Rye kicked her with one of his back legs. “Shh!”

The captain leaned his head back. “We don’t make a habit of keeping prisoners alive, true. But ye match the description of a pony known to us.”

“Oh?” Rye’s eyes narrowed. “And what description would that be?”

“Well, ye’re the first half-breed unipeg I’ve ever seen.”

“The term is pegacorn.” Rye bit back harsher words; no need to push his luck.

“Pegacorn, then,” said the captain with a leering grin. “And wearing yellow robes to boot. That makes ye an ambassador, don’t it?”

The other zebra, wearing the same grin, nodded. “I believe it does, Captain.”

“A pegacorn ambassador.” The captain eyed him up and down. “Oh, yes. Viridian’ll want to see ye in person.”

“Viridian?” Rye’s stomach, already swirling, dropped. “You’re taking us to Viridian?”

“Aye. I’m sure he’ll have plenty to talk to ye about. Old times, and all that.” The captain leaned in closer. “Course, he can’t have a conversation with a dead body, can he? So we’ll be keeping ye alive. For now.”

Rye’s mind whirled. Old times? What the hell? Do I know Viridian? He couldn’t remember ever meeting a pirate before this little misadventure.

The captain leaned back. “I just wanted to make sure meself that ye were what they said ye was. Me curiosity’s been satisfied, so ye can get back in yer cell now.”

“As much as I’d love to, I’m a little tied up at the moment.” Rye bared his teeth in something resembling a smile.

With a shrug, the captain raised his hoof-mace. Rye had a split second to think Oh, damn, before the captain smashed it into his face and pushed him back through the bars onto the floor.

He fell to the deck, curling up against the pain in his forehead. The blow had been with the flat of the hoof-mace, not the edge, but it was still extremely painful. The captain laughed. “Enjoy yer stay aboard the Nightingale. Try to escape again, and I’ll kill ye meself, Viridian or no Viridian.” He and his crony disappeared back into the depths of the ship, his hoof-mace thudding on the wood.

Tyria leaned down over Rye, gently nudging him. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’ve had worse. I think.” Rye winced, rubbing his face. He was going to have a giant bruise there come morning.

“What he said… you know Viridian?”

Rye shook his head blankly. “If I do, I don’t know who he is.”

Tyria sighed. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

With a grunt, Rye dragged himself over to his robes. He struggled to put them on, still twitching with pain. Groaning, he leaned back against the hull of the ship.

“You don’t look so good. Can I help?” Tyria frowned with concern.

“Yeah.” Rye gave her a look of queasy anticipation. “Bring the bucket over.”

10. Viridian

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Tyria raised her head at the sound of approaching hooves. A zebra mare with a satchel in her mouth walked past their cell, pausing at the door. Tyria’s stomach growled as the zebra opened her bag to pull out a few slices of bread, and then tossed them into the cell. The zebra turned and left without a word.

Rye was asleep beside her, leaning on the bars. She nudged him with a hoof, until his eyes blinked open. “Hm?”

“Lunch.” She gave him one of the slices of bread.

He took a bite and chewed. “At least they’re not starving us.”

“Mmhm.” Tyria bit into her own. The bread was slightly stale, as all their meals over the past few days had been, but it was free of mold and maggots. The pirates were being surprisingly accommodating.

It had been at least three days since their capture. Tyria and Rye drifted aimlessly in and out of sleep as the hours blurred together. When both of them were awake, they passed the time talking about home and family, trying to take their minds off of their current situation. Rye, an only child, seemed especially curious about her siblings, Breslik and Carina.

Tyria was happy to oblige him. “They’ve been getting me in trouble since the time I could walk. Carina’s always loved pranks; she’ll leave buckets over doors, soak garlic in my bathwater and generally make a pest of herself. Breslik, on the other hoof, prefers going on adventures.”

Rye grinned. “Sounds like somepony I know.” He had moved across from her to lean on the support beam that stood in the middle of their cell. “Ever find anything interesting when he dragged you off exploring?”

“Once…” Tyria smiled. “He was about four, I think. Carina is a year younger than him, and I’m a year younger than her. Breslik pulled us out of bed at three in the morning to go treasure hunting in the woods.”

“You live near the forest?”

Tyria nodded. “Our estate—if you really want to call it that—is just south of the forest’s edge, in Ferndale. The town’s fairly out of the way.” She felt a pang of homesickness. It had been a long time since she’d seen the familiar oak trees of Whitetail Forest.

“Anyway, Breslik told us that he’d found a map that would lead us all to a buried chest full of priceless gems. We all snuck out of the house before our parents could wake up. Bannen, the house-servant, nearly caught us, but he was headed back to bed after raiding the kitchen, so he didn’t stop to ask what we were doing.” She smiled. Bannen had been a wonderful pony to be around. She’d been distraught when her parents could no longer afford his salary. At least he’d stayed in Ferndale after leaving their service.

“We made our way into the woods, all alone in the dark of early morning. I was terrified, but I knew if I chickened out Carina and Breslik would never let me hear the end of it. Breslik led us on, following his map, round and round in circles through the forest. I got covered in sap and dirt and Celestia-knows what else.” Tyria grinned. “I might have enjoyed it if it hadn’t been at six in the morning.”

“So? Was there a chest?” Rye’s hoof tapped the deck.

“Hang on, I’m getting there.” Tyria had begun to notice that Rye was always in a rush, even when trapped in a prison cell in the middle of the ocean. It would do him some good to learn a little patience, she decided. Besides, it was fun to watch him fidget. “Well, we walked around for hours, getting nice and lost. By lunchtime, Carina and I put our hooves down and demanded Breslik show us the map.

“It turned out to be a map that he had drawn, with charcoal, and on one of mother’s good table napkins, no less.” Tyria rolled her eyes. “We both jumped him. I got a few good knocks in before we were through. Satisfying, but it didn't solve our problem. Eventually we realized that we had to find our way out of the forest, or our parents were going to kill us. We wandered and wandered…”

“What’d you find?” Rye had a frustrated half-smile on his face.

Tyria took a deliberately slow bite of her bread, finishing it off. “Mm. Sorry, where was I? Right, lost in the forest. Well, we stumbled through the trees, looking for a way out. My stomach was growling and my legs were tired, and I just wanted to go home and go to sleep. And then we saw it.”

She held up a hoof, picturing the scene. “A cottage, just standing there in the middle of the woods. It wasn’t a very large building, only one or two rooms at most. Carina thought maybe it had been abandoned, but then we noticed there was smoke rising from the chimney. I wondered who was inside. Carina told me it was probably an axe murderer, hiding out from the law. Sweet Sisters, she can be a prat.” She shook her head. “Breslik decided we had to investigate, of course.”

Rye grinned. “I’m starting to think I’d like your brother.”

“You would. Both of you have a…”

“Sense of adventurous spirit?”

“Lack of self-preservation instinct.” Tyria’s eyes twinkled with laughter as Rye’s mouth twisted. “There weren’t many options, in the end. We weren’t going to find our own way out of the woods. So we risked it, and knocked on the cabin door.

“A stallion answered it, looking quite surprised to see a trio of foals on his doorstep. Fortunately, he wasn’t an axe murderer. He introduced himself as Batty Brushstroke, a local artist who lived in Ferndale. The cottage was his retreat, where he spent the summer months hidden away from civilization and painting. He let us inside and fed us sandwiches while we told him how we’d ended up there. Batty agreed to take us back to Ferndale, where our parents had to be worried sick. Before we left, I snuck a peek into the cottage’s back room, and gasped.”

Rye rubbed his hooves together. “Aha! He was an axe murderer after all, with the bodies of his victims piled in the basement.”

“No,” said Tyria, rolling her eyes. “It was his art studio. He had these beautiful paintings hanging up on the walls. Pictures of the forest, of waterfalls and streams and green leaves more beautiful than I’d ever seen. I asked him how he made all those wonderful pictures, and he said to me: ‘Practice. Lots and lots of practice.’ I told him that someday I wanted to be able to do that, and he said, ‘You can, Miss Metrel, if you put your mind to it. Keep at it, never quit, and someday you’ll do great things.’ ”

Tyria paused. “He took us back into town later that day. Our parents were furious, of course, we got grounded for weeks. But after seeing Batty’s cottage I did some investigating and found out where he lived in town. Come autumn, I went to his house and asked if he could show me how to paint. I sort of became his unofficial apprentice during the next two years. He showed me how to use charcoal, oils, various other forms of wet media; how to draw, how to capture the environment on a canvas. My parents encouraged me. They thought it was a healthy interest. Until…”

She faltered. Rye tilted his head. “Did something happen to Batty?”

“No. Something happened to me.” Tyria swallowed. “It was a regular day. I had been painting a picture of Ferndale, with Batty’s help and advice. I got this strange feeling, and sort of—sank into a trance, just following the invisible lines along the canvas with my brush, bringing out the houses and the ponies walking around. I lost myself in the painting. When I came back out, I felt a weird, tingling sensation on my flanks, and I looked to discover I now had a paintbrush imprinted on them.”

“Congratulations.” Rye smiled. “I remember when I got my olive branch. Dad was convinced it meant I was going to be a cook like him.”

“You don’t understand,” said Tyria. “Dad went along with my painting because he thought it was just a hobby. We all knew the three of us were going to be Navy, that was just how things worked. Breslik was already sending out applications to the academy. When I came back home one day with a paintbrush cutie mark…”

She swallowed. “He didn’t… he didn’t yell, or anything. But he took me aside and gave me this long speech about how he wanted me to have an actual career, not trying to scrape up a living by doing art. He said it was fine if I wanted to keep painting, but he still fully expected me to pursue a real job. Meaning the Navy.”

Rye frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Not long after that, Batty moved away. He didn’t want to leave me behind, but his wife had landed a new job in Whitewall and they had to follow the money. We said our goodbyes, and he left town. I haven’t seen him since.” Tyria looked down at the floor. “I stopped painting. Carina joined up with the military, and with her and Breslik out of the house the pressure started mounting. I caved not long afterward and applied to the academy. They accept anyone named Metrel, so naturally I got in.”

Rye shifted. Tyria raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” Rye bit his lip. “I just…” he sighed. “I spent three years trying to get into the academy. Army, not Navy, but…”

Tyria blinked in surprise. “You wanted to be in the Army?”

“Like my mother.” Rye gave a sickly grin. “Some foolhardy notion about proving myself. It, well…” he flapped his wings, “it didn’t work out.”

“I see.” Tyria looked at him with renewed curiosity. “Well, eventually I graduated with mediocre marks, and got assigned as far away from any action as possible. They didn’t want to have a Metrel making a fool of herself in public; my father’s name was too important. So I ended up in Zyre, as an embassy guard.”

She looked thoughtfully up at the ray of light from the hole in the ceiling. “There’s one good thing that’s come of it, though. I found a shop in the market district that sells paints and other supplies. Life in the city can get boring, sometimes, so… I took up painting again.”

“Good,” said Rye. “You deserve a little happiness.” He beamed at her.

Tyria felt that warmth in her chest again. “Thanks.” She blinked. “Well, didn’t mean to tell you my life story, but there it is. So now I’m curious, what’s yours? You never did tell me how you got those robes.”

Rye laughed. “Like I said, it’s a long story; but I suppose we have plenty of time, now. Have you ever heard the tale of Inger the Dragonslayer?”

“Of course! Who hasn’t heard ‘The Mountain, the Mare, and the Dragonslayer’?” Instantly, Tyria found that the song was stuck in her head. She hummed the melody of the chorus.

“Well,” said Rye, settling back to get comfortable, “the storytellers tend to leave out some important parts. Most of them skip straight to Inger and Cranberry entering Sleipnord, but there was quite a bit that happened before that.”

Tyria’s eyes shot wide. “Wait a minute—didn’t you buy a necklace for a—“ Her mouth hung open slightly. “You mean that was Cranberry Sugar? The Dragonslayer’s wife?”

“The very same.” Rye smiled. “She’s sort of my foster-sister.”

Tyria blinked, stunned. War heroes were one thing, but the Dragonslayer was a modern-day legend. And now she was one degree of separation away from him. “Has she ever told you about the journey?”

Rye laughed again. “No, she doesn’t have to. I was there.”

“You were—wait, how is that…?” Tyria tilted her head. “You went to Sleipnord during the War of Whitetail?”

“My first assignment as an ambassador, though the position wasn’t official at the time.” Rye’s eyes misted over. “It all started on a chilly October morning, a week or two before the war began…”

He began to tell Tyria the real story behind the legend of the Dragonslayer, a tale of griffon assassins, messengers in the night, magical forests, and hideous monsters. Tyria listened, enthralled.

“We escaped the caves by the skin of our teeth, hobbling out into the sunlight. It was freezing cold out, and snowing hard. Everywhere we looked, there was nothing but a white, icy expanse. We’d finally made it to Sleipnord.” Rye paused, and yawned.

He stretched his legs out and smacked his lips. “It’s getting late.” It was true, their ray of sunlight had long since vanished.

“Well, don’t stop now!” Tyria groaned in exasperation. “What happened next?”

Rye gave her a sleepy smile. “I’ll tell you in the morning.” He closed his eyes and laid down, crossing his forelegs to serve as a pillow.

Tyria huffed in irritation and followed suit. As she lay there, mulling over the incredible tale he’d told, she wondered how much of it was true and how much was exaggeration for the story’s sake. Most of it had the ring of truth, but she found herself a little skeptical about the idea of a gigantic underground tunnel system in the Jotur mountains. Still, real or not, she wanted to hear the rest.

* * *

“Tyria, wake up.”

Tyria murmured and shook her head. An insistent hoof shook her, resisting her attempts to cling to sleep. She lifted her head and blinked. “Morning already?”

“Yes.” Rye’s voice was low and hushed. “Sleep well?” He looked around sharply. “They say we’ve reached our destination. I expect they’ll be moving us soon.”

Instantly roused by the news, Tyria sat up. “The Pit Viper hideout? Look around for anything distinctive once we get outside. If we ever make it out of here alive, we have to tell Zanaya about this place.”

Rye swallowed. “I’m starting to fear that might not be an option.”

Hooves sounded from farther down in the hold. Three zebras bearing machetes and the captain himself appeared, giving them both an unfriendly smile. “Come on, Equestrians. Time to meet the boss.”

Their cell was unlocked, and Tyria and Rye were hustled out. Two of the zebras bound their forelegs together with rope, leaving just enough slack to walk. They took foul-smelling strips of cloth, and Tyria grimaced as they gagged her. Beside her, Rye frowned. “Is this really neces—ack!”

The pirates escorted them up through the ship, emerging onto the top deck. Outside, Tyria squinted against the bright glare of day. It was the most light her eyes had gotten in nearly a week. The ship, along with three others, was anchored in a gorgeous cove; a little inlet guarded by a giant jut of rock that split the entrance in two. Verdant jungle surrounded the beach, stretching up as the island rose. On the sand, Tyria could see furious activity, as zebras rushed back and forth bearing barrels and crates. It reminded her of the Zyran docks, but she had a feeling that these crates were filled with sugar and rum instead of wheat or barley.

They were rowed up to shore in a little boat. As it ground to a stop on the shore, they were pushed out onto the beach. Tyria’s hooves sank into the warm sand. A cool breeze from over the water flew through her mane, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the fresh air. After four or five days in a dank, musty prison cell belowdecks, she was happy to be outside again, even if it meant that they were probably going to die in a few minutes.

The pirate captain led them into the jungle. Signs of civilization dotted their path; mostly ramshackle huts and storage buildings that were hidden inside the foliage. Zebras in green crossed past them frequently. Tyria tried to memorize the island, but had the sinking feeling it wasn’t going to matter.

At last they reached the largest building she had yet seen. It was surrounded by a short wooden fence, likely more for show than protection. The roof was covered with giant palm leaves and ferns of various kinds, camouflaging it from any pegasi flybys. Tyria felt sweat drip down the back of her neck in the heat of the jungle.

They pushed inside. The captain led them through a hallway, before coming to a stop at an open door arch covered by a rough cloth curtain. He motioned for his zebras to hold them there, and pushed inside.

“What is it?” The voice from the room beyond was warm and melodious, with traces of a strange accent she had never heard before. Tyria surmised it to be Viridian himself. “Oh, Captain Zevan, you’re finally back. Good.”

Rye made a strangled noise. His eyes bulged out, and he mumbled through his gag, “Oh, fhit.”

The voice continued, “Did you get the warehouse emptied?”

“Aye,” said the captain’s voice. “It were a close thing, too. We were discovered by a pair of Equestrian embassy personnel on the final moving night. We had to ditch a lot of sugar to get everything else out.”

“But the Gryphan powder is still safe, yes?”

“Most ’o it. A few barrels broke open when the Equestrians wrecked the warehouse.”

A grunt of irritation. “That could set us back considerably.”

“Don’t worry. Tatius agreed to send us an additional two dozen barrels by the end of the month.”

“Very well. How did these ponies cause so much damage? You said it was just two of them?”

“Yes. Not to worry, though, we caught them.”

“Good.” The voice relaxed. “I trust you disposed of the bodies discreetly.”

“Better. We’ve got them here, right now.”

“What?” The voice grew sharp. Tyria looked over at Rye, who was wearing an expression of absolute shock. “You brought prisoners here? Zevan, you idiot, if we’re discovered—”

“Calm down, boss. I think ye might want to see them.” Their guards took that as a cue and shoved Tyria and Rye into the room.

It looked like an office, albeit a shabby one. The wall opposite the door was covered with a giant green flag displaying a viper crawling through a skull, the pirates’ colours. Beneath the flag sat a makeshift desk, a large slab of wood sitting atop two palm tree stumps. And behind the desk, Tyria caught her first glimpse of Viridian.

He was unmistakably a pony, though shorter than she had expected. His coat was gray, a darker shade than Rye’s, and his mane was curly and black. Peering out from his sunken face were two stunning blue eyes, brighter than any she had ever seen. The pony looked like he’d seen some hard times, evidenced by the large scar running down his right side. It was too ragged to have come from any weapon. Tyria swallowed. Whatever had given that to him had to be huge.

Viridian saw Rye’s robes and his eyes widened. “You brought Milliden here? Zevan, he’s supposed to be—” he froze as he saw Rye’s horn. His eyes flicked down to the wings that poked through the yellow robes, and widened further.

“Now ye see why I thought ye might be interested.” Zevan smiled.

Rye and Viridian stared at each other so intently that Tyria thought they might forget to blink. Viridian slowly walked around his desk and approached them. “Impossible.”

He reached Rye, looking into his eyes. Tyria saw Rye’s ear flick once. Viridian looked at the zebras. “Everyone besides Zevan, out. Now.” One of the guards made as if to protest, but Viridian whirled at him and snapped, “Out!”

Cowed, the zebras walked out of the room. Tyria heard their hooves tread down the hall. Now it was two on two, but Tyria didn’t dare make a move with the captain and his deadly hoof-mace still in the room. Beside her, Rye was shaking. She wondered if it was fear or anger. Clearly he did know this pony, after all.

“Captain, please remove their gags.” As Zevan did so, Viridian shook his head slowly. “Unbelievable. Why would he be here?” He tilted his head. “Pull up his robes.”

The captain did so, revealing Rye’s hindquarters. Viridian stared at the tiny olive branch imprinted on Rye’s flanks, and a smile broke out on his face like a filly opening her Hearth's Warming presents. “Rye Strudel.”

“Breyr.” Rye looked angrier than Tyria had ever seen him. “Still using a snake motif, I see. Fitting that your house sigil’s been attached to a bunch of thieves and murderers.”

Viridian—or Breyr—blinked, apparently still stunned by Rye’s presence. “The gods,” he said firmly. “The gods have delivered you into my hooves. I am to have justice at last.”

He broke out in a manic giggle, a disturbing noise coming from an adult stallion. “Oh, what fun we’re going to have.”

Rye spat on the floor. “You should be dead.”

“Then you ought to have killed me when you had the chance. How is dear Eberhardt, these days?”

“The king is doing well, thank you.”

Tyria wondered why Rye had emphasized the word like that, but Viridian’s cheer instantly vanished. He smacked Rye across the face with a hoof. Tyria growled and stepped forward.

“And who’s this?” asked Viridian, looking her up and down. “Tired of the pink one, have you? I’m glad, the little tart annoyed me.”

“Shut up,” said Rye, his ears flattening. “Don’t you dare insult Cranberry.”

Viridian ignored him, and peered curiously at Tyria. “Who are you?”

“Tyria Metrel, embassy security.” She scowled.

“Ah, a bodyguard.” Viridian looked sideways at Rye, and smiled. “Or more than that?” He ran a hoof along Tyria’s neck, up to her chin.

Rye jumped at him. Before he even made it to Viridian, Zevan slammed his hoof-mace into Rye’s side. He collapsed with a thud, wheezing. Tyria dropped to his side, terrified. “Rye!”

His face was twisted with pain, but he lifted his head and glared at Viridian. “So this is what you’ve been reduced to? Robbing merchant ships and hiding in the jungle like some two-bit smuggler?”

“Yes,” said Viridian, his face darkening. “Thanks to you. I was meant to be king of the north, but you and your thrice-damned party of foreigners poisoned the thanes against me.”

Rye shook his head, contempt etched in his face. “You did that when you started murdering your competition.”

Viridian growled. “I’m not going to let the same thing happen this time. Soon enough, Zyre will be mine, and I will have the power that has been denied to me for far too long.”

Tyria’s mouth gaped in disbelief. “What?” She shook her head. “You’re crazy if you think you can take Zyre with thirteen ships and a few hundred zebras. And even if you could, you’d never be able to hold it.”

“You’ll see, soon enough.” Viridian smiled. “But your friend won’t.”

“I won’t let you harm him,” she said, standing.

“You won’t have a choice. Zevan?”

Tyria felt the hoof-mace slam into her. She fell over, hitting the floor hard. Viridian giggled again. “Take the pegacorn out and throw him in a cage. Don’t hurt him too badly. I want to break the first bones myself.”

Tyria struggled to stand, her vision spinning. “Rye!”

Zevan was hauling Rye out of the room. Rye looked at her over the zebra’s shoulder, then over to Viridian. “Dammit, Breyr!”

“I’ll see you soon enough, old friend. Your lady here and I are going to enjoy ourselves for a little while, first.” Viridian waved a hoof in farewell. “Don’t worry, we’ll get to spend plenty of quality time together for the next few days.”

Rye struggled to break free of the zebra's hold, but Zevan outmassed him. He was spitting curses as the pirate captain dragged him out of the room.

As they vanished, Tyria’s heart hammered in her chest. She pushed herself upright, and staggered back from Viridian, staring at him. She couldn’t fight very well with her hooves tied together, but she’d be damned if she let him near her. “Go ahead. Try it.”

Viridian snorted. “Please.” He walked back around behind his desk, and sat. “Relax. I'm not going to hurt you.” He gave her a jeering smile. “You're not my type.”

“Then what was the point of—”

“The point is to fill our little friend’s head with all sorts of sordid ideas. Not all torture is physical. Have a seat.” He gestured to the space before his desk.

Tyria, still giving him a wary glare, slowly approached the desk and sat down. “What do you want with us?”

“Not you. Rye Strudel.” Viridian’s eyes flashed. “He and I have a debt to settle. You…” He gave her another shrewd scan. “I haven’t decided what to do with you, yet.”

An idea leaped into her head. “Let me work for you.”

“Oh?” Viridian gave her an amused half-smile. “I didn’t realize the life of a security officer was so terrible as to make piracy a better alternative.”

“My job was keeping him safe. I’ve obviously failed. If I go back there, they’ll court-martial me. And he’s Celestia’s personal ambassador, if he gets killed, I might well follow. At least, working for you, they’ll never get to me.”

Viridian smiled. “I see. And if I give you the run of the camp, you won’t abuse that freedom to put together some half-baked escape plan with your friend, is that it?” His smile turned into a smirk. “I’m afraid not, Miss… Metrel, was it?”

Foiled, Tyria took a different tack. “You said you were planning to take over Zyre. You can’t seriously think that’s possible.”

“Oh, but it is. And I will. Thanks to Tatius Gableclaw.”

Tyria leaned forward. “What is he smuggling for you? What’s this Gryphan powder?”

“Do you really expect me to tell you?” Viridian gave her a skeptical look. He rapped his desk a few times, and a zebra guard entered. “Please take the lady to her cell. Put her in the same one as the pegacorn. Having somepony to talk to will make him last longer.”

With no other option, Tyria allowed the guard to lead her out of the room. As they passed through the curtain, she saw Viridian turn back to the parchment on his desk.

The guard led her back through the jungle, taking a different path than the one that led to the beach. They reached what could only be the main pirate camp, a series of shacks and hovels arranged in a series of rows. At the far end of the camp were a series of bamboo cages.

Only one of them was occupied. A little lump of yellow was lying in the corner. Tyria felt a chill of fear. As the guard opened the cage, she rushed inside. “Rye!”

At the sound of her voice, Rye’s head lifted. “Tyria!” He had a giant bruise on his face, and his lip was bleeding. “He didn’t—did he hurt you?”

“No,” she said, sitting down beside him. The guard locked them in and left.

“Thank Celestia.” Rye breathed a sigh of relief and sat back against the bars. He looked defeated, something she had never seen before.

“Hey, come on.” Tyria tried to keep her voice light, but that giant black mark on Rye’s face hurt to look at. “We have to think positive, remember? Figure out an escape plan, be proactive.”

Rye looked distant. “Thane Breyr. I can’t believe he’s still alive.”

“What happened between you two?”

“I made some enemies on that mission to Sleipnord.” Rye breathed in and winced. Tyria put a comforting hoof on his shoulder, and he smiled at her. “He’s… he was a noble of sorts. He was exiled when he tried to take the throne of Sleipnord.”

“Hmpf. He’s fallen far.”

“Yes.” Rye’s smile faded. “And he’s changed. He’s always been power-hungry, but back in that room, he seemed… unhinged. I’m scared of what exile might have done to him.”

“When I was talking with him… all he did was talk about you. He’s obsessed, Rye.”

“I was afraid of that. He’s had four years to sit on that desire for revenge. Did he say what he’s planning to do to us?”

Tyria swallowed. “He doesn’t know about me. You…”

“I can guess.” Rye looked up at the bright blue sky that poked through the trees. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”

“I’m kind of glad you did,” said Tyria, smiling. “If you hadn’t shown up, I’d still be grinding away at work, bored out of my mind. And… I’m happy I got to meet you.”

Rye laughed, then winced and clutched his ribs. “Even if means getting killed?”

“Yes.” She was surprised to find that she meant it.

He smiled at her. “Me too.” He leaned his head on her shoulder. “Wake me up if you think of anything?”

“Sure.” Tyria watched the breeze play through his mane, her thoughts drifting aimlessly like the wind. Soon he was asleep, breathing softly.

Tyria looked at his horn, wishing she had the magic to open the cage. I have to get us out of here. She scratched a hoof in the dirt, listening to the sounds of jungle life all around them. The island really was lovely, aside from the pirates. If only she had her brushes…

Tyria sighed and leaned her head against Rye’s. If they didn’t escape, then it wasn’t just their lives in jeopardy. All of Zyre might be in danger. Her old mentor’s words came back to her, bringing a smile to her lips. Keep at it, and never quit. Someday, you’ll do great things.

11. The Detective and the Firewing

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Morning dawned warm and humid in Zyre. Wheatie woke to find his sheets stuck to his fur, and his head clouded by the muggy air. He fought free of the sheets and his stupor, willing himself to wakefulness.

With a yawn, he rolled out of bed and began his morning exercise routine. A few sets of pushups, a few wing stretches, just enough to get the last sleepy slowness out of his system. In this heat, though, even the lightest exertions soon left him with a faint sheen of sweat on his coat. Really, couldn’t the embassy have given them a room with a window?

Wiping his brow with his towel, he gave Rye’s empty bed a frown. He’d hoped the ambassador’s date would go well. There was something about the little pegacorn that made you want to root for him. But frankly, he hadn’t expected it to go that well.

A night at a lovely young mare’s place was one thing, but three of them in a row? It just didn’t fit with his impression of Rye. As the weekend passed and the ambassador failed to reappear, an uneasy feeling began to grow in the back of Wheatie’s mind. By Monday morning, unease was blossoming into concern.

Telling himself not to overreact, Wheatie picked up his latest book on Gryphan trade goods. He was now absolutely certain that he’d run across that mysterious black sugar Rye had mentioned, but its identity continued to elude him.

He was growing annoyed at himself for wasting all his free time in the embassy instead of exploring the city. Zyre was bound to have some interesting night life. Wheatie had been thrilled with the assignment when Inger gave it to him.

“You’re headed to the Carriagibbean, Wheatie. Sun, sand, margaritas, and mares. Enjoy yourself, but make sure you give the ambassador whatever help he asks for. He’s an old friend.”

A paid vacation, or so he’d thought, but strange things had been happening ever since their arrival. Wheatie was beginning to wish he’d kept a closer eye on the ambassador.

He slammed the book shut. “That’s it,” he muttered to himself, “I’m going after him.” Wheatie tossed the book to his bed, and started getting dressed.

The uniform was comfortably snug. Privately, Wheatie thought it made him look rather stuffy; but looks could be deceiving. Beneath his benign, slightly airy exterior was a veteran of the War of Whitetail, one of the ponies who had helped defend the bridge of Trellow, kill a dragon, and defeat the leader of the Gryphan armies in personal combat. He’d earned every one of the service ribbons that adorned his chest.

Straightening his collar, he went over his plan of action. He’d find some pretext to ask Captain Petalbloom where Tyria lived—she’d lent him a book or something—then he’d head over to her house, and bang on the door until they opened it. Once he’d made sure that Rye was there, he’d think of some way to extricate himself without embarrassing the ambassador any more than necessary.

Wheatie opened the door, left the room, and immediately crashed into a yellow-robed pony. Parchment flew everywhere as the other stallion fell on his rear. It took Wheatie a brief moment to realize that the pony wasn’t Rye.

“Watch where you’re going, you idiot!” Ambassador Milliden scowled and began pulling his paperwork toward him across the floor.

“My apologies, Ambassador.” Wheatie bent to help him, but the ambassador waved a hoof in dismissal.

“Get out of my mane. I have an urgent meeting in ten minutes, and now I’m going to be late.” He glared at Wheatie. “Go on, shoo!”

Wheatie held up a placating hoof and retreated down the stairs, shaking his head. He certainly puts the ‘ass’ in ambassador. How on Earth did he get this job?

If he remembered correctly, the captain’s office was to the left of the bottom of the stairs. But when he reached the lobby, he found an unexpected new arrival; a zebra with a silver bracelet just above her right hoof was talking to the embassy secretary. Wheatie raised an eyebrow. If he wasn’t mistaken, the silver band on her leg meant she was with the City Watch. What was a cop doing at the embassy?

She was still speaking with a bland smile when he arrived on the lobby floor. “Yes, well, she didn’t show up for lunch on Saturday. I wasn’t terribly worried, but when I checked her home yesterday she wasn’t there, either.”

The secretary shrugged. “I’m sorry, Detective, but we haven’t seen Tyria yet today. She’s an hour late, actually.”

Wheatie’s eyes narrowed. He walked up to the desk and gave the two zebra mares a disarming smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” The zebra’s eyes briefly scanned his medals, and one of her eyebrows rose, but she turned back to the secretary. “Well, when she comes in, tell her to come see me after work.”

“All right, Detective.” The secretary gave a well-practiced smile. “Have a nice day.”

Wheatie cleared his throat. “Ah, Detective…”

“Hm?” The zebra looked mildly irritated.

He smiled again. “You’re looking for Tyria Metrel? Me too.”

The detective’s eyes sharpened. She flashed a glance at the secretary, then tipped her head toward the door. “Outside, please.”

Wheatie followed her out into the street. Immediately she turned and led him down the wall. When they were a fair distance from the door, she whirled and gave him a hard look. “All right, soldier boy. Why are you looking for Tyria?”

“Not her, exactly. She and my friend, Ambassador Strudel, went out together on Friday night—”

“Right, the play.” The detective’s brow furrowed. “And he’s missing too?”

“Yes.” Wheatie frowned. “I was just about to go looking for him at Metrel’s place.”

“They aren’t there.” The zebra put a hoof to her mouth and nibbled on it. “I’m starting to get worried.”

“Ah, sorry, but who are you?”

“Detective Zanaya, with the Zyre City Watch.” She extended a hoof.

Wheatie shook it. “Staff Sergeant Wheatie Specklestraw, Equestrian Air Forces.”

“Ah, so you’re the Firewing.” Zanaya gave him a dry smile. “Tyria mentioned you.” The smile vanished. “Look, Tyria’s a good friend. She’s on thin ice already with that captain at the embassy. If she and your ambassador have gone AWOL, or something equally stupid… Until we know for sure, I’d like to keep the fact that she’s missing hidden from Petalbloom.”

“I see.” Wheatie sighed. “If she doesn’t show up for work, the captain’s going to find out anyway.”

“She’s taking a sick day.” Zanaya waved a hoof. “Look, we can make up the excuses after we figure out what happened to them.”

“Uh, aren’t you on duty? What about your boss?”

“I’m PTV; Petty Theft and Vandalism. The crimes we work on don’t need a lot of oversight. I’ve got a very loose leash.” Zanaya frowned. “I’d rather not involve my partner in this, though. If it goes south, the commissioner won’t be happy about me wasting department time.” She looked at Wheatie appraisingly. “But I’m not going to be able to do it alone.”

Wheatie nodded. “You want my help?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll help me find Rye?”

“If you help me find Tyria without Petalbloom catching wind of it.” She offered him her hoof again. “Deal?”

“Deal.” He shook it. “Where do we start?”

Zanaya started walking off into the street, and Wheatie fell in behind her. “Tyria’s got a few hangouts she frequents,” said Zanaya over her shoulder. “We’ll start with the ones closest to the theater district and move southwest from there.”

Wheatie voiced his growing fears. “What if something’s happened to them?”

Zanaya grimaced. “Then we report them to Missing Persons, and hope for the best.”

“How often do ponies go missing in Zyre?”

“Often enough.” She bit her lip. “We find bodies in the waterfront, every now and then.”

Wheatie swallowed. “Then let’s hurry.”

* * *

They searched throughout the morning, checking restaurants, bookstores, and art shops. As lunchtime approached, Zanaya led Wheatie to a tiny park on the edge of the political district. He was surprised to find temperate climate trees growing there. The sight of trees from his homeland was a pleasant one.

“Why does Tyria come here?” he asked.

Zanaya looked around, scanning the area. “She likes painting the trees.”

“Painting…” Wheatie rubbed his chin. “Rye mentioned her paintings. He told me about a specific piece, said it was a picture of the docks at twilight.”

“The docks, eh?” Zanaya pursed her lips. “I know the place. Come on, let’s go.”

As they left, Wheatie looked around and smiled. “This is quite the city.”

“Really?” Zanaya gave him an amused glance. “In my experience, most Equestrians find Zyre too crowded.”

“I grew up in Canterlot. I’m used to the noise and the crowds.” Wheatie scratched his neck.

She smiled faintly. “Have you ever been to a zebra port before?”

“No.” He tilted his head. “Is there something special about them?”

“They tend to be a little more… adventurous than Equestrian ports.” She flicked her tail. “Hang around long enough, soldier boy, and you’ll find out.” She turned down a side street. Wheatie raised an eyebrow and followed.

They made it to the docks shortly after noon, fighting their way through the constant press of sailors. The noise of the dockworkers threatened to drown out their conversation. Zanaya pointed to the far end of a nearby pier, and yelled over the din, “Over there!”

Wheatie met her on the edge of the pier. He looked over the edge, and watched his reflection dance in the crystal-clear blue water of the shallows. “No sign of them.”

“Well, we can widen the search a bit.” Zanaya looked back and forth. “Hang on a minute. Do you see that?” She pointed to the nearest pier on their left.

“Hm?” Wheatie craned his neck. “See what?”

“There’s a hole in the wood over there.” Zanaya looked at him, her mouth twisting with worry. “They’re usually pretty good about keeping these piers repaired. That has to be new.”

“You think it was them?”

“I think it bears investigating.”

Wheatie shrugged. “You’re the detective.”

She sighed. “We’ll have to fight through the mob again.”

“No, we won’t.” Wheatie grinned. “Hop on.” He flapped his wings.

Zanaya gave him a wary look. “Um… I’ve never flown before.”

“It’s fun. You’ll like it.” He bent a leg. “Hop on.”

“You sure you can lift me?”

“Sure. Zebras are lighter than ponies.” With a charming smile, he extended his wings. “Shall we?”

Clenching her teeth, Zanaya slid over his back. “I’m going to regret this.”

He took off, enjoying the rush of air past his face. Between the walk from Canterlot, the boat trip to Zyre, and his research at the embassy, he hadn’t been getting to fly nearly as often as he liked. He soared up into the sky, feeling Zanaya’s legs wrap tightly around his neck. He grinned.

“Is this—do we really need to go this high?” Her voice sounded higher-pitched than normal.

“Scared of heights?” he called over his shoulder.

“I didn’t think so…” She squeezed tighter. “Now I’m not so sure.”

“All right.” He circled, descending toward the pier. They touched down lightly with a clunk as his hooves hit the wood. Wheatie knelt with one leg and let her off.

“Well.” Zanaya had gone slightly pale. “Now I know why zebras aren’t born with wings.”

Wheatie inspected the hole in the pier. “Rotten planks. Doesn’t look like intentional damage, the wood just broke.”

Zanaya leaned down and began eyeing the splinters. “Maybe.” She slowly circled the hole.

“Well, I don’t see anything to suggest it was them.” Wheatie looked back at the city, and sighed in frustration. “Blast it.”

“Wheatie.” Zanaya pointed to the opposite side of the hole.

He leaned in to take a closer look. Wheatie inhaled sharply when he saw what she was pointing to. Hanging from the edge, caught in the splintered wood, was an unmistakable canary-yellow clothing fiber.

“He fell in.” Zanaya started walking down the pier. “He’d have swum back out, taking the shortest path…” Her pace quickened as she made her way to the stairs that led down to the beach itself. Wheatie followed.

They walked down onto the sand. Zanaya looked around, frowning. “If this happened on Friday, there won’t be much of a trail left thanks to the wind, but…” She bent over some marks in the sand. “They’re distorted, but these have to be hoofprints. Lots of them. There were more than two ponies here.”

As Zanaya leaned down to study the marks, Wheatie blinked. “Any idea what happened?”

She followed the sand with her hoof. “Somebody was lying here. I’d guess a zebra, from the size of the mark. And another over here, but this one’s a pony.”

Wheatie’s heart rate spiked. “Rye’s pretty short. He’s about the size of an average zebra. A little smaller, even.”

“These skid marks in the sand… they were dragged a short distance, then the marks vanish. Looks like whoever made the hoofprints hauled them off.”

“Damn. Muggers wouldn’t take them prisoner.”

“No.” Zanaya shook her head. She looked up at him. “Did they tell you about the warehouse?”

“Yes.” Wheatie sat over the marks in the sand. “He said the pirates got good looks at them. If they were down here on the docks and the Vipers showed up…”

Zanaya swore. “They’ve been missing for three days, then.” Her face fell in dismay. “The Pit Vipers don’t usually take prisoners. I don’t think Missing Persons will be able to help us.”

“The warehouse.” Wheatie stood. “We need to see that warehouse.”

“I don’t have a warrant, yet.” She scowled. “My boss is having trouble convincing the judge that there’s reasonable suspicion of illegal activity in there.”

Wheatie made a throw-away motion with his hoof. “Forget the warrant.”

Zanaya looked scandalized. “We can’t just break into it! It’s private property!”

“We need to find our friends. That warehouse is the only lead we have.” Wheatie started for the stairs. “Come on.”

She rushed to catch up with him. “This is a terrible idea.”

“If you think of a better one that doesn’t involve waiting for Rye and Tyria to wash up on a beach sometime next month, by all means.”

Zanaya sighed in defeat. “It’s down by the Dromedarian section.”

They walked along the waterfront, making their way north past the Equestrian and Gryphan docks. Soon Wheatie could see the flag of Dromedaria, a trio of pyramid structures and a rising sun, hanging from the masts of the ships.

“This is the place.” Zanaya pointed to one of the buildings. They walked up to the entrance. “What are you going to do, break a window?”

Wheatie pushed on the door, and it slid easily open. He smirked, and Zanaya rolled her eyes. She pushed past him into the warehouse. Wheatie was about to follow when he saw a flash of yellow in the reflection of one of the warehouse windows.

He turned over his shoulder to see a yellow-robed pony descending from one of the ships. Squinting, he could make out the distinctive lack of a horn or wings.

“What the hell…?” Why is Milliden on a Dromedarian ship? Must’ve been that important meeting he mentioned. But… what was it about?

Wheatie filed it away to mull over later, and went into the warehouse. As his eyes adjusted to the darker interior of the building, he stopped dead and blinked in surprise.

Zanaya gave a sigh of disgust. “This is what happens when the warrants come too slow.” She looked around and shook her head.

The warehouse was completely bare. It was clear that it had been emptied a while ago; there was a thin layer of dust on the floor. The door on the far side of the warehouse was unblocked by any barrels or crates. Whatever had been in here was long gone.

“Look around. We might find something.” Zanaya sighed. “Maybe.”

They swept the floor, looking for more yellow fibers or strands of brown that would signify a pony’s mane. It wasn’t until Wheatie reached the far side of the building that he discovered something. Fine black grains were mixed in with the thin layer of dust. His eyes lit with excitement. Wheatie scraped a small pile of the black dust together, and leaned down. He inhaled slowly, and his eyes shot open. Oh, no.

“Zanaya! We’ve got a problem.” He stood and beckoned her over. When she reached him, he pointed down to the little black pile. “Smell it.”

She raised an eyebrow, but complied. Her nose wrinkled. “Smells like something burnt. Doesn’t look like ash, though.”

Wheatie felt his heart pounding in his chest. “That’s blackpowder.”

She gave him a dry look. “Very astute.”

He scrunched his mouth up. “No, blackpowder. It’s a Gryphan alchemical compound. They use it to make firebombs. They’re like mage fireballs that non-unicorns can use.” He looked distantly into space. “I’ve run into them before. At Trellow. I’ll never forget the smell.”

“What, you mean this stuff burns?” Zanaya lifted a bit of it with her hoof.

“It doesn’t burn. It explodes.” Wheatie felt sweat on his neck.

She lifted her head. “How powerful is it?”

He pointed to the little pile. “That could take your eyes out. About a hoof-full is enough to kill a pony outright.”

Zanaya slowly let the powder fall to the floor. “I wonder what they’re going to use it for?”

Wheatie’s collar was growing damp. “Zanaya, Rye said they had over sixty barrels of this stuff.”

She went very pale. “Then they could blow up any building in the city.”

“The Marquis’s estate?”

“Maybe.” Zanaya’s eyes narrowed. “I think it’s time we had a talk with Tatius Gableclaw.”

12. The Serpent's Mark

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Tyria heard them before she saw them. The sound of voices broke through the ambient jungle noises, and she looked up from the yellow cloth in her hooves. Somepony barked a laugh. They must have returned.

She scrambled to her hooves in the empty cage, racing over to the side that faced the pirate camp. In the dark night, she strained to catch a glimpse of the approaching party. Beyond the giant campfire that roared in the fire pit between the buildings, she could see fuzzy shadows moving closer.

There were four zebras, the same number that had come for Rye several hours earlier. They were dragging him between them, pulling him backwards across the ground. It was impossible to tell in the darkness if he was moving. Tyria bit her lip.

When the zebras reached the cage, one of them brandished a knife at her. Tyria retreated from the door, eyeing them warily. The pirates opened the cage and tossed Rye inside, then slammed the bamboo door closed and relocked it. They turned and left, one of the zebras bursting out into laughter.

She rushed to Rye’s side, gingerly rolling him over to lie on his stomach. “How bad?”

His back was covered with deep lacerations from the bite of a whip. They were hours old, and the blood had already begun to congeal. His wings were matted with the stuff. Tyria felt her eyes water as she counted the gashes. “Seven?”

Rye’s eyes were unfocused, and his breathing heavy. “I started screaming after two. I lost count after three.” His head slumped to the ground. “Breyr and one of his goons took turns.”

Tyria began unbuttoning her uniform, noticing glumly that it had acquired several new holes over the past week. “Shh. Just rest. It’s over.”

“For now.” Rye’s face twisted in anger, before settling back into determined frostiness. “But I can take it. I can take anything he throws at me. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of breaking. Not going to…” He trailed off into quiet muttering.

With her khaki uniform off, Tyria removed her white undershirt. She placed a hoof inside and grasped the hem with her mouth, then pulled as hard as she could. The fabric ripped along the stitching. “This is going to hurt a bit.”

Rye nodded wearily. He pushed himself up an inch from the ground. Tyria slid the shirt underneath him, trying her best not to touch him. “Okay, hold still.” She pulled the cloth around and over his back and wings, cringing as it draped across his wounds. There was only enough cloth to wrap him once. She pulled the fabric tight, drawing a little squeak of pain from him, and tied it off.

The white fabric was soon stained red, but Rye didn’t seem to care. “Got my robes?”

“Yes.” She brought them over to him, sitting beside his unmoving body. “Need something from the pockets?”

“Pillow.” Rye motioned to her.

Tyria smiled despite herself. She rolled the yellow robes up and slid them under his head. Rye exhaled. “Thanks.”

Feeling miserable, Tyria watched the bloodstains spread on the makeshift gauze. “I’m sorry, Rye.”

“Don’t be.” Rye closed his eyes, breathing shallowly. “This is between me and him.”

“They’ve been going at you for three days, and I’m trapped in here, doing nothing—” she faltered. “I just… I hate feeling this helpless. Can I help you somehow?”

“You are helping.” Rye’s eyes blinked open, and he smiled. “You’re giving me something to count on. A little hope goes a long way.” He shifted and winced as the cloth brushed over his back. “Of course, finding a way out of here would be great, too.”

“No luck so far.” Tyria shook her head. “We might be able to break the bars if we buck hard enough, but it would make enough noise to bring the whole camp down on us. Even if we could somehow sneak out, I’m not sure where we’d go. We’re on an island somewhere in the Carriagibbean, but I haven’t a clue which. It’s probably one of the little ones the mapmakers don’t even bother naming. I’ll… I’ll keep trying.”

Rye nodded in acceptance. “I’ll just have to stay alive as long as I can, to spite him.”

And how long will that be? Tyria lay down and curled up, dreading the next day.

* * *

Rye woke feeling stiff. Over the past few days he’d been beaten, whipped, and humiliated, but the future promised even worse. Breyr had hinted that he was going to start breaking bones next, one by one.

Screw him. If he thinks I’ll give him the satisfaction of breaking my spirit, he’s sorely mistaken. He inhaled the humid jungle air, gathering his wits for the day to come. If he was lucky, he would have a few hours before the thugs showed up.

He wasn’t lucky. He had barely been awake for ten minutes before the sound of hooves on the jungle dirt alerted him to the approach of a guard. Tyria, already awake, looked pale and drawn.

Rye sat up, dull pain radiating through his back. “How many?”

“One.” Tyria swallowed, then abruptly leaned forward and hugged him around the neck. “Just hang on, okay?”

“I will.” Rye hugged her back, wishing for one brief moment that he would not have to let go.

The zebra knocked on the cage. “Not interrupting, am I?”

Rye closed his eyes and sighed. “Let’s get this over with.” He stood shakily.

The zebra snorted. “Not today.” He dumped a bundle of cloth through the bars. “Viridian sends his regards.”

Tyria grabbed the bundle and unwrapped it. There was an entire loaf of bread, a flask of water, and a bottle filled with something liquid. She looked up at the zebra. “What’s going on?”

“The boss has decided to give you a day off. Get your strength up. You’ll need it.” The zebra softened. “That bottle has some ointment for your cuts.”

Rye gave him a wary look. “Why?”

“Boss doesn’t want to kill you for a long, long time.” The pirate shook his head. “What’d you do to make him so mad?”

“I outed him for betraying his kinsponies, his vassals, and his servants.” Rye stared intently at the pirate. “He’s a pathological traitor. He’ll turn on all of you too, eventually.”

The zebra’s sympathy vanished instantly. “Bah. Thanks to Viridian, we’re getting nice and fat on sugar and gold. He’s the best leader we’ve ever had. If you think I’m gonna take your word over his, you’re an idiot.” The zebra left, shaking his head.

Rye sat down, relief sweeping through him. This reprieve would make tomorrow even worse by comparison, but the thought of a day without pain made him feel feathery and lightheaded.

With Tyria’s help, he applied the ointment to the jagged cuts on his back. They tied the gauze tightly over them, and he sighed at the cool touch of the liquid. “Thanks.” He grimaced. “Think they’re going to scar?”

“Those were pretty deep.” Tyria swallowed. “I’m afraid so.”

“It’s okay. I hear mares think scars are exotic.” He grinned at her.

Tyria smiled back. “Some of us.”

Rye took a drink from the flask, enjoying the lukewarm water as it poured down his parched throat. He passed it to Tyria. While she drank, he watched her mane drift in the wind. Even covered in dirt and sweat, she looked beautiful. He tapped his hooves together. “Tyria…” I think I’m in love with you.

She put down the flask. “Hm?”

Not the time, Rye. “Uh… have, uh, have you thought of an escape plan, yet?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“No worries. I’m sure you will.” Rye bit into the bread. “They’re not guarding you as closely as me. If you see an opportunity, take it. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m not going to leave you behind, Rye,” she said firmly. “We get out of here together, or not at all.”

“Thank you,” he said, giving her a simple smile.

They finished breakfast, and Rye laid back down to rest. “I wonder what he’s going to do tomorrow. Something with fire, I bet.”

Tyria shivered. “Don’t be so morbid. Let’s talk about something else.” She poked his robes. “Why don’t you tell me the rest of that story?”

“All right.” Rye shifted to get comfortable on the makeshift pillow, and launched back into the tale. He told her about meeting the northern warrior Eberhardt, and their journey back to the hall of Saddlestead. He described the trek through the wilderness on a quest to the roof of the world, and the guardian they found there. As the sun sank in the sky, he reached the part of the story involving Breyr.

“The Nordponies were rough and dangerous. When I met Breyr, he seemed instantly different. He was cultured, urbane, and direct. I liked him as soon as we met. I spent days speaking with the nobles, trying to find a suitable candidate for the throne, and Breyr was always at my side, helping me choose.

“I trusted him, completely. I thought I’d found an ally in the messy web of northern politics. And then, the night before the decision, he betrayed me.” Rye’s eyes burned with remembered anger. “He betrayed us all. Braki and Erik were killed by his assassins. My friends and I nearly followed them. We barely escaped, fleeing into the wilderness.”

Tyria scratched a hoof through the dirt. “Sounds like it still hurts.”

“It does.” Rye shook his head. “I let him get under my skin. I thought he was a friend, someone I could trust—and he stabbed me in the back. Literally. It was a good thing I was wearing armor when his hired blade came after me.” He stamped a hoof on the ground. “Treacherous snake.”

Tyria looked sadly at his bandages. “Those aren’t the first scars he’s given you.”

“No.” Rye turned his eyes down. “I suppose not.”

It was getting dark out. Rye lay back down to get some sleep before the next day of Breyr’s vengeance. He stared at the flickering campfire beyond the bars. Behind him, Tyria rolled up the cloth from breakfast, their only meal that day. She would likely need the cloth for more bandages soon.

To his happy surprise, she lay down beside him, nestled up against his bandages. She laid a hoof over his back, making sure they were still wrapped tightly. Her voice quiet, she asked, “Are you afraid?”

Rye swallowed. “Yes.”

Tyria left the bandages and nuzzled up against his neck. “Be strong. I’m here for you.”

“I know.” He closed his eyes and nuzzled her back. Laying his head down, he waited for sleep to come.

* * *

Tyria’s dreams were shattered by the knocking of a hoof on the hard bamboo bars of their cage. A party of six zebras was waiting outside. At the center of their group stood Viridian himself. He had a dangerous smile on his face. Tyria felt her stomach drop. If he’d come himself, then this was going to be ugly.

Beside her, Rye’s eyes flicked open. He raised his head defiantly. “Morning, viper.”

Viridian’s smile broadened. “Good morning, Rye. I’ve got something special for you, today.”

“I can’t wait.” Rye stood, his legs quivering. Tyria helped him up, her heart sinking.

“We’re going to take a trip down to the beach. You, me, my guards, and your friend here.” Viridian nodded to the zebra on his right, who unlocked the door.

Rye stiffened. “Tyria?”

Tyria whispered in his ear, “I’ll be fine. Don’t let him get to you.”

Viridian nodded. “Oh, yes. Today is all about Miss Metrel, here.” Tyria’s stomach fell another inch.

For a moment, Rye looked as if he would refuse to move, but then the zebras came into the cell and pulled them out. They were marched away, through the camp and into the jungle. They passed colorful flowers and countless vibrant animals. The jungle was primal, beautiful, filled with life and color. The black and white stripes of the zebras stood in stark contrast to the brilliant foliage.

At last they arrived at the beach. Another ship had joined those anchored in the cove. Pirates were ferrying crates and barrels between the ships and the shore. Tyria scanned the area, trying to figure out why Viridian had brought them here.

They stopped a short distance from the shallows. Viridian held up a hoof, and the little party came to a halt. He turned to face the Equestrians, still wearing that unfriendly smile. “Zin, would you please get the items we discussed?”

One of the zebras nodded. “On it, boss.” He took off galloping toward one of the shacks that stood on the jungle’s edge.

“Miss Metrel, won’t you join me?”

Tyria held her head high and walked up to Viridian’s side. He looked out over the cove. “See the ship to the far right?”

“Yes.” Her voice was ice-cold.

“That’s the Nightingale, the ship you arrived on. Captain Zevan is leaving in three days, to intercept a merchant vessel from Antellucía that will be passing through the Serpent Archipelago on its way to Zyre.”

“And?” Tyria glanced sideways at him.

“Sadly, a great number of our members are currently tied up at sea. Zevan needs more crewmembers if he’s going to pull off the raid.” Viridian turned to her and tilted his head back. “So I have reconsidered your offer.”

Behind them, Rye made a noise of surprise. “What offer?”

Viridian’s smile widened to include his teeth. “Miss Metrel has offered me her services in exchange for freedom.”

Tyria’s heart leapt. This was what they’d been waiting for, a chance for her to get out of that cage and find them an escape route. She turned to Rye, trying not to smile with excitement. He snorted. “I’m sure. And you’re the rightful king of Sleipnord, right?”

“Don’t take my word for it.” Viridian gestured to Tyria, still wearing that awful grin. “Ask her yourself.”

Wait, Rye—I don’t actually want to join them, I’m just…

Rye’s confidence visibly weakened. He looked at Tyria. “Is… is it true?” His voice wavered.

I can’t say no in front of the pirates, we’ll lose our chance. She swallowed. “Yes.”

The defiant fire in his eyes suddenly went out. His mouth opened slightly, and his ears drooped.

Viridian cleared his throat. “I was surprised, too. Any port in a storm, I suppose.” He hummed. “Which is why I need some proof of your loyalty. I can’t send Zevan out with somepony he doesn’t trust.” He looked up toward the jungle. “Ah, and here’s Zin.”

The zebra from earlier had returned. He was carrying a strange assortment of objects on his back. Tyria could make out a metal pot, a bag of coal, some logs, a long fire poker, and a green cloth. Zin trotted up to the group and dumped everything onto the sand.

Viridian nodded. “Get the fire going.”

The pirates turned the metal pot upright and threw the coal and logs inside. One of them produced a flint and tinder, and soon the logs were blackening as flames rose. Viridian yawned, giving the cove an idle glance.

Tyria tried to catch Rye’s eye, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the fire, his face unreadable. Rye, please. You said take the opportunity, remember?

When the fire had grown hot enough that she could feel it from a meter away, Viridian clapped his hooves. “That’s enough.”

He reached down and picked up the fire poker. Tyria looked at it and realized she had identified it incorrectly. The tip was not sharp, but flattened into the distinct frame-pattern of a skull with a snake crawling from the eye socket. Viridian tapped it once, and then stuck the flat end into the fire. He let it sit in the coals, turning it idly with his hoof.

“As I lay awake last night, wondering what to do with Rye today and how you might demonstrate your commitment, it hit me. Why not kill two birds with one stone?” He motioned to his guards. The zebras grabbed Rye, drawing a gasp of pain as they brushed against his bandages. They forced him to the ground, splaying his legs out and holding them down. Viridian held a hoof toward the branding iron and looked at Tyria. “If you would be so kind?”

Tyria’s lips felt as dry as the Saladi desert. “I—I don’t—”

“It’s not complicated, Tyria. Pull the brand out, and press it against his left shoulder, right here.” Viridian poked Rye right below the neck. “Easy.”

Rye twisted his head to look at her. “Tyria?” He had tears in his eyes. “Please.”

She felt a hollow pain in her chest. This is the only chance we’re going to get. If I don’t, Viridian will kill me, and do it anyway. She hesitantly reached forward and grasped the end of the branding iron in her mouth.

“Tyria! Please!” Tears were running down Rye’s face, now. “Please…”

I can’t do this. She was shaking. Please, Celestia, don’t make me do this.

Viridian raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I misjudged you. I’ll have to think of something else, then. Hmm… Maybe we’ll stick his face in the fire, give him a scar to match his famous mother’s.”

If she didn’t convince them, they were going to kill Rye slowly and painfully. She had to get them out. And the only way…

Tyria stepped toward him. Rye closed his eyes, and dropped his head into the sand. He was trembling. Viridian said, “Remember, press it firmly against the skin, or you’ll only burn the hair. We want a permanent mark.”

Forgive me. Tyria clenched her teeth around the handle and brought the iron against Rye’s shoulder.

He screamed. The sound cracked her heart in half. She felt tears on her cheeks. She held the iron there for an eternal moment, her mind numb. At last, she pulled the brand away, and it dropped to the sand, hissing. The smell of burnt hair hung heavy in the air.

Tyria stared at the black mark of the skull and snake now branded on Rye’s shoulder, just above the bandages she’d so carefully wrapped the day before.

I did that to him.

“Excellent work.” Viridian clapped his hooves together. He reached down and lifted the green cloth that Zin had brought. “Here you go, Miss Metrel. It’s my pleasure to welcome you to the Pit Vipers. You are free to spend your remaining leave as you wish, but report to Zevan by Wednesday morning.”

He wrapped it around Tyria’s head, tying the bandana tightly. Tyria didn’t move to stop or help him. She just stared at nothing, feeling hollow. Viridian stepped away. “All right. That was plenty for today, I think. Take him back to his cell.”

The guards lifted Rye’s motionless body, and hauled him away. Viridian smiled broadly at Tyria. “If you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to. Enjoy your afternoon, Miss Metrel.” He left her, making his way back into the jungle.

Tyria stood on the beach, alone, watching the iron cool in the sand.

“I trusted him, completely. I let him get under my skin. I thought he was a friend, someone I could trust—and he stabbed me in the back.”

She sank to her haunches in the sand and wept.

* * *

Eventually, she had to move. She couldn’t bear staying in that place any longer. Throughout the afternoon, she wandered through the camp, putting together a mental map of any possible escape routes. The island was not especially large; it only took her an hour and a half to walk completely around the shore and end up back in the cove.

No obvious way out appeared. Security wasn’t very tight, as the pirates were an undisciplined bunch, but there was simply nowhere to go. She could see more islands far off on the horizon, and surmised that they were somewhere in the Serpent Archipelago, but without seeing a map she had no idea which way to travel if they were going to make it back to Zyre.

And then there was the matter of actually springing Rye. Tyria didn’t think she could break open the cage without attracting attention. Their best bet was for her to find the key.

She found the bar, the most solid-looking building on the island, and pushed her way past the door curtain. Inside, dozens of green-wearing zebras were chatting, playing cards, doing knife tricks, and above all, drinking.

Tyria sat down at one of the tables closest to the bar. It was already occupied by a trio of zebras. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure.” One of the zebras pulled out a deck of cards and dropped it on the table. “We were just about to play a few hooves of seasail. You in?”

Tyria held up her hooves. “I haven’t got anything to bet.”

One of the zebras grinned. “Oh, I can think of something.”

The zebra sitting beside him elbowed him. “Grow up, Zad.”

Zad laughed. “Just kidding, just kidding.” He rubbed his shoulder. “Here.” He threw down a few coins. “That’s enough to buy in.” His grin widened. “I’ll get them back by the end of the game.”

“We’ll see.” Tyria smiled thinly.

The zebra to her right began dealing the cards. “We don’t see many ponies around here. You new?”

“Yeah.” Tyria felt her stomach turn. “Just joined up recently.”

“Well, welcome to the Pit Vipers.” Zad slid his cards to the edge of the table and looked at them. He turned back up with a smile. “I’m Zad, this is Zibben, and that’s Lem.”

Lem held up a hoof. “Before you ask, my mother was from Equestria.”

Tyria forced a laugh, and looked at her cards. She had a terrible hoof; three twos, a four, and a six. In seasail, the object was to get as many sequential cards as you could without their sum going over thirty-three. There were variants that took suit and color into account, but the vanilla game was by far the most popular. She’d picked up the rules after years of living in Zyre.

They chatted while they played. Tyria barely managed to stay in the game, nearly losing all her money when one of the zebras got a one-to-five row, and again when she traded in a five and got back a Queen that put her at thirty-six. She held on with a single bit and kept playing. More important than the game was the conversation. Tyria played the role of the eager rookie, asking the zebras all about the Pit Vipers.

Delighted to talk with a friendly female, they told her everything she wanted to know. Shifts and work details; the names of the captains, their ships, and their most infamous acts of piracy; and most importantly, about the jail.

“Yeah, don’t piss off old Zivvit. He’ll lock you in one of those cages on the other side of camp.” Zad shuffled the deck for a new hoof. “He’s the meanest zebra I’ve ever met.”

“Where’s he live?” Tyria tried her best to sound curious instead of desperate.

“Real close to the cages. Last house on the left as you walk through the living area.” Zad dealt the cards.

Tyria looked at her cards, her mind spinning. She had to get that zebra’s keys.

“Hey, Tyria. You staying or folding?”

“Uh, sorry.” She blinked. “All in.” She pushed her coins to the center of the table.

Zibben raised an eyebrow. “Too rich for me.” He pushed his cards forward.

Lem shook his head. “Nope.”

“Hm.” Zad smiled. “I think I’m about to get my money back.” He pushed all his coins up to Tyria’s.

They showed their cards. Tyria had a two-three pair and three trash cards. Zad had a three-to-six row and a two.

He grinned as he collected the pot. “Sorry, Tyria. You’ve got a tell. The corner of your mouth twitches when you lie.”

She forced another laugh. “Well, I guess I’m done. Thanks for the game, boys.” They waved goodbye as she left the building.

Tyria immediately headed for the compound. It was dark out by the time she arrived. She went around the back of the buildings, finding the last hut on the left like Zad had told her. Holding her breath, she snuck around to the front and pushed her way inside.

The building was empty, to her relief. She wasted no time, digging through the piles of junk that filled the small hut, looking for the keys. At last, she found them lying half-buried in a stack of parchment on the table. She pulled the ring of keys out and looked at them. Most of the keys were rusty and old, but one had been scraped clean by recent use. It had to be the one she was looking for.

Poking her head out first to make sure nopony was around, she crept out of the building and made her way to the cages. It was difficult to see anything in the darkness, but she caught a glimpse of yellow in the faint glow of the firelight behind her.

Rye was lying inside. He’d put his robes on. Tyria felt a wave of guilt, threatening to drown her, but pushed it aside for later. Sneaking up to the cage, she found the key, and stuck it into the lock. Rye looked up at the rattling noise. She poked her head through one of the gaps in the bars, and whispered, “It’s me, Rye. I’m getting you out. We’ll get down to the beach and steal a ship, and get to one of the surrounding islands. That’s as far as I’ve gotten with the plan, but we have to go while we’ve got the chance.” She fiddled with the lock for a few more moments, before it came off and landed in the dirt with a muffled thump.

“Come on, let’s go.” She opened the door and waited.

Slowly, Rye stood. Tyria looked briefly back over her shoulder, in panic. “Hurry up. I don’t know how long it’ll be before someone comes to check on you.”

Rye stared wordlessly at her, then slowly and deliberately turned around. He walked to the far corner of the cage and laid down. He curled up sideways and buried his head in the yellow fabric.

Tyria felt the shame and horror come rushing back. “Rye… Goddess, Rye, I’m sorry. I… I didn’t have a choice, I… I couldn’t…” She bent her head. “Dammit, Rye, I couldn’t just let them kill you piece by piece! This was the only way I could…” Her words sounded hollow to her own ears. “I’m sorry…”

“I’m sorry, too.” Rye didn’t look at her.

She hung her head. Suddenly, she caught the sound of hooves. Tyria jerked upright in alarm. “Somepony’s coming. I—I’m going to relock the cage. They can’t know I have the keys, or we’ll never get out of here.” She raised a hoof toward him, then lowered it. “I’ll be back for you.”

He gave no response.

Feeling like her heart had been replaced with a lump of lead, Tyria shut the cage door and replaced the padlock. She pulled herself away and ran.

Making it to safety behind the jailkeeper’s hut, she fell back against the wall, her chest shaking. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Can he forgive me? I’m not sure I could, if I were him.

There was a soft clapping noise from her left. Tyria looked up to see a shadowy figure emerging from the darkness. Her wet eyes narrowed. “Viridian.”

Viridian was smiling. “Hello, Miss Metrel. Did you and Rye have a nice chat?” He slowly walked past her, sighing with delight. “I think I’ll leave him alone for a few days. After all,” he said, looking back at her with his chilling blue eyes, “not all torture is physical.”

Viridian made to walk around the hut, but paused. “Oh, and make sure to return the key before you leave with Zevan.” Then he was gone.

Tyria curled up tight in a ball of guilt and self-loathing. Viridian had played her like a fiddle. With her help, he had cut Rye more deeply than any lash ever could. And I gave him the idea. She closed her eyes, shaking.

Fire burned within her, and her face twisted with anger. It’s personal, now. We are getting off this island. And I swear by the sun and moon that I’ll kill you, Viridian.

13. On the Blackpowder Trail

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“Kidnapped?”

Zanaya sighed. As she’d feared, Captain Petalbloom was taking the news poorly. “Evidence suggests that the ambassador and the ensign were accosted on the docks last Friday, near a known Pit Viper center of operations. Considering their involvement in discovering the place, it’s likely that the culprits were pirates looking for retribution.”

Petalbloom looked over the desk at Wheatie. “Dammit, boy, weren’t you supposed to be guarding him?”

Wheatie frowned. “I wasn’t sent as a bodyguard. I thought he’d be fine with Miss Metrel.” Zanaya detected the slight hint of a guilty slump, and felt a pang of sympathy. She wasn’t the only one missing a friend.

She tapped the desk to draw Petalbloom’s attention back. “We’ve reported them to Missing Persons, and I’ll be personally running my own investigation. We’ll do everything we can to get them back.”

“Sweet frigging Sisters, what a mess.” Petalbloom buried her head in her hooves. “Tell me, Officer, how often do you find kidnapping victims alive?”

“Um.” Zanaya swallowed. “Sometimes. Typically we're more successful when the victims are being ransomed, but… well, we’ve found others, before.”

Petalbloom lifted her hooves to her forehead and leaned forward on the desk. “Sisters help us, Celestia’s personal ambassador… Get them back. I don’t care how you do it, but get them back.” She glared at Wheatie. “Go with her. Do whatever you have to, legal or not. If there’s any political blowback, I’ll deal with it.” She sighed. “My career’s not going to survive this, anyway.”

She waved them out of her office. “I’ll inform Ambassador Milliden. Get started on that investigation. I want you to keep me updated, Sergeant. Good luck.” She shut the door.

“Well,” said Wheatie, “that didn’t go as badly as it could have.”

Zanaya had a brief moment of anxiety as she imagined her own boss’s reaction once the report filtered up to her through the levels. “Let’s hope the commissioner will be as forgiving.”

“I don’t think that was forgiveness. More like panic so overwhelming she forgot to get angry.”

“Same end result.” Zanaya shrugged uneasily. “All right, let’s head across the street and have a chat with Tatius.”

As they made their way out of the embassy, Petalbloom's words kept echoing in her head. My career won’t survive this anyway. The commissioner would not be happy with her. Yet saving Tyria was worth it. She’d seen some bad things in this job, and imagining any of them happening to her friend spurred her on.

Hopefully, by not involving Zed in this, her partner would avoid any fire from upstairs. It was strange not having him with her, but Wheatie Specklestraw seemed capable enough. All those service ribbons on his chest had to be there for a reason. Besides, she was glad to have someone with an equal stake in this. And he’s cute, too.

Zanaya’s mouth twisted dryly. Save it for later, girl.

Her eyes flashed over at Wheatie as the two of them left the building. A brief flash of dismay hit her. Soldiers weren’t often trained in diplomacy, especially not for pompous twits like Tatius Gableclaw. She cleared her throat. “Sergeant, have you had any experience with griffons?”

Wheatie started laughing. “Have I had—Detective, where do you think these came from?” He poked his chest. “You know about the war, I hope.”

Zanaya had heard a lot about it, as had everyone living in the port. What was true, and what was simply sailors spinning tales while in their cups, was anyone’s guess. “I take it you were involved, then.”

“All the Firewings were.” Wheatie’s eyes suddenly looked down, and his smile fell. “All the old Firewings.”

“Ah… are there going to be problems with Ambassador Gableclaw?”

“His name’s Gableclaw?” Wheatie blinked, alert. “How interesting. No, no problems. I’m looking forward to meeting him, though.”

“All right. Still… best let me do the talking.”

They reached the embassy and opened the door to find a building much like the Equestrian one. This entire district had been contracted to the same construction company, but most of the embassies turned the space into their own. Grypha was no exception. Great red banners unfurled from the walls to touch the floor. Desert plants grew in vases around the entrance, looking healthy despite the tropical climate.

The front desk was manned by a big, burly-looking griffon in a red uniform. He looked up as they approached and gave an easy smile. “Welcome to the Gryphan Embassy.” His eye caught the silver bracelet on Zanaya’s ankle. “Officer.”

“Hello.” Zanaya smiled. “We’re here to see Ambassador Gableclaw. Watch business.”

“Is that so?” The griffon leaned back his head imperceptibly and curled his beak. “Very well. You’ll have to talk with his secretary to set up an appointment. You can find Aetia outside the ambassador’s office, down the hall, to your left. It’ll be fifth door down.”

Zanaya thanked him, and the two followed his directions to find themselves at an open door. Inside, a small antechamber housing stood a desk, guarding another door. Behind the desk sat a small, female griffon with dark brown feathers. She was busy with a letter, her claw moving a quill swiftly across the paper.

Without looking up from her work, the griffon asked, “Can I help you?”

“Detective Zanaya, City Watch, PTV department. We’re here to see the ambassador.”

The griffon glanced up at them both. “The ambassador’s schedule is rather full, this week. I can make you an appointment for next Tuesday.”

“I’m afraid we have to see him now,” said Zanaya, toying with her bracelet. She’d thought up a quick cover story. It wouldn’t be prudent to let anyone know the real reason for their visit; best to keep Strudel and Tyria’s disappearance quiet for now. “A few witnesses from our blue dust investigation suggested that Tatius may be involved in the ring. Probably not, we understand, but we need to talk with him and get everything sorted out.”

“Blue dust?” The griffon set her letter aside and tilted her head. “You must be mistaken. Ambassador Gableclaw doesn’t associate with drug dealers.”

Zanaya smiled. “Even so.”

“I’m sorry, Officer, but I can’t let you in without an appointment.”

“Look, Miss… Aetia, was it?”

With a friendly smile, the griffon nodded. “Aetia Sablefeather.”

“Miss Sablefeather. I know the ambassador is a busy griffon. This will only take a few minutes. We just need to ask him a few questions, and we’ll be on our way. No need for us to take up any of the ambassador’s valuable appointment slots.” She gave an apologetic shrug. “I know it’s inconvenient, but I’m simply doing my job.”

“And I am doing mine,” said Aetia with that same congenial smile, “Which is turning away ‘visitors’ who are clearly lying about their intentions. Tell me, how often does the Watch send vandalism detectives to investigate blue sand rings?” Aetia nodded to Wheatie. “More importantly, why do you have an Equestrian soldier with you? That's a Firewing uniform, if I remember correctly, and I wasn’t aware that Princess Celestia was assigning her personal guard to help out Zyre’s law enforcement.” Aetia’s eyes narrowed, but the smile never vanished. “As you’re clearly here on business unrelated to your Watch duties, with a soldier from a nation that mine was recently at war with, I’m forced to deny your request. Now, do you want to make an appointment, or should I call security?”

Fuming internally, Zanaya tried one last time. “I don’t want to have to get a court order, Miss Sablefeather, but if you leave me no choice, I will.”

“Come back when you have one,” said Aetia, her warm tone edged with acid. She tapped a claw against a bell on her desk. “Good day, Detective.”

“We’re not leaving until we talk to—”

Behind her, Zanaya felt a tap. She turned to see a pair of large, uniformed griffons. Aetia coughed. “Please show our guests to the exit.”

Zanaya and Wheatie were politely but firmly escorted out of the building by the security guards. The griffons shut the door behind them and favored Wheatie with one last glare before disappearing within.

Wheatie frowned. “Well.”

“Blasted secretary.” Zanaya scowled. “We have to get in there.” She thought for a moment. “Well, if we can’t get through with a fake charge, we’ll just have to find a real one.”

“Zanaya, we don’t know for sure that he’s even involved in Rye and Tyria’s disappearance—”

“No, but we do know that he’s involved with the pirates. If we can link him to those blackpowder barrels, even tenuously, that should be enough to get the paperwork we need to ignore Miss Sablefeather.”

“Okay,” said Wheatie, with a shrug, “but we don’t even know where the blackpowder is.”

“We know where it came from.” Zanaya started off down the street. “Come on, we’re going to the Gryphan warehouses on the docks.”

As they walked, Zanaya glanced over at Wheatie’s collection of merits again. “So, you fought in the war, hm?”

Wheatie nodded. “I was at every major battle in the war, aside from Cloudsdale.”

“Whitewall?”

“Oh, yes.” Wheatie grinned. “So even Zyre has heard about the death of Viera, eh?”

“I’ve heard a lot of things. Not sure how many are true.”

“I’d bet that most of them are. We were trapped in the city, with no reinforcements, no supplies, and no hope. When the dragon attacked, the only thing that saved us was this insane plan my commander put together.” He described an outlandish scheme involving chains, lakes, and the downfall of a dragon.

Zanaya scoffed. “You’re as bad as the sailors, with those stories about seaponies and merfolk.”

“Not at all! It’s true, every word. I’ve got the scars to prove it.” He paused his stride, and pulled down his collar to reveal a patch of red on his shoulder. “That’s an old burn from the lake water, when it boiled with the dragon’s dying breath. This,” he pointed to a light mark across his right ankle, “Was a cut from a griffon’s spear in the battle the following day.”

Ooh, he’s got scars. I wonder how far down they go? Zanaya struggled not to grin. “What’s that one?” She gestured at a thin line that ran sideways across his neck.

Wheatie began walking again, and she kept pace. He rubbed the scar absently. “That’s where General Shrikefeather tried to gut me.”

“General Shrikefeather? Wait, the same Shrikefeather in charge of Grypha’s army?” Zanaya’s eyebrows lifted. “You fought him?”

“I killed him,” said Wheatie calmly. “Drove a broken shaft of wood through his throat.”

She was struck silent with surprise. It seemed there was far more to the sergeant than good looks and fancy uniforms. “The medals begin to make sense.”

“There’s a story behind each of them.” Wheatie smiled again. “I got this one during the clearing of Rivermeet…”

They talked the entire way down to the warehouses, sharing war stories and old investigations. By the time they reached their destination, Zanaya had a new respect for the Equestrian, and a burning curiosity to hear more of his exploits. Alas, it would have to wait until they were done with Tatius.

The warehouse was busy today, the doors open to admit traffic in both directions. Sailors carried crates and rolled barrels down to the piers, where red-sailed ships waited to carry them to distant Grypha.

With Wheatie at her back, Zanaya slipped into line, and they headed into the warehouse. The interior was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of boxes, awaiting shipment. Zebras and griffons milled about everywhere, going about their daily business.

They did not make it far before they were accosted by the warehouse boss. A squat, surly-looking griffon noticed them, and strode up to them. He stood up on his hind legs, and folded his arms at them. “Oi, you two aren’t supposed to be in here.” He looked at Wheatie and frowned. “You look military.”

“Port Authority, actually,” said Wheatie, acidly, “And you’re interrupting an inspection.”

The griffon snarled. “I didn’t get no letter ‘bout an inspection.”

Zanaya rolled her eyes, silently blessing Wheatie for the idea. “That’s the point of a surprise inspection, you idiot.” She waved a hoof at him. “Out of our way.”

“I don’t think so.” The griffon planted himself in front of them. “Not till I see some identification.”

Zanaya held up her hoof and tapped the bracelet. The griffon’s eyes widened. Good thing he doesn’t seem to know Port Authority isn’t part of the City Watch. Luckily, the warehouse boss wasn’t nearly as perceptive as Aetia Sablefeather.

Clearly annoyed, but apparently buying their bluff, he said, “Very well. How can I help?” The “get you out of my warehouse?” was left unsaid, but obvious.

“We’re running inventory, first.” Wheatie held up his chin. “We’ll need to see your manifest.”

“Don’t you have one already? We have to give duplicates every time we make port.”

“We need to check that the duplicate matches.” Wheatie’s eyebrows narrowed in irritation. The griffon bit back a growl and left.

“Nice going,” whispered Zanaya. “When he gets back, check the manifest for the blackpowder. I’ll keep him busy while you go find it.”

The griffon returned with a clipboard and several sheets of parchment. “Here you are, sir.”

He proffered it to Wheatie, who scanned the documents with a critical eye. “Very well. My partner has a few questions for you. I’m going to make rounds.” He walked away into the warehouse.

Zanaya asked whatever portmaster-ish questions she could think of. The griffon, eager to get her out of his feathers as quickly as possible, answered them all. While they talked, Zanaya cast glances around the busy warehouse, trying to find Wheatie.

After a few minutes, he came back, scowling. “Come with me,” he motioned to both of them.

They followed him into the back. At the far end of the warehouse, a group of several dozen wooden kegs were stacked. Zanaya couldn’t smell any alcohol. They had to be the blackpowder containers.

Wheatie looked idly over at the griffon. “Tell me, how many of these barrels are you supposed to have?”

“Thirty-two,” he said, clearly annoyed.

“And how many are there?”

“Thirty-two.” The griffon’s beak twisted in irritation.

Wheatie frowned. “I would expect someone in your position to at least be able to count to twenty.”

Rolling his eyes, the griffon began a swift count of the kegs. His eyes widened and he paled under his feathers. Wheatie raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Eighteen.” The griffon checked the manifest to see what was in the barrels. When he found it, he looked up sharply again. “Aw, shit.”

“I’m curious,” said Zanaya lightly, “Just what someone could do with fourteen barrels of explosives.”

Wheatie pursed his lips. “How often do you ship these through?”

“Every month.” The griffon was sweating. “Shit! They’re gonna have my head for this.”

“Every month?” Zanaya frowned. “Assuming fourteen barrels every month, how many can you not account for?”

The griffon swallowed. “Lots.” He looked down at the manifest, almost disbelieving. “I need to report this.”

“Yes,” said Wheatie, “It’s probably best that your superiors hear from you before they hear it from us.”

The griffon fled, running as fast as his legs could carry him. Zanaya watched him go with trepidation. “Lots, he says.”

“Let’s check the doors. I’ll do the north side, you do the south.”

She made rounds of the warehouse, testing every entrance and exit. All of them were locked firmly, and showed no signs of tampering. When Zanaya met up with Wheatie back beside the barrels, he had the same report.

“So whoever took these barrels had a key. Or was allowed in.” Zanaya stamped a hoof in triumph. “And we’ve got eyewitness testimony that Tatius is smuggling for the pirates. An eyewitness who is currently believed to be kidnapped by said pirates. It’s probably not enough to get a warrant for his arrest, but it’s sure as hell grounds for interrogation.”

“Back to the embassy, then?” Wheatie tugged on his collar.

“Not yet.” Zanaya jerked her head to the exit, and the two began making their way out. “I need to get back to the precinct and get a court order. That bloody secretary won’t let us in without one. I need to talk to Commissioner Zireena, work out the details.”

Wheatie nodded. “Need my help for anything?”

“I don’t think so. Not until we speak with Tatius.”

He looked at her curiously. “If you’re talking to your boss, won’t that make this an official investigation? I don’t think they’ll want me going with you.”

“Mm… I’ll say we’re working jointly with the Equestrian embassy. She should buy that, your ambassador was pretty high up, if I read Petalbloom right.”

“Great.” Wheatie smiled. “I’d like to see this through. I’ll see you tomorrow at the embassy, then?”

“Actually,” said Zanaya, as they walked out into the daylight, “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner. I find it helps to discuss the facts of a case over food.”

“Dinner?” Wheatie raised an eyebrow and faintly grinned. “Sounds good.”

“You can tell me more war stories,” she said with an amused smile playing on her lips. “Chatoya’s Diner, West Sixth Street, on the west side. Ask the embassy secretary if you need directions. See you at seven?”

“Seven it is.” Wheatie dipped his head, and flared his wings. “Want a lift back to the precinct? We can skip the traffic.”

Zanaya inhaled, and grinned. “All right, soldier boy. Let’s go.”

14. The Viper's Tale

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Rye woke to dull, constant pain. The still-healing slashes on his back throbbed whenever he moved. He was certain that his shoulder would ache for days, at least, and the mark burned into his skin would last for the rest of his life. It seethed on his skin like a tiny furnace. He couldn’t tell whether the physical wounds hurt more than the mental ones.

The black spot on his shoulder was already fading. Eventually, it would turn white, as the burned tissue healed. The skull stared at him with dead eyes, the writhing snake from its mouth seeming to crawl under his skin.

It was late in the morning, judging by the sunlight filtering through the palms above his cage. He blinked and lay still, waiting for the pain to subside. Gingerly, he brushed a hoof over his robes. They had become utterly filthy in the past few days; stained with mud, brine, and tiny spots of blood. His coat and mane weren’t doing much better. He had dirt everywhere, even on the feathers he’d so delicately cared for. They were matted and ruffled, as badly as when he was a foal.

Slowly, he raised himself to a sitting position. He ached, like he’d been lifting heavy weights for hours. Wincing, he stretched his legs and wings, hoping vainly that it would relieve some of the stiffness.

In the distance, he could hear the sounds of daily activity in the pirate camp. Voices yelled instructions or reprimands in foreign tongues. He wondered if any of them were Tyria’s.

Rye closed his eyes. He'd gone to sleep with a hollowness in his chest, and the dreams of flaming spears had not cured it. No matter what he tried, he could not forget that quiet, drawn look as Tyria turned to face him on that beach and whispered yes. With a sharp breath, he pressed a hoof against his shoulder.

To distract himself, he began to preen his battered wings. He pushed feathers back into order and straightened the rows. Soft down brushed against his cheek. The process was long and slow, and he had to pause often when the pain became too much. As he whiled away the time, his wings grew neat and tightly pressed once more. He was still dirty everywhere, though. His stomach growled.

Mindless routine was a less effective distraction than he’d hoped. No matter how he tried, that memory would not fade—the shock, the disbelief, and then the searing pain. By the afternoon, he was almost looking forward to the distraction of Breyr’s arrival. Yet as the hours passed, it never came. Nor did any guards appear with food or water. It seemed he was to be left alone, with nothing and no one to take his mind away from yesterday’s events. And that’s exactly what he wants.

Breyr had looked inside him and seen that last, small hope he was holding on to. The exile had taken it, sharpened it into a knife, and stabbed him in the heart. When Breyr handed that fiery brand to Tyria, Rye knew she would find some way out, some bluff, some way for both of them to escape. And then she burned his faith in her to ashes.

The worst part wasn’t the physical pain, or the mark, or even Tyria’s betrayal itself. The worst part was that, heartbroken as he might be, he could not hate her.

When she had come to him last night, when the pain and the shock were still fresh, his first thought was not why? or how could you? but you came to see me! Hurt, rage, bewilderment, and loneliness all warred in his head. He’d sent her away, to buy some time to think.

You sure know how to pick ’em, Rye. He pressed his head against the side of the cage, wishing his back would stop hurting. You’ve been on your own your whole life. You may as well accept it’s going to stay that way.

Not always... I had Cranberry, once. And Inger.

They hurt you, too. Don’t pretend they didn’t.

Rye had never admitted that old jealousy to himself before. He'd thought he had buried it long ago. “Stop talking to yourself,” he muttered.

* * *

That night, as he lay in the corner of his cage with his back pressed up against the bars, he heard a whisper.

“Rye!”

He kept his eyes closed. Even if he wanted to talk to her, he wasn’t sure what there was to say.

“Rye, are you awake?” He heard the lock jingle as she rattled the cage door. “I can’t stay long, but I need to talk to you.”

If he ignored her, maybe she would go away. Did he want her to leave? He didn’t think he could bear to look at her, but he was starving for contact with another pony, someone familiar in this land of strangers.

“Please, Rye.” Her voice was edged with something he couldn’t quite place; a quiet note of regret or pain.

Rye pulled his robes tighter around himself. He opened his eyes to see Tyria’s silhouette at his cage’s door.

She sighed softly. “Okay, Rye. I… I understand, if you don’t… Just, before I go, please, listen to me. I have a plan to get us out of here, but you have to be ready to go tomorrow night, okay? We’re only going to get one shot.” She waited for a response. “Rye?” Her voice cracked. “Please, Rye, say something.”

“And what should I say?” The sound of his own voice surprised him. He could barely recognize it, raw and hoarse, raspy from the lack of water.

Tyria’s face was barely visible in the darkness. She lowered her head. “Rye, I… I never wanted to hurt you.”

“No?” Rye wobbled to his feet. “Then why’d you press a flaming iron into my shoulder?”

She bit her lip. “I had to convince them I was serious.”

“You convinced me, too.”

“Rye, you said—you said take the opportunity, remember? I—”

“Sold me out to Breyr to save yourself.” Rye rasped. His eyes burned. “When you and he were alone in that office, I thought he was… I was actually worried about you! But you were just looking for a new job.”

“I was looking for a way to get us out of here! I don’t want to be a pirate, Rye, I was trying to make sure we leave this island alive. Both of us.”

Something old and bitter inside him was bursting to the surface. “Oh, of course. We wouldn’t want you to get back to the embassy without me in tow. Heavens forbid the son of somepony important gets hurt, it might cost you your job. And then daddy wouldn’t be very happy, would he?”

Tyria’s mouth hung open, aghast. He knew he should stop now, wanted to stop, but the anger just kept pouring out. “Oh, but that’s right, you hate your job. Maybe you should stay here. You can be an artist like you wanted, paint beautiful bones and snakes on Breyr’s flags. You’ve already started, right?” He yanked down his robes to reveal the grinning skull on his shoulder.

She had tears on her cheeks. “Rye.”

Shame washed over him. He slumped back to his haunches against the bars, resting his head in his hooves. “Goddess, Tyria, I’m sorry.”

Her eyes looked down at the ground. “I deserve it.”

Part of him still seethed with fury at the sight of her. But most of him just wanted her to be happy again. “No. No, not like that. Using your art like that was… cruel. I don’t want you to think I’m like that. I don’t want to be like that.” His shoulders shook. No. Don’t cry. Hold on to that last scrap of dignity, at least.

“I don’t think you are, Rye.” She gave him a brave smile. “And I don’t think you’re just the son of somepony important.”

He sighed. “I wanted to be like her. A hero the people would look up to. Or down to, as some nameless wit once told me.” He snorted, then shook his head. “I moved heaven and earth to save my country from monsters like Breyr, and all the thanks I got were these stupid things.” He tugged his robes. “I’m Celestia’s pet pegacorn, brought out to dance for the pretty foreigners whenever she needs something from them.” He had never felt this low before, not even when the Canterlot Academy had rejected him all those years ago.

“Is that really what you think of yourself?” asked Tyria quietly.

“Hell,” he laughed weakly, “at least Breyr hates me for something I did, and not something I am, or who I’m related to.”

She touched his shoulder through the bars. “Rye…”

Rye laid against her supporting hoof. He felt unutterably weary. “You said you have a plan?”

“Tomorrow night. Be ready.” Tyria patted his shoulder. “And Rye… I’m sorry.”

He pulled her closer to the cage. His voice tight and edged with desperation, he whispered, “Then get us out of here.”

* * *

Breyr’s melodious voice woke him. “Good morning, Rye.”

It was a humid day, even by the island’s standards. Rye’s mane was stuck to his face. Grimacing, he pulled it away from his eyes.

Through the bars of his cage, Breyr gave a joyless smile. “Did you enjoy your day off?” Without waiting for a response, he motioned to the group of five zebras accompanying him. They opened the cage. Rye stood, letting his robes fall to the ground. He left them behind every day. They were the only clothes he had; he would rather they not get more bloodied than they already were.

Breyr led him through the camp. They passed hovels and sturdier buildings, moving under the trees. They eventually made their way onto the beach, passing the usual crowd of busy pirates. Rye cast surreptitious glances around, looking for Tyria. He couldn’t bring himself to trust her completely, but a tiny candle of hope had kindled in his breast.

They walked further out along the beach than they ever had before. The cove disappeared behind them. Rye’s heart began beating faster. Were they taking him to be executed?

Breyr, walking close beside him, leaned to the side and whispered into his ear. “Did you sleep well?”

Rye declined to give him the reaction he was fishing for. Undeterred, the exile smiled. “I heard you, you know. Last night. I think the whole island did.” Breyr’s lips stretched thin. “Not getting along with our bodyguard, are we?”

That bastard was spying on us. Rye felt a chill. Did Tyria know?

“I especially liked the part about being Celestia’s pet pegacorn. Because you’re my pet now, you see?” Breyr gave one of his disturbing giggles. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll give you a bone. Maybe one of your bones.”

At last, Breyr called a halt. He motioned to his thugs, and they spun Rye around to fall flat on his back. Four of them pinned him down. The fifth zebra, holding what looked like a water pitcher in his mouth, walked off the beach and into the water, out of Rye’s view. A sense of dread was starting to creep up his spine.

Breyr sat beside him in the sand, giving him an amiable look. In his hoof, he held a plain, dirty rag. He idly passed it between his hooves, glancing down at Rye. “So, my friend, have you been enjoying our reunion?”

Rye didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice trembling, so he laid his head back and stared at the blue sky. He tried not to cringe as the sand rubbed against the wounds on his back. Breyr seemed unconcerned by his silence. “I’m afraid Miss Metrel won’t be joining us, today. She’s being entertained by her new friends down on the beach. She’s been very helpful unloading our winnings.” He winked. “Just between you and me, I think she’s taken a fancy to one of the boys.”

He’s baiting you. Rye stared up. Breyr waved a hoof over his eyes. “Hello, Rye. Are you still in there?” He shrugged. “Ah, well, we’ll find out soon enough.”

The fifth zebra had returned with a full pitcher. Breyr’s calm demeanor broke into a sadistic delight. “I must say, I’ve been looking forward to this.” He set the rag over Rye’s snout, blocking his eyes, mouth, and nose. It tasted like brine.

Rye’s heart thundered in his ears. He wasn’t sure what they were doing, but he had a feeling it was going to be worse than anything that had come before. Breyr spoke to him under his breath. “I’ll tell you a little secret. This isn’t a very reliable interrogation technique. Everyone talks, in the end, but whether they tell the truth… See, they’ll say anything to stop the pain. Lies and truths can be hard to separate.” Rye heard Breyr heft the pitcher. “But fortunately, this isn’t an interrogation.”

He felt a few droplets of water on the rag, and blinked. Without further warning, Breyr began pouring the pitcher out onto his face.

Instantly, his mouth and nose filled with salt water. Rye gagged, twisting involuntarily against his captors. Water flooded into his throat, stifling his breath. His eyes bulged as he struggled to move away from the water, but the fifth zebra held his head upright. He was drowning, drowning on dry land. His secret nightmare had come to life.

Canterlot, without any lakes or ponds, provided few opportunities for a pony to learn to swim. Deep water was an unknown to Rye, a terrifying enigma. He had always kept his embarrassing little phobia hidden from his friends. It seemed such a silly thing to fear the water, after all he’d seen and done, but the fear of that suffocating pressure in his lungs had haunted his dreams often enough. It wasn’t simply seasickness that made him loathe sea travel.

Now he was drowning, for real, and all thoughts vanished as he struggled for air. After an eternity, the flood of water stopped, and the rag was pulled away. Breyr pounded a hoof on Rye’s stomach, and he coughed up water. Rye flopped his head down to the sand, gasping.

“This is a little trick I picked up in Dromedaria,” said Breyr idly. “I’m sure you’re curious how I ended up there.”

Rye was seized by a hacking cough, as more water came up. Breyr continued, as if unaware. “Well, it’s a lengthy story.” He handed the pitcher back to the zebra, who strode off toward the surf. Rye trembled when he realized that Breyr wouldn’t stop until they ran out of sea, or he was dead.

“Did you never wonder what happened to me after you threw me out into the wasteland? No, of course not. The victors never pay the losers much thought.” Breyr’s eyes were distant with memories. “Stranded, alone in the snow, with a scant three days of food. Most exiles don’t even make it that long; the snow kills swifter than the hunger. But I set out west, hoping to reach the coast and take passage south on a ship still loyal to me. I wandered for days, starving and lost. I stretched my rations to last six days, but when they were gone the coast was still far beyond my reach.”

Rye remembered the wastes. Being lost in that white nothingness was another form of drowning, in a way. Facing it alone for days, weeks, months… he could understand why Breyr’s sanity seemed to hang by a thread.

“I feared I was doomed to die in that desolation, when the gods delivered my salvation. A herd of Aurelisks was migrating, far past their normal season. One among their number was weak, wounded by some hunting party or a conflict in its own group. Even from a distance I could see the beast limping.

“I followed them from a distance, waiting for the creature to collapse. I spent another day and a half like that, wondering every moment when I myself would succumb to the cold or the hunger. At last, however, my patience was rewarded. The beast took a fall from a snowbank, and broke several of its legs. Its fellows abandoned it, as mine had abandoned me. I waited until the beast had grown still, then approached it.

“I ripped some of the larger scales from the beast’s back, and sharpened them with a rock until they were crudely bladed. It protested. Though the beast was dying, its claws were still sharp…” Breyr brushed a hoof across the ugly, knotted scar on his side. “I slit the creature’s throat and used the carcass as a warm place to spend the night.” Breyr looked back down at Rye, who was listening with revulsion. “And then… well, I hadn’t eaten in days, and I needed more supplies if I was to make it to the port…”

Rye tilted his head away, trying not to vomit. Griffons and other carnivores often feasted on fish and smaller animals, but such a thing was taboo for any civilized herbivore society. Their stomachs handled meat poorly, and eating something that had once been able to feel and think was abhorrent to most Equestrians. For Breyr to stoop so low, he must have been utterly desperate.

“It was then that I realized a fundamental truth. Love, faith, trust; all of them are meaningless in life's trials of fire. It is hatred that strengthens us, that gives us a lifeline to hold on to while we crawl away from death's door. For teaching me this, I thank you.” Breyr frowned. “As for the Aurelisk... the taste was not so bad. At any rate, my tongue was so numb I couldn’t have told the difference between an Aurelisk and a loaf of bread. But I was violently ill, day after day, forcing myself to eat so that I could live. Live, and pay my betrayers back in kind.”

Rye spat. “You’re the only one who betrayed anypony, Breyr.”

The Nordpony scowled, and threw the rag back over Rye’s face. Rye cursed his sharp tongue. He could have kept Breyr talking for another few minutes, at least. Now, he’d be too busy choking to say anything else.

The second time was worse than the first. At least twenty seconds of suffocating panic passed before the rag was lifted, and his stomach pounded to bring the water back up. Rye lay limp and shivering in the sand. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die here, alone with him. More than anything, he wanted to see his family again. His shoulders shook.

“In the end, it was worth it. I reached the coast weak, ill, and nearly dead, but I retained enough of my wits to not announce my identity. I had become lost in the wilderness, and word of my exile had reached the port before me. No ship would bear me anywhere as the Thane of Hoofnjord, so I hired myself out to a merchant vessel as a simple sailor. They were hauling lumber—my lumber—down the coast to Equestria, for the reconstruction.

“I stayed on with the merchant for months. I learned my way around a ship, studied how to command a crew at sea. I found myself suited to the work. Eventually, we encountered a pirate captain named Miraballa.” He chuckled softly. “She took our cargo, and many of our crew as captives for ransom, or to row belowdecks. It was… fortuitous, in the end. I rose in power, as I always do. Three years after you and that glorified butler stole my throne, I was captain of a warship, with a crew of dangerous zebras and ponies at my command. I traveled the Ceracen Ocean, from Zebrica to Elefala, Grypha to Dromedaria, gathering more to my banner, and finally I brought them here, to Zyran waters. Now, the plunder is plenty and life is good.”

Rye’s eyes swiveled up from the sand. “And how many bodies have you left behind you?”

“No more than necessary. Miraballa is one of my captains now, in fact. She surrendered quite peacefully when I led the mutiny. Her experience has been invaluable. Not to mention enjoyable.” Breyr smiled. “I abhor waste. Efficiency is always to be prized. Take this little exercise, for instance. All we need is a rag, some water, and a few volunteers, yet the effect is simply extraordinary.”

The cloth came down again, and Rye moaned.

Hours and minutes became indistinguishable as the rag came down over and over. He couldn’t tell how long it lasted, but by the time Breyr called a final halt, Rye felt like he’d had half the sea poured down his throat and retched back up. He was crying like a foal, all traces of dignity stripped away by the repeated torture.

Breyr clapped him on the shoulder, sending a pang of pain from the serpent-and-skull mark. “Don’t weep, my friend! We’re just getting you acclimated. I must say, I didn’t realize this would work quite so well on you. Don’t worry, though, we’ll be doing this for a long time to come. I don’t want you to expire, after all.”

Rye’s face twisted in confusion, as he tried to suck air back into his lungs. Breyr nodded sagely. “Oh, it’s true. I’d be very disappointed if you died on me.” Suddenly he seemed as lucid as he had in Sleipnord, half a decade ago. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment there was no one in the world but the two of them. “I don’t want you dead, Rye. I don’t even want you in pain. I want you to see the world the way I see it, to realize the same truth you taught me through exile. I want to own you, body and soul.”

Rye stared at him, terrified. Breyr’s eyes narrowed. “The girl cannot help you, Rye. She is my creature, now, whether she knows it or not. And you… you are all alone.” He leaned down to Rye’s ear and breathed softly. “Remember, Rye. Hatred keeps us alive.”

As they dragged him away, Rye could not tear his eyes from Breyr’s face. Will that be me, someday?

Rye staggered between the zebra thugs as they led him back to the cells. They flung open the door and hurled him inside. He fell beside his robes, heaving up more water. He curled up on the wet ground, holding his stomach, and wished he were dead.

They left a veritable feast for his dinner, fresh bread and vegetable dumplings. It was another of Breyr’s sick jokes; even the thought of eating anything made him feel ill. He pulled his robes around him, shivering despite the humid heat. At last, still haunted by the memory of that dark water, he drifted off to sleep with the hope that his dreams would be of home, friends, and family, not darkness and terror.

He was woken by a rattling sound. It was pitch black out. He looked up to the door of the cage, and saw a familiar silhouette. “Tyr… Tyria?”

“It’s me.” The sound of her voice was like water in the desert.

“You… you came back.” Rye’s shoulders shook. “Tyria…”

Rage was frozen on her face. “What did he do to you?”

“Water.” Rye could barely speak. His throat was sore and his stomach was throbbing with pain. “Poured it in my mouth. Again and again and…” He began shaking.

The lock rattled. There was a click and a thud as it came loose and hit the ground. Tyria, furious and horrified all at once, ran in and hugged him. “I’ll kill him, Rye. I’ll smash his face in with my own hoof, I swear.” Her voice cracked.

“No,” he rasped, “we have to get out of here. Warn Zyre. The pirates plan to attack. We have to tell the Marquis.”

Tyria snarled. “Damn it, Rye, after what he did to you—to us—”

“It isn’t worth dying for. Let’s go, while we can.”

Nodding grimly, she pulled him up to his hooves. He could barely stand, but the thought of escape held him upright. Tyria looked around. “Is there any food in here?”

“In the corner,” he answered. While she wrapped up the bread and dumplings with a cloth, Rye slipped on his robes and tried not to throw up again.

“Okay. We don’t have a very large window, but the guards on the ship aren’t very alert while they’re here on the island, and they’re changing shifts in twenty minutes. We can make it down to the beach before then.” Tyria swung the food over her shoulder. “You ready?”

Gratitude threatened to overwhelm him. “Thank you, Tyria.” He felt tears run down his face. “Thank you for coming back.”

She nodded firmly. “I promise you, Rye. I’m not going to let that monster hurt you ever again.”

Rye shivered. “It’s not pain that scares me.” He looked into the darkness. Body and soul.

Tyria pushed open the door. “All right, we’ve got to go now.”

The two of them set off into the night, away from the cage and into the unknown.

15. Tatius, Take Two

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Wheatie yawned and scratched his chin. He’d been waiting outside the Equestrian embassy for nearly twenty minutes. Crowd traffic must have been especially bad that morning, as Zanaya tended to be painfully prompt. She’d shown up for dinner exactly at seven, he’d been amused to note. They’d had an enjoyable time discussing the case. Wheatie grinned and tugged his collar.

In the street, the crowd of zebras was as thick as ever. He looked around idly, searching for a familiar face. The zebras weren’t impossible to tell apart, once you got used to the stripes.

“Hey, soldier boy.”

He smiled and turned. Zanaya was leaning against the side of the building and smirking. “Good morning.”

“You too. If it is still morning.”

She rolled her eyes. “There was a jam on Petra Boulevard. Took me almost half an hour to get to the precinct from my house.”

Wheatie’s eyes sharpened. “And?”

Zanaya smiled and nudged the satchel slung across her back. “Right in here.”

“I’m impressed. Less than a day to get a court order?”

“Well, I have a gifted tongue.” They both grinned at that. “The Marquis has lit a fire under their rears about the pirates. All you have to do is slap the word ‘Viper’ in your application and it cleaves right through the red tape.”

Wheatie snorted. “Well, then, let’s go have a chat with Tatius.”

The two crossed the street, dodging pedestrians. “So,” said Wheatie, stepping around a zebra with a bowl of fruit balanced precariously on her head, “how do you want to handle this?”

“You just have to stand there and be intimidating. I’ll try to coax him into giving us what we need.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Make threats. Not physical ones, please. Just let him know we can bury him in paperwork and legal fees. That usually makes them give up what they know.”

They reached the door to the Gryphan embassy. As they entered, the door swung shut behind them, muffling the noises of the city.

The griffon at the desk gave them a bored look. “You’re back.” His eyes flicked aside toward one of the two burly griffons standing guard near the door.

Zanaya scowled. “We’re here on Watch business.”

“Yes, you said that last time, too.”

Zanaya pulled out the little roll of parchment. “Do I need to read it to you? If you’d prefer, I can get a subpoena for everyone in this embassy. I’m sure the court wouldn’t mind losing another few hours of their time because you didn’t let me in.”

The griffon grimaced. “As you wish, Officer.”

Striding past him with Wheatie in tow, Zanaya moved deeper into the embassy to find the ambassador’s office.

Tatius’s secretary was doing paperwork. Her expression immediately turned cross when she saw the two of them approaching. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear. You aren’t talking to Ambassador Tatius without—”

Zanaya threw the parchment onto her desk. “Read it and weep, Sablefeather,” she said acidly.

Sablefeather's brow furrowed as she looked over the document. Leaving her to simmer in frustration, Wheatie pushed open the door and entered the office at last.

Tatius’s office was small, but opulent. Blood-red carpeting and wall curtains with gold trim smothered the room, sucking up the light from an oil lamp on the central desk. Tatius was seated behind the desk with his ambassadorial robes slung over the backrest. Wheatie couldn’t blame him for not wearing them; the tiny, windowless room felt like a sauna.

The griffon’s head jerked up in irritation. “Aetia! Who are these people? I told you I wasn’t to be—”

Zanaya stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. “The City Watch would like to ask you a few questions, Ambassador.”

Tatius’s eyes briefly shot down to the silver bracelet around her leg, before coming back up to rest on her face. He scowled. “Make it quick. I have work to do.”

Wheatie took up a post by the door, calmly watching the griffon. Tatius Gableclaw’s resemblance to his brother was slight, but recognizable. They both had the same hooked beak and narrow eyes, and judging by the ambassador’s tone, the same temper.

Zanaya began a slow pace, like a lioness stalking her prey. “We’ve been hearing interesting stories about you, Tatius.”

“Stories?” Tatius’s jaw worked in annoyance. “Skip the subtleties, Officer. What do you want to know?”

“For starters, I’d like to know what happened to the several dozen barrels of blackpowder missing from your warehouse.”

Tatius’s eyes widened. “Missing blackpowder? I trust you have proof of this. I'll need to speak with the portmaster.”

Ignoring him, she continued, “And I’d like to know why you were meeting someone in a back alleyway to smuggle unknown items—in barrels—to a known criminal organization.”

The griffon’s chest feathers puffed out. “What? You dare accuse me of smuggling?”

“Ambassador, the penalty for colluding with the Vipers is quite steep. You’re looking at a few months in prison and a hefty fine, at least, and that’s just if you communicated with them. Supplying them with explosives, well,” Zanaya smiled humorlessly, “that’s another level of crime altogether.”

Wheatie suppressed a smirk. Maybe there’d been some miscommunication, he’d thought Zanaya was supposed to be playing good cop.

“I have nothing to do with the pirates, or this missing blackpowder. I resent this bullying, Officer…”

“Zanaya.”

“Zanaya.” Tatius scribbled her name on a blank piece of parchment. “I want the names of your superiors. This is wanton abuse of power. I refuse to be interrogated like this in my own office!”

Wheatie’s eyes narrowed. “We can take you back to the precinct, if you’d prefer.”

The griffon gave him a closer examination. “You’re Equestrian Military.” He frowned uneasily.

“Very good. You may have heard of my commander.” He tapped his chest. Tatius saw the blue star insignia and his eyes widened. Wheatie smiled thinly. “This is the second time I’ve met a Gableclaw.”

“What?” Tatius blinked in surprise.

“I met your brother when we had him locked in the dungeons of Whitewall.” Wheatie slowly made his way toward the desk. “Captain Firemane nearly lopped his head off.” He gave a wistful sigh. “I learned a lot from her.”

Tatius swallowed. “Ah. Varius told me about that.” He frowned again, but with a nervous edge. “If you lay a claw on me, I’ll have your job.”

Wheatie’s smile vanished. “Have you considered I might not care?” His eyes burned. “Your brother’s forces murdered over sixty of my brothers and sisters at Whitewall. I wanted his head on a spike. I could settle for yours.”

Zanaya cleared her throat. “Sergeant, please, you’re scaring the suspect.”

Oops. No physical threats, right.

Tatius’s head jerked back to the zebra. “Suspect? These smuggling accusations are utterly baseless.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot. I’m afraid you’re also currently our prime suspect in the kidnapping of an Equestrian military officer and Princess Celestia’s personal ambassador.”

At that, Tatius’s cool demeanor finally cracked. He choked, rubbing a claw on his throat. “Firemane’s whelp? He’s been kidnapped?”

“Along with one of my best friends.” Zanaya slammed her hoof on the desk. “Every second you waste is another chance for them to kill her. So if you don’t start talking right now, I’m going to haul you off to a cell.” She bared her teeth. “Or maybe I’ll just leave you and the Sergeant alone for some private time.”

Wheatie growled helpfully.

“All right, all right! Fine!” Tatius’s head feathers were slick with sweat. “But I swear, I had nothing to do with your friend and that little mutant.”

Zanaya’s face could have been carved from ice. “Talk. Start at the beginning. You and blackpowder.”

Tatius sighed. “A few months ago… nearly a year, come to think of it, but it seems so much shorter…” He shook his head. “The pirate attacks have hit everyone in the Carriagibbean hard, and Grypha even more so thanks to that thrice-damned demilitarization treaty.”

Wheatie stamped a hoof in outrage. “If you thought we’d let you build another army so you could—”

Zanaya shushed him, then turned back to Tatius. “Continue.”

“We have virtually no naval power anymore. Under the treaty, we’re not allowed to crew warships, so our merchant vessels are entirely reliant on Equestrian and Zyran security.” Tatius made a dismissive noise. “Needless to say, it has been insufficient. We are lucky if one ship in ten is given an escort. King Aelianus ordered me to secure more protection for our shipping lanes from the Marquis. I tried negotiating with her…”

It was impossible not to laugh. Wheatie managed to convert it into a cough. Tatius gave him a dry look. “I take it you’ve met the Marquis.”

“Yes.” Wheatie grinned, despite himself. “I can guess what her answer was.”

“Quite.” Tatius shook his head again. “Your government and mine are not the only ones unhappy with the Marquis. The Dromedarians in particular have been hounding her about her naval activities, and it’s made her completely unwilling to listen to any of us. I was getting nowhere with her, and my king’s missives were growing increasingly… terse. I began to fear for my political career. One night I may have, erm, had a bit too much to drink, and made my grievances known to some people I shouldn’t have. Not long after that, I was contacted.”

“How?” asked Zanaya.

“A zebra gave me an emerald necklace and a letter. She told me to wear the necklace to the diner the letter mentioned, and to come alone. By this point the letters from my superiors were coming on a weekly basis. I took the chance.

“When I arrived, I was met by a rather strange pony. He had these piercing blue eyes, and wore a bulky cloak that didn’t quite cover the scar on his side. He told me his name was Viridian.”

Zanaya raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Viridian came to you himself?”

“Only once. I think he wanted to impress the seriousness of his offer on me. Our subsequent… interactions have all been through proxies.”

Zanaya stared at him intently. “And he was a pony? You’re sure about that?”

“He didn’t have any stripes, anyway. His coat was grey, he might well have been an albino zebra. But then his eyes would have been red, I suppose.” Tatius shrugged. “I don’t remember him that well, it was a short meeting.”

“And what did you do in this meeting?”

“He knew about my difficulties, and about the Gryphan fleet’s predicament. He made me an offer: in exchange for his pirates reducing the attacks on Gryphan vessels, I was to help him obtain blackpowder from Grypha’s stores.”

“Did he say why?”

“Of course not.” Tatius’s face flashed an irritated look. “I only asked if he would use them against Gryphan ships. He promised he wouldn’t, and since I had no real other option, I accepted.”

Wheatie tapped the desk. “How did you get the blackpowder?”

“It was easier than I expected. Since the war, we’ve had giant storehouses full of the stuff, lying around unused. A year or so after the treaty was signed, some bright bird had the idea to sell it to other countries for use in demolitions. Since we’re the only nation with the knowledge to make that devil’s brew, it gives us a much-needed trade monopoly. The substance is shipped through Zyre on a monthly basis. No one misses a few barrels here and there. I used my brother’s ex-military connections to contact the captains and have the barrels moved from their ships to the storehouses by workers supplied by the Vipers. They take their cut while the supplies are in transit.”

“I need a name, Tatius. Who is your contact?”

Tatius wiped his brow with a claw. “It was never the same one, and they’re nobody I would recognize again, just deckhands and sailors.” When Zanaya’s lips pursed, he swallowed. “Wait, wait! There was one, a Captain Zara… Zaka… Zahakis, that was it.”

Her eyes shot wide open. “What was the name of this captain’s ship?”

“It was some kind of sea bird. A pelican or… Albatross, I think.”

Zanaya choked. Wheatie, puzzled but not wanting to lose the initiative, stepped in. “If your contacts were different every time, how did you know when and where to meet the next one?”

“Whenever I met with one of them, they’d give me the date and location for the next meeting.” Tatius swallowed. “There was one permanent contact, in case I needed to get in touch with them. The one who gave me the necklace.” He looked strangely embarrassed. “Her name is Zedya. She works at an… establishment, in the northwest quarter. Forty-third street. The Bareback Rider.”

Zanaya, still looking shaken, stood stiffly upright. “That’ll do for now. Thank you for your time, Ambassador.”

Tatius nervously twirled a quill in his claws. “Please, listen to me. Everything I’ve done has been to help my country. Without the trade from Zyran ports, we’d be even more dependent on Equestria than we already are. Would you do any different, were your country’s independence on the line?”

Wheatie well-remembered the desperation of fighting for Equestria’s continued freedom from Grypha. He gave Tatius an even look. “I suppose not.”

Zanaya nudged him. “Sergeant, let’s go.”

They left, passing a glowering Aetia Sablefeather on the way out. That is one angry griffon, Wheatie thought with amusement. If looks could kill, Zanaya would be leaving the embassy in a bag.

Wheatie waited until they had reemerged onto the street before he spoke. “When he mentioned that Captain Zahakis fellow, you looked like you’d swallowed dragon piss. Mind telling me what’s going on?”

Zanaya shook her head. “I’m not sure. But that ship… the Albatross was destroyed when its cargo of wine and rum exploded on board two weeks ago, and Zahakis was killed. That’s the case I was on when Tyria disappeared.”

Wheatie looked at her sharply. “Wine and rum?”

“So we thought…” Zanaya swallowed. “It gets stranger. Tyria was on the ship just before it blew up. She was guarding Ambassador Milliden, who was having a meeting with Captain Zahakis.”

Wheatie instantly thought back to the Ambassador boarding the Dromedarian ship near the Gryphan warehouse. “I’ll be damned. You think Milliden’s involved in this somehow?” Or Tyria? Wheatie knew better than to say the latter.

Zanaya bit her lip. “For now, let’s focus on this contact of Tatius’s.”

Reluctantly nodding, he asked, “Do you know where this place he mentioned is?”

Zanaya’s nervousness vanished as she snorted. “It’s a brothel on the upper west side. Popular place. Exceptional service, with a price to match.”

Wheatie bit his tongue before asking how she knew.

“I doubt we’ll be able to get in to see this ‘Zedya’ before nightfall. The Watch isn’t very popular in the red light district. We’ll have better luck if we wait until nightfall and pose as customers. Nopony will look twice at a soldier and his girlfriend.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Still, you'd better leave the uniform. Wear something casual.”

“Wonderful.” Wheatie hated nighttime missions. He always ended up red-eyed and grouchy the next day. “Do a lot of couples end up in these places?” he asked dryly.

“You’d be surprised.” Zanaya gave him a cheeky grin. “Want to head back to my place for some coffee?”

“Sure. I have a feeling we’re going to be up all night anyway.”

She winked at him. “Oh, yes.”

Definitely a good catch, Wheatie. He grinned back. But which of us is holding the net, I wonder? After a moment’s consideration, he decided he didn’t particularly care.

They set off into the streets. Wheatie found himself whistling. And to think, he’d expected this assignment to be boring.

16. Escape Artists

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The jungle never truly slept. The night was filled with the sounds of thriving life, from the chirping of insects to the chatter of bats. As Rye and Tyria fled, the sounds of snapping twigs and crackling leaves under their hooves were drowned out in the cacophony.

Rye followed her dark silhouette, his mind whirling with hopes and doubts. As he stumbled through the underbrush, the fearful thoughts raced through his head. Can I trust her?

He was still unsure if this was a true rescue attempt, or another of Breyr’s games. It would certainly be like the Nordpony to give him just enough rope to hang himself. Tyria’s loyalties were the only question. Had she been truthful? Or was she still working for Breyr?

Rye rubbed his shoulder, shivering. He was still weak from Breyr’s latest torture, totally vulnerable should this prove to be a trap. But at this point, the chance of escape was worth the risk of recapture.

And I want to trust her.

It might be the lovesick fool inside him talking, but it was still true. Rye desperately wanted to believe her, to know that she was the real thing; to know that despite the ugly black mark on his shoulder, Tyria was somepony he could trust implicitly. But if she isn’t?

His hoofsteps faltered. The hurt of another betrayal would be too much to bear. But what was he supposed to do? Ask her?

“Rye?” he heard her whisper. Noticing that he had stopped, Tyria turned back to him. “Hurry up, Rye! Our window isn’t very large.”

If she is working for Breyr, she’ll just lie. Rye bent his head in the darkness. But… if I don’t trust her to tell the truth now, can I ever trust her again?

He looked up at Tyria’s silhouette. “Tyria?”

She approached, close enough that he could see the faintest shadows of her face in what little moonlight filtered through the canopy. “What’s wrong, Rye? We need to keep moving.”

“Please, Tyria. Tell me the truth.” His shoulders slumped. “Did Breyr tell you to let me out?”

There was a moment of silence. Then, her voice cracking, Tyria asked, “Do you really think I would do that to you, Rye?”

“I don’t know, Tyria. And that’s the problem.” Rye sagged further. Honesty. We have to build this on honesty. “Today, when he was done with me, Breyr told me ‘the girl is my creature now, whether she knows it or not.’ And then you come to me, offering the hope of freedom…”

“Rye.” Tyria laid a hoof on his shoulder. “This, this… wound I’ve made between us, I can’t… I can’t undo it. I wish to the Goddess that I could, but I can’t. And I know you can’t forgive me. But I can try my best to make amends.” Her voice shook. “Please, let me make amends.”

The hurt in her voice told him all he needed to know. She’s being honest. He felt his heart lift with hope. “You’re wrong, Tyria.” Rye finally raised his head. He touched her hoof with his own. “I can forgive you.”

“How?” He heard the guilt and loathing in her voice, as clear as day. “I stabbed you in the back, just like Viridian—”

Listen to her. She’s tearing herself apart for helping him. Doing it again would hurt her even more than you.

Suddenly he was filled with certainty. “No, Tyria. You did what you did to save my life. I wish you’d told me about your offer to Breyr, but… I understand.”

“But I burned—” Tyria choked back tears. “I burned that skull into your skin and—”

“Thank you.” Rye grabbed her shoulders. He felt her stiffen in shock at his words. “Thank you, Tyria. If you hadn’t done it, he’s have stuck my head in that brazier and watched my face burn.” He rubbed his shoulder again. “This… this I can live with.”

“You really…?” Tyria sounded hopeful, disbelieving.

“Really.” Rye was delighted to find he meant it. “I forgive you. End of story.”

He couldn’t tell in the darkness, but he thought she was wiping her eyes. “Thank you, Rye. I’ll never let you down again, I swear.”

“And I’ll do the same for you.” Rye grinned, though she couldn’t see it. “Does this mean you can start smiling again?”

She laughed through tears. “I can try.”

“Good. You’ve got a beautiful smile.”

Tyria sniffed one last time. “Thank you, Ambassador,” she said with a hint of playfulness.

Glad to hear her sounding at least slightly happy again, Rye nodded. “Should we get moving, then?”

“Yes,” she said, once more composed. “I tried to give us as much time as possible, but we need to reach the beach in the next fifteen minutes.”

“Then lead on.”

Rye’s spirits rose as they continued into the jungle. The wound, as Tyria called it, would take time to heal, but they had at least bandaged it. Now, they were free to… what? Pursue this relationship? You don’t even know if she likes you.

Oh, she does. Would she have agreed to go to the theater if she didn’t?

But what if you’re wrong? Was the ‘smile’ thing coming on too strong? What if…

They forged deeper through the foliage, as Rye continued wrestling with hopes and fears—albeit of a different kind.

After a few more minutes fumbling in the dark, they broke through the trees to find themselves on a long dirt path. The canopy above was thinner, enough for Rye to see the ground. He recognized it as the path that led down to the beach from the pirate camp. “Uh, Tyria, shouldn’t we stick to the jungle? What if somepony comes walking down from the camp?”

Tyria shook her head. “Nopony should be out this late. Most of the sailors in the camp are shipping out on the Nightingale tomorrow. They should all be asleep by now. No one wants to make ready to sail with a hangover.”

Rye frowned. “If you say so…”

Suddenly, a muffled voice came from down the trail. Rye and Tyria looked at each other, eyes wide. “Hide,” she hissed, and the two dived off the road into a stand of ferns.

From the direction of the beach, Rye could see the growing glow of a lantern. The voices, too, grew clearer. One spoke loudly, “I’m not a carrier pigeon, Viridian.”

Rye’s stomach dropped. He felt Tyria go rigid beside him.

“I understand, Captain, but our confidant in Zyre has requested I send someone with more details on next month’s operation. And you’re headed that direction anyway…”

“If that idiot can’t remember simple instructions, maybe ye want somepony else for the job.” The two figures had come into view. It was indeed Breyr, accompanied by the captain of the ship Rye and Tyria had arrived on. The two of them were followed by another zebra, who had a lantern hanging from a saddle on his back. On the saddle was hitched a barrel marked with the blazing bird-lion of Grypha. Rye’s eyes narrowed.

Breyr’s voice chilled slightly. “I don’t make mistakes when choosing personnel, Zevan.”

“So ye say.” They were close enough now that Rye could see their faces in the lantern light. “I still have my worries about the other one, that griffon. If the Watch puts any pressure on him, he’ll crack like an egg. Mark me words.”

“It hardly matters, at this late stage. We’ve got more than enough powder.”

They passed Rye and Tyria’s hiding place. Rye felt Tyria start moving forward, and grabbed her shoulders with his hooves. No, he mouthed. She snarled under her breath, but stilled.

The trio of pirates carried on up the trail. The captain, Zevan, gave a grunt. “Aye, perhaps, but the captains—meself included—have some concerns about yer plan. We’re pirates, boss, not soldiers. Why not loot the city and head back out to sea, where we’re strong?”

“Try to have some vision, Zevan. We can rule Zyre, not simply ransack it. Trust me.” Their voices receded into the distance as they vanished into the trees.

Tyria shook Rye’s hooves off her shoulders. She growled. “You shouldn’t have stopped me.”

Rye looked at her, concerned. “Tyria, there were three of them. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“He used me.” She stamped a hoof. “To hurt you.”

The look in her eyes reminded Rye uncomfortably of the one Breyr had given him after torturing him. “Tyria, don’t get caught up in looking for revenge.”

“He needs to die, Rye. He’s caused too much damage already.”

“Maybe so, but if you attack him right here you’ll just get us both killed.”

Tyria gritted her teeth. “So we just let him go? No. It’s worth the risk.” She made as if to move after Breyr’s group.

“Wait!” Rye tried to keep his voice low. “If we die here, Zyre will have no warning about the pirates.”

“If he dies, they won’t need one.”

Rye pulled her back to face him. “Tyria!” He brought his hooves up, helplessly. “I can’t—I can’t lose you, Tyria. Please. Don’t throw your life away for this.”

She paused, touching a hoof to her chest. “Rye…”

Blushing, he looked away. “I, um… I just meant…”

Tyria smiled. “That’s sweet of you, Rye.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Okay. I’ll let this go for now.” She opened them, her face hardening. “But if I ever get another chance, don’t stop me.”

“Stop you?” Rye bared his teeth. “You’ll have to wait in line.”

* * *

They reached the end of the trail a few minutes later, finally free of the jungle. Tyria slowed to a halt, looking up and inhaling. “That’s something, isn’t it?”

Rye stopped, awestruck at the scene before him. The moon was nearly full tonight, low in the crystal-clear sky over the bay. The dark shadow of the Mare glared down at the Earth, glowering like it had for centuries. The bright lunar reflection shimmered in the water, like liquid silver dancing on the waves. The Nightingale was still the only large ship in the bay, rocking gently back and forth in the water. The full splendor of the stars could be seen tonight, no longer hidden by the lights of Zyre.

A breeze carried the smell of salt water to his nose. Rye had a brief flash of the rag and the pitcher, and gasped. He sat heavily, clutching his chest and panting.

“Rye?” Tyria sat next to him. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head wordlessly, trying to calm his breathing. “F-fine,” he stammered. “I’ll be fine.” With a few deep breaths, he managed to slow his racing heart. “Just a… mild stress reaction.” Oh, Goddess, I’m going to start dreaming about that rag as often as the bugs…

Tyria’s face looked pale in the moonlight. “Does this happen often?”

Rye grimaced, ashamed to show her such a stupid weakness. She was going to think he was unbalanced. “Occasionally, in dark, wet places. I don’t like caves.”

“Oh.” Her eyes lit with understanding. “Does this have anything to do with those caverns under the Antlerwood?”

“Let’s get going,” said Rye, standing up and dusting himself. “We can’t have much time left.”

She nodded warily. “If you’re sure you’re okay…”

“I’m fine,” he said curtly. “Let’s go.”

They made their way down onto the beach. The dirt turned to sand beneath their hooves as they reached the shoreline proper. Tyria led him into the maze of crates and barrels that stood along the beachfront, threading through them with the ease of practice. Rye whispered, “How many times have you done this?”

She whispered back over her shoulder, “I did three trial runs; one in the day, two at night. We’ve got about two minutes left. Plenty of time.”

Rye felt warm water rush over his hooves, and found that he was now ankle-deep in the surf. One of the boats that ferried between the shore and the Nightingale stood before him, oars sticking out of the middle.

Tyria tossed the bundle of food into the boat and pressed her back up against the boat’s aft. Rye joined her, and slowly the boat slid into the water. Tyria gave him a boost over the side, then clambered in after him.

“Grab an oar,” she said, picking one up. Rye watched her lock it into place on the side of the boat, and mimicked her actions on the opposite side. Sitting side-by-side, facing the back of the boat, they placed both hooves on their respective oars, and began to row.

The boat began to pull away from the shore, despite Rye’s inexpert efforts to move the oar. Soon, they were out on the bay, gliding silently through the water.

“Are we heading to the ship?” he asked, listening to the quiet swirling of the water as the oars slipped through it.

“No,” said Tyria, looking around at the beach for pirates. “We’re heading out of the bay.”

Rye felt a twinge of concern. “We’re not taking this little thing out on the ocean, are we?”

“No.” Tyria grunted as she pulled the oar hard to turn them. “Once we get to the bay’s exit, we’re turning right and heading down the coast a ways.”

Rye nodded. “So we’re stealing the boat to throw them off the trail?”

“Exactly.” Tyria smiled. She paused in her rowing to touch his elbow. “Here, don’t be so rigid. Move your forelegs in a circle, like this.”

He relaxed his legs and instantly found the rowing less tiring. “Thanks.” He looked over at her. “You know a lot about lifeboats?”

“Lifeboats, dinghies, schooners, brigantines, ships-of-the-line… if you can name it, my father taught me to sail on one.” Tyria smiled wryly. “I never thought I’d use any of it. I didn’t want to be a sailor.”

“Well, it’s coming in handy. I’ll have to thank him if I ever meet him.”

Tyria gave a thoughtful look upward. “You may, someday.”

Rye felt uncertain hope flutter in his chest. “And you’ll have to meet my parents sometime. My father would like you. Kindred artists, in different mediums.”

She laughed. “Art? Oh, just wait.”

“Hm?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Tonight is all about art,” she said, enigmatically. She tapped his elbow again. “Loosen up those forelegs.”

The boat slipped out of the bay, and they turned south to follow the coastline. Rye gazed out at the endless ocean on the horizon. “Where do you think we are?”

“Somewhere west of the Serpent Archipelago,” Tyria answered, scanning the shore. “None of the Vipers can tell me for sure, though.”

“What, they don’t know where their own base is?”

“Well, that’s the interesting thing,” she said, still searching for something on the shore. “Almost all the pirates I’ve talked to are new recruits. Fairly new, anyway. Most haven’t been part of the Vipers for more than a few months, and few of those have even been out to sea yet. Viridian wasn’t lying when he said Zevan needed sailors.”

“Strange. My briefing said the pirates were pretty professional.”

“These aren’t the regulars.” Tyria broke away from the shore to give him a look of mutual curiosity. “Most of the pirate captains’ original crew are off in Zyre doing… something for Viridian.”

“Hmm.” Rye scratched the back of his neck. “What was it he said? ‘We can rule Zyre, not just ransack it.’ He’s got to be planning something bigger than a simple raid.”

“So what do we tell the Marquis?” Tyria turned back to the shore.

“Well, if we get that far, we’ll have to tell her what area of the sea to start looking in. If the Navy finds this place before Breyr strikes, he won’t have the chance to carry out whatever he’s plotting.”

Leaving her alone to scan the shoreline, Rye pulled a canteen from the bag of food and swashed his mouth out with water to rid it of the taste of brine. He spat it over the side of the boat, feeling moderately fresher. Tyria finally caught sight of whatever she was looking for, and muttered, “Aha!” She pulled hard, and the boat began to turn toward shore. Rye caught a glimpse of a piece of green fabric tied around one of the palms near the edge of the jungle; it must be her signal.

He felt the boat grind up onto the sand, and jumped over the sides to land in the shallows. Tyria tossed both oars back into the middle of the boat and joined him. She took the rope connected to the bow and yanked on it. “Come on, we need to pull it out of the water.”

It was far harder than pushing it out in the first place had been, but together they dragged the little boat up onto the shore and toward the nearby edge of the jungle. They managed to get it inside the trees, where it would be all but invisible from the water.

“There,” said Tyria, panting. “A boat and all the supplies from your cage are missing. That should keep them looking out at sea for a few days. They won’t find this here for at least a week.”

“So if we’re not leaving in this…”

“We’re leaving on the Nightingale.” Tyria grinned at him.

Rye blinked in surprise. “Uh… You’re supposed to be part of the crew, but I don’t think Zevan is going to just ignore me joining his ship unannounced.”

“Ah, but you won’t be.” Tyria’s grin widened. “It’s time for that art I mentioned.” She gestured at a sack lying beneath the tree marked by the green fabric.

She grabbed the sack and upended it. Clothes, bottles, and cosmetic products tumbled out into the sand. Rye stared at the lot of them, baffled. “Where’d you get this junk?”

Tyria sifted through the pile. “Junk? This stuff’s worth more than my salary. These are luxury goods the pirates ‘liberated’ from some Zebrican merchant ship.” She glanced up. “Take your robes off.”

Rye coughed. “Excuse me?”

“Robes. Off.” Tyria gave them an insistent tug. Rye, feeling a little embarrassed, unclasped them, and let the canary yellow fabric fall to the ground.

Tyria rummaged through the stolen goods some more. “Drat, I thought I put a torch in here…”

Rye concentrated for a moment, and suddenly the area around them was lit with a warm orange light. Tyria looked up in surprise at his glowing horn. “Oh! Rye, I didn’t think peg—” She stopped, and clamped her mouth shut.

“Didn’t think pegacorns could do magic?” Rye smiled gently. “We can’t, except for this. Well, I can’t, anyway—I’ve never met another.”

“Well, at least it’s a useful trick.” Tyria held up a puffy, white shirt. “Put this on over your wings.”

After a few minutes of trying on clothing, Rye’s disguise included the shirt, a loose brown vest, and a green bandana that he wore like a cap over his head and ears. It did nothing to hide his horn, but the bright green drew attention away from his face. He pushed to include a tricorn hat and eyepatch, but Tyria vetoed them both, saying, “The object is to make you not stand out, remember?”

Acquiescing with a shrug, Rye tugged on his collar. He gave his new outfit a look over, grinning. “Well, this is going to be fun.”

Tyria sighed. “There’s that ‘adventurous spirit’ again. I went to a lot of work to put this escape together, Rye; try not to blow it by running around yelling yarrrrr.”

“I’ll try to resist,” he said, scrunching up his face. “Avast, me hearties.”

Rolling her eyes, Tyria pulled out a brush and a pad of brown makeup. “All right. Now to turn you piebald.”

She began putting large patches of brown into his exposed coat. Soon, he had a spot covering most of the left side of his face, and another large one peeking out from under the shirt over his back. Smaller speckles joined them on his neck and legs. “There,” said Tyria, sitting back with a satisfied smile. “Now you look like a regular Shelby unicorn.”

Rye had to admit, it was a good cover for his height. The spotted ponies of Shelby, a little region in the Equestrian province of Helmfast, were notoriously small. “Hopefully I won’t look quite so short with all those zebras around.”

“You should be fine,” said Tyria. “Just keep a low profile.” She grinned.

Rye gave her a dry look. “You know, that was funny about the first fifty times I heard it.”

“Sorry, sorry, couldn’t resist.” Tyria began rummaging through her makeup collection once again.

Rye rubbed a hoof against his face, and was pleased to see it came away free of brown. “Well, this stuff dries fast, but how’s it do in water?”

“It’s supposed to be waterproof. That’s why it’s so expensive. Supposedly the high society ladies can wear this out in the rain, and never worry about it running.” Tyria began applying more makeup to her brush. “But I wouldn’t believe the marketing pitch. It’s more like water resistant. Still, a little sea spray shouldn’t hurt it. So long as you don’t go swimming, you should be fine.”

She moved behind him with her brush. Rye jumped a little when he felt her hoof on his flank. “Uh, Tyria?”

“Hold still. We have to disguise your cutie mark, too.”

He felt the feathery touch of the brush as it trailed along his flank. Rye swallowed, intimately aware of her every touch. He hoped nervously that his body would behave while she was working back there. “So what are you drawing?”

“I decided to alter the olive branch rather than cover it,” she said absently. “I’m just doubling the branches to turn the mark into a laurel wreath.”

“For victory, eh?” Rye smiled. “Nice touch.” His tail twitched as she rested her hoof next to the brush, pressing down to hold him still. He inhaled. Think about paperwork think about paperwork think about paperwork…

At last, Tyria finished her work. Rye relaxed as she pulled away, having thankfully avoided any unauthorized salutes from below. Both his flanks now bore green laurels, the old pegasi symbol of triumph. Rye gave them a thoughtful examination. “You know, that’s not bad. Maybe I should get those tattooed on.”

“I think the olive branch fits you better, Ambassador,” said Tyria, amused.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said with a wistful sigh. “Well, then, the transformation is complete. Where to next?”

“We take the long way back through the jungle to the barracks in camp. We’ll try to catch some sleep before call tomorrow morning. Once the crew heads down to the beach, just follow orders and try to stay out of the way of the bosun, the first mate, and the captain.”

“Do they all know what I look like?”

Tyria bit her lip, pondering. “Probably not. Just Captain Zevan. And I’d avoid him in any case. Still, best not to draw any unwarranted attention.”

“Right.” Rye removed the last few pieces of parchment and other detritus from the pockets of his yellow robes, and folded them up. He slid them under his shirt, padding the vest against his chest.

“Rye…” Tyria began, but he held up a hoof.

“No. I’m not leaving my robes behind.” He thumped a hoof on his chest. “I earned these by beating Breyr once before. I’m not letting him make me give them up.”

She sighed. “Well, I suppose if somepony’s taking off your shirt, we’re caught already.”

He managed to quash the several idiotic suggestions that statement brought to mind. Visions of Tyria undoing his collar swam through his head. Goddess, get yourself under control, boy. He doused his horn so that Tyria couldn’t see how red his face was. “Let’s head off, then.”

They dived back into the jungle, this time headed for the camp. Rye felt an energy that he’d been missing ever since their capture back in Zyre. Finally, they were being proactive, taking the initiative. The air felt charged with possibilities. He and Tyria talked, not about their coming escape attempt or their pasts, but about hobbies, favorite books, foods… For the first time in weeks, Rye felt at ease. Looking into Tyria’s eyes in the moonlight, he could almost forget the horrifying experiences of the last few days.

It took them at least twenty minutes to force their way through the dense foliage, but eventually they stumbled back out onto the beach lining the bay. The moon had flown across the sky, close to setting. That meant daylight was only a few hours away; their time was running short.

They set off for the line of cargo at a brisk pace, planning to cut through and head for the dirt path. As they walked through the stacks of crates, Rye slowed. “Wait a minute, Tyria.”

“Hm?”

“Do you still have the cell key?”

She blinked. “Yes. Why?”

Rye swallowed. “Because Breyr has been spying on us.”

Tyria whirled. “What?”

“Not tonight!” Rye waved a hoof to calm her. “But he overheard our… our fight, last night.”

“Oh.” Tyria looked at the ground, downcast. “I know. He’s been doing it since the first night, I suspect. He… he already knows I have the key, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then won’t he know you’re responsible when I’m missing tomorrow?” Rye felt a pit of nervous fear in his stomach.

“Well, yes… but who else would he blame, anyway?” Tyria pulled her mane back anxiously. “Besides, I’m planning on us being away from the island before Breyr even knows you’re gone. We’re supposed to set sail very early tomorrow.”

“I hope you’re right.” Rye rubbed his shoulder. “You don’t want to make him angry.”

“Yes, I do.” Tyria’s eyes narrowed. “I want to make him furious. Just… after we’re gone.”

Suddenly, they heard the unmistakable jangle of metal. Both of them froze.

“Hey, who’s out there?” called an unfamiliar voice. The glow of lantern light warmed a stack of nearby crates. Rye could hear hoofsteps in the sand.

He hissed in panic, “What do we do?” If they were caught down here with the sugar, it wouldn’t matter that he was disguised. The pirates would think they were stealing from the loot, and break their legs—or worse.

Tyria’s head whirled back and forth. There was nowhere to hide; all the stacks of crates were very orderly, with no convenient nooks or crannies. If they ran, they’d surely make so much noise that they would be caught. The hoofsteps drew closer.

Rye spun in a circle, looking for a way out, but finding none. He turned back to Tyria, opening his mouth in dismay.

She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a kiss.

Caught totally off-guard, Rye had exactly two thoughts: Is this really the best time? And then, who cares?

He closed his eyes and melted into the kiss. Tyria’s lips were soft and warm. He could still faintly smell the makeup on his face, mingling with the scent of her mane. Rye pulled her closer, conscious thought vanishing in a blaze of primal happiness.

“Hey!” yelled the voice again, and Rye’s eyes snapped open to find a zebra standing behind them, holding a lamp.

Tyria broke the kiss, pulling away. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes wide as she stammered, “H-hey, Zad.” She turned quickly to face the zebra. “What are you doing out here?”

The zebra scowled at them both. “My job, Tyria. I’m supposed to make sure no one messes around with the loot.” He gave Rye a glare that seemed a little more malicious than was professional. “Who are you?”

Rye, still feeling blitzed, blinked. He said the first thing that came to mind. “M’name’s Apricot.”

“Apricot, eh? And where’d you come from?”

Still stumbling over her words, Tyria said, “He j-joined up about the same time as I did. We wanted to make a little money t-together, so…”

The tic in the zebra’s jaw jerked. “And what are you two doing out here in the dead of night?” His jealous tone said that he was pretty sure already.

“Looking at the, uh, the ship,” babbled Tyria. “I’ve always loved ships. My dad taught me to sail, as a filly, I was hoping to get a good look at the, the Nightingale, since I’ll be working on her, and, uh, you know, I thought R-er, Apricot might like to see, uh, see it… too. So, yeah,” she finished lamely.

The zebra looked like he was wrestling with himself. “Get out of here. Go back to camp. And don’t let me catch you ‘shipgazing’ out here again.”

Tyria’s head bobbed. “Okay. Come on, Apricot.” Rye nodded, and followed her. As they left the crates behind, he heard the thud of a hoof colliding with wood, and grinned. That’s right, you piratical pig, she’s taken.

They slowed as they finally made it out of earshot from the beach. An awkward silence had set in. Tyria was studying her hooves intently, while Rye couldn’t stop pulling on his collar. He took a nervous breath.

At last, the two of them stopped, standing at the edge of the jungle trail. Tyria’s tail swished back and forth, as she tried to speak. “Rye… back there on the beach, I panicked, it was the only thing I could think of—sorry that I just—I didn’t even warn you… You’re not angry, are y—”

He grabbed her uniform and kissed her. She dropped all pretense of reluctance and returned it vigorously, wrapping her forelegs around his neck to pull him closer. The mechanics of the kiss were a little awkward, as Tyria was at least half a head taller than him, but neither particularly cared. They stayed locked together for a few sweet moments, before Rye pulled his head back with a gasp for air.

Tyria was also panting. “We shouldn’t—You’re an ambassador, Rye; I’m military—it’s just not—”

“What, station appropriate?” Rye shook his head and they kissed again, flushed with tension and relief. “My mother’s military, and my father’s a baker. We can make it work, Tyria.”

She pressed her sweet, sweet lips against his again, holding him so tightly it hurt. She lifted her head. “I want to, Rye, I do. But—”

“Is it the wings? The horn?”

“Goddess, no,” she said, and they shared another brief kiss. “If anyone has a problem with that, they can bite me.”

“Then what? Is it your father?” he asked, still out of breath. She looked beautiful in the moonlight, the pale white glowed in her mane and lit up that artistic spark in her eyes. Her tattered khakis were disheveled and rumpled. “Forget about him. If the Princess’s personal ambassador isn’t good enough for him, nopony ever will be.”

“No, Rye, that’s just it,” she said, finally relaxing her death grip on the back of his neck. “You’re the Princess’s personal ambassador. I’m just a nobody from a crap posting in some foreign country, I’m not…”

“Tyria.” Rye brushed a strand of her mane out of her eyes. “Don’t ever think you aren’t good enough for anything. You’re better than I could ever have dreamed of.”

“Oh, Rye…” She kissed him once again, and the words stopped for a few minutes.

She was the one to eventually pull away. “Okay, Rye. But let’s… let’s at least wait to pursue this any further until we’re back in Zyre.”

Rye blinked in sudden panic. “Is it something I said?”

“No!” Tyria shook her head, still trying to get her breath back. “Just… we’re in a lot of danger here. We shouldn’t let ourselves be… distracted.”

“Tyria, I’ve been distracted since that day in the markets.” Rye grinned. “Besides, the danger’s what makes it fun.”

“I told you, lack of survival instinct.” After another short necking session, Tyria gave a half-regretful, half-joyful sigh. “Rye, we… we should get going. It’s only a few hours till dawn.”

Still dazed and exhilarated, Rye nodded, beaming. “To the sleeping quarters, then.”

They walked back to the camp, stealing kisses along the way. By the time they reached the building where the crew of the Nightingale was sleeping, Rye felt like he was being driven mad by a vicious, wonderful cocktail of love and hormones.

The building was dark inside, but enough moonlight filtered through the doorway to illuminate the ring of beds around the walls. Tyria pointed to the sole empty bunk. “That’s mine,” she whispered, wary of waking any of the zebras around them.

“Only one bed again?” Rye grinned stupidly.

Tyria laughed, before hastily converting it into a whispered giggle. “I got the bed last time, you take it this time.”

“We could share…”

“Not a good idea. Low profile, remember?” She kissed him. “Right now I don’t think I could keep my hooves off of you. Besides, it’s not big enough for us both.”

With a regretful nod, Rye agreed. “Good night, then, Tyria.”

“Good night, Rye.” They shared one last kiss, and then Tyria lay down beside the bed to sleep.

Rye rolled onto the mattress, lying on his back and looking up at the dark ceiling. He felt positively bubbly, his head still swimming. If I get any sleep in, it’ll be a miracle. He gave a happy sigh, and rolled over to bury his face in the pillow. Tomorrow will be interesting. I wonder what life as a pirate is really like…

* * *

“All right, you dogs, get your arses moving!”

Tyria’s eyes snapped open. In an instant she was plunged back into basic training, visions of water survival exercises leaping to the front of her brain. She bolted upright, nearly throwing a salute before remembering where she was.

A burly zebra with mean eyes was standing in the barracks doorway, surrounded by sunlight. “Come on, you layabouts, you can sleep when you’re dead. We’ve got a ship to make ready! Be about it!”

All around her, zebras were stumbling out of their beds, tugging on scraps of green cloth. “Aye aye, Bos’n,” one of them slurred.

Rye, asleep in the bed next to her, stretched and yawned. Tyria gave him a discreet nudge. “Get up, Rye,” she whispered. “Don’t draw attention.”

He rolled off to stand on the other side of the bed, giving another bleary yawn. “Mornin’ already?”

“Aye, you idiot,” roared the bosun. “And who’re you?” Tyria cursed inwardly.

“Apricot, sir,” said Rye, the sleepiness in his face instantly replaced with near-panic. “I’m new.”

“Apricot? What are you, a damned fruit?” The bosun snarled. “You ponies have the stupidest names.” He looked around at all of them and shouted, “All right, you lot. The boss is short on zebrapower at the moment, so he’s dumped you miserable excuses for sailors in my lap. I expect you to learn fast; I run a tight ship. The captain wants the Nightingale out of the bay in an hour and a half, so get to it. Move!”

Tyria and Rye were caught up in the mass of zebras as they scurried out of the building. She recognized a few of them. Lem, Zibben, and a few other regulars from the bar were there, but there was no sign of Zad. The group headed down for the beach with surprising swiftness. Tyria lost sight of Rye in the crowd, feeling a flash of anxiety. Still, the bosun had easily accepted Rye’s presence as a regular pirate recruit; perhaps they could pull this off after all.

As they reached the shore and piled into the boats, the mental fog of early morning had cleared enough for Tyria to remember the night before. She blushed as she helped row her boat out into the bay, smiling. She hadn’t meant to be so… forward, last night, but she couldn’t even pretend to herself that she regretted that kiss. It had been better than the dream she’d had, that night back in her apartment. She sighed happily.

“What’s up with you?” asked Lem, who was sitting in front of her.

“Oh, just thinking about how I’ll spend my take.” Tyria blinked, focusing. She glanced over her shoulder to see that they had nearly pulled alongside the Nightingale. As they came to a stop in the shadow of the ship, Tyria steered them up to one of the four rope ladders that hung down from the sides. The zebras in the boat began climbing up.

Lem, the last one to go, turned to Tyria. “You got it?”

She nodded. He scrambled up the ladder, leaving her in the boat with the oars. She wrapped a leg through one of the ladder rungs to secure herself and the boat to the ship while the sailors above winched down hooks. She fastened them to the rings at the boat’s fore and aft, then tugged to signal the zebras above to pull her up.

The boats rose to the deck, swaying in the air. Once they reached the end of the rope from the pulleys, Tyria made sure the oars were securely tied to one of the seats, then hopped out onto the deck.

All around, zebras were scurrying across the deck. Tyria was reminded of the many sailing trips her father had taken her on during the time between his tours. She smiled, remembering the cool breezes off the waves of the Ceracen. The winds in the Carriagibbean were far warmer, thankfully.

She scanned the ship, looking for Rye, but she paused when her eyes landed on a group of zebras preparing to winch up the mainsail’s yard. Tyria nearly choked. The idiots hadn’t untied the lines securing it to the railings.

“Hey!” she yelled, running up to them. She recognized one of the zebras, having met him on the island before. “Zin, what are you doing? Get those lines down before you hoist the yard, or you’ll break the bloody railings.”

The zebras blinked and looked at each other sheepishly. Tyria frowned at one of them. “Zelvin, right? You get the starboard line. Zin, you get the port line. The rest of you, wait till they’re done, then hoist up the yard.”

They nodded. Rolling her eyes, Tyria left to seek out Rye. He had to be somewhere around here. She was worried that his bouts of seasickness might have come back. But before she could locate him, her attention was caught once again as she passed near the starboard railing. Several of the rigging lines had been tied so poorly that they’d come undone at the first firm tug. Grimacing, she undid the knots and began retying them.

“Good work, there, Metrel,” said a voice from behind her. She turned to see the bosun.

“Sir.” She nodded.

“Oh, don’t sir me, girl. You ain’t in the military.” The bosun inspected her knots. “Though I’d say from these that you have had some experience in the Navy.”

“Aye,” she said, trying to sound more casual. “A few years.”

“Well, keep it up,” said the bosun with a smile. “Most of these idiots couldn’t sail a fishing boat, let alone the Nightingale. They’ll shape up soon enough, but until then, I’m relying on you, Lem, Zibben, and the other few zebras who know what they’re doing.” He shook his head.

Tyria tilted her head. “Where is your regular crew?”

He shrugged. “Boss has been sending most of the Vipers’ experienced members into Zyre. As for what, well, I’m not in the group that needs-to-know, as he loves to say.” He turned to leave. “Carry on, Miss Metrel.”

With another nod, Tyria bent over the railing to finish tying the last line. Once that was done, she resumed her search. At last, she spotted a short unicorn with brown spots, standing near the main mast, doing a good job of looking busy without actually touching anything.

She walked up next to him and nudged his leg. Rye turned around, and his face lit up when he saw her. “Hi, Tyria.”

Tyria smiled. “The disguise works, at least. I can barely pick you out among the rest of these pirates.”

“Good,” he said, looking around nervously. “How much longer before we set off?”

“Shouldn’t be long,” she said, taking another glance up at the mainsail, which was still furled under the yard. “I don’t think the captain’s on board yet, though.”

“Yes, he is,” said Rye, paling. He pointed over Tyria’s shoulder, and she turned to see Zevan stepping off of the rope ladder onto the deck.

Followed by Viridian.

Tyria’s stomach went into free-fall. “Rye, get below decks. Now.”

“Tyria, he’s going to—”

“I can handle it. Go, before they start wondering when they recruited the little stallion from Shelby.”

With a fearful nod, Rye patted her shoulder. “Be safe, Tyria.”

“I will. Now go!” She watched him flee for the open grate and stairs leading down into the belly of the ship. Her heart was thumping hard, as she turned to see Zevan, Viridian, and the bosun all talking to each other.

“Thank you, boatswain,” she heard Viridian say quietly, before the blue-eyed pony and his zebra captain left the bosun and begin walking in her direction.

Tyria made her way to the back of the ship, trying to stay calm. She walked up the stairs to the raised aft section, where the ship’s wheel and navigation suite lay. Bending down over the stern railing, she busied herself with another knot. Please, Celestia, don’t let them be here for me.

But she knew they must be. Why else would Viridian himself have come? It was not long before she heard the wood behind her creak under hooves.

“Miss Metrel.” Viridian’s normally warm tone was noticeably cooler today. “I’m glad to see you’re getting situated in your new workspace.”

She stood slowly, turning around to face him. “She’s a wonderful ship.”

Across from the balcony, the sails finally began to unfurl. For one brief, happy moment, Tyria lost herself in the billowing white cloth, thinking back to those happy days she and her father had spent on the wharfs of Cairoan.

Viridian’s voice brought her back to the present. “Zevan, go see that your ship is ready.”

“Aye, boss,” said the zebra, taking his leave.

Now, she was relatively alone with Viridian. Tyria glanced at the railing. If she tackled him, she might send them both over. But she didn’t know if he could swim or not; it was doubtful she could drown him before the crew intervened. And… after last night, she found that she was not so willing to give up her life to end his.

Viridian walked to the port side of the stern deck, looking out at the island. “Come here, Miss Metrel.”

Unwillingly, she dragged her hooves over to stand beside him. He pointed out at the beach. “Do you see that?”

Tyria blinked, wary. She leaned out over the railing, scanning the beach. “See what?”

Viridian’s hoof came down on her head, smashing the side of her face into the railing. Tyria fell to the deck, clutching her head. Stars danced in her eyes, and she tasted blood. Above her, Viridian snarled. “Now do you see it? There’s a boat missing from my beach.”

Massaging her cheek, Tyria looked up at him. She raised an eyebrow. In cool tones, she asked, “Do you think somepony stole it?”

Viridian wrapped a hoof in the ragged lapels of her ruined khaki uniform and slammed her back against the railing. He pressed a foreleg against her neck, leaning her out over the edge of the ship. “Don’t play coy with me, Tyria,” he said in a dangerous whisper, “I’m not in the mood for games today.”

Despite the hoof cutting off most of her air, Tyria’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter, Viridian? Disappointed that you’ve lost your favorite toy?”

“Where is he?”

Her eyes flicked past him to look at the mouth of the bay. “By now, I should hope somewhere far away.”

Viridian growled. “He won’t make it ten leagues in that tiny boat. He’ll capsize and die before the day is over.”

“You’re so angry,” Tyria said, curiously. “Were you honestly arrogant enough to think that just because you knew I had the key, I wouldn’t let him out?” She grinned. “You underestimated me.”

Abruptly, he released the pressure on her neck. “No,” he said, quietly. “I underestimated his feelings for you.”

Tyria blinked. “Oh,” she said, realizing the truth. She laughed. “Oh, Viridian, you cold-hearted bastard. So that’s what the branding was about.”

“Yes,” said Viridian, still deadly quiet. “I thought I had finally killed his will to resist, to escape. His trust in you. It seems I was wrong.”

“You were,” she said, with a victorious smile. “You should have used a stronger poison, viper.”

Viridian’s ear twitched. “The boatswain tells me that you’re one of the few sailors on this ship who can help get it running. As my long-term goals depend on the success of these raids, it’s in my interest to see my ships as well-crewed as possible.” His eye quivered. “And I’ve always put business before personal satisfaction.”

Except when it comes to Rye, she thought, but she just stared coolly back into his eyes.

“So, Tyria, here’s what happens now.” He yanked her closer. “You are going to serve on the Nightingale for the foreseeable future. Captain Zevan will be watching you closely. If he sees any sign of treachery, he’ll have you hanged from the main yard.” His eyes narrowed, those piercing blue irises carving into her soul. “But please, don’t make him kill you just yet. Because when I find Rye Strudel—and believe me, I will—I want to personally disembowel you before his eyes.”

He released her, and turned away. Tyria lay on the deck, rubbing her throat, and watched him leave. As his tail vanished down the stairs, she wondered why on earth she was still alive. He wanted to kill me. He was going to, too, but he thought better of it for some reason. Right when he… he said that thing about Rye’s feelings for me.

She staggered to the railing just in time to see Viridian’s boat pull away from the ship. She watched him go, pondering. An irrepressible cheer began to rise in her. She'd done it after all. She'd won.

We still have to get off of the ship, and back to Zyre. But that seemed almost trivial compared to escaping the island. Tyria stood, grinning, as Zevan and several other zebras ascended to the stern deck.

The captain gave her an ill-favored look. “Get down to the main deck, Metrel. We’re weighing anchor.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she said, calmly. She gave Zevan a little bow, and made her way down to the main deck.

As the anchor raised from the water, dozens of oars plunged into the water. The Nightingale pulled out of the bay, catching the wind as she left. Tyria watched the sails billow and smiled. And off we go. She looked back at the island as it disappeared behind them. Don’t worry, Viridian. We’ll be back soon enough. And this time, we’ll have the entire Zyran Navy at our backs.

17. The Bareback Rider

View Online

The building’s entrance was bathed in dim, red light from the filtered lampposts lining the streets. There was no door, just a crimson curtain drawn across the entryway arch. The sign that hung above the door displayed a zebra mare lying on her stomach with her head propped up on one leg, beckoning with her free hoof. Curving text below the picture bore the name, The Bareback Rider. The name was written in Zebrillic below that. There was a small notice to the side of the entrance that said All Payments in Advance.

Wheatie tugged on his collar. He was in his undress blues, the most casual clothing he’d brought with him; just a soldier on leave looking for some fun. Beside him, Zanaya was dressed a little fancier. She hadn’t opted to wear any clothing, but had dug out some white-and-blue coral beaded jewelry in the old Zebrican style, a pair of earrings and a necklace, that looked simply stunning.

He pulled his eyes away and glanced around at the busy streets. It was past midnight, but that was when this district really came alive. Dozens of groups of zebras, ponies, griffons, and more strolled past, drinking and laughing as they headed off to find entertainment for the night. Wheatie grinned, fondly remembering nights on the town with his brothers-in-arms back in Canterlot.

“Well,” said Zanaya, sizing up the building, “here we are. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” said Wheatie, rubbing his hooves. “Let’s see what this zebra knows.” They pushed past the curtain to enter the building.

Inside, they found themselves in a large foyer. The room was carpeted with pink fibers, and filled with members of half a dozen species. Zebras, male and female, were giving massages to the various customers lounging on plush, red cushions around the room. More red, satin curtains adorned the walls, lit softly by candles held in stands around the room. The air smelled exotic; a heady blend of wine and fruit, with just the tiniest hint of excited sweat.

On the far side of the room extended a hallway. The entrance was covered with long strings of beads. They rattled as a zebra wearing a pouch around her neck pushed her way through them, beaming. “Hello, my friends,” she said, striding toward Wheatie and Zanaya. Her voice was rich and smooth. “My name is Zami. Welcome to my establishment.”

“Hello,” said Zanaya, dipping her head in greeting.

“I trust you’ll enjoy your time here,” said Zami, bowing. “Which of our services were you hoping to sample tonight?”

Wheatie took another whiff of that enticing scent. “A friend recommended the place to us. He said we should ask for Zedya.”

Zami smiled. “Yes, Zedya is very popular with our customers. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with her service.” She looked back and forth between them. “We take our payment up front, I’m afraid.”

“Of course.” Wheatie pulled his coinpurse from his breast pocket. “How much?”

Zami’s eyes flicked up as she calculated. “One zebra, one pony, minus the discount for couples…” She glanced at Wheatie. “Would you like any… experience enhancers? We have a fine selection of wines, stimulants, and other substances. All legal, of course.” Wheatie shook his head. Zami nodded and resumed her count. “Your total comes out to three-hundred and twenty bits.”

Wheatie’s eyes bulged, but he resisted a cough of outrage. He counted out the gold coins and handed them to Zami, who slid them into the pouch around her neck. Wheatie winced. That money was coming out of his personal funds instead of his usual assignment budget; he hadn’t fancied trying to explain this as an “operational expense” to Captain Inger.

Satisfied, Zami beckoned them to follow her. She led them through the sheet of beads into the hallway. On the right wall were mounted dozens of pegs. Many of them had little slips of pink cloth tied around them. Zami traced along them with a hoof, reaching an empty peg, and smiled again. “Looks like she’s free. I’ll show you to the room.”

Wheatie and Zanaya followed her through the building. The hallway was lined with more open entryways where curtains served as doors. Wheatie heard more than a few soft moans from within the rooms as they passed. Zanaya gave him a look and grinned, nudging his flank with a hoof. Wheatie’s mouth twisted dryly.

At last, after taking a few turns in the hall, Zami came to a stop beside one of the doorways. She pulled the curtain aside and gestured inside. “Go on in. Zedya will take good care of you both, I can assure you. Enjoy.” Wheatie stepped in first, and Zanaya followed him. The curtain fell back behind them, and the sound of Zami’s soft hoofsteps on the carpet faded away.

The room was cozier than he’d expected. On the right wall stood a cabinet, filled with bottles of expensive-looking wine—Zanaya hadn’t been kidding about this being a high-class establishment. The walls were all curtained like the rest of the building, aside from a space for the candle holders on each one. The main feature of the room was, of course, the giant bed that took up most of the space. It had creamy pink sheets and half a dozen pillows of various sizes. Wheatie tried to suppress his curiosity about some of the more unusual-looking ones. The final detail was a golden rope that hung from the ceiling beside the bed.

Zedya herself was reclining on the bed as they entered. Wheatie’s eyebrows rose of their own accord. She was wearing no makeup, as far as he could tell, but she didn’t need any. Her mane was luxurious, cascading down her neck in tumbles of dichromatic curls, and the curves of her back invited the imagination to thrilling places.

She slid out of the bed, giving the pair a sultry smile. “Welcome.”

Wheatie inhaled, and caught a blast of perfume that made his brain go fuzzy. Whatever she was wearing, it was intoxicating.

Zanaya returned the smile in kind. “Hello.” She flicked her tail.

Wheatie felt a bead of sweat on his back. Two gorgeous mares and a bed the size of a house. Normally, this is the part where I’d wake up…

Zedya reached them, and traced a hoof along Zanaya’s cheek. “Mm. It’s been some time since I had a couple.” She slowly circled the pair, brushing up against them. “So, would you like me to take the lead? Or did you have something… specific in mind?”

“Actually, we do,” said Wheatie, trying very hard to ignore the part of him that wanted to let this glorious fantasy play out to its natural conclusion.

“Yes,” said Zanaya, rubbing her shoulder against his, drawing an involuntary breath. Wheatie looked up at the ceiling. Not helping, Zanaya.

She lowered her voice. “We’d be very, very happy if you could do something for us…”

Zedya put her hooves around Wheatie’s neck and leaned against him. Her voice filled with promises, she asked, “What would you like?”

Zanaya’s eyes narrowed, and her smile hardened. “To start, I’d like to hear everything you know about the Pit Vipers.”

Instantly, Zedya cooled. Her smile never vanished, but Wheatie could feel her stiffen up. She pulled her hooves slowly away, and Wheatie bid a mournful farewell to the opportunity of a lifetime. “The Pit Vipers?” She sounded mildly curious. “They’re those pirates, aren’t they?”

“That’s right,” said Wheatie, fighting through the fog in his head. Zedya began edging to the side, but he subtly shifted his position to block the doorway. “You know. Sugar thieves, wear lots of green?”

“I don’t know much about them, I’m afraid,” she said, slowly retreating.

“According to our friend Tatius Gableclaw, you do,” said Zanaya, slinking forward in that panther-like manner she had.

“Tatius?” Zedya was all innocence. “Who’s that?”

Zanaya gave her a catlike smile. “You’re a good actor, I’ll give you that much.”

Zedya’s smile lost its seductive edge and curled wryly. “It’s part of the job.”

Suddenly, she flung herself across the bed, grabbing the golden cord in her mouth. She yanked on it twice before Zanaya could pull her away from it. Wheatie heard a bell ringing faintly, somewhere else in the building. “Oh, damn.”

Zanaya, holding the struggling Zedya down on the bed, looked up in alarm. “What was that?”

“Security alert, I’ll bet,” said Wheatie, cursing inwardly. Just as he lifted his right hoof to turn, a griffon and a bulky zebra barged through the curtain. The zebra’s hoof was already sailing toward his head as they burst into the room. It connected, sending him flying back onto the bed.

Zanaya and Zedya fell off on the right side of the bed, still struggling, but they dropped from Wheatie’s attention as the two guards attacked. The zebra jumped onto the bed and tried to smash his hoof back into Wheatie’s face again, but Wheatie rolled over and dodged the blow. He grabbed the zebra’s leg, pulling him down onto the sheets. They grappled, each vying for a solid hold. This was not the bedtime activity I had in mind, thought Wheatie, irritably.

The griffon tried to join his partner, but Wheatie lashed out with a hind leg and took him in the face. The griffon reeled backward, stunned. The distraction let the zebra get in another good punch to his face, leaving him seeing stars.

The guard was strong, but Wheatie was a Firewing. He slid out from under the zebra, and immediately rolled around. He wrapped his forelegs across the zebra’s chest from behind, crushing toward himself. The guard twisted and turned, trying to escape the submission hold, but he couldn’t break free. Wheatie heard a crack as one of the zebra’s ribs broke, and winced in sympathy. The poor guard was just doing his job, after all.

Wheatie rolled off the bed, managing to plant his hind legs on the floor while still holding the guard. At last, the zebra went limp in submission. Wheatie dropped him, and the guard fell to the floor, clutching his side and groaning. Panting, Wheatie turned back to deal with the other one.

The griffon slammed into him, and they crashed up against the wall. Wheatie snarled as he tried to worm away, but the griffon bit down on his shoulder.

“Ow!” He curled his right hind leg and kicked the griffon in the gut. The avian stumbled backward, and Wheatie dived at him. They tumbled back onto the bed again, fumbling for a position of leverage.

The griffon found one first. He rolled over on top of Wheatie’s chest, pinning him down, and grabbed a pillow with his claws. He pushed the pillow down over Wheatie’s face, trying to smother him into unconsciousness.

Wheatie strained against the guard, but the griffon was too heavy to simply push away. He gasped for breath, smelling perfume and sweat from the pillow’s fabric. The edges of his vision began to darken as his lungs ached for air.

He heard a heavy thunk, and suddenly the pressure on his face vanished. He swiftly batted aside the pillow, ready to come up swinging, only to find the guard toppling off of him out cold. Zanaya stood in front of him, one hoof planted on the sheets, holding a wine bottle in her mouth and panting, her face flushed with adrenaline.

Behind her, Zedya was making a break for the exit. Wheatie pointed in alarm, and Zanaya whirled around to smack the bottle into the back of the other zebra’s head. Zedya hit the floor, giving a little howl of pain.

Zanaya dropped the bottle and gave Wheatie a worried look. “You okay?”

“Fine,” said Wheatie, rubbing his shoulder where the griffon had bitten him.

Zanaya pulled Zedya up off of the floor and pinned her against the wall. She growled. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. You were about to tell us about your connection to the Pit Vipers.”

“Okay! Okay!” Zedya squirmed. “Fine, you lunatics!” Zanaya released her hold a bit, and Zedya slumped. “I’m not really part of their group. I just handle message drop offs.”

“Like what?”

“How should I know? Sometimes, clients come in here and show me a green slip of fabric with a snake sewn on it. They leave me a package or a message, and then a few days later another one shows up to collect.”

Zanaya frowned. “What about Tatius?”

“They told me he’d be coming in here, and that I was to hand off a necklace and some instructions to him. I did. That’s all I know, I swear.”

“Why are you helping them?” asked Wheatie, still massaging his shoulder.

Zedya gave an uncharacteristic grin. “They’re very good tippers.”

Wheatie snorted. “Any other important ‘clients’ you’ve had dealings with?”

“Just tonight?” Zedya’s eyes narrowed and her smile widened. “I see a lot of important people.”

With an irritated glare, Zanaya cuffed her on the back of the head. “Working for the Vipers, we mean.”

“Most of my Viper-affiliated clients are low-ranking zebras. There was one pony, though.” Zedya gave a mock frown. “He never actually sampled my services during his pick-ups. All business, that one.”

“Who?”

Zedya smiled as she looked right into Zanaya’s eyes. “Arcturus Milliden. The Equestrian Ambassador.”

Wheatie blinked, stunned. He’d suspected there was something going on with Milliden, but to hear it so bluntly that the ambassador was working for the pirates was a shock.

Hooves thudded from somewhere down the hall. Zanaya released Zedya, turning to Wheatie. “Come on, soldier boy. We’ve got to get out of here before more guards show up.”

Wheatie nodded. As Zanaya pushed through the curtain, he turned to Zedya and tossed her the last few of the coins from his pouch. She raised an eyebrow. He jerked his head back toward the bed and the two comatose guards. “When they wake up, give them a treat. On me. To make up for breaking his rib.”

She smiled dryly. “All right. Sure you don’t want to stick around and get your money’s worth? You did pay for it, after all.”

Wheatie pursed his lips. “Ah…”

“Wheatie!” called Zanaya. He gave Zedya an apologetic shrug and sped out of the room.

From the far end of the hallway, two more zebra guards were rushing toward them. Wheatie and Zanaya fled, running through the building past dozens of curtained rooms. A few inquisitive heads poked out after them, only to pull sharply back inside as the guards came charging past. They burst through the bead curtain into the lobby, drawing cries of alarm from the patrons. Zebras scurried to get out of their way as they raced for the exit.

Wheatie was out first, galloping out onto the cobblestones. Zanaya was close behind. “Go right!” she said, swerving.

He followed her down the street, his hooves thudding on the street. They ran half a block down the road and turned into an alleyway. Both of them pressed up against a wall, trying to catch their breath.

“Think they’ll follow us?” he asked, his chest heaving.

“I doubt it,” she answered, breathing hard. “We didn’t do enough damage to be worth the effort. And these establishments don’t like getting involved in the legal system, so I doubt we’ll be hearing any formal complaints, either.”

They stood there, looking at each other, breathing, and Wheatie grinned. “What a rush, huh?”

Zanaya returned the grin. “You haven’t seen anything yet, soldier boy.” She pulled him close, closed her eyes, and their lips met. Wheatie gave a happy hum. Zanaya was an excellent kisser, though there was a little more tongue this time than there had been at dinner the other night. He reciprocated, quite enthusiastically.

She pulled back, her face still red with adrenaline. “Your place, or mine?”

“I don’t have a place,” he said, his heart still pounding from the run and the last fifteen minutes of unbearable sexual frustration. “Unless you mean the embassy.”

“Oh, right,” she breathed. “Well then, my house it is.”

He spread his wings. “Hop on.”

“Oh, I intend to.” She climbed onto his back, wrapping her hooves around his neck. “Let’s go,” she whispered warmly into his ear.

Wheatie grinned and took to the air.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, pillow talk with Zanaya was about the investigation. They hadn’t had much of a chance to discuss their findings since escaping the Rider, so that was where the conversation naturally turned. As Wheatie administered a backrub that melted Zanaya like butter, the two mulled over what they’d learned.

“So Milliden’s working for the Vipers,” said Zanaya, lying her head on the sheets

Wheatie gently massaged her shoulders. “He always did seem like an ass,” he said. “Still, I didn’t think he was an actual traitor.”

“Mmm. Is he a traitor? I mean, the pirates are harassing Zyre, not Equestria.” Zanaya cooed happily as he pressed firmly on her lower back.

Wheatie shrugged. “They’ve hit our shipping, too. That makes them enemies of the state. Helping them is treason. Milliden’s in hot water when the Princess finds out about this.”

“If it’s true.” Zanaya laconically stretched her forelegs. “That little coquette might have lied. We’re going to need to find proof.”

“Things have been going smoothly, so far.” Wheatie returned his attention to her upper back, and she gave a happy mumble. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something in his office.”

“Worth a shot,” she said dreamily. “Ooh, right there. There’s a knot.” As he moved to rectify the situation, she gave a thoughtful look at the ceiling. “Although, I’m curious as to what all these meetings he’s been having are about. I think we should split up. We’ll wait until he leaves tomorrow. You check his office, I’ll tail him.”

Wheatie calmly continued his ministrations. “Sounds like a plan.” He yawned. “We’ll head over in the morning and ask the secretary about his schedule.”

Zanaya’s voice lowered. “And then maybe we’ll find out what happened to Tyria and Rye.” Her shoulders tensed up beneath his hooves.

Wheatie gave them a reassuring rub. “We’ll find them, Zanaya.”

She sighed, resting her head again. “I hope so, Wheatie. I hope so.”

18. Elyrium

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Tyria clung to the rigging, narrowing her eyes as they teared up from the wind. The sail fluttered in front of her, straining against the lines that lashed it to the yard above. Tyria swayed on the ropes, feeling the ship rock. Pausing in her climb, she raised a hoof to her mouth to readjust the coils of cordage. She bit down on them, and returned her gaze to the yard. The long beam stretched horizontally from the mast, creaking as the sail pulled it and the ship forward. Tyria put her hoof back on the rigging, and resumed her climb up to the spar.

She reached the yard at last, carefully untangling herself from the ropes. Just above her head, the highest sail of the mast’s three yanked suddenly in the wind, drawing another groan from the wood. Tyria spared a glance down toward the deck, instantly regretting it. The rough water wasn’t doing any favors for her stomach, and the view of a dozen zebras looking up at her from what seemed like miles below did not help.

With a deep breath, she looked back up along the port side of the yard. She leaned down and wrapped all four of her legs around the beam, twisting left and right to make sure there was enough friction. When she felt confident that she wouldn’t go sliding to her death, she began shimmying forward.

Ahead, the first lines securing the sail to the yard drew close enough for her to examine them. All seemed to be in order; the lines were tight and strong. Tyria edged over the coils, grimacing as the abrasive rope rubbed against her chest. She moved forward, approaching the second set of looping rope.

As she reached it, she frowned. Zarud had been right, after all. The rope was badly frayed in multiple places. She wondered how long it had been since these lines had been replaced. Judging by the state of the rest of this vessel, she glumly guessed about five years or more.

Tyria began undoing the knots, keeping the end of the rope wrapped around her hoof to prevent the sail from blowing free. The unraveling line wasn’t an immediate problem—the sail had multiple tethers for a reason, after all—but it still needed to be fixed. They’d lose a lot of wind over the top while sailing, and a strong enough gust might tear more lines and bring the whole house of cards crashing down. Tyria released her mouth’s hold on the rope and unspooled the replacement cordage, letting it out slowly so as not to burn her tongue with the friction.

A few minutes of pulling and tying later, she leaned back to inspect her work. She smiled. Her father would have been proud, were he here. “Should hold it for another five years,” she muttered wryly.

The descent was less nerve-wracking than the climb. Still, she was glad when her hooves finally touched the deck.

A holler went up from the dozen sailors around her. “Good work, Tyria,” said Lem, clapping her on the shoulder.

“Mm. Thanks.” Tyria tried not to roll her eyes. The only reason any of them cared was because her success meant they wouldn’t have to do it themselves. None of the zebras were very fond of heights. Come to think of it, neither was Zanaya. Was it some biological thing? The zebras had lived on wide, flat plains for most of their species’ history, after all. Tyria tapped her chin thoughtfully.

“All right, you lot, back to work.” The bosun waved his hoof in dismissal. The small crowd dispersed, leaving Tyria and the bosun standing by the railing. The bosun gave her an approving nod. “See any more problems when you were up there?”

“No, sir. All looked good from where I was standing.” Tyria managed not to salute. All of her old Navy training had been coming back in force over the last week, as the Nightingale prowled the Carriagibbean looking for prey.

The big Antellucían merchant ship they were out here to catch wasn’t due in the area for another day or two, so Captain Zevan had been trawling the seas for easy catches. They’d stopped a few fishing boats, but there hadn’t been any major hauls so far. Tyria was grateful that the crews had surrendered without a fight; she didn’t know how she would handle having to hurt anyone as part of this charade.

Still, things had been going remarkably well so far. Captain Zevan trusted her about as far as he could throw her—probably less, he was a strong zebra—but the rest of the crew seemed to have accepted her as a fellow pirate. The bosun in particular had become an unexpected ally, so pleased with her work performance that he’d given her virtually free reign of the ship whenever she wasn’t doing a specific job for him.

“Well,” he said, looking out over the ocean and shielding his eyes from the sun, “I haven’t got anything else urgent for you at the moment. If you don’t mind, though, at some point today I’d like you to go ask First Mate Zab about our Elyrium stores. We’re going to need them in a day or two, I’d like to be sure that we have enough.”

Tyria tilted her head. “Elyrium?”

“Aye. It’s a magical suppressant.” The bosun yawned. “Don’t want the antelopes casting any spells to set our ship on fire.”

“A magical suppressant?” Tyria blinked. Such a thing sounded incredibly powerful. How had she never heard of it before? “Where’s it from?”

The bosun waved a hoof. “Viridian knows a zebra shaman-trained alchemist somewhere in the isles. It’s expensive stuff, but we couldn’t hit Antellucían or Equestrian ships without it.”

He looked back along the deck toward the steering wheel, and his eyes narrowed in irritation. “Oh, gods, no. Who thought Zadrick could be a navigator? He’s holding the bloody sextant upside-down.” The bosun groaned. “I’d better get up there before he sends us straight into the Serpent’s Maw. Make sure you talk to Zab.”

“Got it.” This time, Tyria saluted before she could stop herself.

The bosun grinned. “I told you, girl, you’re not in the military anymore.” He gave her an amused nod and rushed off.

Tyria tapped a hoof on the wood, looking around. She didn’t see any other pressing disasters breaking out on deck that required her attention: no runaway barrels rolling around, no broken lines swaying in the wind, no sailors falling overboard. She had that rarest of commodities on the open seas—free time.

And she knew how she intended to spend it. She’d start searching in the cargo hold, and if she didn’t find him there, she’d check the sleeping quarters next, and then go level by level if she had to.

The search was not as long as she’d feared. As she stepped down belowdecks, shouldering past a zebra on his way up, a short gray unicorn holding a bucket of water came trotting toward her.

“Ah, Apricot, there you are.” Tyria’s voice was stern. “I need a word.”

“Miss Metrel,” he mumbled around the bucket’s handle. “Kind of busy at the moment.” Another zebra came down the hall behind him, squeezing past the two of them to head up top.

“It can wait,” she said, scowling. She walked past him, taking a right into the sleeping quarters.

The room was filled with hammocks that hung from the ceiling, but empty of other sailors. The rest of the crew was busy keeping the ship operational. Tyria stepped aside as ‘Apricot’ entered after her. He looked back over his shoulder, then set the bucket down beside the door and closed it. “I think it’s clear—”

Tyria grabbed his shoulders and swept him into a hungry kiss. Rye held it for a moment, then pulled back, grinning. “Goodness, Miss Metrel.”

“I missed you,” she said, tapping him on the nose with a hoof.

“You just saw me three hours ago,” he said, amused.

She sighed. “It seemed longer.” She gave him another kiss, and then glanced down. “What’s with the bucket?”

Rye beamed. “We sprung a leak down in the hold. Just a little one, but Zab has us bilging it out.”

Tyria laughed. “I’ve never seen somepony excited by the prospect of bilging.”

“I like working.” He adjusted his cap, smiling. “I feel useful. And that’s the best feeling in the world.”

“Second-best,” said Tyria, kissing him again.

“Mm,” he acquiesced. “Still, I could get used to being a pirate. It’s simpler than politics, that’s for sure.” His eyes lit up. “I haven’t even felt seasick in three days! Too busy to worry about my stomach, I guess.”

“Not going native on me, are you?”

Rye pressed his forehooves against hers, lifting them up. “Why not? We could steal a ship, raid a few merchants, buy a nice island to retire on…”

“Rye and Tyria, terrors of the Carriagibbean? Might be hard to sail a ship with just the two of us,” said Tyria with a crooked smile.

“Details,” he said with an airy wave, before leaning back in.

They were interrupted by a banging on the door. “Oi, Apricot! I know you’re in there!”

Rye’s eyes shot wide as he jerked his head back. “Meet me by the lifeboats at sunset,” he whispered, before diving for his bucket. He picked it up and rushed for the door.

Hurriedly brushing her mane back, Tyria hoped her face wasn’t noticeably flushed. Rye pushed the door open, and they were greeted by the first mate’s glowering visage.

“If I catch you slacking off again, I’ll have you flogged. I want that hold free of water, got it?”

Rye nodded meekly. “Got it.”

“Get out of here.” Rye raced past Zab, water sloshing in his bucket. The zebra turned to Tyria, his scowl deepening. “And what were you doing?”

“He owes me some money,” she said, trying not to sound flustered. “I’ve been trying to get him to pay me back for a week, now.”

“Don’t interrupt my crew while they’re working,” said Zab crossly. “Shake him down on his time, not mine.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” Tyria ran out and circled in front of him, walking backwards as he started for the stairs. “The bosun wanted me to check on the Elyrium stock.”

Zab grunted in irritation. “Oh, of course he did. Look, you tell Zennan to stop bothering me about that every single outing. We’ve got plenty of the stuff. We never even have to use it, just the threat of it’s enough.” He grunted. “But since he won’t believe me, go check it yourself. It’s in the chest with the blue paint and white stripes. Here’s the key. Now, get out of my way.” He pulled a key out of his side pocket and handed it to her, then brushed her aside and headed up the stairs.

Tyria felt the urge to wait for Rye to come back down, but she didn’t want to draw any more unwanted attention. With a sigh, she headed down the corridor toward the stairs into the cargo hold.

A smile crept onto her face. She had that feathery feeling again, the same one she’d felt weeks ago when she’d had him in her apartment. Tyria loved every small moment they were able to steal together. She loved that lively glow in his eyes, she loved the eagerness in his voice, she loved the danger and excitement that he’d brought into her life. She loved him.

And about time I admitted that to myself, she thought, her smile widening. She was filled with a confused tangle of emotions about this whole thing, the pirates and her father and that horrible branding scar and the kisses, but one thing was clear to her. She had fallen for the little gray pegacorn, fallen hard, and she couldn’t be happier.

Well, that was mostly true—her mood might improve if they weren’t surrounded by three dozen zebras who would cheerfully kill them both if their disguises slipped for a moment. Tyria grimaced. Hopefully, Rye’s sunset meeting would end with a plan to finally get off this ship. Her own half-baked ideas about stealing one of the lifeboats and making for an island in the archipelago were beginning to seem more and more like a pipe dream. Even if they could get away clean, the odds of successfully navigating the sea in one of those things were next to nothing.

Putting her worries aside for later, she stepped down into the cargo hold. A few zebras were down there with her, getting supplies for dinner or double-checking manifests. Others came trotting out from further back behind the barrels and crates, carrying more buckets of water.

Tyria roamed the cargo hold, searching for the blue chest Zab had described. She slowly made her way to the ship’s armory, if it could be called such—there were just a few chests filled with rusting spears and machetes. The blue chest she sought stood wedged in their midst. It was much smaller than its companions. Tyria pulled it out, unlatched the lid, and opened it.

Inside were rows and rows of tightly packed vials that rested in a frame made of metal wiring. The vials were filled with a clear liquid, something that might have been water but for the strange way it caught the light. It almost seemed like there were tiny flecks of something reflective floating inside, but the little glowing pinpricks were there even when her shadow blocked the lantern light in the hold.

A small pair of tongs rested between the vial racks and the wall of the chest. Tyria took one handle in her mouth, using a hoof to clamp the tongs around one of the vials. She delicately lifted it from the metal wiring, entranced by the dancing lights within. The vials were capped with tiny corks, firmly wedged into the tops. She brought her other hoof up to the tongs, freeing her mouth to gently unstop the vial. She sniffed, giving a surprised ooh. The liquid gave off an unmistakable scent of vanilla.

Re-corking the vial, she looked down at the chest. She inhaled sharply. There were dozens of vials packed into it, layers and layers of glassware. If each of those vials held enough liquid to stop a spell, the pirates were supplied well enough to take down a crew of serious magic users.

Tyria tucked the vial into her tattered breast pocket and buttoned it shut. None of the zebras could use magic, but it couldn’t hurt to have it on hoof. Closing the chest and relocking it, she left to head back up top.

* * *

She killed the rest of the afternoon playing seasail with Lem and Zibben, who were also free from duties. She was getting better at the game. This time she managed to clean out Lem, before losing all her winnings to Zibben’s astonishingly lucky hoof of a four to eight straight, the highest possible under the rules. Tyria was certain he was cheating, but an unspoken rule of the game was figuring out how your fellow players were conning you, and then getting them back.

As the sun sank toward the horizon and the sky turned red, the dinner bell rang. The crew headed down into the ship to grab their food, but Tyria lingered behind. She meandered over to the starboard lifeboat, putting her forehooves up on the railing and looking out at the setting sun.

The wood creaked behind her. Rye appeared to her left, resting his hooves on the rail next to her own. Tyria smiled. “Hiya.”

“Hiya back.” Rye returned the smile. They looked out over the water, watching the sunlight scatter on the waves. The purple and golden sky above was flecked with white clouds, breaking up the colors and making them all the more striking. A cool breeze blew past, catching Tyria’s mane. She inhaled, taking in the scent of salt water and wood varnish.

Rye breathed out slowly. “Beautiful.”

Tyria nodded absently. “Yes, it is.” She glanced over at him and realized he’d been looking at her. She grinned and gave his shoulder a soft punch. “Brown-noser.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” he said playfully.

“Yes, well…” Tyria rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the blush of pleasure. “I don’t exactly look my best at the moment.”

Rye’s smile turned crooked. “I admit, that uniform has seen better days.”

Tyria gave it a regretful pat. “Poor thing. I’ve had this since I was first stationed in Zyre. I try to take good care of my clothes.”

He gave her shirt a grim nod. “If we get out of this alive, its sacrifice will be remembered,” he said solemnly, before ruining the gravitas with a muffled snort.

“Speaking of which…” Tyria liked talking with him, but they needed to work out a plan.

“Right.” Rye looked around. Confident that they were alone, he leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “I’ve come up with a way off this bucket.”

“Do tell,” she murmured back.

“We’re hitting that Antellucían ship tomorrow or the day after, right?”

“That’s the plan, anyway. Board it, grab the cargo, and get out.”

Rye nodded. “Well, our plan is to stay on board.”

Tyria blinked, surprised. “Oh. That’s… elegantly simple.” Her eyes narrowed. “But won’t the pirates notice we’re missing? I expect they’re going to take a headcount before leaving the ship.”

“You think? As long as they get the loot, I wouldn’t expect them to care about the crew all making it out. Especially if there’s fighting. Fewer splits of the winnings, right?”

“Maybe.” Tyria felt a bit uneasy at leaving that uncertainty, but they were running out of time. “We won’t get a second chance, though. If we try this and get caught, that’s it.”

Rye gave her a simple smile. “What’s life without a little risk?”

“Boring,” she said thoughtfully, raising a hoof to touch his cheek. “I never realized how boring, before.”

He grinned. “Then let’s do it.”

Tyria raised an eyebrow. “Right here? Risky indeed.”

Now it was Rye’s turn to blush. “Um. That’s, uh, that’s not what I—” He paused as she broke out laughing. As Tyria pressed a hoof to her mouth to stem the giggling, he gave her a pouty frown. “Teasing isn’t very nice.”

“Oh, but you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.” She hugged him, nuzzling her cheek against his. Rye hugged her back, but suddenly she felt him stiffen and pull away. “What’s wrong?”

He rubbed his chest. “What’s in your pocket? It feels like you’ve got a chunk of ice in there.”

“Oh.” She opened the pocket and removed the vial, balancing it on a hoof. “It’s this stuff called Elyrium. It’s supposed to be a—”

Rye turned sheet-white. He sprang backward with a strangled gasp. “Keep that away from me!”

Tyria recoiled, uncertain. Had she done something wrong? “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

Rye’s breathing slowed as he held up a hoof. “No, no, don’t apologize. You must not—do you know what that is?”

“Well, like I was about to say, it’s a magical suppressant, right? Temporarily stops magic users from casting spells?”

Rye shook his head, still not taking his eyes off of the little vial. “Not… exactly.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. To Tyria’s relief, he came back over to stand beside her. “Okay. A quick lesson in magic. Unicorn, antelope, elk, doesn’t matter—we all tap into arcane energies through our horns or antlers. The horn acts like a conduit, pulling magical power into our bodies—our brains, specifically—where we can manipulate it through spells. Then, we close the circuit again, letting the power flow out through our horns and affect the world. It’s… hard to explain it to somepony who’s never felt it before.” He gestured in frustration. “It’s not as simple as I’ve made it sound, but it’s not as complex as it may seem, either… most of it’s instinctual; you just open yourself to the current, and let the power flow toward the path of least resistance.”

He pointed to the vial. “Elyrium is a giant power sink. A huge potential well, like a magical grounding rod in liquid form. Get even a few drops of that stuff on your body when you try to do magic, and… well, it becomes the path of least resistance. The power enters through your horn, but it tries to leave through the Elyrium.” He swallowed. “Raw, unregulated magical energy surging through your body from your horn… imagine hugging a lightning rod in a thunderstorm. It can cause serious brain damage, or even outright kill you.”

Tyria’s eyes widened, and she held the unassuming vial at a more respectful distance. “I see. So why haven’t I heard of something this dangerous before?”

“Well, no offense, but probably because you’re an earth pony. And also because it’s exceedingly rare; not to mention illegal as hell everywhere in the world, even here.” Rye licked his lips nervously. “I’m not sure I even want to know how Breyr got his hooves on some.”

Tyria’s stomach sank. “Rye… they had an entire chest full of this stuff.” She bit her lip. “Zab said they don’t actually use it much, though.”

Rye was still white. “Luckily, the Zyran navy doesn’t have many magic users. It’s not going to help the pirates then.” He nodded shakily. “So we just have to avoid it for a little while longer.”

Tyria slipped it back into her pocket, now feeling like she was straddling a Gryphan firebomb. “Okay. So the plan is to sneak on board the victim ship—shouldn’t be hard, we can get on it to move cargo over—and hide somewhere till the Nightingale is gone, then convince the captain to take us to Zyre.”

“Leave that part to me.” Some color was finally returning to Rye’s face. “My robes combined with your uniform should prove we are who we say we are, but if she still doesn’t like it, I’m sure I can get her to come around.”

“Sounds good. We’d better get to dinner before we’re missed.”

Rye nodded, a sly smile on his lips. “If you’re sure we’re done here…”

Tyria laughed. “On second thought, I’m not feeling that hungry.”

They stayed there for a while, enjoying the sunset. And this time, there were no interruptions.

19. Just Enough Rope

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Rye woke with just enough time to flail his legs before his face hit the floor.

“Urgh,” he moaned into the wood, feeling the familiar ache start spreading through his head. He pushed himself upright, gingerly massaging his nose. It was a miracle he hadn’t broken it after a week of smashing it on the floorboards every morning. Rye glared at his treacherous hammock, swinging innocently.

Around him, the other crewmates were getting dressed for the day. He must have slept late. Oh, but so worth it, he thought with a grin, running a hoof absently along his bottom lip.

After fumbling with the hammock, he retrieved his green bandana and tied it securely around his head. His shirt and vest were still on from the day before, and the day before that. He never took them off, even in private. The chance that someone would see his wings was too great.

Rye wrinkled his nose. After three weeks in the same two pairs of clothing, he was starting to feel—and smell—rather ripe. Sadly, he’d have to wait till they got back to Zyre for a proper wash. Fresh water was too precious on the open sea to waste on bathing; and besides, he didn’t dare risk washing off his speckles and fake cutie marks. Being filthy was preferable to being dead. He could take some solace in the fact that nopony on the ship smelled much better, including Tyria.

He followed the rest of the pirates up to the deck, where they would receive their daily tasks from Zab. Rye hoped he wouldn’t be bilging out the hold again. His hooves still ached from running up and down the stairs all day.

Out in the open air, he took a deep breath. The ocean air was pleasant and cool today, with just a hint of the always-present salty scent. It hadn’t given him any more panic attacks lately. Those private moments with Tyria were marvelously therapeutic. He hadn’t been seasick much, either. He was sure he’d turn into a useless ball of quivering nausea the first time they ran into really rough water, but so far the voyage had been smooth and breezy.

The crew lined up on the deck as they did every morning. The first mate would start at the far right end of the line and work his way down, assigning individual duties for the day. Rye looked to his left and caught a glimpse of Tyria, six zebras down. Their eyes met, and they gave each other small nods, but no more. They’d already drawn too much attention to themselves yesterday to risk more.

Waiting for their next private conversation was always torture. It wasn’t just the necking sessions that Rye loved, it was the chance to talk about family and home, to take their minds off of this whole mess for a while and pretend things were normal.

The necking was pretty wonderful, though.

Zab paused in front of him. “Apricot, you’ll see that the bow deck is shining spotless by the end of the day. I want to see my reflection in those floorboards.”

Rye nodded. As Zab moved on, he left the line to go find soap and a bucket.

After he’d tracked them down, he made his way to the front end of the ship, dropped the bucket to the deck, and pulled out the brush. He placed it on the wood and pressed both hooves on top, and then began to scrub.

Cleaning the deck was mindless work. His thoughts were free to wander, but these days they never wandered far. Once he and Tyria were free of the pirates, it would be simple enough to warn the Marquis about Breyr’s coming attack. They weren’t sure when exactly it was coming, but Breyr clearly planned to move sometime in the next month or sooner. If the Navy was prepared for him, even a dozen of their ships would be able to hold the city against the rag-tag pirate flotilla. Maybe the Marquis would even be grateful enough to let Equestria send the extra escorts the Princess had requested.

Although he wasn’t sure he really wanted that. Rye frowned as he scrubbed at a stubborn lamp oil stain on the wood. The sooner the Marquis caved, the sooner his mission would be over, and then he’d be on his way back to Canterlot for the Princess’s next job.

He’d just have to find some excuse to stay here. Some reasonable pretense like I want to monitor the political situation here further for a while or I might be able to improve trade relations if I have another month. Somehow he doubted the truth would get him the reprieve he needed.

Dear Princess Celestia; I’ve fallen madly in love with the girl of my dreams, and I need more time to win her heart. P.S., haven’t written due to pirate kidnapping.

While the Princess had a sense of humor, he wasn’t sure it was large enough to let her most valuable diplomat go to waste, even for a month. Despite the self-deprecation back in that cage, he knew he had an important job. For instance, if he hadn’t worked out that border dispute with the Isle of Cariba last year, Equestria might have been caught up in a messy legal or even physical battle for decades.

But he couldn’t leave, not so soon. He just needed more time to…to what? Rye paused his scrubbing. Just how serious am I about this?

As serious as I’ve ever been about anything, he realized, startled. I want to spend the rest of my life with her.

They’d only known each other for a little over a month, but lethal danger had a way of showing what a pony was really made of in a very short time. Tyria was silk covering steel; a quiet and gentle artist with an inner determination and loyalty that was utterly unbreakable. She’d proven that much back on the island.

As for his side of things, well, she’d already encountered the worst of his insecurities and flaws, and she still seemed interested. Rye scrubbed the wood, feeling that wonderful lovesick idiocy fluttering through his chest again. She’s amazing. And for some reason, she likes me back. Yes, he thought with growing enthusiasm, I want to marry this girl.

But not so soon. They needed time, still, time to let their relationship flower. He’d wait at least, oh, four months before asking her. Three months. Two. No, three. He didn’t want to make her feel pressured.

Unless she asks first. It was usually up to the mare to take the lead in marriage proposals, but that tradition had been slowly dying out for centuries. If she asked, he’d accept in a heartbeat, but he wouldn’t put her under that spotlight until he was absolutely sure she loved him as much as he loved her.

Of course, what if she thinks I’m just stringing her along, and loses interest? Arrrgh. Rye scrubbed more intently, paying no attention to the now-spotless wood.

Before he could argue himself into further circles, there was a shrill whistle from high above in the crow’s nest. Rye’s head jerked up, and he dropped his brush into the bucket, alert for the news he’d been waiting for for days.

“Ship off the port bow!” yelled the zebra on watch. “Flying Antellucían colours!”

Zab, up near the captain's quarters, placed a hoof in his mouth and gave an even louder whistle. “All hooves on deck!”

There was a mad scramble as the crew assembled. A group of zebras emerged from the hold with several heavy chests. The chests were placed near the starboard railing, and the pirates pressed around to grab at the weapons within.

Hatchets, machetes, and spears flashed around as the crew armed themselves. When it came Rye’s turn, he took a small axe, judging it to hold the least chance of accidentally lopping off his or somepony else’s limbs.

The pirates stepped away from the armory chests, lining up on the side of the ship in preparation to board. Rye heard a clunk and turned to see the bosun, who had set down a small blue chest beside the weapons. He felt a chill as he realized what must be inside. I guess they’re going to wait to see if it’s needed. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be. Rye was seriously hoping the antelopes would simply give up. He hated bloodshed, especially for something this pointless.

The Antellucían ship was coming into view on the horizon. Rye felt a thrill of anticipation at the sight of his and Tyria’s ticket to freedom.

But as the Nightingale drew closer, his heart began to sink. The other vessel wasn’t fleeing from them. In fact, it didn’t appear to be moving much at all. After another minute’s approach, it became clear why.

The ship was in shambles. Of her three masts, only the farthest bow mast remained standing. The middle one was shattered into three pieces held together only by fraying cords, dangling limply over the side like a dead fish. The rearmost mast was completely missing. The sails were barely attached to the yards anymore, flapping freely in the wind against their few remaining tethers. The cracked paint on the side that read Cevanah was barely legible. The entire ship appeared to be listing slightly to starboard.

Already, Rye could feel his plans crumbling away under his hooves. He grimaced. What on earth happened to it? Well, it might still be able to get us back to Zyre. We can’t know until we board. A little hope was better than none.

The Nightingale pulled alongside the devastated vessel, her sails furled. The pirate ship slowed to a stop, drifting with her prey.

The pirates brought out the boarding planks and lay them across the gap between decks. Thirty-odd zebras raced across, brandishing their weapons and shouting curses. On the other side, the antelope crew appeared to have gathered on deck, but to Rye’s pleasant surprise they were not holding weapons or preparing spells.

“Hold up, lads,” said Captain Zevan, his strong voice cutting through the din. The pirates slowed to a halt on the deck, surrounding the clump of antelopes. The rest of the crew continued streaming onto the ship behind them.

One of the antelopes stepped forward. “I am the captain of the Cevanah. Who am I addressing?”

Zevan pushed aside the zebras in his way to meet the captain with a broad grin. “A Captain, are ye? I be one meself. Though it looks like I’m a better one than you are.” He pointed up at the ruined mast. “Have a bit of trouble with the weather, eh?”

The antelope captain appeared to bite back a growl. “We’ll offer you no resistance, pirate, so long as you leave the oars and enough supplies for us to make it to one of the islands in the archipelago.”

Zevan eyed him for a few moments, then nodded. “Fair enough.” The leering smile returned. “Ye heard him, boys! His ship’s too heavy to get to shore! Let’s help him out like the fine neighbors we be.”

The pirates laughed, sticking their weapons into their belts. Rye gave a nervous chuckle, trying not to show his relief.

Zevan began talking to the other captain in a low voice, no doubt demanding a full manifest of the cargo. From somewhere else in the mob, Zab’s voice called out, organizing groups to clean out the ship.

“Lem! You and Zadagon take a team of five and haul all the rum and wine over. I want the liquids stored first, so they’re not sloshing around while we try to steer. Tyria! You can write, can’t you? Go with them, and keep track of our haul. I want every crate and barrel accounted for. Apricot! Apricot! Apricot, you lazy dwarf, where are you?”

Simmering at the height crack, Rye pushed his way toward the belligerent first mate. “I’m right here,” he spat, summoning his best diplomatic abilities to not insult Zab’s intelligence, parentage, or personal hygiene.

Zab gave him a disfavoring look. “You stay up here on deck and guard those antelopes.”

“Alone?” asked Rye, incredulous.

“They won’t try anything,” said Zab, waving a hoof. “And if they do, don’t worry, I don’t expect you to stop them. Your screams’ll be enough of a warning.”

Rye bit down on any of the responses that leapt to mind, simply bowing his head and heading off toward the antelopes. He might as well make the most of the opportunity.

The antelopes had gathered toward the bow of the ship, near the railing. There were about twenty or so, with long, curved horns. They looked a little worse for wear, but relatively unharmed. The captain looked up as he approached. “Does Captain Zevan require something?” His quavering voice betrayed the calm on his face.

“No, everything’s fine,” said Rye. “I’m just here to make sure nobody does anything stupid.”

The antelope swallowed. “I see.”

Rye gave him a friendly smile. “My name’s Apricot. What’s yours?”

The captain raised a wary eyebrow.

“Oh, come on, there’s no reason we can’t be polite.” Rye extended a hoof.

“My name is Tenerico,” said the antelope, still eyeing Rye cautiously.

“Pleasure to meet you,” said Rye, with a bow of his head. He gave up on the hoofshake and lowered his leg. “So, Captain, how’d you end up in this mess?”

Tenerico sighed. “It’s my own damn fault.” One of his crewmates, a weary-looking doe, gave an irritated grunt of affirmation. Giving her a dark look, the captain continued, “The pirate attacks in this area have gotten especially bad of late. I hoped we could avoid your lot by skirting the Serpent’s Maw.”

Rye tilted his head. “The what now?”

“The Maw. You know, the most dangerous spot in the entire Carriagibbean?” Seeing Rye’s blank expression, Tenerico tried again. “The reason most merchants avoid this part of the sea? Well, it and the lodestone. And the pirates.”

“Look, I’m… new to the area. Mind explaining?”

Tenerico now seemed more curious than frightened. “You’re different from most pirates I’ve met.”

“More than you know,” said Rye, dryly.

With a shrug, Tenerico continued. “Well, the Serpent’s Maw is a gigantic maelstrom at the southern end of the Serpent Archipelago. It gobbles up any ships unlucky or stupid enough to wander in, hence the name.”

“How big, exactly?”

“The central vortex is supposed to be a few hundred feet wide, but the tidal currents extend out for miles around it. They can spit you all the way out at the lodestone near Shipwreck Isle on the other side of the channel.” Tenerico shook his head. “But the real danger isn’t even the currents or the swirling whirlpool at the center. There’s a vast storm that hangs over the maelstrom at all times, causing winds and waves powerful enough to destroy ships completely before they ever reach the center. It’s been raging for nine hundred years without stopping.”

“That seems awfully specific. What happened nine hundred years ago?”

“Phoenixia, of course.” Tenerico frowned. “Surely you know the story.”

Rye waved a hoof. “Yes, yes. Power-crazed nobility, fountain of youth, volcano, pride is dangerous, blah, blah, blah. What does that have to do with this whirlpool?”

“Well, when the volcano erupted and the city slid into the sea, the magic they released had to go somewhere. It’s said that it still pours out of the earth, causing the whirlpool and the storm.” Tenerico sighed. “The latter was our fate. In our efforts to avoid the pirates, we strayed too close to the storm, and our sails were caught by the winds before we could furl them and row away. Our escort, a frigate half again the size of your ship, vanished in the chaos. For all I know, they’re dead.” His face fell. “The captain was my cousin.”

Rye felt a twinge of pity. “What will you do now?”

“We’ll never be able to make it to Zyre in this state. Our only hope is to make for one of the nearby islands, where we can live off the vegetation for a week or two while we use the trees to make repairs. Palms are worthless for shipbuilding, but they’ll let us patch the Cevanah together long enough to limp back to Zyre, or at least to Zendruga on the northern end of the archipelago.”

Rye cursed inwardly. So much for our plan. “Well, I wish you luck, Tenerico.”

“Thank you,” said the antelope, blinking in bafflement. He offered nothing else, and Rye did not pry.

It did not take the Nightingale’s crew long to empty out the cargo hold. Rye watched, impressed despite himself, as the pirates swiftly unloaded every ounce of sugar, rum, and gold the Antellucíans had carried with them. He caught occasional glimpses of Tyria, paper in hoof and quill in mouth, but there was never a chance to speak to her about their ruined strategy.

The chance finally arrived when one of the zebras she was supervising dropped a barrel. It rolled across the deck toward Rye, thundering across the wood. He stopped it with his front hooves, looking up just in time to see Tyria hurrying to him.

“Good work, Apricot,” she said.

Rye wasted no time. “The ship’s ruined,” he whispered. “It can’t get us back. We should stay on the Nightingale when it leaves, or we’ll be stuck here for months.”

A grimace flashed across her face. “I’ll get this barrel on board, then.” She lifted it onto her back and trotted away.

Rye racked his brain for ideas. His plans always seemed to fall apart at the last minute. Just once, Celestia. Just once is all I’m asking. Maybe they could wait until the ship swung around north of the archipelago and try rowing a lifeboat to Zendruga, and catching a ride back to Zyre from there. Of course, Zevan was planning to deliver a message somewhere in Zyre. They’d have to go there at some point before the attack. But leaving her in the pirates’ hooves was not an option, and he had a feeling that Tyria would be closely watched while the Nightingale was in port.

Come to think of it, how was Zevan managing to get in and out of the city? Especially with the military checkpoint at the opening of the bay. There was no way any half-competent Navy captain wouldn’t be able to tell this was a pirate ship on even the most cursory inspection.

Breyr must have them on the payroll, Rye realized with a chill. Some of them, at least. I wonder if that’s what all his crewmembers are doing in Zyre. Did the Marquis know her military was compromised? How far up did the corruption go? And how in the blazes was Grypha involved? He still remembered that overheard conversation with Tatius Gableclaw.

Rye was starting to realize just how big this was. Breyr might not be mad after all. If this attack of his is being backed by somepony in Zyre's political system, or some third interested party, he could have a chance of holding the city. And by extension, the ocean.

They desperately needed to inform the Marquis. And now, Rye intended to go straight to her, without informing any potential traitors in her midst. But how to get to her?

Someone yelled from the rear of the ship. “Ship! Ship off our stern!”

Beside Rye, Tenerico sat up. “A ship?” His face lit with joy. “It must be the Caraninto! My cousin’s ship! They survived the storm, after all!”

Rye only had a second to process this before Zab’s shrill whistle broke the air. “All right, lads! We’ve got enough of the booty, time to make ourselves scarce.”

Yes! Rye looked around excitedly, trying to find Tyria. This is it! We’re home free once that frigate gets here. Just let the pirates run away, they won’t notice we’re gone till they’re far away from here.

No doubt the captain of the frigate would want to chase down the pirates once he'd made sure the Cevanah was capable of making it to shore. Rye would have to convince him to head for Zyre instead, but that would be no problem once the robes hidden under his shirt proved he was an Equestrian ambassador.

He scanned the deck for Tyria as the pirates stampeded for the boarding ramps. In the sea of moving stripes, he could find no blue. Worry wormed its way into his stomach. Most of the pirates had reached the ramps, they were running out of time. Finally, he caught sight of her—across the gap. She’d already boarded the pirate ship.

Tyria made eye contact, and Rye waved for her to come back across. Her eyes widened as she realized what he meant.

She tried, but the press of zebras in the other direction was too thick. Tyria shoved against them, but the crew pushed her back onto the pirate ship. The planks began sliding back across the gap. Tyria scrambled to the railing, meeting Rye’s eyes. She bit her lip, and shook her head.

Rye took one look at the ship that was closing in the distance, the best shot he might ever have at freedom, and weighed his options. It might have been the easiest choice he’d ever made.

He took off running for the boarding ramps. The last was being pulled away by a hurried zebra just as he leaped into the air. His hooves touched down hard on the wood, stopping it for a brief moment. Rye thudded down onto the deck beside the zebra, panting. The pirate yanked the plank over after him. “Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?”

Rye ignored him, racing to meet Tyria. Zebras scurried all around the deck, preparing the ship for a hasty departure. In all the confusion, Rye and Tyria went unnoticed. They nearly collided beneath the main mast. Tyria, her eyebrows furrowed angrily, braced her hooves against Rye’s shoulders. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “You could have gotten away!”

“I’d never leave you behind,” he said with a simple smile. “You didn’t leave me.”

Tyria’s anger instantly melted away. Her hooves raised from his shoulders to his cheeks. “Rye…” She dropped her hooves, clearly wishing they weren’t in public. Suddenly conscious of how they might look to the pirates, Rye took a half step back. Tyria sighed, biting her lip again. “I… Thank you. I’m sorry. Let’s… let’s go look busy.”

“The lifeboats—can we steal one and get picked up by the antelopes?”

“There’s no way we could get it into the water before the crew noticed us.” Tyria frowned. “We’re so close, though. There must be some way.”

The Nightingale was pulling away. The sails unfurled above, instantly billowing in the wind. The wreck of the Cevanah began to slide away from them.

Rye stamped a hoof. “There isn’t enough time. Can we sabotage the ship in less than five minutes?”

Tyria shook her head. “Not subtly.”

“Maybe something in the loot—” Rye stopped as the idea hit him like a charging buffalo. “That’s it!” he said in a strangled whisper. “The loot! We can—look, meet me down in the cargo hold as soon as you can, okay?”

“Wait, Rye, what are you thinking of—”

“Tell you later. No time to lose!” Rye tore off for the cargo hold, eager to see if his new plan could work.

He charged down into the hold, slipping past a zebra carrying a crate, ducking under the barrel on another’s back, and entering the storage deck at last. It was filled to the brim with all the new cargo, a virtual maze of wood. Rye made a mental note of the hatches on the sides, and pressed inward.

Passing the little brig area that he dearly hoped he’d never sit in again, he arrived at the large collection of wine and rum barrels. They were incredibly valuable, judging from the labels, each one probably worth half his yearly salary. The wine, especially; a shipment of 286 Antraeus Red. The last time he'd been this close to a drink that expensive was his stay in the gilded halls of Dromedaria. Rye didn’t particularly care about the alcohol’s quality, though. More important was that the barrels would float.

He waited a few minutes until the last few pirates dropped off cargo in the hold. They rushed quickly back up the stairs to help get the ship moving. When he was sure he was alone, he began working on the ropes securing the barrels. It took him almost ten minutes to undo the first knots, but once they were loose he managed to wrestle one of the barrels off of the stack. The barrel was twice his weight, but he began making slow progress as he half-rolled, half-slid it around the crates and boxes toward the nearest hatch.

“What are you doing?” asked Tyria’s voice from behind him, sounding like an aggravated mother who’d found her colt pulling up her rose garden.

Rye grinned sheepishly. “Can I get a hoof, here?”

Tyria pressed a hoof to her forehead. “Do you realize what they’ll do if they catch us fiddling with the loot?”

“We’re alone down here, though. Everypony’s upstairs doing whatever it is they do to get the ship running.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Did it occur to you that Zevan might send someone to check on the haul?”

“I haven’t seen anyone. Except y—” Rye paused. “Oh.”

“Oh is right. You’re lucky I volunteered to double check the cargo list I made before he sent someone else.”

Rye swallowed. “Oops.”

Tyria sighed. “Rye, you’ve got to think these things through. I could have warned you if you’d just told me.” Her frown softened from annoyance to worry. “Don’t you want my help?”

Rye touched her shoulder, concerned. “Of course I do, Tyria. Without you we’d never have gotten off the island, let alone this far.” He smiled. “You’ve grown a lot from the shy, reserved little embassy officer I met a few weeks ago.”

She smiled. “That’s because I’ve been hanging around a lunatic. Some of it’s rubbing off on me.” Turning serious again, she said, “But please, Rye. Don’t go charging off every time you get an idea. I’m not psychic, we’ve got to communicate.”

He recalled that first day in the markets when he’d escaped her to go after Tatius. Tunnel-vision, Cranberry had said to him, once. Rye nodded, ashamed. “I’m sorry. I know I can get a little overenthusiastic sometimes.”

“You mean most of the time,” she said, rolling her eyes with a grin. “Just my luck. I had to pick a manic-depressive to fall in love with.”

Rye’s heart soared. “Tyria…”

She blushed. “Well, it’s true.” The grin returned. “And so’s the first part.” She nuzzled her head against his in equine affection. “What… what about you?”

“I love you more than anyone in the world,” he said, breathless. “You’re the best mare I've ever met, Tyria.”

“Again with the flattery,” she said, her face lighting up like a star. They kissed again, the taste of her lips as sweet as it had ever been. I used to think being close to someone was hard, Rye thought, pulling her closer. But she makes it so easy.

“Okay,” she said, once they ran out of oxygen. “Now what’s this crazy barrel idea of yours?”

“We’re going to leave that Antellucían ship a breadcrumb trail.” Rye tapped the barrel. “Zevan can’t hope to outrun an antelope interceptor forever. A heavy cruiser, maybe, but not a light military frigate. His only hope is to lose them on the open sea. We’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

“Well, then,” said Tyria, wrapping a leg around the barrel, “Let me give you a hoof.”

For the next four hours, they hid down in the cargo hold by the barrels, shoving one out of the hatch every twenty minutes. Tyria left to give the first mate a progress report on the cataloging process every hour to allay suspicions. In the chaos of the pursuit, Rye’s absence seemed to be going unnoticed. Both ponies waited hopefully for a sighting of the frigate, but so far it appeared that Zevan was still keeping ahead of it.

They passed the time with conversation. Rye talked about some of his childhood misadventures with Cranberry, and Tyria yielded more about her siblings. She was halfway through a story about her sister trying to tame a wild raccoon when she gasped.

“Hang on a minute. I just noticed. Look behind you.”

Rye turned to see a familiar blue chest wedged into the mass of crates. His eyebrows rose. “Is that…”

“The elyrium, yes! Without that, the pirates won’t stand a chance against the antelopes.” She gave him a devilish grin.

He returned it. “Think that chest will float?”

“Why don’t we find out?”

Together, they hauled the chest over to the hatch and tossed it out into the waves. For good measure, they followed suit with all the spears, machetes, and axes that hadn't been claimed earlier. Rye dusted his hooves together as the last of them went overboard. “Good riddance.”

Tyria laughed. “I guess we don’t have a full stock. I’ll have to inform the bosun.” She yawned. “Speaking of which, I’d better go make another report.”

“Have fun.” Rye caught the contagious yawn.

“Back in a few.” Tyria stood and left.

Rye looked out the hatch and off behind the ship. He couldn’t see the frigate, and there was no way to tell if it was still following them. Still, they had to keep trying.

While he waited for Tyria to return, he was struck with a sudden idea. He began rattling some of the crates marked FRAGILE, stopping with a smile when he heard the clink of glass. The top had been pried off and replaced earlier by someone checking inventory, and was secured only by two loose nails. He managed to get it off easily enough, and was rewarded with a crate filled by high-quality wineglasses.

He pulled out two of them and re-closed the crate. He opened the spigot on one of the remaining wine barrels, filling the glasses and setting them on another low crate. After all, it would be a shame to throw all this wine away without at least trying it. He'd wait for Tyria to get back, though. Not fair to start without her.

The minutes dragged on, and Rye watched the gray afternoon turn into an equally gray dusk. The weather had been pretty dismal all day. He supposed it must have been due to those storms Tenerico had mentioned. He wondered how close they were to the Maw now. According to Tyria, Zevan was still sailing evasively, so for all he knew they were almost where they’d started. Part of him—that adventurous part—wanted to see the massive whirlpool for himself, though it was not something he was particularly desperate for.

Rye looked at the wineglasses and frowned. Tyria had been gone for a long time. Normally, she came back after fifteen minutes or less, but it had been over half an hour since she’d gone upstairs. Rye could still hear hooves creaking on the decks above, so he knew the crew was still attending to the ship. Still, he was starting to get worried.

She can take care of herself, he thought, twiddling his hooves. Maybe she’s playing cards with some of the crew. He’d be a little disappointed, but he could understand the need for keeping suspicions at bay.

He heard hoofsteps coming down the stairs and smiled. As they approached, he leaned back against the wall of crates with his wineglass in hoof. The steps came to turn around the opposite wall. “Welcome ba—”

Two zebras marched around the crates, machetes in their mouths. Rye's eyes shot open as he jumped to his hooves, dropping the glass. He scrambled backwards, but there was nowhere to go. The zebras were on him in seconds, followed by a third. They slammed him up against the wooden bulkhead, holding the machetes terrifyingly close to his neck. The third closed on him, glaring. He felt his stomach go into freefall when he recognized Zab in the dim lantern light.

“Take his shirt off,” ordered the first mate.

“No!” Rye jerked forward instinctively, but the zebras held him tight. One of them stuck a hoof under his shirt and ripped it up over his head. As the vest and white shirt came off, his yellow robes spilled out onto the deck. His wings spread for the first time in a week, incriminating beyond all excuse.

Zab’s face turned even colder. “Bring him to the captain.”

20. The Maelstrom

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They hauled him out of the cargo hold, ignoring his struggles. Rye tried to kick one of his captors, but only managed to bang his shins on the stairs. Giving up, he hung limply between the two zebras as Zab led them out onto the main deck.

The crew was waiting for them. It seemed like all thirty-something zebras had gathered around beneath the main mast, forming a thick circle that opened at their approach. Rye scanned the pirates’ faces. Some looked surprised, others angry, but the ones that scared him were the zebras with a glimmer of eager anticipation in their eyes.

Captain Zevan stood inside the circle, scowling. He had his hoof-mace on, the cold iron faintly reflecting the dying sunlight. “I see ye were right, Zab.”

Zab wore a matching scowl. “The mare’s spent the last four hours down in the hold ‘cataloging’ for me. Once I realized the dwarf was missing, I knew they were up to something.”

As Rye’s captors dragged him inside the circle, two other zebras pushed into the middle with Tyria held between them.

Her face looked hollow. She turned her head up to look at him, hopelessness in her eyes. “Rye, I’m sorry. They—”

“Shut up,” said Zevan, cuffing her on the back of the head. Tyria fell silent. Zevan looked between them, frowning. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Viridian’s always right in the end.”

“Breyr?” said Rye, feeling the brand on his shoulder give a psychosomatic ache at the name. “What are you talking about?”

Zevan’s frown turned into a cynical half-smile. “Once the boss realized the girl was in love, he decided to let her lead us straight to ye.”

Tyria’s eyes widened. “Oh, damn. That little visit he made before we left—he was testing me, to see if I really sent you off in that lifeboat.” Her face fell further. “I must not have convinced him.”

Rye sagged. Once again, Breyr had been two steps ahead. “It’s not your fault, Tyria. He’s good at reading people. That’s why he’s so dangerous.”

“Quiet.” Zevan rapped his mace on the deck. He glanced at Tyria, sighing. “I was hoping to save this ‘til we were closer to Zyre. The bosun tells me ye be the best sailor we’ve got on this tub, and Zennan’s never wrong about such. I didn’t want to waste the horsepower. But ye’ve made yer move, now, and I can’t have ye trying to escape.”

Even three zebras would have been too many for them to fight off, and there were over ten times that many. Their only chance was for Rye to talk them out of this mess, but he wasn’t sure he could. No point in denying the truth, it’s plain as day on my forehead and my back. We can’t lie our way out of this one. I have no leverage, no bargaining chips. Zevan’s got all the power, and worse, he knows it.

“Look,” he said, trying anyway. “You know who I am, there’s no way we’ll get off the ship now that the truth is out. You may as well let us work instead of throwing us in the brig, where we’ll be of no use to anyone.”

“You’re not much use outside the cell anyway, unipeg,” Zab sneered.

“It’s pegacorn,” Rye snapped. He turned back to Zevan. “And even if I’m not good for much besides bilging out the subdecks, you said it yourself: it would be a waste to toss Tyria in the brig.”

“Oh, I won’t be doing that,” said Zevan mildly. “Viridian wants ye alive. Her, he was a little less concerned.” He raised a hoof and made a swift signal.

All the pirates laughed, and the crowd parted. The bosun emerged into the circle, holding the end of a looped rope in his mouth. Rye was no expert on knots, but even he could recognize a noose.

“No!” he yelled, straining forward against the two zebras holding him. Tyria’s eyes shot wide again as the bosun approached. She struggled, but her guards held her tightly as the bosun draped the loop over her head.

The bosun frowned. “Sorry about this, girl. But we can’t have traitors on our crew.”

Rye kicked out, taking the guard on his right in the ankle. Already unsteady from holding Rye’s foreleg, the zebra fell and lost his grip. Rye broke free and ran for Tyria.

The pirates hooted and hollered as he reached her. Before he could jump at either of her captors, another zebra hit him from behind. The scars of the whip on his back flared up, and he collapsed into a ragged heap.

“Rye!”

Tyria’s guards laughed with the rest as she struggled in vain to reach him. Rye lifted his head, feeling the tears brim in his eyes. “Tyria!”

The zebra dragged him backward across the deck. Others threw the untied end of the rope over the lowest spar on the middle mast. They began pulling it toward the bow of the ship, tightening the slack.

“Lash it to the anchor, boys!” yelled Zab. “We’ll give her a quick ride up the mast.”

Rye fought as he was pulled upright again, another zebra joining the first. He bent his neck, trying to bite the two restraining him, but he was too bloody short to reach them, too weak, too helpless to do anything, just like always.

Ahead of him, Tyria’s shoulders drooped. She looked at him, her eyes filled with terror. But as he watched, the fear slowly drained away into a sad, quiet acceptance. The noose tightened around her neck, almost taut. Her guards still held her, grinning with anticipation.

Tyria breathed out slowly. “Rye.”

“Tyria,” he said, his voice cracking. He was half-blinded by tears, now.

“I love you, Rye.” She gave him a small smile. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he whispered. “Tyria, no.”

Near the bow, the pirates had tied the other end of the rope to the heavy anchor on the ship’s port side to make a lethal pulley counterweight. “All ready, boss,” shouted one.

“Zevan, please,” said Rye, twisting to face the zebra captain. “I’ll go back with you, I won’t fight, I won’t try to escape—I’ll get you money, or food, drink, mares, the favor of Princess Celestia herself, anything! Please, Zevan!”

“You have nothing to offer me, pegacorn,” said Zevan, sounding bored. He raised his hoof again. The pirates whistled and cheered.

I can’t—I can’t—

Rye stared at Tyria, numb. “Don’t go,” he pleaded.

“I love you,” she repeated, as a tear ran down her cheek. “Don’t watch.”

Rye turned his head, already shaking. He looked out at the horizon behind them, where the sun’s last few rays of light shone beneath the gray skies and over the waves, as beautiful as one of Tyria’s paintings. And there, right on the edge between the water and sky, he saw the small, unmistakable outline of an Antellucían warship.

And just like that, leverage.

“ZEVAN!” he roared, whipping his head back around. The two zebras holding him recoiled from the sudden outburst. Rye pushed forward against their hold, shouting so loudly his throat burned. “ZEVAN!”

The captain turned, raising an eyebrow. Every gaze fell on him, the pirates pausing their jeers in surprise.

“Before you make another move, Zevan,” said Rye, breathing hard, “I suggest you look to the horizon. Tell me what you see.”

All eyes turned toward the distant ship. Beside Rye, Zab’s eyes widened. “By the gods, not again! I thought we’d finally lost them. How in the nine hells are they still following us?”

Zevan paled. He strode toward Rye, covering the distance in moments. He pulled Rye’s chin up to look into his eyes, filled with fury. “What did ye do, pegacorn?”

Rye’s lips cracked into a ghastly smile. “Made sure that the antelopes will never lose this ship.”

“Damn ye.” Zevan bared his teeth, and turned toward the stern. “All hooves, back to yer posts. We’ll pull another circle, the opposite direction this time.”

“It won’t work,” said Rye loudly, giving the zebras pause. “You’ll never outrun them, Zevan. Not with a hold full of stolen goods.” He glanced briefly at Tyria, who had a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

Zab snarled. “He’s right.”

Zevan swore again. “Then we’ll fight our way out.”

Rye laughed. “Against military warmages? The antelopes are going to tear you apart, Zevan.”

“We’re prepared for that,” said Zevan, turning. “Zennan!” he barked. “Get the elyrium!”

“Elyrium?” asked Rye, still grinning mirthlessly. “That wouldn’t happen to be what was in that lovely blue chest we threw overboard, would it?”

Zevan’s face had gone as sheet white as his coat. “Ye what?”

“Listen to me very carefully, Captain,” said Rye, his voice low and threatening. “I can tell you how to get out of this alive. But Tyria goes free. If you don’t listen to me, or if you kill her, then I swear I’ll watch the antelopes burn you all alive. Cheerfully.”

The captain glared at him, his jaw working. At last, he slammed his hoof-mace to the deck and let out a growl of frustration. “Cut her loose.”

One of the zebras by the anchor hesitantly slid his axe out of his belt and slashed the rope. Tyria’s guards released her, and she fell to the deck. Rye’s heart jumped joyously as she pushed herself up. He glared at his own guards, and they let him go as well.

He was at her side in moments. “Tyria. Are you hurt?” He extended a hoof to help her up.

“No,” she said, her voice filled with emotion. She grabbed his hoof and pulled him down into a hug so tight he could feel his ribs pressing against hers. “Rye, love, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She sounded ready to burst into tears. Rye gave her a comforting squeeze.

Zevan snarled. “I’m waiting, Strudel.”

Rye looked back at him. “You can’t outrun them for long, and you can’t fight. If you surrender, they’ll have you all executed, immediately or otherwise. You’ve only got one hope.” Rye looked back at Tyria and swallowed. “We’ll go through the Serpent’s Maw.”

Tyria’s eyes widened in shock. “Rye—”

“Are you mad?” said Zab incredulously.

Zevan pulled Rye away from Tyria, whirling the pegacorn around to face him again. “Ye promised me a plan, Strudel, not suicide.”

“It’s not,” said Rye, looking around at the disbelieving pirates. “Listen, the antelopes have your scent now, and they’re not going to give up. Their captain is the cousin of the ship we just raided. His family’s reputation depends on getting this cargo back and killing all of you. He’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, anywhere—except back into the place that nearly destroyed his ship just a day ago. He won’t dare risk it a second time. It’s your only chance.”

“Madness,” breathed Zennan. “Captain, I wouldn’t recommend this with a full complement of our most seasoned zebras. With this lot, there’s no chance of surviving that storm.” The bosun was sweating.

Zevan took another look at the ship on the horizon. “The pony’s right. We can’t fight them without elyrium.” He released a long stream of curses. “The Maw be the closest chance we have. The edge isn’t ten miles west of us. We can reach it before the antelopes catch us.”

Zab shook his head. “Captain, Zadrick’s a good lad, but he can’t possibly navigate through those waters.”

“I can.”

Rye, Zevan, Zab, and all the rest of them turned to look at Tyria. Her eyes narrowed, the tears still drying on her cheeks. “I can do it.” She had that look of fierce determination Rye had come to adore.

I’d follow you anywhere, Tyria.

Zevan’s eyes narrowed to slits. A moment passed, filled with enough tension to make Rye’s heart skip a beat. The captain closed his eyes and massaged his forehead with a sigh. “Zadrick, give her yer compass. The rest of ye, prepare the ship for rough weather.”

“All right, you lot, you heard the captain,” shouted Zab, with only the barest hint of fear in his voice, “get all the hatches sealed tight! I want everything not nailed down tied down, before the hour’s done!”

The zebras scattered. Rye and Tyria stood together beneath the mast, holding each other’s hooves. “Goddess, Rye,” she said, shaking her head from side to side in amazement. “I thought I was dead. I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“Diplomacy isn’t always about being friendly,” Rye said, allowing himself a brief grin. He looked eastward and swallowed. “Look, Tyria… can you really get us through the storm?”

Tyria nodded firmly. “I have to,” she said with a faint smile. “I can’t let all that work you just did go to waste.”

Rye felt hooves on his shoulders, and he was once again dragged backward. Zab’s voice hissed in his ear, “You are going in the brig, right now, before you cause any more trouble. If we don’t all die, we’ll figure out what to do with you later.”

Tyria made to follow, but Rye shook his head. “I’ll be fine, Tyria. Just get us through the night alive.”

“I will.” Tyria gazed after him with quiet resolve. “I’ll see you on the other side, Rye.”

Yes, thought Rye as they dragged him away. One way or the other.

* * *

Tyria stared at the sea chart in the dim lantern light, running her hoof down the parchment to guide the point of the drafting compass. She hadn’t studied maps this hard since her last semester of Advanced Navigational Techniques back at the officer’s academy. It felt as though the numbers were being burned into her mind, but still she ran the calculations, over and over again until her head ached.

Briefly, she leafed through the collection of charts on the desk, pulling out the one that detailed the Maw itself, with rough outlines of the currents within. There were no good maps of the tumultuous area around the whirlpool, and few bad ones. Still, if these broad estimates were at least somewhat accurate, then they had a shot.

Zevan had lent her his quarters to chart their course. Outside, she could still hear the yells of the sailors as they hurriedly prepared the Nightingale for the coming trial. Tyria swallowed. She’d only ever been in true bad weather at sea once before, a minor storm with swells that hadn’t even broken the bow of the ship, but it had been bad enough. This maelstrom was another order of magnitude altogether, a perpetual tempest known to chew up ships three times the size of theirs and spit them back out in pieces smaller than her hoof.

But it could be done, she was increasingly sure of it. Fortunately, they were coming at the maelstrom from the north, and the whirlpool spun clockwise. They could slip into the currents, hijacking them for extra velocity, and follow a parabolic arc around the center and out far south. The momentum they’d pick up would carry them all the way across the sea toward Shipwreck Isle.

Her mind spinning with gradients and paths, she scribbled down the equations again to quadruple-check her timing. There would be no sun or stars visible inside the storm; they would have to correct their course based on time alone. The crew’s lives—and more importantly, hers and Rye’s—now depended on the compass and pocketwatch lying on this desk.

Tyria wished, more than anything, that her father was here. If anypony could get them out of this alive, it would be him. She smiled, imagining one of his big, caramel-colored hooves sitting on the map beside hers, pointing out their course like he’d done when teaching her to read a sea chart.

If I get through this mess alive, I’m going home to see him, she decided. And Mom, and Carina, and Breslik too. I’ll talk to Dad about my career—and introduce them all to Rye. Mom’ll love him once she finds out he can cook.

That was looking like a pretty big if, though.

There was a knock on the door. Without giving her time to respond, it opened to reveal Zab. His face was sallow under the dim lantern light. Over his shoulder Tyria could see the darkness of night, and swallowed. Zab looked at her and his mouth tightened. “Do we have a heading?”

“Yes.” Tyria slid the compass and pocketwatch into her breast pocket. She heard a clink as they tapped the tiny glass vial already within, and felt a jolt of surprise. She’d forgotten about that. It wouldn’t help them much against the storm, though. “Is it time?”

“Soon enough,” said Zab. “Get up to the steering wheel and give the captain those bearings. You’ll stay with him while we navigate the Maw.”

“I figured as much.” Tyria folded up a few of her maps and tucked them under a leg. She walked out of the cabin with Zab, taking a look up at the stars. This might be the last time I ever get to see them.

She took a right and walked up the stairs onto the bridge deck. Zevan was at the helm, trusting no one but himself to steer his ship through the storm. He nodded warily as she arrived. Tyria looked out behind them, but she couldn’t see the frigate in the night. “Are they still behind us?”

“Aye,” said Zevan darkly. “They’ve got lanterns on the deck. Ye can see them if ye look closely.”

Tyria peered into the darkness, but she still couldn’t make anything out. She shrugged. “I’ve got our course plotted, Captain.”

“Then take a reading and give me a heading.”

Tyria adjusted the sextant mounted on the railing. The north star was clearly visible tonight, and soon she had their position. Consulting her compass and charts in the moonlight, she nodded. “Turn south five degrees, and then it’s straight on till we hit the current.”

Zevan slowly guided the wheel. “I hope ye know what ye’re doing, girl.”

“We can do this,” she said, biting her lip. “We can do this.”

Zab leaned over the railing. “Well, well. They’re turning aside. The pegacorn was right.”

Tyria smiled with a small amount of pride in her boyfriend. “Viridian’s not the only one who’s good at reading people.”

“They’re not going back, but it looks like they don’t want to come any closer to the storm.” Zab squinted. “Their captain’ll probably circle around, waiting for us to come out. He must think we’re bluffing.”

“I wish we were,” muttered Zevan. “All right, girl, are ye ready? This be the point of no return.”

“I’m ready.” Tyria inhaled. In the distance ahead, there was a brief, bright flash of lightning. Oh, poor Rye. He’s going to get tossed around like a ragdoll down there. I hope they at least gave him a bucket. The roll of thunder hit them, a distant rumbling noise. Tyria whispered a quiet prayer to Celestia, staring ahead at the intermittent flickers.

Above, the stars began to wink in and out. They were passing under the first outskirts of the cloud formations that hung over the Maw. Soon, they would be without any navigational aids except the compass. Tyria could smell the storm on the air: that scent of damp air, the crisp bite of the ionizing atmosphere. A louder rumble reached them, then a sharp crack.

The sea around the Nightingale was growing rougher. The rocking of the ship, though miniscule, was becoming noticeable. Tyria took another look at her compass. “Steady on, Captain.”

She felt a cold splash on her head. Flicking her ear in surprise, she lifted her head just in time to be hit with another raindrop. More followed, freezing cold, and she shivered as the water ran down her neck.

The waves were getting bigger. The Nightingale was visibly rising and descending now, rocking not just side to side but forward and backward as they sailed over the waves. Below on the main deck, the entire crew stood ready to face the storm. Zab had prepared two teams to bilge out any water that might get into the lower decks. If the hold filled with water, they were as good as sunk.

The sails had been left unfurled. The storm was a cyclonic weather system, and the hope was to catch the wind and use it to speed them around the loop even faster than the current alone could. The sails fluttered, making the wood creak and whine.

The rain began to fall in earnest. Droplets pattered on the deck, and Tyria could hear them falling on the seawater below. She tucked her maps into her uniform. They had been waterproofed with wax, but she had a feeling that it wouldn’t be enough. She’d take them out later if she needed them.

More flashes of lightning illuminated the seas ahead. Tyria caught glimpses of churning water before the thunder rumbled past. At the wheel, Zevan’s eyes were narrowed in concentration. “Almost there. I can feel the current picking up.”

There was a brilliant burst of light, so close that Tyria jerked instinctively away. The thunderclap hit them an instant later, a BOOM so loud it made her bones ache. Tyria winced, clapping her hooves over her ears.

The ship’s bow rose precipitously, and came crashing back down into the water. Zevan laughed, his eyes wild with adrenaline. “And into the Maw we go!”

There was a massive jerk under her hooves. The entire ship leaped forward like it was possessed, nearly throwing Tyria to the deck. She clutched the railing with her legs, looking forward in awe. More lightning flashed, and more deafening booms of thunder rang out around them. The sea had turned violent, the waves lapping hungrily against the hull. The rain now came down in sheets, a freezing waterfall so thick that Tyria could barely see the ship’s prow.

She pulled her soaking mane out of her eyes, regretting not tying it back. The roar of the thunder was becoming nearly incessant, as lightning now struck at least twice a minute. Tyria pulled her compass out, and waited for the next illuminating flash. “Take us ten degrees south, Captain!”

“Hold on!” bellowed Zevan, laughing again. “Get ready for some chop!”

The waves seemed to be doubling in size every minute. The Nightingale swayed madly, but stayed on course, guided by Zevan’s steady hooves. The sails were straining against their lines as the fierce winds blasted rain across the decks. Tyria watched the storm in wonder, awestruck by the sheer natural power of it.

The entire ship shuddered as it ploughed through the largest wave yet. Great plumes of water sprayed over the sides of the ship, drenching what few spots the rain had not already touched. Zevan was now turning the wheel to and fro, guiding his ship over each wave to keep her on course. Tyria tried to stand steady on the slippery deck, but it was moving so much that even that simple task became difficult.

“Captain!” screamed somepony on the deck below. “Wave ahead! It’s huge!”

Zevan’s eyes were lit with a mad anticipation. “Now it gets fun!”

Tyria looked ahead, peering through the rain, and felt her mouth drop open. The wave was gigantic, half as tall as the main mast. Her jaw hung slack as it loomed above. The Nightingale reached the bottom and tilted back, driving up the side as though lifted by the hoof of a god.

They crested the massive wave, and Tyria’s stomach dropped. The bow of the ship went down the other side, and the entire vessel fell back into the water on the other side. They came roaring down so fast she could feel her mane being pulled back. Then she looked around and nearly had a heart attack.

Chop didn’t even come close to describing it. The waves had all turned into monsters, ten or fifteen meters high, and they were coming for the ship at sharp rear angles. If any of those hit them dead on from the side, the Nightingale would flip completely over.

Zevan was laughing like a madpony, wildly spinning the wheel. “Come on, then! Do yer worst!”

Tyria quickly checked her pocketwatch and compass in the neverending flashes of lightning. “Zevan!” she shouted, trying to be heard between the overpowering booms of the thunder. “We have to go further in! Ten degrees south!”

“Are you insane?” screamed Zab.

“We need to pick up more angular momentum, or we’ll never break free of the current!”

“Aye!” roared Zevan. “Further in we go!”

He spun the wheel hard to starboard, and the ship screeched as the wind tried to rip the sails free of the masts. They crested another massive wave, lurching over the top and falling so fast that Tyria couldn’t help but scream.

They were really booking it, now, moving faster than Tyria had ever seen a ship go before. The current grew rapidly stronger the closer they got to the center. These incredible waves were being caused by the different water speeds crashing into each other. They would only get worse as the ship got faster.

The water swelled and dropped away beneath them, tossing the Nightingale up and down like a foal’s plaything. Tyria clung to the railing for dear life, flinching against the rain as it pelted her face. “Oh, Goddess,” she moaned, “we’re going to die.”

“Ah ha ha!” Zevan appeared to be having the time of his life. He whipped the wheel around, bringing them over another horrific wave.

There was an awful, deep groan of cracking wood. Tyria looked up at the main mast and felt a stab of abject terror. The topsail was twisting in a way it was never meant to, as a sudden burst of even more violent wind hit the ship from the side. The wood gave one tremendous final CRACK and shattered. The bottom yard broke free, swinging outward.

But the lines held. The sail could not escape the ropes still lashing it to the mast. Instead, it blew out sideways, pulling the mast with it. The entire ship swayed to port, tilting so dangerously that Tyria felt her hooves sliding across the deck.

Zevan snarled. “Cut it loose! Cut it loose before it rolls us over!”

Zab raced down the stairs, shouting orders. Several zebras began climbing the rigging, heading for the free-flying sail that danced in the wind like a demon. Tyria watched it in horror, feeling the ship tilt.

With a roar, a massive wave crashed into the front of the ship. The sail dragged them sideways, taking the wave at an angle with the deck tilted toward it. The water smashed into the Nightingale, sweeping across the deck. The sailors who had begun the climb up the rigging were caught and instantly washed away.

Tyria buried her head in her forelegs, trembling. They were going to kill you a few hours ago, she reminded herself. It did nothing to stop the shaking.

The water poured down the stairs and into the cargo hold. The bilging teams rushed down with their buckets at the ready. Zab kept screaming commands over the deafening storm, but another wave hit them and the water flooded over the main deck. Zebras slipped and fell, grabbing on to railings or ropes. Above, the sail caught the wind again, and the ship lurched sideways.

“Damn it,” yelled Zevan, “get that bloody sail loose or we’re all dead!”

Tyria looked down, and saw no zebras ready to climb. They were scattered across the deck, still trying to find their hooves after the latest wave. The ship tilted again, so far that the bow lifted out of the water.

Before she could even think, Tyria found herself running down the stairs. She flashed past Zab, swinging her head past his waist and grasping the hilt of his machete in her teeth. She whisked it out of his belt as she passed, her hooves thudding on the sodden deck. Ignoring his yell of surprise, she rushed forward, leaping onto the rigging.

If the climb to repair the sail line had been nerve-wracking, this climb was absolutely petrifying. The wind and rain lashed at her as she put her hooves through the rungs. Her teeth chattered around the knife’s hilt, and she felt her heart beating so hard her chest ached.

Not daring to look down, she drew closer and closer to the top. A particularly close blast of lightning nearly startled her into losing her grip, and the resulting BOOM was so loud that she almost dropped the machete. After a moment to regain her balance, she continued upward.

The sail was flying crazily in the wind, pulling tight against the mast. There were two lines securing it to the remaining spars; one above, and one below. Tyria reached the bottom one, and pressed the blade of her machete against it. She started sawing back and forth with her head, waiting for the rope to snap. She had frayed it about a quarter of the way through when another gust of wind caught the sail and ripped it away. The rope broke like cotton yarn, and the sail whipped up.

Setting her sights on the last line, Tyria reached for the next rung. Suddenly, the ship tilted violently to starboard, and she twisted her head just in time to see the giant spar come swinging straight at her.

It clipped her on the shoulder, just barely, but it was enough to send her flying off the netting. Tyria fell through open space for two terrifying seconds, flailing her hooves, before she landed on the rigging and began sliding down. She quickly rolled over and thrust her hooves through the rungs, jerking to a halt. The spar came flying back at her, but this time she was low enough to duck. As it soared up toward its apex to prepare another pass at her, Tyria scrambled up the netting.

The spar soared through the air so fast it made a whistling noise, swinging right past her. Now she was above it, and she purposely flung her head out, gripping the machete tight. The rope hit the blade hard, its own momentum cleaving the rope in two. The impact ripped the knife out of her mouth with a cry, and the knife, the sail, and the remains of the yard sailed into the darkness. She couldn’t even hear the splash over the roar of the thunder.

The Nightingale crashed into another wave, and Tyria lost her grip. She went tumbling down the netting, trying to get a hoofhold, managing just before she flew off the edge of the deck. Her hoof tangled in the rope, and her weight twisted her around the edge of the rigging to go flying down onto the deck. She hit the wood and rolled sideways, coming to a stop in a heap. She lay there, feeling the rain pelt her back like a hundred bee stings. Everything hurt, even bits of herself she’d never felt before. I wanted to be a painter, she thought sourly.

“Tyria!” Zab’s voice was hoarse from yelling over the thunder. “Tyria, you alive?”

“Yes,” she moaned. “Unfortunately.”

“Good work with the sail. Now get back up to the helm, the captain needs a heading!”

Tyria struggled to stand, and won. The ship swayed drunkenly beneath her, but she stumbled toward the stairs. As she went, she heard Zab yell behind her, “And you owe me a knife!”

She managed to climb the stairs, grasping the railing with her forelegs, and pulled herself onto the bridge deck. Zevan was fighting the wheel, the manic smile replaced by a grim snarl. “Metrel! I need a heading!”

Tyria felt for her compass. She tugged the chain out of her pocket. Miraculously, the device hadn’t been smashed in the fall. In the flashes of lightning, she studied the needle. “Starboard! Hard to starboard! Thirty degrees!”

Zevan gave her a disbelieving glare. “That’ll take us right into the vortex!”

“We have to skirt the edge!” Tyria fumbled the compass back into her pocket. She pulled herself up with the railing, using it to steady herself. “It’s the only way we’ll get enough speed.”

“Bah!” Zevan whirled the wheel, and the Nightingale turned.

The waves had now grown so large that they blocked out even the sky ahead. The ship sailed up and over them, scaling their sides in a precarious dance. Tyria was stunned at Zevan’s skill as a helmspony. Any lesser zebra would have lost the ship to this madness long ago. She wasn’t sure that even her father could have pulled this off.

“Can ye hear it?” he yelled. “In the distance! Beneath the thunder!”

Tyria craned her head, listening. Between the crashing of the waves, the booming of the thunder, and the endless sloshing of the rain, she could hear a faint rushing noise. It grew and grew in a mighty crescendo until it became a massive roar, louder than any sound she had ever heard.

“There she is,” shouted Zevan, as they crested a wave nearly forty meters high, “The doom of Phoenixia!”

Tyria stared, all other concerns forgotten. “By the Sisters…”

Before them lay a vast hole in the ocean. The water whirled around the edge with speed unlike anything she had ever imagined. The sides of the whirlpool sloped down sharply, the vortex so powerful that they appeared almost smooth. The depths of the pool vanished into blackness, hidden from all sight mortal and divine. The whirlpool stretched out seemingly forever, swallowing up the horizon.

This must be what hell looks like, she thought, staring numbly into the abyss. Celestia, Gerios, Selvanah, Proferion, Nightmare Moon, anyone; please, please keep us safe.

The sound of the whirlpool was beyond words. It was so loud that Tyria’s thoughts seemed like mere background noise, so mighty that she felt as if the whole world was falling into that dark canyon of water. Lightning struck at the edges, another bolt hitting every moment, a constant raging attack on the surface of the sea.

Zevan fought the wheel with all his strength. The zebra’s soaking mane flew around his head, as he shouted into the wind. The Nightingale tilted, tilted, turning toward the raging heart of the maelstrom.

Tyria staggered across the deck to the helm. She placed her hooves on the wheel beside Zevan’s, and she could just barely hear him screaming Port, port, push it to port!

Their combined efforts turned the wheel, and the ship’s bow slowly, slowly began to shift away. Tyria glanced back toward the whirlpool, feeling the blood freeze in her veins. They were on the precipice of oblivion.

The current carried them along the edge, so fast now that the ship practically skipped on the water’s surface. The wind was with them now, filling their remaining sails, and pushing them forward with unmatched speed. Just a few more seconds! Just a few more…

“Port!” she shouted. “Ten degrees to port!”

Perhaps Zevan heard her, or perhaps he decided they had skirted disaster long enough, but he helped her push the wheel even farther. They began moving away from the edge, surrounded by bolts of lightning and vast waves.

Suddenly, they were free of the vortex’s pull, back out into the extended current. The ship rocketed through the waves, spraying seawater over the deck. They shot away from the whirlpool, piggybacking on its momentum to fly away.

Tyria released the wheel and fell back to the railing. Zevan’s face broke out in another grin. “We did it, girl! It be smooth sailing from here on out!”

She wouldn’t exactly have called the next fifteen minutes smooth, but they were certainly fast. The Nightingale soared like her namesake over the waves, cutting a path across the currents in the opposite direction from their entrance.

The sea grew calmer, relatively speaking, as the waves shrank back to merely ten or fifteen meters. Cheers went up from the deck below as the storm began to lessen. Tyria simply hung on to the railing, praying for an end to the insanity.

At long last, the Nightingale hit a patch of water that was not part of the current streams. It went blazing across the calm sea, leaving a massive wake like a torn seam in the ocean. Tyria lifted her head, and saw pink in the sky.

“Zevan…” she croaked.

“Aye, girl, sunlight!” Zevan gave another laugh, this one filled with relief. “We made it.”

The clouds above thinned and faded, and the thunder faded once more to a distant rumble. Tyria looked eastward at the maelstrom behind them, and exhaled shakily. “I never want to do anything like that ever again.”

Zevan was still laughing uproariously. “The Serpent’s Maw! The most dangerous spot in all the seas, and we just waltzed in and out like it was a Zyran whorehouse!”

There were hoofsteps on the stairs, and Zab’s head came into view. He walked unsteadily up onto the bridge deck, nodding to the captain. “Boss, I think we’re clear.”

“Aye.” Zevan’s laughter finally began to calm. He inhaled deeply. “Give me a report, Zab.”

“We lost one of the sails, of course. The main mast is badly damaged from all the twisting. The railing’s gone in several places—just gone, the waves tore it apart. The lower decks are flooded with water, but we’re working on that now.”

Tyria’s heart seized. “The lower decks? What about Rye? Is he—”

“It’s half a meter of water,” said Zab icily. “He’s taller than that, yes?”

“Yes,” said Tyria with quiet relief.

“Who knows how much of the cargo is ruined. Or if there’s any internal damage we haven’t found yet. The whole ship needs a looking-over next time we make port.” Zab grimaced. “And we lost a few. Six zebras got washed overboard. Mostly new meat, but Zin was on the ropes when that first wave hit.”

Tyria felt a flash of angry satisfaction. Zin had been one of the zebras there when she’d been forced to burn Rye. But then she remembered that wave sweeping across the deck, and shivered.

Zevan looked up at the remnants of his ship’s topsail. “Very well. Have the crew check for more damage, and get that water out of the hold. Be about it.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Zab took off down the stairs.

“So,” said Tyria. “What happens now?”

“What happens to ye and yer mate, ye mean.” Zevan leaned a foreleg over the wheel. “As far as I’m concerned, ye’ve more than earned yer freedom, girl. That sail would have killed us all without ye.” He frowned. “But I’m afraid I can’t let yer boyfriend go. The boss wants him more than anything I’ve ever seen.”

Tyria swallowed. “And me?”

“We’ll let ye off when we make port. Ye can go anywhere ye like. Though I suggest you stay away from Zyre,” he said with a grin.

“Thank you,” she said, with a bow. When Zevan nodded in dismissal, Tyria ran down the stairs and toward the subdeck entrance.

Zab hadn’t been exaggerating. The cargo hold was filled with water nearly up to her chest. There were zebras racing back and forth with buckets, pouring the water out of the now-opened hatches. Several barrels had broken free in the chaos, and were floating around the hold. Tyria pushed her way past them to reach the brig.

“Rye!” She reached the crossbars, looking within. Rye was curled up in the corner, sitting down in the water. Somepony had apparently been kind enough to return his robes, as he was dressed in the familiar bright yellow. At the sound of her voice, he looked up with a smile.

“I take it we made it,” he said, standing shakily. He looked mildly green. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that sick in my life.”

He stood next to the bars reaching a hoof through. Tyria shoved her forelegs through next to his head and pulled him forward. She closed her eyes and kissed him, hard, pulling him tightly against the bars and pressing her own body into them. She needed this, needed him, needed it badly. They’d just gone through hell and back, and somehow they were still alive, and the tension of so many close calls with death had finally built up so much that she just couldn’t stand it any longer. If only the damn bars weren’t here…

Rye tapped her on the shoulder, the universal signal for air, please, and Tyria pulled away with a gasp. She wiped away a strand of saliva linking their mouths, her face burning with embarrassment. She didn’t normally run this hot, aside from those awful few early summer weeks every mare loathed. It must be his height, she thought. He was so non-threatening, he brought out the tiger in her.

Slightly starry-eyed, Rye blinked and smiled. “Wow, uh… glad to see you made it, too.”

“Rye, you crazy, magnificent stallion, it worked. We’re out of the maelstrom.” She beamed, chest still heaving with denied passion.

“So,” he said, after another very intimate kiss, “what was it like? The Maw, I mean.”

Tyria tried to find the words. “It was amazing… terrifying, but amazing. It was this enormous gap in the water, like the sea just opened up…” she shook her head, at a loss to describe it. “You remember when you told me about Mount Jormundr? How it was like a force of nature? This was the same. I just…” She stared at the wall, thinking about the overpowering sound of the vortex. “I’ll never forget it.”

Rye’s cheer faded. “What about Zevan?”

“He’s letting me live,” she said, frowning with concern. “But he still wants to take you back.”

“I see.” Rye tugged at his sodden robes. “Well, at least we’ve bought some time.”

“Thanks to you saving my life again,” said Tyria with a smile.

Rye gave her a dry grin. “And you just saved all our lives. Look, we’re going to have to stop keeping score. How about we just call the rest of the lifesaving a team effort?”

“Deal.” Tyria kissed him again, willing herself to pass through the metal. Sadly, love conquers all did not apparently apply to cast iron.

A low groan reverberated through the hull. Both of them broke apart, giving each other confused looks. The noise came again, and the water sloshed.

Rye swallowed. “Well, that didn’t sound good.”

“I’d better go check on it. I’ll come back and see you when I can.” Tyria touched his cheek, then turned and waded back to the stairs.

She emerged onto the deck to find chaos. Zebras were rushing toward the lifeboats, piling them with supplies. It looked like they were planning to completely evacuate the ship. Tyria’s heart leaped into her throat.

Charging up the stairs to the helm, she found Zevan standing beside the wheel, leaning over the railing. “Captain! What’s going on?”

Zevan didn’t look at her, still staring into the distance. “We took more damage than we thought.”

“Is the hull breached?” Tyria felt a surge of panic starting to rise.

“No.” Zevan sighed. “When ye helped me turn the wheel, we were fightin’ a mighty fierce current. It strained the mechanism too much. The rudder held till we got farther out, but something’s snapped inside. I can’t steer the ship.”

Tyria swallowed, but then smiled. “Well, she’ll need repairs, but that’s not a life-threatening problem. With all the speed we’ve picked up, we should reach Shipwreck Isle within the day.”

“Aye, we be on our way there. Do ye know how the island got its name?” Tyria shook her head. Zevan grinned without feeling. “The Lodestone. A giant pillar of magnetic rock. It be strong enough to pull the nails clean out of a ship. The whole thing’ll fall to pieces.”

Tyria shook her head in denial. “No! No! We made it through the Maw, surely we’re not giving up now.”

“The same speed that carried us out of the maelstrom is taking us straight to the Lodestone, girl. Our only hope is to get in the lifeboats and try for one of the nearby islands in the other direction.”

“How… how long do we have?”

Zevan pointed to the horizon. “Can ye see it?”

Tyria’s eyes widened. “I thought… I thought we wouldn’t reach the island for at least another five hours.” She could just barely see a thin line stretching parallel to the water, far in the distance.

“We picked up more speed than ye predicted. We’ve traveled nearly three days’ time in a few hours.” Zevan sighed again. “Me poor ship deserves a better end than this. Such a waste.”

“I have to get Rye out of the brig,” said Tyria, urgency taking over worry. “Please, Captain. Where’s the key?”

Zevan cut her off with a hoof. “Look, girl, we’re leaving right now. No ship, no cargo, and no dead weight. If ye want to get off this boat alive, ye’ll come with us. Now or never.”

“And leave Rye to drown?” Tyria asked, aghast. “Never.”

Zevan gave her a dry smile. “Then I guess I haven’t spared yer life, after all.”

Tyria whipped around and ran, ignoring the laughter that followed her. She had hours, maybe only minutes, to get Rye out of that cell before this entire ship fell apart on top of him.

She splashed down into the hold, forcing her way past the floating cargo. The bilging zebras had given up their hopeless task, fleeing upstairs to join the others. “Rye! Rye, can you hear me?”

“Yes!” he yelled back. As Tyria finally waded close enough to see him, Rye looked back and forth. “What’s going on? Where’d the zebras go?”

“They’re abandoning ship.” Tyria quickly explained the situation with the Lodestone. “We’ve got to get off this ship before it breaks apart.”

Rye paled. “Are there lifeboats to spare?”

“No.” Tyria bit her lip. “We’ll have to jump in the water right before the ship goes. Then we can grab on to some wooden debris and swim to Shipwreck Isle. It’s a long way, but we can do it. There’s no way we could swim to the archipelago. It’s our only option.”

“But Tyria—” Rye looked utterly terrified. “I can’t swim.”

“What?” Tyria looked at him blankly.

“I can’t swim. I never learned how.” Rye’s eyes were wide with panic. “Remember when I said Canterlot doesn’t have any large bodies of water?”

“Oh, no.” Tyria put a hoof to her head, trying to think. “We can—I might—look, we’ll think of something, we just have to get you out of there.”

There was another horrible groan of straining wood. Rye’s eyes narrowed. “Do you hear that?”

“Yes. The ship’s got to be distorting—probably the anchor, pulling toward the Lodestone.”

“No, not the wood—listen!”

Tyria closed her eyes and listened carefully, and then she heard it. A small series of popping sounds. She turned her head to see the nails holding the cargo crates together ripping free of the wood and flying toward the port side of the ship with enough force to bury themselves in the hull. Sugar spilled into the water as the crates disintegrated.

“Can you fit through the bars?” she asked, frantic.

“We already tried that once, remember?” Rye looked around, rattling the crossbars helplessly. “I don’t see anything.”

One of the nails behind him pulled free, flying past them and nearly taking Tyria’s eye out. She dodged with growing panic. “Rye, come on! Maybe we can lift the bars off their hinges.”

“There’s no way we’re strong enough for that,” said Rye, but he planted his hooves anyway. Together, they pulled up on the bars, hoping to lift their pins free of the barrels.

They couldn’t hope to lift five hundred pounds of unevenly distributed metal. What they could do, however, was put it under enough stress to weaken the bolts. With a shrill shriek, the hinges themselves were wrenched out of the wood, leaving behind the grating. They sailed across the hold to slam into the hull with a clunk.

Tyria stood aside as the grating fell, shielding her face from the splash with a hoof. “Come on!”

The two of them raced for the stairs, as fast as they could go in the chest-high water. Once they reached them, they ran up for the main deck, hearing more nails being flung through the air.

Tyria stormed out onto the deck and looked around. A chill ran up her spine as she saw the lifeboats—rapidly growing smaller behind them. “No!” Tyria pressed a hoof against her head, dragging her mane down in despair. Ahead, the Lodestone loomed high, a great black pillar jutting out of the water like a spear.

Rye sagged. “That’s it, then.”

“No it isn’t,” said Tyria, desperate. “When the ship goes down, grab on to me, okay? I’ll get you to a bit of debris, and you can hang on to that to float. It—it’ll work. We’ll make it out of here.”

“Tyria…” Rye hugged her. “If this doesn’t work, I just want to… to thank you, for everything you’ve done.” He breathed shakily.

She hugged him back, tears in her eyes. “No, Rye, thank you. You’ve shown me so much, shown me what I can do if I try. Meeting you was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” They kissed, more pain than pleasure.

There was a long, deep rumble. The entire ship began to vibrate. “Grab on to me,” repeated Tyria, holding out her hoof. Rye took it with a nervous nod.

The Nightingale had come through the Serpent’s Maw alive, but against this foe no amount of clever sailing or navigating would help. The songbird ship shuddered once, twice, and then all her metal was ripped away by the inexorable force of the Lodestone. The ship collapsed into a thousand planks and shattered containers, raining down wood into the water. Tyria and Rye crashed into the sea.

Her first thought was Sisters, it’s warm. Compared to the freezing rain inside the Maw, the Carriagibbean waters were downright pleasant. Her second thought was Air. I need air!

Rye’s hooves wrapped around her neck, squeezing tight for dear life. Tyria thrust upward, breaking the surface and trying to inhale. She could hear Rye heaving panicked breaths behind her, sucking down air, but his hooves were pressing into her throat. “Rye—Rye, you’re choking me,” she gasped out in a strangled voice.

But Rye couldn’t hear her, or couldn’t respond. His body had gone into pure survival mode, struggling to keep him above the water with no concern for others. Tyria recognized it from the Academy as classic drowning victim behavior. Fortunately, she also remembered the solution.

Ducking back under the water, Tyria tucked her chin in and placed her hooves under Rye’s. She swiftly pulled herself out of his grip, spinning around to grasp him in a better hold.

A piece of debris splashed down above her, clipping her in the head. Tyria lost Rye’s touch, and felt her lungs about to burst. She swam back up half a meter, and took a deep, gasping breath. Shaking her head, her vision stopped swimming, but she realized that Rye hadn’t surfaced with her. With another deep breath, she dived back down.

The water was murky with wine, sugar, and detritus from a hundred different cargoes. Tyria could barely see a meter in front of her. She looked around for Rye, searching for that distinctive yellow flash, but it was nowhere to be found.

No. No, no no!

Tyria surfaced again, taking a deeper breath this time. She dived down, this time as deeply as she could manage. Rye was tiny and thin; with that build, he’d sink like a stone. Tyria felt terror welling up in her breast. No! Rye, no, I’ll find you. Just show me the yellow; please show me the yellow…

She was forced to surface again. Tyria treaded water for a moment, calling out, “Rye! Rye! Can you hear me?” There was no response. Tyria looked around, whispering no no no. She felt a chill when she saw tall gray fins poking from the water. No doubt such a frequent shipwreck zone made tempting hunting grounds for all manner of beasts. What if one of them had grabbed him?

She dived again, desperately swimming down, down, farther than she could safely go. She would swim until she ran out of air, if that’s what it took. Air bubbles snuck from her mouth as she went deeper, her eyes burning in the salt water. I told him to hold on to me, and then I broke his grip. Oh, Goddess, Rye, no!

Tyria felt her lungs screaming for air. I won’t give up. I’ll find you, Rye. I’ll find you… She swam down, her strokes growing slower. The edges of her sight began to go black. Find… you…

She could no longer move as the water filled her mouth and nose. Her chest felt like it was bursting. The world had lost all color in the murky water, like a painting washed free of oils. The last thing she saw was a large, dark shape swimming straight for her. Then everything went black.

21. Breaking and Entering

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Wheatie pressed the little white coffee mug between his hooves and took a long drink. He narrowed his eyes and smacked his lips as the caffeine began its work. “I think I’m starting to like this.”

Across the kitchen table, Zanaya grinned. “Aha! Another convert. It took me months to get Tyria to switch from tea.” She took a sip from her own cup. “Equestrian coffee must taste awful.”

“Like mud,” confirmed Wheatie, draining the mug. “Doesn’t matter how much sugar you put in it.”

“Well, this brew is from Zherrick’s Repose. It’s a little zebra village off the southern tip of the main archipelago. They grow the best coffee beans in the world.” She sniffed her cup and hummed. “A little expensive, but worth it. The garbage they make in the office is undrinkable.”

“Only the best for civil servants, eh?” Wheatie eyed the grounds in the bottom of his emptied mug, his smile fading to a resigned frown. “I suppose we’d better get back to it.”

“Seventh time’s the charm?” Zanaya sighed. “Milliden’s been squeaky-clean this week, as far as I can tell. I’ve followed him to dinner parties, bars, and on over a dozen trips to the docks to buy firewood, of all things. Maybe he’s going camping. At any rate, it’s all aboveboard. If he’s been communicating with the pirates, I have no idea how.”

“So, either Zedya lied to us, or…” Wheatie’s brow furrowed, “we’re just not looking hard enough.”

“We can’t follow him twenty-four hours a day; we need to sleep, too. And if we keep it up then eventually he’s going to catch us tailing him.” Zanaya frowned. “We could keep more eyes on him if we brought the rest of the Watch in…”

“No.” Wheatie set the mug down on the table. “Not until we know how compromised the embassy is. I don’t want Equestria facing the backlash from this if it turns out the entire staff has turned traitor. If the Marquis thinks we’ve been supporting the pirates, she could double tariffs on Equestrian goods, or cut off trade altogether. I won’t let one corrupt diplomat ruin my entire country’s economy. We need to make sure that this is all on him before we bring anything forward.”

“Well, Tyria’s definitely no traitor.” Zanaya’s frown turned thoughtful. “And Captain Petalbloom has never struck me as someone who’d turn on their country for money.”

“How well do you know her?”

“Better than I’d like to, unfortunately.” Zanaya grimaced. “Not to insult her, you understand. See, Milliden has a habit of causing minor diplomatic SNAFUs every now and then. He’s got class-one diplomatic immunity, so we can’t touch him for anything short of murder or piracy. He abuses the privilege like no one else I’ve ever met. The Watch gets called in to mollify whoever he’s managed to offend. Most of the times I’ve met Petalbloom have been in that context, both of us trying to clean up one of his messes.”

Wheatie tapped his lips with a hoof. “You think we can trust her?”

Pensively, Zanaya steepled her hooves. “Maybe. At this point, we need some kind of new lead. At least Petalbloom isn’t likely to blame Equestria as a whole if we tell her about Milliden.”

The grandfather clock on the wall behind Wheatie chimed. Both of them jerked up in surprise. “Ten already? Didn’t realize it was that late,” said Wheatie, standing.

Zanaya grabbed the cups and dumped them in the sink. “Come on. We can still make it to the embassy if we hurry.”

They grabbed their respective uniforms and tugged them on as they raced out of the house. Wheatie eyed Zanaya’s simple silver bracelet enviously, struggling to get his shirt on with his mouth and a hoof while he followed her with an awkward three-legged gait.

If Milliden kept to his schedule—and he always kept to his schedule—he’d be leaving the embassy at a quarter to eleven. Fortunately, Zanaya’s home was fairly close to the embassy district, a mere fifteen minute walk if the streets weren’t packed building to building with pedestrians. Of course, this being a Friday morning, they were.

They finally emerged from the mass of equinity to stand before the Equestrian embassy. Both of them ducked into the small alleyway on the building’s right side, peering around the corner. “Did we miss him?” whispered Zanaya.

“I can ask the secretary,” began Wheatie, but he was interrupted when the doors flew open and the yellow-robed earth pony strode out. Milliden’s head was, as usual, held aloft in barely-contained contempt for his surroundings. Combined with the robes, he wasn’t hard to follow in the crowd of zebras.

Zanaya gave Wheatie a quick nod. “Good luck. Talk to Petalbloom.”

“I will. Good luck, yourself.” Wheatie winked, and Zanaya gave him a crooked smile before vanishing back into the crowd.

Wheatie turned his eyes up along the side of the embassy building. A window on the second floor waited for him. Milliden was in the bad habit of leaving it unlocked; he must be too used to living in a city of flightless zebras.

A flap of his wings and a firm yank later, Wheatie stood inside the ambassador’s office. It was a quiet little affair, with a single bookshelf and a desk. The light blue carpeting gave the room a soft touch, far less gaudy than the bright crimson in Tatius Gableclaw’s chambers.

Milliden shouldn’t be able to hide anything in a room this sparse. With a heavy sigh, Wheatie resumed the search. He checked under furniture, inside book covers, even under the edges of the carpet.

He’d been over every paper in this room, every receipt and state dinner invitation that Milliden had received in the last three years, and still he’d found nothing. The ambassador was meticulous with his paperwork; the entire office was ordered so well it seemed like filing was the pony’s only hobby. Yet despite the vast quantity of potentially incriminating parchment and paper in the room, searching the office from top to bottom every day for a week had brought Wheatie no closer to pinning down Milliden’s pirate connection.

After another fruitless hour and a half, he finally admitted defeat. The office was clean as a whistle. If Milliden was keeping any records of his efforts to aid the Vipers, he wasn’t keeping them here. It was time to see if the captain would be an ally in their search.

It would not do to seem to magically teleport into the embassy—breaking into an ambassador’s quarters to look for sensitive information was a bit of a no-no—so he left the office through the window and shut it behind him. He alighted on the ground, paused to adjust his uniform, and strode in through the front door.

The secretary, Zedara, looked up from some forms as he entered, setting her quill aside. “Hello, Sergeant. I’ve been meaning to speak with you. Are you still staying at the embassy?”

Wheatie blinked, puzzled. “Uh, yes?”

“I only ask because you haven’t been here for the last six nights. If you’ve found personal lodging in the city, please let us know. We can have your belongings moved to your new place of residence within the day.” Zedara smiled blithely and pulled out a blank sheaf of parchment. “You could give me the address.”

Wheatie felt his cheeks warming. “Uh, that won’t be necessary. I’ve just been staying with a friend. It’s not a permanent relocation.” Oh, she’s going to laugh at me when she hears about this. He motioned for Zedara to put away the parchment. “Really.” With a look toward the right hallway and the offices beyond, he cleared his throat. “Is Captain Petalbloom free?”

Zedara nodded, turning back down to her work. “She’s got a visitor at the moment, but I don’t expect it will take much longer. Just wait outside her door.”

Wheatie made his way down the hall toward Petalbloom’s office, wondering how to phrase his request. Seen the ambassador doing anything illegal, lately? He sighed. Telling Petalbloom that her embassy was home to a potential cabal of traitors was not ideal, but they were running out of time. Whatever those barrels of blackpowder were for, it had to be big and it had to be soon.

When he reached the captain’s door, he raised his hoof. Before he could knock, the door cracked open. He heard a mare’s voice say, “Thank you, Captain,” and then the door swung wide to reveal a zebra. Wheatie began to step aside when suddenly he recognized her.

“Marquis Zahira!”

The Marquis raised an eyebrow and studied his face for a moment. “Ah.” The eyebrow lowered. “Sergeant. A pleasure to meet you again. I shan’t keep you.” She nodded and passed by, heading toward the embassy exit.

Wheatie looked over his shoulder after her, fiercely curious, but bit his lip and entered the office. The captain was behind her desk, tapping a hoof on the wood. “Sergeant Specklestraw. Shut the door.”

As he closed it behind him, he took a good look at the captain. She had dark circles under her red, bleary eyes, and a scowl so stony it might have belonged to a statue. Wheatie hoped it wasn’t aimed at him. “Captain.”

“Sit down, Sergeant.” Petalbloom leaned over and reached beneath her desk. Wheatie heard the sound of something pouring, and then she emerged with a pair of small glasses. She set one on his side of the desk, before taking a long draught from the other. A brief glance revealed that they were filled with nothing more than water.

Wheatie took his glass, and sipped it cautiously. “What did the Marquis want?”

Petalbloom snarled, though to his relief it seemed to be directed after the Marquis. “Dropping off invitations to her weekend party. One for Ambassador Milliden, one for you, and most pointedly, one for Ambassador Strudel.”

“Doesn’t she know he’s missing?”

“Of course she does. You think the Marquis makes a habit of personally delivering her mail? She was trying to shake me down for information. Politely, of course.”

Wheatie swallowed. “How much does she know?” If she suspects Milliden…

“Very little, I gathered, hence the visit. She knows the Vipers are involved, but that’s all I can say for sure. And that’s not the only thing.” Petalbloom pointed to an envelope on the left corner of the desk. “That one’s a letter from Princess Celestia, requesting a status update from Ambassador Strudel. She wants to know what in the world is happening out here.” She set her glass down and her eyes locked on Wheatie’s. “I empathize greatly.”

“Um.” Wheatie tugged his collar.

“I haven’t gotten a report about the ambassador from you in two weeks. And you’ve barely been in the embassy at all for the last six days.” Her eyes narrowed sharply. “I am not a mushroom, Specklestraw.”

To be kept in the dark and fed on horseshit, right. Wheatie gulped. “The Watch and I are still investigating,” he said, trying to keep his expression bland.

“And? Where are Strudel and Metrel? Have you found anything?”

Wheatie closed his eyes and sighed. “We think Ambassador Milliden may be involved.” Cat’s out of the bag, now. Let’s hope she’s as trustworthy as Zanaya thinks.

Petalbloom’s eyes shot wide open and her jaw hung slightly slack. To her credit, she recovered quickly, shutting her mouth and blinking rapidly. “I trust you have a reason to think so.”

Hurriedly, Wheatie gave her the brief version of the last two weeks’ events. Her expression grew more and more appalled as he detailed the interview with Tatius, the trip to the brothel, and the last wasted week of pursuing Milliden. When he finished, she was rubbing her forehead. “Leaving aside your… questionable investigative methods, why? Why would Milliden have Strudel kidnapped? Did he think his position was being threatened?”

“We don’t know if he ordered them captured, or if he even knew about it until we told him. We won’t get him to answer any questions without some sort of leverage, and Zanaya and I have been hitting a brick wall on that front.”

Petalbloom stiffened. “This detective, Zanaya… How much does the Watch know?”

“So far, only that a political figure may be involved. She’s been keeping the specifics away from her boss, Commissioner Zireena.” Wheatie felt a tug of guilt. Zanaya would be in hot water if they didn’t wrap this up soon.

“Well, that explains why the Marquis has been riding my back for information,” said Petalbloom dryly. She shook her head. “Milliden. I don’t understand why he’d do this.”

“What do you know about him?”

Petalbloom leaned back in her seat, rubbing her chin. “I first met him around five years ago. He was the ambassador in Grypha before he was reassigned here, about a year before that mess with the griffons started in earnest.”

“The Princess didn’t trust him to defuse tensions with the griffons?” Wheatie winced. “I’ll bet he didn’t take that well.”

“No, he didn’t, though it may have worked out better for him in the end. I don’t believe his replacement survived the war.” Petalbloom pursed her lips. “I think that’s why he’s always been so prickly with the griffons across the road. Or maybe that’s why he was reassigned in the first place.” She shrugged. “From the moment he got here, I heard nothing but complaints. The embassy was too small, the help was too slow, the food was too spicy, you get the gist. I finally stopped having to listen to it when he moved into that little house in the Serabine district on the north side.” Petalbloom sighed. “But complaining aside, he wasn’t always such a…”

Wheatie took another drink of water and raised an eyebrow. “Such a what?”

Petalbloom gave a sour grimace. “A jackass. I try not to speak ill of my coworkers, but that stallion’s got a stick up his rear the size of a—” She shook her head. “But as I was saying, he wasn’t always like that. For the first two years he was here, he seemed to get along decently with the Marquis and the other diplomats. He even got some favorable trade agreements hammered out in the postwar compact regarding our new joint shipping efforts with Grypha. But then we started having… incidents.”

“Zanaya mentioned something about that.”

“It started innocently enough. A few too many drinks at a party, some loud griffons bragging about some battle they’d won in the war, blows in the hallway… Not a sterling representation of our nation, but understandable. Then he started snubbing invitations. I got a personal visit from the Marquis at one point because she thought we hadn’t been delivering them to him.” She scowled again.

“Anything else?”

“It just escalated. Further snubbing, public disagreements with Zyran policy, and of course, drunken hooffights in bars. Even visits to the whorehouses on the weekends, though to be honest, that’s not unusual amongst most of the ambassadors here.” She looked off into space. “It’s strange. The first two years, he never struck me as much of a drinker. Suddenly he was off having brawls in the city streets. And now that I think about it, that was around the time the Vipers started showing up.”

Wheatie pushed his glass from hoof to hoof over the table. “An interesting coincidence.”

“Indeed.” Petalbloom frowned suspiciously. “The more I think about it, the worse it sounds.”

“Why make a complete fool of himself in public? What does that gain the pirates?”

She shrugged again. “I don’t know about the pirates, but there are any number of groups who would benefit from making Equestria look bad. The Gryphans, the Antellucíans, even the Elktic Commonwealth; any of our trade rivals would love for Zyre to place commercial restrictions on us.”

“Or worse.” Wheatie felt a drop of sweat on his neck. “The whole reason that Rye and I were sent here was to convince the Marquis to let our military ships into her waters. She’s not very open to the idea.”

Oh, no.

He looked at the captain, his stomach sinking. “Suppose a group with no national ties began attacking Zyran ships. Suppose this group managed to get their hooves on a weapon powerful enough to sink an entire ship in one blow. And suppose they attacked Zyre itself, using this weapon to even the odds. With Milliden as our envoy, would Zahira accept an offer of aid from Equestria?”

He watched Petalbloom’s eyes widen as she came to the same conclusion. She stared down at her glass, turning it around with a hoof, her jaw working as she struggled not to say the obvious answer.

“No.”

* * *

The sunlight was growing dim as Wheatie pushed his way through the crowds toward Zanaya’s house, his thoughts scattered like fallen feathers. He and the captain had spent the last five hours raking Petalbloom’s memories and records for potential clues about Milliden’s involvement or the Viper’s plot, but no specifics had emerged regarding either.

What little they’d surmised was still enough to give him nightmares. A well-armed, organized, military group with enough ordinance to destroy a few city blocks in a matter of seconds, possibly backed by some as-yet-unknown enemy of Equestria, their ultimate goals still a mystery, and no more leads to track down…

The door to Zanaya’s little house was unlocked when he arrived. Wheatie stumbled through into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. Dumping the Marquis’ invitations on the table, he turned back to the coat rack. As he absently unbuttoned his uniform, he willed the growing feeling of panic in the back of his mind to go away.

“Wheatie, is that you?” called Zanaya from the bedroom further inside the house.

Oh, Sisters, what if all that blackpowder’s still on the island? We have no idea where they might have stashed it…

“Wheatie?” Zanaya wandered into the kitchen, looking concerned. She brightened when she saw him. “Hey, soldier boy, don’t scare me like that. I thought someone was breaking into my house.” She turned her head over her shoulder to look at the small cooking fireplace in the wall. “So for dinner, I was thinking—”

Wheatie swallowed. “Zanaya, about Milliden…”

“Did you get something?” her eyes lit with excitement. “I didn’t have any luck.”

“Nothing solid, but…” he inhaled deeply. “Petalbloom thinks we might have a third party involved. Someone backing Milliden and the pirates.”

Zanaya paled beneath her stripes. “So whatever they’re doing is more than just piracy.”

“Right.” Wheatie’s mouth felt very dry.

“This thing is starting to reek of politics.” Zanaya’s mouth twisted in distaste. “And trust me, that’s never good with Zyre’s oligarchs.”

Wheatie wished that Rye were here. The ambassador was a shrewder political mind than he; perhaps the pegacorn could make more sense of what they’d learned. Where did the pirates take them? “Well,” he said slowly, “what next? Has Milliden been talking to any potential Viper backers?”

“I… maybe. Maybe not.” Zanaya shook her head, frustrated. “He sees camels, ponies, deer, even griffons on a weekly basis. Any of them could potentially fund a proxy war on Zyre. But is that what he’s talking to them about? I have no way of knowing, without getting close enough to get caught eavesdropping.”

“Ten to one odds it’s Grypha,” said Wheatie, scowling. “If they controlled the sugar trade, they could start gearing up for a rematch with Equestria. King Aelianus is as bitter as the southern nobles about the war.”

“Then why all the skullduggery with Tatius? Why not just get the blackpowder to the pirates directly, or through staged raids? No, I doubt it’s the griffons. Besides, Milliden hates their guts.”

He shook his head. “We’d better figure it out fast. And we need to alert the navy to watch out for those barrels. If they haven’t moved the blackpowder to other containers yet… But we’d have to tell them about Milliden, and then there’s no way we’ll keep Equestria from getting damaged by this… Sisters, what a mess.”

Zanaya laid her hoof on his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow, okay? Don’t fall to pieces on me.”

“Tomorrow might be too late—”

She pressed a hoof to his lips. “Shh. Worry about it in the morning. You won’t be any good to anypony if you’re stuck in bed with an ulcer. We’ll deal with it first thing when we wake up, with our heads clear, okay?”

Wheatie gave a small smile and gently removed her hoof. “I just…”

Zanaya kissed him. “Tomorrow.”

Allowing himself to be persuaded, he pressed his mouth against hers. They tumbled toward Zanaya’s spacious bed, eager to forget about the looming disaster for at least a short while.

Some time later, as they rested with their heads on the pillows, Wheatie stared up at the ceiling. He followed the grain of the wood, steady and fluid, flowing across the boards of the roof. If only the trail ahead of them were as clear.

Beside him, Zanaya snuggled closer. “What’s on your mind?”

Wheatie grimaced. “There has to be something more. Something else we can chase down.”

Zanaya sighed. “I can’t think of anything.” She pulled the covers up around her neck. “All Milliden did today was buy more wood.”

Tensing, Wheatie raised his head from the pillow and looked to his right at her. “You think maybe that merchant is involved? If he’s going to the guy twice a day to buy kindling…”

Zanaya shook her head. “The merchant’s a Nordpony. Barely speaks Equestrian, definitely doesn’t speak any Zebrillic. I can’t see him working with the Vipers past that language barrier.”

Disappointed, Wheatie relaxed again. “Guess we’re back to square one.”

“Yes.” Zanaya’s stomach grumbled, and she laughed. “I believe I was talking about dinner before we got distracted.” She grinned. “Unless you wanted seconds.”

Wheatie suddenly realized that he hadn’t had anything but coffee and water all day. “Actually, I’m famished. Dinner sounds good. What’ve you got?”

“I picked up some plaintains at the market on the way back from tailing Milliden yesterday. Was thinking about making a good old-fashioned home-cooked Zyran meal—”

Wheatie sprang upright on the bed. “Home! You’re a genius, Zanaya.”

Zanaya raised an eyebrow and half-smiled. “Yes, yes, true. Uh… why, exactly?”

“Milliden’s home! It’s the one place we haven’t searched that he might be hiding things.”

Zanaya sat up. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Not a good idea, Wheatie.”

“Where else can we look? Come on, there has to be something there.”

“Maybe, but I can’t get a warrant without telling Commissioner Zireena about Milliden.” Zanaya crossed her hooves. “And unless you’ve changed your mind, that’s still off the table.”

Wheatie felt a new surge of guilt. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been putting you in a lot of difficult positions lately.”

Mischief sparkled in her eyes. “I’ve enjoyed most of them.” Wheatie snorted. Zanaya lay back down and sighed. “I just don’t know, Wheatie. The embassy is Equestrian property. Anything you bring us from there is fair game, so long as an Equestrian is bringing it forward. But Milliden’s house is on Zyran turf, and we need a warrant for that.”

“Only if we’re taking this to a Zyran court. If all goes well, Milliden won’t ever see a jury here. He’ll be coming back to Equestria with me and Rye, Sisters-willing. Our justice system is a little less bureaucratic than yours. Once the Princess finds out what he’s done, he’ll be safely clapped in irons for the rest of his life.”

Zanaya rolled her eyes. “Equestria. Still a hundred years behind the rest of the world.”

Wheatie grinned, lying back down. “You can thank the griffons and their wars for that. At least with us he isn’t going to get executed.”

“This is true,” she admitted.

“So,” said Wheatie, turning back to business, “Milliden’s house.”

Zanaya’s eyes closed again. “… Okay, Wheatie. I’m going to regret this, but… okay.”

“Excellent.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Now… want to show me how you make that Zyran dish?”

Eyes still shut, she chuckled. “All right. But don’t blame me if your mouth catches on fire.”

* * *

Wheatie’s eyes opened slowly, blinking in the light that filtered through the dusty window onto Zanaya’s bed. She was still asleep to his right, breathing softly. He nudged her, and she blinked groggily. “Morning already?”

“Sure feels like it.” His neck was a bit stiff from one of last night’s more inventive experiments.

“Mmpf.” Zanaya stretched and yawned loudly. “You’re a friend of the sun queen, right? Ever ask her to make the night a couple hours longer?”

“Princess. And no, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t let much of anything get in the way of the sun’s schedule.”

“What about that day four years ago? I remember the sun got stuck over toward the horizon, and everything got all red like it was twilight. Stayed that way for ages.”

Wheatie looked distantly up at the ceiling, staring past it. “Those were… extenuating circumstances.”

Zanaya rubbed his shoulder. “Sorry. Bad memories?”

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “But some good ones, too.” Shaking his head to clear it of sleepy fog, he sat up and pulled off the covers. “Well, it’s the weekend, so Milliden’s probably at home. Still, I think we should at least scope the place out.”

“Casing houses is generally the sort of behavior I try to prevent, Wheatie.” Zanaya rolled her eyes. “You’re a bad influence.”

Wheatie pawed uncomfortably at the sheets. “Well, it’s up to you whether we do this. It’s your job that’s on the line.”

“No,” said Zanaya, her eyes narrowing. “It’s Tyria’s life that’s on the line. We’ll go today.” She flung the covers aside and got out of bed.

They dressed for the day, Zanaya with a casual violet bandana around her neck and her cobalt-blue earrings, Wheatie in a freshly cleaned sky-blue shirt. As he stood by the door, buttoning his collar, he glanced down at the invitations. At least the investigation gives me a good excuse to miss a formal dinner.

The two headed off for the Serabine district, toward the address that Captain Petalbloom had absently revealed to Wheatie during their session poring over Milliden’s activities. It was early on Saturday morning, so the streets were as empty as they ever were in Zyre, but the district lay on the far north side of the city. It was almost three hours before they found the correct road, a paved cobblestone street that curled around the bottom of the north side of the capitol hill.

Wheatie could see the Marquis’ manor, high above near the hilltop, past a variety of other huge homes. The ones down on the street were much more modest; but the fact that there were single houses at all rather than apartments suggested the neighborhood was rather wealthy.

Milliden’s house was typical of its surroundings. A door with a window on either side, two floors, a small garden broken by the stairs leading up to the entrance. It was flush up against the large stone wall that surrounded the old inner city, back when attacks against the Gryphan colony had not been unusual. Now, the city extended far past the wall, which served as a social and economic barrier more than a physical one.

As he took in the pale, beige façade of Milliden’s home, Wheatie raised an eyebrow. “Seems a bit large.”

“Houses around here aren’t cheap,” agreed Zanaya. “Any idea what an ambassador’s pay is?”

“It’s impolite to ask, of course, but I think Rye makes around sixty thousand bits a year before taxes. It’s not much, really, less than even a captain makes. Most ambassadors are already wealthy nobleponies; the office is supposed to be the compensation, not the salary. I met Rye at his house before we left Canterlot. It was nice enough for a one-pony household, but frankly it was a bit small. One story. Maybe four rooms.” He pointed up at the pipe permitting the aqueduct concealed within the wall to send water into the house. “Definitely no plumbing.”

“Well, Zyran taxes are a lot lighter than Equestrian ones.” Zanaya pursed her lips. “But I agree, this seems a bit above Milliden’s pay grade.”

“Any idea how to tell if he’s home?”

“We could always knock.”

Wheatie grinned. “I haven’t played ding-dong-ditch since I was a little colt.”

“Well, he’s got a knocker, not a bell,” said Zanaya dryly. “He’ll recognize you, though. Hide between the houses. I’ll pretend I’m selling something if he answers the door.”

Once Wheatie had safely vanished around the corner, he heard Zanaya rap the door with the knocker repeatedly. She paused for a while, waiting for any response, but none arrived. After another knock and forty seconds of waiting to be sure, Wheatie came back out to meet her at the door.

“Well, seems like he’s not here. Or he’s avoiding visitors.” Zanaya frowned, stroking her chin with a hoof. “How do we get in?” Wheatie rapped the window, and Zanaya scowled. “We are not breaking any windows.”

“No, I mean those windows,” he said, pointing upward. “He never locks the ones on the upper floor at the embassy.” He spread his wings and dipped into a half-crouch.

“All right,” said Zanaya, smiling, and slid her forelegs over Wheatie’s shoulders. “You know, I think I’m getting used to this.”

“Really?” He stood, grunting a bit under the weight. “I could take you on a flight around the island sometime.”

She swallowed. “Maybe not that used to it.”

“Give it some thought,” he said, grinning. With a hard beat of his wings, he took to the air, ascending to Milliden’s upper windows. The one on the right was locked, but the leftmost one yielded to a couple hard yanks from Zanaya, popping upward and revealing a pair of gossamer white curtains.

They slipped inside, and Zanaya slid off Wheatie’s back to alight softly to the brown-carpeted floor. They appeared to be in a study or reading room, lined with bookshelves. A small bronze bust of some pony Wheatie didn’t recognize sat upon a hardwood desk, as austere as Milliden liked to present himself. Various quills and inkpots surrounded it, as well as a large stack of parchment.

Zanaya hummed. “The inside’s even richer than the outside.”

“Let’s check the whole house for him before we start looking for evidence.”

They swept the building. The tour revealed more layers of understated opulence, from minimalist marble statuary to an atrium with an open roof and shallow pool for collecting rainwater. The dining room in particular stood out, with a collection of genuine silverware and china that even Wheatie could tell was valuable.

The dining room could at least be excused as a diplomat having the best for important guests; the decadent bedroom with its four-poster bed and pegasus-down mattress was far more damning.

Wheatie shook his head. “Where on earth is he getting the money for this?”

Zanaya tapped the bed’s headboard. “I’ll bet the answer to that is back in the study.”

They returned to the room with the books, and began their search in earnest. Wheatie flipped through the stack of parchment on the desk, finding nothing noteworthy. In the first of the desk’s rightmost drawers, however, he found a folder filled with papers that soon revealed a more interesting story than the ones back at the embassy.

“Hey, come look at this,” he said, sitting up on the desk’s seating cushion. Zanaya wandered over from one of the bookshelves. “Ever hear of something called Zen’s Vigor?”

“Yes,” said Zanaya, with a tone of curiosity. “It’s a ship, part of one of Zyre’s larger trading fleets. Playing investor with the trade fleets is a popular get-rich-quick scheme, and that fleet is one of the more reliable ones. Is that where he got his money, then?”

“No,” said Wheatie, leafing through the papers. “Looks like quite the opposite. According to these spreadsheets, he bought forty-five thousand bits of share in the Vigor’s cargo on a trip three years ago, as well as another twenty-five thousand spread across various other ships in that fleet. On their way to Elefala, a freak storm hit them, and half the fleet was lost. The other half had to dump most of their cargo just to limp back to Zyre. A total disaster; nearly two million bits’ worth of goods lost.”

Zanaya whistled. “Over a million Zyran florins. That’s… a lot of money.”

“Now, notes from angry creditors start showing up. Let’s see, ten… sixty…” he counted, flipping through the papers. “If he’s saved everything in here, and it looks like he has, they wanted twenty-one thousand florins from him. What’s the conversion?”

“That’s about forty thousand bits.” Zanaya frowned. “So where’d the extra initial thirty thousand come from? And if he’s that deeply in debt, how is he buying all this stuff?”

“It gets stranger. Four months after that disaster, suddenly he puts down another hundred and twenty thousand on a different trading fleet. Then three months after that, an additional fifty thousand. Both of those returned much better dividends than the total loss. But not enough to account for the next investments—they just climb from there, getting higher and higher. From the looks of it, Milliden’s become Zyre’s quietest millionaire.”

Zanaya shook her head slowly. “It doesn’t make sense. No individual Zyran oligarch has enough capital lying around to spend on these kind of bribes without some definite, immediate return for it. But Milliden hasn’t done anything political to warrant such a payoff.”

“I’m hard pressed to think of many nations that would, either.” Wheatie shut the drawer with a clink. “We can definitely rule out Grypha, at least.”

Zanaya frowned. “Did you hear that?”

“Hm?”

She pulled the drawer out again, and slammed it shut. There was a definite clinking of metal on metal. “Those are coins, or I’m black with white stripes.”

“Aren’t you?” Wheatie grinned. She punched him in the shoulder.

Opening the drawer again, they quickly began removing papers. Once the drawer was empty, a few rattles and a couple hard knocks swiftly revealed that it had a false bottom. Inside were three small pouches, all filled to the brim with silver and gold coinage.

Wheatie scowled. “And there we go. Let’s see what currency Milliden makes his real paycheck in.”

He poured out the coins from the first pouch. They were silver, with the mohawked head of a zebra on one face and two canes of sugar on the other. Zanaya shrugged. “High-denomination florins. As close to a trade currency as any; they could be anyone’s.”

The second pouch revealed more florins. Wheatie carelessly scooped them to the side of the desk, untying the third pouch. He upended it, dumping a cascade of golden coins onto the desk top.

They both stared for a few moments, and then Wheatie inhaled. “So.”

The face of an ancient, long-dead pharaoh faced sideways toward the left and the rising sun, the camel’s short beard the only distinguishing feature about his face. On the tail side of the coins, an obelisk partially covered a winding river.

“Dromedaria.” Wheatie blinked. “What is Milliden doing with the Dromedarians?”

“They’re the third-greatest naval power in the Ceracen right now,” said Zanaya, swallowing. “But I don’t know what they think they’re doing if they’re supporting the Vipers. If they’re trying to bleed us dry of money, it’s going to take a lot more than one pirate group to shut down trade. And if they want a military takeover, they simply don’t have the numbers for it. Even if every one of those blackpowder barrels sinks a Zyran ship, they’d still find it nearly impossible to besiege the city. Our defenses are as strong as they were in the old empire.”

“Then what—” Wheatie bit his lip, baffled. “Are there any political figures who would benefit from a change in management from the Marquis to the camels?”

“Sure. But they’d never get the city to surrender without unanimous support for such a thing. And while our politicians might be many things, I’ve never heard them described as unanimous.”

Wheatie began rifling through the papers in the other desk drawer. “We have to find something. Some communication, some hint of their plan, and Milliden’s role in it. Maybe a base, or a hiding place, somewhere they could have taken Rye and Tyria.”

Zanaya nodded, and began dealing with a stack of papers nestled between bookends on one of the shelves. Several minutes passed, eventually becoming hours, as the two silently read over bank notes, spreadsheets, vapid diplomatic missives, even receipts. There was nothing illuminating; it appeared Milliden did not keep a journal or any other personal record that might elucidate on his treason.

Wheatie only looked up when the twilight sunlight reflected off the window pane directly into his eyes. “Oh, blast. Zanaya, it’s nearly dark out. Wherever he went, he’ll be back soon.”

“Shoot.” Zanaya immediately began shoving papers back into place. “Clean up the money. I’ll get the spreadsheets. We were never here.”

Wheatie nodded, hastily scooping hooffulls of coins into the pouches, ignoring the foolish voice in the back of his mind that was urging him to take a few. When the pouches were heavy once more and all the coins gone from the desk, he shoved them back into the drawer and replaced the false bottom.

Zanaya shoved the papers back into the drawer, and they began quickly closing up the study. After fifteen minutes of frantic filing, they had nearly restored order to the room. Zanaya paused as they neared completion, holding a set of opened, empty envelopes. She raised an eyebrow and looked toward the wastebin under the desk, which was filled with a few crumpled papers. “I’m taking those. We can check them at home, and hopefully he won’t miss his trash.”

Then they heard a door opening downstairs.

“Crap,” hissed Wheatie. He jerked his hoof, and Zanaya nearly leaped onto his back. He shoved open the window and poked his head out to look for Milliden. The ambassador was down below, holding the door open with one foreleg, and precariously balancing a pile of firewood in the other. Thankfully, he did not look up.

Wheatie pulled his head back in, feeling sweat gather on the back of his neck. “This is going to be tight.”

“Quickly, then.” Zanaya’s face was pale.

The door closed below them. Checking to ensure Milliden was inside the house, Wheatie flared his wings in preparation to jump. He raced toward the window, his hooves thudding on the carpet.

His left wing clipped the bust on the desk. As he leaped through the window, the bust went crashing down onto the floor, muffled only slightly by the carpet. Wheatie felt the air rush across his face as he flapped mightily, taking himself and Zanaya higher and away from the house. They swiftly left Milliden’s home behind.

“Hey!” came the shout from behind them, and Wheatie half-turned to see Milliden standing at the open window, staring after them. “Thieves! Thieves!”

He flapped harder, and soon the house shrank beyond detail, joining the others around it in a homogeneous mass.

“He saw us,” said Zanaya, tight-lipped.

Wheatie nodded, still sweating. “Think he got a good look at our faces?”

“No,” she said, apprehensive, “but he definitely saw a pegasus and a zebra. That’s not a super-unusual pairing in the city, but he’s bound to be suspicious next time he sees us.”

“We’ll deal with that when we come to it,” said Wheatie, eyeing the approaching residential district where Zanaya’s house lay. The three-hour walk was only a five-minute flight, and soon they were touching back onto the ground.

Zanaya opened her door, hurriedly stepping inside and dumping all the stolen trash mail on the tabletop to join the invitations. Wheatie closed the door behind him as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Let’s hope there’s something more than bills in there.”

She wasted no time in checking over the papers. Wheatie joined her as she flattened out the crumpled letters, scanning over the words. “Water bill…”

“Advertisements…” Zanaya carelessly flicked the cheap paper back to the table, picking up another. “Well, what’s this?”

Wheatie peered over at it. The page was nearly blank, with a single line of script in the middle.

Meet our emissary at Zahira’s event on Sunday to discuss timing.

He and Zanaya glanced at each other with arched eyebrows. “Zahira’s event, hm?” asked Zanaya.

Wheatie looked down at the invitation on the table. “I am permitted to bring one guest.” He let out a small whine. “I hate formal dinners.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” said Zanaya, carefully rolling up the parchment. “If all goes well, we might be ending the night with an arrest.” She set the letter down on the table. “Time to go break out my evening wear.”

Wheatie thought of his own stuffy dress uniform and gritted his teeth. “Maybe I should change jobs to ambassador. At least those robes breathe…”

22. Meri

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The sound was faint, but incessant.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

It had woken him some time ago, whereupon he’d found himself in a room so dark he couldn’t see his own hooves in front of his face. The echoes of the dripping water were coming from somewhere else, too faint to be in the room with him.

The last thing he remembered was the deck of the ship buckling beneath his hooves, and a plunge into the water. He’d grabbed for Tyria, like she’d said, but he couldn’t remember whether he’d gotten hold of her or not. Had she survived? Had he? Maybe this was what being dead was like.

He moved a foreleg, feeling the soft fabric of his ambassadorial robes slide across it. That was comforting—he was pretty sure you didn’t get to keep your clothes in the afterlife. The floor beneath him felt like smooth stone, damp with cold water. His robes weren’t entirely dry, and he shivered as he peeled them away from his skin to air them out.

The question now: where was he? And where was Tyria?

Let’s shed some light on the problem.

Rye took a deep breath, and opened himself up to the current of magic. It was a thing difficult to describe without metaphor; the one he’d always preferred was a river. Like his robes, it was a comforting sensation. He couldn’t plunge into the waters like most unicorns, but he’d learned to appreciate the soothing coolness as the magic lapped at his hooves on the banks of the river. Even if he was stripped of all his belongings, he’d always have this.

There was something unusual in the arcane currents today. It was nothing like the rampant, wild magic he’d felt in the Antlerwood so long ago; it was something much less obvious: a faint rumble like the echoing roar of a great cataract muted by vast distance. His curiosity was piqued, but he didn’t have time to look for the source—whatever it was had to be far outside this place, and he’d rather spend as little time here as possible. Wherever here was.

Rye opened his eyes and lit his horn. The orange glow revealed a small room, made of flat, worn stones, just as he’d thought. The stones were mottled white, perhaps marble, but clearly in bad shape. Mildew splotches covered every surface, even the fluted pillars that rose to meet the ceiling. Rye suspected they were decorative; the room was not large enough to require the supports.

On the walls were frescoes, or at least the remnants of them. Most of whatever they had depicted was long gone, the paint stripped by untold years of mold and water damage from weeping cracks in the ceiling. The floor, however, retained most of its imagery, and Rye found himself lying on a large mosaic of some kind of sea creature, with eight tentacles extending from a bulbous head to curl in artful patterns.

Behind him was a pool of dark water. The depths were un-guessable; it might have been a meter or twenty, his light didn’t penetrate far enough to tell for sure. A trail of droplets stretched between the pool and his resting place, not yet dried thanks to the wet air. So that’s how I got in here. One mystery solved.

Across the room, an open archway was the only other visible exit. Rye stood and steadied himself on the nearest wall, feeling over himself for any broken bones or pulled muscles from the destruction of the ship. Everything seemed to be in order, but the whip-marks on his back were starting to sting again. He winced, tugging his robes. Bits of them that had dried were caked in salt from the seawater, and they chafed. He was very much looking forward to getting some clean clothing when he and Tyria got back to Zyre.

If we ever do. Tyria, where are you?

He had a momentary pang of fear that she’d drowned when the ship was destroyed, but he quashed it. If he was still alive, then it stood to reason she was too—who else could have brought him here?

Leaving through the archway, he found himself in a long hallway, the end of which vanished into the darkness beyond his horn’s light. The walls were covered with more mosaics of sea life, fish and turtles and other creatures he didn’t even recognize all swimming around his head in a dance that had frozen in time.

As he continued down the hall, he began to see small blue lights wink in and out in the distance like fireflies. The echoes of his hooves resonated hollowly through the hallway, accompanying the steady drips of water from a myriad of cracks in the ceiling. The longer he walked, the more he felt that something about the whole place felt slightly off, as if the floor was tilting.

Well, the building seems completely ruined; guess I wouldn’t be surprised if it had a bit of a lean.

His unease grew as he walked. It seemed like he was the only living soul in the place. It was obviously an abandoned building, though he couldn’t even guess at its purpose. Had Tyria somehow dragged him to one of the islands? That seemed unlikely; the nearest settlement large enough to have large stone buildings like this was Zendruga, a five- or six-day journey by ship. He hadn’t been unconscious that long, surely.

The blue lights turned out to be some kind of bioluminescent moss that was growing inside cracks in the walls. The moss would glow briefly then dim in a periodic manner as he passed. Rye poked a clump of it in curiosity, and it shone much brighter than before, only dimming once he’d given up on waiting and begun to walk down the hall again.

This corridor was beginning to make him nervous. The tight walls, the musty air, and the darkness were all bringing up memories he’d rather forget entirely. The endless noise of water droplets hitting the floor set his teeth on edge. It sounded entirely too much like the clacking of insectoid mandibles.

The right side of the hallway suddenly opened up like a balcony. Instead of a full wall, there was now a strip of stone at chin height—probably closer to chest height for a normal-sized pony—with smooth arches at meter-spaced intervals leading up to support the vaulted ceiling. Rye poked his head over the short wall, looking for the other side of the room, but it was lost in blackness. The floor was likewise hidden, but he could hear the echo of water hitting it somewhere below.

He bit his lip, considering the risks of shouting. Well, I haven’t seen anything alive except for plants so far. He put his hooves to the sides of his mouth and yelled. “Tyria! Tyria, you out there?”

His voice echoed loudly. The room couldn’t be much bigger than his light’s range. He listened for a few seconds as the echoes died, but no one called back to him. With a sigh, he prepared to walk on.

There was a new sound from the darkness. It was markedly different from the percussive dripping of water, so soft and quiet he almost thought he’d imagined it. The sound repeated, but now he heard his name buried in the echo.

“Rye?” It was a familiar voice coming from somewhere far away.

Rye’s eyes flashed wide. “Tyria! It’s me! Where are you?”

“Rye!” she called again. It sounded like her voice was traveling to him through several distant rooms. “Stay there! I’ll find my way to you.”

“All right! Follow my voice.” He looked around. “I’m on a balcony in some kind of large room. I can’t really see much.” Rye began rapping his hoof on one of the pillars. “Just head toward the noise.”

“Nearly there,” she responded, her voice much closer than before.

“I think I’m a floor above you,” he called, trying to see movement in the darkness.

A dim blue glow appeared below him. It grew brighter, and the sound of hoofsteps joined it. Soon, the light revealed the shape of an arch in the wall, and a shadowy figure draped in luminescent moss came cantering out into the wide expanse beneath his balcony. Tyria’s voice, now at a normal volume, said, “Rye! You’re alive, thank the Sisters. I thought—” she exhaled heavily, “I thought I’d gotten you killed.”

Rye beamed. “Not yet!”

That drew a laugh, but he heard the relief behind it. “I don’t see a way up to you. You found any stairs?”

“No. Think I can jump?”

“Um…” Tyria paused, apparently gauging the distance. “Maybe, but you might break your legs. You’re about seven meters above me.”

“Seven meters! How big is this place?”

“Huge. I’ve been walking around for hours looking for you. Although for all I know I’ve been following the walls in circles; this building’s an absolute maze of passages and rooms. I woke up alone in some tiny little chamber, soaking wet. I found this moss growing on the walls, and I’ve been searching for you since then. Any idea where we are? Or how we got here?”

Rye shook his head. “I thought you took us here. If you don’t know, I’ve got no clue.”

He heard her tap the floor with a hoof. “Hmm. It’s old, whatever the place used to be. The architecture’s almost Classical Pegasid, but… I think it’s even older than that. The pillars are Doric, not Ionic; and the sea frescoes definitely aren’t from any pegasus culture I’ve heard of. It’s… it’s almost Early-Palatial period, but I need to see some pottery to tell for sure. Though there is all that sea imagery…”

Rye blinked. “Wow. Where’d all that come from?”

He could hear the wry smile in her voice. “You don’t study under Batty Brushstroke for years without learning a little art history.”

Oh, she and Cranberry are going to get along marvelously. Rye looked side to side, tapping the stone railing. “Well, I guess I should look for a way down.”

“I think I’ve searched most of the areas in that direction,” she said, pointing a shadowed hoof back the way Rye had come. “Found a broken stairway and a caved-in room or two, but no way up to where you are.”

“No ways down, either. I guess we should head forward.”

Tyria nodded, or bowed her head—it was difficult to tell in the dim light of the moss. “If we don’t find a way to meet up in an hour, we head back here, okay?”

“Deal.” Rye rubbed his neck and looked around again. “At least there aren’t any nasty critters in here trying to eat us.”

“Well don’t jinx it,” she said. “I’ll see you soon.” The blue light headed off to Rye’s left and vanished into another hallway.

Rye kept going down his own corridor, still suffused with relief at finding Tyria alive. By all rights we should both have drowned. Maybe this building has some answers.

The growing suspicion in the back of his mind was too ridiculous to consider yet. Although Tyria did say this place’s architecture is using two-thousand-year-old designs. The building itself couldn’t possibly be that old; with this much mildew and water damage, it would have long ago collapsed to dust if it was from the time before the return of the Sisters. Of course, if it was buried underground, or even underw—Rye shook his head. Absurd.

The hallway yielded to further rooms. He made an effort to go right whenever possible, hoping to find stairs of some kind, but the rooms continued without a path down. More frescoes and beautiful designs of myriad fish decorated the walls and ceilings, some of them much better preserved than the ones in the first room.

Though the scale of the structure suggested some kind of public office, Rye kept finding signs that it had been lived in at some point. Stone platforms that could only be mattress supports were in the corners of many of the rooms, and in one room he even found the remnants of a wooden table and chair. They’d long rotted to pieces in the humid air, but the length of the table’s remains hinted that this had once been a dining room.

Maybe an apartment complex of some sort. Or one seriously huge manor.

The next room threw all that into question. It was a long room with a strip of rotted carpet, leading from the door to a short flight of stairs that led up to a platform. Resting on the stone was a large, tall-backed seat that glinted gold under his horn’s light. It was unmistakably a throne.

Weirder and weirder. Rye kept going, past the throne room and into another long hallway. He inhaled, eyes widening. Ahead, the left side of the wall had broken down, scattering rubble across the floor. Through the hole, he could see bright daylight, playing on the cool stones.

He raced toward it, noting apprehensively the strange way the light danced around in tendrils. It almost looks like it’s shining through water…

When he reached the hole, his hooves slowed to a stop, and he stared. He felt his jaw work, trying to process the sight revealed by the ruined wall. After a few moments, he muttered, “Well, this might be problematic.”

Beyond the wall lay the wide expanse of the ocean floor. He could see the surface above; this portal wasn’t actually too far below it, about fifteen meters or so. Sunlight glowed down, lighting up the clear blue water around him. The water was pristine, clearer than any he’d ever seen either in a port or while sailing.

Below, the ground—seafloor, he corrected himself—was completely obscured by a vast swathe of bright colors. Coral of innumerable shapes and sizes covered every centimeter of the ground, up to and including what little he could see of the sides of the building. Millions of fish swarmed above and inside the reef, more than he had ever seen or imagined in his life. A huge creature with what looked like wings and a long, thin tail swooped past, gliding through the water with quiet grace.

This dead building was surrounded by an explosion of life unlike anything on the surface that Rye had encountered. He just stared, marveling at the sheer variety of it all. It was a minute or two before he belatedly wondered, How exactly am I breathing?

He examined the hole in the wall. Now that he was looking for it, it was easy to see the translucent barrier where the air met the water. It bulged slightly outward, rippling as the low-pressure air tried to escape to the surface. Who knew how long it had been trapped in this building?

Nine hundred years, I’ll bet, he thought, staring out at the immense oceanscape before him. “Phoenixia,” he mumbled, putting voice to his incredulous conclusion. A whole empire, sunken in a single day. What else could it be?

Phoenixia had been a great trading city, rivaling Zyre at the height of its power, but its downfall had—despite Marquis Zahira’s theories to the contrary—come from the greed of its queen. Not content with all the money, pleasure, and power of the ancient world, the unknown last queen of Phoenixia had driven her mages to discover the secret of that most desirable power: immortal life.

The astonishing thing about the tale was that, by most accounts, these mages had actually succeeded. They had found a way to tap into the Earth’s magic in a manner unlike anything the earth ponies had ever done: a way to bring out the lifegiving energies that allowed plants to grow, not for agriculture, but to harness it for themselves. Opening a well to this power inside the city, they built a fountain and infused its waters with life, extending their own as they drank from it.

Some versions of the story said that the waters reanimated the island itself; less fanciful ones suggested that the immense outpouring of magic simply reacted with some geologic process. Whatever the reason, eternal life proved to be far shorter than the queen or her advisors had anticipated. The slumbering volcano beneath the island erupted, blasting itself to pieces in a titanic explosion.

The greatest damage to the city came not from ash or lava, but from the shifting ground beneath its foundations. The entire inhabited side of the island shook apart, sliding into the sea in a massive mudflow, taking the buildings and all the unfortunate citizens with it. All that remained now was a thin strip of land on the border of the old island, near the southern end of the Serpent Archipelago.

It was a story often told as a warning against pride and avarice, an example of the fate that would inevitably befall those reaching beyond “appropriate mortal limits”. Rye had always thought that was hogwash; limits were only set to be surpassed. He’d found the real message to be that uncontrolled magic was dangerous, and that any attempts to conquer nature should be undertaken with caution. The evidence for that was all around him.

Indeed, now he was beginning to see the remains of other structures in the reef, not natural but pony-made. Most of the rubble was completely buried, but a few pillars climbed above the coral. Further in the distance, he could see actual buildings rising from the seafloor, white marble terraces and roofs, an entire city entombed beneath the water.

Cautiously, he put a hoof forward to the bubble’s edge. Tensing his legs to start running if water began pouring in, he poked through. A few large bubbles followed his hoof out to escape for the surface, but no surge of seawater crashed through. He held his hoof in the water, waving it back and forth a bit. This is surreal.

A huge shape swam past, and he jerked his hoof back. A shark about half again as large as himself slowly moved down from above, making its way toward a nearby shoal of fish. The fish scattered, instantly vanishing into the coral.

Rye, panting slightly, eyed the shark. It was a yellowish gray, with a pale underbelly and a wide, flat head that was a little bigger than his own. The shark seemed not to notice him, or it didn’t care; regardless, it passed on. Curiously, it ignored the few adventurous fish that dared leave the coral in its wake. Must not be hungry.

Stepping back from the hole, Rye sat heavily on the wet stones. This is just great. How did we end up in a thousand-year-old sunken city? Especially since we were so far from the maelstrom. Something must have carried us here.

“Rye!”

He turned to see Tyria racing toward him down the hallway from his right. She cast aside the glowing moss and met him with a massive hug. Rye wrapped his forelegs around her, hugging her as close to himself as possible, resting his head over her shoulder. “Tyria! Found some stairs, did you?”

“Down the hall another fifty meters,” she said, shaking her head and squeezing him tighter. “It’s good to see you. I really thought I’d—”

“Hey, hey,” he said, patting her on the back. “Relax. We’re both fine, that’s what counts.” He glanced sideways at the view of the seafloor and his mouth twisted. “Well, relatively speaking.”

Tyria, caught up in the reunion, finally noticed the view. She sat up, releasing him in shock. “We’re—we’re under—”

Rye gave her a minute to stare. “I think we’ve found the sunken city of the Phoenixians.”

Tyria looked slowly around at the reef, mouth open. “Well, that explains the architecture… How’d we get here?”

“I’m more concerned at how we’ll get out.” Rye looked up toward the surface. “Even if we could swim up there without drowning, I have no idea how close we are to land.” He sat back down, taking in the view. “And then there’s the sharks… well, take a seat; we might as well enjoy the view while we think.”

She sat beside him, and together they watched the reef as its countless inhabitants swam around in the dance of life. Thousands of colors threaded together in a rich tapestry of activity. Bright orange fish darted through the coral, hiding in waving strands of strange plants. Undulating eels snaked between outcroppings of rock, hunting prey. Crabs ranging from tiny coin-sized creatures to monsters half as large as a pony pattered across the surface, clacking their claws together with noise that did not penetrate the air barrier.

Tyria lay down and propped her head up on her hooves. “I’d give my right ear for a canvas and some paint.” Her eyes flicked back and forth as she absorbed the scene. “It’s so alive.”

They kept looking, pointing out new details to each other, watching the complicated ecosystem with rapt fascination. One of those eight-armed creatures Rye had seen floor decorations of, an animal Tyria told him was an ‘octopus’, went swimming by. Its tentacles curled and pulsed in a way that no static image could capture. Rye followed a different tentacled creature with a long shell-like head as it scooted past. “This’d be a good place for a restaurant…”

Tyria laughed. “What, underwater?”

“Sure! You’d have to get some spells cast to reinforce the glass, and draining the building out would be a hassle, but then you’d be set…” He smiled, picturing it. “The customers would come just for the view.”

“Definitely worth it,” she admitted, pushing herself back up into a sitting position. “Course, to build it, we’d have to get back to land. Had any bright ideas about getting out of here? I don’t think I can swim enough for both of us that long, no offense.”

Rye sighed, shaking his head. “There was some wood a few rooms back, but it’s so rotten it’d just crumble away as soon as we touched it. Maybe… hmm…” he trailed off, lost in thought.

Tyria gave him a sideways glance. “You know, this is the first we’ve had any real privacy.” She half-smiled. “I guess it takes kidnapping and shipwrecking to get you to myself.”

Grinning, Rye shrugged. “Well, until we think of an escape plan… what do you say we take advantage of the opportunity?”

She slid her hooves over his shoulders. “No objections here, Ambassador.”

They kissed as deeply as they had through the bars on the Nightingale. Rye was still unaccustomed to the novel addition of tongues to these little make-outs, but it was something he was quickly learning to enjoy. He returned the kiss with enthusiasm.

Tyria leaned into him, and he allowed her to gently push him to the floor. She lay down with him, her warm body pressing against his torso. Rye was so absorbed in the kiss that he nearly didn’t notice her hoof sneaking beneath the clasp on his robes. It popped open with a swift pull of her hoof.

Rye’s eyes snapped open. Whoa. When I said ‘take advantage,’ I just meant a little necking. His stomach suddenly felt very far away. Tyria pulled her head back and smiled breathily at him. “I was right, your robes are soft…”

His mind was wheeling in panic. Oh, Sisters, is this really happening? What am I supposed to do with my hooves? The air smelled of seawater and sweat. “Uhhhh…”

She sighed happily. “Shh, it’s fine. You don’t have to say anything.” She slid a hoof under his robes, running it over his shoulder. “The tension’s been killing me, too.”

Excitement warred with terror. What if he messed this up? What if he said something stupid? What if he couldn’t make her happy? Please, Sisters, I want to make her happy…

Tyria swung her right hind leg over his chest, resting on him as she pushed his head back to the floor with another kiss. He felt warm all over, but he couldn’t tell if it was his own body or hers. Her hooves framed his face as she lifted her head and sat back. With a small, teasing smile, she brought them up to her shirt buttons, and began undoing the highest one.

Rye swallowed, feeling his heart thump wildly in his ears. Tyria paused. “Something wrong?”

“Just… nervous,” he managed, pawing at the clasp of his robes.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, that teasing smile getting a little bigger, “Never done this before?”

Cheeks warm, he mutely shook his head. Tyria’s smile vanished and her eyes shot wide. “Oh. Oh!” She practically leaped off of him, her face flaming red. “Oh my Goddesses, I didn’t realize—I thought you were nervous about me—I was practically assaulting you—” She slapped a hoof to her face. “Somepony kill me, please.”

Rye sat up, pulling anxiously on the neck of his robes. “Well, I don’t—I mean, I’m not opposed to, uh…” Actually saying that simple three-letter-word seemed unreasonably difficult. “It was just a little unexpected! I do… I do want to… to be with you, if you do.” He summoned his courage and gave her a hopeful grin.

She smiled, still blushing furiously. “Th-thanks. I don’t want to seem like some kind of—of—succubus. If this is your fir—well, this shouldn’t be something traumatic for you. We’ll take it slow.”

Moving back over to him, she took his hooves in her own, and guided them to her shirt buttons. “You lead, if you want. It might help you feel more comfortable.”

He kissed her eagerly as he fumbled with the buttons. They came undone, one after the other, leading down toward something he’d scarcely dared imagine. Tyria’s hooves rested on his shoulders, squeezing gently as he neared the final button. He wouldn't look below the shirt; he was still a bit too nervous for that. Breathe, Rye, breathe…

“GREETINGS, SURFACERS!” shouted a voice from behind them. Rye and Tyria both whipped around to stare at the source.

A pony’s head was sticking through the surface of the air bubble leading to the outside. She was teal, with a sea-green mane, and the biggest, friendliest, beaming smile Rye had ever seen. The rest of her body was resting in the water outside. It was normal looking enough from her head to her waist, her forelegs bent reflexively to stay out of the air; but from the waist down she was covered in smooth skin like a porpoise's, tapering in a long tail, and ending in what was unmistakably a flipper.

The two of them stared at the newcomer, stunned. She opened her mouth wide, and yelled, “WELCOME TO NEW—” she paused, her eyes flicking between the two of them, still pressed together in an incredibly compromising position. She lifted a hoof, mouth still open, and turned pink. “Uhh, welcome to, uh… New… Phoenixia…” The pony bit her lip. “I can come back later,” she said, pulling her head back.

“Wait!” shouted Rye and Tyria at the same time, scrabbling to stand upright. Rye was suddenly very, very grateful for his concealing robes. What hideous timing, he thought with dismay. Alas, the moment was ruined.

The pony, hearing their outburst, stuck her head back out of the water. “I, uh, didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You’re a seapony!” exclaimed Tyria, staring at the pony’s tail. “I’ve seen so many paintings—I never thought I’d actually meet one!”

“Well,” said the seapony, smiling awkwardly, “my name is Meri. I’m pleased to meet you properly, surfacers. Sorry for shouting, it’s just so exciting to finally talk to you! How’s my surface-speak? I’ve been practicing!”

Rye blinked, still processing this. Meri looked just like the hippocampi who bordered all his father’s favorite china. The seaponies were a reclusive bunch; he’d never expected to run into them even with his wide-ranging travels. He hadn’t even known there were any in the Golden Isles. “Your Equestrian’s pretty good, actually. I’m Rye, and this is Tyria. You said ‘meet us properly,’ have we met before?”

“Well, sort of. I’m the one who brought you here!” Meri’s voice was gaining back some of its earlier exuberance. “Took some doing, too, but Vina helped me.”

“She a friend of yours?” asked Tyria.

“One of the best!” said Meri, cheerfully. She pulled her head back into the water and gave a fluting call that pierced the water barrier. Waiting for a moment, she beckoned someone with a hoof.

Rye hissed in surprise as the shark he’d seen earlier came swimming into view, swiftly coming up beside Meri. The seapony smiled, reaching her hoof out and stroking its head. The shark nuzzled her hoof, then swam up and out of sight once more.

Meri stuck her head back in. “Vina’s a good girl, but she’s really shy.”

“You have a pet shark,” said Rye faintly.

“Most of us do! They’re tremendously helpful. Especially for saving shipwreckees, like you two. And they even feed themselves!” Meri was almost bouncing with excitement. “Oh, I can’t believe I found two surfacers all on my own! If me and Vina hadn’t been out harvesting seaweed by the lodestone, nopony would have found you guys, and that would have just been terrible!”

Rye raised an interested eyebrow. “You eat seaweed?”

“Among other things. There’s lots of plants in the ocean, if you know where to look.” She flashed another smile. “Surfacers don’t like most of them. Or so I hear.”

“You hear?” Tyria was trying to button her shirt surreptitiously. “How many surfacers have you met?”

“Uh, well…” Meri glanced sideways, then admitted, “you two.”

Rye had re-clasped his robe, and recovered some of his composure. “How many seaponies are there in—what’d you call this place? New Phoenixia?”

“That’s right,” said Meri, nodding. “New Phoenixia, a city born from the ashes of the old.” The words sounded recited. “We’re a lot, lot smaller than the old city, of course. There are about half a hundred ponies in this reef, all told. We need a lot more space than you surfacers.” She shuddered. “You don’t really live in these tiny little buildings, do you?”

Rye gave her a wry smile. “My house could fit inside this building fifty times over.”

“My apartment has forty-something people living in it,” added Tyria.

Meri shook her head, amazed. “I don’t know how you don’t go crazy, cooped up in those cages. I’d lose my mind if I couldn’t swim a few miles every day.”

Rye watched her tail sway back and forth, fascinated. He was struck with a sudden burst of professional curiosity. “What’s your government like? Who leads your people?”

“Oh, that stuff’s boring,” said Meri, waving a hoof smoothly through the water. “We don’t really have a government. We’re just a big family. We don’t run into a whole lot of other seaponies, but when we do, I guess my uncle Keron’s the one who does most of the talking. I suppose he’s who you’d call our leader.”

“Wait,” Tyria broke in, “I need to ask. How in the world did you get us here from the lodestone? We can’t breathe underwater.”

“Oh, well, neither can we!” said Meri. “We just hold our breath as long as we can.”

“How long is that?”

“About forty-five minutes,” said Meri matter-of-factly, as Tyria’s jaw dropped.

Rye blinked, a little taken aback. “Then how…?”

“Oh, right! Well, when we get surfacers down here, we usually give them airstars. You’re both lucky I always bring some with me when I go out with Vina, just in case I come across a shipwreck.”

“Right,” said Rye, blankly wondering what an airstar was. “Look, Meri, you have our thanks for saving us, but we really need to get back to the surface. Do you know where the island of Zyre is?”

“Zyre… maybe. It’s northeast of here, I think.” Meri’s chipper expression dampened. “Although… taking you anywhere might be a problem.”

Rye’s eyes narrowed. “Are we prisoners?”

“What? No! No, of course not. It’s just… well, there have been some complications recently…” She tilted her head from side to side, weighing her words. “Well… not recently, it’s been going on for a while… look, maybe I should take you to talk with some of the older ponies.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” said Tyria. “The sooner we get back, the better.”

“Okay, then! Let me go get you some airstars. Talking through this little hole is really awkward; the elders are going to want to speak without swimming sideways.” Meri pulled back and swam off out of sight.

Rye and Tyria stood silently, looking blankly at each other. “Uh…” he mumbled, feeling his face grow warm, “You’ve got a button in the wrong hole.”

Tyria hurriedly fixed it, blushing and looking out toward the reef. “Wonder when she’ll be back.”

“Long enough…?” Rye suggested hesitantly.

“Probably not,” said Tyria, still red. “And I’d rather not repeat that entrance.”

He winced. “Right.”

Together, they watched a distant shoal of bright blue and yellow fish dart around each other. “It really is quite a view,” said Tyria with a wistful sigh, sitting down to rest.

Rye nodded with a grim smile. “Let’s just hope we aren’t going to be seeing it for the rest of our lives.”

23. A City in the Coral

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Meri had been gone for two or three minutes; long enough for Rye and Tyria to bury the awkward silence with small talk. “Seaponies,” Rye said, shaking his head in wonder. “I’ll be honest, I thought most of them died off centuries ago.”

“I love the way they move,” said Tyria dreamily, watching a school of fish dart past. “They’re so graceful, all curved sweeps and arching leaps from the water. Once when I was little, my family visited Antellucía. We went to see the Temple of Mersicori on the tip of the peninsula. It has frescoes of the seaponies all over the ceiling. They didn’t move, of course, but they were majestic all the same.”

“How long have they been down here, I wonder?” Rye scratched his left shoulder. “This ‘New Phoenixia’ sounds like a well-established settlement.”

“Hopefully long enough that at least some of them know where Zyre is,” said Tyria. “As gorgeous as this place is, I don’t plan on eating seaweed for the rest of my life.”

Rye caught movement from far out on the reef. “Well, we’ll know soon enough. Meri’s back.”

She swam toward them, smoothly cutting through the water like a pegasus flying through the air. Rye nodded slowly, entranced. “You’re right, the way she moves is beautiful.”

“Hey, now,” said Tyria, arching an eyebrow.

“In an aesthetic sense,” Rye amended, hurriedly. Tyria just winked.

Meri arrived at the portal, poking her head back through the barrier and sending more bubbles up toward the surface. She pushed her hooves out of the water, each holding what looked like an ordinary starfish. “Put these on.”

Rye took the one from her right hoof, eyeing it dubiously. “Uh… how, exactly?”

“Just slap them over your mouths.” Meri demonstrated, placing the remaining starfish over her snout, one of its five stubby legs between her eyes. She cringed a bit, and suddenly the creature’s back inflated like a lung.

Tyria’s head jerked back. She blinked, recovering her composure. “Well, that’s odd-looking.”

Meri grimaced, then raised a hoof and tickled the back of the creature on her face. The air bladder deflated, and the starfish-like creature came off her face with a quiet popping sound. She held it up toward Tyria, sticking her tongue out in distaste. “I hate these things.”

Rye took a deep breath and held his up to his face. “You’ve used them before? Why would seaponies need air supplies?”

“Long dives can take several hours. These creatures are really useful, but… they take some getting used to.” Meri’s mouth tightened as Tyria took the second creature. “Try not to tense up.”

Meri’s evasiveness made Rye more uneasy than a straight warning. With a sigh, he narrowed his eyes and laid the thing over his mouth and nose. He felt it squeeze against him, pushing out any pockets of air to make the seal watertight. For one moment, he had a sudden flash of panic, as he tried to inhale and found nothing to breathe.

Then he felt something shove itself into his mouth and down his throat. His eyes flying wide open, he clutched at his throat with his hooves, falling over. Desperately, he tried to pull the thing off his face before it suffocated him, but it clung to him like it was stuck on with tar. He could feel that horrible tendril in his throat taking root, like some ghastly plant.

“Breathe!” said Meri, wide-eyed and gesturing with her hooves. “Relax, inhale normally! Don’t tighten your muscles, or it’ll just try harder.”

Rye’s vision was starting to go fuzzy at the edges. His throat burning, he tried to gasp, to inhale—

And found his lungs filling with the cleanest, freshest air he’d ever breathed. Blinking in surprise, he breathed in again, feeling his chest rise, and seeing the air sac on the creature’s back expand.

He looked over at Tyria, who had the second star creature plastered on her face. She was pressing her hooves to her throat with shock in her eyes, but seemed to be breathing. She bent over and gave a muffled cough.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry,” Meri said, holding her hooves up to her mouth. “I always heard that telling someone what happens before their first try makes it worse.”

Rye tried to give an outraged refutation of that notion, but trying to talk around the air tube shoved down his throat was impossible. It came out as an angry, unintelligible mumble.

Meri looked positively distraught. “I’m really sorry. I wish we had a better way to help surfacers breathe underwater. Are you—do you still need a minute?”

Rye and Tyria both nodded quickly, still trying not to choke. Thankfully, Rye found that he was quick to adjust to the thing. After twenty seconds, he was almost breathing normally.

Meri smiled hesitantly as the two ponies stood up, swaying a bit. “I’ll take you to the meeting hall, if you’re ready. You don’t have to do anything once you’re in the water, the airstars should have collected plenty of air from the room by now. Just keep breathing.”

Should have? Rye couldn’t concentrate on much besides sucking down each breath to worry about it. He nodded, dazed. Meri beckoned. “Okay, come on out!” She ducked back into the water and moved back from the entrance.

Tyria stepped forward first, cautiously poking a hoof through the bubble’s surface. Visibly bracing herself, she slid into the water, floating outward. She gave a few experimental kicks, then swam out to join Meri. She turned around and waved.

Rye felt a bead of sweat on the back of his neck. You can do this. Sure, you can’t swim worth a damn, but you won’t drown. Just get it over with.

He took it at a run, plunging through the water barrier and into the sea. The water was unexpectedly cool, even this close to the sunbathed warmth of the surface. Momentum carried him slowly forward, his robes billowing in the water. Rye closed his eyes and inhaled. The airstar obliged, filling his lungs as its holding pouch deflated slightly, blowing back up as he breathed out.

Rye opened his eyes and looked around. The water here was crystal-clear, so clean he could see for what seemed like miles in any direction not blocked by the building. His eyes stung a little from the salt in the water, but a few blinks and the irritation was barely noticeable. He gazed out at the explosions of life and color that covered the ocean floor around them.

There was a nudge from his right. He turned to see Meri holding out a hoof with a smile. Behind her, Tyria was already holding her other foreleg like a safety bar, looking up at the wildlife swimming all around them. Rye followed suit, locking his forelegs over Meri’s. She jostled them both a bit to make sure they were holding on tightly enough, then with a mighty pulse of her tail they were off.

The ride was surprisingly smooth. Meri swam with undulating grace, swiftly cutting through the water even with her two charges. The shark, Vina, followed close behind them, swaying her body side-to-side. The water streamed past, pulling Rye’s mane out of his eyes, giving him a clear view of the reef as they moved.

They passed more ruins in a various states of disrepair; dilapidated buildings that looked ready to collapse, half-broken towers with seaweed poking through every crack, and a few structures that had been so reclaimed by the ocean that only the shape of the coral covering them indicated that there had ever been a building there.

The concentration of buildings grew thicker as Meri swam on, but their condition worsened. Rye guessed they were heading deeper into the old city, closer to the eruption’s epicenter and the worst damage. Suddenly, the coral dropped away beneath them, crawling down a dozen-meter cliff. Before them stretched out more of the reef, covering the seafloor as far as the eye could see, but eventually vanishing into the endless blue of the open ocean.

It was big. He had seen mountains so large they covered the sun and stars, but this void could hold a thousand of them and still look empty. The sheer enormity of it defied belief; a sight that instantly filled him with awe. Rye felt like he’d fallen upward into the sky. He felt strangely dizzy, a slight tremor running through his spine; not fear, exactly, but a primal and physical response completely unfamiliar to a half-pegasus. Aha. So this is what vertigo is like.

Meri turned downward, bringing them back toward the surface of the reef. Two large shapes came rushing out to meet them, and Rye recognized a pair of new seaponies; stallions, judging from their bulky body structures. One had a long, lethal-looking trident held in the crook of his foreleg. Fortunately, they both bore smiles on their faces, and came to a stop at a friendly distance.

One opened his mouth and made a series of noises, ranging from clicks to whistles. Meri responded in kind, with a few high-pitched fluting sounds added in. It was almost like listening to bird song, but the seapony tongue had a resonance and an echo through the water unlike any surface creature Rye had ever heard.

The two seapony stallions eyed the surfacers curiously, squeaking and chirping a few more questions at Meri. Whatever she said back seemed to satisfy them, and the one with the trident swam past Meri in the direction she and the Equestrians had come from. The other continued speaking with Meri for another few moments, before nodding and taking off like a shot down toward the reef.

Meri swam on, and Rye had the sudden impression that they had entered seapony territory proper. There were dozens of them, now, loosely scattered around the reef. Some were gathered around large stands of seaweed, eating or harvesting, it was hard to tell. Others were swimming in elaborate dances, making fluting whistles that carried hundreds of meters to Rye’s ears. Were they playing? Fighting? Rye couldn’t guess.

Abruptly, Meri jerked to a halt as a group of small seaponies went zooming past them, followed by an exasperated-looking mare. Rye craned his head around her back to get a look at them as they disappeared into the distance. Seapony foals. Guppies? he thought wryly. I see they’re just as hyperactive as surfacers’.

Seaponies gave them inquisitive looks as they passed, a few calling out greetings or questions to Meri. She always replied, though Rye had no idea what she was saying. He spared a glance over at Tyria, who appeared to be enjoying the ride. She had that look in her eye, the concentrated memorizing gaze of an artist envisioning a piece. I wonder if she’ll be painting temple ceilings, someday. He was certain Celestia was still looking for artists and artisans for the reconstruction of the castle. Rye made a mental note to mention it to Tyria later.

Meri continued on, and Rye finally caught sight of what had to be their final destination. It looked like the remains of an old town hall or griffon-style basilica; a wide block of a building with a central rotunda. The dome was still intact, though he could see a slow, steady stream of bubbles escaping through cracks in the stone. The entire structure was tilted forward almost thirty degrees.

They passed through the entrance colonnades, arriving in a short hallway much like those in the previous building. Meri followed it down until it opened into a massive, circular room, underneath the great dome. Rye could see the shimmering surface of a large pocket of air above them.

Meri rose until they broke the surface with a splash, sending water everywhere. Rye blinked to clear his eyes and pulled his sodden mane out of his face.

“Okay, get on the platform,” said Meri. She pointed to the back of the room, where a balcony rose from the water. It was part of a ring that encircled the entire third floor of the rotunda chamber, brought out of the water by the building’s steep tilt. Patches of the luminescent moss covered the marble in myriad places.

Tyria swam over to it and clambered out, dripping water all over the marble. She turned to Meri and pointed sharply at the airstar on her muzzle.

“Oh! Right, sorry,” said Meri. “Draw your hoof across its back, tickle it a little.”

Following the instructions, Tyria’s eyes suddenly widened and she began coughing. The airstar came off her face with a pop and fell to the floor, deflating. Tyria sat heavily on the smooth marble, rubbing her throat with a nauseated look.

Rye prodded his own airstar, and felt a disquieting tremble run through the thing all the way down to his lungs. The tentacle, or tube, or whatever it was, slid back up and out of his throat, and the creature fell off into the water with a splash. He took a deep gulp of air, then found himself overtaken by a hacking cough.

“Again, I’m really sorry about those,” said Meri, swimming gently over to the balcony, where Tyria helped Rye pull himself out of the pool. “They’re horrible little creatures, but we haven’t found anything better for holding air on long dives.”

Tyria looked like she was holding back vomit. “That might be the most unpleasant thing I’ve ever felt.” Rye didn’t trust himself to respond without losing his last meal all over the balcony. Instead, he took off his robes, rolled them up, gripped one end with his mouth and began wringing them out.

Out of morbid curiosity, he glanced down at his left shoulder. The ugly black skull mark had mostly faded by now, replaced by a thin white outline. Not so bad, really. My fur’s almost the same color, you can barely see it under the coat unless you know where to look. It itched, though. He scratched it absently, unrolling his damp robes to put back on.

Meri hummed absently. “They should be here soon. I asked Liniric to talk to Keron for me; that’s what that little conversation on the edge of the city was about.” She looked at the two of them with tentative excitement. “So, what do you think of our home?”

“It’s very… big,” said Rye, testing his voice. His throat was a little sore, but it wasn’t debilitating. “How far do the ruins go?”

“Far.” Meri’s expression grew reflective. “They were packed closer together, once, but they’ve been spreading out for nearly a millennium as the earth moves.”

“The what?” Tyria raised an eyebrow.

“The ground moves under the ocean. Really slowly, it takes a long time to see anything; but sometimes around volcanoes the movement can be pretty fast, hundreds of years instead of hundreds of thousands.” Meri looked down toward the entrance, as if envisioning the ocean beyond. “I’ve heard that deep in the Black, there are mountain ranges thirty thousand miles long, where the earth moves so much you can hear it rumbling. Other places, too—one of the older ponies here swears he felt it shift forty years ago, off the coast of Sorterra. That is still what surfacers call the continent southeast of here, right?”

Rye nodded, but restrained himself from voicing his doubts about her fanciful-sounding descriptions. The only time he’d ever heard of the earth moving was in catastrophic magical events, like the doom of Phoenixia. Still, if this was some long-held seapony belief, he didn’t want to offend them.

“What’s the Black?” asked Tyria.

Meri wilted. “Everything below. Past the shelf. There’s no light there, only darkness. We… we don’t go there.” She shuddered and fell silent.

Behind them, three heads burst through the surface of the water. Meri’s head popped up and she turned. “Uncle! I want you to meet—”

The pony in the middle cut her off with a series of clicks and whistles. His eyes were narrowed, and his jaw firmly set. Rye couldn’t tell whether his words were castigation or threat, but from the way Meri hung her head, he guessed the former.

Feeling sympathetic for the pony who had saved his life, he interjected, “Excuse me. Are you Keron?” The pony stopped his rapid speaking, blinking and giving Rye a confused look. “I’m Rye Strudel, Ambassador of Equestria. My friend here is Tyria Metrel, from the embassy in Zyre.”

“I am Keron,” the pony acknowledged stiffly. “Greetings, surfacer. I am afraid I cannot say it is a pleasure.” He glared back at Meri. “How many times have I told you, Meri?”

“I…” She looked back up at him. “I’m sorry, Uncle, I know you don’t want me leaving, but—”

“I don’t want to hear it! You know better, Meri. It’s not safe outside the city. What was so important that you had to sneak out? Finding more seashells? Looking for sunken ships?”

Meri shook her head, subdued. “I was gathering sweet-grass.”

Keron closed his eyes and put a hoof to his forehead in a familiar look of exasperation. Rye was uncomfortably reminded of the many times he’d seen it on Tyria’s face. Keron rubbed his forehead, sighing. “You risked your life for gourmet seaweed? Meri, you’re smarter than this.”

“It’s not just for me,” she said, suddenly fierce. “Vina hates being cooped up on the reef. It’s big, but it gets boring just swimming over the same ruins over and over again. She needs the open ocean sometimes, and so do I.”

Keron’s hard gaze softened. “I know you hate it, but it’s for your safety, Meri. What would your father say if he knew you’d done this?”

She turned her head, biting her lip. Rye felt this was the time to step in, before things got any more heated. He waved a hoof and made a hasty bow. “Keron, whatever rules she broke, she saved our lives by doing so. And if you help us get back to Zyre, she’ll have saved thousands more.”

The stallion in the water frowned, looking up at him. A trio of shark fins intermittently poked up around the seaponies, but they seemed not to notice. At last, Keron spoke. “That… is not possible, right now.”

“Then take us to Zendruga. Or even the Sugarheart Isles, I’m sure we can find a village there with a boat. Anywhere; we just need to get moving as soon as possible.”

Keron shook his head. “You misunderstand. We cannot leave the city.” He glared back at Meri for a moment. “As some of us would do well to remember.”

“Why not?”

“We’re… under siege,” said Keron, after a moment, “by monsters from the Black. They come up every few nights, attacking our borders. They kill or carry off another pony every week, it seems. I can’t split what few guards we have to protect the herd and another party. And if I send you with only one or two of us to Zyre, you’ll likely be waylaid by the creatures before you get ten miles. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here, for now.”

Rye narrowed his eyes. “What are they?”

“I don’t know,” said Keron, his frown deepening. “They are as varied as they are deadly. Some have tentacles with stinging venom, others have beaks that can shatter bone; still others have claws that can maim a pony with one snap.”

Tyria frowned. “I can’t say I recognize the description. Even chimerae tend to be made of the same bits and pieces as each other.”

“I don’t know what they’re called,” said Keron. “But they’re beasts, all kinds of sea-life twisted into disgusting hybrids.”

Rye’s eyes narrowed further. “There’s nothing wrong with hybrids.”

Keron noticed his wings and horn, raising an eyebrow. “I meant no offense, surfacer. They aren’t like you. They aren’t like us, either—they aren’t a blending of multiple races, but a cobbled-together mish-mash of body parts. Like an amateur toymaker sewing broken dolls together.” He grimaced. “All of them are violent, savage creatures. They come at night, attacking our herd, picking off the old and the infirm. Our sharks are a great help, but even they have not been able to protect us from all of the attacks.”

“How many are there?” asked Tyria. She didn’t sound curious—she sounded like she was gathering intelligence. Rye hoped she realized that neither of them knew anything about fighting underwater.

“That’s the strangest part,” said Keron, looking at his two companions, who both nodded grimly. “We don’t think there are many of them at all, perhaps twenty or thirty in total. But even though we have fought them off, time and again, they return.” He faltered. “I saw one of the monsters cut nearly in half by the bite of a shark, only to be dragged away by its fellows to return the next night, seemingly unharmed.”

Rye bent his head forward, disbelieving. “You’re sure it was the same one?”

Keron’s eyes looked hollow. “I saw the scars of teeth on its belly. Right above the tentacles.”

“What in the world?” Tyria muttered. “Healing that quickly… I’ve never heard of anything like these.”

“Nor have we.” Keron’s gaze fell. “They’ve killed too many of us already. We would leave, take our families somewhere safe—but I cannot. Not until I know the ones they’ve taken alive are not—not still captives, inside their lair. I will not abandon them to these creatures, not if I can still save them.” He hesitated. “One of those taken was Berin, my brother… and Meri’s father.”

Meri sniffed. “Two years ago, now.” She closed her eyes. “I’ve buried everything but a body, but my uncle still thinks he’s alive—”

“He must be!” Keron burst, before closing his mouth and taking a deep breath. “I won’t leave him to die, nor any of the other brothers, mothers, or children that have been stolen from us.”

Meri shook her head sadly. “We should have left months ago, Uncle. We’re only risking more lives by staying.” Keron did not answer, instead looking back to the two Equestrians.

Rye had a bad feeling he knew where this was going. “Where’s their lair?”

“Deep down in the Black. Almost a mile below the shelf, far beyond the last vestiges of sunlight. It’s a ruined structure from the old city. Nothing lives there but these creatures, as far as I know. The surface of the sea above is torn by a vast maelstrom; not a suitable environment for the living.” Keron swallowed. “The scout who returned with this information was one of six I sent out. He was the only one to return.”

Rye felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. “Beneath the maelstrom?” There’s some powerful magic down there. I could feel it even on the Nightingale when we passed through the storm. Who knows what it’s done to these creatures?

“Yes. Somewhere near the center, I believe. That’s one of the reasons we haven’t tried to attack them all at once. The other… we can’t fight well in the Black. It’s impossible to see three meters in front of you, even with glow moss. There are too few of us, anyway. Only twenty who have any experience driving off dangerous beasts, and none of us have been in a battle. We aren’t warriors. And even if we managed to get to their home, the ruin is filled with air. We couldn’t do much without bringing the entire building down.” Keron looked drawn. “So we stay here, and the creatures slowly bleed us dry, while we try to think of a plan that will work.”

“Not for much longer,” said Tyria firmly. “Take us to their lair. We’ll find your missing ones, rescue them if they’re alive—or tell you if they’re not. And then you can leave, take us to Zyre, and we can try to save our home.”

Keron was taken aback. “I can’t ask this of you. Or our guards. Going down there would be suicide for all involved.”

Rye sighed internally. As loathe as he was to go into a dark, wet place filled with monsters, Tyria had the right of it. This seemed to be their best bet of getting back on track to Zyre.

He cleared his throat and cast a glance toward Tyria, who nodded with a small affirming smile. “Keron, I don’t plan on staying down here for very long. If the only way you’ll help us on our way is to get your people back, then that’s what we’re doing. Besides,” his voice softened, “if we can save your families, we will.”

Keron sank a little lower in the water, thinking. “I can’t ask any of my people to go.”

“Then ask for volunteers,” said Meri, a fierce spark in her eyes. “I’ll go, if no one else will. The sooner we end this, the sooner we can all be safe.”

“Absolutely not,” said Keron, his jaw tight. “I promised Berin I’d take care of you if anything happened to him. I’m not letting you go out there, Meri.”

“Then let them go,” she insisted. “I saved their lives. Let them save my father’s, if they can.”

Keron closed his eyes and slowly nodded. “Very well. I will gather a group of volunteers. If the creatures don’t attack, you can leave tonight.”

Rye nodded. “All right. I think we’d rather wait here, if it’s all the same to you.” He wasn’t looking forward to putting that airstar back on. Keron nodded again, and vanished beneath the water, followed by his two fellows.

Meri turned back to them with wary hope. “Thank you. I don’t… I don’t expect you’ll find my father alive, down there, but even if all of them are dead… thank you for trying.” She swallowed. “I don’t want to leave New Phoenixia. We’ve lived here for decades—I was born here. But I’d rather we lost our home than lose all our lives trying to defend it. Just make sure you return, or Uncle might decide to stay after all.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find them,” said Tyria. “We’re magnets for danger.”

Rye grinned. Starting to get used to it, Tyria? He nodded to Meri. “Could we get some food?”

“Sure,” she said, still subdued. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She dived.

Tyria watched the ripples travel across the surface of the water. Her eyes lit up. “Rye, take off your robes.”

“Uh?” Rye raised an eyebrow.

“You,” she said, testing the water with a hoof, “are going to start learning how to swim.”

He laughed. “Well, why not? I suppose it’s about time.” Unclasping his robes, he folded them and set them down on the marble. “Where do we start?”

“Let’s work on floating, first.” Not bothering to take her simple beige shirt off, Tyria slid into the water, holding onto the edge of the balcony with a hoof. “Come on in.”

Rye slipped in, shivering at the cold water. He clapped his hooves to the marble lip of the platform, looking sideways. “Okay.”

“Take a deep breath and relax,” she said, swimming a short distance from the edge. “Let your limbs spread out; try to maximize your surface area. When you’re ready, move away from the wall. Don’t worry, I’m here if you go under.”

Rye inhaled nervously. Spreading his legs like she’d instructed, he slowly pushed himself away from the balcony. The water rose to his face, but his nose stayed above it for a few moments before he sank under.

Before he could start to panic, Tyria’s forelegs threaded under his from behind, pulling him up above the surface. He shivered at the cold touch of her chest against his back. Tyria made a hmm of approval. “Not bad, for a first effort. All right, let’s try again.”

They continued, making small progress as the minutes passed. By the time Meri returned with seaweed rolls, Rye had managed to float unaided for twenty seconds. They took a break for dinner, munching on the seaweed. It tasted terribly bitter and wet, but it had been days since either had had a full meal, and weeks since they’d had a good one, so both ate without complaint.

After they’d finished the food, the lessons resumed. Rye had picked up the basics of an undignified doggy paddle by the end of the third hour, when Keron’s head broke from the water beside them.

“It’s nearly dark out,” he said. “Those who will take you into the Black have gathered outside the building. Here, take this. It was the only surfacer weapon I could find in our stores. Our tridents will be of little use to you inside that cramped building.” With one hoof he held up a long knife, sheathed in a simple leather holder with a small belt; and with the other, a pair of airstars. “Are you ready?”

Tyria nodded, taking the blade and buckling the sheathe around her left foreleg. “Let’s go.”

Rye took the offered airstar, hoping that the second time would be easier than the first. He placed the creature on his face, trying to relax.

As he gagged on the air tube, he couldn’t help but wonder if drowning might be preferable.

24. What Lies Below

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The sunlight had vanished over an hour ago. The only sources of light now were the dim, glowing patches of moss snugly wrapped around Rye and Tyria’s forelegs. Rye had decided not to light his horn during the journey. They were already risking enough with this poorly thought-out plan, there was no need to make themselves easier to discover.

Keron’s group of volunteers was comprised of six seapony stallions and one mare, all lean and fast swimmers. Speed, Keron had explained, was to be their best defense on the descent into hostile territory. Keron had briefly introduced the lead pony, a stallion named Beriac, whose neck Rye was hugging. The seapony swam so swiftly and steadily that Rye wasn’t sure his added weight slowed him down at all. A few meters beside them, Tyria and the seapony carrying her were faintly visible in the light of her own moss. Behind, a third pony waited for Beriac or the mare to tire, ready to relieve them.

Rye had not seen the other four seaponies since the sunlight had faded. They were spread around the central three in outrider positions, keeping watch for anything hostile. The tight formation did little to comfort Rye; if they were attacked, he and Tyria would be virtually helpless in the dark water. The journey had been dull thus far, but he was still alert for any sign of the sea chimerae Keron had spoken of.

Twenty minutes ago, they had crossed what must have been the “shelf” Meri had mentioned. It was an end to the gently sloping, sandy seafloor, a sharp cliff that plunged down into infinite darkness. The cliff wall had vanished behind them long ago, and they had been swimming in the black void ever since. The water grew colder and heavier as they descended, until Rye found his breathing labored and his limbs numb. The airstar clenched tightly against his face, retreating from their frigid surroundings.

They were not alone in the void. From time to time, Rye caught glimpses of alien creatures in the deep, short flashes of fins or tails in the dim mosslight. There were nameless things with tentacles, creatures with enormous mouths larger than the rest of their bodies, eyeless fish with bizarrely shaped spiny protrusions. Some glowed like tiny fireflies, others had pulsing strings of light that shimmered up and down their bodies. Once, the group passed carefully through a cloud of jellyfish, who floated quietly in their mindless hunt for food.

The abyss was utterly silent. Sounds traveled far underwater, but there was nothing, not the squeak of dolphins, or the rush of waves, or even the bubble of breath, thanks to the airstars. Only Beriac’s occasional call to the outlying seaponies assured Rye that he hadn’t gone deaf. He’d never felt so out of place, not even in Sleipnord’s vast wintry wasteland. This darkness was a place no pony had ever been meant to go.

He glanced over at Tyria, wondering if she felt as uneasy as he did. There was no way for them to communicate at length in the water, so simple body language had to suffice. He gave her a questioning head tilt and briefly waved around at the emptiness. Tyria just shrugged.

A fish with a glowing bulb attached to its forehead flashed past. Rye turned his head, trying to catch a glimpse of it before it passed out of the mosslight, and felt his blood run cold. The seapony behind them had vanished.

Rye shook Beriac’s shoulder, trying not to panic. Perhaps the pony had simply fallen slightly behind. Beriac slowed, looking back at Rye, who pointed to the absence of their escort. His eyes widened, and he sang out the low note Rye had begun to recognize as a call to report. There was a responding chirp from their left, then their front, then the right.

The rear guard remained silent. Rye felt his heart beating faster as Beriac whistled more instructions. Three pale shapes appeared in the mosslight, startling Rye before he realized they were the other seaponies. All of them wore expressions of alarm. Beriac whistled and sang quietly to the others, and the five seaponies pulled into a tight formation like a school of fish, with Rye and Tyria in the center of a small ring. Nothing leaped at them from the shadows, but the tension was thick and stifling. Rye was feeling so paranoid that by the time something finally appeared, it was almost a relief.

A stone pillar loomed suddenly from the darkness, and the seaponies swerved to avoid it. More pillars sprang out of the depths, and suddenly Rye could see the seafloor in the faint light of the moss. It was completely bare, just sand and rock without a plant or coral to be seen. From the sand rose broken marble columns, and other shattered remnants of buildings. His sphere of vision was tiny, but even so, Rye could feel the scale of what they were swimming through.

The ruins above in the sunlight were alive, filled with color and energy, beautiful despite their dark origin. This place was different. The broken buildings and shattered stone were untouched by life, frozen reminders of the calamity that had sent them here. This city was a dead thing, oblivion made manifest in the farthest depths of the ocean. The only colors here were brown and gray, all given a dismal blue cast by the moss.

Something moved in the corner of his vision. Rye’s head swerved left to catch the motion, but all he saw was the remains of a collapsed structure. He tapped Beriac’s shoulder and pointed toward the building. The seapony took a look, sang something to his fellows, and the entire group sped up. Rye felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

The attack came, not from the sides, but from below. Dark shapes erupted from the sand, and Rye had less than a second to process what was happening before one slammed into Beriac. Rye lost his grip and was sent spinning off into the dark.

Sand clouded the water. All Rye could see was thick motes of dust, all color washed out by the mosslight. Around him, he could hear the muffled thuds and thumps of fighting, fluting seapony calls, and strange, hideous squeals and shrieks. What little Tyria had taught him about swimming was impossible to remember in this panic, so he simply closed his eyes and curled up as tightly as he could.

After twenty or thirty seconds, the noise of battle ceased. Rye listened to his rapid heartbeat, hoping desperately to hear the sounds of a friendly pony. Cracking his eyes open, he blinked against the stinging sea. Whorls of sand spun lethargically through the water around him. He floated, motionless, unable to even tell which way was up. He strained to hear anything from the seaponies, trying not to think about the fate that awaited him if they had fallen to the creatures.

The cloud burst in front of him, revealing the pony he’d least expected to see. Rye uncurled, startled, as Tyria swam up beside him, giving a short wave. She turned and waved to someone behind her, the glowing moss on her foreleg leaving an afterimage in Rye’s dark-adjusted vision.

Beriac and the seapony mare swam out of the darkness, looking over their shoulders. Beriac sang something, and another one appeared above them. Rye and Tyria grabbed on to their guides again, and the remaining group took off like lightning. Rye twisted his head, trying to see if any of the other seaponies had survived, but only the three were visible.

Before them, a statue appeared out of the black. It was a zebra, ten meters tall, rearing back on its hind legs. It faced a pair of broken marble stumps and a carpet of rubble, suggesting it had once had a twin. The statues were clearly meant to stand before an entrance to a building.

The mosslight revealed a vast edifice ahead. The building had pillars upon pillars, stacked walls made from enormous stone blocks so large that they must have been moved by magic. It stretched up far beyond view, the roof completely lost in the dark. The mammoth wall of white stone reflected the eerie blue glow of the moss. Rye swallowed. Here’s the skull of this corpse of a city.

The entrance alone dwarfed the statue, but it had completely collapsed. No building as large as this castle-sized structure could have been carried into the sea totally intact. Rubble buried the entire opening, blocking their way. The seaponies seemed to expect this, swimming up against the wall and upward.

This close to the wall, Rye could see the fresh, unweathered cuts of the stones. This building had been newly constructed before the disaster, perhaps the last one erected before the city’s destruction. Rye’s eyes widened. There was only one thing it could be. The center of the cataclysm. This is where they built the fountain.

A great crack severing one of the wall blocks provided the entrance the seaponies had been seeking. The group slipped inside, and the mosslight revealed a hallway much like the ones in the city above. The walls were blank marble, and a thick layer of marble dust and sand covered the tilting floors. Debris poked through the dust, and Rye felt an unpleasant jolt as he realized that some of it wasn’t rock. White bones, half-hidden from sight, were thick all around them. The horned skull of a unicorn stared at the group as they swam past, the shadows playing in its empty eyes.

At last they came to a sizeable room. The ceiling had collapsed, allowing access to the floor above, and Rye saw the telltale glimmer of an air pocket’s water barrier. The seaponies surfaced with a splash, and gasped for air. They each had airstars attached to their sides, but they’d kept them off while not in use to better communicate.

He and Tyria clambered out of the pool onto the little bit of remaining floor, next to an open doorway that led into another hall. As he removed the airstar, shuddering as the tendrils retracted from his throat, Beriac spoke. “Be swift, surfacers. The creatures won’t stay away for long.” He looked back and forth between them. “Find our lost ones if you can, but hurry. We can’t remain here for more than a few hours.”

Rye rubbed his throat, shoving the airstar into one of his robe’s sodden interior pockets. “We’ll be as fast as we can. Good luck, Beriac.”

“To you as well.” Beriac nodded to them, and then the seaponies sank into the dark below.

Tyria inhaled. “We lost so many just getting here.”

Rye shook his head. “I just hope it was worth it.” They set off into the building.

The hallway was twisty, turning and doubling back on itself, weaving in apparently aimless ways through the darkened marble ruin. Unlike the last building they had explored, the walls were blank marble, with no sign of any artwork. The floor was so covered with dust that it was impossible to tell if any mosaics lay beneath their hooves. Not all of the dust was marble white; it took Rye a while to realize that the powdery black substance mixed in with it was volcanic ash.

More disturbing were the bones. Fragments of equine remains littered the halls along with other species, not all of which Rye could identify. There were elk antlers, antelope horns, and innumerable chips of shattered bone that might belong to any of them.

Tyria jumped as one crunched beneath her hoof. “Gods! This place is a graveyard.”

“Perhaps they died in the eruption?” Rye clutched his robes tighter to his chest, looking around queasily.

“I hope so,” said Tyria quietly. Rye swallowed. The obvious alternative might have them soon joining the poor souls buried around them.

They walked on, their hoofsteps muted by the dust. Faintly, Rye heard something above them, a strange schlicking sound. He and Tyria paused, lifting their lights to reveal a number of worm-like creatures stuck to the ceiling. The worm-things were secreting beaded strings of some viscous substance.

Tyria raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating.”

Rye stuck out his tongue. “Repulsive.”

“Yes, that too.”

After a few seconds of examination to determine that the creatures posed no threat, they resumed their walk down the hallway. A few minutes later, they reached an intersection with another hallway. They stood at the crossing, eyeing each of their three possible paths forward. Rye sighed. “Any ideas?”

“I don’t think splitting up is wise,” said Tyria, biting her lip. She lifted her head and sniffed. Her nose wrinkled, and she looked over to the left hallway. “The air down there smells like… decay.”

“Then that’s where we should go, no doubt,” said Rye, grimacing. “You think the seaponies are still alive?”

Tyria cast a glance around at the ruined hallways. “I don’t see how they could be.”

“I don’t either, but… I’ve seen stranger things.” Rye fluffed his robe, which was mostly dry. “And we have to try.”

They set off down the offending corridor. It wasn’t long before the reek of rot grew noticeable enough to make Rye pull the hem of his robes up to cover his nose. It reminded him of a week-old battlefield he’d once passed through, not the full blast of rotting death, but the lingering foulness that lasted for days afterward.

“I hope that’s not one of our group,” said Tyria nervously.

“Can’t be.” Rye shook his head. “Whatever’s making that smell has been dead for days, at least. The battle outside was less than an hour ago.”

They followed their noses, coming at last to the source of the stench. Stretching from the lower wall on their right to cover the hallway floor was a thin patch of dense, red webbing. It had a fleshy texture, and smelled like a dead animal that had been left too long in the sun. Rye poked it, feeling the rubbery moss give under his hoof.

“Gods,” he said, “and I thought those ceiling-slugs were disgusting.”

“It looks like meat,” said Tyria faintly, covering her nose. “Almost… like veins.”

Rye gestured down the passage, where the floor was entirely covered by the stuff. “Ladies first.”

“You’re such a gentlecolt,” said Tyria dryly. She stepped cautiously onto the growth, shivering as it gave a squelch under her hooves. “Oh, lovely.” She took another few steps, turning her head back toward Rye. “Coming?”

Before he could respond, Rye saw something emerge from the darkness behind her. His eyes widened as a tentacle, covered in suckers, shot out toward Tyria. He was opening his mouth to yell a warning when it wrapped around one of her hind legs and yanked her off her hooves. Tyria gave a yelp of surprise, and then the creature pulled her into the blackness.

Rye took off after them, shouting. Tyria’s voice echoed in the hallway, wordless sounds of struggle. There was a loud thunk like hooves hitting marble, and Tyria swore. Suddenly Rye caught up, finding Tyria being dragged up to her chest into a large crevice in the side of the hallway. Her forehooves were planted on either side of the crack, straining to keep herself from being pulled through.

She looked up to see him. “Rye!”

He raced to her, looping his hooves under her shoulders, pulling as hard as he could. Whatever had Tyria’s leg was strong, far stronger than either of them. She groaned in pain, gritting her teeth. “It’s going to rip my leg off!” There was a jolt from the creature, and Tyria slid up the length of the crevice with another cry of alarm.

Rye’s eyes snapped to the knife buckled to Tyria’s foreleg. He grabbed the hilt in his teeth, yanking it out of the sheathe, and ducked under her. The crack was small, but so was he. He slipped inside, finding the thing wrapped around Tyria’s hind leg. It was an octopus tentacle, just like the ones he’d seen above, covered with suckers and glistening in the blue mosslight. Rye wasted no time, squeezing up against the tentacle and slashing at it with the knife.

The blade cleaved the tentacle in two, splashing blue blood onto Rye’s face. There was an alien shriek of pain from the other side of the crack, and suddenly the tension holding Tyria above him vanished. Tyria fell on top of him, smacking his head against the side of the little tunnel.

They extricated themselves, panting for breath. Tyria kicked frantically at the part of the tentacle still wrapped around her leg, and it plopped to the floor. The two stared at it, watching with trepidation as it rapidly turned black and dissolved, leaving the same stink as the moss.

Rye wiped his face. “What the hell are these things?” Absently, he offered Tyria the knife.

Tyria accepted the weapon, sliding it back into the sheathe on her leg. “I don’t know.” Her jaw was tight. “Let’s move, before it comes back.”

They picked up the pace, cantering down the hallway. “Did you get a good look at it?” asked Rye, glancing back over his shoulder. “All I saw was the tentacle.”

Tyria slowed for a moment, looking haunted. “I didn’t get a clear glimpse before it went through the wall, but…” She shuddered. “It had hooves.”

“Oh, hell… You don’t think…?”

“That thing might have been a pony once.” Tyria resumed a canter. Rye followed, processing this new development.

They came at last to something besides a hallway, a large, long room. The meat-moss and the bones were thick in here, concentrated toward the center of the room. There was a pile of skeletons in the center, like a macabre totem of the dead. The walls of the room, unlike the bare hallway behind, were covered with frescoes. They stretched up to the ceiling, their colors muted by the glow of the moss.

“These must be the only paintings they finished before the disaster,” said Tyria, looking around.

“It’s a history,” said Rye, taking them in. “That little town here on the left, that must be the original Phoenixian settlement.” The city grew as the wall progressed, the paintings cataloguing a variety of famines, natural disasters, foreign relations, naval victories, all the failings and triumphs of a once-great civilization.

The wall on the right held a different history. The mural began with a zebra, garbed in purple and gold, surrounded by a circle of a dozen others. The figures were all abstract and geometric, but Rye could see tiny triangular unicorn horns on the heads of the twelve. He walked down the wall, watching as the figures delved into vast libraries and built elaborate golden structures, all under the watchful eye of the zebra in violet.

At the halfway point, the painting changed. Instead of the unicorns, there were over a thousand carefully-detailed and tiny figures. There were zebras, ponies, elk, white-tailed deer, antelopes, even griffons, all ordered in rows that faced an as-yet-unseen source of golden rays.

“Goddess have mercy,” whispered Tyria. Rye felt a bead of sweat on his forehead.

The figures were being slaughtered. The unicorn mages walked between the rows, bloody knives above their heads. The victims were clearly in agony, cowering and crying in pain as the mages murdered them with cold efficiency.

“This wasn’t a war,” said Rye, feeling ill. “They’re sacrificing them.”

“For what?”

“That.” Rye pointed to the left, at the source of the golden light shining over the doomed rows of sacrifices. This final painting was the most elaborate of all. A tower of white rose from the ground, three-tiered and covered with twisted golden helixes. Four gold arches reached up from the ground to touch the top of the tower, and a pyramid suspended above it crackled with lightning. Above the tower stood the zebra in purple, surrounded by the twelve, who prostrated themselves before her with upraised hooves. Golden letters were emblazoned above them.

“What do you think it says?” Rye looked over at Tyria, who had gone pale.

“It’s the old unicorn alphabet,” said Tyria. She cast a glance at the peak of the tower, where a fountain of golden water streamed down. “It says Ad Vitam Aeternam. It’s a common epigraph on paintings of Phoenixia.”

Even Rye knew enough old unicorn to recognize the phrase. “Now we know where all the bones came from. And what our monsters are.”

Tyria’s brow furrowed. “What? You can’t seriously think those mages—”

“If the building didn’t collapse during the eruption, and they were inside, they might have survived the initial blast. Once the city sank, they’d have been trapped… with the fountain.”

“Fountain or no, there’s nothing to eat down here.”

Rye wordlessly swept a hoof toward the rows of sacrificial victims again. Tyria blanched further. “Sisters. And when those bodies ran out?” She covered her mouth in horror. “The seaponies… and gods know how many victims of the maelstrom.”

“We need to get moving again,” said Rye, breaking away from the nightmares on the wall. “Beriac can’t wait for us forever.”

The room had another exit, across from the way they’d entered. The fleshy tendrils covered every surface, now. Rye thought he caught the stuff pulsing in the corner of his eye, but whenever he tried to look more closely, it went still. They paused at the mouth of the hallway, peering into the darkness.

“Rye.” Tyria gave him an apprehensive look. “We need more light. Those things have to be waiting down there somewhere. We won’t see them coming with this moss.”

“I suppose they know we’re here already.” Rye laid his glow-moss down on the ground, and delved into the flow of the magic.

He was almost bowled over by a blast of magical current. His ears rang with the roaring of a volcano, or a blast of lightning, or the sound of a million tons of water careening over a cataract. Rye clutched at his head, trying to stand up in the flow of magical excess. Tyria, looking alarmed, tapped his shoulder. “You okay?”

“It’s close,” he managed, feeling the overwhelming energy crash around him. “The fountain. It’s so wild. They barely bound it.” He staggered forward. “I could feel it all the way on the surface. And again, in the city.” Leaning on a wall for support, he measured his breathing, centering himself in the torrential outflow of power.

“Rye.” Tyria sounded seriously concerned, now. “We don’t need the light if it’s going to hurt you.”

“No, it’s fine.” Rye rubbed his forehead, standing upright and taking a cautious step away from the wall. “I just need to… find my balance.” He blinked rapidly, shaking his head. The magic was all around him—though still untouchable, damn it—but he was already learning to ignore the roaring in his ears. “We’re definitely headed in the right direction. It must be just down this passage.”

“Need a hoof?”

Rye nodded gratefully, looping his right foreleg over Tyria’s shoulder. Together, they walked down the hallway, alert for any sign of the creatures.

They hadn’t been walking for more than three minutes before a sound came from somewhere ahead. Rye lifted his head. “That sounded like a pony.”

“A pony in pain,” added Tyria, frowning with worry. “One of the seaponies?”

They hurried down the passage, coming to an abrupt stop as the source of the noise entered the golden glow of Rye’s light.

Tyria had been right, on both counts. A seapony was pinned up against the left wall of the corridor, his hooves stretched out to both sides and covered by the creeping red growth. His head was hung down over his chest, unmoving.

Rye stared aghast at the pony’s face. His mouth was twisted up on one side, and a crablike mandible jutted forth between the pony’s teeth. The eye above it was squeezed shut by the puffy skin, and a trail of drool dripped from his lips. The pony’s left foreleg had turned a dark red, and was covered in a hard, shiny carapace. It had separated along the middle, and Rye could see the clear structure of a forming claw.

“Shit.” Rye’s jaw worked as he tried to understand. “What did they do to him?”

Tyria gasped. “There’s another one!” She strode a few meters down the hall. On the other wall, another seapony was trapped in the moss. This one’s tail had no flipper, instead ending in what was unmistakably a stinger. “Oh, gods have mercy…”

Rye leaned closer to the first pony, reaching a hoof forward. “Are they still—”

The pony’s head snapped up. He lunged forward at Rye, his only open eye wild. His mouth, twisted around that hideous mandible, opened, and he screamed, “HELP USH!”

Rye jerked back instinctively. The seapony’s chest heaved, each exhalation drawing a quiet whinny of pain. Rye reached out a tentative hoof, touching the pony’s shoulder. “We came here to find you. Keron sent us.”

“Keron,” mumbled the seapony, his head dropping again. His shoulders shook, and Rye realized he was crying. “Pleash, help ush.” Rye could see his tongue through the gap caused by the mandible.

“We will, I swear to the Sisters.” Rye looked up and down the seapony, still reeling. “What have they done to you?”

The pony shook his head. “Hurtsh. Pleash.”

Rye heard the soft slide of metal on leather, and turned to see Tyria with the knife held delicately in her mouth. Her eyes were filled with pity.

“Tyria, no!” Rye turned to her, appalled. “They’re alive, we have to get them out of here!”

“Rye.” Tyria looked like she was on the edge of weeping. “There’s nothing else we can do for them.”

“No! We came this far, we need to get them out of this godsforsaken hole and back to their families—”

The seapony moaned. “No! No… pleash, don’ led them shee thish…”

Rye turned, feeling a pain in his chest. “Tyria… please, don’t.”

She trembled. “I don’t want to. But… I don’t think we can undo what they’ve done to him, Rye.”

The seapony moaned again, desperation and despair in his ruined face. “Pleash…” He looked at Tyria, nodding slowly.

She stepped forward, gripping the knife with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Rye turned away, feeling a bitter sting in his eyes. They’d come here to rescue these ponies, damn it, not…

There was a shuffling noise. Rye looked up, suddenly alert. “Tyria. Quiet.”

Tyria paused, her ears perking up. She tightened her grip on the knife. The seapony on the wall turned his head, eye wide. “Ish them. They’re coming back. Run. Run!”

Rye needed no further urging. Grabbing Tyria’s leg, he pulled her after him, racing down past the seapony. “We’ll come back for you!” he shouted over his shoulder. The only reply was a hissing from the blackness.

They ran faster, galloping past dozens more seaponies trapped in the red, stringy substance. Every step took them further into the depths of the building, closer to the source of that incredible magical outpouring.

25. The Source

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Ahead of them, a circle of dim, warm light appeared in the blackness, signaling the end of the tunnel. Rye, his lungs ready to burst from their panicked sprint, could hear the wet squelching noises of the amphibious monstrosities closing on them from behind.

Tyria, with her longer legs, made it out first. She wheeled around to face the tunnel, the knife gleaming in her mouth. Rye slid past her, trying to break his momentum. He slipped on a puddle of water over slick marble floor, barely keeping his balance. Lifting his head, he began to turn around, but his gaze was arrested by the sight of the vast space before him.

They had entered an enormous room, a hollow cavity in the marble over fifty meters high. Four walls rose to a vaulted ceiling, so high above them that it was almost lost in the darkness. Red moss dotted every surface in sickly patches, covering enormous cracks that ran across the ancient stone, but the dim, wet marble glistened with golden light through the gaps.

At the center of the room was a tower, just like the painting back in the atrium. It was comprised of three massive cylindrical blocks of marble, their tops slightly canted. A thin, straight staircase shot up the tower, almost vertically. Golden helixes ran up the sides of the stone, entwining with each other again and again as they climbed toward the peak. Four mammoth arches made of bronze, aligned with the corners of the room, stretched up from the tower’s base toward the top, where they curved back to spread like flower petals. From the ceiling, a huge inverted tetrahedron, also bronze, pointed down to the peak of the tower. A quartet of cast-iron spheres attached to rods extended from the sides of the pyramid, crackling spasmodically with flashes of lightning that leaped down to the tower.

And there, between the pyramid and the tower, was a spray of golden, glowing liquid. It arced out in four directions in the darkness, glowing brightly. The glow went down, all along the tops of the three tower levels, and Rye realized that the inclined tops were all part of a massive water channel. It spiraled down to the floor, filling a circle of golden water that surrounded the tower out to the bases of the arches. From that reservoir, dozens of thin, concentric circular channels spread out to the edges of the room, connected by straight canals on opposite sides of the tower. A marble walkway crossed them all to the base of the stairs, the glow of the water playing off the stone.

“Rye,” hissed Tyria, drawing his attention back to the danger behind them. “We don’t have time for this! Do you see an exit?”

Rye tore his eyes away from the tower to sweep the room. There were three other hallways leading into the room, one on each wall, but they were all covered by the meaty moss in various abundance. “Nothing we can get through in time. We’ll have to stand our ground.” He turned back to the tunnel, hearing the rapidly approaching sound of the monsters. He swallowed. “Stab for the eyes. I doubt even that healing Keron mentioned can save them from a head wound.”

Tyria nodded, a bead of sweat dripping down her neck. “Try to hold on to one of them. Give me a clear shot.”

“Got it.” Rye spread his legs into a sturdier stance. The sounds from the tunnel were loud, now. He glanced over at Tyria, somehow still beautiful despite the tattered uniform and the scrapes and bruises they’d both picked up. He decided against any goodbyes. They both already knew what the other would say. Returning his eyes to the tunnel, he resolved to grab the octopus-thing first. They’d wounded it earlier, he might have a chance of holding it down for Tyria to stab. He inhaled deeply as the sounds reached the entrance.

Monsters burst out into the glow of the water, as varied as they were disgusting. They were hybrids, as Keron had said, but each of them was recognizably a pony at some level. There was one whose forelegs had been replaced by crablike claws, with his chest pierced by what Rye suspected were formerly ribs, stretching down to the floor as fully articulated insectoid legs. Another’s head was unrecognizable, a blob of semi-transparent jelly with uncountable tendrils draping down over his front and back. Little flaps of skin covered his body like fins. The others had the features of starfish, crustaceans, fish, mollusks, even an eel. The one thing they all had in common was a little nub of bone on their foreheads. Even the jellyfish creature’s was visible through the membrane over its otherwise-formless head.

There were twelve of them altogether. The last to emerge was familiar; a pony from the waist up, eight suckered tentacles from the waist down. A massive scar with telltale shark toothmarks stretched across his midsection, almost entirely healed over.

Tyria’s eyes narrowed as the creatures encircled them. “The Phoenixian mages. You were right.”

“Go for the octopus first,” whispered Rye. He braced himself to jump.

The chimera in question reared back. Its mouth was sealed shut, as if the skin of its lips had simply grown together, but it spread its tentacles apart to reveal a hard, black beak. The beak opened wide and a piercing shriek made Rye wince.

There was a moment of stillness, as both parties sized each other up. The crab chimera clacked its claw. Rye tensed his legs. Tyria gripped the knife tighter.

“Now!”

The room exploded into motion. Rye was charging toward the octopus-unicorn, ready to dodge the flailing tentacles that reached for his face, when suddenly a feminine voice rang throughout the chamber. “Halt.”

Rye skidded to a stop, as the tentacled creature froze mid-strike. With disquieting swiftness, the chimeras pulled back, opening their circle toward the tower. Rye and Tyria turned to face it, watching the edge of the nearest water channel as a figure emerged.

At first, Rye thought she was a zebra. Black and white strips covered her body, but on a closer look he realized that they were scales, not fur. Her torso tapered down into a long, snakelike tail, with a pale, plated underbelly running up under her chin. Her head was still vaguely equine, but she had no ears, and her eyes were narrow and reptilian. A series of spines rose from her forehead and traveled down her back, connected by thin membranes. Her forehooves were held up to her chest, dripping silently as she slithered out of the water.

“Greetings, surfacers,” she said in a low, almost sultry tone, drawing out each s with a sibilant hiss. She approached them, and the chimeras retreated further. “It has been a long time since we last entertained guests from above.” The creature’s lipless mouth pulled back into a macabre facsimile of a smile, revealing rows of pointed teeth.

“Who are you?” asked Rye, glancing around. “And what in the name of Celestia happened here?”

“We are the Phoenixians,” said the snake-thing. “And I am our Queen.” She lifted her forehooves, and Rye watched with fascinated horror as they split apart into five long, double-jointed fingers. The queen twisted her right one around, beckoning them to approach. Unwillingly, they did so, fully aware that they stood no chance against thirteen foes if they resisted.

The queen slithered around them, her long tail creating a scaly circle around their hooves. Tyria unconsciously drew closer to Rye, not letting the knife out of her mouth. The queen reached out and touched Rye’s side, making him shiver. She ran a finger down his back, inhaling with a hiss. “You ask what happened, as if all this were an accident. Pah! We happened. All you see before you is our doing.”

“Does that include becoming monsters?” Tyria made a noise of revulsion. “You abominations slaughtered thousands for this?”

“Yes,” said the queen, coiling her tail tighter around them as she circled. “Tens of thousands. And we would have killed more, if the spell required.” She paused in front of them, a forked tongue flicking out to catch their scent. “Any price would be worth the prize we have won. We have conquered death.”

Rye suppressed another shiver. “Why are you telling us this?”

“Because you asked,” she said, with a hissing laugh. “You mean, why have we not killed you?” She steepled her fingers, tapping them together. “Any surfacers who find their way here, either through the maelstrom, or through blind luck and the aid of the seaponies, are offered a choice.”

“Let me guess,” said Tyria, snarling, “join you or die?”

“No,” said the queen, her smile growing wider, stretching back all the way to where her ears should have been. “I would not dream of killing ones so valuable as yourselves. Every surfacer is a treasure. From your kind, I have learned so much over the centuries. New technologies, new magics, new languages—like this one. You will tell me everything about your world, every political and cultural achievement your species has made since my last visitor. In return, I offer you the chance to drink from the fountain, to live forever.

“And that is only the first part of your reward. Those seaponies you passed in the tunnel are the first seeds of my reborn military. It will take centuries to grow my forces, but they will become the greatest soldiers the world has ever seen. They, their children, their children’s children and on and on will be my new navy; one not reliant on ships or at the mercy of the winds, able to strike anywhere on land or sea, ready to conquer as we finally surface to reclaim our place as the greatest civilization in history. Phoenixia will rise again, someday, and the two of you will have a place in that new world.”

Rye imagined a flood of ten thousand chimeras slithering onto the shores of Equestria and felt a cold bead of sweat on his neck. “And if we refuse?”

“You will tell me what I wish to know, one way or another.” The queen turned to the octopus chimera, pointing a finger toward the water. It nodded and slithered over to the channel. “Immortality is a blessing…” The octopus-unicorn raised the tentacle that Rye had severed, placing the stump into the golden water. The water glowed brightly, and the creature removed its tentacle, now completely healed. Only a thin circle of scar tissue under the tip showed where the knife had sliced it clean off. The queen murmured in delight. “But it can also be a curse. The fountain heals all wounds. This lets my interrogators be… inventive.”

She traced a circle over their backs with those long fingers. “But why choose eternal pain when you can have eternal life?” The queen snaked around them again, squeezing them together with her tail. “You two are bondmates, yes? Here, you can be together forever, without the fear and uncertainty of a life on the surface. You never have to grow old, never have to die, never have to live on without the other.”

Rye and Tyria shared uncertain looks. Rye knew they had no chance of fighting their way out of this place. If they accepted, the Phoenixians wouldn’t torture them—but he and Tyria could never get back to the surface on their own, and taking the queen’s offer would certainly mean the deaths or worse of Beriac and his companions. There was a whole host of other reasons to say no, including Zyre, somewhere up above, and still depending on him and Tyria to save it.

Yet… in a hundred years, all those people would be dead, anyway, regardless of his actions in the coming weeks. When one looked at things from the long view, a few thousand lives seemed awfully small.

But they’re still important. Rye swallowed and nodded to himself. Ignoring the little picture was what led these monsters around him to commit atrocities so great they were held up around the world as the model of evil vanity. He would never let himself become that self-absorbed and cruel. And neither would Tyria.

“We accept,” said Tyria, shoving the knife back into her foreleg sheath.

Rye blinked, doing a double take. “Tyria, wh—”

“Think about it, Rye!” She turned to him, her face etched with tension. “If we drink that water, think of how much time we’d have.”

She can’t be serious— Rye paused, and thought for a moment. Am I going to doubt her every time she does this? She must have a plan. I’ll play along, then. “I don’t… what about Zyre?”

“Please, love,” she said, embracing him and sliding a hoof up between them. “We could live here forever, free of all that political hustling and military protocol.” Rye felt her hoof working at her breast pocket. “No more dancing to Celestia’s tune, no more being paraded in front of diplomats.”

Rye nearly hissed as he felt her hoof slip into his robes, something icy cold balanced precariously on it. She dropped it into one of his inner pockets. “Stay with me, Rye.”

“I… I’m with you, Tyria.” Rye grabbed her shoulders and kissed her. It was an awfully quick apparent conversion, but he knew how peoples’ minds worked. Immortal or not, the queen would hear what she wanted to hear.

“Excellent,” said the queen, her oily voice dripping with anticipation. “Come with me. You must drink from the font at the top of the tower. That is where the power is strongest.” She hissed something to her servants, who stood back respectfully. With a sweeping gesture of her fingers, the queen bowed her head. “After you.”

Rye and Tyria followed the path across the canals toward the base of the tower, the queen close behind them. Rye racked his brain, trying to figure out what Tyria had slipped him. I didn’t think she even had anything on her when the Nightingale went down. Wait… the Nightingale. Didn’t she steal a vial of— His eyes went as wide as saucers. Oh, no, Tyria, this is a BAD idea. He swallowed, suddenly intensely aware of the tiny container of Elyrium in his interior breast pocket. Oh, gods, if this touches that water… He found himself sweating profusely.

They reached the base of the stairs, looking up at the enormous tower. Rye placed his hoof on the first stair, taking a deep breath. Behind them, the queen gave another hissing laugh. “Are you afraid of heights, winged one?”

Rye swallowed, fluffing his wings. He climbed. Tyria fell in beside and slightly behind him, subtly blocking the queen from reaching him directly, an ideal position for buying him time to reach the top and… do something crazy. Be careful, Tyria.

Rye had some idea of what she wanted him to do, but he was terrified of what would happen if he did. Tyria didn’t really know what Elyrium was capable of, but he’d read accounts and seen illustrations. ‘Immolation’ would be putting it mildly; most unfortunate ponies who shorted themselves out with this devil’s brew were buried in matchboxes. And Tyria wanted him to use it on the magical nexus that had once made an island explode.

If I don’t, we’re dead anyway. Or worse. Rye looked over the edge of the stairs, down into the large channel that ran around the tower. The metallic water rushed down like a river, the sound of the steady stream broken intermittently by the crackling of electricity above.

The climb was long. Ascending the nearly vertical stairs was hard work, and his legs began to ache by the time they were halfway up. He pushed on, wanting to keep up the momentum before his nerve failed.

At last, they reached the lip of the tower’s peak. The tip of the pyramid hung over their heads, not far above. The top of the tower was a bowl filled with golden light and water. Steps led down into the pool of water toward the great golden spout at the center. On the far side of the cauldron, the lip of the tower opened to admit the water into the spiraling channel around the perimeter of the structure.

Rye and Tyria paused, wary of stepping into the pool. The water lapped against the steps, glimmering. I need to get some distance from the queen before I try anything. He slipped a hoof into the pool, feeling the warm touch of the water. Rye strode deeper in, until it reached up to his neck, covering his back. His yellow robes billowed around him. The water on his skin was warm, soothing. More than that, he could feel the magic floating around him, running across the surface like a current, tingling into the half-healed wounds on his back before running up his spine and filling his head with a lightly pleasurable feeling.

The queen whispered to them. “Go on, drink. Heal your wounds. Take the first step into an immortal life.”

Tyria glanced down at Rye, and gave him an imperceptible nod. He returned it. Tyria turned to the queen. She raised her head and said, “No.”

She lunged downward, grabbing for the knife on her foreleg. Rye dived forward, forcing his way further into the pool. He heard a loud smack, and Tyria yelled in pain. He waded in, trying to get to the other side of the tower. Turning his head over his shoulder, he saw the queen tangled around Tyria, her tail squeezing the pony with lethal intent. Tyria had the knife in her mouth, twisting her head desperately to get an angle on the queen, but the snake-zebra had her bound too tightly. The queen hissed furiously, bared a mouthful of dagger-sharp teeth, and sank them into Tyria’s shoulder. Tyria dropped the knife with a scream. “Do it, Rye!”

“I offered you pleasure, but you prefer pain.” The queen’s voice was filled with contempt. Her whole body twisted as she hurled Tyria over the side. Rye froze, stunned. Tyria yelled in panic, before she was cut off with a loud splash from below—she’d landed in the channel circling the fountain.

Rye pushed backward through the water, struggling to reach the opposite side. He dug into his robes, fishing out the vial. When he felt the touch of cool marble on his hind legs, he leaned back against the lip of the tower, placed the vial between his hooves, and yanked off the cork with his mouth.

The queen slithered down into the water, moving toward Rye with a predator’s grace. “You fools could have had happiness that lasted forever.”

Rye’s chest rose and fell with terrified anticipation. “Nothing lasts forever.”

He emptied the vial into the water.

The golden surface immediately began to bubble.

Rye had no intention of sticking around to see his handiwork. He grabbed the tower lip with both hooves and vaulted over it. Three meters below, he crashed into the water running down around the tower. It was deep enough to cushion his fall, but he immediately found himself at the mercy of the current. Like a giant slide, he went rushing downward, deafened by the roar of the water. Over the sound came the queen’s shriek, “What have you done?”

The bottom of the chute came swiftly and suddenly, spilling Rye out into the channel at the tower base. He floundered for a moment in the water, before remembering his swimming lessons and coming to a steady tread.

Above, the iron orbs on the sides of the pyramid were sparkling with ceaseless streams of lightning. The iron itself had begun to glow, first red, then white. The metal sagged, deforming under its own weight. Crackling bolts of lightning leaped up from the fountain itself, growing more and more frequent. The gentle golden glow of the water grew brighter.

“Rye!” yelled Tyria from further down the channel. “Look out!” Rye swiveled to find himself face-to-beak with the octopus creature. It erupted from the water, tentacles enwrapping him. They went under, struggling with each other, Rye wriggling in the thing’s grip. He managed to free a hoof, which he slammed into the chimera’s head. Stunned, it released him, and he swam for the surface.

Breaking the water, he gasped for air. With an ungainly doggy paddle, he managed to get to the edge and pull himself out of the water. Tyria was running to him, with the jellyfish and eel-headed chimeras in pursuit.

The water had grown blazingly bright. Up above, he could see the queen circling the top of the tower, frantically screaming down to her minions in a language he didn’t recognize. The iron spheres were now little more than shapeless masses of white-hot metal, dripping down into the water.

The canals suddenly burst into flames. Rye flinched at the heat, narrowing his eyes against the bright light. The octopus-chimera in the water screamed for an instant before the noise was lost in the roar of the flame.

A new star bloomed inside the fountain. There was a blinding flash, and suddenly the upper half of the tower exploded outward, riding an invisible sphere centered on the fountain’s source. The sound hit them an instant later, a blast so loud that Rye clapped his hooves to his ears and fell over, curling in pain.

Stones rained down, white-hot and steaming. Rye scrambled to his hooves, heading for Tyria. “Get down!” he screamed, diving into her. They hit the ground, sliding forward, barely dodging a flaming chunk of marble debris. The red moss covering the room went up like tinder, gouts of flame belching out of the thickest patches. It melted, turning waxlike and black before dissolving into oily puddles with an awful stench.

Masonry continued to shower around them. “We need to move!” shouted Tyria over the din. “Head for the tunnel!”

A loud, angry shriek alerted them to the chimeras’ recovery from the explosion. The ponies looked up to see the creatures approaching them, murder in their eyes.

“I hope you planned this far ahead,” said Rye, as the two stood shakily.

“I was sort of hoping they’d all turn to dust or something,” said Tyria faintly.

“Doesn’t look like it.” Rye tugged her leg. “Come on, run!”

They raced toward the exit, the chimeras hot on their tails. Just before they made it, a cloud of black smoke burst from the tunnel. It was thick and choking, with the overpowering smell of sulfur. Rye and Tyria screeched to a halt, covering their noses. “No choice,” shouted Tyria, “go!”

Together, they plunged into the darkness. Rye took three steps before he heard an anguished howl. He froze as he realized that the sound had come from inside the tunnel.

Unable to see, breathe, or think, he grabbed sideways for Tyria, hooking her uniform. He yanked her toward him, flattening them both against the right wall of the passage. The ground rumbled as over a dozen new creatures came flying past, all screaming in one unified roar.

They heard a clash toward the tunnel entrance, followed by more animalistic howling. Tyria pulled Rye down to the floor, where the smoke was thinnest, and the two gasped for air. “We can get away while they’re busy with those new things,” she said through a hacking cough.

“No,” said Rye, wheezing. “It’s the seaponies, it must be! We have to help them.”

“I lost the knife, Rye!”

He shook his head. “We’re not leaving them after all this.” He stood and ran back toward the tunnel exit. Tyria followed with an exasperated cough.

By the time they cleared the smoke, it was almost over. The seaponies, filled with the strength of fury at their long imprisonment, had swept into the shell-shocked chimeras and demolished them. Only the eel-headed creature was left, and as they watched it too fell to a seapony with a serpentine tail and knife-sized fangs. With no fight left to join, Rye and Tyria stood in the billowing edge of the smoke, getting their first extended look at what the old Phoenixians had done to Keron’s ponies.

Many had unnatural legs, be they equine or insectoid. Those without a form of movement over ground hung onto the backs of those who did. Some had claws, others talons, and many had razor-sharp teeth like sharks. It was a menagerie of grafted bodies, like a child’s drawing of mixed-species creatures made far too real.

They stood in a circle around the bodies, breathing heavily. Rye nervously hoofed the clasp of his robe, wary of startling them. “Hello,” he said, coughing out the last of the smoke. The seaponies looked up from the bodies of the old Phoenixians, snarling.

Clinging to the back of a huge lobster-mutated stallion was another seapony, whom Rye recognized as the first one they had seen in the tunnel. He lifted his hoof and pointed to them. “Come. Heere.” His words were hard to understand through the mandible jutting from his mouth, but Rye and Tyria guardedly made their way toward him.

Another seapony, a big-looking stallion with fangs too big for his mouth, snarled at them, but the first seapony shook his head. “Friendsh. Here. To help ush.”

“We came from New Phoenixia,” said Tyria, her voice cracking. Rye felt her pain. The ponies before him had surely been maimed beyond healing. “Keron sent us to find you, and bring you back home.”

“My brootherr,” husked the seapony. His eyes brimmed with tears.

Rye felt a lump in his throat. “Then you must be Berin.”

The seapony nodded. “Pleash, do you… know. If my. Daw… dawt…”

“Meri’s safe,” said Tyria quietly. “She’s still back in the city, with the rest of your people.”

Berin bowed his head, shoulders shaking. “Goo. Good. Th-thank youuu.” He wiped a strand of drool from his lip.

“What now?” asked Tyria, turning to Rye, an apprehensive look in her eye.

“Now, we take them back,” said Rye, his jaw set. “Come on, Berin; we’ll lead you all to the exit. If Beriac’s still there, he can lead us back. If not, well, we’ll figure something out.”

“No,” said Berin, shaking his head somberly. “Can’t. Go back. We arrre monshtersh.”

Rye’s eyes narrowed. “The queen and her minions were the monsters. What they did to you is unforgivable. But they can’t hurt you anymore; you’re free.”

“H-how,” said Berin, slurring his words, “can we be. Frrree frrom thish?”

Rye looked around at the seaponies, seeing despair in their eyes. Rye flared his wings and lit his horn. “Look at me!”

The ponies recoiled from the sudden burst of light. They shielded their eyes from the first illumination they might have seen in months. Rye jabbed a hoof into his chest. “I’m a pegacorn. A mutant. Just like you. None of us asked for this, but there’s no changing it now.”

Tyria murmured. “I don’t think you’re a mutant.”

Rye gave her a small smile of gratitude before turning back to the seaponies. “I know how it feels to be a freak. I have to live with the stares and the jeers every day of my life.” He stamped a hoof. “But I live with it. Because if I run away to hide in a cave, or throw myself off of a cliff, or whatever it is you plan on doing next, then the monsters win.” He pointed at the corpses of the chimeras. “Do not let them break you. You were strong enough to fight them; be strong enough not to give up.”

He extended a hoof to Berin. “Come with me. I can’t promise you it will be easy. But I can promise you it will be worth it.”

The seapony looked at him for a long, quiet moment. Slowly, he extended his remaining normal hoof and shook Rye’s. “Ash… you wish, surfasher.”

Rye smiled. “Then let’s get you home.”

26. Dinner at Zahira's

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The faint sounds of string instruments wafted through the evening air. Wheatie looked up to the top of the hill, taking in the large mansions that dotted the path as he and Zanaya began the climb toward the Marquis’ house.

He gave a cough. “You know, we could just fly up there.”

Zanaya shook her head. “Wouldn’t be polite. When in Zyre, do as the zebras do, yes? Besides, we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

“Fair enough,” Wheatie admitted. He glanced over at Zanaya, once again admiring her choice of evening wear. She had on a long black dress, accented by a blue coral necklace and some cobalt earrings. The little splash of blue somehow made her stripes pop more than usual, making it terribly easy to get lost in her face. Combined with the curls she’d tamed her mane into, the effect was nothing short of stunning.

Of course, Wheatie wasn’t looking too shabby himself. He’d never brag aloud—especially not where Captain Inger could hear him—but the stuffy Firewings mess kit was the most flattering uniform in the Equestrian military. A black body with a dark blue vest and light cerulean striping along the lapels, it could make anypony look positively dashing. If only the thing was more comfortable to wear. Wheatie tugged carefully at his bow tie, careful not to undo the knot it had taken him the better part of an hour to get right.

They passed other couples in fine formal wear on their way up to Marquis Zahira’s residence. Wheatie kept an eye out for yellow robes, but they saw no sign of Ambassador Milliden before they reached the door to the mansion.

A line of zebras, ponies, griffons, camels, and more stood before the entrance. They were being admitted by the butler Wheatie remembered from his last visit. He and Zanaya took their places at the end of the line.

“Remember,” Zanaya said in a low voice, “if you see him, don’t head in alone. We have to eavesdrop on this meeting of his without being seen, and we’ll need to work together for that.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve been on recon duty before.” Wheatie grinned and adjusted his lapels.

Zanaya rolled her eyes. “Just keep a low profile.”

After a few minutes, they reached the front of the line. The butler greeted them as Wheatie produced his invitation-plus-one, and they were waved inside. Past the door, the cavernous entrance hall to Zahira’s estate was filled with zebras and foreign dignitaries, all mingling together with glasses of champagne or pinot noir. Under the relaxing sound of a string quartet from the back was a steady undercurrent of murmured dialogue and the clinking of glasses.

Wheatie and Zanaya made their way through the loosely packed crowd and further into the lower floor of the estate. The back rooms were filled with more zebras and ponies, most standing in small groups as they admired the priceless art hanging from the walls or on stands in the middle of the rooms.

A service zebra in a white shirt with a black vest passed them with a tray full of champagne glasses, and Wheatie stopped him to snag one for each of them. One glass wouldn’t be enough to get drunk, and they needed to keep up appearances, after all.

Enjoying the fizz of the wine on his tongue, Wheatie scanned the groups of ponies standing around in the rooms they passed. Milliden wouldn’t be hard to spot in those eye-searingly yellow robes, but there had been no sign of him yet.

Eventually, they found themselves in a large ballroom. The lights were turned down low, bare flickers in the lanterns on the walls. On a stage at the far side of the room, a small string quartet was playing. Wheatie vaguely recognized the song, a famous number from an Antellucían composer. Zanaya whistled quietly. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s the first violin from the Sugarheart Islands Symphony. The rest are probably part of the same group; Zahira’s really going all out.”

Dining tables covered the ballroom floor. Many were filled, but it was still early enough in the evening that plenty of spaces remained. Wheatie cast a quick glance across the room, looking for yellow, when he heard somepony call his name.

“Sergeant Specklestraw! I was hoping I would run into you tonight.”

Wheatie turned in surprise to see Marquis Zahira herself, striding toward them. The Marquis was wearing a floor-length violet dress, with a simple yet elegant dragon design snaking up from the train around her flank. The colored beads in her mane nearly distracted from her bright green eyes, both of which were focused intently on Wheatie.

“Good evening, Marquis Zahira,” he said, holding out a hoof. Zanaya edged off to the side, frowning. Wheatie forced himself to smile instead, hoping the Marquis didn’t plan to hang on him all night.

Zahira shook his hoof. “I’m glad you were able to make it. Ambassador Milliden arrived some time ago. Yet, if I’m not mistaken, there’s still someone missing from the Equestrian delegation.”

Oh, gods, she’s going to spend the whole evening trying to shake me down for information about Rye. Wheatie’s eyes turned glassy. “I’m sure Ambassador Strudel would be here if he could.”

“And where is Ambassador Strudel?” Zahira’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve heard troubling reports from the Watch. They tell me that there’s an investigation going on. Did he fall afoul of the Vipers?”

“I’m sorry, Marquis, but I’m not at liberty to disclose information about an ongoing investigation. If you want to know more, you’d have to talk to Captain Petalbloom.” Ah, the joys of military bureaucracy. When you have a problem, kick it up the chain of command.

“I’ve already been to see the captain. She was tight-lipped.” Zahira’s smile grew strained. “I don’t like being left in the dark on my own island, Sergeant.”

Wheatie shrugged apologetically, taking a sip from his champagne flute. “We’re working as fast as we can to find him. As soon as we do, I’m sure he’ll want to see you to resume negotiations.”

“Forget the negotiations.” Zahira’s friendly façade slipped, revealing a look of intense near-panic. “If Princess Celestia’s personal ambassador dies in my territory, we’re going to have a lot more problems than shipping rights and trade fleet escorts. I need Strudel back, Specklestraw.”

“I assure you, we’re working on the problem.” Wheatie refrained from adding as we speak, not wanting to jeopardize his and Zanaya’s operation tonight. “Was there anything else?”

“Yes. We’re not done here, Sergeant. I want a straight answer from someone, and from everything I’ve heard from the Watch Commissioner, you’re right in the middle of all this.”

Zanaya swept in. “Ah, Marquis Zahira! What a pleasant surprise, I hadn’t expected to see you tonight.”

Zahira blinked. “And you are?”

“Detective Zanaya, City Watch. PTV Department.” She held out a hoof. As the Marquis shook it, Zanaya beamed. “This is a wonderful event you’re hosting. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

“I’m in the middle of something, I’m afraid—”

“Oh, don’t worry, it won’t take long. When Commissioner Zireena heard that I was going to be at this party, she asked me to talk to you about our upcoming budget review. Would you mind explaining what happened to our emergency fire fund? The commissioner was very surprised to see that it had been cut in the last review—”

Zahira, alarmed, backed away. “Ah, pardon me, but I need to greet some important guests at the front door.” She bowed her head to Wheatie. “Good night, Sergeant. We’ll talk later.” She vanished into the crowd.

“Nice,” said Wheatie mildly.

Zanaya grinned. “The commissioner’s been hounding her about that budget change for over a year. Whenever they meet at City Watch dinner events, they end up bogged down in fiscal discussions for hours.”

“Spotted Milliden yet?”

“I think so.” Zanaya pointed across the ballroom. “There, in that shadowy back corner, see him?”

The yellow robes were unmistakable, even from this distance and in lighting this poor. Wheatie nodded. “Looks like he’s still alone. We might not have missed the meeting.”

“We need to figure out how to listen in without getting spotted.”

Wheatie’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a figure moving toward Milliden’s table. A camel dressed in a slick black suit seated himself beside the Equestrian ambassador. “Who’s that?”

Zanaya stared for a few moments, biting her lip. “I think it’s Menes Akhanehet. He’s an assistant to the Dromedarian ambassador.”

“Ten to one odds says he’s Milliden’s contact. We’ve got to get over there.”

“We could get a table next to them…”

Wheatie shook his head. “Too obvious. They’d just move somewhere more private.”

A waitress pushing a cart with a selection of food on it brushed past him. Wheatie watched her pull up beside a nearby table and begin plating the food for the guests. He turned his head to Zanaya and raised an eyebrow. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

* * *

“This is a terrible plan,” whispered Zanaya. She was wearing a server’s white dress shirt and a black vest, her evening dress safely hidden below in the commandeered food cart. Wheatie crouched on the bottom platform of the cart, hidden from view by a white cloth draped over the entire cart.

“Well, it’s too late to un-bribe the waitress, so we’ll just have to run with it.” Wheatie poked his head out from under the cloth, looking around. Thankfully, no one had noticed their little transaction and Zanaya’s rapid change of clothing in a back room.

“You should be the table server, not me. I don’t know anything about the service industry, mister lives-in-a-castle.”

“If there was a zebra waiter in this mansion with a uniform that fit me, I would. But we’re going with what we’ve got.” Wheatie pulled his head back inside the cart. “Now let’s hurry, before we miss that meeting.”

Still grumbling, Zanaya rolled the cart into the ballroom. Wheatie listened to the clinking plates and wine bottles above him, trying to stay still. After a minute or two, the cart slowed to a stop.

“Hello, Ambassador,” said Zanaya’s voice. “Welcome again to Marquis Zahira’s home. I believe these are your orders?”

Wheatie inhaled deeply, and peeked through the cloth. Zanaya had rolled him up flush against the table, with just enough space between him and the two seated dignitaries to move under the table unseen. As Zanaya lifted a plate of something off the cart, he darted out with hooves padded by cloth napkins.

He made it under the table, and waited with bated breath for the pony or the camel to say something, but a few moments passed without incident and he released it quietly. Suddenly, Milliden snorted angrily.

“What is this? Salmon filet?” The annoyance in his voice was clear even through the table. “Are you daft? Ponies can’t even digest fish properly. I ordered cream of mushroom soup.”

A new voice, deep and soft, spoke. “I believe you have the wrong table.” That had to be the Dromedarian. Wheatie could see his hooves under the tablecloth.

Milliden gave a little whinny of disgust. “This is obviously meant for the Gryphan delegation, over there. Get this out of my face.”

Zanaya’s voice was full of contrition. “My apologies, Ambassador. I’ll get this sorted out.” Wheatie heard the cart wheels squeak as she pulled it away.

“Hold on.” Milliden’s angry tone was now tinged with curiosity. “Do I know you?”

“Oh, sir, I highly doubt it. No offense, but most ponies have trouble telling us apart. Have a nice night.” The cart squealed as Zanaya beat a hasty retreat.

Wheatie blinked, alarmed. Could Milliden have recognized her? They hadn’t interacted in any capacity Wheatie knew about. Might she have been spotted while following him? It was a good thing Wheatie himself hadn’t tried to play the waiter, or they’d have been found out for sure.

“Honestly,” muttered Milliden. “Zahira’s help is usually of higher quality than that.”

“This is a large event,” said Menes quietly. “Perhaps her regular waitstaff is overtasked.”

“I swear I’ve seen that zebra before.” Milliden rapped the table. “I just can’t place her.”

“Regardless,” said the camel evenly, “she’s well out of earshot. It’s time we discussed things, Arcturus.”

“Very well. Care to explain that cryptic note?”

“It’s best to be cautious. Especially this close to the end.”

The table creaked as Milliden leaned forward. “The end? Is it nearly time, then?”

“Yes. But first, we have some matters to clear up.” The camel, Menes, tapped a cloven hoof on the floor beneath the table. “I won’t dance around the issue, Arcturus. My masters are not happy with this situation regarding your missing compatriot.”

“Strudel. Listen, I had nothing to do with that. He was stupid enough to go snooping around the docks at night. Some of Viridian’s boys grabbed him and that useless ensign. I haven’t heard anything about them since.”

“Your level of involvement doesn’t matter. His disappearance has brought a lot of unwanted attention down on the docks. Our operations are difficult enough as it is without the City Watch breathing down our necks.”

“It’ll blow over. Give it another week or two, and Strudel will just be another midnight Zyran casualty. Once Viridian returns him, we’ll make it look like a mugging gone bad, dump the body in the waterfront or a back alley somewhere. Problem solved.”

“We may not have a week.” Menes paused. “Have you heard from Viridian?”

“Not since I sent him a message through our channels in the Zyran navy. I demanded Strudel back, along with an updated manifest of all the goods he’s captured, but I haven’t received a reply yet.”

Wheatie held down a hiss of surprise. Channels in the Zyran navy? The plot thickened once again. He wished it would stop; conspiracies seemed to be springing up like weeds.

Menes gave an unhappy hmm. “He hasn’t contacted us for weeks, either. My masters and I are beginning to doubt his reliability. Given the amount of money we’ve shifted to place his pirates in Zahira’s fleets, you can understand our… disappointment.”

“Now, hold on. You know as well as I do how difficult it can be to get a message across the Carriagibbean. There’s all sorts of reasons we might not have heard from one he sent. Reefs, storms… pirates.”

Both of them chuckled at that, but Menes’ levity disappeared quickly. “We’ve never had problems communicating with him until now. And the timing is… suspicious.”

“The timing? Just how close are we?”

“We sent a missive to Viridian last week, to affirm that all the preparations are in place. He was supposed to send you the message you’ve been waiting months for.”

Milliden inhaled sharply. “I’ve heard nothing.”

“Indeed. Some of my masters are beginning to wonder if Viridian has decided to simply take his loot and run.”

“No.” Milliden’s right leg was jumping nervously under the table. “Trust me, the Nordpony is on the level. He doesn’t want money, he wants the reward you promised him.”

“Are you certain? When you put us in contact with him, you yourself warned us that he wasn’t entirely… stable.”

“Look, I’ve been in contact with him for two years now. He’s never let me down before. The stallion might be a little… twitchy, but he’s plenty competent enough to run your little puppet state for you.”

“It’s not his competence in doubt, it’s his motivations. I have to ask again, why won’t you take the position? You’ve been a good ally to us for the past four years, I’m sure you could get the job if you asked.” Menes sounded legitimately curious.

“I don’t want to rule a city-state. I just want to buy an island and retire to a giant mansion with a dozen mares tending to my every need.”

“I can’t argue with that.” There was a clink of wineglasses. “But if this coup of ours is going to work, we need to act soon. Very soon.”

Milliden’s voice was hesitant. “How long do I have?”

“We had a backup plan in case our arrangement with Viridian fell through. Three dozen Dromedarian warships are standing by off the Isle of Teeth, hidden from Zyran eyes by the rock pillars. In two days, they make for Zyre. The original plan would be preferable, of course. We don’t want to lose our finest scouting fleet. But even without the pirates to soften them up, I’ve been assured that Zyre will be ours. So long as your signal works.”

“It will. But please, give it another few days. Viridian will come through. He always does.”

Menes sighed. “Very well. I can delay them till the end of the week, but no longer. We’ll be relying on your signal to begin the attack. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t be.”

“Are you still determined to do this yourself? It would be safer if we sent some of our people.”

Milliden’s leg had stopped tapping. “Frankly, I want an excuse to be out of the city. I trust your soldiers not to make a mess of things. The pirates, on the other hand… well, they’re not known for being gentle.”

“And yet you still want us to rely on them.”

“Look at it from an international perspective. If you sail in and lay waste to Zyre, you’re a belligerent nation annexing another country against its will. If the pirates do your dirty work for you, you become the saviors of Zyre instead, helping a country get back on its hooves after a reprehensible attack.”

“All right, Arcturus,” said Menes with a tone of exasperation. “We’ll do it your way. But if Viridian’s confirmation message doesn’t arrive by the end of the week, we’re moving ahead with the backup plan.”

“Captain Zevan is overdue, but he should be here within the next two days. Viridian and his fleet won’t be far behind. I’ll give the signal, the pirates will attack, Zyre’s navy will be destroyed, and you can sweep in to pick up the pieces.”

“One last thing. The Equestrians. Celestia’s obviously keeping a close eye on the situation here, if she’s sent her personal ambassador. We’ve become concerned about the possibility of a military intervention.”

Milliden snorted. “She wouldn’t dare. I’ve soured relations with Zahira enough that nothing bigger than an Equestrian frigate is allowed in Zyran waters, and not many of them at a time, either. The nearest fleet, if you can call it that, is a small flotilla escorting some trade vessels on the way in from Cairoan. They’ll be turned back near the Isle of Lyze, as usual, where Zyran ships will take over escort duty.”

“Very well.” Menes stood up. “We’ll be in touch.”

The sound of cart wheels caught Wheatie’s attention. Zanaya’s voice spoke. “Good evening again, gentlecolts. I’ve brought your dinner.”

Milliden scoffed. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I was just leaving, actually,” said Menes, and his hoofsteps steadily faded into the bustle of the ballroom.

Wheatie crept slowly backward, out from under the table on the opposite side from Milliden. Zanaya was making a fuss about plating the food, giving him plenty of distraction.

“Oh, no!” she cried, and a plate crashed to the floor.

“Damn!” shouted Milliden, standing up and knocking the table. Wheatie hastily ducked behind another one nearby. “You idiot, look what you’ve done to my robes! These are worth more than you are, you worthless—”

“I’m terribly sorry, sir, I’ll get someone to clean this up right away.” Zanaya raced away, her hooves thudding on the floor. Wheatie peeked around the corner, watching Milliden for an avenue of escape. The ambassador’s chest was covered with cream of mushroom soup, and he was wiping it off his robes with disgust. Wheatie took the chance and stood up, walking calmly away from the table and melding into the background of the ballroom.

He waited by the entrance for a few minutes before Zanaya reappeared, once again dressed in her evening wear. She glanced around. “Well, did you get anything?”

“Yes.” Wheatie’s jaw was set. “We need to leave. Now.”

“That bad, huh?”

“We have to talk to Petalbloom. And then your boss. Milliden has to be taken into custody, immediately.”

Zanaya frowned. “Care to elaborate?”

“On the way. Let’s go.” He led her out through the manor, into the entrance hall.

Ambassador Milliden’s voice called out, “Sergeant Specklestraw!”

Wheatie cursed, whirling around. “Hello, Ambassador.”

Milliden was approaching them from the ballroom, his robes still stained with soup. “Good evening, Sergeant.” He reached the pair, clearing his throat. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here. I wanted to ask you about Ambassador Strudel. Have we heard any news?”

“Nothing new, my apologies.” Wheatie began edging away.

“A shame. I’d like to—” Milliden noticed Zanaya and froze.

Seconds passed, loaded with tension. Zanaya extended a hoof. “Hi,” she said in a breathy, high-pitched voice completely unlike the one she’d used in her waitress getup. “I’m Zanaya. Isn’t this party just wonderful?”

Milliden stared at her face, ignoring the hoof. His eyes flicked over to Wheatie’s wings. Wheatie felt himself break out into a sweat. A zebra and a pegasus. Just how good a look did he get at us the other night?

The ambassador slowly turned his eyes up to Wheatie’s face. “Sergeant,” he said quietly. “I recently acquired some information I think might help your case. I’m not as familiar with such matters as you are, of course. Could you meet with me in my office later tonight? I’ll be back by midnight at the latest.”

His face rigid, Wheatie gave a terse nod. “I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Milliden gave Zanaya another look. “I’ll see you later.”

Milliden turned abruptly and returned to the ballroom. Wheatie and Zanaya stood motionless for a moment, then left the manor into the twilight.

“What the hell was that?” asked Zanaya.

Wheatie’s jaw worked. “Covering his ass, maybe. He knows we’ve been getting close to him. But that doesn’t matter now. We’re about to nail him to the wall.”

As they made their way down the hill, he explained all that he’d heard to her. Zanaya’s face grew grimmer and grimmer as he went, until he reached the part about Milliden sending some sort of signal.

“A signal for what, exactly?”

“To start the attack, no doubt.”

Zanaya shook her head. “It’s got to be more than that.” Her eyes shot wide open. “The blackpowder.”

Wheatie pulled up short at the bottom of the hill. “Oh, no.”

“If they set off all of that at once, who knows what they could destroy.”

“And they’ve got people inside the navy working for them. Weeding out all the traitors is going to take a lot longer than a week.”

Zanaya stomped a hoof. “If we put Milliden away before he sends that signal, we’ll have all the time we need to clean house.”

“Then let’s get to the embassy.”

* * *

They arrived just after sunset. The Equestrian embassy was dark and empty, except for the secretary zebra locking the doors. Wheatie raised a hoof and called to her. She turned surprised, and stood back from the door, adjusting her knapsack.

“Hello, Sergeant,” she said as Wheatie and Zanaya reached her. “Can I help you?”

“We need to speak to the captain immediately.”

The secretary frowned apologetically. “She’s already left for the day. She’ll be in tomorrow morning, though.”

Wheatie and Zanaya turned to each other. Zanaya bit her lip. “Well?”

“Get to the commissioner. Tell her everything. We’ll deal with the political fallout later.” Wheatie grimaced.

“You sure?”

“Better we lose some trade rights than the entire city.”

Zanaya nodded. “Okay. What about you?”

“I’m going to find Petalbloom, and then we’re coming back here for Milliden’s little meeting. When he shows up, we’ll clap him in irons. He’s not getting out of this one.”

“Be careful, Wheatie,” said Zanaya, her brow softening. “The Dromedarians aren’t fooling around. And they’re serious soldiers, not a bunch of rabble like the pirates.”

“I will. You watch yourself too, okay?”

They shook hooves, and parted. Zanaya ran off into the city, vanishing into an alleyway. Wheatie turned back to the secretary. “Where is Petalbloom’s house?”

The zebra looked very concerned. “I can give you the address and a map. What’s going on with Ambassador Milliden?”

“Nothing you need to worry about right now. Trust me, the less you know, the safer you’ll be.”

She nodded, swallowing. “Okay. Let me write down the address for you.” She pulled a sheet of paper out of her knapsack and began scribbling on it with a piece of charcoal.

Wheatie grabbed it as soon as she was done, muttered a quick “Thanks,” and took off into the air. As his wings beat mightily toward Captain Petalbloom’s residence, he inhaled the nighttime air. It was thick and humid, but with a cut of tension he’d only sensed a few times before. He stared ahead, contemplating just how much the feeling in his stomach reminded him of his last talk with his old mentor, Bergeron.

There was still time to stop this situation from exploding out of control. Everything depended on the timing, now. And Wheatie was determined not to let this city fall into the hooves of her enemies.

27. Up in Smoke

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Midnight was fast approaching. The air rushed through Wheatie’s feathers as he dove toward his destination. Pulling up at the last second, he beat his wings mightily as he landed on the street right in front of Petalbloom’s modest house. He folded his wings to his back and rapped four times on her door.

There were some muffled hoofsteps from within. The doorknob turned and the door creaked open, revealing a tired-looking Captain Petalbloom. She frowned when she recognized him. “Sergeant. Couldn’t this wait till tomorrow?”

“Ambassador Milliden is a full-fledged traitor.” Wheatie held eye contact intently. “He’s taking bribes, intentionally sabotaging Equestrian-Zyran relations, and he’s going to commit further treason this week by defecting to the Dromedarians during an attack that will begin when he signals it.”

Petalbloom had gone ashen. “You’re certain?”

“I heard it from his own mouth. We don’t have long. He knows we’re on to him, and that means we’ve only got a brief window before he disappears.”

The captain nodded, her jaw set. “One minute.” She vanished back inside. There were rattling and rustling sounds from within, before she re-emerged wearing her rumpled uniform and a lightweight civilian grade hoof-mace. “Let’s go.”

Wheatie bent a knee and spread his wings. “Hop on.” Petalbloom had clearly flown before, as she leaped onto his back without hesitation, settling into a secure position. Wheatie took off, feeling the hot air breeze past his face.

Petalbloom leaned down and yelled into his ear over the rushing wind. “Where is Milliden now? Where are we headed?”

Wheatie turned his head and shouted back. “He told me to meet him in his office. I think he wanted to send me and Zanaya sniffing after false leads with some misinformation. Either that, or he’s sending us to the embassy to buy himself time to destroy evidence at his home. If he’s not there, we can fly to his house in a little more than ten minutes, not nearly enough time for him to get away.”

Petalbloom’s eyes narrowed. “Good. We’ll end this mess tonight.” Wheatie could feel the tension in her muscles. “What about the zebras? How much do they know?”

“Everything.” Wheatie waited apprehensively for her reaction.

For a few moments, the only noise was the low roar of the wind. Petalbloom shook her head. “Well, there’s no helping it now. Let’s hope that when this is done, we can still patch things up with the Marquis.”

“If we find Rye, he’ll take care of it.” Wheatie spotted the embassy district in the distance. It would take another ten minutes to reach their target.

“You’ve got a lot of confidence in that little stallion,” said Petalbloom curiously.

Wheatie smiled thinly. “If he’s half the pony his mother is, then he’ll do his job better than anypony I know.”

“I hope you’re right.” Petalbloom looked worried. “Can Milliden tell us where he and Tyria are?”

“He said no, but I’m willing to bet he can tell us some good places to look. Like the pirates’ main base, for starters.”

“If they’ve hurt Tyria—” Petalbloom was trembling with suppressed anger. “She was never the bravest pony, but she’s one of mine. I look after my ponies.”

The flight felt agonizingly slow, despite the astonishing flight speed drilled into every Firewing from the first day of training. When they finally landed in front of the Equestrian embassy, Petalbloom slid off his back to land on the cobblestones with a clank from her hoof-mace. Wheatie looked up to the two windows of Milliden’s office. The curtains were closed, but the glow of lantern light from within was unmistakable.

Wheatie and Petalbloom marched into the building, racing up the stairs toward the office. Wheatie paused beside the half-open door to his chambers, debating whether he needed his armor, but decided that the time was more important. He followed Petalbloom up to the office door, taking a position on the other side.

The captain nodded to him. “On three. One. Two.” She reared back. “Three!” she yelled, bringing the hoof mace crashing down against the door and slamming it open. The two burst into the well-lit room. A zebra dressed in a black cloak whirled on her seat cushion in front of the ambassador’s desk and screamed.

The Equestrians whipped around, looking for any sign of Milliden. The office appeared to be empty except for the black-cloaked zebra. She was still screaming, covering her head with her forelegs. Wheatie swore. “Not here.”

Petalbloom shut the door behind them. “He might be hiding.”

“There’s nowhere to hide in here. I’ve been over every inch of this office a dozen times.” Wheatie winced, turning to the zebra. “Look, whoever you are, be quiet. We’re not going to hurt you.”

The zebra stopped shrieking, but not trembling. She tentatively lowered her forelegs, looking at the two of them with wide eyes. She was a normal-looking zebra, with a natural, if slightly frazzled, mohawk and no clothing aside from the simple black cloak. She stared at Wheatie with surprise. “Y-you? What are you doing here?”

Wheatie tilted his head, looking at her. Wait… put the hair down, make it curly. It’s… “Zedya?” He blinked, nonplussed. “What are you doing here?”

The zebra courtesan looked remarkably ordinary without the trappings of the Bareback Rider surrounding her. She pulled her cloak around her tightly as if to shield herself from the Equestrians. “Ambassador Milliden requested my presence. He said it was important. He even paid Mistress Zami for the entire night. I assumed…” she cast an uncertain glance toward Petalbloom.

Wheatie waved a hoof in dismissal. “The captain here knows all about Milliden’s ties to the pirates. What did he want with you tonight?”

“I don’t know,” said Zedya fearfully. “I assumed it was about the Pit Vipers. Some large package he wanted me to move, perhaps. He was here when I arrived, but stepped out almost as soon as I got in and hasn’t returned. He didn’t tell me anything before he left except that he’d be back shortly.”

“This doesn’t make sense.” Wheatie scowled. “Why would he risk you and I meeting each oth—”

There was a click from the door lock.

Petalbloom and Wheatie turned to the door. “Oh, no,” breathed Wheatie. He twisted the doorknob with his hooves. It didn’t budge. He gritted his teeth, rattling the knob, and then slammed his shoulder into the door.

The captain raced across the room to the windows, ripping aside the interior curtains to reveal a series of haphazard boards nailed across the glass. “Looks like a rush job.”

Zedya quashed a whinny of fear. “What’s going on?”

“He’s locked us in,” said Wheatie, slamming his shoulder against the door again. “Damn! He must have been hiding in my quarters. If I’d gone in for my armor—” He bashed the door again. The wood around the hinges was starting to splinter, but not fast enough.

“This won’t slow us down for long,” said Petalbloom, starting to pound away at the wooden planks with her hoof-mace. “He won’t get far.”

“No, Captain,” said Wheatie, still slamming up against the door. “He’s not trying to stall us, he’s trying to get rid of all the evidence. Including her.” He pointed to Zedya.

The zebra wilted. “What!?”

Petalbloom sniffed. “Do you smell something burning?”

A crackling hiss broke the tense silence. Wheatie froze. “Oh, HELL.” He raced over to the ambassador’s desk, reached under the lip, and flipped it completely over to reveal an unmarked barrel. A thin cable extended down through a roughly cut hole in the floor. The end was sparkling, and rapidly racing up toward the barrel.

“Bomb!” shouted Wheatie. “No time for the door, get that window open!” He wrapped a hoof in Zedya’s cloak and dragged her toward the captain. Petalbloom had broken the first of the three boards blocking their escape. Wheatie turned his head to see the fire approaching the end of the fuse. They were out of time.

He braced, then launched himself at the captain. The three of them crashed into the window, their combined weight smashing the last plank and shattering the glass. They sailed out over the city street, flying in the air for one brief moment.

The office exploded. Wheatie felt the blazing heat on his back, and the force of the explosion sent the three of them flying further out. He lost his grip on the two mares, and all of them went tumbling down to a painful crash-landing in the street.

There was a second explosion as the rest of the blackpowder went off, and cinders showered the streets. Wheatie lifted his head to see the entire top floor of the embassy in flames. A thick column of smoke was starting to rise into the night. His head slumped back to the ground, as he tried to catch his breath after the fall that had knocked the wind out of him.

Wheatie’s ears were ringing. He remembered the battle at the bridge of Trellow so long ago, and the damage the explosions there had done to the ponies. Some of the Westermin infantry had been permanently deafened by the blasts. He felt a moment of panic, but the muted sound of someone calling out reached his ears. Slowly, through a piercing whine, his hearing began to return.

“Wheatie!” called a familiar voice, made tinny by his shell-shocked eardrums. “Wheatie!”

“Zanaya!” he croaked. “Over here!”

From the street beyond the embassy, she came running with four burly zebras in tow. “Wheatie!” She reached him, embracing him with both forelegs and turning him over to face the sky. “How badly are you hurt, soldier boy?”

“Not bad,” he lied, wincing. His chest felt sore, possibly a broken rib, but they didn’t have time to check. “Milliden was here, Zan. He can’t have gotten far. We’ve got to catch him before he goes underground.”

Zanaya stood, barking orders to her companions. “Zabrick, get to the fire department! Get that blaze put out. Zellick, see to the captain and that zebra. Zebban, Zeke, get down to the port now and lock it down. I don’t want any ships leaving the bay until the Commissioner herself gives the all-clear. We’ve got a class-zero emergency here.”

The zebras snapped her smart salutes, and raced off to complete their assigned tasks. Zanaya turned back to Wheatie, brushing a hoof on his face with worry. “I brought them to help take Milliden in, but it looks like it’s up to us now.”

“Yeah.” Wheatie pushed himself upright, groaning in pain. It wasn’t a broken rib, at least, or he’d be curling up in agony right now. Probably just one hell of an oncoming bruise. “I don’t think I can carry you right now, Zan.”

“Can you still fly? If he’s still nearby, you can spot him from the air.”

Wheatie nodded, flapping his wings, and taking flight. He shook his head, trying to clear away the low drone that had taken up residence in his ears. Hopefully, the damage wouldn't be permanent. He soared up above the flaming ruin of the embassy, scanning the streets below. It was never truly dark in Zyre, even at midnight, and Milliden’s yellow robes were easily spotted in the warm glow of the street lanterns. “He’s heading east! Go after him, I’ll head him off!” He shot off as Zanaya yelled an acknowledgment from below.

He streaked after the ambassador, who was moving astonishingly fast for a non-athletic pony in heavy robes. But even the fastest runner couldn’t outpace a Firewing in flight. Wheatie gained on him rapidly, tearing through the air with furious purpose. As Milliden neared the exit of an alleyway, Wheatie whirled down, slamming hoof-first into the ground in front of the ambassador.

“End of the line, Milliden.” He spread his legs into a combat stance.

“I don’t think so,” said Milliden calmly. He thrust a hoof into his robes and whipped out a vial at Wheatie’s face. The vial smashed across his nose, releasing a cloud of pink, noxious gas.

Wheatie’s eyes burned, and his lungs filled with smoke. Coughing, he stumbled backwards. He reached up to his eyes, trying to wipe away the burning chemicals, but tripped and fell. He heard Milliden’s hooves beat a hasty exit eastward.

Finding his hooves again, Wheatie once more took flight. He was blinded by tears and pain, swerving drunkenly in the air as he tried to suck in a breath of fresh air. Below, Zanaya yelled up to him, “Which way?”

“Still east!” shouted Wheatie. “He must be heading for the city gate! If he gets into the jungle—”

“Damn! We’ll never find him. Hurry to the gate, Wheatie! I’ll meet you there.” Zanaya took off into the winding streets.

Wheatie shook his head, still trying to clear off the vile stuff Milliden had hit him with. He blinked rapidly, feeling tears run down his cheeks. His vision was blurry, but his internal compass pointed him eastward. With a powerful flap of his wings, he was off once again.

By the time his sight cleared, Milliden was long lost in the maze of houses and apartments. He trusted his gut and went straight for the gate that led to the jungle, reaching it after a few minutes of flying time. He landed breathlessly by the astonished guards, a pair of zebras standing watch at the little-used wide double-doors linking the city to the jungle outside the walls.

“Guards!” he said, still breathing hard. “I’m working with the Watch. Did a pony wearing yellow robes just pass through here?”

Still reeling from his arrival, one of the guards nodded. “Ambassador Milliden. He comes through here at least once a week. Didn’t have his wood this time, though.”

Wood? The invasion plan. He must be building a signal pyre somewhere in the jungle. Wheatie bobbed his head in thanks, too busy sucking down air to speak. He pushed open the door when he heard Zanaya’s voice shout behind him.

“Wait up!” She came galloping up to the gate. “Did we miss him?”

“Yes,” gasped Wheatie. “Let’s go, before he gets too far.” They raced out into the rainforest.

There was a path leading into the jungle, and Wheatie could see a speck of yellow far in the distance. “After him!” The two charged into the trees, heading after him as fast as they could. The foliage above quickly thickened to the point where flying would be useless; Wheatie wouldn’t be able to see anything from the air. He focused intently on Milliden’s distant form, barely visible in the faint moonlight filtering through the trees.

They were beginning to catch up to him when Milliden took an abrupt right turn off the trail and into the thick of the jungle. Wheatie and Zanaya plunged in after him, unwilling to let their prey escape after weeks of hunting.

Roots and branches leaped from the darkness to block their way. They vaulted past the obstacles as they came, keeping up the chase. Milliden was lost in the thick greenery, but he was heading south. The bushes and trees were so thick that he couldn’t take too much of a different route than them.

Suddenly the trees opened up to reveal a wide river. Zanaya and Wheatie skidded to a halt, looking down. Milliden was a few hundred meters east of them, climbing the bank on the opposite side of the stream. He looked back and spotted them, and Wheatie caught a distant curse. The ambassador scrambled up and vanished into the trees.

Wheatie took off and slipped his forelegs under Zanaya’s. He hoisted her up with a roar of pain, and flew them both across the river in seconds. He dropped her on the other side, nearly crashing on the ground, but staggering to a semblance of stability. They recovered for a moment, then resumed the pursuit.

There was a noticeable incline to the ground now. They were running up the base of the island’s volcano, as evidenced by the incredibly lush foliage around them, growing strong in the mineral-rich soil. “Where,” panted Wheatie between gallops, “in the blazes is he heading?”

Zanaya just shook her head, too focused on the run to speak. They charged forward, leaping over tree roots and ditches. The trees around them were beginning to thin, but there was still no obvious path forward. Milliden clearly knew this route well, so the only hope they had of catching him was their superior speed.

Wheatie caught a flash of yellow through the trees, and yelled wordlessly with a pointed hoof. They followed Milliden out into the thinnest section of forest yet, and Wheatie looked up through the sparse canopy toward the looming volcano above.

Streaks of fiery lava glowed in the night, running slowly but ceaselessly down the mountain into the ocean, where they made a fog of boiling steam. The peak was shrouded by black smoke, distinctly visible against the dark blue sky. The slopes of the active volcano were bare of trees, far too hot to support green life.

They emerged from the last of the treeline into the wasteland ringing the volcano’s base. The ground turned abruptly from dirt into broken shards of shale and obsidian, the air almost immediately thinning and growing arid. Ahead, Milliden was racing up a faint path that climbed up toward the mountain.

Wheatie leaped into the open air. He unfurled his wings, riding a thermal up high above the ground, locking in on his target and preparing to pursue. Suddenly, the air seemed to freeze around him, and he plummeted. Turning the fall into a controlled dive, he rolled out, but a blast of hot air from above sent him careening toward the mountainside. Instinctively, he tucked and rolled, hitting the ground but coming out unharmed.

Zanaya caught up to him in seconds. “You okay?”

“The air here’s too turbulent. I can’t fly like this.” Wheatie panted, looking up at Milliden’s diminishing form. “Where is he going?”

“No idea,” said Zanaya, her chest heaving. “But there’s only one path up the mountain, and he can’t fly. We’ve got him cornered, now.”

“Let’s not assume that. He could have a hot air balloon stashed up here.”

Zanaya winced. “Point taken. All right, let’s keep running.”

They set off at a swift canter, too exhausted to continue a full gallop. They followed the winding path as it climbed higher and higher, until the jungle was an indistinct green blur beneath them. The city was still visible, ten-thousand tiny pinpricks of light in the night, with ships on the moonlit waters of the bay.

Above, a sudden wind caught the smoke surrounding the peak of the mountain, clearing it for a few moments and revealing a large complex of black stone buildings. The smoke returned almost immediately, covering it again.

The smog was thinner up close. Wheatie found it only mildly difficult and irritating to breathe as they approached the peak. The volcano was not as high as many Equestrian mountains, and certainly not as high as the clouds above. Zanaya didn’t seem to be handling it as well, however. Wheatie could read her well enough now to see that she was shaking a little whenever she looked down.

They came at last to the building complex, which was surrounded by a high stone wall. Wheatie reached out and touched the stone, wiping away a thick layer of soot to reveal gray-white rock underneath. “What is this place?”

“It’s the old research facility,” said Zanaya, slightly awed. She looked up at the wall, which had to be at least six meters high. “A hundred or so years ago, the Antellucían Academy of the Arts and Sciences sent an expedition up here to study the volcano. They built this place to be completely impenetrable by lava. Heat wards, flame retardant building materials, walls shaped to channel the lava around the facility. But none of that helped much when a cloud of toxic gas came rolling down the mountainside.” She shook her head. “After the disaster, the project was discontinued. It’s been abandoned for decades.”

“I’ll bet anything that Milliden’s pile of signal wood is in here somewhere,” said Wheatie, gesturing toward the slightly open gate in the wall. “Let’s go get him.”

They entered the facility, closing and barring the gate behind them. Dozens of tall stone buildings stood inside the compound, all completely blackened with soot and ash. The place was totally deserted. A low wind whispered through the buildings, setting Wheatie’s teeth on edge.

Together, Wheatie and Zanaya prowled forward through the structures. The tallest of them all, a thin tower with windows, stood at the far side of the complex next to the corner of the wall. Wheatie looked up at the top and saw the tip of a large pile of wood. His eyes narrowed, and he pointed up to it.

Zanaya nodded. They silently made their way to the building, slipping inside through the empty doorway. The building turned out to be a laboratory of some kind, filled with tables and benches with stacks of parchment and inkwells alongside instruments of unidentifiable purpose. Everything was covered with soot.

They found a spiral stairway in the center of the building. Cautiously, they began to climb, making their way up to the roof. As they rounded the stairwell for the fourth time, they were greeted by outside moonlight filtering in through the opening to the roof. Wheatie could hear Milliden above, quietly swearing up a storm.

Wheatie and Zanaya emerged onto the roof, finding themselves standing before an absolutely enormous pile of firewood. If Milliden had been building it with legfuls of wood, it must have taken him years of carting it up the steep mountain incline. It suddenly made sense how he was in such good shape for a diplomat.

Milliden was sitting beside the pile, his robes in tatters, with sticks and leaves caught in the fabric. He was striking a flint and cursing. “Light, damn you.”

Zanaya stepped forward. “It’s over, Arcturus. Drop the flint and step away.”

The ambassador whipped around, staring at them. Zanaya continued, her voice betraying no hint of how tired she had to be. “You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit piracy, for aiding enemies of the state, and for enabling a hostile power to threaten the security of Zyre. Come quietly, and we won’t have to hurt you.”

Milliden tensed, looking between the two of them and obviously weighing his options. There was only one possible conclusion, and indeed, his head drooped and he seemed to deflate. He exhaled heavily. “It seems you win after all, Sergeant.”

Wheatie didn’t feel very happy about their victory. The damage this stallion had caused might already be irreparable. “I want to know why, Milliden. Was it just for money?”

“The money certainly helped,” said Milliden. “But Celestia brought this on herself. When you disrespect your employees, it has a way of biting you in the royal ass.”

He scowled. “Grypha was preparing for war. I warned her, time and again, that she needed to prepare. I told her that no negotiations were ever going to stop King Aelianus and that Shrikefeather monster from attacking Equestria, but she refused to listen to reason. Instead, she reassigned me to this hellhole, dealing with Marquis Zahira and her cronies.” His eyes burned with barely-suppressed rage. “And then when war came to Equestria, just as I had predicted, the casualties were immense. You yourself can attest that, Sergeant.”

Wheatie shook his head, pained. “So. You felt unappreciated.”

“I was unappreciated. She gave me all the blame for the breakdown in negotiations with the griffons, and ignored my warnings thanks to her own ego. And her blind naiveté cost tens of thousands their lives.”

“Have you considered that she wasn’t ignoring you, Milliden?” Wheatie suddenly felt unutterably weary. The long run and the reminders of those old battles were sucking the vitality right out of him. “The Princess isn’t blind. She knew the griffons were getting close to war. But Equestria was completely disunited. A declaration of war on our end would have simply split the country in two—as it did, if you’ll remember. Celestia wanted a peaceful solution. Or at least to delay the griffons with negotiations for another few years.”

Milliden snorted. “So you say. But the preparations I suggested would have saved countless lives. I feel no loyalty for someone willing to throw away their people in the foolish pursuit of peace with savages.”

Wheatie sighed. “When did the Dromedarians buy you?”

“They approached me two months after I arrived at my post here.” Milliden sneered. “I had some debts they took care of in exchange for a little insider information on Equestrian goals in the region. Things grew from there. It became plain that they were grooming me for some task, though they didn’t tell me what until Viridian entered the picture.”

Zanaya nearly leaped forward. “Who is he?”

“Judging from his eyes, he’s a Nordpony. No one knows what his real name is. I introduced him to the Dromedarians, and since then I’ve been their intermediary with him. Zedya handles the message drop offs. I don’t suppose that explosion killed her? A pity.”

Wheatie snarled. “You’re a callous son of a bitch, Arcturus.”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Or your friend here?” Milliden’s sneer widened. “Not very professional, sleeping with the policemare in charge of investigating crimes at your embassy. That doesn’t look so good to an outsider, Sergeant. I’m sure my legal advocate will find it very interesting.”

Wheatie restrained himself from decking the ambassador. “You won’t be seeing a barrister, Milliden. You’re headed back with me on the first boat to Equestria. Celestia herself will decide what to do with you.”

“I doubt the zebras have the same opinion,” said Milliden with a thin smile.

Zanaya swallowed. “Wheatie, he’s right. I know the plan was to keep this a domestic matter, but now that Commissioner Zireena knows everything about this whole mess, I don’t think you’ll be able to get him out of here until he’s been tried by a Zyran court.”

Wheatie bowed his head, frustrated beyond his limits. Milliden snickered. “Well. I think I’ve said enough to prove I’m willing to cooperate, given a good enough deal. Now, I’d like to meet my legal advisory before we continue this discussion.”

Snapping his head up, Wheatie snarled. “Fine. One last thing, then.” He walked up to Milliden, who slowly backed away. Wheatie strode forward until the ambassador reached the edge of the roof. “Where are Ambassador Strudel and Ensign Metrel?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Milliden spared a glance behind him, down four stories to the hard ground below. “Viridian hasn’t contacted me since they were taken. That’s the truth.”

“Then where are the pirates operating from? Where’s their headquarters?”

“I’m not saying any more, Sergeant.” Milliden gave him another smug smile. “If you want to see them again, you’ll have to play by my rules.”

Wheatie drew back a hoof and coldcocked him.

“Wheatie!” exclaimed Zanaya, as Milliden’s unconscious body fell forward into Wheatie’s forelegs. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Let’s get him back to the precinct.” Wheatie hoisted the ambassador’s comatose form onto his back. “Your interrogators can take a crack at him.”

“Well, I…” Zanaya sighed, obviously still displeased about his treatment of a prisoner. “Very well.”

Wheatie grunted, shifting the ambassador’s weight. “No time to waste. Let’s get going.”

“Slow down, Wheatie,” said Zanaya with a faint smile. “We stopped him before he could light this thing. The attack isn’t happening tonight. Or maybe ever, now that we’ve exposed this conspiracy. We’ve got a little time to breathe.”

“But Rye and Tyria might not,” said Wheatie, starting toward the stairway. “For all we know, they’re at the bottom of the ocean right now.”

Zanaya gave him a reassuring shoulder rub. “They’re still alive, Wheatie. I’m sure of it. Tyria’s a bit timid, but she’s a survivor. And Rye sounds like he’s been through worse than a pirate kidnapping.” She headed down the stairs. “Come on. Milliden took a longer route through the jungle to throw us off. We can take the direct path back to the city from here and save an hour.”

Wheatie looked back up at the peak of the volcano, watching the air shimmer in the heat. He inhaled the scent of smoke and soot, remembering the rising flames and burning buildings back in Canterlot so long ago, on the day the sun stood still. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Zyre was still heading for the same fate.

28. Favor for a Favor

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The entourage of bizarre hybrids rose from the depths in a staggered line. Rye blinked as the blackness filled minute by minute with the reddish-purple light of the setting sun far above. They hadn’t even been down in that abyss for a full day, he mused. Part of that was due to the return trip’s speed; without needing to worry about any attacks from the monstrous Old Phoenixians, the group had made excellent time on a beeline toward the upper city and seapony territory.

As on the journey down, Rye had his forelegs wrapped around Beriac’s neck. The seapony had been first startled, then horrified, then delighted by the reappearance of Rye and Tyria with a small parade of mutated rescuees behind them. After calming Beriac’s initial terrified reaction to the cavalcade of chimeras, Rye had explained the situation. Beriac had agreed to lead them all home gratifyingly quickly. Hopefully, the ponies above would be as accepting of the changes made to their family members.

Still, as they approached the outskirts of the city and the bright colors of the coral swam lazily into view, Rye was fidgeting enough to earn a few annoyed over-the-shoulder looks from his seapony chauffeur. He’d had a lifetime to deal with his physical abnormalities, to become accustomed to all the looks of curiosity or repulsion those who were different always attracted. These ponies had had these mutations thrust upon them in the primes of their lives, against their wills, and now they were about to face their families with little warning. Several scenarios had been running through Rye’s mind on the way up, few of them pleasant.

There’s nothing more Tyria or I can do, he thought sadly. The seaponies will have to reclaim their lives on their own.

The group slowed as they entered the city limits. Rye spotted a yellow-gray fin weaving amongst the coral. If the sharks were here, the seaponies could not be far.

Ahead, he saw them. Some scout must have seen them approaching from the distance and come swimming back with the news that their lost ones were returning, for it seemed the entire population of New Phoenixia had turned out to greet them. There were several dozens of them, seaponies of both genders and all ages, each with faces filled with hope.

Beriac and the rescuees came to a stop in a rough line opposite the larger gathering of seaponies. The two groups paused, deathly silent in the cool water. Rye was uncomfortably reminded of a pair of armies facing off before the joining of battle.

The joy in the seaponies’ faces was rapidly turning to dismay and horror. One mare tightened her hooves around her foal, pulling the confused little pony closer to her breast. Another unconsciously recoiled, her head shaking with disbelief.

Rye felt a cold lump in his stomach. He wanted to speak, to yell, to shout your lost ponies have returned! They’re still the ones you love! But the airstar blocked his mouth, and no one would understand his gurgling speech through the water anyway. All he could do now was watch.

He glanced to his left, where Berin drifted. The seapony leader frowned around his crab mandible, his eyes crinkling with disappointment. Hesitantly, Berin swam forward, into the no-pony’s-land between the two groups. He opened his mouth and sang something in the seaponies’ lilting, musical tongue. It still sounded beautiful to Rye, despite the new obstruction of the mandible.

A smaller mare emerged from the crowd, and Rye immediately recognized Meri’s sea-green mane. He inhaled a breath of crisp air from the creature on his mouth, unwilling to even move lest he disturb this critical moment.

Father and daughter took each other in. Meri’s eyes scanned her father’s body, pausing on his half-claw foreleg and the grotesque addition to his mouth. Her lips quivered with some unreadable emotion. Berin visibly braced himself, and haltingly opened his forelegs. He warbled a hesitant note, which to Rye’s ear sounded unmistakably like “Meri?”

All eyes present were locked upon the young mare. She lifted her head to look him in the eyes, her jaw working as she tried to speak. A single long, high-pitched fluting note ripped from her throat into the water, and she flung herself forward to embrace Berin. They whirled around, her momentum carrying them backward. Rye might not know the word she’d spoken, but the meaning of a filly screaming daddy transcended all language barriers.

As if released from some invisible bonds, the New Phoenixians surged forward to meet Berin’s group. The rescued seaponies’ eyes lit with astonished happiness as their friends, mates, and children rushed to hug and nuzzle them. The terror in their faces had not vanished, but now it was tempered with grateful disbelief.

Beaming under his airstar, Rye glanced over to Tyria, who floated free beside him. She winked, and pointed up.

Releasing Beriac to join the reunion, Rye swam clumsily up above the mob of seaponies, who were now singing and squeaking like an overexcited orchestra. He and Tyria floated above them, sharing a celebratory hug.

After a few minutes, Meri rose from the crowd to join them. She gestured for them to follow, paused, appeared to think better of it, and offered her forelegs. Rye and Tyria each held on to one, and Meri took off into the city.

The light had grown very dim by the time they reached the large domed building Rye recognized as the seaponies’ surfacer meeting hall. Rye lit his horn, casting an orange glow over the dilapidated building’s weathered stones. Meri swiftly took them inside, and the three surfaced in the air pocket under the dome.

Rye had idly wondered if the seaponies needed tear ducts underwater; the answer to that question was now evident. Meri’s face was streaked with tears, glittering in the orange light as they rolled over her cheeks into the seawater. “Thank you,” she choked, clapping her hooves together. “Thank you both, so much.”

Clambering out of the water onto the little marble platform, Rye nodded. He helped Tyria out of the water, and they began removing their airstars.

Meri took a shaky breath. “I can’t—I still can’t believe they’re alive. My father, after two years…” she bowed her head.

Yanking the airstar off his face and massaging his throat, Rye smiled. “I’m happy we could help.” He slipped out of his sopping robes and began wringing them out. “How is your father?”

“He’s alive,” she said simply, with a radiant smile through her tears. “The rest doesn’t matter.”

“Do all of you feel the same?” Tyria asked cautiously. “I was a little worried when we first got back. Can your people ever go back to the way things were?”

“I think so, in time.” Meri wiped her eyes at last, her smile faltering a little. “It will be hard, for many. Some of those you rescued have far worse injuries than my father.”

Rye grimaced. “I don’t know how they might be healed. I’m afraid they may never recover.”

“We’ll take care of them,” said Meri, nodding slowly to herself. “Now that there’s no threat from the monsters in the deep, we can go as far afield for seaweed and other supplies as we need to.” She looked back up at Rye, almost surprised. “You’ve freed us, surfacers.”

Rye restrained himself from saying all in a day’s work, or some other flippant idiocy. Instead, he simply bowed his head. “If New Phoenixia ever needs Equestrian aid again, we would be happy to assist.”

Meri bobbed her head earnestly. “I can’t speak for all seaponies, but I owe you a debt I can never repay. If there’s anything I can do for you—anything at all—”

“The only thing we need right now is a way back to Zyre,” said Tyria, pressing a hoof against her neck. There were a pair of white scars where the queen had bitten her, Rye noted with concern. “And Keron should be here soon to set that up.”

“Then I’ll go get him,” said Meri. “Wait here!” She flipped over and dove, her flipper splashing water over the surfacers.

Tyria wrung water out of her mane with an amused smile. “I like her.” She looked at him with a faint pride in her eyes. “We did good here, Rye.”

“Great things, hm?” Rye raised an eyebrow briefly. “How’s that bite? Are you still feeling okay?”

She waved his concern away with a hoof, sitting down on the wet marble. “It’s fine. Just a little sore.” Her hoof rubbed the marks again. “I think that dip I took in the fountain water helped.”

Rye blinked. “Oh, the fountain! Of course; I hadn’t even thought of that.” Remembering his own dive in the magic waters, he looked over his shoulder at the whip marks on his back. They looked years old, fully healed over, with only thin white lines and a slight tightness when he stretched his back to remind him they were there. He whistled cheerfully.

“Do you think we’re leaving tonight?” asked Tyria, with a yawn.

“That’s up to Keron,” said Rye, stifling a yawn of his own. He was suddenly aware that neither of them had slept since nearly drowning in the shipwreck a day or two ago. “I suspect he’ll need at least a day to get some ponies and supplies together for such a journey.”

Dark shapes moved in the water below. They approached the surface and two seaponies’ heads burst into the glow of Rye’s horn. Meri and Keron both looked happy, although that slightly manic edge to Meri’s joy had subsided.

Keron took a deep breath. “Both of you have my thanks, and the thanks of our entire city.”

“You’re welcome, you’re welcome,” said Rye, waving a hoof. “So, when can we leave for Zyre?”

The older seapony licked his lips, blinking. “Ah…”

Rye’s stomach sank. After four years of diplomatic missions to every corner of the world, he’d gotten very good at recognizing the look of a politician about to go back on a promise.

Keron rubbed the back of his neck. “In the morning, we’ll provide you with a few weeks’ worth of food, and take you back to the surface. There is a nearby island that zebra ships often stop at. I believe it’s a smuggler’s cache, actually. You can go back to Zyre on one of their ships.”

“A few weeks’ worth?” Tyria frowned. “Exactly how often do these ships pass through?”

“Well, smugglers don’t make regular stops,” said Keron, circling a nervous hoof through the air. “But no longer than three weeks, almost certainly.”

Rye stared stonily at him. “And we’re supposed to negotiate with smugglers for passage back to the city? What makes you think they wouldn’t just leave us to starve on the island?” Or worse, what if they’re Pit Vipers?

Keron looked genuinely shocked, as if he hadn’t even considered the possibility. Rye suspected the close-knit familial society of the seaponies might have left Keron with a few misconceptions about surface social orders. His lips tightened. “At any rate, three weeks is too long. We might not have more than a week before Zyre’s in trouble.” So much time wasted already. Although Zevan’s failure to deliver a message to the city might have bought them a few extra days, at least.

Tyria coughed politely. “We’ve spent the last two hours being carted around by seaponies. Your people can swim as fast as a ship at full sail. Why don’t you just have them take us directly to the city?”

The seapony looked panicked. “I can’t risk sending them out into the open ocean.”

“But the monsters are gone. Wiped out.” Tyria pointed a hoof toward the outside of the dome. “Ask Berin and the others, if you don’t believe us.”

“You say all the ones in the building were killed, but what if there were some outside?” Keron swallowed. “And even if they are all dead, the sea has other dangers. Jellyfish swarms, wild sharks, orcas—”

Meri snorted. “Uncle Keron, there aren’t any orcas in the area this time of year. And since when have you been afraid of a few jellyfish?”

Looking besieged, Keron made a sharp swipe of denial with his hoof. “The path straight to Zyre leads through a powerful ocean current. Carrying two heavy surfacers means shifts, which means at least four to six ponies, and only our strongest swimmers can fight through that current. The only four I know that could do it were… they were among the first ones taken. Intentionally, as Beriac tells me, for some twisted plan of the Old Phoenixians’.” He shook his head stiffly. “They can’t make that journey now, I’m sorry.”

“We risked our lives for you, Keron,” said Tyria, rather tartly. “The least you could do is be honest with us.”

“I just got my brother back,” said Keron, suddenly shouting, “and I will not lose him again! Or any of the others!”

“Uncle!” Meri looked aghast.

Rye felt a nagging from his ambassadorial instincts. Tyria and Meri kept upping the pressure, and all it was doing was making Keron armor up with refusal. Logic clearly wasn’t going to work here; Keron was irrationally terrified of letting any of his extended family out of his sight now that he had them all back in one place. Time to try a different approach.

Rye placed his hooves together, pointing them at the seapony. “I understand,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “I know you want to keep your brother and the rest of your people safe, but you can’t do that by putting them in a cage.” He gestured to Meri, who nodded emphatically. “All that will do is make them resent the bars, and try to slip through them.”

Keron looked away. “I don’t wish to take away anyone’s freedom. But they simply cannot make that journey safely. They aren’t capable in this condition.”

“Yes, they are,” Rye gently insisted. “The queen wanted to turn them into soldiers, not cripples. But you have to let them prove it to themselves. They can take their lives back, if you allow them to.”

“No.” Keron sank up to his chin in the water. “They’re not strong enough for me to let them go.”

Tyria broke in, clapping a hoof firmly to the floor. “Not if you don’t give them the chance.” She shared the briefest of glances with Rye. “People can amaze you with what they’re capable of, if someone believes in them.” A ghostly smile flitted across her face. “Even amaze themselves.”

Keron was quiet for a moment. His face hardened. “You leave for the smuggler’s island tomorrow morning. Good night, surfacers.”

“Damn it, Keron!” Rye swore. “You can’t just leave us to rot on some godsforsaken island. There are thousands of lives—”

The seapony leader dove, vanishing into the water. Rye, Tyria, and Meri were left staring after him.

Meri’s face screwed up with determination. “I’ll talk with him,” she said, diving after her uncle.

Both Rye and Tyria were quiet for a few moments. Tyria puffed out a frustrated sigh, rubbing her eyes. “Why wouldn’t he listen?”

“He’s scared.” Rye shook his head, laying his robes flat on the driest section of marble he could find in order to air them out. He raised his eyebrows and said cheerily, “It could be worse. At least he’s not trying to have us killed.”

“Politicians,” said Tyria disgustedly. Rye hoped he wasn't included in that epithet, although the accompanying eye roll made him suspect he was. Shaking her head, Tyria began unbuttoning her tattered uniform. “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”

“The dark side of adrenaline highs,” muttered Rye, yawning. “The crash afterwards can be spectacular.”

“Then let’s get some sleep in, before Keron comes back.” Tyria dropped her shirt on the floor, shivering in the damp cold, and retreated up the half-sunken platform to find a dry spot.

Following her, Rye gave a tired nod. “I hope Meri’s able to get through to him. The seaponies could get us to Zyre in three or four days. We can’t wait on an island for weeks hoping that Breyr decides to hold off his attack for our benefit.”

“If anyone can get through to him, it’ll be her,” said Tyria, lying down with her back to a roof-supporting pillar.

Rye snuggled up close, leaning his head on her side. “Night, Tyria.”

“Mm,” she not-quite-replied. Her eyes were already closed. Soon, her chest rose and fell with the rhythmic cadences of sleep.

Rye shoved all his worries about Keron and the Zyrans aside, and let himself drift away.

* * *

He was woken when his pillow slowly shifted under his head. Blinking his eyes open, Rye was greeted by Tyria’s face, scrunched up with effort as she stretched her forelegs like a cat.

“Uhnn,” he mumbled.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said softly. “No sign of Keron yet. It’s only been a few hours; go back to sleep.”

Rye yawned and sat up. “No, I’m awake. Not getting that dream back, anyway.”

“Good dreams?” Tyria sounded envious. “I was having a nightmare about those awful sea monsters.” She swallowed. “The octopus thing was pulling me into that wall crevice. The light was going out…”

“Yech.” Rye was familiar with trauma-nightmares. “Afraid I’ve got some bad news for you: you’ll probably be having that dream every so often for the rest of your life.”

“Speaking from experience?” she asked quietly.

Rye shivered. “Some nights I still see those caves under the mountains. When I wake up, sometimes I wonder…” He paused, and swallowed. “I wonder if I ever made it out. What if all this is just another fever dream? If I’m still trapped in that little amber bubble, waiting for those centipede-things to crawl over me and eat—” he broke off, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry. I know, it’s a foolish thought. I always feel silly about it when I get out of bed.”

Tyria cast a worried look over him. “I thought that whole mess affected you more than you were letting on,” she said. She touched his hoof with hers. “Have you ever talked about it with Inger or Cranberry?”

“No.” Rye shook his head. “I don’t think any of us want to remember it.” He put on an unconvincing grin. “But it’s okay. None of us picked up any lasting scars. Aside from a fear of small, damp spaces.” Jokingly, he waved around at the sunken hall.

Tyria bit her lip, and exhaled. She appeared to think for a moment, then sighed and let the subject drop. Cracking her neck, she sat up against the pillar. “So, what was your dream about?”

Rye smiled slyly, remembering. “Easier to show than tell, I think…” He leaned in for a kiss.

“Oho,” she said, lifting her eyebrows. Her lips met his for a moment. “I think I like this dream.”

“It got very interesting,” murmured Rye, sliding a hoof through her mane. “Want to hear the rest?”

Tyria brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes with a dry smile. “You sure? If she’s had any luck, Meri should be back with Keron soon.”

“Lightning never strikes twice,” said Rye airily, kissing her again.

“It does, actually,” she said, eyes glinting with amusement. “Frequently. Sure you don’t want another swimming lesson instead?” She ran a hoof up his chest. “I was about to teach you some useful strokes…” With her other foreleg, she guided his hoof down her side.

“By all means, teach,” he said, a little out of breath.

A burbling from the water drew both of their attentions. They broke apart, watching as a seapony splashed to the surface. It was Meri, holding a large wicker cylinder.

Tyria gave Rye a supremely saturnine I-told-you-so look before turning to the seapony. “Hello there, Meri.”

Rye exhaled through his teeth, restraining the numerous rude gestures his lizard-brain was telling him to make. “How did the talk with your uncle go?”

He was jolted from his annoyed frustration when he saw the uncharacteristically stern and serious expression on Meri’s face. She glanced back down into the water toward the building entrance. “My uncle has agreed to let you go to Zyre. I’ve gathered some seaweed for us to eat on the trip.” She nudged the wicker basket. “There’s enough in here for day and a half. We’ll have to get more as we go. Hurry up and get dressed, we need to leave as soon as we can.”

Rye and Tyria both grabbed their clothing and began buttoning up. Rye raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think anything would get through to Keron. What made him change his mind?”

Meri shrugged, still tense. “Who can say? I’m going to take you up the archipelago to Zendruga.”

Tyria and Rye shared an uncertain look. Rye slowly nodded to Meri, fluffing his robes to loosen them. “Just you?”

“Just me.” Meri tapped impatiently on the wicker basket. “I’d take you to straight to Zyre, but I don’t know where it is, and you don’t have time to wander around the ocean for days looking for it.” Her eyes darted between the two of them. “You said yesterday morning that you’d be okay if you got to Port Zendruga, though, right?”

“Better than some island in the middle of nowhere, anyway,” said Rye. “I haven’t got any money, though, the pirates took everything I was carrying when I was captured. How about you, Tyria?” She shook her head. Rye put a hoof to his chin. “Right. We’ll have to think of something on the way. My ambassador’s robes might be enough to convince an Equestrian shipmaster to carry us…”

Meri disappeared underwater for a moment, before reappearing and hauling a heavy burlap sack onto the marble. Rye heard the unmistakable clinking of coins. Fascinated, he opened the sack, and his jaw dropped. Inside were hundreds of gold pieces, with dozens of different designs on their faces.

“Where—” he blinked, dumbfounded. “Where on earth did you get this?”

“Seaponies don’t use money,” said Meri, shrugging. “With so few of us, we just share what’s needed. But lots of us collect shiny things from old shipwrecks. I asked around town for contributions, since I figured you’d need money to hire a ship to get back home.”

Tyria’s eyes bulged as she inspected the gold. “Meri, we could buy a ship with this.”

Meri smiled a little bashfully. “Consider it our city’s thank-you gift. What you gave us is more valuable than a few bits of metal.” She cast another anxious glance over her shoulder. “Look, we really do need to hurry.”

Rye suddenly realized why Meri was acting so strangely. He tightened the money bag’s drawstring and paused. “Meri… will Keron be angry that you’re helping us?”

She bit her lip and went silent. After a few moments, her eyes narrowed. “You know, I don’t think I give a damn if he is.” She looked up at the two of them with fierce determination in her eyes. “This is my choice. A favor for a favor.”

Tyria had not missed the subtext. She hung the large pouch of money around her neck by the drawstring, frowning pensively. It had to be heavy, but her head remained unbent. She rubbed her chin. “Are you going to be able to get us all the way to Zendruga by yourself?”

“I got you both here from the Lodestone, remember? And I won’t be alone.” Meri jerked her head to the right, and Rye noticed a gray fin poke out of the water. “One of you can ride Vina. She can handle the weight of a smaller pony.” She looked expectantly at Rye.

No one will ever believe me, he thought dryly. “So I’m riding a shark to Zendruga. Does she have a… saddle, or something?”

“No. Lemon sharks have plenty of room in front of their fin for a pony your size to sit. Just hang on and keep your hooves off of her gills. Oh, and try not to squeeze too hard. She nips if you do that.”

At least Tyria can tell people I died getting eaten by a shark. How many Equestrians go out that way? Rye gave a shaky sigh. “Okay, let’s do this. Before I think better of it.” He slid into the water, wincing at the cold. Grimacing, he pulled his airstar out of his robes and attached it to his face.

He dove as Tyria followed him into the water. Meri submerged with her wicker basket, gesturing to Rye. He accepted it and slung it over his back like some kind of reverse-saddlebag. Tyria threw her legs around Meri’s neck, the whole setup made more awkward than ever by the bag of money.

Mounting a shark proved easier than Rye had feared. Vina remained calm under his touch as he settled into position on her back. Her skin was surprisingly smooth. Trying not to think about what would happen if the shark decided he looked tasty, Rye held on as tightly as he dared. Once Meri was satisfied that her charges were both secure, she took off toward the exit. Vina followed, sliding through the water like an arrow.

They emerged from the building into the night-covered reef. It was hard to see in the faint moonlight that filtered down through the water, but even the dimmest light seemed like a torch compared to the total darkness of the Black. The small party set off into the watery night, leaving the city of the seaponies behind. Rye tightened his grip on Vina’s sides and bent his head against the rush of water. At least they were moving again.

29. Hot Springs

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Rye’s head jerked up, his eyes blinking in the fresh air. That was a close one, he thought. Can’t nod off on top of a shark.

Meri and Vina were keeping close to the surface, skimming it from below. It wasn’t slowing them down much, and it gave Rye and Tyria the chance to breathe real, fresh air instead of sucking it from those vile airstars, which were now stowed in one of his innumerable pockets. It made keeping hold of his mount easier as well, something he was even more grateful for than the air. If he fell off of Vina, Rye still wasn’t entirely convinced she wouldn’t turn around and eat him.

He yawned, splashing some of the rushing water into his face. Even the looming threat of death by shark couldn’t alleviate the boredom of sea travel. They’d left the reef and the islands it surrounded behind hours ago. They would encounter it again, Rye was sure, once they neared the next bend of the archipelago, but to save time they were cutting northwest across a stretch of open ocean.

Shivering as the wind blew against his wet robes, Rye looked ahead to see how Tyria was doing. She was still clinging to Meri’s back, rocking up and down with the seapony’s undulating tail. Tyria’s gaze was turned eastward, squinting in the morning sunlight. Rye couldn’t see any of the archipelago’s islands on the horizon, but perhaps an artist’s keen eye could pick one of them out.

Or maybe she was simply as bored as he was. Rye scratched an ear, yawning again.

The only sign of hours passing was the slow ascent of the sun. It was beating down on them from high above when Tyria perked up, shaking Meri. “Land!” she yelled back to Rye.

Rye peered ahead through the hot, bright light. He could see it: a miniscule brown dot on the horizon that was growing rapidly larger. In front of him, Meri pulled her head out of the water and craned it over her back. “We’ll stop here for a few minutes to eat,” she called over the rushing water.

They reached the tiny spit of land only a few minutes after spotting it. It was a disappointing mound of sand, barely large enough to qualify as an island. A trio of rather pathetic palm trees was the island’s only occupant.

Vina and Meri circled the island once before moving in to let Tyria and Rye off. The ground felt strange under his hooves, a once-familiar sensation that he’d been deprived of for days. The ponies sat down in the inadequate shade of the palms, aching from the long journey. Rye rolled his right shoulder to get the stiffness out, wondering how exhausted Meri had to be by now.

The seapony lay on the shore, her tail still drooped into the water and her head propped up on one hoof. She rolled the cylindrical basket of seaweed toward them. “I’ll take a piece, if you don’t mind.”

While Rye hung his robes up on the shortest tree to air out a bit, Tyria passed around blades of seaweed for each of them to munch on. Food in hoof, they all sat in a small circle at the sandy edge of the island.

Rye took a bite of the unappetizing, salty plant, trying not to grimace. “Do you need to rest, Meri?” he asked. “You haven’t slept since the night before last.”

Meri swallowed a bite of seaweed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hoof. Rye couldn’t help but notice the deep shadows underneath them. “No,” she said wearily. “I’ve gone longer than this without sleep before. I can make it to Riverfall Island before nightfall. I’ll sleep there.”

“If you’re sure.” Rye took another bite of seaweed, frowning with concern.

Tyria gave a hacking cough. “Riverfall Island?”

“I don’t know if surfacers have another name for it,” said Meri, rolling onto her back and stretching her hooves. “It’s bigger than this. It has a little river that runs over a cliff on the edge of a small bay. It’s fresh water, which is why we’re headed there.”

Rye ran a hoof across his salty, cracked lips. “Good. I haven’t had a drink in…” He stared down glumly at his seaweed. “Well, too long.”

Tyria nodded silent agreement. She cracked her neck. “Do you think Keron is following us?”

Meri let her hooves fall to the sand, spread-eagled. “I doubt it. My father will push to send a group to help us—he wanted to go with you to Zyre in the first place. But Keron’s in charge, and father will do as he says.” Her voice turned sour. “After that cowardly little display in the meeting hall, I don’t think my uncle is willing to send anyone out of the city.”

“And anyway,” said Rye, shoving his half-eaten seaweed strand back into the basket. “If they did go looking for us, they’d head east to Zyre, not northwest to Zendruga.”

“What about the Phoenix Current?” asked Tyria. She noticed Rye’s puzzled expression and said, “Oh, right, you didn’t see all those regional maps on the Nightingale. It’s that current Keron mentioned blocking our path to Zyre. Quite big, and it follows the entire archipelago.”

“We’ll be going around it completely,” said Meri. “Another current going the opposite way on the other side of the islands can carry you from Zendruga all the way to Zyre in half the time, if you’re a fast swimmer. We’d be taking it right now if we didn’t have to stop for water and sleep.”

They finished their meal as they sat in tired silence. Rye watched Vina’s dorsal fin slice through the water, circling the island as she waited for her master’s call to resume their travels. As the wind ruffled his hair, his thoughts began turning back to issues he hadn’t had a chance to think about since the shipwreck.

“What’s on your mind?” asked Tyria.

“Hm?”

“You always get that suffused look when you’re thinking about politics,” she said, smiling crookedly. “A bit for your thoughts?”

“Breyr,” he answered distantly.

“Oh.” Tyria’s smile vanished. “Thinking about what happened on the island?” she asked quietly.

“No.” Rye frowned. “About this plan of his to take Zyre. It doesn’t make sense.”

“He’s completely insane. Or have you forgotten that giggling laugh of his already?”

“Insane, maybe, but stupid?” Rye looked up at a wispy cloud, flicking his ears. “He has, what, a few hundred zebras at his command? Fifteen ships, maybe twenty?”

“One less now, though,” said Tyria with a tired grin.

Her weak attempt at humor managed to draw a faint smile from him. “Even if he had three times that many, Zyre’s defended by dozens and dozens of naval vessels, staffed by thousands of well-trained zebras. He just doesn’t have the numbers.”

“Ever heard that the simplest solution is usually the correct one? I still think he’s just crazy.”

He shook his head. “If it was anyone else, I’d believe it. But Breyr’s a shifty little snake. He’s got something up his sleeve, I’m sure of it, or he wouldn’t even be attempting this.”

“What trick could he have to even those odds? Even gallons of Elyrium aren’t going to make much of a difference against zebras.”

Rye steepled his hooves in contemplation. “No, but if he had help from someone…”

“Who would be stupid enough to make an enemy of Zyre?”

“If they thought they could get away with it? The better question is who wouldn’t want Zyre to be their puppet state.”

Tyria chuckled. “Marquis Zahira has made that many friends across the world, has she?”

“Aye, she’s a difficult mare, but that’s irrelevant, really. It’s the sugar monopoly that is downright irresistible.” Rye scratched a mark in the sand. “There’s the Antellucíans, who would love to have the funding for another war with the Elktic Commonwealth. Those two nations have been butting horns over those islands in the northern Ceracen for decades.”

He grimaced and scratched another line. “The Saddle Arabians recently entered a new textile boom, big enough for some of the royal economists back in Canterlot to take notice. If they took over the Golden Isles, they’d own the entire global trade system south of the equator. That’s a pretty hefty prize.” He scratched a third line. “Then there’s the Gryphans. The war was only a few years ago. King Aelianus only agreed to peace because his entire army was lost in Canterlot and the westlands. Their navy is small, but mostly intact. If they could capture the sugar trade and start channeling that money back into their military, they might be able to regain their old status as a major world power, something they’ve wanted for centuries.”

A fourth line joined the others. “The last culprit I can think of would be the Dromedarians. That’s an unstable situation already. They have a gilded upper crust of elites with an increasingly rowdy and unhappy peasant underclass. I was there a few months ago, and there were riots going on outside the royal palace before the Pharaoh ordered the guards to break them up. A good war is an effective way to distract an unhappy populace, provided you win. But they could just as easily collapse inward to revolution.” Rye shrugged. “It could be any of them, or hell, even all of them.”

“What about us?” asked Tyria, idly chewing the last bit of her seaweed. “Princess Celestia could certainly use more money for the war reconstruction efforts. That new palace couldn’t have been cheap.”

Rye choked, spluttering. “Sisters, I hope not. I wouldn’t put it past, say, Emmet Blueblood, but the princess wouldn’t approve of that sort of underhanded military action.”

“Well, she did send you here to talk our navy’s way into Zyran waters.”

“I—yes, well… hmm…” Rye sank into the sand, disquieted. “I grant you it’s not impossible. And the Marquis will certainly be thinking along those lines if we don’t get back in time to explain the situation.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But my money’s on someone else.”

Meri, who had been quietly listening with interest, shook her head. “You surfacers have the queerest customs. Why can’t you all just get along?”

“Well, if we did that, I’d be out of a job,” said Rye, with a small chuckle. “Really, Meri, I don’t think we’re that different. It’s just a matter of scale. If Keron ruled ten thousand sea ponies he’d have the same problems we do.”

“My uncle doesn’t rule anyone,” said Meri, rolling upright and folding her legs beneath her chin. “We listen to him because we respect him and he’s been around for a long time. He doesn’t have a crown or any of that nonsense you surfacers love so much.”

“Interesting.” Rye raised an eyebrow. “What if someone else wanted to be in charge?”

“Well, if they were convincing enough, the rest of us might decide to follow them instead.” Meri glanced down at the sand, uncomfortable. “I don’t think it would get violent, though.”

“And how convincing can you be?” asked Rye, mildly.

“What?” Meri blinked, shocked. “I’ve never wanted that. Keron does a good job.”

“Does he?” Rye dusted sand from his hooves. Tyria gave him a confused look. He could almost hear her asking What are you up to?

“Meri, the world is filling up fast. There aren’t many blank spots left on the maps. Your people are going to be dealing with surfacers like us more and more in the coming years. It might not be a bad idea to be led by someone willing to work with them and promote your peoples’ interests, rather than hide from the world in that reef.”

“I…” Meri looked quite distraught at the thought. “I mean, Keron isn’t… He’s still my uncle.”

“Just something to think about.” Rye stood, shaking out his legs. “I think it’s time we got moving again. If you’re sure you don’t want that nap.”

Meri slowly pushed herself back into the water. “No, I’m good to go. Let me get Vina back here.” She vanished into the sea.

Tyria frowned. “What was that all about?”

“Planting a seed,” said Rye blandly. “Never hurts to cultivate useful diplomatic contacts.”

“It sounded more like you were suggesting a coup,” she said disapprovingly.

“Not a coup.” Rye pulled down his robes and began to slip into them. “A vote! She was describing a republic. It’s this quaint little political system the Antellucíans cooked up. They’re very proud of it. ‘Rule by the people’, their ambassador loves saying.”

Most Equestrians, having lived under a single ruler for thousands of years, found that concept a little baffling, and Tyria was no exception. “If everyone’s in charge, how do they get anything done?”

Rye shrugged cheerfully. “Not a clue. It’s mad, if you ask me.” He clasped his robes together. “At any rate, the seaponies’ government—or lack thereof—sounds similar enough, the way Meri describes them. They choose their leader. And frankly, I think Meri would make a better one than Keron would.”

Tyria smiled with bemusement. “I could listen to you talk politics for hours.”

“It’s fun!” Rye grinned. “I wouldn’t do this for a living if it weren’t.”

“Still, are you sure it’s wise to—”

They were interrupted by Meri’s return. The seapony’s head popped up from the waves off the shore of the tiny island. “Vina’s ready to go. You’d better hold on tight, Rye; she was snacking on a school of fish while we took lunch, so she’s full of energy.”

“Oh, good,” said Rye, paling. “Wouldn’t want her feeling peckish.” He heard Tyria snicker behind him.

The three of them all swam out into the water. Rye was getting the hang of it, though his splashing strokes were still ungainly compared to Tyria’s skilled precision. Meri brought over Vina, who Rye mounted with great trepidation. A few minutes to situate themselves and they were off again.

As the minutes passed, Rye’s thoughts flitted from one thing to another. He mused on nebulous possibilities regarding Breyr, wondered how Wheatie was making out without him back in Zyre, groaned internally at the massive report he was going to have to write if he made it out of this mess alive…

He smiled as he watched Tyria idly trail a hoof behind her in the water, glancing after the wake. After weeks of rough travel and hard living, she was still beautiful, but she’d acquired a sharp edge of competence and confidence that had been missing when they’d first met. She turned her head and met his gaze with a wink. Rye gave her a dreamy wave, his political ruminations forgotten.

I wonder if I’ll find anything to cook on this Riverfall Island. He wanted to make her something nice after all this running around and fighting. Maybe some wildflowers, or a nice soup of some sort. At the thought of food, his stomach gurgled, and his lips twisted dryly. He wasn’t going to be recommending seaweed as an ingredient to his father anytime soon. Rye stretched his forelegs and settled more comfortably onto Vina’s back, letting his thoughts get lost in Tyria’s mahogany mane.

* * *

It was late in the evening when they reached the island. The sun had nearly gone down past the horizon, staining the sky red and purple. Rye was sore and tired, and extremely ready for that promised drink of water.

The island was an elongated crescent almost a mile long. Like many of the islands in the archipelago, it was an atoll that had grown up around a long-dormant underwater volcano. The fertile soil had created a verdant explosion of trees and ferns that covered the entire island, hiding the depths from view at sea level.

The beach Meri had chosen for them was a small semicircle of sand and rock, opening out onto the western horizon. A rocky outcropping a few meters high protruded from the jungle, stretching out over the left side of the small bay, and a sprinkling waterfall trailed gracefully over the tip into the water below.

Rye watched it as they approached, licking his lips. A pair of bright red macaws flew overhead, squawking, which jolted Tyria awake. Ahead on Meri’s back, she lifted her head, shaking it. “We there?” she mumbled.

“Yes,” said Meri, her head barely above the water. “Riverfall Island. Time to…” She gave an extremely long yawn. “To rest.”

Vina refused to enter the shallow bay, so Rye slid off her side into the water. The shark swam off, to his relief. With his loud, splashy paddling, Rye followed Meri and Tyria into the breakers to reach the shore.

The two surface ponies found their hooves unsteadily in the shallows. Meri yawned again. “You can sleep on the island. I’ll stay here in the bay.”

Rye couldn’t resist asking. “How do seaponies sleep without drowning, anyway?”

“We breathe slowly,” she said, her eyelids drooping.

Tyria coughed politely. “We’ll leave you to it, then. Good night, Meri.”

Taking the hint, Rye nodded, and the two surfacers plodded out of the shallows to dry land.

“Poor girl,” said Tyria, as they heard a loud snore come from behind them. “She looks exhausted.”

“She’s been carrying a full-grown pony and twenty pounds of coins on her back for a day and a half,” said Rye, halfway between sympathetic and impressed. “Why don’t I take that bag tomorrow? Surely Vina can handle a heavier load than just me.”

“Be my guest,” said Tyria, untying the drawstring from around her neck and tossing it to Rye.

He caught it with his right foreleg. “Oof.” He hefted it over his back like a saddle. “Gods, how did you carry this thing around your neck all day?”

“The bag traps some air. It’s not as heavy as it looks once it’s in the water.”

They followed the beach underneath the rocky cliff to stand in the miniature waterfall. It was more of a spray than a stream, but it was still fresh water. Both ponies stood under the water, mouths open, wetting their parched lips.

“It’s warm,” said Tyria, surprised.

“Mm,” said Rye, letting the water spray on his face. “She didn’t say they were hot springs.”

“I wonder how far up into the island this little brook goes.”

Rye rubbed his hooves. “Sounds like an adventure.”

“Not much of an adventure,” said Tyria with a laugh. “If we walk six hundred meters that way we’ll hit the other shore.”

“I find that the best adventures are quality over quantity,” said Rye, trotting along the rocky outcropping toward the jungle. “You coming?”

“Of course,” she said, matching his pace. “Who knows, maybe we’ll find some real food in here.”

Stepping over rocks and pushing through the thick ferns, they made their way deeper into the jungle, following the sound of running water. Rye took a deep breath and sighed happily. “Oh, it’s good to smell fresh air again.”

“And feel the sun,” said Tyria, brushing aside a thick palm frond. “You hear that?”

“Mhm.” There was the distinct sound of a burbling little waterfall ahead. Rye was the first to break through the foliage to find the source.

They stood before a little pool of bubbling water, fed by a short sheet of water rolling down from an overhead rocky protrusion. The stream they’d been following was an offshoot from the pool’s spillover, running down along the shallow riverbed toward the beach.

“Looks deep enough to sit down in,” said Tyria, already unbuttoning her battered uniform. “Praise the Sisters, I think we’re about to have a bath.”

Rye began disrobing. He strung his garments up on a supple palm branch. Behind, he heard an “Ahhhhh,” as Tyria sank into the pool.

Turning to join her, he felt his face heat. He was suddenly aware that he had only seen her without that khaki shirt on once or twice. Sitting in that little pool bathing, she looked decidedly sensual. His cheeks were definitely red, now. Looking for a distraction, he cast his gaze upward at the canopy of palms. “Aha!”

“Hm?” Tyria looked up, scrubbing her forelegs to rinse off the sea salt.

He pointed up. “Coconuts!” Rye turned backwards and began kicking his legs against the palm in question. A trio of the hard fruits tumbled down. They were about the size of apples, perfect for drinking out of.

Rye carried the coconuts over to the pool and slid down into the water beside her. It was shockingly hot, and incredibly soothing. A little groan escaped his lips as he sank deeper, feeling the sweat and seawater wash away. He spread his wings, letting the feathers soak.

“Here, I’ll take one.” Tyria grabbed a coconut and swiftly bashed it against the edge of the pool, cracking the hard shell. She held it up to her mouth with both hooves, taking a long drink. “Mmm,” she said, smacking her lips and setting it down beside the pool. “That’s just as good as the ones they sell back in the market.” The water rippled as she cozied up beside him.

Rye cracked his own coconut open and took a sip. “My mother loves coconuts. I confess I’ve never been quite as taken with them as she is.” Still, the liquid tasted heavenly on his parched tongue. He put a foreleg around Tyria’s shoulders, leaning his head back. “See, this is what I had in mind when I took an assignment to the tropics.”

They sat for a while, nursing their coconuts and watching the sunset through the trees. Tyria glanced up at Rye’s drying robes. “It’s funny. When you take that goofy outfit off, you seem… smaller, somehow.”

“Was that a height crack?” he asked dryly.

“Oh, no!” Tyria stifled a laugh with her hoof. “Sorry, not what I meant. It’s just… that eye-searing yellow makes you seem a little larger than life, that’s all.”

“Maybe that’s why they’re so bright,” mused Rye, draining the last drops from his coconut and letting it fall to the ground beside the pool.

“Or maybe the royal tailor is color-blind,” muttered Tyria, snickering.

Rye grinned. “You missed your calling as a fashion critic, I think.”

“Hrm,” she said, noncommittally. “I’m not sure what my calling is.”

Settling back against the edge of the pool, Rye twisted toward her. “Well, what would you like to be?” He draped his free hoof down into the water to hold her.

“A novel question,” she said, nuzzling her head against his chest. “I’ve always been told what I was going to be.”

“What if you weren’t?”

Tyria pursed her lips, thinking. “I… truly don’t know.”

Rye poked her flank. “There’s a paintbrush on there for a reason. Why not do art professionally?”

She hummed. “Zanaya’s been saying the same thing for years. I’m not sure either of you realize how difficult it is to make a career out of that.” Her back straightened and she lifted her head to watch the sunset. “I love painting, more than anything I’ve ever done, but…” Her lips turned up in a melancholy smile. “My father might have pushed me into the academy for his own reasons, but he wasn’t wrong about it being a steadier job.”

“I’m sure you could find work. Canterlot’s got a huge demand for skilled artisans right now,” he said, brushing her mane. “I know for a fact that Celestia wants the ceilings painted in the new castle. Huge murals of the war between the dragons and the gods. The dome in the throne room is going to have a celestial map of the whole sky as seen from her tower.”

Tyria shook her head, smiling. “Even if Celestia was willing to take a chance on an unproven artist like myself—and honestly, I don’t think she should—that’s just one contract. A big one, sure, but once it was over, I’d have to take on lots of smaller contracts. Illustrating book reproductions, making up posters for public events, that sort of thing. It’s not regular, reliable work.”

Rye’s shoulders fell a little. Clearly she’d given this more thought than he had. “Still… isn’t that better than being miserable at the embassy?”

“Well, yes, but it’s not the only other thing I could do.” Tyria tilted her head. “Painting is a passion for me, yes, but I think I’ll enjoy it more if I’m not depending on it for my next meal.”

“Well, you wouldn’t—” Rye clapped his mouth shut. Too early to talk about that, I think.

“Wouldn’t…?”

He shifted sheepishly, rocking the water. “I mean… if you had a partner helping out with finances…”

Tyria’s eyes widened. She whispered a startled oh and—to Rye’s great relief—she smiled. “That sounds awfully serious, Rye. Been thinking about the future?”

“A-a little,” he stammered, wanting to change the subject. “S-so, if not painting, what would you like to do?”

“Well,” she said, sitting up in the bath with a sudden excited light in her eye, “this whole experience has reminded me how much I love ships. Dad used to take my siblings and I out on Lake Alazure all the time as foals. I used to think those fond memories were because Dad was spending so much time with us, but these last few weeks… working on the Nightingale, even under such duress, it’s made me realize how much I enjoy sailing. There’s just something… alive about feeling the wind in your mane, and the smell of the ocean spray.”

“So, you’re thinking of staying in the navy?” asked Rye, a little anxiously.

“No.” Tyria swiped a hoof in denial, accidentally slapping the water and splashing them both.

Bursting into a laugh, Rye splashed her back. The conversation was momentarily forgotten as they engaged in aquatic combat.

Tyria surrendered first. “Truce, truce! We’re spilling all the water,” she said, laughing.

Rye held up his hooves, his face full of innocence. “You started it,” he said, shrugging.

“Yes, yes.” Tyria flopped back into the water, cuddled up against him. “What was I saying?”

“The navy.”

“Right. The navy. My required service period is over in…” She blinked. “Goodness, not much longer, come to think of it. Once I can, though, I’m going to honorably resign my commission and get out.”

“I think you’ll be happier,” said Rye, giving her a squeeze.

“It’s a good life for some, but it’s just not for me.” She stretched her back. “I was thinking of looking at some commercial ships. Maybe an Equestrian merchant, one that will pass through Zyre often enough for me to see Zanaya and some other friends in the city.”

“Oh,” said Rye, feeling a little downcast.

“Something wrong?”

“It’s just…” he braced himself. “If you join a merchant crew, you’ll be at sea all the time. I’ll never get to see you.”

Reaching a hoof up, she nudged his chin. “Sorry. Just spitballing ideas.”

“Well, don’t stop at that one,” he said.

“I might see what old Batty is up to. Maybe he needs an apprentice.” Tyria draped her hooves around Rye’s neck, leaning over on him. “I’m not going to think too hard about it until we see if we live through the month.”

“Fair enough,” said Rye, giving her a kiss. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. Even if it means leaving me behind.” He gave her a small smile. “It’s been so much fun watching you find yourself, I don’t want you to stop on my account.”

“Oh, Rye…” she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the side of his horn. “That means more to me than you can know.” She leaned in and kissed him back.

Her hoof slid down into the water. Rye felt it travel down his chest—he jerked upright. “Ah, Tyria, that’s…”

“Shh.” Tyria smiled slyly. “You realize this is the first moment we’ve had alone in days?”

Trying to relax, Rye slid back down into the water. “I had noticed, actually.”

“Well, that explains those rosy cheeks.” She kissed him again. “You know, you never did tell me about that dream.”

Rye exhaled. “This is better, anyway.” He pulled her closer, breathing in the ocean scent still lingering in her mane. With her free hoof, Tyria pulled his down into the water.

She felt remarkably soft. Rye closed his eyes and let his other senses take over. Tyria let out a little gasp. “Rye.”

“Tell me if I’m doing this right,” he whispered.

“Mmm…” she closed her eyes, biting her lip. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” She rolled over, pressing her chest against his. “Let’s make up for lost time.”

It was awkward at first, given his inexperience, but after a few moments of clumsy fumbling they managed to make it work. By the time the sunlight finally vanished beyond the horizon, both of them were flushed, giggling, and enjoying themselves greatly.

A few pleasure-soaked minutes later, they disentangled from each other. While Rye regained his breath, Tyria cracked open the third coconut. “Want any?”

“Sure.” Rye took a drink from the broken shell. “That was… well, I can see why it’s so popular.” He was grinning like an idiot. “But you haven’t—I mean, sorry, it was kind of qui—”

“Hey, relax.” Tyria took a drink from the coconut. “You’re new at this. Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of time. I’ll show you a few tricks.” She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him over on top of her.

After a lengthier and far more satisfying—for both parties—interlude, they lounged beside each other in the hot spring. The moon had risen high above, nearly full, shining brightly enough to light up the entire island.

Tyria gave a catlike purr. “Zanaya was right. Just what I needed. I feel much better.”

“You know,” mused Rye, sipping from the coconut. “The height difference doesn’t matter as much as I thought it would.”

“Not at all,” she agreed.

She leaned into him, and Rye wrapped his leg and wing around her, pulling her close. He blinked sleepily. “Ought to make you breakfast t’morrow… but haven’t got a frying pan…” His eyes slid shut.

Tyria rested her head on his. “Goodnight, love.”

“L’ve you,” he managed, giving her a little rub with his hoof.

That night, his dreams were entirely free of monsters.

30. Recent Acquaintances

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Humming tunelessly, Rye stuck his head back under the miniature cascade of warm springwater. The morning sunlight was bright and hot, but the ocean was near enough to carry the jungle humidity away on the breeze. The briny scent of the seawater wafted past him, melding with the lingering scent of Tyria’s mane.

Rye stepped out from under the waterfall, pulling his sodden mane out of his eyes. Tyria, lounging at the edge of the pool, was still breathing heavily from the way they’d started off the day.

“I think I forgot to say good morning,” said Rye, yawning. He rubbed his aching jaw, hiding a sly grin. Apparently, painting wasn’t the only thing that could put that blissful look on Tyria’s face.

Her head lolling, Tyria blew out a breath. “Not what I expected when you mentioned breakfast last night…” She stretched her hooves over her head. “You think Meri’s awake, yet?”

“Probably.” I don’t think anypony could have slept through all that racket, thought Rye privately, clearing his throat. “I suppose we ought to be moving on.”

“Mm,” Tyria sighed in assent, closing her eyes. “I wish we could stay longer.”

The water sloshed as Rye stepped out of the pool. He strode over to the tree where his robes hung, cleaned and dried overnight. Sitting beside the tree, he felt the water evaporating off of his skin in the comfortably hot tropical air. “So do I.”

“Just give me a minute, before we go,” said Tyria, lazily holding up a hoof. “I want to remember this moment.”

Rye nodded, smiling faintly. He looked up at the jungle canopy, surrounding the little clearing with the hot spring. Birds of paradise trilled in the distance, their songs weaving through the ceaseless background noise of chirping insects and gently breaking waves in the distance. Rye inhaled, filling his lungs with the musky jungle air and faint hints of seawater and sweat. If only they could remain here, on this peaceful little island, together without anything to distract them…

His robes fluttered in a sudden breeze, brushing his cheek. Rye sighed, closing his eyes and letting the fantasy fade. Duty calls, Ambassador.

With a regretful slowness, he pulled the robes down from their perch and began sliding them on. A faint noise in the distance drew his attention, and he perked up his ears. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Rye’s eyes widened. “Voices.”

Tyria jerked upright, jostling the water. “Pirates?”

“I can’t tell.” Rye craned his neck, listening intently. The speakers were male; beyond that, they were too muffled to tell. “Hide, quick.”

They gathered their belongings, sparing bare moments to dress, before concealing themselves together behind one of the ferns surrounding the clearing. They could still see the pool through gaps in the fronds.

The two waited as quietly as they could manage, pressed together with bated breath. Possible identities of the newcomers flashed through Rye’s mind. Breyr’s gang? Smugglers? Zyran Navy sailors? Local fisherzebras?

The foliage on the far side of the clearing parted at last, revealing the bodies attached to the voices, and Rye blinked in surprise. Antelopes?

“Call me crazy if you want, Guillam, but I’m telling you I heard something up here.” The shorter of the two stepped into the clearing, looking nervously around.

The other antelope rolled his eyes, following. “All right, you’re crazy. This island’s tiny; we’d have run into any nasty critters days ago.” Both antelopes had wooden bars balanced over their backs, with a pair of buckets hanging off of the ends. They approached the waterfall over the spring, and the taller antelope—Guillam, apparently—steadied one of the buckets under it with a cloven hoof.

The first antelope shook his head. “It sounded like some poor doe was getting eaten alive by a panther. Let’s just get the water and get back to camp before whatever it was gets us, too.”

Rye choked back a snort. Close, but it wasn’t a panther… Tyria elbowed him to be quiet with a foreleg, her cheeks scarlet.

After filling both of his buckets, Guillam stepped back to let his companion forward to repeat the process. He yawned, looking idly around the clearing. His head paused as he spotted the remnants of their impromptu campsite, and he leaned forward. “Hey, Miguel, maybe you’re right. Something cracked open those coconuts.” He pointed at the empty husks beside the pool.

Miguel paled. “Do you think it’s still around?”

“Maybe it’s a chupacoco, eh?” Guillam snickered. “Try not to wet yourself, Miguel.”

The shorter antelope scowled and resumed filling his buckets. “If it attacks us, I’m leaving you behind.”

Guillam, still laughing, began walking back toward the jungle. “Come on, then. The captain’s cousin is due back today from Zendruga; if we get down there in time we might get first pick of the supplies. I hope he brings more of those pears.”

Miguel finished with the waterfall and turned around, carefully balancing his buckets. He spared one last, anxious glance around the clearing, and then followed Guillam into the trees.

Rye exhaled. “They have to be part of Tenerico’s crew.”

“Who?” asked Tyria. She lifted her head to check that the antelopes were still heading out of earshot.

“The captain of that ship Zevan raided, before we went through the storm. They must have managed to limp to this island afterward. I can only assume they knew about the springs beforehand. Fresh water on the open ocean is pretty rare, after all—a good place to stay while they repair the ship.”

Tyria shrugged, stepping out of the fern and stretching. “Well, we’re on our way out anyway. We can slip away before they even know we’re here.”

Rye rubbed his chin with a hoof. “Hmm…”

“Rye.” Tyria gave him an exceedingly dry look. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

I haven’t even said anything yet. She was getting far too good at reading him. “I just want to talk to them. His cousin is the captain of that Antellucían interceptor that chased us all over the ocean. A ship that fast could get us to Zyre in a day and a half. We wouldn’t even have to go to Zendruga.”

Tyria frowned grudgingly. “All right, but let’s be careful.”

“Naturally.” Rye hefted the bag of money. “Why don’t you hold on to this? Go back down to Meri, and have her swim around to the other side of the island. That has to be where they’re camped out, or we’d have noticed them yesterday. If things go badly, I can head into the water and we’ll be back on our way to Zendruga.”

She took the bag hesitantly, tying it around her neck and stuffing it down the front of her shirt with a smattering of clinking noises. “They might not be happy to see the pony who robbed them less than a week ago.”

“I didn’t have wings back then, remember? And the spots washed off when the Nightingale sank. They’ll never recognize me.”

“Hrm.” Tyria sighed, shaking her head in resignation. “Well, good luck. Make a flag out of your robes and wave it around if you need rescuing.”

Rye coughed. “Ahem. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

On that dubious note, they split. Tyria headed back to the western shore, while Rye set off into the eastern jungle.

Given the small size of the island, it was not long before he broke out of the trees and found himself on a wide, outward-curving beach. His eye was immediately drawn to the great bulk of the familiar Cevanah, now resting in the shallows just off the shoreline.

Two of her masts were still missing, but the rest of the ship had been greatly cleaned up since his last encounter. Many of the holes in the hull were patched with beige palm wood, sticking out like paint against the rest of the dark, mahogany color of the original hull. Antelopes hung from harnesses along the sides of the ship, hammering away at new boards. Rye wondered how long it would take them to repair the rest of the battered vessel.

Farther down the beach was a gathering of crude shelters. Little more than sticks and palm fronds woven together, the structures were organized in a loose circle around what was likely a campfire. Rye followed the sandy hoofprints of Miguel and Guillam toward the encampment.

It appeared that most of the crew was working on the ship itself, as fewer than a dozen were left hovering around the makeshift buildings. Those present were filling a barrel with the springwater, likely preparing to take it out to the ship. So preoccupied were they with their task that they did not notice his approach. Rye paused at the perimeter of the camp, and cleared his throat.

All heads jerked up, and one of the antelopes—Miguel—screamed, “Pirates!”

Rye held up a supplicating hoof. “I’m not a pirate.”

The antelopes formed into an unsteady semicircle around him, all looking uncertainly between their crewmates and the newcomer. Without any sort of clothing or identifying markings, they all looked rather alike to Rye’s Equestrian eye, but he did not recognize any of them as Captain Tenerico.

“Look,” he said, “I don’t have much time. My name is Rye Strudel, Royal Ambassador of Equestria. Can you take me to Tenerico? He and I need to discuss some things.”

“How do you know the captain?” asked a hard-faced doe, who Rye vaguely remembered from the pirate raid. The first mate, he suspected, judging from the protective way she blocked the Cevanah from him with her body.

“We’re recent acquaintances.” Just how recent, it would be wiser not to let on. “I’m sorry for the brusque request, but this is a matter of international security. I must speak with Captain Tenerico immediately.”

“Not so fast,” said Guillam, his brows furrowed. “Where’d you come from? How long have you been on this island? What’s an ambassador doing all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“I was shipwrecked on my way to Zyre,” said Rye, keeping his voice neutral. It was entirely true, after all. “W—I was rescued by seaponies. They brought me here just yesterday.”

“Seaponies.” The doe scoffed. “You expect us to believe that?”

“You don’t have to believe anything.” Rye tapped a hoof impatiently. “Let Tenerico decide.”

“Hmm.” The doe gave him another evaluating look. “Well,” she muttered to herself, “I doubt you could do much harm…”

With a chipper smile, Rye nodded. “Shall we, then?”

Once they had tightly secured the lid of the barrel of springwater, the antelopes allowed him to board the rowboat that would take it up to the ship. Accompanied by two antelope guards and the doe, who grudgingly introduced herself as Mariana, he was rowed over to the side of the Cevanah and towed up.

The two guards brought him up to the very back of the ship behind the wheel, where the railings had yet to be repaired from the storm damage. He stood patiently while Mariana left to bring the captain up from the lower decks.

While he waited, Rye watched the ocean. About a hundred meters off-shore, he spotted a yellow-gray fin weaving through the waves, and felt a little relieved that support was nearby, should he need it.

His attention was drawn back to the ship as two antelopes trudged up the stairs to the navigation deck. The antelope captain was instantly recognizable, a stern look on his face. Mariana followed Tenerico, taking up a guard position behind him. The other two antelopes remained at Rye’s sides, rigid and wary.

“Greetings, Ambassador,” said Tenerico, sounding more skeptical than rude. “The robes do look authentic, I admit. What on earth are you doing out here?”

“I was shipwrecked—”

“Yes, yes, so Mariana tells me. Rescued by seaponies, hmm?” The captain lifted a disbelieving eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware there were any in the area.”

“They’re very good at hiding,” said Rye, repressing a faint smile. A little too good, in fact. “At any rate, the shipwreck was an unfortunate delay. I must reach Zyre as quickly as possible, or we could have a serious political catastrophe on our hooves.”

“You may already,” said Tenerico mildly, “judging from the notice that went out a few days past. Marquis Zahira has banned all Equestrian and Dromedarian ships from Zyran waters.”

Rye’s mouth hung open. “What?” Just what in the hell had been going on in the city during his absence? “When did you hear this?”

“My cousin Aerinel has been running food supplies to us from Zendruga while we make repairs—we were attacked by pirates about a week ago, you see.” Tenerico huffed in anger. “He brings news with the food. On his last trip, he told us that Zyre’s been completely locked down. Zahira has issued a territory-wide recall of all naval vessels to the city.”

Peering at Rye, the captain frowned. “Mariana tells me you and I have met. I’m afraid I don’t recall when…”

Lying wouldn’t serve him here, the captain was no fool. Time to try redirecting. “Your cousin has a working ship, then? Could he get me to Zyre? There’s still time to stop this from escalating into all-out war.”

“I’m not sure there is,” said Tenerico, still studying Rye’s face. Rye could almost feel the captain mentally painting his face with brown spots. You’re just being paranoid, he reassured himself. The antelope’s eyes glanced down at his wings and his brow crinkled in puzzlement. “You do look familiar…”

“Why do you think there’s no chance?” asked Rye, nervously fidgeting with the clasp of his robes. Clearly the embassy staff had not been idle, for better or worse. Was this all because of his kidnapping?

“Well, with Ambassador Milliden arrested—”

“What?”

Tenerico cleared his throat, annoyed at the interruption. “Yes, he’s been charged with espionage, bribery, and conspiracy to overthrow the legitimate government of Zyre. Quite a list, really.” He made a pointed gesture at Rye’s robes. “And now we have another Equestrian ambassador trying to get into the city.” His face hardened. “One who has some ties to the pirates, I think.”

“Ties to—” Rye was dangerously off-balance, now. The news about Milliden had completely thrown him. “I don’t have ties to the pirates!”

“Things are so unstable right now, with all these fleets converging on the city, I’m almost glad my crew and I are safely sidelined through the crisis. In fact, I can’t help but wonder if I’d be doing the Marquis a service keeping you safe for her as well,” said Tenerico, his voice dangerously smooth.

“Converging fleets…? What fleets?” Rye glanced over his shoulder at the water below the ship. This conversation was not under control, but he needed information.

“Last reports—hearsay, really, so who can tell how accurate they are—have a Dromedarian fleet standing by the Isle of Teeth, about fifty ships strong. An exaggerated rumor, I’m sure, but… Oh, and there’s an Equestrian one to match, circling up north off the tip of the Zerubian archipelago.”

Rye stared at the wood beneath his hooves, mind whirling. Dromedarians, eh? One mystery solved. But why an Eques—

Milliden. Rye nodded to himself, picturing the situation from Princess Celestia’s perspective. One of her ambassadors had disappeared shortly after arriving, along with a member of the military; now a second ambassador had been arrested for capital crimes. No doubt the embassy was completely locked down as well. It wasn’t a declaration of war, but it was a dangerously close precursor.

Could Milliden be guilty? Judging from how little Tyria liked the stallion, it was possible, Rye supposed. Still, how on earth could things have gotten bad enough to the point where Zahira would throw good political sense to the wind and outright arrest him? I’m going to have to have a very long talk with Staff-Sergeant Specklestraw when I return.

Captain Tenerico’s face had gone very cold. “Yes, Ambassador, I think you ought to stay here for a while. Until we repair our ship and can take you back to Zahira ourselves, at the very least.”

“I can’t.” Rye shook his head distractedly. “Especially if things are as bad as you say. I need to—”

“It wasn’t a request,” said the captain, jerking his head. The antelope guards calmly but solidly placed hooves on Rye’s shoulders. Rye looked up, finally jolted out of his thoughts.

“Captain, wait. You’re making a vital mistake—”

“Enough.” Tenerico scowled. “I admit, it took me a while to recognize you without the spots, Apricot. A good disguise, for a pirate. But that voice of yours is quite distinctive.”

Rye’s stomach sank. “I’m not a pirate,” he repeated faintly.

“Strangely enough, I believe you,” said Tenerico, tilting his head. “You certainly talk like an ambassador. But considering what your Zyran equivalent has been accused of, that doesn’t mean you aren’t up to your neck in collusion with the pirates. Especially since you were on their ship.” He nodded to his crew. “Take him to the brig. Gently, if you will. After all,” he said, his voice suddenly lightening, “there’s no reason we can’t be polite.”

Ach. I guess he didn’t take kindly to that exchange, thought Rye, cursing his past self’s flippancy during the raid.

He didn’t have time to waste breaking out of an antelope cell. And besides, Tyria would never let him live it down. It was time to leave.

The guards began to pull him toward the steps. “Hold on,” said Rye, shaking free of their grip. Before they could grab him more firmly, he thrust a hoof into his robes. “Here, look at this.”

The antelopes all tensed at the sudden movement, but before they could react, Rye whipped his hoof back out, flinging the airstar hidden inside his robes out at Tenerico. The creature flew through the air and hit the captain with a smack, instantly latching on to his face. Tenerico gave a muffled scream and toppled, clawing at the little beast.

The guards were shocked stiff, giving Rye the precious moments he needed to slip through their line and dive over the damaged railing.

He splashed into the water below, immediately grateful that he’d given the bag of money to Tyria, lest it drag him under. Coming up for air, he spat salty water out of his mouth. Above, shouts and cries were going up from the antelopes. One wasted no time, diving off after him. Rye immediately began to paddle, making for the open ocean.

Though Rye had made a great deal of progress under Tyria’s tutelage, the seasoned antelope sailor was a far better swimmer. Only a few moments after he’d begun, Rye felt a hoof wrap itself in the back of his robes.

Turning around, he found Mariana, her horns glowing angrily. “What did you do to the captain?” she demanded.

“Nothing permanent,” gasped Rye, treading water as best he could. “Rub the back of the creature and it’ll pop right off, no harm done. Now, if you don’t mind, I really must be going—”

“I don’t think so,” she growled, yanking him closer to her. Rye kicked water, trying to stay afloat. “You’re coming with me, pega… pega…” Her eyes widened.

“What, haven’t you seen a pegacorn before?” asked Rye, before following her gaze over his shoulder.

A vertical fin was slicing through the water, heading straight for them. Mariana paled. She released Rye, and began swimming back for the shoreline. Noticing his failure to follow, she yelled, “Swim, you idiot! That’s a shark!”

“That’s my ride!” he corrected, turning and paddling toward it.

“Are you mad?” she called, but Rye merely grinned.

“Tell the captain I’m sorry for the trouble,” he called back. “If he stops by the Equestrian embassy in a few weeks, I’ll buy him a drink.”

Vina appeared beside him, giving his hoof a nuzzle. “Hello, girl,” he said fondly. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad to see you.” He slid onto her back with now-practiced ease, and the shark immediately set off away from the beach.

Meri surfaced beside him, Tyria clinging to her back. “Are you all right?” asked the seapony.

“I’m fine,” said Rye. “But I lost my airstar. We’d better stay on the surface.”

Meri nodded. “Can do.”

Tyria, removing her own airstar, offered him the bag of money. As he took it, she raised an eyebrow. “I take it they weren’t happy to see you after all.”

“No, but we’ve got bigger problems.” As he looped the bag’s string around his neck and Meri took off with Vina close behind, he filled Tyria in on what he’d learned as they departed from the island.

“Milliden? Arrested for treason?” said Tyria, hushed. “I’ve never been fond of him, but I can’t believe it.”

“Not quite treason… He’s not Zyran, after all.” Rye chewed his lip. “Although if he’s helped the pirates hit our ships, then, well…” He shook his head. “We won’t know for sure until we reach the city.”

“And the Dromedarians are Viridian’s mystery backer.” Tyria rolled a lock of her mane around a hoof. “Well, you were right on the money with that one.”

“Equally as much as if it had been anyone else, mind you,” said Rye dryly, still thinking. “But something still smells fishy.”

“Ah, you get used to it, though.” Tyria inhaled the ocean air deeply, smiling.

Rye snickered despite himself. “Cute.”

“I try.”

“It’s Breyr,” he said, smile fading. “The Dromedarians want a puppet on the Zyran… well, not throne, exactly, but—”

Tyria nodded wryly. “Mhm?”

“Breyr would work with anyone to grab power, yet… it’s the power itself that he wants, and he won’t get that as a Dromedarian toady. Not in a real sense, anyway. He wants to be the king, not a servant.”

Shrugging, Tyria let her mane drop. “Maybe he’s changed. A little power is better than none, right?”

“A zebra doesn’t change her stripes.” Rye frowned thoughtfully. “What was it you said yesterday? About Zahira?”

“Something about her not being friendly with her neighbors. Why, you think there’s some interested party in addition to the Dromedarians?”

Rye toyed with the hem of his robe. “Not another nation… I need one more puzzle piece to crack this thing. If only we had Captain Zevan around; I’d love to ask him a few questions.”

“I wonder if the rest of the Nightingale crew survived?” Tyria looked thoughtfully at the horizon behind them, beyond which the island had already disappeared. “I hope so. I was actually starting to like some of them.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Settling into a more comfortable position on Vina’s back, Rye let his hooves dangle in the water. The mention of the pirate crew made his branding scar itch. Treachery… a serpent might shed its scales, but it’s still a snake. It just gets bigger.

And hungrier.

31. The Port of Zendruga

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Tyria was woken by a spray of water in her face. Far to the west, the horizon had taken its first bite from the setting sun. Ahead of them, she could see a landmass larger than any they’d yet been to in the archipelago.

“Nearly there?” she mumbled.

Meri lifted her head and briefly slowed her swimming pace. “Yes. Zendruga is on the northern side of that island. We should reach it by nightfall.”

To their right, Rye shifted on Vina’s back. “Perhaps we should make our landing away from the port. With things so unstable, I’d rather not draw attention to our entrance if we can avoid it.”

“Right,” said Tyria. “If Zendruga is anything like Zyre, then it’ll have a wall between the town perimeter and the jungle. We can head in through a gate and enter the town from the back.”

“As you wish,” said Meri. “Hold tight, we’re going to speed up.”

They cut through the water with surpassing swiftness. Despite the rapid pace, they did not reach the island before the sun had completely vanished beyond the horizon. The fading light made it difficult to find their way through the shallows, splashing through the water up to the beach.

Meri followed them up, lying on her stomach in the sand, tail curled out of the water. “Will you two be all right on your own from here on out?”

“Yes,” said Tyria, extending a hoof. “Thank you again, Meri. For everything.”

“From both of us,” added Rye, his neck bowed under the weight of the coin sack.

Meri shook Tyria’s hoof with a tired smile. “You deserved it. A favor for a favor.”

“You’ve done more than just a favor,” said Tyria, pulling her mane back.

“As did you,” Meri countered. “If you were strong enough to go into the Black and save my people, how could I fail to aid you in turn?”

Meri was braver than she let on. Maybe Rye was right about her. She’s certainly got more verve than Keron does. “What will you do when you go back?”

“I suppose that depends on uncle Keron,” said Meri, her face clouding with thought. “I’ll try to make him see reason. And if I can’t…”

Rye blinked, remaining silent in what Tyria had grown to recognize as careful, diplomatic blankness. Apparently he’d decided to let his seed sprout without any more interference.

Meri sighed. “If I can’t, then it might be time for us to choose a new leader.”

Tyria gave her a single nod. “We’ll need all the help we can get in Zyre after this mess. If you get things sorted out in Phoenixia, and we don’t all end up dead by the end of the week… I’d like to see you again.”

The seapony’s face perked up. “I’d like that, too.” She pushed off from the shore, into the breakers. “But if that’s going to happen, I need to get moving.”

Rye bowed. “May the sun guard your days, and the moon guide your steps at night. Farewell, Meri of Phoenixia.”

Meri bowed her head hesitantly in return. “And swift currents to you, surfacers. If you ever find yourselves in need of aid, call upon us and we will answer.” She blew out a breath, readying herself for the next leg of her long journey. “Good luck, to both of you.”

“To you as well,” said Tyria, waving goodbye. Meri returned the wave, and dove into the water, vanishing with a few splashes into the dark waves.

The two ponies stood quietly for a moment. Tyria gave a melancholy sigh. “Seaponies. I still can’t quite believe it. So graceful…”

Rye shifted the money pouch with a clink. “She’ll do well. She’s got what it takes to drag the seaponies into the future. I think they’ll be stronger for it.”

Tyria smiled. “You do seem to fill ponies with drive, Rye.”

“I don’t create it,” said Rye, sounding almost bashful. “I just find what’s there already.”

“I know,” she said, clapping his shoulder with a hoof. “But sometimes we all need a little push.” She tilted her head toward the jungle. “Now come on, we’re burning moonlight. Let’s get to the port.”

They followed the shoreline, not heading directly into the jungle. It was not long before the dim shapes of buildings emerged in the distance, peeking out around the treeline. There were no lights that Tyria could see, rather unusual for such a busy port.

The short walk came to an end as they reached a two-meter high palisade. Tyria looked up at it, putting a hoof to her chin. “Hmm. Let’s head down the wall and find the gate.”

“What if they don’t let us in?”

“I’m sure you can talk us through,” she said lightly. “Give that jaw a workout.”

“It’s a bit tired after this morning,” he said mischievously, trotting off ahead of her.

Tyria grinned, following. It was going to be more difficult to embarrass him now that her innuendos had become reality. She’d just have to try harder.

The gate was given away by the hinges visible in the palisade. The two stopped before it, squinting in the moonlight. Tyria raised a hoof and knocked.

They waited for a few seconds, expecting a watchzebra to hail them, but no voice answered the knock. Frowning, Tyria tapped the door harder, and it drifted ajar. She stared at the gap between gate and wall.

“That’s… not a good sign,” said Rye.

“No, it’s not.” Tyria pushed the gate lightly, and it slid quietly open. “Stick close to me.” They entered the city, newly cautious.

Up close, the city was just as dark as it had been from the beach. No oil lamps stood in windows, no street lanterns flickered in the night. A door slammed shut as they passed, startling both ponies, but no further surprises followed.

Tyria could faintly hear the rumble of distant revelry. It sounded like it was coming from deeper in the port, blocked by rows and rows of buildings. She swallowed nervously. Best to avoid that, I think…

The docks were directly north, Meri had said. Hopefully they’d find a captain in the port who was willing to leave tonight. Tyria had the sinking feeling that whatever was wrong in this city was related to that distant ruckus, and if they weren’t careful it would swallow them both up. The noise was not between them and the piers, thankfully.

Their hoofsteps echoed eerily on the cobblestones of the empty streets. Tyria’s eyes flicked back and forth between the darkened alleyways, alert for any movement. This ghost town was enough to drive anyone paranoid, let alone a semi-professional bodyguard.

At last, they exited the street to see a bay spread out before them. It was not as large as Zyre’s docks, nor so full, but there were still plenty of ships present; at least forty by Tyria’s quick count.

“So, see any that look fast?” asked Rye.

“Hard to tell in the dark, but…” Tyria favored one of the vessels with an evaluating eye. “That one looks good. Three masts, square rig, a classic little clipper. Ought to get us to Zyre in two days or less, if the winds are fair. I can’t quite make out the name on the side… Looks like… Adder’s Bite?”

“Well, let’s get up there and ask the capta… the cap…” Rye’s voice trailed off.

“Hmm?”

Rye pointed wordlessly up. Tyria followed his hoof up to the top of the mast and sucked in a breath. Though drooping in the lack of a breeze, the ship’s colors were clearly green, even in the dim moonlight. The faint outline of a serpent reared on the flag’s folds. “They’re here? How?”

“This must be their last stop before they head for Zyre…” Rye swallowed. “I guess we know why no one is outside tonight.”

Tyria’s eyes swept the ships, seeing the same flag hanging from dozens of masts. Over half the ships in the port belonged to the Pit Vipers. “Nothing’s on fire, at least. Maybe the pirates are just drinking the city dry and flirting with the barmaids.” Tyria cringed. “Although things can get ugly when sailors get drunk.”

“We should tread carefully, of course,” said Rye, “but I think we might still have a shot at finding a ship. I’m sure every captain stuck in the port is dying to get out. The trick is finding them.”

“They’d have left already if they could. I’m sure the pirates are holding them here while they relieve them of their goods. The Vipers must have the bay blocked off. Or guarded, at the very least.” Tyria eyed the nearest pirate ship. A swaying lantern on the deck revealed one zebra, apparently passed out against the mast. “But if their security is as lax as it was back on the island, we could pull this off.”

“Well, then,” said Rye with false cheer, “If your ship was impounded, and you’d been robbed blind, what would you do first?”

Tyria groaned. “Get a drink?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Care to bet what direction the taverns are in?”

Buried in the noise from deeper in the city, they could hear voices singing a shanty.

“No bet.” Tyria stamped a hoof. “Hell. So much for avoiding the pirates.”

Rye unclasped his robes. “Too bad I haven’t got that disguise anymore…” He folded the distinctive, canary-yellow cloth carefully, setting the garment on a nearby barrel. “We’ll come back for that once we’ve got a captain.”

“I’m not sure losing the robe will be enough. The wings and horn stand out, especially among zebras.” Tyria swallowed as her eyes fell on his shoulder, and the white skull branded there. “And then there’s that.”

He paused. They were both quiet for a moment. “Tyria, it’s—”

“I know. I know you’re going to tell me not to feel guilty, but I do.” She took a shuddering breath. “When I did that, I… it felt like something died inside me.” She shook her head. “I know that’s ridiculous, but… every time I see that mark…”

Rye met her eyes, a curious look on his face. “Maybe it was for the best.”

“What?”

“Think about it. Would the Ensign Metrel I met on that Zyran pier a month ago have snuck out of a pirate camp, faced down the pirates’ leader, and piloted a ship through the Serpent’s Maw?” Rye rubbed the mark. “If part of you died on that island, then it was holding you back anyway.”

Tyria blinked, considering this perspective. “I…”

Rye reached up and began mussing his mane. “Anyway, don’t worry about the horn,” he said, mercifully changing the subject. “I used to do this all the time when I was younger. If my mane’s long enough, then…” he pulled his hooves away, and Tyria was surprised to see that his horn was completely hidden in the brown bird’s nest of his hair. “There we go.”

“Why’d you do it when you were younger?”

He gave a regretful half-laugh. “I wasn’t very confident back then. I figured if I could pretend not to be a pegacorn, then ponies would respect me.” Rye shrugged, smiling. “Better to earn the respect in spite of the horn, though, eh?”

“Hm.” Tyria breathed deeply, bracing herself. “Okay. If we’re going to do this, let’s get it done quickly.”

They set off into the city, heading toward the general hubbub in the area of the taverns. Soon, they saw the first street occupants that they’d spotted thus far in the city, a pair of zebras with green neckerchiefs staggering drunkenly down the road. Tyria and Rye passed them warily, but the pirates were too far gone to notice them.

Lanterns broke the darkness at last as they turned a corner. Orange light from street lamps mingled with interior illumination spilling from the windows of a number of bars that lined the street. Open windows carried the sounds of singing, breaking glass, and laughter out into the air. The noise was loud enough that they had to raise their voices to talk to each other.

“Which one first?” asked Tyria.

“They all look the same to me,” said Rye, shrugging. “I supposed we should start with the nearest one. There, what’s it called, Rommelen’s Pub.”

The tavern was on the right side of the street. The sign hanging above the door had the place’s name in thick, bold paint, with a pictogram of a cheerful griffon holding a mug of beer. Suddenly, the door slammed open, sending the sign swinging wildly, and the volume of the revelry within rose dramatically.

Out stormed a gray pony with a curly black mane and alarmingly blue eyes, his face contorted in fury. Rye and Tyria both froze like deer at the sight of Viridian. Fortunately, they were hidden from sight in a slice of shadow cast by the tavern.

“Out of the street,” hissed Rye, and they both dove for the alleyway between them and the bar.

Oh, gods, thought Tyria, peering around the corner to stare, wide-eyed, at Viridian. That was far too close.

The nordpony had not seen them, apparently distracted. It quickly became apparent by what as a pair of zebras followed him out into the street. Tyria felt her stomach take up vicinity somewhere above her heart as she recognized Zevan and his first mate Zab.

Zevan’s face was purple with rage. “Don’t ye walk away from me, ye two-faced, lying snake. We had a deal.”

Viridian lifted his head, closed his eyes, and took a dangerously silky breath. “I agreed to replace your ship should it be lost in enemy action, Captain Zevan.” He opened his eyes, the cold anger behind them funneled down the street. Tyria pulled back slightly, afraid that those violently azure irises would pierce the dark and spot her.

The chief pirate exhaled slowly. “I did not promise to replace one lost due to your own arrogance and stupidity.”

“It weren’t arrogance, ye fool, it were survival.” Zevan had his hoof mace equipped, and it made a loud metallic clank as he stamped it on the cobblestones. “If we hadn’t sailed through that storm, the antelopes would’ve killed us all. And then where would ye be? Still out yer cargo, with a whole crew lost to boot.” He growled. “And the only reason we were in that situation was yer damn insistence that we take the Metrel girl aboard.”

“I needed her to root out Strudel,” said Viridian, his jaw twitching. He was still looking down the street, his back turned to the captain.

“And now they’re both feeding the sharks at the bottom o’ the sea. Masterful plan, Cap’n,” said Zevan, his anger bleeding through the sarcasm.

“AYE,” roared Viridian, whirling around. Zevan and Zab recoiled instinctively. “Dead, out of my reach, all because you were too stupid to keep an eye on her. You shouldn’t have bothered building that raft and sailing back to the island, Zevan. If you’d gone and followed Strudel down to the depths, at least you could have died with dignity.” He spat at Zevan’s hooves. “It’s not too late, Captain. Go back in that bar and drown yourself in a horn of ale.”

Zevan huffed and puffed. “If ye think me or me crew’ll stand fer this—”

“I pay your crew. They’ll stand for whatever I fucking command them to.” Viridian spun around again, storming away from the zebras towards Tyria and Rye’s alleyway. “I’ll hear no more of your begging. Don’t speak to me again until we set sail tomorrow morning, or I swear I’ll pull that tongue out of your mouth with hot tongs.”

Tyria held her breath as Viridian approached them, but he passed without even slowing.

Zevan gave an angry, wordless shout at the sky, before heading back into the bar and slamming the door behind him so hard it bounced back open. Zab, with a dark look, followed him inside.

After a minute had passed, Tyria let herself breathe again. “Well, I see Zevan survived…”

“Most spectacularly,” said Rye, in a conspiratorial tone that filled Tyria with apprehension. “And he seems quite upset with Breyr…”

“Rye, no,” she said. “This isn’t like the antelopes. If you’re thinking of suborning Zevan, think again.”

“Why not? This is a golden opportunity.” Rye rubbed his hooves. He adjusted the coin pouch around his neck. “For more than one reason.”

“But if you’re wrong, we die,” she said, quietly. “There have to be at least sixty pirates in that building. We’re not making a daring escape if Zevan calls them down on us.”

Rye grimaced. “Yes. You’re right.” He sighed. “It’s your call, Tyria. We can go in there and take our chances with Zevan, or check one of the other bars for a non-pirate captain and try sneaking out tonight.” He swallowed. “But whatever we do, we do it tonight. You heard Breyr, they’re leaving tomorrow morning. If we hope to beat them to Zyre, it has to be now.”

Tyria looked at the white skull on his shoulder. Caution, or boldness? When does boldness become stupidity? She looked into his eyes. He hadn’t let her down so far. “Just tell me, Rye, can you talk your way through this one? Truly?”

He nodded slowly, more to himself than to her. “Yes.” His eyes narrowed and he gave a catlike smile. “I’ve got leverage.”

“Then we’ll do it your way.” She jerked her head to the right. “But I suggest we go in through the back.”

As she’d hoped, there was a door on the other side of the building. An unconscious zebra cradling a bottle of rum was the only guard.

They pushed inside, finding themselves in the back of a huge room. The bar’s second floor was only half as wide as the first, giving plenty of room for a high ceiling and a swinging chandelier above the main barroom. Dozens of zebras sat at the tables, playing cards and getting uproariously drunk. A brawl had broken out between a pair of pirates in the far corner, and their companions were shoving furniture aside to make room. One was calling out for bets.

The bar itself was full, stretching across the whole left side of the room, with zebras in varying states of inebriation occupying every seat. A griffon, likely the Rommelen whom the pub was named for, was racing back and forth with bottles to refill his customers’—assuming they were bothering to pay—mugs. He looked angry and fearful, but not outright terrified. Tyria hoped that meant that the pirates had merely been rowdy, and not killed anyone yet.

A quick scan of the room was enough to tell that Zevan was not there. He must be on the upper floor, accessible by a set of stairs on the wall opposite the bar. Rye and Tyria threaded their way through the zebras, alert for any who might recognize them. None of the zebras looked at them twice, though Tyria got a couple of whistles as she passed. Drunk idiots, she thought, annoyed.

As they walked past a table with several barely-upright zebras, Tyria spotted a knife stuck in the wood. Smoothly swooping down and grabbing the hilt in her mouth, she yanked it up and took it with her. The zebra who owned the knife briefly raised his head and mumbled in protest, before his head thudded back to the table.

They ascended the stairs to the more sparsely-populated top floor. There were several private booths by the windows, separated from the open tables by thick red curtains. Some were lit from within by oil lamps.

“He’s got to be in one of those,” said Tyria around her knife.

The nearest booth was occupied by at least one mare and a stallion who were both having a very good time by the sounds of things, and the next one was empty, but the third had two shadows behind the curtain.

“Ready?” whispered Tyria.

A voice from the booth said, “Three in a row, high-hoof.” Zevan’s voice grumbled in response.

Rye nodded to Tyria, and threw open the curtain.

The seats of the booth were a circle that went around the round table, and the zebras were seated toward the far side. Zevan himself was in the leftmost seat, with a very large mug of rum. Cards and a few coins were scattered over the table, but the dour looks on both zebras’ faces suggested that the game was doing a poor job of distracting them.

Rye slid into the seat on the right, dropping the bag of money on the table with a loud clank that made the wood shake. “Deal us in,” he said.

“Who the devil—” began Zevan, before Tyria slid up beside him and held the knife to his throat. The zebras stiffened.

“Not the devil,” said Rye, pulling the deck of cards toward himself and idly beginning to shuffle it. “Just a ghost.”

“You...” Zevan’s eyes bulged. He started to lunge forward, but the blade of Tyria’s knife dug into his neck right over the jugular.

“Nnh-nnh,” she growled. “Sit.”

Zevan relented, easing back into the seat as he glanced between the two ponies without turning his head. “Ye’re both mad, coming here. Viridian’ll be happy to see ye, boy…”

“Not as happy as I am to see you, Zevan.” Rye shuffled the cards again, and finally looked up to meet the captain’s eyes. “But I didn’t crawl out of a watery grave to exchange pleasantries.”

Zab, rigid with tension but restrained by the knife to his captain’s throat, leaned forward as much as he dared. “How did you survive?” he asked, genuine amazement creeping into his voice. “The Nightingale fell to pieces.”

“Seaponies,” said Tyria calmly. Zab tilted his head, eyebrow raised.

Zevan snorted. “What do ye want, unipeg?”

A cross look flittered across Rye’s face. “I told you, the proper term is pega—“

Zevan laughed. Rye paused, before grinning faintly. “Ah, Captain, you’re too subtle to be a pirate.” He set the deck of cards down. “As for what I want, let’s start with information. What’s Breyr’s plan for Zyre?”

The zebra lifted an eyebrow. “Who?”

“I thought you’d been with him long enough to know his real name.” Rye shrugged. “Viridian, then.”

“Why should I tell ye anything?”

Rye put the tip of his hoof on a card and began flicking it in a circle with his other hoof. “We know most of the plan already. You’re going to attack the island, and then the Dromedarians show up to help you hold the city…”

“Dromedarians?” Zevan couldn’t hide his surprise. “How’d ye learn about them?”

“A little bird told me.” Rye flicked the card again. “Come on, Captain, we haven’t got much time.”

“Ye might not have much time, but I do,” said Zevan, with a wide grin. “Ye’ve got us flat-hoofed here, but ye’re not making it out ‘o this building. Ye must realize that.”

“You really think he’ll give you a ship if you turn me in?” Rye slid the card toward Zevan. Tyria glanced down at it. A joker. “I believe this is your card, Captain.”

“Why wouldn’t he reward me? He jumps fer ye, pegacorn, like nothing else I’ve ever seen.”

“Suppose he does give you what you want. A new command, even asks you to sail with him to Zyre, ransack the city.” Rye looked Zevan in the eye. “You won’t live long enough to enjoy it.”

“That a threat, pegacorn?” Zevan sneered.

“No, just an observation.” Rye blinked calmly. “You’re the fall pony, Zevan.”

“What?”

“Oh, you’re perfect.” Rye nodded sagely. “A seasoned pirate, respected by the rest of the group, a long history behind you… easily identifiable by numerous merchants, I’m sure. In fact, I’ll bet he digs some up for your sham of a trial.”

“Trial?” Zevan’s brows furrowed in genuine confusion. “The hell are ye talking about, Strudel?”

“Well, when they execute ‘Viridian’, it’s got to look convincing.”

Zevan was silent, baffled disbelief on his face. He wasn’t feigning it, either, Tyria could feel his muscles go slack with puzzlement.

“He’ll need to pin the blame for the Pit Vipers and their attempted ransacking of the city on someone. You’re the ideal scapegoat, Zevan. Don’t you see it? He’s been grooming you for this. Fattening you for the slaughter.”

The captain scowled. “Why should I believe you?”

“Very well,” Rye said, “here’s what I think his plan is: Breyr’s going to attack the city with the pirates, burn some buildings, loot a few banks, all the things you and your fellows are good at. Breyr himself is going to hang back, waiting. Not showing himself yet, which is key. After all, no one knows what ‘Viridian’ looks like. While you’re busy pillaging and having a merry time, Breyr’s friends from Dromedaria will sail into the bay behind you and close it off. Then, they’ll land a few ships, come marching up behind your rabble, and attack.”

Zab scoffed, but the way he was leaning into the table belied his dismissal. “The camels are coming to help us, you idio—”

“Quiet,” said Zevan. His eyes were locked on Rye’s. “Keep talking, pegacorn.”

“Your crews will turn to the camels with open hooves and be greeted with long knives in return. You don’t really think Breyr expects a bunch of freebooters and outlaws to hold a city, do you? He needs professional military troops.” Rye cocked his head. “How many camel ships are you expecting?”

“Ten,” said Zevan quietly. That manic edge he’d shown when they first entered the booth had left him completely.

“Interesting.” Rye rubbed his chin. “That little bird I mentioned told me there were about six times that many ships. Put half of those down to exaggeration and we’ve still got a good thirty camel cruisers. They’re coming for a permanent occupation, and they don’t need your help.” He frowned. “Here’s the thing. It’s hard to occupy a city, especially one as independent and big as Zyre. It’s much easier to keep the population under control if they see their masters as protecting heroes. That’s how the entire feudal system works.”

“I suppose ye’d know all about that, Equestrian,” muttered Zevan. “Damn ponies, a hundred years behind the rest o’ the world…”

Tyria tried not to smile around her knife. Zanaya made the same complaint at least once a month. Apparently the captain had an egalitarian streak about him. Not surprising for a free-spirited pirate, she supposed.

“So, Zevan, how close am I?” Rye pursed his lips.

Zevan’s scowl deepened. “Closer than ye have a right to be.”

“Once he’s taken the island and been put in charge, he’s going to turn you over to the nobles as the infamous Viridian. You’ll be crucified.” Rye’s eyebrows lifted. “Maybe literally. He’s got a penchant for foreign torture methods.” He paused for a moment. “Tyria, would you kindly give our friend some breathing room?”

Tyria’s eyes narrowed, but she obliged the request and removed the knife from Zevan’s throat. Both zebras imperceptibly relaxed. Neither made to jump the ponies. Well, Rye, it’s working. Don’t stop now.

Stabbing the knife into the table, she sat back. “Where do the Zyrans fit in?” she asked.

“Eh?” said Zevan, turning his head.

“The navy. Surely they aren’t just going to sit back and let you raid the city. And if the camels were planning to fight through them, they wouldn’t need you at all.”

Rye steepled his hooves. “Yes, that is the trillion-florin question, isn’t it. How are you planning to remove the Zyran military, Zevan?”

The zebra captain was clearly weighing Rye’s words, deciding whether he believed any of the scenario the ambassador had painted.

Tyria stared past him out of the window. “Viridian owes you a ship, Captain,” she said mildly. “What do you owe him?”

Zevan eyed both of them in turn, his jaw slowly working. “Well…” his lips curled upward. “When ye put it like that… the plan be to set off a signal just before the attack. When green smoke rises off the mountain, every Viper planted on a Zyran vessel is to detonate a barrel or two o' hidden griffon blackpowder in the hold of the ship they be on. The whole navy, sunk in an instant.”

Intensity was etched into every muscle in Rye’s face. “Tell me how Breyr infiltrated the Zyran government.”

“Yer little bird tell ye that too?” Zevan snorted. “I suppose it be obvious, once ye know the rest.”

Tyria lifted her head in agreement. “You have been slipping through the bay guards too often for anything else.”

“It were money, ‘o course. Bribes and favors, to officers, nobles, all ye fancy types.” Zevan placed his hooves on the table, tapping one as he listed traitors. “A few ‘o the Marquis’ less happy supporters. Some merchant captains in the port. The most important were the navy recruiting office staff. They be how we put the old crews in place on all the Zyran ships.” Zevan smiled broadly. “And, ‘o course, yer Ambassador Milliden.”

Tyria blew out a breath. “So it’s true.” How could I not have seen it? I was with him almost every day. She stared at the joker beside Zevan’s hoof, grimacing. I suppose I was too busy drowning in misery to notice a bit of treason under my nose. Well, at least she’d get the pleasure of seeing him stand trial.

Rye shook his head, disgusted. “Do you know why Milliden joined Breyr?”

Zevan looked a bit disappointed at their lack of shock. “He were in debt. A fair bit ‘o it, by the sound ‘o things. Same story with the commissioner.”

At that, Tyria sat up. “What?”

“Aye, Commissioner Zireena ‘o the City Watch.”

Rye whistled. “That must’ve been quite the coup.”

Zevan nodded. “Aye, having her on our side be the best tool we’ve had. Early notice about raids, quick an’ easy trials with reduced charges fer any o’ our boys that got caught…”

Tyria hissed. “The previous commissioner died three years ago of a heart attack. Or so we were told.”

The captain shrugged. Rye chewed his lip, and said, “It wouldn’t be the first time Breyr’s poisoned someone to get ahead. He did the same thing to the old Thane of Hoofnjord.”

A chill traveled down Tyria’s spine. Does Zanaya know? Is she part of this? She trusted her closest friend, but if Milliden had been in league with the pirates without her knowledge, how sound was her own judgement? Have faith in her, even if you can’t trust yourself, she thought, swallowing.

“Well,” said Rye, nodding slowly, “that was the last piece of the puzzle I needed.”

“And here I thought ye knew the entire thing,” said Zevan, his voice thick with sarcasm.

Tyria tapped a hoof on the table. “I thought you said Breyr didn’t want to be under the camels’ hooves.”

Rye chuckled to himself. “Oh, he doesn’t. He’s going to stab them in the back.”

They all stared at him blankly. “Pardon?” said Tyria. “He needs them to take the city.”

“No, he needs them to light the city on fire, just like the pirates. And then get pushed out by the Zyrans themselves, led by a mysterious new military commander with bright blue eyes…”

Seeing their confused stares, Rye shook his head. “It’s a pattern with him. He did the same thing in Sleipnord four years ago. He creates a crisis, then inserts himself as a stabilizing presence, the only one with the chops to handle the dire situation. Disguised as a soldier, maybe, he'll grab command from the Zyrans in the confusion of the attack; by the time anyone figures out what happened, he'll already have control of the entire city.”

Zevan made an outraged noise from the back of his throat.

Rye just grinned. “Oh, yes. I’d bet my robes he’s planning to sneak in after the fighting is well under way and rally the Zyrans by pretending to be one of them. The uniforms aren’t hard to come by, if you’ve got the recruiters on your payroll, and at this point a good number of the sailors are already loyal ex-Vipers anyway. Why do you think he sent virtually all his experienced crew into Zyre, leaving the fresh recruits to do the pirating? And then there’s the fact that he's going to sink the ships, not kill the crews.”

He gave an admiring shake of his head. “They can even retrieve and repair any ships that go down inside the bay itself, the water's not that deep. The navy will be functional again in a month or two. He wants to own it all, not destroy it.”

Tyria blinked, taken aback. “You mean he’s going to betray everyone?”

“It’s kind of beautiful, if it works. He’ll force out the Dromedarians, then his allies in the oligarchy will declare him effective dictator of a military junta. He can lock the city down, citing martial law in a time of crisis. Zevan, you’ll get thrown in prison as ‘Viridian’, and never see a soul who’s not complicit in the coup until your hanging. Then Breyr and his coterie in the government can hunt down ‘pirate infiltrators’ and purge any resistance to the new regime.”

He gave a low whistle. “It’s a hell of a gamble, though. Anything with so many moving pieces could go wrong in a hundred different ways. If he can’t get the Zyrans on his side, he won’t make it past the harbor. Or the camels could turn on him before he does on them. But Breyr’s never been afraid of big bets when the stakes are this high.”

Zevan had gone slack-jawed. “Ye’re mad, Strudel. That be the most insane plan I’ve ever heard.”

Rye gave him a wry look. “Have you met Breyr?”

Tyria felt a bemused smile play on her lips. “Let’s hope you never decide to try taking over a country, love. I’m not sure we could stop you.”

“Ah, but you’d have nothing to worry about, my queen,” said Rye, his eyes twinkling.

Stifling a snort, Tyria twisted the knife into the table surface. “So, now what?”

“Now, we get to Zyre before the attack begins, and expose this entire plot to Zahira. We’ll stop a war between three nations and save the sugar trade in one move. But we need your help, Zevan.”

Zevan frowned. “If ye’re right about all this…”

“I am. Maybe not all the details, but the important parts.” Rye reached up to habitually fiddle with the clasp of his robe, pausing with brief surprise as his hoof hit his bare chest. “We need passage to Zyre, Captain.”

“And why would I do that?” Zevan sat back. “Sounds to me like me best bet is stealing a ship and heading as far away from Zyre as I can get.”

“Three reasons,” said Rye, placing his hooves out to the sides of the table. “One: Breyr wants you dead. I’m sure you can appreciate a good bowl of revenge served hot.”

“Hmm.” Zevan’s eyebrows jumped noncommittally.

“Two: I can get you amnesty.”

“Bollocks.” Zevan flicked the joker card back toward Rye.

“I can,” Rye insisted. He leaned on a hoof, lifting the other in placation. “Marquis Zahira will be extremely grateful to you for helping foil this plot to seize her realm. Especially if you can give her a list of the traitors in her inner circle.”

Zevan was hooked by the idea, even Tyria could see it. But he bared his teeth and said, “Zahira be fond of revenge too, ye know.”

“True enough.” Rye made a touché gesture with his hoof. “I’ll make you this guarantee, then. If Zahira doesn’t let you off, I’ll declare you a Royal Witness for Equestria. My diplomatic immunity will apply to you and your crew, as long as you cooperate with our government. The zebras can’t touch you.”

“They managed to touch yer ambassador, I hear,” said Zevan, arching his brow.

Rye shrugged. “Well, then, three: after you get us to Zyre then this,” he nudged the bag of gold on the table with a clink, “is yours. No questions asked. If you want to take a ship and sail off to the south pole instead of chancing Zahira’s mercy, be my guest.”

Zab coughed, trying and failing to keep the greed out of his eyes. The first mate prodded the bag. “Just how much is in there?”

Tyria reached out to the sack and upended it. Gold coins spilled out over the table, beyond a simple counting. The pirates’ eyes lit up. Zevan licked his lips, pulling one of the coins toward himself. “This be a Phoenixian ingot. A very old currency… Where did ye find it?”

“It was a reward,” said Tyria, eyeing the zebras, whose expressions had turned hungry. “For services rendered.”

“We be in need of a ship, methinks,” said Zevan, almost breathless.

Rye nodded. “There was one in the harbor. The Adder’s Bite.”

Zevan chuckled. Zab joined him, and soon both were laughing loudly, their shoulders shaking. Rye and Tyria shared a confused look.

“Ye realize, that be Viridian’s flagship,” said Zevan, wiping his eyes. “He likes his ships fast.”

“Should we choose another, then?” asked Tyria.

“Nay,” said Zevan, beginning to scoop the coins back into the bag. “Ye were right, pegacorn. I do like the taste ‘o revenge.”

32. Green on the Horizon

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Tyria was beginning to get a crick in her neck. She and Rye had been hiding behind some barrels back down at the harbor for close to an hour while they waited for their captain.

“Are they coming?” she asked. “Or did Zevan cut and run after all?”

Rye, who had donned his robes as soon as they’d returned from the tavern, shrugged. “We’d have seen him if he boarded any of these ships, so unless he had a boat hidden somewhere else on the island… Hang on, here we go.”

A group of seven zebras had appeared at last from the street at the opposite end of the harbor. One of them had a lantern, but as they approached the ponies’ hiding place, the light went out.

Tyria stood and stretched her legs. “Took you long enough,” she muttered.

“Apologies,” said Zevan, who was heading up the little band. “Took longer than I expected to find ‘em all. These be me most loyal crewmembers. Viridian’ll regret thinking he can buy ‘em.”

After all, thought Tyria dryly, our price was much better. Most of the pirates she recognized. There was Lem, the friendly zebra she’d gambled with during her stay on the Nightingale, and Zennan, the ship’s bosun. She glanced at the ships floating by the piers. “We’ve been thinking. Is Viridian going to be on the Adder’s Bite? If we could capture him…”

“Nay, not tonight.” Zevan motioned for the ponies to follow. Together with the pirates, they began walking along the street above the wooden docks below. “I don’t know if ye caught that argument earlier—”

“Oh, we did,” said Rye, visibly amused.

“Well, that got started because he were heading to inspect Cap’n Zillian’s ship.” Zevan growled. “The one he owed me as a replacement.”

“Can we hit it before we leave?” asked Rye with lingering hope. “We’d solve this entire mess instantly. Although the camels could still pose a problem…”

“The Adder be near undefended right now, but I cannae say the same fer the Bilgerat,” said Zevan.

Tyria’s mouth twisted. “What an awful name for a ship.”

“We’re pirates, not poets,” said Zevan, a little defensively. “Anyways, most ‘o Zillian’s crew still be on her, all cleaned up and sober fer inspection. We’ll not be taking her with so few.”

“Yes, I think we’ve taken enough risks tonight,” said Rye, sighing. “I’m not sure how much more pushing our luck can take.”

Oh, so now he thinks we should be cautious, thought Tyria, rolling her eyes. He was right, though; no matter how much it burned her to let Viridian slip through her hooves from so near a distance. Just think about the big picture, she reminded herself.

“All right, then, lads,” said Zevan, rolling his shoulder with a click from the mace on his hoof, “There she is.”

They all paused to look over the Adder’s Bite. The ship rocked slowly in the calm waters. Zab muttered something, moving his hoof. “Two guards on deck. One’s half-drunk, but the other looks alive. Probably three to five more belowdecks, asleep.”

Zevan grinned. “Let’s get to work. Quietly, now.”

They slipped down to the dock, exchanging no words. They all knew the plan, simple as it was. The zebras thudded up the boarding ramp as silently as speed would allow, while Rye and Tyria hung back by a pallet of barrels that was waiting to be loaded onto the ship. Together, they pulled the top barrel from the stack and began prying it open.

Tyria heard a few muffled thumps and squeaks from above. Soon, Zab and Lem appeared at the top of the ramp, carting a pair of limp pirates on their backs. They dumped the unconscious—Tyria hoped—bodies at the ponies’ hooves. Zab nodded silently, and the two stole back up onto the deck.

Finally getting the lid of the barrel off, they dumped out the contents—tea leaves, by the smell of it—into the water. Grunting, Rye helped Tyria lift the pirate. To her relief, she could feel the zebra’s chest rising and falling. They stuffed him upright into the barrel, making sure he could breathe, before setting it up farther toward the city end of the pier.

They repeated the process four more times as Zevan’s crew brought out more comatose zebras. “How long do we have until they find the bodies?” whispered Rye, as they wrestled with a particularly fat pirate.

“At least an hour, I expect,” said Tyria. “Oof,” she exclaimed, finally shoving the zebra’s midsection into the barrel. “Getting out of the bay unnoticed might be harder.”

“Are ye done down there?” Zevan’s head poked over the railing. “Quickly, Metrel, we need another pair ‘o hooves to help us get the mooring loose.”

“Got the last one on your own?” she asked Rye.

He nodded. “Go help them out.”

Tyria trotted up the ramp and met Zevan by the anchor winch. Zevan had a nervous energy in his movements. “So far, so good,” he said under his breath. “All three decks be clear. Once we get the anchor up and yer mate finishes hiding the crew, we can cast off.”

The two of them each took a bar on the winch and pushed. The chain ground upward, creaking as it slid from the water. Tyria couldn’t help but remember a week ago when Zevan had strung her up in a noose and lashed it to an anchor much like this one. Strange bedfellows, we are.

Rye came clambering up the ramp. “All done,” he said, with a subdued look around the harbor. “I think we’re still in the clear.” He began pulling the ramp up onto the deck.

Beneath Tyria’s hooves, the winch shuddered as the anchor at last came to rest at the end of the chain. Zevan locked it down while Tyria held it still. She glanced aft toward the helm, where a pair of Zevan’s zebras were oiling down the ship’s wheel.

“All right,” grunted Zevan, finishing with the winch lock. “Time fer us to leave.”

Tyria and Rye joined the rest of the crew belowdecks in the wide galley placed at the center of the ship. Long oars slid out, slipping silently into the water below. The ponies and zebras rowed as quietly as they could manage, slowly shifting the Adder’s Bite away from the dock.

“What about the harbor watchzebras?” asked Tyria, feeling sweat drip from her brow as she put her back into the oar. “I hope Zevan remembered to take care of them.”

“Aren’t any,” replied Zab, sitting just in front of her. “Viridian didn’t feel the need to post any guards for such a short stay.”

“Doesn’t mean the ones on the ships can’t catch us,” said Rye, struggling with the oar he and Tyria shared. “Shh.”

At a sharp whistle from Zevan up above at the helm, the port half of the galley reversed their rowing direction. The ship entered a lumbering turn, pointing her bow toward the open sea.

Tyria craned her head to peer out of the oar slat in the hull. She could see another ship only a dozen meters off their port, too close for comfort. As they passed it, she made out the name Bilgerat on the wood. Still pushing the oar, she held her breath.

Zevan whistled again, and they began rowing for the bay’s exit. Once they were out of Zendruga itself, they could safely unfurl the sails and let the wind take over on the path back to Zyre. Tyria’s muscles strained against the oar, listening to the calm sloshing of the water against the hull.

“Oi!” cried a distant voice. “Izzat the Adder? Where’s she going?”

Tyria and Rye locked eyes with each other, alarmed. “Pick up the pace,” she said, garnering a nod from the zebras. All of them rowed faster.

A long whistle that was not from Zevan rang out across the bay. Zab swore. “All right, lads, to hell with stealth. Let’s get out of here. Metrel, get up there with Lem and get the sails loose.”

Tyria left the oar to Rye, racing back to the stairs with her zebra compatriot in tow. She thundered up to the main deck, casting about for the correct line, which was tied on the starboard railing.

As she and Lem began loosening the lines to release the sails, she glanced over at the nearest ship. Its deck was lit by numerous lanterns, and a growing number of zebras were gathering at the stern to watch the Adder’s Bite drift away.

“Zevan!” came an enraged cry from the ship. The zebras shuffled aside to let through a gray, fuming pony. Even from this growing distance, Tyria could see the burning wrath on his face. “ZEVAN!”

“Ahaha!” Zevan, up at the ship’s wheel, made a rude gesture that was wasted in the darkness. “Should’ve given me that ship, Viridian!”

Viridian roared. “I’ll find you, Zevan. You can’t run from me forever.”

“Ye won’t have to look far,” called Zevan. “I’ll be waiting for ye in Zyre.”

Tyria slapped a hoof to her forehead, appalled. Dropping the line, she raced back aft up to the wheel.

“Have you lost your senses?” she hissed at the captain. “If he knows we’re heading to Zyre, then—” She looked out at Viridian, whose face was not yet so far away that she couldn’t see the sudden alarm in it.

“All hooves, full alert,” he called, turning abruptly around. “We need to leave, right now. Get ready to sail. I’ll get the rest of the boys.” He galloped down onto the pier and back into the city.

“Damn it, Zevan,” muttered Tyria. “So much for our head start.”

“Relax, girl,” said Zevan, as the mainsail came fluttering down in front of them. “He won’t get that drunken lot in sailing condition fer hours. And even if the Bilgerat come after us right now, it ain’t fast enough to catch us.”

“You weren’t the one who had to shove all those zebras in barrels for nothing,” she said, her back aching. “And we might have bought another day or two if he didn’t know where we were going.”

“Nay,” said Zevan, without a trace of humor. “He be too close to alter his plans now, even if his ship be stolen. He’d be on his way to Zyre anyway.”

“That wasn’t your call,” she snapped. “Next time, indulge yourself after we’ve gotten the job done.”

Zevan blinked, and smiled faintly. “Aye aye, Ma’am.”

“Bloody pirates,” Tyria muttered, walking back down to help Lem with the sails.

Once they had passed beyond the bay, the rest of the zebras came up from the galley to aid them. The rest of the sails descended in sheets of white, shining in the moonlight. The Adder’s Bite soared away, catching the wind and taking off into the current that would carry them around the last stretch of the archipelago toward Zyre.

Rye and Tyria rejoined Zevan at the ship’s stern, climbing up the stairs to the navigation deck that sat directly above the captain’s cabin. Zevan nodded to both of them as they arrived. “A clean getaway, eh?” he said.

“Hardly,” grunted Tyria, feeling mutinous, but Rye raised a calming hoof.

“We still need him to steer,” he reminded her. As he turned back to Zevan he adjusted his robes, jostling the money pouch inside them with a clink. “Well, Captain, how long before we reach the city?”

“Two or three days,” replied Zevan, calmly adjusting the wheel. “And I’d say we’ve a twelve-hour head start.”

Tyria nodded up at the mizzenmast, where the Viper flag lazily waved in the wind. “Milliden’s in jail and his signal’s gone with him, but if we go sailing into Zyre with those colors flying then the navy will be on us before we can blink.”

“I’ve got an idea about that,” said Rye, “Still, we’re going to run into the military inspection when we try entering the harbor. I should be able to get the captain to take us to the Marquis.”

“If they don’t throw ye in shackles,” said Zevan, nonchalantly. “I’ve half a mind to drop the two of ye off in a lifeboat and leave afore we reach the island.”

“Try it and I’m tossing the money overboard,” said Rye crossly.

Zevan grinned and shrugged, as if to say you can’t blame me for thinking it. He returned his hooves to the wheel. “Ye’d best get some sleep, both of ye. Metrel, I’ll need ye to take over the helm tomorrow while I rest.”

She blinked, surprised. “Not Zab?”

“I need him rested too. I’ve a feeling me crew and I may need to make a quick exit once we get to Zyre.”

“Well then,” said Rye, “we bid you goodnight. Oh, and one more thing—we’re taking the captain’s cabin. We’re certainly paying enough for it.”

Zevan’s mouth twisted unhappily. “Don’t be wrecking the bed, now. I plan on keeping this ship.”

Tyria hid a smile. “We’ll leave it in better shape than we find it. Ensign’s honor.”

“Hrmph.” The zebra gave them a curt nod.

As the two ponies descended from the quarterdeck, Rye suddenly laughed. Tyria tilted her head inquisitively.

“I just realized,” he said, “we’re real pirates now.”

“Huh?”

He gestured expansively at the Adder’s Bite. “We just hijacked a ship.”

“Ha!” Tyria paused by the railing as they left the stairs, looking up at the stars. “My father would be terribly disappointed.” Her mouth curled upward. “My brother, on the other hand, is going to be jealous.”

Rye rested his forelegs on the railing, placing his chin on his hooves. “Now we just need to get you an eyepatch and a hook.”

“The hooks aren’t really that practical for quadrupeds, you know. More of a griffon thing.”

“Mm,” he said, amusement fading. They were quiet for a while, listening to the creaking of the boat as it sliced through the water. At last, Rye sighed. “Tyria, it’s going to get crazy soon. Even more than it has been.”

She mock-frowned, giving him a playful punch on the shoulder. “This sounds like the start of an if-I-don’t-make-it speech. I hate those.”

“No, no, just…” Rye bit his lip, mulling something over. “There are things that I wanted to say before we head into what looks like a pretty nasty fight. Things I wanted to ask.”

Her heart caught in her chest. “What kinds of things?”

Rye swallowed. “If… well, if…” He fidgeted. “Oh, damn it, fine, this is one of those speeches. If one of us ends up dead, I don’t want the other to—to regret not asking—”

“Shh,” she said, pressing a hoof to his lips. She leaned in closer, staring into those solid, sturdy brown eyes of his. Tyria drew the hoof down to his chin, pulling him into a kiss.

He relaxed a little, but pulled away after a moment. “I just…”

Tyria shook her head. “Wait until we’re somewhere a little more romantic, hm? Besides…” she leaned in close, and whispered in his ear. “I think you already know my answer.”

Rye stared at her dreamily. “I hope so.”

Above, Zevan coughed pointedly.

“Ahem,” said Tyria, her cheeks heated. “Shall we, then?”

Rye strode over to the door of the captain’s cabin, pushing it open and gesturing grandly with a hoof. “After you, lady Metrel.”

Tyria grinned, entering the cabin. It was cozy, as befit Viridian’s personal quarters. An oil lamp on a standing desk lit the room, revealing a small glass cabinet full of Sleipnordic carvings, and a wide bed with fox fur blankets.

Rye shut the door behind them, and Tyria doused the oil lamp. “We’ve got two days,” she whispered in the darkness. “No time to waste.”

“I haven’t wasted a moment since I met you,” breathed Rye.

They sank into each other’s lips, toppling bedward.

* * *

Zanaya took one last, slow sip of coffee. It was extra bitter today, befitting her mood. She sat the cup back down on her kitchen table. The drink hadn’t done anything to help the lump in her throat. Staring into the dregs, she recalled the last time she’d been to that little café off the docks with Tyria. Was she ever going to hear that nervous laugh again? Hear one of those dry jokes that took so much coaxing to drag out? See that closed-off face light up in unguarded happiness the way it had when she’d spoken about that trip to the playhouse, the week she’d vanished?

Four weeks. The longest Zanaya had ever heard of someone returning alive after a kidnapping was five, but that had been a ransom case. Usually two was when the Watch advised the family to start making funeral arrangements.

Her ruminations were interrupted by a rap on her door. Zanaya sat upright, pushing away from the table. Had Wheatie decided to brave his way through her house arrest? More likely this was someone come to ask her to fill out more paperwork.

The knock came again. With great apprehension, Zanaya stood and trudged over to the door. She lifted her hoof to open it, pausing and grimacing at the absence of the silver band around her fetlock. Her unknown visitor hammered on the wood again.

Pushing open the door, she was neither surprised nor relieved to see a Watchzebra. He was from a different department than her, but she vaguely recalled his name was Zeke.

“Detective Zanaya,” he said, tipping his head respectfully.

“For a while longer, at least,” she said, without enthusiasm. “What do you want?”

“Marquis Zahira has requested your presence. Commissioner Zireena will meet us near Mercullius Square before we proceed on to the manor.”

The square was the location of the Watch’s headquarters. Zanaya frowned. “What does the Marquis want?” If she was pulling the now extremely busy Commissioner away from her duties, it had to concern city security, not just Zanaya’s recent ignominy.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” said Zeke.

In other words, you don’t know, thought Zanaya dryly. “Very well. Let’s go.”

As the two passed through the streets of Zyre, Zanaya took in the city with trepidation. The normal crowds had been vastly reduced ever since the curfew had been declared. Even now, nearly at noontime, the streets were populated by more soldiers and Watchzebras than citizens. Patrols crossed her path with regularity.

They reached the Watch’s headquarters, and her heart lifted as she saw who awaited them. A familiar brown-speckled pegasus stood beside a pair of zebra guards, preening his feathers. He had on a set of golden armor, helmet tucked under a hoof. Gods, he looks downright dashing, she thought.

Feeling a little saunter return to her step, she approached. “Hey, soldier boy,” she said, smiling.

Wheatie’s face instantly lifted at the sight of her. “Hey.”

“Expecting trouble?” She nodded at the armor. The plates were clean, but scarred with countless dents and scores, revealing lines of the silvery steel underneath the gilded surface.

He grimaced. “My own ambassador tried to kill me. I’m not taking chances.”

Zeke entered the building to fetch Zireena from her upstairs office. Waiting under the watchful eyes of Wheatie’s two guards, Zanaya and Wheatie continued their hushed conversation.

“I haven’t seen you in six days,” said Zanaya. “How have things been at the embassy?”

“Drafty,” said Wheatie, his lips twisting. “They still haven’t fixed the hole Milliden’s little present blew in the side of it. Too busy tearing the place apart, looking for pirates.” He cracked his neck. “I’ve been grounded since we brought the traitor back. Petalbloom’s in jail, the cell right next to Milliden’s. The only reason I’m not in there with them is because I hauled the ambassador in myself. They haven’t let me leave the building until today.” He scowled at one of the guards, who remained emotionless. “What about you?”

“Administrative leave,” she replied tonelessly. “I’ve been touching up my résumé.”

Wheatie closed his eyes and hung his head. “I’m sorry, Zan.”

“It’s not… totally your fault,” she said, half-smiling. “I certainly didn’t stop us from plowing through the red tape and over the lines of the law.” Her eyes narrowed. “Even so, the Marquis wouldn’t have reacted the way she did if we’d been allowed to come directly to her and explain the situation. By the time my report filtered up through the chain of command to Zahira’s eyes, she was already convinced that her city was full of insurgent Equestrian plotters.”

“She’s been ring-led by sycophants. The Dromedarian said they’ve got infiltrators in the navy, no doubt some of the nobles are helping.” Wheatie shook his head. “I can only hope the Marquis believed us on that front, at least.”

At the mention of infiltrators, one of the Watchzebras spat on the ground, a dark look on his face. Zanaya stared coolly back at him. Was that reaction righteous indignation, or guilt? Maybe they’re here, too, infesting the Watch like changelings waiting for the time to strike…

It was a romantic—and she had to admit, ego-soothing—notion that her career was in such dire straits due to a cabal of shadowy malefactors, but such a scheme was hardly necessary to explain why the Commissioner had stripped away her bracelet and taken her off duty.

“If there’s an internal affairs investigation going on in the navy, it hasn’t reached my ears,” she said. “Though it might explain why Zahira’s pulled back the entire navy to the city. Even if she is scouring the military, it’s going to take months to clean house. Years, even.”

A small group of earth-colored ponies in black cloaks passed by. They stared at Wheatie and his golden armor with their vibrant blue eyes, muttering to each other in Sleipnordic. Zanaya watched them walk around the building and vanish into another street, shaking her head in grudging admiration. The Nordponies were some of the only ones brave or crazy enough to walk around the city under all of this oppressive military atmosphere. I suppose it might be business as usual for them.

“What do you think the Marquis wants with us?” asked Wheatie.

“Another interrogation about the Milliden investigation, no doubt,” said Zanaya glancing up at the clear blue sky. “You know, it hasn’t rained once since you’ve gotten here.”

“I expect the Marquis’s pegasi have been busy hunting pirates.” Wheatie slid his helmet on, tugging on the chin strap until it was tight. He set his hoof down on the ground, shifting his weight.

The door opened behind them, banging off the wall. Zireena came striding out, sternly appraising Zanaya. “The Marquis is waiting,” she said without preamble. Her hoof pointed toward the government district where Zahira’s manor lay.

Sighing, Zanaya lifted her hoof to begin walking, when suddenly a long, loud blast of a horn rang out from the harbor. Everyone froze, lifting their heads. The horn blared again, the note holding for a full five seconds.

Zanaya felt sweat on her forehead. Military alarm. One means unknown incoming ships. Two blasts for allies… not many of those right now. And three…

The third horn carried clearly through the air, and all the zebras sucked in their breath. Hostiles.

Zireena’s head whipped back to the two of them. “Meeting’s canceled. Zeke, take these two to the interrogation rooms, hold them there for now.”

“Commissioner,” began Zanaya, “we can help—”

“Quiet.” Zireena looked at one of the zebra guards. “Ziegler, go… check on Milliden. Make sure his cell is secure.”

The zebra nodded with a strange, almost-amused expression, then re-entered the building.

Zireena gave a sharp whistle, and more zebras appeared from around the side of the wall. “Emergency procedures are in effect. We’ve got enemies at the gates. Time to see to the Marquis’s personal security.” She waved them forward, and the group trotted away, toward the noble district.

Zeke cleared his throat. “Officer Zanaya, Mr. Specklestraw, if you’d please follow me…”

Mutually ignoring him, Zanaya and Wheatie shared a frown. “Is it the pirates, the camels, or the ponies?” asked Wheatie.

“I can’t tell from down here,” Zanaya said. “One quick way to find out.”

Zeke stamped a hoof. “You’re not going anywhere. The Commissioner—”

Zanaya snorted at him. “I’m going to be fired anyway. The least I can do is chip in to help the city before I go.” She nodded to Wheatie. “Let’s check it out.”

He knelt, letting her climb onto his back. Zeke stepped forward with a protesting noise.

Wheatie stood again, with Zanaya on his back, and glared so fiercely that the zebra unconsciously recoiled. Zanaya nearly swooned with delight. Mine’s bigger than yours, Zireena.

Beating his wings mightily, Wheatie took off. The two soared into the air, up above the buildings. Zanaya clung tightly around his neck, looking down. Her stomach still gave a habitual twinge, but she thought she might be getting the hang of flight after all this time.

“I’m impressed that you can lift me wearing all that armor,” she said loudly over the wind.

“I’ve practiced,” said Wheatie, uncharacteristically serious. “Once, I wasn’t strong enough to lift someone important. I promised myself it wouldn’t happen again.”

Zanaya restrained herself from prying further. It could wait until they weren’t in danger.

The bay and the ocean beyond stretched out beneath them. Hundreds of ships dotted the surface of the sea, so many that most could not even fit inside the bay itself. The surrounding waters were filled with Zyran military vessels, all anchored in the deeps outside the harbor. The guard towers that lined the cliffs over the bay entrance looked tiny from up here, even the largest one at the tip of the passage that held the controls to the chain boom.

Zanaya looked up, craning her head over Wheatie’s shoulder to spot the approaching enemies, but the ocean was bare. “Where are they?”

“There,” Wheatie pointed.

Zanaya squinted in the noon sunlight. “The colors are… yellow?” Not what she had expected. “Is Celestia sending the fleet in?” she asked, baffled.

“I don’t think so,” said Wheatie, sharing her puzzlement. “I only see the one ship.”

“Do you think it’s…” Zanaya’s chest filled with hopeful tension. “Wheatie, get us down there. We need to get on that ship before the military does.”

He tucked in his wings and they went soaring down, swooping into an arc and flying over the city.

The minutes passed as they flew. A few navy vessels peeled off from the main cluster, heading for the newly appeared ship, but the wind was against them. Wheatie and Zanaya overtook the Zyrans, making a beeline toward it.

“Not many on deck,” said Wheatie, speaking between wingbeats. “Running a skeleton crew, by the looks of it.”

“They’re zebras,” said Zanaya. “Could be pirates who commandeered an Equestrian vessel.”

Another few minutes passed as the ship grew larger beneath them. The sails strained against the wind, bringing it closer to them.

Going into a dive, Wheatie took them down toward the ship. There were only a few zebras scattered across the deck, all wearing articles of green clothing. Pit Vipers. Zanaya swallowed.

“There,” said Zanaya, “the one by the ship’s wheel. That’s got to be the captain.”

Wheatie pulled out of the dive with a massive flourish of his wings, coming up just above the quarterdeck. Zanaya leaped off, landing hard on the wood.

Completely taken aback by their unexpected arrival, the zebra stared, making no move to attack or flee. Zanaya charged forward, slamming him against the wheel. Her foreleg across his throat, she leaned his head back over it, growling. “All right, pirate, I’m giving you one chance.”

The other zebras were running toward them, but Wheatie somersaulted over the railing and landed on the lower deck, flaring his wings. His legs slid out into a fighting stance, and the pirate crew paused, exchanging alarmed looks.

The pirate captain choked under Zanaya’s hoof. “Relax, girl, I be on yer side.”

“Zanaya!” Wheatie called. He pointed up at the center mast, where Zanaya saw the source of the yellow—a set of fluttering canary-colored robes, rigged up to the flag line.

Her eyes widened. Turning back down to the pirate, she pressed harder. “The ambassador. Where is he? Where’s Tyria?”

The pirate gurgled something. Zanaya forced herself to let up the pressure. “They be—”

A door on the deck below creaked open. “Is everything all right?” asked a familiar voice.

Zanaya felt a wave of relief wash over her. Releasing the zebra, she raced down the stairs, skidding to a halt at the bottom. She couldn’t help but beam at the sight of the blue pony in a khaki uniform standing before her.

Tyria’s face broke into a joyous smile. “Zanaya!”

The two embraced, Zanaya clutching her as tightly as she could. What horrors had the poor mare gone through? Any number of awful things could have happened to her sweet, timid friend. Her uniform was torn and tattered, victim of who-knew-what torments.

Zanaya exhaled a shuddering breath. “I was starting to think you were dead.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Tyria said, chuckling.

Zanaya blinked in surprise at the joke, pulling back. “How’d you escape?”

“Ah…” Tyria mulled something over, grinning. “Seaponies.”

While tilting her head in confusion, Zanaya heard hoofsteps as someone new joined them on the deck.

“Hello, Staff Sergeant,” said a short, gray little pony as he emerged from the cabin. Zanaya stared, fascinated, at his wings and horn. She’d never seen a pegacorn before. He looked healthy and normal enough, she supposed, not at all like the strange mutants she’d heard described by Equestrian sailors. A wary feeling flitted through her when she spotted the unmistakable mark of the Pit Vipers on his shoulder.

He strode forward, slowing as he brushed Tyria’s side. The two shared a half-lidded look, smiling. Zanaya raised an eyebrow. Apparently her friend had been busy during her captivity.

Wheatie’s shoulders sank as though relieved of a great burden. “Oh, thank the Sisters. It’s good to see you alive, Rye.”

“You too, Wheatie,” said the ambassador, still smiling faintly. “I’m guessing you’ve had an interesting few weeks…”

Zanaya cleared her throat. “Not as interesting as yours, it seems.” She glanced back at Tyria, who seemed completely unconcerned by the circumstances that had led them all here. “Seaponies?”

“Long story,” said Tyria, making a later gesture with her hoof. “We need to talk to the Marquis, Zanaya.”

Straight to business? thought Zanaya, bemused. “That might be tricky.”

“We expected as much,” said Rye, frowning. “How are things in the city?”

“Not good,” said Wheatie, his posture relaxing. “When you two disappeared, we went looking for you. Never even got close to finding you, but we found plenty of trouble to compensate. Tatius Gableclaw was in on the whole thing; he’s been shipping the pirates barrels of explosive blackpowder.”

“Oho, so that’s what his little meeting was about,” said Rye, thoughtfully.

Zanaya nodded. “He put us on the trail that led to Ambassador Milliden. The ambassador was in cahoots with the Dromedarians, some plot to seize control of the city.” She smiled with a little pride. “Now thoroughly foiled, though.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Tyria. “But I doubt Viridian’s going to give up that easily.”

Rye jerked upright. “That’s right—Viridian, we know who he is. Breyr Veldrimmor, the former thane of Hoofnjord.”

Zanaya hissed. “Damn, now the Nordponies are involved?”

“No. He’s an exile. In fact,” said Rye dryly, “I expect King Eberhardt would be quite grateful if we brought him back to Saddlestead in chains. Assuming the Marquis doesn’t catch and hang him first. Or the camels have him assassinated for failing.”

Tyria snickered. “He’s made so many friends.”

“Speaking of which,” Rye said, looking back to Wheatie. “What’s the Marquis made of all of this?”

Wheatie shook his head. “Zahira’s gone completely paranoid. She thinks Princess Celestia is making a power play with the camels, trying to take over the sugar trade. Both nations are banned from Zyran territory. The port is locked down, she’s pulled practically the entire navy back to the city, and there are armed guards on every street corner. Our embassy is in ruins, thanks to Milliden’s bomb—”

“His what?” Rye leaned forward with an appalled look. “Sisters, did anyone get hurt?”

“Not seriously,” said Wheatie, rubbing his ribs with a wince of remembrance. “Even Zedya made it out alive,”

“Who?”

His face reddening, Wheatie said, “A courtes—erm, informant, who helped us investigate the ambassador.”

She’d been quite grateful, too, reflected Zanaya. And smart; she’d vanished after that dangerous night, going to ground hard. The Watch had been unable to locate her, to their consternation.

The pirates milled around on the deck, their captain coming down to join the proceedings. The big zebra looked off the ship’s bow at the approaching military vessels, which were still a few minutes off. “I think it be time for me and me crew to leave.”

Rye lifted a large sack from around his neck and threw it to the pirate with both forelegs, who caught it with an oof. “All yours, Zevan. But please, stay a little longer. Your testimony might be crucial. I promise you, I’ll do everything I can to protect you from Zahira.”

Grimacing, Zevan nodded. “You’d best be on the level, Strudel.”

“Have I let you down yet?”

“Ye sank me ship,” said the pirate crossly.

Rye waved a hoof. “And I got you a new one.” Zevan’s mouth scrunched up.

Tyria rolled her eyes. “Quit teasing him.”

“Oh, all right,” said Rye, grinning. He turned to Zanaya. “So, you must be the Watch detective I’ve heard so much about.” He offered a hoof.

Zanaya, who’d watched the proceedings with great interest, shook it. “A pleasure to meet you, Ambassador Strudel.”

“Do you think you can get us to the Marquis? This is a security matter of grave importance.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much pull with Zahira these days,” said Zanaya, rubbing the back of her neck. “After we brought Milliden in—”

“So it was you,” said Tyria, her eyes lighting up as if to say Aha! “I hope you punched him.”

“I did nothing of the sort,” she said, giving Wheatie a sideways look with her eyebrows raised. “He’s rotting in jail right now, with Commissioner Zireena’s best guards watching him.”

Both Tyria and Rye paled. “Zanaya,” said Tyria, licking her lips nervously, “Has Zireena been in contact with the Marquis during this whole situation?”

“Nearly every day. She is in charge of city security, after all.” Zanaya felt a chill down her spine. “Why?”

Zevan laughed.

“Zanaya, she’s been working with the pirates,” said Tyria, all levity gone. “She’s been on Viridian’s payroll for years. All those times you’ve complained to me about red tape slowing you down—well, it wasn’t an accident.”

“That’s—” Zanaya shook her head, unable to believe it. “No, impossible. Tyria, I would have known.”

“Just like I would have known that Milliden was part of an international conspiracy to pull a coup,” said Tyria, raising an eyebrow.

Zanaya had no reply. The chill extended throughout her body as the implications settled.

Wheatie stiffened in alarm. “When that horn signal sounded, Zireena took a group to the Marquis’ manor.”

Rye’s wings twitched. “Then Zahira’s in danger. There’s still time to fix this, but if she dies, then we’re all screwed.”

The navy ships were nearly upon them. Zanaya glanced past them at the city, still feeling cold at the idea that she’d been working for a traitor. “We’ll have to be…” the words died on her tongue.

She lifted a hoof, and the rest of those assembled followed it up to the peak of Mount Karran. Smoke was rising from near the volcano’s caldera. That in itself was hardly unusual; the mountain belched fumes on a near-daily basis. But normally, it was a wide cloud, not a single rising pillar.

And normally, it wasn’t green.

“Zanaya,” said Wheatie faintly, “How long does it take to walk from Mercullius Square to that abandoned research facility?”

“About twenty minutes, if you gallop,” she said, staring in horror. “And it’s been about twenty-five.” All of them watched as the green cloud rose.

The silence was shattered by a thundering blast. The zebras and ponies clutched on to whatever railing was nearest as the ship rocked. Ahead, a massive gout of angry black and red billowed from the side of one of the naval ships. Another explosion ripped from the second ship, a colossal ball of ravenous flame consuming the entire side of the hull, sending shock waves through the water and rocking the Adder’s Bite again.

“Zahira pulled the whole damn navy here,” shouted Rye, as more distant booms joined the cacophony. “They’re all going to go down!”

The entire party staggered to the bow of the ship to view the two wounded military vessels. Both of them were rapidly taking on water, their crews buzzing about on the main decks. Zanaya could practically feel their panic. “Nearly a third of the navy is made up of conscripts or prisoners on work release. Most of them don’t know how to swim. There’s only one lifeboat on a standard military frigate…”

“Oh, hell,” said Wheatie. “And with so many more ships here than usual, most of them aren’t even in the shallow water in the bay. They’re going to drown.”

The sharp retorts of more explosions echoed over the water. Fireballs flared in the distance, peppering the massive conglomeration of Zyran vessels.

“We’ve got to help them,” said Rye, whirling away from the railing. “Come on, Zevan, let’s pull up on those ships and—”

A horn blast rang out across the water.

Tyria gasped. “Look! To the south!”

A second horn signal followed the first, as all eyes turned to see the appearance of dozens of black dots on the horizon. The third horn called out, entirely unnecessary.

“It cannae be Breyr,” muttered Zevan, “He must be hours behind us yet.”

“It’s not,” said Rye, darkly. “The Dromedarians have committed too much to this to let Zyre go without a fight. The losses are going to be tremendous without the pirates to soften the navy up for them, but they’ll pay that price for control of the Carriagibbean.”

“So it’s going to be a war after all,” said Wheatie, adjusting his helmet.

“No,” said Tyria firmly. “Not a full war. Not if we save Zahira, and hold the camels off long enough for reinforcements to arrive.”

Zanaya bit her lip. “What reinforcements? The whole navy is here, and—” another distant explosion interrupted her, “—and they’ll be lucky to survive the first attack at this rate.”

“Not the Zyrans.” Tyria locked her eyes on Wheatie. “We need the Equestrian fleet. Wheatie, you’ve got to fly out and bring them here.”

“What?” Wheatie shook his head. “They’re out in the Zerubian islands. That’s a six hour flight, and nearly a day coming back this way by boat. By the time they get here, it’ll all be over.”

“Motivate them to move faster, then,” she said. “Get the pegasi to whip up some wind, have the unicorns magick the oars into rowing by themselves, whatever you can.”

“I’m not running away from—”

“Staff Sergeant!” barked Tyria. Wheatie’s head jolted upright, his spine straightening into parade posture. “I’m making it an order. Go bring those ships.”

Looking stunned, he saluted. “Aye, ma’am.” His wings flapped, and he shot off the deck.

On his way up, he paused by the top of the mast, untying the yellow robes and tossing them back down. Rye caught them, shouting thanks. Then, so fast that Zanaya barely had time to blink, Wheatie was gone, rocketing northward. In moments, he was just a gleaming golden sparkle in the sky.

Good luck, soldier boy, she thought. Don’t be gone long. She returned her eyes to Tyria, blinking uncertainly. “You’re ordering war heroes around, now?”

Tyria’s smile was so slight that Zanaya almost missed it. “I outrank him.” Turning her head, she shouted, “Zevan!”

“Aye?”

“Forget the sailors for now. Get us inside the bay, as quickly as you can.”

“As ye wish,” said the captain, with a nod. He ran back up to the wheel.

Rye frowned. “We can’t just leave the Zyrans to drown, Tyria.”

“We’ll cut our lifeboats loose as we pass. Those that can swim can use them to save the rest.” Tyria was walking swiftly along the deck, the rest of them falling in step. “The rest of them out there… we can’t do anything for them right now.” She grimaced. “We’ve got to stop the camels from getting into the city.”

“Hold on,” interrupted Zanaya. “We won’t be able to sail in. Now that two alarms have gone off, they’re going to seal off the bay with the chain boom.”

“Somehow, I don’t think so.” Tyria looked up at the tallest tower on the edge of the cliffs guarding the bay. “That’s the building that the chain winches are in, right, Zanaya?”

“Yes,” said Zanaya, astonished at her friend’s behavior. “Along with a permanent staff of twenty marines.”

“Most if not all of whom are undoubtedly Breyr’s plants,” muttered Rye.

“Zab,” said Tyria, turning to one of the pirates. “I need the crew for this.”

“Hold on, now,” said the zebra. “We signed up to take you two to Zyre, not go fighting camels and Pit Vipers.”

Rye, fastening his robes on, said, “You realize that if you help save the city, that the Marquis is going to be beyond grateful. Forget amnesty, she’ll issue you all letters of marque.”

Zab chewed on that for a moment. “Assuming we live, of course.”

“Aye,” called Zevan from above, drawing all attention upward. “But we be this far in already. Let’s see if Miss Metrel can navigate through the storm, eh?” He grinned down at Tyria.

With a private smile, Tyria nodded once. “Which leaves one thing.” She looked between Rye and Zanaya.

“Zahira,” answered Zanaya.

“Right,” said Tyria. “You and Rye have to get to her and save her from Zireena.”

“Do you think she’s still alive?” Zanaya swallowed. “Zireena went after her nearly half an hour ago.”

“They’re not going to kill her yet,” said Rye. “Not until they’re sure that the coup has a real chance to succeed. Not until Breyr arrives.” He cast another dark look toward the horizon they’d come from. “I expect they’ve taken Zahira to a safehouse somewhere in the city.”

“I know a few,” said Zanaya. “The whole Watch has a bimonthly briefing on security procedures.”

“Then you’ve got a shot,” said Tyria. “Find her. Convince her to join you. When you’ve got the Marquis safely out of Zireena’s hooves, meet us at the chain tower. We’ll hold out there until Wheatie returns.”

“We’re coming up on the Zyrans,” said Zab. “Lem, Zivvit, get those lifeboats loose. And…” he sighed. “Get ready for a fight.”

The zebras dispersed to carry out their duties, leaving Tyria, Rye, and Zanaya alone on the deck. Zanaya eyed Tyria up and down, evaluating. Her friend looked… different. It was the way she was standing, Zanaya realized. Head raised, eyes sharp, shoulders set.

“That’s my girl,” said Rye, with a quiet grin. “I love it when you get assertive.”

“Well, somepony has to get this lot moving,” Tyria said, giving him an affectionate nuzzle. “I’d like to catch up with Zanaya while we have a minute. Can you help the zebras with the lifeboats?”

“Sure.” Rye kissed her. “Good luck.”

As he left them, Zanaya stared at her friend. “So… I take it your date went well.”

Tyria burst out laughing, covering her mouth with a hoof. “Zanaya, this has been the worst date of my life.” She removed the hoof, still smiling. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“How is he?”

Tyria watched the yellow-garbed stallion as he helped the pirates cut the lines holding the lifeboats. “He’s charming, when he’s not being the ambassador. And when he is… well, watch out.” Her smile hardened.

“Good.” Zanaya smiled. “You deserve it.” She glanced up at the city, drawing closer. “Let’s hope he’s good enough to get the Marquis to believe him.”

“Oh, he is. He can do magic with that tongue.”

Zanaya wisely decided not to touch that one. She leaned against the railing, looking southward. Tyria joined her, and they shared a moment of meditative quiet. The two watched the southern horizon, where the Dromedarian ships had begun to resolve against the skyline.

Zanaya gave a low whistle. “You’ve given us the easier job. Those camels mean business.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” said Tyria, rubbing a pair of white lines on her neck. Zanaya blinked, examining them. Are those bite marks? Whatever had done that must have been… large.

“Even so, be safe, all right? For my sake.”

Tyria placed her hooves on the railing, breathing deeply. “I think…” she smiled. “I think safety’s overrated.”

Zanaya thought about her and Wheatie’s escapades over the past month and grinned. “You may be right.”

As the Adder’s Bite drew closer to the bay entrance, Zanaya was disappointed to see that Tyria and Rye had called it—the chain boom was still hidden beneath the water. It couldn’t be easy, after all.

All around, Zyran navy ships were foundering in the water, many listing so far to the side that their sails were touching the water, others sinking straight down. Zebras clung to driftwood and wreckage, calling out for help, but there were none to help them—not a single ship had been spared, it seemed. The Dromedarian ships were nearly upon them now. The crew of the Adder’s Bite would make it to shore with only minutes to spare.

Inevitably, Zanaya felt her gaze pulled back to the climbing tower of green smoke. Zireena had said that Milliden’s wood pile was being disassembled. Ha. More likely she added to it. Oh, gods, the witch hunt if they survived this was going to be legendary.

Inside the bay, the chaos was intensified. So many ships in close quarters had created a swamp of shattered wood and torn sails. Zevan steered them through the carnage, deftly avoiding the burning hulks. Zebras clambered across overturned frigates, trying in vain to organize.

After all that she and Wheatie had done, they’d only managed to delay the strike. Thanks to the traitorous Commissioner and Milliden, the city was still in grave peril. Zireena had much to answer for.

Zanaya’s face hardened. Wheatie had gotten the chance to punch his traitor in the face. She was looking forward to hers.

33. The Tower

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As the Adder’s Bite drifted into dock with a creeping, frustrating slowness, Tyria stared at the tower over the bay entrance, lost in thought. It had been a very, very long time since her combat training back at the academy. She’d had plenty of practice lately in escaping danger, but not much in marching to confront it. The camels weren’t disorganized brigands or bestial monsters, either; they were cold, efficient, experienced soldiers. The old aphorism about sixteen spears in a square being worth forty in single file weighed heavy in her mind.

Another aphorism lingered beside it, however—you go to war with the army you have. Tyria cast a dubious eye at the members of Zevan’s crew. They were certainly dangerous enough in their own way, but she wasn’t entirely sure they wouldn’t break and run at the first sight of the camels’ shock troops.

At last, the pier came up beside them. The ship shuddered to a halt as Lem dropped the anchor, and Tyria took a calming breath. A brief glance to her side told her that Zanaya and Rye were both still quietly discussing their strategy for locating the Marquis. Tyria looked up at the green smoke and frowned.

As the zebras set to mooring the ship and putting down the boarding ramp, Zanaya tapped an impatient hoof. “How long before the camels hit us?”

“I doubt they’ll stop to fight the Zyrans outside…” Rye gave a worried glance toward the exit of the bay. “Not much work left to do out there, anyway.”

“Top speed of the average Dromedarian cruiser is nine knots,” said Tyria absently. “Make that eleven for light frigates. Unless they’ve had some major fleet redesigns in the six years since I took that foreign military analysis course.”

Zanaya’s hoof moved imperceptibly as she calculated. “twenty minutes, give or take?”

“Probably less,” said Tyria. “They’ll have a fast vanguard headed for the harbor to get inside and get that tower locked down under their control.”

The sound of something heavy dragging across wood appeared behind them. The three turned around to be met with the sight of Zab dropping the end of a large chest on the deck with a thud. “Here you go, ladies and gents,” he said, dusting his hooves. “Viridian was kind enough to stock his ship up for us. Take your pick.”

He swiftly flicked up the latches with his hoof and swung open the top of the chest. Tyria’s eyes widened at the motley array of glittering weaponry within. There were hoof-maces, axes, knives, machetes, even a few metal-studded clubs.

Zanaya was the first to step forward, calmly picking through the assortment to find a simple hoof-mace in her size. Yanking it out, she wasted no time fastening it on with a rustle of leather straps and clinking of metal.

Tyria eyed Rye uneasily. His face was grayer than usual. Zab lifted an eyebrow and gestured. “Anything for you, Ambassador?”

Rye shook his head and lifted a forestalling hoof. Zab shrugged and began rooting through the chest.

Tyria sighed with soft regret, pulling Rye aside. “I’m sorry, love,” she said. “I know you hoped it wouldn’t come to violence.”

“It always seems to, when Breyr’s involved,” he said quietly. He shook his head, lifting it to look her in the eyes. “I’m not going to hurt anyone if I can help it. But I’m a pragmatist, not a pacifist. You’re going to have to fight to keep that tower from the camels.” He lifted her hoof with his own, his eyes filled with melancholy. “Don’t hold back because of me.”

Tyria looked up at the tower, butterflies in her stomach. “Honestly, Rye,” she said, keeping her voice low so no one but him could hear, “I’m not sure that I can do this. I’ve never actually… killed anyone before.”

“I have,” said Rye, almost inaudibly.

“Rye,” she said, frowning, “I know you feel guilty about those Nordpony thanes, but it was Viridian who killed them, not you.”

“I don’t mean them.” Rye stared at the deck. “Do you remember the courier I met? The one who started the whole thing?”

“Yes…”

“I told you she killed all the griffons that attacked us in those woods. I lied.” Rye’s eyes were focused on something distant that Tyria couldn’t see. “There was one that I… we tangled up, fighting, and I…” he inhaled deeply. “I beat him to death with my hooves.”

Her eyes opened in shock. “What?”

“I’ve never told anyone that before.” Rye’s hoof fumbled with the clasp of his robe. “At the time, I didn’t think much about it. I was so high on adrenaline and then so busy with the Princess, it just sort of fell out of my mind. But later…” he kept staring at the wood, unblinking. “Well. That was the reason I decided never to become a soldier.”

“Rye…” Tyria reached out a hoof, unsure what to say.

He lifted his head, fierce determination in his face. “But I don’t regret it. If I hadn’t done what I did, he would have killed me, and I’d never have gone north. The Nordponies would never have come to our aid, and the few survivors of Canterlot would be speaking Gryphan right now.”

Rye gave her an affirming nod. “You can do this, Tyria. You have to. Zyre’s counting on you.” He stepped closer and hugged her. “And so am I. Stay alive, whatever you need to do.”

She returned the hug. “I will. You be careful too, okay?”

“I’ll have Detective Zanaya with me,” he said, a bit of his former cheer returning. “Who better to keep me safe in the city than an officer of the Watch? Now go on, arm yourself. We haven’t got much time left.”

With a hesitant nod, Tyria left him and walked across the deck to the chest. Lem was digging through it, and emerged with a club. He stuck it into his green cloth belt and stepped back respectfully as she approached.

Tyria brushed through the weapons. The tower would be cramped, but at least some of the camels would have spears; she wanted something with more reach than a hoof-mace. A blade would be useful as well, in case they needed to cut a rope or slice their clothes up for bandages. Settling at last on a machete, she lifted it out and buckled the sheath around her left foreleg.

The pirates joined them as the docking procedures concluded. Zevan kept only his personal hoof-mace, while the rest of his crew took a hodgepodge assortment of axes, clubs, and knives. When all besides Rye were armed, Zab let the chest fall shut.

“That’s it, then,” said Tyria without preamble. “You know the assignments.” She nodded to Zanaya and Rye. Turning to the pirates, her eyes narrowed as she braced herself for the coming trials. “Let’s get to work, Gentlecolts.”

They left the ship at a fast clip, cantering down the pier. Rye and Zanaya split from the group as they reached the street, heading into the city. Tyria knew he was going to be in less danger than she herself was, but a kernel of worry blossomed in her heart regardless. She quelled it forcibly, concentrating on the task ahead.

The shortest path to the tower led around the lip of the bay, briefly through the edges of the theater district, before rising at last to the cliff. A series of stairs zigzagged their way up the rock wall to the tower, standing its lonely vigil above the bay entrance.

Tyria’s hooves thudded on the cobblestones in time with the crew’s. Her crew, she thought with some dry satisfaction. She was their leader for the next few hours, at least. How much leeway would Zevan’s apparent fondness for her buy? It would depend on how many camels came to claim the tower, she suspected.

The steady rhythm of their hoofbeats was punctuated by the staccato bangs of detonating blackpowder and the occasional screams of terrified sailors from the bay. Their path was open to the harbor, providing them with a grisly, uncensored picture of the navy’s predicament. Splintered hulls and flaming sails littered the water, so thick that some zebras were walking across them like stepping stones, either toward shore or deeper in to help their floundering comrades in the water.

Despite the chaos, Tyria noticed with a faint hope that there weren’t many bodies floating motionless in the water. The goal of the sabotage had been to disable the ships, not kill the zebras aboard them; especially if Rye’s megalomaniacal reading of Viridian’s plot had been correct. Assuming Zahira could be brought down here to organize them, they stood a fighting chance of regrouping.

But the camels had to know that as well, and would be moving with swiftness to enter the bay. If they got inside while the zebras were still uselessly scattered, then the situation would become bloody and brutal in short order.

Their only hope was the chain. It was a simple defense strategy, used by harbors round the world: a series of great iron rings that could be pulled taut across the passage into the bay, barring passage to anything above the water. A determined enemy could swim under it, of course, but doing so in full armament was a quick recipe for drowning, and they would be easy targets for any guards on the cliffs above.

Hold the camels off long enough and the enemies would be caught outside by the incoming Equestrian fleet. How long that would take… was something Tyria couldn’t spend time thinking about right now.

The sun was growing dimmer as smoke from the burning navy and the green cloud on the mountain mingled together in the air. Ahead, the tower loomed. Tyria squinted at the stairs leading up to it, spotting the unmistakable movement of striped figures racing down them.

“Abandoning their post, eh?” said Zevan, breathing hard but steadily. “Must be ours, methinks.”

Tyria frowned at the ours, but let it pass. “Faster!” she called to her group. “We can catch them if we gallop.”

Spurred on, the crew of the Bite raced after her. Ponies were, on average, better runners than zebras, but the sailors were staying right on her tail in the rising adrenaline rush of oncoming combat. They reached the bottom of the stairs before the descending zebras.

The zebras noticed them and slowed their pace. As they stepped down the last flight of stairs, they cautiously eyed up the crew, staring at the green strips of clothing worn by Zevan and his fellow pirates. All of the newcomers had on Zyran navy uniforms, but Tyria spotted a few olive bandanas and pocket squares. There were only six of them to Tyria’s eight, but that was hardly enough of a difference to let her relax.

Stopping before them at last, the apparent leader of the zebras traded a wary look with one of his fellows. “Out of the way, citizens,” he said.

Zevan’s eyes shot open briefly, before his face cracked into a broad smile. “Zalloway. Don’t ye recognize an old friend?”

“Zevan!” The zebra’s head jerked back. “I haven’t seen you in months. What’s going on? Are you here with Viridian? We thought the Vipers were supposed to attack before the Dromedarians.”

“Aye, they were,” muttered Zevan. “Plans change.”

“So, the camels have betrayed us.” Zalloway growled. “Or maybe they’re just impatient. Either way, once we saw them arrive without the Vipers, we made sure that they wouldn’t be able to lock us out of the bay. Where’s Viridian? We only saw the Bite in the harbor. Did he steal in ahead of the rest of the fleet?”

“Nay,” said Zevan, his smile cold. “He be a bit delayed, in fact.”

“Delayed?” Zalloway looked over Zevan’s shoulder at Tyria, his eyes narrowing. He took a half-step back. “Who’s this? Zevan, what’s going on?”

Zevan turned his head ever-so-slightly back and gave Tyria the barest of nods. Her lips tight, she returned it.

“Go!” she barked. The rest happened in seconds. Weapons jumped from their sheaths, and the crew collided with the disguised pirates.

Tyria, machete gripped tightly between her teeth, was second into the melee after Zevan. The captain felled a pirate with a single smack of his hoof-mace before the zebras’ weapons came out. Tyria fell on the nearest one, swinging her machete at his vulnerable neck.

The pirate smacked it aside with his hoof-mace, the surprise in his face quickly wiped clean by anger. His head reached down to grab the axe at his side, but Tyria slammed into him with her shoulder.

He retaliated by rearing back and kicking for her head. Tyria ducked it, whipping sideways to bury the machete in his chest. The pirate’s jaw flung open in wordless pain, the air leaving his mouth with a hoarse gasp. The fight had taken mere moments.

Tyria jerked the weapon free with a sickening squelch, trying not to think about what she’d just done. The zebra collapsed to the ground, limp. Around her, the rest of the pirates had fallen along with him, taken completely off-guard by the sudden assault.

Zevan spat on the cobblestones, his expression coolly disinterested. He prodded the Viper leader’s motionless head. “Zalloway. Bastard always cheated me at cards.” He reached down and pulled out the zebra’s green pocket square, offering it to Tyria. “Ought to clean that blade, else it'll rust.”

She took it with a hoof, wiping down her crimson-smeared machete. Her stomach churned. Shake it off, girl. You’ve seen dead bodies before.

The corpse at her hooves drew her eyes with inexorable force. Yes, but you made this one.

The stallion stared up at her, his open eyes accusingly blank. Tyria closed her eyes and exhaled. And I’ll make a few more before the day is over, I expect. Deal with it later.

Slamming the machete back home in its sheath, she stepped over the body onto the stairs. “Let’s get up there.”

As they trotted up the steps, Zab grunted. “What d’you think he meant about stopping the camels from locking us out of the bay?”

Tyria felt a chill. “They might have sabotaged the mechanism. If we get into the tower fast enough, maybe we can fix it before the camels arrive.”

The group ran on, thundering up the stairs with now-panicked haste. As they reached the top of the ridge, Tyria slowed for a moment to take stock of the situation beyond.

Below, the first of the camel ships had finally reached the edge of the ruined Zyran fleet. The main body of the assaulting force was still minutes behind, but Tyria’s time margin was already razor-thin. The light frigate in front didn’t even slow down as it passed the dead, floating hulks of the Zyran ships. It was cutting straight toward the entrance to the bay, its intent obvious.

The zebras in the harbor were still adrift and unable to reach the shore. The camels would have little resistance on their way up to the tower. But if Tyria’s group was swift, they could get the chain raised before the rest of the camels got inside. That could stave them off for hours, plenty of time for help to arrive.

The tower was a cylinder six stories high and fifteen meters across its diameter, with narrow slits for windows on every level. Defenders could throw down stones or fire spells at anyone below, though none greeted their arrival. A pair of tall double doors guarded the entrance, but they opened at Tyria’s touch without resistance. Clearly, the pirates had abandoned it in a hurry.

“Zennan, bar the door,” she said as they walked inside. The bosun nodded, closing the doors behind them and pulling down the wooden slat mounted on the wall beside it. “Zab, Zevan, let’s go upstairs and check on the mechanism. The rest of you, get ready for our guests.”

The first floor of the tower was sparse, containing only a circular stair that curled up around the wall until it vanished into the next floor above. There were no guard rails, Tyria noted with trepidation.

However, the most arresting feature was the column of stone that rose up through the center of the room. It was a little over a meter wide, completely sealed, aside from a small wooden service hatch used for maintenance. Within lay the massive chain, running all the way down from the top of the tower through the tunnel dug into the cliff below, out into the bay. Tyria couldn’t imagine the size and weight of the iron links within that column.

She hurried up the stairs with Zevan and Zab close behind. The next level was sealed by a door, but it too was unlocked. They pushed through to find themselves in the middle of a massacre.

Blood was splashed over every surface. Dead zebras in navy uniforms lay around the room, slumped against walls and over the stairs. There were eight of them, at Tyria’s first count. Apparently not all of the tower guards had been Viridian’s cronies. She swore quietly, pulling the body on the stairs aside. The three continued up through the tower.

Minutes later, upon reaching the fifth floor, they found the final door closed tight. Tyria rapped on it with a hoof, but it didn’t budge. “Well, our luck had to run out sometime…” She rammed her shoulder into it a few times without result.

“Better hurry,” said Zab from his position on the floor beside a window slit. “That camel ship landed in the harbor while we were on the stairs. I’d say we only have five minutes or so.”

Rubbing her shoulder, Tyria put her ear to the door. “What did they do in there? They couldn’t have had much time to sabotage it…” She heard a faint hissing sound. “Zevan, do you know what that is?”

The captain gestured her aside, and placed his own ear on the wood. His eyes widened. “That be a blackpowder fuse.”

Tyria’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, Sisters,” she said. Even aside from the devastated navy below, she still remembered that explosion in the bay all those weeks ago, the one that had started all this—the heat on her face, the force of the blast shaking up through her bones. If that powder went off while they were this close…

She pushed Zevan aside and scrabbled at the door. “How’d they lock it from inside?”

Ashen, Zevan took a wary step backwards down the stairs. “Tyria, girl, we’d best be leaving afore that blows.”

“We can’t,” she said frostily. “The camel fleet will be at the harbor entrance any minute now.” She cast around, looking for an answer, and her eyes fell on the maintenance hatch set into the column.

She leaped down from the stairs, landing on the floor with a thud. She ran up to the hatch and wedged the tips of her front hooves into the door seam.

“Ye’re as crazy as Strudel,” said Zevan, but his voice was filled with admiration. He walked down to join her, his burly muscles bulging as he wrenched the hatch open.

Inside, the column was dark. Tyria could make out a single massive iron link, flaked with rust and worn with the friction of sliding over the rocks deep in the caverns below. She stuck her head inside, looking up. The hatch above was opened as well, revealing the mystery behind that locked door.

“Wish me luck,” she muttered, before climbing onto the chain inside.

It was tight, but there were about thirty centimeters between the edge of the chain and the stone wall of the column. The chain itself didn’t even sway under her added weight, held down by the thousands of kilograms of iron hanging below. The hatches were intended to give a window into the chain to check on its condition, not to be climbed through, so there were no ladder rungs inside. Still, the sturdy chain was easy enough to clamber up.

Tyria began her ascent toward the open portal. She wrapped her forelegs around the top of the chain link and pulled as hard as she could, lifting her body up to it. Oof. I haven’t had to do pullups in ages.

Suddenly, a shout echoed up from the depths of the column. She only caught the last half of it. “—early at the doors already!”

“Damn,” growled Zevan’s voice. “Metrel, hurry it up.”

Tyria nodded, wiping sweat from her forehead. She climbed as quickly as she could, her muscles burning.

Another noise came rumbling up from below. It was a rhythmic pounding, a steady beat that she grimly realized was the sound of something battering against the tower’s doors. The camels must have brought an equine-portable ram with them from their ship. Though less damaging than a full-sized battering ram, it would still get through the door eventually.

The seconds wore on with sickening slowness. Tyria’s muscles ached as she heaved herself upward. She was close, but the edge of the portal was still out of reach.

The faint hissing sound entered the edges of her hearing. Feeling a second wind, she pulled herself atop the next link, and steadied herself, preparing to jump to the final chain above.

With a grunt, she leaped, flinging her hooves over the last loop of metal. Instead of climbing up, she swung her hind legs forward, bracing them against the chain, and kicking off. She went flying out through the hatch, rolling onto the tower’s stone floor.

She slid to a stop, but there was no time to catch her breath. The room had not one, but twelve barrels stacked inside it, all bearing innocuous labels like DRIED FRUIT 20 KG and ROPE 30 M. Burning cords lay out from each of them, all fizzling with blinding white sparks.

One had a terrifying mere four-centimeter length of fuse sticking out of it. Tyria fumbled with her machete, sliding it out of the sheath and racing toward the barrel.

The burning smell hit her nose as she swept the blade into the fuse. The cord arced through the air, still sparkling, now uselessly. It landed on the ground with far less weight than an object so dangerous deserved. Tyria stamped it out mercilessly with her hoof.

She stood there panting for a brief moment. Another twelve seconds, and… Shaking her head, she began stamping out the other, lengthier fuses.

With the cords extinguished, the only sounds were the distant reverberations from the bottom of the tower. Tyria allowed herself to breathe, before heading for the door. It was barred, but not locked; she slid the wooden spar up easily and swung the door inward.

Zevan and Zab hurried inside. “Best be quick about this,” muttered Zevan. “That door down there won’t hold fer long.”

In the rush of danger with the bombs, Tyria hadn’t had time to take in the rest of the room. Massive gears covered the walls, all stretching up the conical ceiling to meet an enormous brass spool. The central column ended three meters above the floor, and the chain stretched out to wrap around the cylinder. The spool was nearly bare, most of the chain still resting under the water’s surface down below. The main winch stood on the far side of the room, jutting up from the floor; on top of the short supporting pillar was a great disk with long spokes emerging from all cardinal directions.

As the three moved toward the winch, Tyria paused by the narrow window to gaze down at the bay. The main camel fleet was nearly upon them, already halfway through the ruins of the Zyran navy. They had bare moments left.

Tyria was briefly worried that the three of them would not be enough to operate the winch, but was relieved to see that the engraved instructions on the central disk featured a single equine. The first listed step was unhitching a locking hook on the base of the winch. At a nod from Tyria, all three of them took up positions on the winch, and she kicked the hook off of its peg.

Immediately, the spoke slammed into her chest. The air shot out of her lungs with a whuff, but the force wasn’t enough to push her back. Tyria gritted her teeth and pressed her hooves against the wheel. Slowly, with Zevan and Zab’s help, the winch began to turn.

The chain spool cranked loudly, shuddering to life. It spun slowly, but the chain links began to rise from the column to encircle it. The wheel was getting easier to push now that it was in motion, but the whole contraption was still moving with maddening lethargy.

How much slack was built into the chain, she wondered? How long would they have to push? She’d thought the system was designed to quickly raise the barrier in case of a surprise attack like this one, but it seemed that the chain was endless.

Soon the cylinder was completely covered by the metal links, threading it through a series of cleverly designed metal loops to prevent tangles and jams. The chain began winding around it in a second layer.

Just as Tyria was beginning to fear that they were too late, the whole mechanism ground to a stop. Her biceps bulged as she heaved against it, but the wheel wouldn’t budge. Behind, she heard Zevan wheeze. “I cannae push it any farther, girl.”

Tyria reached back down and yanked the locking hook back over the peg. Releasing the spoke, she cautiously stepped back, but the hook held. Tyria rushed to the window to see the results of their labor.

It had worked, and just in time. The chain, dripping with seawater, glistened in the afternoon light. Outstretched between the two cliffs on either side of the harbor entrance, it bowed slightly in the center, too heavy to ever be fully pulled taut. The entire mass of iron hung a mere meter out of the water, completely barring entry to anything larger than a lifeboat.

The camel ships had nearly reached the boom, and most were re-furling their sails and turning aside as rapidly as they could manage. The closest one, a heavy cruiser, was too large and moving too fast to stop in time. Tyria watched, wide-eyed, as the inevitable collision happened in slow-motion.

The ship was only a quarter of the way through a desperate seaward turn when it ran into the chain. The boom buckled under the pressure, and suddenly the entire tower shook under Tyria’s hooves. Above her, the metal squealed and trembled, but the chain held. Below, she stared in awe as the ship carried forward, the chain shearing right through the bottom deck. The cruiser’s momentum carried it on until the chain was wedged over halfway through the body of the vessel, whereupon the wounded ship finally ground to a halt.

“That’ll give them something to think about,” she muttered, gazing at the sinking cruiser.

Distant, echoing cries from farther down in the tower drew her attention. Zevan snarled. “They be breaching the doors!”

“Run!” she said, drawing her machete and galloping for the door. The chain would do them little good if it was lowered again in minutes.

We’ve stolen you some time, Rye, she thought, heart racing as she pounded down the stairs. Find the Marquis and make it count. She gripped her machete tighter, blinking a drop of sweat from her eye.

They reached the bottom floor after a frantic, heart-pounding minute, but the doors were still standing when they did. The rest of the crew was spaced out in a semicircle around the entrance, weapons held ready. The bar across the double doors was cracked down the center, still held together by a few bent wood fibers. It wouldn’t be long, now.

Tyria watched the doors shake as the camels brought the ram home again. Zevan shifted uneasily at her side. “Any more strategies in that brain ‘o yours, Metrel?”

“The camels will be mostly armed with spears. We’ll have the advantage in close quarters.” Tyria swallowed. “But they’ve got four times as many out there as we do in here. Block them at the door, don’t let them abuse their numbers. And be ready to retreat when I signal; we’ve got another five floors to fall back to.”

Zevan growled in anticipation. “Alright, lads. We’ve been through worse. Whoever kills the most camels gets an extra five percent ‘o the haul, eh?”

The pirates grinned, but their eyes belied their nervousness. Tyria just stared ahead at the door, counting down the impacts of the ram until the door broke.

Three… The door quivered. The bar was bent nearly to breaking. Had Zanaya and Rye already found Zahira? Was the Marquis even still alive?

Two… Splinters flew across the floor. Would Wheatie get back in time? Would he return at all? She’d met some seriously stubborn naval officers in her time; the fleet’s commander might not be willing to come without the Princess’s express, mouth-written orders.

One… The bar snapped, falling to the ground between the doors. Well, after all these years of playing embassy bodyguard, I’m finally doing my duty as a soldier of Equestria. Never thought I’d die for someone else’s country, though. Tyria couldn’t help but smile. That last was pure Rye talking. She’d have to tell him that joke when they met again. If they met again.

The doors burst inward with a cloud of dust and wood splinters, and sunlight poured in. Two camels, both holding a short, metal-capped wooden shaft as thick as a barrel, were the first thing to emerge from the cloud. They wore chest armor and helmets of linothorax, their legs left unarmored and free to manipulate their weapons. Meter-and-a-half-long spears sat locked in shoulder-mounted rings, with small wooden spurs jutting out from the shaft to allow a quadruped to thrust them with one hoof. The camels dropped the ram at their feet, cocking their weapons forward with murder in their eyes.

With a roar, the camels came barging in through the dust. Half a dozen of them streamed into the tower first, with more yelling from outside. Tyria and the zebras charged forward to meet them, blades glinting in the dusty light, and the battle was joined.

34. Turning a Blind Eye

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Rye followed Zanaya through the crowded city streets. They squeezed past the streams of terrified civilians. A few brave Zyrans crossed their path, heading for the harbor; most of the intelligent ones fled in the opposite direction.

Not long ago, Rye would have had trouble keeping track of an individual zebra that he’d just met in a crowd of dizzying black and white stripes, but after so much exposure to the pirate crews he’d grown adept at picking out their distinguishing features. Every time Zanaya looked back over her shoulder, her cool blue eyes guided him forward like a beacon.

The wind carried the smells of smoke and sulfur, widening the hollow pit in his stomach with every step. That scent, combined with constant, distant shrieks of dismay, was dragging him back through the years to relive his last siege experience with shocking clarity of memory. It had been bad enough, seeing the flaming ruins of the field in front of Canterlot and the tongues of fire creeping upward from the city. But the real horror hadn’t begun until he and Cranberry had begun exploring the streets of their childhood home to aid in the search for survivors.

He shuddered, shaking his head. This isn’t like that, he thought, trying to quell the nightmarish memories. The camels want to steal a trade monopoly, not commit genocide.

Still, those vivid images of burning buildings and piles of the dead and dying would not be banished so easily. Rye took a shaky breath. I won’t let that happen again.

Ahead, Zanaya suddenly stiffened, and motioned to the left with a hoof. She ducked out of the street into an alleyway, flattening herself against a wall. Rye followed suit as quickly as he could.

A few moments later, a group of zebras with silver circlets around their fetlocks charged past toward the harbor. Zanaya let out a relieved sigh as the Watchzebras passed.

“Not friends of yours?” asked Rye.

Zanaya looked grim. “Who can say, anymore? Best to avoid them for now.”

Rye’s mouth twisted unhappily, but he nodded. “A shame… we could use some help for this. Zireena’s bound to have some guards with the Marquis.”

“Why didn’t you ask some of those pirates to help us?”

“Tyria needed them more.” He glanced westward over the rooftops at the tower rising over the bay.

Good luck out there… my love. It sounded awkward, even in his mind. She was still just… Tyria to him. In all her glory. Pet names seemed confining. He gave a mental shrug.

The two of them continued on. The surrounding crowds were far too preoccupied with their own situation to listen to the continuing conversation.

“We’re nearly to the Watch’s headquarters,” said Zanaya.

“And the safehouse is where, exactly?”

“In the dungeons. There’s a secret entrance in one of the cells, a grate in the floor. I was stationed here when they started construction. They wouldn’t tell anyone what it was, but we saw them hauling dozens of wheelbarrows filled with dirt out of the holding cells, so it was pretty obvious what was going on.”

Rye nodded thoughtfully, shouldering past a Zyran. “I suppose I can’t think of a much more secure location in the city.”

“Normally, yes, but the new emergency protocols Zireena instituted last year leave the building almost entirely unoccupied during a crisis. She claimed it was better to have us out in the streets, on the scene, than to be sequestered inside.” Zanaya snarled. “I believed her. More fool I.”

“Don’t take it too personally.” Rye threaded his way past a panicked zebra. “You’re not the only one who’s been betrayed today.”

Slightly mollified, she gave a brief nod. “At any rate, that’s why I think she’ll bring Zahira here. No untainted witnesses around to see her kill the Marquis, if it comes to that.”

Rye cringed and quickened his pace. “We haven’t got much time before Bre—er, Viridian, shows up. A couple of hours at most.”

They reached Mercullius Square at last, the crowd thinning somewhat in the large open space. A large, beige building loomed on the opposite side, more ascetic than aesthetic. As Zanaya had said, there were no guards posted that Rye could spot.

Crossing the square, he drew close behind Zanaya. Upon reaching the door, she gave it a light push, and it swung open easily. Zanaya swore quietly. “Not even locked.”

The room inside was a lobby, filled with chairs and numerous desks where officers could take reports or informal depositions from the public. Zanaya led him through, passing the empty desks and heading straight for a door in the back wall.

Traveling through a short series of halls, they came to a heavy oaken door set in the wall on enormous brass hinges. Rye helped Zanaya heave it open, revealing a stone stairway that led down into darkness.

Rye lit his horn, and Zanaya blinked in surprise. “I didn’t think pegacorns could do magic.” She coughed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Er, no offense.”

“None taken. This is about the limit of my arcane abilities, though.” Rye led the way down, his horn shining softly orange. “What’s waiting for us down here?”

“The high-security cells. A bit of a misnomer, I’m afraid. The real prison is out on Serran Island, a genuine oubliette. This is more of a detention center for prisoners in transit to or from that location.”

“Would Milliden be down here?”

Zanaya’s face tightened. “He’s supposed to be.”

Rye grimaced. But we both know he’s not. Someone had lit that green smoke signal, after all.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped out into a narrow intersection of two hallways. One ran sideways in both directions, the other straight ahead. Rye could just barely make out more cell blocks on either side of the one before them. He kept his light dim.

“This way, I think.” Zanaya led him to the right, passing a few blocks before pausing. She counted under her breath, then nodded and turned left.

The walls of the block were lined with heavy doors like the one above the staircase, but these ones had square slots in their middles, barred with iron. Rye peered curiously inside a few as they passed, catching glimpses of huddled shapes inside. The prisoners didn’t react to the light. Either they were asleep, or they’d learned not to pester the guards.

“Which cell is the entrance in?”

“It should be the last one on the right…”

There was a hoarse cough from the cell on Rye’s right. A muffled voice spoke. “Ambassador Strudel?”

Rye jerked to a halt, leaning up against the door and peering through the barred slot. Through the bars, he could see a manacled orchid-purple earth pony sitting upright, rubbing her eyes. He blinked in surprise. “Captain Petalbloom?”

“It is you!” Petalbloom’s shoulders sank in obvious relief. “Oh, thank the gods you’re alive.”

“What are you doing in here?”

Zanaya cleared her throat sheepishly. “That might be my fault, actually.”

Petalbloom heard her and her face stiffened a little. “Finally found him, I see. Took you long enough.” Her expression softened. “Is Tyria with you?”

“She’s alive, but she’s elsewhere in the city.” Rye glanced over at Zanaya. “Where are the keys?”

“Not far. I’ll be right back. Keep that light on.” Zanaya took off back down the hallway.

Rye turned back to Petalbloom. “We’ll get you out of there.”

“Am I being released, then?” Petalbloom stood stiffly, rolling a foreleg and setting her chains rattling. “I didn’t think Zahira would let me go so easily.”

“Not exactly…” Rye gave her the briefest description of the current crisis that he could manage; focusing on the camels and skimming over most of his and Tyria’s travels and travails.

Petalbloom listened with an increasingly dismayed look. “At this point, can we even stop them?”

“We might. Assuming we get to Zahira in time.” Rye heard a clinking noise as Zanaya returned with a ring of keys.

While the zebra fiddled with the lock, Petalbloom scowled. “Milliden was down here, in the cell just next to mine. Is he still there?”

Rye glanced over at the adjacent door, which hung slightly ajar. He shook his head.

She smiled sourly. “Of course not.” The cell door swung open, and Petalbloom stepped out, holding up her manacles to Zanaya. The detective quickly placed a key inside and twisted, and the chains fell to the floor.

The Equestrian captain rubbed her fetlocks with her hooves, sighing in relief. “I’m afraid I didn’t see them let him out. I was sleeping until that light woke me up. What time is it, anyway?”

“Late afternoon, by now,” said Rye. “Can you fight?”

“If I have to,” said Petalbloom. “Lead on.”

The three made their way to the end of the cell block, finding the final door swung wide open. Inside, there was an overturned bed and a rug that had been pulled aside and lay crumpled in the corner. A wide circular hole in the stone floor revealed a black pit.

Rye stepped closer and shined his light down into the hole. It was a short drop, about a meter and a half, and it led into a tunnel. He peered his head down inside and frowned.

“See a door? Anything that looks like a safehouse entrance?” Zanaya glanced over her shoulder.

“No, it just goes on for a while. I suppose we’ll have to follow it.”

Behind them, there was a creak of wood. Claws rasped against metal as a shadowy figure grasped the bars of his cell’s viewing slot. “You won’t follow it far.”

Rye stood upright with astonishment. “Well! I wasn’t expecting to find you in here, Tatius.”

The griffon ambassador looked haggard and worn. His beak poked out from his cell, covered with dirt. His blood-red robes had been replaced with brown rags. Manacles, much tighter than the ones they used for ponies, were fastened around his wrists. Tatius gave a dusty cough. “I see you survived your kidnapping.”

“No thanks to your friends,” said Rye crossly.

“They’re not my friends,” said Tatius, a little fire returning to his eyes. “I only helped them because they helped my country.”

Zanaya snorted. “You helped them to save your job. Not exactly the same thing.”

Tatius deflated. “A job that’s gone with the wind anyway. All for nothing.” He withdrew his beak from the slot, shaking his head. “All for nothing…”

Rye couldn’t feel much sympathy. Breaking the law to help one’s nation was one thing; arming pirates with bombs was quite another. “What was that you said about not following the tunnel far?”

“I heard them come through here,” said Tatius, leaning back through the bars. “That zebra officer and your colleague.”

“Milliden.” Rye’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

“The officer let Milliden out of his cell, gave him something—his robes, I think. He explained that the ‘boss’ wanted them to ‘light it up’.” Tatius looked expectantly at them for clarification, but received only stony glares in response.

He shrugged. “They moved that furniture around and went down the hole. As they left, I heard Milliden say that he’d go on ahead, and that the officer should follow behind, caving in the tunnel as he went. I expect the way is blocked after a few meters.”

“Damn,” muttered Rye.

“There’s one more thing, but…” Tatius’s eyes turned to slits. “If you want to hear it, you’ll have to let me out.”

“What, so you can fly off back to Grypha scot-free?” Zanaya scowled. “You’re the only one here who actually deserves to be in that cell, griffon.”

“Not to Grypha.” Tatius wilted. “I cannot return after this fiasco. King Aelianus never officially sanctioned my… collusion with the Pit Vipers.” His face creased in pain. “I would be punished most severely for disgracing the nation and ruining ties with Zyre.” His shoulders slumped hopelessly. “In truth, I’m not sure where I’ll go.”

Rye put a hoof to his chin. “I have an idea or two…”

Tatius tilted his head, confused. “Yes?”

Rye set his hoof down. “Fine, Tatius. We’ll let you out on two conditions.” Zanaya made an outraged sound, but Rye waved her down. “Consider it a work release, Detective.” He returned to Tatius. “First, you tell us that last little tidbit. Second, you come with us to help save the Marquis.”

Tatius tried to snort dismissively, but it turned into a hacking cough in his dry throat. Wiping his beak with a claw, he shook his head. “You want me to go near Zahira? She’ll have me beheaded on the spot.”

“Not if you help save her life. And the second she’s safe, you’re free to go as far as I’m concerned. I’ll even put in a good word for you with Celestia. You might find asylum in Equestria if you choose. Under an assumed name, of course.”

Tatius sighed deeply. Rye thought for a moment that the arrogant, stiff-necked diplomat might actually be foolish enough to refuse, but at last Tatius pulled back from the slot and said, “Open it.”

Muttering darkly, Zanaya fiddled with the keys and the lock, and the door slid inward. She undid the manacles while Tatius spoke. “The zebra officer said one more thing before he and Milliden vanished into the tunnels. ‘The boss will meet us there in an hour. She’s bringing the phoenix.’ Judging from what you’ve said, I’m guessing that means Zahira.”

Zanaya nodded, alarmed. “That was the code name for the VIP during security protocol drills.”

Rye snorted. “I wonder if it’s a Phoenixian reference? The Marquis would not be flattered by the comparison.”

“I know where they are,” said Zanaya, ignoring him. Her face was tight with worry. “Milliden’s signal pyre was up on the face of the volcano. There’s an abandoned research station up there. The place is practically a fortress. If this tunnel is sealed off, I’m not sure how we’ll get in.”

Petalbloom butted in. “He said an hour. Giving them fifteen minutes to get to the Marquis, that’s not much time to get up to the volcano. She didn’t stop for reinforcements.”

Zanaya gave a short nod. “A relief, to be sure, but they could hold that place with only half a dozen zebras. The walls were built to withstand lava flows.”

Rye smiled broadly. “Lava doesn’t have wings.” He looked expectantly at Tatius.

The griffon, still massaging his wrists, grimaced. “Yes, yes, very well. I will help you. But I’m not sticking around once the Marquis is freed.”

Rye nodded and proffered a hoof. “Just remember my offer.”

Tatius shook the hoof gingerly. “I will… consider it.”

“Fine, fine,” said Petalbloom, cracking her neck. “Are we done wasting time?”

“Yes,” said Rye with a dry smile. “Now that we’ve assembled our little group of traitors, disgraced officers, and enemies of the state, let’s go save Zahira from her loyal servants.”

“With pleasure,” purred Zanaya.

* * *

The speartip shone like a star in the dusty air. It hurtled toward Tyria’s face, shoved by the camel’s hoof. Tyria’s blade flashed forward, glancing off of the spear’s shaft, and slashing for its wielder’s head.

The camel jerked his head back, and her blade scored only a surface cut across his cheek. He converted his dodge into a swift uppercut with the butt of his weapon, swiveling it in its bracket to come swinging up at her. Tyria slid to the side and avoided the blow, continuing by slamming her shoulder into the camel and knocking him back into the press of hostile soldiers behind him.

There were far too many of them, but for now, the door was working for her and the zebras. Only a few camels could make it inside the tower at once. Around her, the pirates fought ferociously. Already, a few camels had fallen. None of the zebras had followed suit yet.

That spear came sweeping down again as the soldier recovered. Tyria whipped her blade up to catch it. Metal rang, and sparks flashed as Tyria skidded her weapon across the metal tip, flinging the spear aside. She leaped forward, bringing her machete down. It bit deep into the camel’s neck, and he let out a gurgling scream.

Tyria ripped the blade back out, pulling away, her heart pounding as flecks of blood splattered across her snout. There was no time to think about it. Another camel charged forward to take the first one’s place, this one wielding a knife clenched between the toes of his soft cloven hoof.

She retreated, parrying his first blows. Her crew was falling back, the camels finally pressing them in with the weight of their reserves. If they stayed down here, they’d be finished.

“Retreat!” she yelled. “Up to the next floor!”

Experienced pirates were good at running away. The lot of them fled hastily for the stairs, but not in a panic. Tyria held up the rear, batting aside spears and rearing up to kick at the knife-camel when he got too close. She turned and ran, making it through the door a mere meter ahead of the nearest camel.

The pirates slammed it shut and barred it behind her. There were a few thuds on the door, followed by silence. Tyria panted for breath, looking around at the bloody carnage in the room from the Pit Vipers’ surprise assault on the Zyrans. An idea began swiftly forming.

“They’ll be gettin’ that ram,” muttered Zevan.

Sure enough, after a minute there was a loud SLAM against the door. It quivered mightily, the bar vibrating in its iron holders. “Well, it took them a good ten minutes to get through the first one,” said Tyria.

“Aye, but these doors aren’t nearly so sturdy.” Zevan pointed to the hinges, which were already showing some splinters. “They’ll rip it out o’ the frame afore the bar breaks.”

“Five minutes, then.” Tyria looked around the room at the corpses of the Zyrans. “Zab, Zennan, Lem—smear some of that blood on yourselves. Lie close to the door until a couple of them get inside, then we’ll catch them by surprise. The rest of you, set up a semicircle with me here.” She took up a position a few meters back from the door.

The zebras complied, Zevan giving an approving nod at the plan. “We may shank a few o’ them, but there be at least thirty camels down there.”

“That would be the standard shore party. We’ve killed what, four?”

“Five,” said Zab. “Counting the one you hacked up.”

Tyria bit back an instinctual defensive reply. He meant that as a compliment, she thought queasily. “Twenty-five left, then. I’ve heard of worse odds.”

It wasn’t as uneven a fight as it might have seemed. The camels were professionals, but their military was run by spendthrifts. That armor was linothorax, made from layers of linen pressed and glued together. The main advantage was the extreme cheapness of the material compared to plate or chain armor. It was effective enough at stopping low-velocity arrows and most blunt weapons, but it was insufficient against a determined blade strike.

It did little against a strong zebra with a hoof-mace, either, as Zevan had demonstrated downstairs. Two of those kills had been his.

SLAM. The door jumped, straining against its hinges. Tyria gritted her teeth, taking up her fighting stance. The ambushing zebras lay still near the door, their weapons close at hoof.

“Zekel,” she said, motioning to one of the pirates beside her. “Go upstairs and see if you can figure out a way to brace the next few doors. At this rate, we’ll only be able to hold them for half an hour. We need more time.”

“I saw an out of service ballista on the third floor earlier,” said Zab from his spot on the floor. “They had it taken apart for repairs. Plenty of wood we could use.”

Zekel nodded. “I’ll get it apart and ready to block the door with.” He raced up the stairs.

Tyria inhaled deeply. “All right, we just have to hold them off for a few minutes while he gets that together. Then we can fall back upstairs and hunker down until the Equestrian fleet gets here.”

“What about the blackpowder?” said Lem.

“Are ye crazy?” asked Zevan, alarmed. “We’d blow ourselves up along with ‘em.”

“Too dangerous,” agreed Tyria. “We can’t risk damaging the tower mechanism.”

SLAM. All of them winced.

The next few minutes passed in agonizing slowness. Tyria stretched, preparing to resume the fight, replaying the moves she’d seen the knife-wielding camel pull. Those hooves were surprisingly dexterous.

Outside, through the window, she could see the sky tinged with pink as evening approached. It didn’t seem like it had been that long since they’d arrived at Zyre in the early afternoon, but a constant adrenaline rush had a way of distorting time.

It might be the last sunset you ever see, she thought to herself. All those colors, more beautiful than any brushwork. She blinked and shook her head, willing the distraction to vanish. Focus. Focus and survive.

The portable ram slammed against the door again. “It cannae take many more o’ those,” whispered Zevan. Tyria adjusted her grip on the machete.

With a final, mighty impact, the door’s hinges ripped away from the wall, nails flying through the air. The door fell backwards, into the camels, and was quickly heaved aside. The first camel grabbed the bar and threw it into the room, and then charged after it.

As three more camels followed him in single-file, locking their spears into forward position, Tyria shouted, “Now!”

The zebras on the ground leaped up, knives flashing. The camels whirled, caught off-guard, and the pirates sank their weapons into the weak points of their armor.

“Ha!” yelled Zab, pulling his knife free. The camel collapsed at his hooves. Zab whipped around to face the next camel as the soldier came through the door.

Tyria charged forward to help. The pirates closed in, surrounding the entrance in a tight cluster, but the camels were prepared for the tactic, and burst inside behind a forest of spears. Soon the formations dissolved into a melee.

She locked her blade with another spear-camel, trying to get inside his range, but the camel was cagier than the first one she’d fought. He kept his distance, poking at her and forcing her to fall back.

Tyria couldn’t wait for an opening, so she made her own. Bulling forward, she lifted both of her front hooves and clapped them to either side of the camel’s spear. The foolhardy action caught him by surprise, which gave her the briefest of moments to yank the spear toward herself. The camel realized too late to catch it, and Tyria pulled it cleanly out of its socket.

Falling to the ground on her haunches, she whirled her hooves to bring the spear around to point at the camel, and flung it forward. It stabbed the camel in the chest, sinking into his armor and catching in the layers of linen. He yelled in shock, but the spear hadn’t penetrated fully.

Scrambling back to all fours, Tyria raced forward and swung her blade across his throat to finish the grisly job. She closed her eyes against the sight, feeling a warm spray across her face. The urge to vomit rose suddenly, but she buried it. Survive. See Rye again. That’s what matters.

Opening her eyes, she looked up to see Zevan locked in combat with another camel. The pirate captain slid through the fight with astonishing agility, almost graceful in the way he weaved around the disciplined thrusts of the spear. But his finesse belied the dirty way he fought. Zevan finally slipped inside the camel’s guard, spitting in his eye. As the camel recoiled, Zevan brought his hoof-mace across his opponent’s chin in a jaw-shattering blow. The Dromedarian hadn’t even hit the ground before Zevan had moved on to his next foe.

From the doorway emerged the camel with the knife. His eyes were locked on Tyria, and she met them with fierce anticipation. Thought vanished, replaced with pure, animalistic focus.

The camel darted forward on three legs, his blade flashing at the end of the fourth. He moved like a dancer, or a snake, swaying from side to side. The tip of the dagger was in constant motion, tempting the eye to follow it to anticipate parries. Tyria kept her vision locked on the camel’s face. The dagger would lie. His body would not.

They circled like ballroom partners, making a few testing probes with their weapons. Each was swiftly beaten aside, but the ripostes were foiled by quick retreats. Tyria had the greater reach, but the camel was fast. She felt a chill run down her spine.

Suddenly, another camel sprang at her from behind. Tyria heard him before she saw him, his hooves scraping across the floor and his spear locking forward. She twisted her hindquarters, bringing both hind legs up and bucking hard. Her hooves caught him in the face, and there was a sickening crack. The camel folded.

The knife-wielder seized instantly on the distraction and lunged in, ducking under her instinctive machete slash. The camel rose inside her guard, swiping for her throat, but a black-and-white mass collided with him from the side.

Zab tackled the camel to the ground, his knife clattering to the floor. “Finish him, Tyria!”

She flipped the machete forward with her mouth, bringing it down to stab, but the camel deftly twisted in Zab’s grip and caught the blade with his dagger’s crossguard. He jerked his neck with a grunt of pain, jarring Tyria’s machete from her mouth and sending it clattering to the floor.

With a snarl, the camel plunged his free hoof down under his linen chestplate, and withdrew a second dagger between his toes. He whirled the dagger and sank it deep into Zab’s breast.

Zab gave a cry of pain and released him. Tyria dived for her blade, scooping it up and swerving to face the soldier. The camel stood, falling back, his right hoof holding up the second dagger and scraping it against the first, now held in his mouth. He ran the blades back and forth across each other as though preparing to dice her. Tyria could feel her heart beating in her head.

She exhaled forcefully, steam rising from her snout. The two measured each other for another moment as the frenetic fighting around them continued. The camel moved first, hoof-blade whirling as he approached.

Tyria knew he was waiting for her to attack, but every moment she dragged this out was another chance to lose the entire battle. She stepped forward, feinting an overhead sweep. The camel moved to parry, but Tyria converted the attack into another advance, whipping her head down and thrusting the blade at him from chest-level.

The camel caught it with the dagger in his mouth—and grinned.

Tyria realized with alarm that he’d been baiting the blade engagement. The camel flipped the dagger over in his mouth with his tongue, trapping her blade in his Y-shaped crossguard. He thrust inward with the dagger in his hoof, holding her outstretched and vulnerable.

She did the one thing she could. Tyria let go of the machete, slamming her head forward and headbutting the camel square in the jaw. Following up, she reared back and smacked him in the face with her right hoof, knocking the dagger out of his mouth and sending it skidding away on the blood-slicked floor.

He was off-balance. She reached down, scooping up her machete and bringing it up in one smooth motion across his chest, cleaving through his armor and drawing a crimson streak that followed her blade into the air. The camel gasped in pain.

Tyria released the blade for a brief moment, twisting her head to clench it in the opposite direction. She brought it sweeping back down toward the camel. His eyes flashed, and his head jerked up. The machete carved through the air, whistling.

The camel flung up a foreleg and her blade sank deep into it, drawing an instant well of blood. What? she thought, before she realized her blade was stuck. Caught off-guard by the suicidal maneuver, she did not have a tight enough grip to prevent the camel from yanking his leg away and the machete with it. The weapon went flying across the floor. The camel whipped his other hoof up, the knife slashing across the left side of Tyria’s face.

Time slowed to a sluggish crawl as a line of searing pain crossed from her cheek up to her brow. Half the world went suddenly dark. Tyria fell backwards, the air somehow having turned to thick jelly. Her hooves wheeled in lethargic circles, trying in vain to regain balance. The stone came rushing up to meet her, slamming hard into her back.

Someone was screaming. Tyria pressed a hoof against her left eye, unable to breathe. She felt something hot and sticky running down her cheek.

The camel raised his hoof, twirling the knife, still bleeding from his other leg, his face filled with murderous intent. Tyria lashed out with a hind leg, catching his wounded limb. It knocked him off balance with a yell of pain, giving her just long enough to scramble away.

“Back! Back to the upper floor!” yelled someone. Zevan, she thought foggily.

Tyria stumbled to the stairs, her left hoof still pressed against her eye. The screaming continued, pausing with her ragged breaths. She realized belatedly that it was her making that noise.

Someone grabbed her. She tensed, turning her head, but it was only Zevan. He hoisted her onto his back like a sack of flour, and raced up the stairs, the crew behind him. It seemed like there were fewer of them, but Tyria was having trouble counting for some reason.

They made it through the door, slamming it shut in the camels’ faces. Zennan, sporting a new red gash across his snout, slammed the wooden bar into the metal grooves. The camels hacked at the door for a few moments with their weapons, but the noise soon faded.

“Shore it up!” barked Zevan. The pirates began shifting large bars of wood to brace the door.

Tyria crumpled against the wall, lost in a haze of pain. Something was wrong with her, she knew, but she couldn’t think straight. It felt as though her mind were floating somewhere above her body. She pulled her hoof away from her face, staring at it. She couldn’t see it.

Move it to the right. There we go. She could see it now. It was covered with thick, runny red paint. Who’d brought paint here? She giggled deliriously. Gods, she was covered in the stuff. She ought to buy a smock.

Zevan knelt beside her, placing his hooves on her shoulders. She’d never seen him look concerned before. The effect was downright fatherly, she thought in a haze.

“Zab, get me a binding fer this,” said Zevan, but no aye-aye answered him. He twisted his head. “Where the hell be Zab?”

“Dead, Captain,” said Lem, panting. He had a wicked slash across his side, still weeping. His eyes burned like coals. “Took a stab wound to the heart.”

“Damn.” A flash of genuine pain crossed Zevan’s face. He opened his eyes, looking into Tyria’s.

Half his face seemed blurry. Tyria tried to focus on his eyes, but a sudden incredible shot of pain blasted through her head. She whimpered.

“Are ye all right, Tyria?”

That was the first time he’d used her first name, she thought blankly. Was she hurt that bad? “I can’t… I can’t see,” she said.

I can’t see.

That wasn’t paint. Oh, gods, no, no, no, not that, anything but this—

“I can’t see.” She felt her chest heave for breath. Suddenly it seemed as though there was not enough oxygen in the world.

“Shh, shh.” Zevan patted her shoulder. “Come on, let’s get that bandaged.” He removed his green neckerchief and wrapped it diagonally around her head. He tied it behind her, and she felt it grow immediately damp.

Her breathing was spastic, jerky. Hyperventilating, she gasped. “I can’t. See!”

“Stay calm, Tyria,” said Zevan, through gritted teeth. “Ye’ve still got one good eye. Now what be the plan?”

One good eye. Tyria couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see. “You don’t—you don’t understand—I have to see to paint—“

“Paint?” Zevan stared at her in complete bafflement. “Come on, girl, don’t crack up on me now. Yer goin’ into shock. Breathe slow.”

Tyria inhaled, sucking down the air like she was drowning. She forced it out slowly, then took another deep breath. “I… I can’t…”

SLAM.

Zevan snarled. “Brace it!”

“We’ve got half a damn ballista jammed up against it, Captain,” said Zennan, pressing his back against the wooden spars they’d stuck between the floor and the door. The heaviest planks of wood were braced against the hinges. “Not much else we can do.”

Tyria’s head rolled to the left, giving her right eye a view of the window. Outside, the sky was red and purple. She could see the volcano in the distance, that column of green smoke still rising up from near the peak. She could see.

With another deep breath, she felt the binding across her eye and trembled.

“It’s holding for now, Captain,” said Lem, slouched against the central pillar. “But they’ll get through eventually.”

“We be waiting on reinforcements,” said Zevan. “Tyria, girl, when will they get here?”

Tyria swallowed, forcing herself back to reality. Things seemed to be growing clearer. Almost hyperclear, with the edges of everything she laid her eye on standing in sharp relief. “Twelve more hours, at least.” Her voice sounded alien, still raw from screaming. “Assuming Wheatie gets that fleet moving as soon as he arrives, and they sail like the wind.”

“Then ye’d best come up with another plan. This door won’t hold fer half o’ that.”

Her mind was slowly creaking back into motion. “We have three more floors to retreat to. Before this door falls, we can disassemble the barricade and retreat upstairs, then lock ourselves in again. Three hours per door. If we can hold that…” and if Wheatie is a miracle worker, “then we win.”

“Well, the bracing is working; there’s no sign of damage to the hinges yet,” said Zennan, checking the door. “I’d say we have an hour, at least. Three might be pushing it.”

“Right,” said Zevan, standing. “Let’s get our wounds tended while we wait, then.”

He produced a flask from somewhere, offering it to Tyria. She took a grateful sip, nearly gagging as the liquid burned down her throat. A few moments later, and the pain throbbing in her head dulled slightly.

Tyria pressed her hoof to the bandage, closing her eye. Well, my love, we’ve both got our scars now, she thought.

Twinless tears rolled down her cheek.

35. Enemies of the State

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The slopes of the volcano throbbed with dull heat. Zanaya wiped her forehead, pulling away her sweaty hoof. A quick glance over her shoulder assured her that her followers were still keeping pace. Captain Petalbloom still had some composure, but the two ambassadors were looking haggard. Zanaya restrained an exasperated tch. It was likely the two didn’t get much exercise in their day-to-day, let alone climb mountains.

She couldn’t blame them for not having a soldier’s constitution; yet their slowness could cost them everything. The group was only halfway up the volcano path, and night had already fallen. Zanaya could see the facility up ahead, a small smudge of black-on-deeper-black nearly hidden by the hazy clouds of thick, choking smog rolling down ceaselessly from the caldera a half mile above. The green pillar of the smoke signal continued to glow above, flames rising within the column like an imitation of the fiery mountain beneath.

“Can we pick up the pace?” she asked, unable to resist.

Rye, panting, made a noncommittal grunt. “Trying.”

Tatius was less amenable. “I’m not a horse, you maniac. I have my limits.” The collar of his prisoner's smock was soaked with sweat.

Zanaya nearly offered to go on ahead with Petalbloom, but she knew full well that the only one with any chance of convincing the Marquis to come with them was Strudel. Zahira would throw the rest of them in chains on sight, but the appearance of a vanished ambassador would give her pause.

She nodded grimly. “Just keep moving, Ambassadors. It’s been hours since the attack, we’re running out of time.”

“How much further?” asked Tatius hoarsely.

“Not far,” said Zanaya, eyeing the facility. “I expect they’ll be watching the entrance, so we’ll be coming at it from the left side. The night darkness and that cloud of smog will give us a chance to reach the walls unnoticed. Tatius, will you be able to get us over the walls?”

“My wings aren’t tired,” he snapped. “So I can carry you over unless you walk my legs off.”

Zanaya wisely pursed her lips and remained quiet. They continued their upward trudge in silence. It was hot up here, despite the altitude. The black ash beneath their hooves and claws radiated warmth, and the enormous mass of the volcano blocked the southerly winds that would have carried away the island humidity. Zanaya desperately wanted a cool drink, but none of them had had time to bring water flasks.

Tatius’s manacles, tied around her neck, clanked with every step. She wasn’t sure they’d manage to capture Zireena, but she wanted to be prepared.

Nearly a quarter of an hour later, they finally reached the walls of the abandoned research facility. The great monolithic barrier stood darkly in the night, soot-black stone reflecting nothing, lit only by the faint moonlight and the blazing green flames on the tallest tower in the center of the complex.

Zanaya stared up at the top of the tower, watching the enormous pile of wood burn. The fuel had to be nearly exhausted by now, but the damage had long been done. She could see shapes moving on top of the building through the smog. Milliden and Zireena, perhaps? Or was the Marquis still allowed to walk, Zireena not showing her traitorous colors until the arrival of the pirates? Perversely, their job would be easier if the Commissioner had already turned on Zahira.

But not if they’d killed her. We took too long, thought Zanaya, her heart thumping.

She flattened up against the wall, motioning for the others to follow suit. “I was here a week ago, during the investigation. I know how we can get up to that signal fire. Zahira has to be up there, tied up or not. Tatius, time to stretch those wings of yours.”

Petalbloom glanced up. “I saw five guards on the walls while we approached. Do you think they’ll have more inside?”

“That’s how many Zireena took with her when Wheatie and I last saw her. I doubt she brought many more, this was a stealthy operation. And they wouldn’t be guarding the inside, just the walls.”

The griffon sighed wearily. “All right, we’ll go one at a time. But they’ll spot us easily if they look this way.”

“You need a distraction,” said Petalbloom, with a tired grin. “I’m afraid I won’t be much help inside with the Marquis, but I can buy you a window to speak with her.”

Rye frowned. “Captain, they’ll kill you.”

“Not if they can’t catch me,” she said. “We don’t have time to argue. Ambassador Gableclaw, are you ready?”

Tatius stretched his wings, shaking off some soot. “As ready as I can be, I suppose.”

Zanaya gave Petalbloom a curt nod. “Good luck, Captain.”

The orchid-purple mare gave her a wry salute. “You may want to save some luck for yourself, Detective.” She turned and cantered away toward the facility’s gate, disappearing around the curve of the wall.

A few moments later, her voice rang out in the darkness. “I know you’re in here, Zahira!”

Tatius suddenly burst into motion, leaping over Rye’s back. His claws slid under the pony’s forelegs and hauled him upward. The two rose with the quiet beating of wings and vanished over the wall. Zanaya waited for a yelled alarm, but none came.

From the direction of the gate, there was shouting in Zebrillic. A voice she recognized as Sergeant Zebbin, one of her superiors, barked orders to pursue the intruder. Distantly, she could hear the gates creaking open.

Petalbloom gave another holler. “I’ll run to let the Watch know you’re being held prisoner, Marquis! Wait for me!”

There were some dismayed cries from the guards at the prospect of an escaping witness. Zanaya bit her lip. Be fast, Captain. Pinpricks of torchlight appeared as several of the guards raced out after Petalbloom. They charged down the volcano slope, heading for the city. Zanaya blinked in surprise. The Captain had drawn all five of them out, leaving no one left to guard the facility besides the Commissioner herself. That was against every security procedure she’d ever seen.

Of course, they weren’t actually here to ensure the Marquis’ security. Did the all-out pursuit mean that Zahira was already dead?

A shadow fell across Zanaya, and she looked up in panic to see who’d discovered her, but it was only Tatius. He hoisted her aloft, and they were over the wall in moments.

They landed with relative stealth beside Rye, whose yellow robes were becoming caked in black soot. She nodded to both of them, and motioned for them to follow. Weaving through the squat stone structures, they made their way to the tower. The door at the bottom was barred from within, but many of the windows above had been shattered open by vandals decades ago.

Tatius groaned at the sight. Zanaya couldn't help but grin at his dismay. “Good thing we brought you along,” she muttered, as he lifted her up through a broken glass pane on the fourth floor. Careful not to cut herself on the shards, she slipped inside. Rye joined her moments later.

Zanaya pointed to the nearby stairwell. “Tatius, get downstairs and unlock that door. We may need to make a quick exit with Zahira, and you can’t carry three of us down in time. Wait for our signal to join us; we don’t want to alarm the Marquis any more than necessary.”

The griffon nodded and took off down the stairwell. Zanaya turned to Rye, adjusting her hoof-mace. “You ready for this, Ambassador?”

Rye nodded, fidgeting with the clasp of his robes. Together, they ran up the stairs, heading for the roof.

Above, they heard a voice. “What’s going on down there?” Both of them froze, before giving sighs of relief at the unmistakable curt tone of the Marquis.

Commissioner Zireena’s voice responded, and Zanaya’s eyes narrowed. “Some trouble at the gate. Hard to tell through this smog, but it looked like a pony. The Equestrians might be making an assassination attempt, Marquis.”

“Or they’re here for Milliden.” Zahira gave a nervous whinny. “No one was supposed to know we were up here.”

“We collapsed the tunnel to ensure none could follow us in the back way, and they won’t be getting in through that gate. Relax.”

“We should move. There might be more of them.” There was a hacking cough. “Besides, I wouldn’t mind getting out of this smog.”

Zanaya and Rye had nearly reached the top of the stairwell. They crept along as quietly as possible, the ash on the stairs muffling their hoofsteps.

“Not yet,” soothed Zireena. “The guards will catch the Equestrian soon enough, and we’ll remain secure. Your safety is of utmost importance.”

“Why take the risk? What do we have to gain by standing around in this blighted eyesore besides a prime view of my city burning to the ground?” Zahira growled in frustration. “How did this bastard—” there was the sound of a hoof kicking somepony, and a muffled grunt of pain, “—get out of his cell? And I thought this damnable woodpile was supposed to have been dismantled exactly to prevent this.”

“I expect his treasonous Equestrian colleagues let him out of prison,” said Zireena. “Detective Zanaya and that pegasus soldier, perhaps. As for the wood, it was being removed, but it wasn’t a high priority with him already locked up.”

Zanaya and Rye reached the roof exit at last. They paused for a moment, sharing nods. Rye took a deep breath, then walked forward out onto the roof.

As they stepped out into the thick, smoky air, Zanaya took in the situation in a split-second. The two zebras were standing side by side at the edge of the building, looking out north toward the city below. To the right, the massive pile of lumber still burned, all of the logs covered in some mysterious alchemical powder that burned bright green, lending the smoke its distinctive color. Milliden himself lay in a huddled lump between the zebras and the pyre, his hooves bound with rope and his mouth gagged with a torn-off strip of his own robes.

At the sight of the newcomers, his eyes widened and he began making muted sounds of alarm through his gag.

Zahira and Zireena whipped around, and Zanaya had the gratification of seeing their jaws drop in unison.

“Strudel?” asked Zahira, in disbelief.

“Assassins!” barked Zireena, stepping between the Marquis and her rescuers. “Stand back, Zahira! I’ll protect you.”

Rye held up a hoof. “Calm down, Marquis Zahira. We’re not here to harm you.”

“I told you,” stammered Zahira, her eyes filled with fear. “I told you we should have moved. What do you want, Strudel?”

Zireena snarled. “The island. The ponies and their camel allies will stop at nothing to take it from you, Marquis.”

“Quiet, traitor,” spat Zanaya. Zireena’s eyes flashed for the briefest moment with some strange, unreadable emotion. Recognition? Anger? Regret? Some sort of vicious satisfaction?

Zahira’s eyes darted between Rye and Zanaya. “I trusted Celestia. For years, we’ve been each other’s best trading partners and military allies! Was that not enough for your sun queen? Does she demand my holdings and my city as well?”

Rye stamped a hoof. “Celestia has nothing to do with this. What’s happening tonight isn’t an Equestrian plot. It’s not even really a Dromedarian one. The conductor of this bloody orchestra is a pony named Breyr Veldrimmor.”

She shook her head, keeping her wary gaze locked on his face. “A Nordpony name. You expect me to believe that King Eberhardt sent a force of camels and Equestrians to steal my fiefdom? Ridiculous.” With a frightened glance toward Zireena, she took a step back toward the edge of the rooftop.

“He’s not a Nordpony any longer. You know him better as Viridian.” Rye cautiously stepped forward, lifting a peaceful hoof. “There aren’t any ponies invading your island. Milliden was a traitor, acting on his own.” His expression hardened, and he gave the bound ambassador a withering glare.

“How convenient for you,” said Zireena coolly, her eyebrows drawing together. “Marquis Zahira, if you’re done with this, I’d like to deal with this situation.”

Zahira’s eyes were narrow, but she did not immediately respond. Blinking, she held Rye’s gaze evenly. “Viridian…”

“He and I have met before,” said Rye. “I knew him when he was still the Thane of Hoofnjord. King Eberhardt had him exiled. A… foolish act of mercy, as it turned out.” Rye let his head fall. “One I pushed for. I thought it would be better for him not to begin his rule with an execution.” Rye sighed, tapping a sooty hoof in a moment of contemplation.

He lifted his head again. “He survived his exile, and reinvented himself as the pirate Viridian. But he’s still the same power-hungry plotter he’s always been. He’s convinced elements of your government and the Dromedarians to stage a coup. The mess down in the city tonight ends with him in charge of a military dictatorship, ruling Zyre as your replacement.”

“Elements of my—” Zahira laughed, breaking the intense look she had shared with Rye. “Don’t be absurd.”

“Councilmare Zastria, Commodore Zaggrien, and Minister Zylen, to name a few,” said Rye, blinking steadily.

Zahira jerked her head back. “What? Where’d you hear those names?”

“From the zebra’s mouth, as it were.” Rye smiled thinly. “A few weeks ago, while out in the city with Ensign Tyria Metrel, we were waylaid by pirates. They captured us and took us out to sea. While in captivity, we learned a great deal. Viridian’s history, his plans, his allies. One of his captains, Zevan—”

“Zevan,” the Marquis interjected lividly. “I know the name well. He’s been a nuisance from even before the Pit Vipers formed. You’ve met him?”

“More than met. He’s the one who helped us escape. He told us everything, including a list of traitors.” Rye slowly turned his head to focus on Zireena. “And at the top of that list was the Commissioner of the City Watch.”

“Bald-faced lies,” said Zireena, sounding bored. “Marquis, they’re stalling. We need to get out of here before they spring whatever trap they have planned.”

“Those three nobles you mentioned... I've had my suspicions.” Zahira shook her head. “But Zevan’s nothing more than pirate scum, Strudel. Anything you heard from him is worthless. Do you really expect me to believe that Viridian, a pirate freshly exiled and with no army to his name managed to bend a few disloyal Zyrans and the entire Dromedarian Navy to his will?”

“The camels are merely opportunists,” said Rye. “Viridian offered to be their puppet king, though I doubt he means to follow through on that. Schemes on schemes on schemes… But the overall plan is almost irrelevant. They’re here to take the city with steel and blackpowder, and your troops are in complete disarray. We need you down there to rally them and push out the invaders. I’m sure you know by now what the camels can do with that Gryphan devil’s brew.”

“Yes, blackpowder...” Zahira stiffened. “I’m familiar with it, thanks to your companion’s investigation.” Her eyes twitched over to Zanaya for a moment.

“Then you know how important it is that you return immediately. The Zyrans still outnumber the invaders three to one, but if we don’t hurry they’ll be picked off in the bay before they can organize.”

“What I know,” said Zahira, crossly, “is that the emissary of Equestria’s closest ally gave—not sold, gave—my enemies a weapon that has destroyed my entire navy. The emissary of Equestria itself gave the signal for the weapon to be used! Now, the other Equestrian ambassador, after vanishing for weeks to plot unknown treasons in hiding has appeared at my safehouse, slipping right past my guards. And you want me to believe these were all the actions of a few lone wolves?” She inhaled sharply. Zanaya realized that the Marquis was trembling with fear. “What knives are lurking under those robes, Strudel?”

“No knives, Madame,” said Rye, pulling his soot-stained robes open to reveal the bare fabric inside. His façade of calm rationality cracked. “Please, Zahira. Tyria’s down there too, putting her life at risk for your city. We can’t abandon them. If she dies, I—I…” He clenched his teeth.

Unable to remain silent, Zanaya burst out, “Marquis Zahira, Commissioner Zireena’s been stonewalling our efforts against the pirates for years. All the failed arrests, all the botched trials, all the delayed raids—it was her, feeding the pirates information from within.”

“Detective Zanaya.” The Commissioner smiled coldly. “So, you weren’t simply incompetent. You’re a full-fledged traitor to Zyre.”

Zanaya snarled at her. “I asked one too many questions, followed one too many leads trying to find out how the pirates were slipping into the city, so you reassigned me to the Watch’s petty theft unit. I’m not the only one either, am I? All those transfers out of trade crimes make sense, now. You’ve been rotting the Watch from the inside, all along.”

“Madame Marquis,” said Zireena, flicking her ear, “if you’re done trading words with enemies of the state, I’d like to deal with them and begin the sweep for any friends they may have brought.”

Zanaya took a breath, her face twitching with rage. “How many innocent civilians were robbed or killed because of you, Zireena? How many are dying down there right now because of what you’ve done? Do you know? Do you even care?”

Rye, quiet desperation on his face, spoke. “Believe the rest of it or not, Zahira, you’re standing next to a traitor, and you’re in danger every moment we spend up here with her. She didn’t take you to the most remote spot on the entire island to protect you.”

Zahira’s eyes had widened during the exchange. “Zireena…?”

“I am your loyal servant, as ever,” said Zireena, raising her hoof-mace toward Zanaya. “And it’s time to put a stop to these poisonous words.”

“Zahira, please!” said Rye. “Tyria doesn’t have long; we have to—”

He was interrupted by a sudden urgent noise from the side. Milliden writhed in the soot, gesturing urgently with his hooves and yelling into his gag. All of them stared, wary and baffled.

Zanaya slowly walked toward him, watching his eyes roll wildly. She reached down and pulled the gag aside.

Milliden laughed. “Look to the west!”

All heads turned toward the horizon. In the distance, beyond the camel navy and the shattered remains of the Zyran ships, a new group of vessels had appeared. Zanaya’s heart leaped for a moment. Wheatie!

But then it sank as the moonlight hit the ships. The green flags drifted in the oceanic wind.

“Who—” Marquis Zahira ran a hoof through her mane. “More camels?”

“No,” whispered Rye, “It’s Viridian.”

“Oh,” said Commissioner Zireena mildly, taking a step back. “Took him long enough.”

Zahira blinked in confusion. “Wha—”

Zireena placed a hoof on Zahira’s shoulder and shoved her over the edge of the rooftop.

Rye gave a terrified yelp, starting forward far too late. Zanaya dived, sliding forward through the ash with her hooves outstretched. She skidded to the edge, but Zahira had already fallen beyond her reach. The two locked eyes for a moment, Zahira’s mouth still gaping with shock.

The window beneath her shattered outward, and a huge black shape burst out of the building. Tatius collided with the Marquis in midair, spinning and rolling in a barely-controlled descent, his wings straining. “I’ve got you,” he gasped.

Zanaya barely had time to roll over as Zireena’s hoof-mace crashed down at her. It slammed into the stone, knocking ash into Zanaya’s face.

She scrambled back, trying to stand in the slippery soot. She found her hooves, wiping her eyes, as the Commissioner came at her again. “Get her out of here, Tatius!” she shouted. Then the zebras slammed into each other, falling back to the rooftop surface and grappling in the ash.

“Help me, Rye!” she yelled, before taking a punch to the face. She spat, tasting blood, trying to get some leverage on her opponent.

“I’m co—” Rye began, when they were all interrupted by a dull rumbling sound.

The combat paused as both zebras turned down toward the city. A rolling thunder shook the air. At the edge of the bay, the top of the chain tower glowed red, then orange, then a bright blue flash as it exploded, a massive gout of black smoke and brilliant flame expanding with a shower of fiery debris. Zanaya stared blankly, suddenly chilled despite the heat. Tyria.

Rye let out a strangled gasp, falling to his haunches in the ash.

“Those idiots,” said Zireena, in disbelief. “I can’t believe—”

Zanaya roared and slammed her hoof-mace into the traitor’s face. Zireena’s head jerked back into the stone with a thud, and her breath whooshed out of her lungs. Stunned, she went limp.

Tears made tracks in the soot under Zanaya’s eyes as she stood. Tyria… the tower… she’s gone. Hours after she’d given up on her friend only to be reunited against all hope, they’d been ripped apart again.

She stared down at Zireena’s twitching form, watching the blood run from her commander's nose. “For crimes against the state of Zyre, and complicity in the kidnapping of Tyria Metrel, I’m placing you under arrest.” With shaking hooves, she untied the knotted chain around her neck, preparing to clap the manacles over Zireena’s forelegs.

“Back off,” said Milliden. Zanaya froze, looking up to see him standing free of his bonds, which had clearly been tied for show by Zireena. He lunged, not at Zanaya, but at Rye.

Rye was still slumped in a heap, staring at the flaming wreckage of the tower. He didn’t even react as Milliden grabbed him. Milliden’s hoof slipped into his robes and flicked a knife up into the air. The blade glittered in the smog-filtered moonlight, arcing around to the ambassador’s waiting mouth. He caught it and immediately drew it up against Rye’s throat. “Back off!” he repeated.

Zanaya let the manacles drop, stepping back from Zireena. The other zebra slowly turned over on the stone, unsteadily pushing against the rooftop a few times as she tried to stand. Zanaya’s mind whirled. If she went for Milliden, Zireena would catch her from behind. If she went for Zireena, Milliden would kill Rye before she could get to them. I can’t let him die. Tyria would— A sudden upswell of grief stole her breath. Stalling, she planted herself in front of the rooftop exit.

No help was coming from Rye. His eyes had turned dull, unfocused. She’d never seen someone look so utterly defeated. Barely seeming to register the knife at his neck, he slowly shook his head. “Run, Zanaya. Get down to the city and help Zahira fight the camels.” He closed his eyes, head drooping.

“Let us pass, zebra,” growled Milliden. “Or you’ll watch him bleed to death.”

Zanaya wiped away tears. “No.”

The edge of the knife dug into Rye’s throat, drawing a bead of blood. It ran down the edge, dripping from the tip. “Move. Aside.”

Some small measure of urgency returned to Rye’s face, as he opened his eyes to look at Zanaya. His voice husky with despair, he murmured “Go, Zanaya.”

“I’m not letting you martyr yourself,” she bit back, barely restraining a choking sob. “I owe Tyria that much.”

Rye seemed shocked out of his misery. His eyes widened and his head lifted, but only for a moment. Then his face fell again and he slackened against the knife. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Zanaya couldn’t tell if he was talking to her, or Tyria’s unseen ghost. Her chest hurt.

Milliden stepped forward, forcing Rye with him. “Last warning.”

“Yaaaaaa!” screamed someone from above. Zanaya barely had time to look up as the smog burst apart. Marquis Zahira came hurtling down like a lightning bolt, smashing into the two ponies.

The knife went flying, and Rye collapsed into the ash. Zahira and Milliden rolled, the Marquis still roaring like a madmare.

Distracted by the scene, Zanaya was caught off-guard as Zireena shoved her aside. She stumbled off-balance, trying to ready herself for the next attack, but Zireena raced past her down the stairs.

Ahead, Milliden and Zahira broke apart, Milliden’s eyes wide with alarm. “Wait—”

Zahira drove a hoof into his face, shouting “Get out of my city!”

Milliden was thrown backward, crashing into the pile of burning logs. He screamed, rolling out, smeared in the green powder. Flames covered him, wreathing around his robes and scorching the air. Flailing, he patted frantically at his fiery garments. He stumbled backward with panicked shrieks. Zanaya put out a hoof, realizing too late that he was about to—

The ambassador’s hoof came down and found no purchase. He tumbled backward over the edge of the roof, still screaming. Zanaya stared, dumbstruck, as he vanished. The screams came to an abrupt stop.

She rushed to the edge, staring down at the figure lying limp at the base of the tower. The only motions were the green flames licking at his robes.

“Augh,” moaned Zahira. Zanaya turned to see the Marquis sitting beside the pyre, holding her left foreleg and wincing. “Is he dead?”

“He fell half a hundred meters,” mumbled Zanaya, still in shock. “He’s dead.”

“Good,” she spat. Her face tensed in a grimace. “Yah! I think I broke something when I landed.”

Tatius descended to the roof, alighting beside them. “You wanted me to take you as high as I could…”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Zahira said, bowing her head in pain. “I can’t walk on this leg.”

“I’ll help you,” said Zanaya, offering a hoof.

Zahira eyed her distrustfully. “You were right about Zireena, at least.”

“And the rest of it. We’ve got to get you down to the city to get the defenses in order. With all the traitors in Zyre tonight, you’re the only person the Navy can trust absolutely.” Zanaya offered the hoof again. This time, Zahira accepted it.

She helped the Marquis stand. They draped her bad leg over Tatius’s back. “Tatius, help her down the stairs. I’ll see to Rye.”

“Is he injured?”

Only his heart, Zanaya suspected. “Yes, but I’ll get him up and moving. With the tunnel collapsed, we’ll have to walk down the volcano path.”

“We can stop by the Gryphan embassy on our way down to the harbor. We have a first aid center on the second floor. We can get that leg in a splint, at any rate.”

“Very well,” said Zahira. “Now hurry.” With the griffon’s help, she limped toward the stairs.

Zanaya turned to Rye, who was lying on the roof, curled into a ball. She dragged her heavy hooves through the soot to reach him. “Ambassador, we need to go.”

The ambassador took a long breath, his face covered by his hooves. “Zahira is safe,” he said quietly at last. “My job is done. Go with her.”

Zanaya stood silently, looking down toward the city and the flaming ruin of the chain tower. “Come with us.”

Rye’s chest shuddered. “No.”

Zanaya’s mouth opened and closed, trying to find the words. She swallowed. “If I leave,” she asked, her voice a rasp, “will you jump?”

His shoulders shook, and he shook his head. “Tyria…” Unable to restrain it any longer, he curled tighter, openly crying. “She’s—she’s—I never even got to…”

Zanaya sat beside him and wrapped her forelegs around him in a hug. Chest heaving, he buried his head in her shoulder. They sat quietly for a moment, two strangers united by their love for a shy, kind artist.

“She might still be alive, Rye,” said Zanaya, not really believing herself. “We don’t know for sure that she was still inside.”

Rye shook his head, his sobs choking to an uneven stop. “Don’t. Please. Hope… hurts too much.”

“I’m sorry.” Zanaya’s eyes fluttered closed. “But it’s true. We don’t know for sure. And even if she’s not… we should at least find the… the body. For a funeral.” Assuming there was anything left after that explosion. She couldn’t think about it right now.

“Yes…” He nodded, pulling away and wiping his eyes. They burned like coals. A new, macabre purpose filled his face. “Yes. You’re right. I’ll find her. I’ll find her…”

Zanaya felt a chill at the look in his eye. And when you do, are you planning to join her? She said nothing.

Rye sniffed, stamping a hoof. With one more look toward the burning tower, he trotted back into the building. Her heart heavy, Zanaya followed.

* * *

Electric blue eyes watched the camel ships funnel into the harbor. The entrance lay wide open, the massive chain now resting on the seabed below. The remains of the tower on the edge of the cliff smouldered in the night.

The rightful Thane of Hoofnjord, Breyr Veldrimmor, kept his cool gaze locked on the Dromedarian vessels. The flies were all in the wrong order, but they kept streaming onto his web all the same. He was nothing if not adaptable.

Below him, on the deck of the Bilgerat, nearly fifty zebras stood gathered, armed to the teeth and fitted with the Zyran Navy uniforms his insiders had procured over the last year and a half. Zillian’s crew were the few remaining Pit Vipers who’d been part of the scheme from the beginning.

The others, on the ships surrounding them, still thought this was a raid; they’d sail into the city first and throw the camels into chaos. Under the cover of that disruption, Breyr and the Bilgerat would row inside and begin gathering the Zyrans to fight the Dromedarians. He’d plotted the order in reverse, but the camels had blundered in ahead of schedule. Clearly, they didn’t trust him to keep his word.

Of course he had been planning to stab them in the back. Just not quite so literally.

Once the harbor was in hoof, he could strike out into the city to purge any nobles not part of the coup. Those remaining would install him as their leader by the end of the night. His loyal Vipers already seeded in the Navy would bring things quickly under control. At week’s end, he fully intended to have Zyre secure and ready to begin salvaging the sabotaged ships.

“We ready, boss?” asked Captain Zillian, hooves steady on the ship’s wheel.

“Yes. Send the signal.” Breyr placed a hoof on the railing around the navigation deck, following the last camel ship as it passed into the bay.

Zillian whistled sharply, and the crew of zebras below nodded. A modified ballista, already aimed at the sky, was lit and fired. The bolt soared into the night, flaming green.

The crowded harbor wouldn’t permit the full Pit Viper fleet to enter, but dozens of the beaching boats could navigate through the debris within and silently catch the camels from behind. All around, the boarding craft dipped into the water from the main pirate vessels, rowing steadily toward the bay with their complements of pirates.

They were all heading to their deaths at his command. Breyr closed his eyes and breathed deeply, exulting in the possession of such power. The ability to kill someone was nothing. To order someone to die for you and be obeyed, that power was intoxicating.

Breyr gazed at the harbor beyond the narrow entrance, listening to the quiet swish of the oars below. His ship was in there somewhere, if Zevan’s boasting had been true. He’d find the captain and hang him as this coup’s scapegoat, just as planned. But he’d heard another voice that night as Zevan mocked him, the voice of Tyria Metrel. And if she was still alive, somehow, then so was Strudel.

It was of secondary importance against the backdrop of the coup, but if there was still a chance to get his hooves on the pegacorn… Breyr felt his pulse quicken. The massive scar across his side still ached with every step he took, all these years later. The games they’d played together on the island had merely whetted his appetite for Strudel. They still had so much to catch up on.

Ah, but now was the time for focus. Years of plotting, poisoning, and perfidy had led to this night. He would not be distracted, not even by Rye Strudel.

The thane turned to Zillian. “To the boats.”

36. Allegiances

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SLAM.

Tyria sat with her back resting against the chain room’s column, staring listlessly at the door. The hinges were already buckling despite the wood bracing them, just as the ones below had done.

SLAM.

Far from the nine hours she’d hoped for, the doors had only held the camels off about one each. Zevan had led them back up the tower as the doors fell, re-bracing the next one each time. Tyria hadn’t given much input since that knife had slashed open her face.

A new drop of blood trickled down her cheek, joining the red streaks already staining her coat and the ruined collar of her uniform. The pain was growing worse every hour, but Tyria’s initial chest-bursting panic had long faded into something quieter. Something emptier.

SLAM.

Around her, the surviving zebras licked their wounds. A few had picked up some scratches in the last mad scramble to retreat to the chain winch room, but they hadn’t lost anyone else since Zab had been killed saving her life. Lem was sitting on one of the defused barrels of blackpowder, sourly picking his teeth with the tip of his knife. Zennan, the bosun, stood at the window overlooking the bay, his hoof resting on the sill as he watched the war zone below.

Captain Zevan was seated just to Tyria’s left, his back also to the column. He’d been quietly spinning his black tricorn hat on a hoof. Tyria had never noticed before how seldom she’d seen Zevan without Zab at his side, but now the first mate’s absence was an oppressive pall in the air. Zevan had not said much since the other zebra’s death.

SLAM.

Tyria’s mind felt dull and hazy. It seemed like she was managing about one thought per minute. Hours after the injury, she’d almost grown accustomed to the missing half of her world, but every time another jolt of pain struck from under the bandage she was reminded of the loss.

She suppressed a whimper as the wound flared up again. Closing her eye, she rode it out. It would fade in a minute or two. It always did.

“Ye all right, girl?” asked Zevan, softly.

Tyria wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the question. Instead, she said, “I’m sorry for pulling you into this, Captain.”

“Aye,” he said with a dry smile, “but not half as sorry as I be.” Shaking his head, he tossed the hat up and caught it on his hoof. “The first crew to sail through the Serpent’s Maw and survive in a hundred years, just to die a week later in some bloody tower. To a bunch ‘o camels. It be embarrassing.” His smile faded and he fell back into silence.

Tyria stared down at the floor. The pattern of the stone reminded her of the tiling in the kitchen back at her family home in Whitetail. She hadn’t been back there to see her family in over two years.

Morosely, she rubbed the bloodstained rank insignia on her tattered uniform. She’d been putting the visit off for so long. There’d been some half-baked idea about not returning until she’d been promoted to lieutenant. Her father would have been proud of that. It just… hadn’t happened. At some point, she’d realized it never would; but still she’d delayed…

Now, instead of a homecoming, her family would get a visit from some dour-faced corporal carrying a scroll sealed in black wax. Would her father take some comfort in the fact that she’d given her all in service of Equestria, just like he always had? Or was he simply going to be brokenhearted at the loss of his youngest daughter? Her brother would try to be strong for their mother like he always did. Her sister… Carina was stationed so far north, she might not even get the news for half a year.

The first time that any of them would meet Rye would be at her funeral. At that thought, a small sob escaped her, which she tried unsuccessfully to convert into a cough. Zevan raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

She couldn’t let herself die filled with regret and bitter sadness. Silently, she began to say her goodbyes. First to her family, then to Zanaya, and all the friends she’d made in the embassy and the academy. Perhaps some psychic echo of her mental farewell would give them some peace.

The last one to let go was Rye. In the short, precious time she’d spent with him, she’d seen a window open to a future she could scarcely have imagined before that awkward meeting on the docks. That window was about to slam shut, but the things she’d gained—and lost—in the meantime were treasures more valuable than all the sugar in the Isles.

Tyria held the memories of their time together close, smiling through pain. She inhaled, and let go of everything but the warmth of that morning sun the day they’d left the hot springs. Her hopes, her plans, her wistful fantasies, all of them lifted from her shoulders and drifted away on the wind. I’m already dead. In some strange way, that felt freeing.

She opened her eye, looking up at the ceiling, and breathed out, oddly peaceful. I think I’m ready.

“Captain,” murmured the bosun from the window. “You’d better have a look at this.”

Zevan stood, donning his hat. He strode over to the window and peered out, before giving a long, low sigh. “Well, there he be at last.”

Still in a trancelike calm, Tyria slowly found her hooves and joined them. Looking out over the ocean, she saw a new line of ships on the horizon, well behind the camels. Their green flags fluttered in the moonlight.

“Oh,” she said quietly.

“Well, boss,” muttered Zevan, “guess ye’ll have yer revenge after all. I should’ve taken the money and run…”

Tyria watched the ships, her mind unwillingly spinning into motion once again. Viridian’s grand scheme had been broken up and had the pieces all mixed around, but it wasn’t yet in a true shambles. The ultimate goal for the camels and the pirates had been exploitable chaos, and there was plenty of that in the harbor tonight.

She glanced down at the chain, still pulled taut across the bay entrance. The camels had dragged the mangled wreckage of their cruiser away from it some time ago. From the looks of things, they were sending small boats with troops in under the boom. Those small detachments couldn’t take the city without the ships’ deck ballistae and full crew complements, but they could soften up the defenses. Already, there were flashing blades in the docks, visible against the flickering tongues of flame rising from several harborside buildings.

Many of the Zyrans in the harbor had made it to shore, but the ones who’d sunk outside the bay were still in dire straits. The fighting on the beachhead was too far for Tyria to tell who was winning, but without leadership those Zyrans couldn’t last much longer. Once the camels in this tower finished battering down the door, the whole Dromedarian fleet would come flooding inside.

Tyria’s eye flicked back to the newly arrived ships. Viridian had a lot of them, but not enough to take on the camels directly. Yet, if she’d learned one thing in her time on that island, it was that the Nordpony was a serial opportunist, even when it was to his detriment. If she could draw the camels into the bay, open up their rear to a surprise attack, then Viridian wouldn’t be able to resist. He’d be sucked into the harbor like a honeybee to nectar, stalling the camels while the Equestrian fleet drew closer…

But it wouldn’t be enough to simply drop the chain. Tyria’s gaze was drawn over her shoulder to the barrel Lem was perched on, innocently branded OATS 72 KG. Her eyebrows furrowed in abrupt determination. “Zevan,” she said, standing back from the window, swaying a little, “do you have a flint?”

“Aye, but what—” the captain’s eyes widened. “Ohhh, no, lass. Ye can’t be serious.”

“That door isn’t going to last another fifteen minutes, Zevan.” Another SLAM embellished her point. “We cannot let the camels take the chain. Even if that means scorching the earth.”

Beside her, the bosun grunted in outrage. “We’d be scorching ourselves!”

“We’ll take that last-ditch escape plan.” Tyria swung open the column hatch, revealing the chain. “Light the fuse, then we climb down.”

Zevan frowned, swatting the air in disagreement. “We discussed this, Tyria. The noise from climbing be too great. I don’t intend to get turned into a pincushion when they hear us. I’d rather go down fighting.”

“They’re going to have something louder to pay attention to than a rustling chain,” she said, dredging up a mischievous smile.

“That column be like a chimney. The fire’ll come straight down fer us.”

“Then we’ll just have to climb quickly.” Tyria stamped a hoof, feeling the return of a little of that fire she’d lost along with her eye. “Look, Zevan, if the camels capture this tower intact, they’ll let in their own forces and lock out the Vipers. It’ll be a massacre in the city. The Zyrans’ only chance is if we get Viridian and the camels to start killing each other. Besides… this way, you might survive.” She gave him a steely eye. “Get the flint.”

“I—” Zevan sputtered. His jaw worked for a moment in frustration. “Ach, girl, ye’ll be the death ‘o me yet.” He turned to his remaining crew. “All right, boys, stack those barrels and get a fuse ready. As long as ye can make it. We only need one barrel to go off to take the rest with it.”

The zebras nodded fearfully. They scrambled to pile the barrels up against the column, while Lem began measuring out the fuses that Tyria had severed and snuffed out only a few hours before.

Tyria reached into the column and touched the chain, scraping off a few flakes of rust. Zevan approached over her shoulder, leaning past her to gaze down into the black cavity. “Can ye make the climb?”

“I won’t slow you down,” she said, rubbing her forehead as another jolt of pain lanced through her eye. “I can go in last.”

“That weren’t what I asked,” he said, his voice warm. “I don’t want ye to die, Tyria.”

“No?” she asked lightly, facing him with a crooked smile. “I seem to remember a noose in our recent past.”

“That were before I saw ye in action during the Maw,” said Zevan. “Ye be a fine shipmare, Tyria. Ye’ve got good instincts. Ye’re bold. The boys respect ye. And, well, with Zab off meeting the gods…”

“Captain,” interrupted Lem, “we’re ready.” He lifted a long cord made from all the fuses, tied together with simple knots.

Tyria nodded. “No time to waste, then. The flint, Zevan?”

With a dubious groan, he jerked his head toward Zennan. The bosun, grimacing, withdrew a flint and steel strip from his vest pocket and gave them to Tyria. Zevan circled a hoof in the air. “In ye go, boys. Careful now, if the camels hear us, this be a short escape attempt.”

As the zebras piled into the column, beginning their descent, Zevan placed a hoof on the chain and looked back. “Keep up now, girl.”

“I will. Get going.” Tyria strode over to the lengthy fuse. As Zevan disappeared into the darkness, she gripped the steel strip in her mouth and lifted the flint.

The ram slammed against the door again, and one of the hinges snapped out of the frame to send the bolts flying across the room. Tyria winced, then winced again as the motion drew a stab of pain from her eye. She looked over at the door, holding her head, and sucked in a dismayed breath. It wasn’t going to hold for as long as this fuse would take to burn.

Sighing, she undid one of the knots, leaving only about a half-meter of cord left. The odds of them making it out in time now were next to nothing. Tyria closed her eye, sinking back into that peaceful state of emptiness. I’m already dead. She struck the flint, and the fuse hissed to life.

Dropping the stone and steel, she raced over to the column, practically leaping inside. She rapidly began shimmying down the chain. Under the weight of the five of them, the chain swayed imperceptibly, but it let out a small creak with every link she descended.

She breathed heavily in the musty air. The walls were damp with condensation, brushing up against her back as she made her way down. How much time did they have before that fuse burned out? As she was already dead, the curiosity was academic, but she still felt a rush of adrenaline that left her lightheaded.

As she passed the hatch of the floor below, she heard voices on the other side. Speaking in the Dromedarian tongue, the camels sounded agitated. The dull thudding of the ram on the door reached her ears through the wood.

She had passed the hatch and was nearly to the next one when the portal swung open to let in the orange blaze of torchlight. A camel thrust his head inside, and his eyes nearly bugged out when he met Tyria’s gaze. The camel swung back, yelling.

“We’re spotted!” shouted Tyria, drawing a violent curse from Zevan below.

Footsteps thudded on the floor above as the camels raced down to catch them at the next hatch. Tyria scrambled down the chain, sweating. So, a spear would be the thing to kill her after all.

Suddenly, there was an enormous roar from above, like some primeval monster awakening. At the top of the chain, a fiery orange light blossomed in the dark, and the force of the blast flattened her ears back against her head. Tyria’s good eye opened wide, staring into the boiling mass of flame as it descended with meteoric speed.

There was a jolt beneath her hooves as the chain broke, and her stomach jumped into her throat as they abruptly went into free-fall.

Below, Zevan yelled at the top of his lungs, “Hold on!”

The chain fell, the fire racing to catch them. The metal slammed against the opposite side of the column, thousands of sparks bursting to life and flying at Tyria’s face. She ducked her head, quivering, holding onto the chain with a deathgrip. The screeching metal and the deafening roar of the explosion became her world, battering her senseless.

Suddenly the chain smashed into a curve, and Tyria was riding sideways. She had one brief moment of clarity to inhale deeply, and then the chain went flying out of the rock face into open air. It crashed into the water below, still traveling fast. Tyria was flung free, slamming into the surface with nearly enough force to knock the air from her lungs. She plunged deep into the dark sea.

The briny water seared her wounded eye. She wanted to scream, but held her breath desperately. I’m already dead, she thought insistently, but her body refused to listen, still scrabbling to grip tightly on survival for another moment. A few bubbles escaped her mouth, and floated up past her head. She followed them, seeking the surface in a daze.

After an agonizing eternity, she burst into the air with a gasp, sucking in as much air as she could. The moon above shone brilliantly, the black figure of the Mare gazing down upon her. Tyria treaded water for a moment, trying to catch her breath.

She looked down from the sky just in time to see the dark hull of a camel cruiser rocketing toward her with the force of three dozen oars behind it. Tyria instantly tucked her body in and dove, barely scraping beneath the keel as the ship whisked over her. Feeling ready to burst, she swam sideways, finding the surface once more.

With great effort, she struggled through the water back toward the cliff face that the chain had flown out of. She knew from all the hours that she’d spent painting this place that a thin strip of shoreline encircled the entire bottom of the cliff, running out along the outer edge all the way to the base of the volcano on the island’s southern side. Her only thought was to reach the sand and rest.

Behind her, the camels were wasting no time. More ships followed the first, streaming into the bay with deadly speed. The city’s only hope now was that Viridian would take the bait. If not, the Zyrans were surely doomed. Above her, the flaming ruins of the tower burned brightly in the dark like a beacon, a rising cloud of smoke becoming a twin to the green column on the volcano.

Tyria reached the shore, dragging herself out of the water onto the bare meter of sand. She collapsed on the ground, panting heavily, thought blanked out of her head by pain and exhaustion.

She could feel herself slipping into unconsciousness, and shook her head to resist. Why fight it? she wondered, sagging into the sand. I’m already dead. I’ve done all I can. It’s time to let go.

Another lightning bolt of pain struck from her eye. Moaning, she cradled her head. It would be so easy to stop here. To lie down, go to sleep, and never wake up again. Why couldn’t she just let herself rest?

I’ve forgotten how to quit, she thought, suddenly laughing hoarsely. Maybe that was what she’d burned away with the flaming brand.

With a regretful sigh, she pushed her trembling legs against the ground, forcing herself to stand. Her legs nearly failed her, but she took a few stumbling steps toward the harbor.

It was then that she realized she was surrounded by camel footprints. The sand was covered with them, dozens at the very least. Tyria exhaled, trying to think through the tired haze in her mind. Those prints were pointed toward the city, likely one of those advance landing parties acting as a vanguard for the fleet. They’d be heavily armed.

The camels were going into the city, so she would go out.

Tyria turned and staggered around the edge of the cliff, walking to the outside of the harbor. The minutes passed in unbroken misery, as she walked along the beach, not knowing when she’d stop.

At last, she spotted something ahead. Half-concealed in the reeds along the shore was the unmistakable outline of a small boat. If the moon weren’t so bright tonight, she might have missed it. Tyria stopped, taking haggard breaths. A camel landing craft. There might be bandages inside, or food. Or alcohol. I could use a drink. She smiled humorlessly.

Dragging her hooves through the sand, she approached the boat. She reached it at last, collapsing against the side, taking a moment to rest before looking inside. It was empty. Tyria sighed, already past despair. She tried to find the strength to stand again.

“Tyria, girl, be that you?” came a familiar voice.

Tyria lifted her head, breaking out into a weary smile. “Zevan?”

“Aye,” he said, emerging from the reeds with Lem and Zennan in tow. There was no sign of the other two zebras from the tower. “Glad to see ye survived the fall as well.”

She closed her eye, still smiling. “I’m happy you made it.”

“Come on, let’s get ye in the boat.” Firm zebra hooves reached under her forelegs to lift her over the hull. They set her down on the bottom, and she lay her head against the side of the hull. The rest of the zebras climbed in.

“All right, boss,” said Lem, under his breath. “The coast is clear. Let’s get going, before the camels notice us out here.”

Tyria opened her eye, frowning in confusion. “Wait…”

“Don’t worry, girl, ye’re safe now.” Zevan lifted one of the oars from the bottom of the boat and tossed it to the bosun, taking the other for himself. Lem pushed the boat into the water, before hopping inside. The oars slipped into the water, and they began pulling away from the shoreline.

With great effort, Tyria sat up and pressed an accusing hoof into Zevan’s thigh. “Where… are you going?”

“We cannae get back into the bay to board the Adder’s Bite,” said Zevan, unhappiness plain in his voice. “Too dangerous now. But there be plenty ‘o other ships out here.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Viridian’s ships.”

“Fer now,” said Zevan, with a wicked grin. “But once they learn he be planning to betray us all, how long will that last?”

“But—”

“Shh. Ye’ve taken quite the beating, girl.” Zevan gave her a reassuring pat. “Get some rest. I’ll wake ye when we reach the ship.”

Her hoof fell. She wanted to protest, but was getting harder and harder to stay awake. She pressed a hoof to her bandage with a little ah of pain.

“Now,” said Zevan, staring hungrily at the nearest of the Viper ships, “let’s see what Captain Merrick be up to…”

Tyria’s eye fluttered closed, and merciful oblivion swallowed her up.

* * *

Breyr’s small boat rocked in the turbulent waters of the bay. The torch mounted on the ship’s prow flickered in the night. Most of the camel ships were lined up on the beachfront in the distance, ballistae already priming to fire into the city to break up any Zyran formations that had managed to assemble.

One camel schooner remained behind, covering the entrance of the harbor. The Vipers’ boats were closing on it fast, coalescing together with the camel ship as their central point. Breyr’s own transport headed the mob.

He adjusted his thick cloak. The fur was stifling in the tropical air, but he would only need its concealment for another few minutes. The zebras in his boat all wore similar garments. Those in the boats around them wore nothing but the green accoutrements that marked them, unwittingly, for death.

The boats came to a halt before the schooner, and Breyr stood. The craft rocked beneath him as he took in the lone camel figure standing on the deck to greet them. He recognized the Dromedarian. It was Menes Akhanehet, the Dromedarian embassy’s spymaster, and his most frequent contact in the city besides Arcturus Milliden. No doubt the camel had snuck out of the city and boarded his nation’s ship at the earliest opportunity, to avoid the fighting. He thought he was safe out here. Breyr smiled.

From the way his spine stiffened, Menes recognized Breyr as well. “Viridian,” he called out, “You’re late.”

“That didn’t stop you from starting without me, I see,” said Breyr with icy calm. Beside him in the boat, Captain Zillian raised a questioning eyebrow. Now? Breyr shook his head imperceptibly. Not yet.

Menes looked around at the Vipers warily. Breyr’s smile thinned. What was going on in that camel’s head? The camels had planned to catch the Vipers by surprise, not the other way around. But most of the pirates weren’t supposed to know about that part of the plan. Menes had to be wondering whether Breyr was still letting his troops think the camels were their allies.

The camel’s coat shone with sweat in the torchlight as he tried to covertly determine friend from foe. “The attack is well under way, but there is still room for your forces to help.”

“Where?” asked Breyr, flashing the briefest of looks to Zillian. The zebra captain winked, and began whispering to the pirates next to him.

Menes cleared his throat. “The right side of the harbor, to the south. We’ve landed most of our troops to the left and center, where the fewest Zyran ships went down. Once we’ve secured the beachhead, we’ll begin moving on the noble district and capture the Zyran leadership.” He was beginning to relax. “If you like, Viridian, you’re free to join me on the ship and have a drink while we wait.”

“A generous offer,” said Breyr, holding out a hoof to Zillian. The zebra placed a bottle in it. “In fact, I brought some spirits of my own.”

Menes smiled cautiously. “Oh, how… fortunate. I’ll have them roll down the ladder…”

The spymaster’s eyebrows drew together in concern as Breyr lifted the bottle up to the torch mounted on his boat. Breyr felt a shiver of anticipation as the rag stuffed in the bottleneck caught the flame. He drew his foreleg back, baring his teeth in a ghastly smile. “Alas, I’m afraid I must decline. I have business in the city tonight.”

He would treasure the look on the camel’s face in nights to come. Breyr had slipped a lot of knives into a lot of backs over the years, but he would never tire of staring into their eyes as he twisted the blade.

With a grunt, he launched the flaming bottle into the air. It smashed against the hull, bursting into flame, the sticky mixture of alcohol and carmelized sugar within exploding violently across the wood.

Menes shrieked. “Attack! We’re under—”

More bottle-bombs sailed through the air as the pirates let them fly. The accelerant splashed across the sails, inflaming them in seconds. Camels rushed onto the deck, only to be greeted by another volley of fire.

Menes was the first to realize the ship was doomed. He sprang up onto the railing and dived into the water with a splash, about ten meters ahead of the boats. Breyr looked down to his right and gestured to his current second-in-command. “Our friend is trying to leave, Zillian. Time for that little trick of yours.”

“Aye, boss,” drawled the zebra captain. He flipped an axe up from his belt, grasping the curved handle in his mouth. Squinting at the water, he waited a moment.

Menes broke the surface, gasping for air, and had exactly one second to savor his escape from the ship before the throwing axe buried itself in his back.The camel cried out and slumped back down into the water. A few seconds passed before his body floated up to lie limp on the surface of the bay.

Breyr raised his head and turned to face the rest of his boats. “They thought they’d plunder the city without us!” he called over the screams of the burning camels, raising his hoof and pointing to the growing inferno. “We’ll show them what happens to those who cross the Pit Vipers.”

A chorus of hundreds roared in approval. The pirates banged their weapons on the sides of the boats, champing at the bit to taste blood. Breyr slashed the air with his hoof. “Light them up, boys! Burn every ship with a Dromedarian flag! Kill every camel you see!” He jabbed toward the camel frigates lining the shore in the distance. “This city is ours!”

“Viridian! Viridian!” chanted the pirates, whipped into a frothing frenzy. Boats began taking off across the bay, cutting around the flaming camel schooner toward the shoreline.

Breyr watched them go, sitting back down in the boat with a faint smile of satisfaction. “That should give us plenty of time,” he murmured. With a nod to the oarszebras, their boat slid into motion, flanked by the two others that were part of the next stage of his plan.

“Brave lads,” said Zillian, watching the main pirate force head toward the camels’ unprotected rear. “Not going to stand a chance against the camels, mind you.” He reached down as they passed Menes’s corpse and grasped his throwing axe, yanking it out with a squelch. Sitting back down in the boat, he began to clean it with a rag, whistling a shanty.

“They’ll do some damage,” said Breyr, unclasping his robe. He gave Zillian an evaluating eye. The zebra was a brute, and a poor replacement for Zevan, but he had his uses. “Never underestimate the power of surprise.”

He flung the cloak off into the water, revealing the Zyran Navy uniform beneath it. The rest of the zebras in the three boats followed suit. Breyr wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, relieved to be out of the stifling fur at last.

“Where to, boss?” asked Zillian.

“Sir,” said Breyr. “You’re in the military, now.”

“Aye aye, sir,” said the zebra with a sly grin. “What’s our heading?”

“The camel said they were weakest near the theater district. We’ll start on that side. Let the dupes fight each other while we rally the Zyrans. Then we’ll push in to meet our friends in the noble district. Once the coup is settled, we can focus on the camels and any leftover stragglers.”

Breyr watched the shore as it drew closer, counting the moments till his hooves hit sand and he could begin the final stretch of his long climb to the throne.

* * *

Zanaya sighed with relief as they passed under the gate and through the city wall. “Nearly there, Marquis Zahira.”

The Marquis, who had her bad leg draped over Zanaya’s back, gave a grunt. “How much further from here to the embassy?”

“We’ll follow this road for about a hundred meters, then turn left onto Jellico Avenue and—”

“Yes, I know the rest of the way from there.” Zahira winced. “Let’s hope your griffons are as accommodating as you claim, Gableclaw.”

Tatius shook his wings, drawing another shower of soot from them. He’d been doing that for an hour, but more kept falling out. “Miss Sablefeather has seen far worse injuries than a broken leg, Madame Marquis. You’ll be fine.”

Zanaya raised an eyebrow, adjusting her support for Zahira. “Sablefeather? Your secretary pulls double duty as a medic?”

“All Gryphans serve a mandatory minimum of five years in the military, Officer Zanaya. At least, they did before that demilitarization treaty. Aetia was chosen for this post precisely because of her medical expertise. The secretary position is what she does when her other skills aren’t in use.” Tatius sighed wistfully. “I spent my own five years on the frigate Tiberius. I can’t say I preferred it to diplomatic work, but it wasn’t so bad. A shame our youngest generations will never have the experience.”

Zanaya rolled her eyes, glancing to her left at Rye. Wheatie would have snapped something at the griffon for that remark, but the pony ambassador didn’t even seem to be paying attention. His eyes were locked upward on the distant burning wreckage of the chain tower. He’d had that hollow look to him since they’d left the facility, his sunken eyes holding no spark of light.

The group continued through the streets, which were largely empty by now. The citizens had either fled to areas defended by the Watch or were huddling in their homes. Some had fled into the jungle, judging from the wide open gate that had greeted them upon their return.

Zanaya was relieved to see that the camels had not made it this far into the district yet. Tyria had managed to delay them longer than she’d had any right to. Zanaya quelled another shaky breath that threatened to shake her collected exterior. She had to stay strong for her city right now. She could mourn once the battle was done.

A few minutes later, they turned the corner revealing the street that contained both the Equestrian and Gryphan embassies. The Equestrian one still bore a gaping hole on the second floor wall, blackened bricks and peeled paint recoiling from the blast scar. The Gryphan one across the street was in much better shape, though no lights shone through the windows.

They reached the door, and Tatius knocked. There was a tense, silent wait, until at last the door creaked open an inch. “Ambassador?” came the voice of Aetia Sablefeather, filled with disbelief. Zanaya’s eyes narrowed at the sound of the griffon who’d given her so much trouble during the investigation.

“Yes, Aetia,” said Tatius. “Let us in. And get your medical kit, Marquis Zahira is injured.”

“Marqu—” Aetia opened the door fully, her eyes wide. “What’s going on, Ambassador? Have you been released?”

“That’s still under consideration,” said Zahira dryly. “Get that splint, would you?”

“Right away, Madame,” said Aetia with a bow. She hurried back into the darkened embassy.

The griffon embassy guards helped the Marquis inside, letting Zanaya take a break to massage her tired shoulder. They propped Zahira up against the welcome desk and waited for Aetia to return.

“What next?” asked Zanaya. “The Equestrian fleet is sailing here to help us, but I don’t know how long that will be, or what kind of force they’re bringing. Ambassador Strudel, do you—”

She turned to look at the pegacorn, but found only the empty doorway. Jerking her head back and forth, she saw only griffons. “Rye?”

Tatius poked his head out of the door. “No sign of him. He must have slipped away before we came inside.”

What is he thinking? Zanaya had an all-too-good idea, alas. She’d put the idea of finding Tyria in his head herself, after all. Foolish, to run off through the city alone, but it was ultimately his decision. She briefly considered trying to intercept him before he reached the ruins of the tower, but shook her head with dismay. She couldn’t leave the Marquis alone with the griffons. Not while so many traitors prowled the city streets. You’re on your own, Ambassador.

Zahira’s face darkened. “Off to join his friends in the bay?”

“Madame, you can’t still possibly believe the Equestrians are behind this.”

Zahira gave a dubious shrug. “Perhaps not the attack, but I wouldn’t put a little cold opportunism past the Sun Queen’s minions. With our navy destroyed, we are the weakest we have ever been.”

“Yes, which means we’re going to have to trust our allies.” Zanaya would never have been so bold with her city’s ruler before tonight, but it was her hesitance to go directly to the top that had allowed Commissioner Zireena to put them in this mess in the first place.

“You may trust the ponies, Officer Zanaya, but I don’t.” Zahira gave her an acerbic look. “Your judgement on the matter has been compromised. Many, many nights in a row, from the sound of things.”

“I don’t deny it,” said Zanaya, with an embarrassed rub of her fetlock. “But I’m not saying this just because of Wheatie. We need some friends right now, and the Equestrians are willing to help.”

“Hrmm.” Zahira’s scowl deepened. “We have little choice in the matter for now. It’s a problem for another day. Tonight’s order of business is stopping a certain pirate lord from stealing my military.”

Aetia finally returned with the first-aid kit, popping it open and beginning to craft a splint from the wooden spars and bandages within. Zahira held out her hoof to let the griffon work.

“Viridian is a Nordpony, if Ambassador Strudel was right,” said Zanaya, rubbing her chin. “He ought to be easy to spot, if that’s the case. Just look for bright blue eyes.”

“I want him alive, if possible,” growled Zahira. “He’s got to know about every foul clump of this treasonous rot that’s infested my city. Nobles’ heads will roll on his testimony.”

Zanaya nodded. “I’ll clap him in irons for you. And Commissioner Zireena as well.”

“He’ll just lie,” said Tatius, yawning. “He has to know he’ll be executed anyway if he’s caught.”

“I… doubt that,” said Zanaya. She’d seen one or two Zyran military interrogations before. They always got their answers.

“If I may, Madame,” said Tatius, “what are your plans for me?”

“I’m not dismissing your charges,” said Zahira crossly. “You’re the reason my entire navy is lying on the seabed right now. But…” she softened, “you did save my life. Continue helping me tonight, and I’ll let the crimes be covered by your diplomatic immunity. You’ll be sent home to Grypha, alive and unharmed.” She glared at the griffon. “As long as you never come back to my island.”

Tatius gave a half-smile, but his eyes held disappointment. “I… thank you, Madame.”

Zanaya remembered what he’d said about the lethal welcome waiting for him back home if he returned a failure. Where would he go instead, she wondered?

“There,” said Aetia, stepping back. “Try standing on it.”

Zahira rose, wincing as she put her splint-supported leg to the ground, but it held steady. She gave a curt nod. “It will do. How many of the embassy staff can come with us?”

“There’s only the three of us left,” said Aetia, nodding to the two guards. “The rest of the staff fled when the attack began.”

Grunting, Zahira shrugged. “Got to start somewhere. Well, let’s get down to the harbor and save my beleaguered military.” She pushed open the door without further preamble and started off down the street, limping slightly.

Zanaya and the griffons followed her out. Scanning their surroundings, Zanaya tried to spot a yellow-robed pony, but Rye was nowhere to be seen. She sighed, giving up the hope that he’d change his mind and return to the relative safety of the embassy. Trying not to think about him, or about the reason he’d left, she set off to follow the Marquis.

* * *

A gentle nudge woke Tyria. She blinked awake, feeling a sudden rush of terror as half her sight remained blind. After a few panicked gasps, she remembered, and the fear settled down into a cold pit in her stomach.

Sitting upright, she held the bandage over her eye. It was crusty with blood and salt water, but she didn’t dare take it off. She dared not risk seeing her reflection without it in the moonlit waters.

Slowly, she realized that they’d reached a larger ship. Looking up, she could see a figure on the deck silhouetted against the moonlight.

“Who’szer?” called an unfamiliar voice.

Sitting in the seat ahead of her, Zevan cupped his hooves to his mouth and called, “Captain Zevan ‘o the Nightingale! Get Captain Merrick out here, I’ve words fer him.”

There was a pause, then: “Zevan?” The sentry’s voice was filled with disbelief. “Aye, Merrick’ll want to speak with you. Hold on a moment.”

Zevan watched the zebra on the ship disappear, fidgeting with uncharacteristic nervousness. “This be the Copperhead, Captain Merrick’s ship,” he said to Tyria, under his breath. “He and I haven't always seen eye-to-eye, but…”

A vermillion-coated pony appeared above them, flanked by two zebras with lanterns. He stared down at the boat with obvious interest. “Well, well, the prodigal pirate returns. To what do I owe this surprise, Zevan?”

“Viridian,” spat Zevan. “He planned to sell us out. Did he tell ye about the camels?”

“Recently. Very recently.” Merrick said something to the zebras, and they began lowering lines to hoist up the boat. “Come on up, Zevan. It seems we have some things to discuss.”

As the boat lifted into the air, Tyria watched a flickering orange light reflecting on the water at the mouth of the bay. Had the camels set the city ablaze?

She was past fearing for herself. It didn’t matter what the pirates planned to do with her—she was already dead, after all. But a nervous tension still resided in her stomach, fueled by concern for the city, and concern for Rye.

They drew level with the deck, and the pirates stepped out of the boat onto the deck of the Copperhead. Tyria followed sluggishly, her legs barely responding to her directives. Lem and Zennan greeted their fellow pirates with wide grins and a great deal of back slapping, before they all began heading off toward the lower decks.

Zevan and the pony captain remained behind. Merrick shook Zevan’s hoof, smiling. “It’s good to see you again, you old relic.”

“Only good pirates get old,” said Zevan, with a weary chuckle.

“Viridian’s been raving about you for days. It’s made the trip from Zendruga unbearable, let me tell you. What on earth made you steal his ship?”

“He sold us out,” said Zevan, suddenly seething. “All ‘o us. He be plotting to have us and the camels kill each other while he seize control ‘o the city.” Growling, he muttered, “He wants us all dead. Every last captain and all ‘o our crews.”

Merrick frowned pensively, glancing toward the city. “If you’d told me this story yesterday, Zevan, I’d have gutted you on the deck and turned your entrails over to Viridian myself. But now…” His mouth tightened with grim resignation. “He expected the camels, all right. Wasn’t even surprised to see their fleet, just pissed.”

“Aye, they started a bit early,” said Zevan, wincing and rubbing one of the shallow slashes he’d gotten in the tower.

“I signed on for a raid, even a brief occupation, but not a bloody war.” Merrick scowled.

“Yer crew, be they inside the harbor?”

“Only the fresh meat,” said Merrick, shrugging. “I’d gotten the feeling something was wrong, after you left. I held back what few experienced zebras I have left. Enough to sail the ship, at least. My old crew is inside the city already, guarding that tower.” He looked up at the flaming ruin. “Doubt they’re still alive.”

Zevan paused. “Ah… nay, probably not.” Recovering, he continued, “The rest ‘o them in there be as good as dead, anyway. If the camels don’t kill em, Viridian will. It be time fer us to make like pirates and run.”

Merrick slowly exhaled. “I think… you may be right.”

Tyria was yanked back to full wakefulness. “Wait, what? We can’t just leave.”

Merrick raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”

Ignoring him, she looked to Zevan. “Captain, the city’s still in danger. We can help, if—”

Zevan shook his head, his face filled with sympathy. “Sorry, girl. I know ye’d like to, but this be more of a fight than we can handle. Especially with that Equestrian fleet heading this way.”

“But—” Tyria whirled around, clapping her hooves to the railing. Suddenly alarmed, she scanned the harbor entrance, staring with dread at those orange flickers. “Rye’s still in there! The Marquis, Zanaya—we can’t abandon them. Look, if we can at least—at least blockade the harbor until the ponies arrive—”

Merrick scoffed. “I plan to be well away from here by then. What do we care about the city, anyway?” He rubbed his hooves together. “Well, now that the Pit Vipers are breaking up, I suppose there won’t be anyone to get upset if we head back to the island and help ourselves to some of that loot… we leave now and we can get there before the other captains catch wind.”

“Aye, that be our first stop,” said Zevan. “But this don’t mean the end ‘o the Vipers.”

Merrick raised an eyebrow. “What, and who’s going to lead the captains? You?”

Raising his chin, Zevan’s eyes narrowed. “Aye.”

A silence fell. Merrick’s eyes twitched back and forth, his jaw moving from side to side. “I… admit, these last few years, working as a group… it’s been very profitable.”

“Aye. The idea weren’t a bad one, so long as the boss don’t try to murder the lot ‘o us.” Zevan lowered his head again, looking Merrick in the eyes. “Ye need an experienced corsair leadin’ this lot.”

“You are one hell of a captain, Zevan,” said Merrick, a reluctant grin creeping onto his face. “I’ll give you that.”

Zevan’s mouth creased into an equally sly smile. “And ye’re a tricky little weasel, Merrick. What be the cost ‘o yer support?”

“Twenty percent of all our hauls combined. After maintenance fees for the ships, of course.”

“Five.”

“Fifteen.”

“Seven, and I’ll give ye first pick ‘o the loot on the island.”

Merrick whistled, before sticking his tongue into his cheek and mulling it over. “Ahhh…” he shrugged reluctantly. “Very well, you’ve got yourself a deal, Commodore Zevan.”

With a triumphant clap on the pony’s shoulder, Zevan nodded. “Get the word out to the other ships. Let’s see who else be ready to leave Viridian to rot and get back to some honest pirating.”

Merrick put a hoof to his mouth and whistled. “Up on deck, boys! Let’s get those carrier pigeons out here. We’ve got some messages to send. And get the ship ready to sail, we’re pulling out soon.”

Tyria watched him go, aghast. “Zevan, no,” she whispered. “We can’t leave them.”

“Tyria,” he said, turning to her with a kindly look in his eye, “we have to go. This fight be lost. No matter who wins, they be wanting us dead. Time to cut and run.”

“But—” Tyria felt sudden, helpless tears rise up. “We’ve got a job to do, Zevan. We’re a crew.”

“Aye, we are,” he said, excitement creeping into his voice. “That’s why I want ye to come with us, Tyria. I want ye to take Zab’s place at me side.”

Tyria blinked in shock. “What?”

“Become me first mate.” Zevan’s eyes were filled with eager hope. “Ye be the best sailor I’ve seen in years. With a little more experience and me training, ye could have yer own ship and command in a year or two.”

“I can’t… believe…” Tyria shook her head, mouth gaping. “You’re serious.”

“Aye.” Zevan strode over to the railing, nearly bouncing with energy. He raised his hooves, opening his forelegs wide to the ocean beyond. “All ‘o this, girl, it can be ours. The wind in yer mane, the thrill ‘o the hunt, the joy ‘o being free, it’s yers fer the taking.”

Tyria slowly turned, staring out across the moonlit horizon, her mind disconnected from her aching body. “Free…”

“Aye, no more military bollocks. Ye’re a kindred spirit, girl; ye hate being stuck following all those rules, I know it.”

She did hate the military. Not because of the restrictions, but because every day she woke up and put on that uniform, it was another reminder that her life had been chosen for her. Every failure that brought shame to her family name, every mediocrity that sank her chances of advancement, every dressing-down destroying what crumbling pieces remained of her self-respect…

If she wanted, here was her chance to leave it all behind. She could escape from Captain Petalbloom and Ambassador Milliden, from all those miserable days of playing babysitter, from her father’s endless expectations, from all the inward-aiming hatred and the shame and the sadness…

And she could do it. She knew she could. Zevan was right, she was a damn fine sailor, despite her pitiful academy records. Her father had made sure she’d be ready for the Navy; against her wishes, as always, but now she could use it for herself, for something she decided to do.

But she’d have to leave Rye and all the rest of them to die.

The tears spilled freely from her good eye, and the bandage grew damp. “I can’t…”

“Sure ye can,” he said, with a tender smile. He placed a gentle hoof on her shoulder. “It’ll be good, ye’ll see. We can get that eye looked at first thing next time we make port.”

“I can’t leave them all,” she said, her shoulders shaking. Crying, she trembled, and sank to the deck. “Please, don’t ask me to leave them.”

“There’s nothing left to leave,” said Zevan, crouching beside her. “Tyria, if yer mate had found Zahira, this battle would ‘o ended hours ago. He’s gone, lass.”

“No…” Tyria’s chest heaved. She couldn’t hold back the sobs any longer, curling down on herself and clutching her hooves across her chest.

Zevan slowly lifted her left hoof with one of his own. “No one will blame ye fer saving yer own life, Tyria. No need to throw it away, even fer love.”

“I can’t…” Tears dripped to the deck. “I can’t…”

“Yes, ye can.” Zevan offered her a hoof. “Come with me, Tyria. Be something better. Do great things with me.”

Great things. Tyria shook her head weakly, wracked with more sobs, trying to regain control.

“I’ll help ye,” he said, gently pulling her with him as he stood. She rose, the shudders subsiding, though the tears still flowed down her cheek. “Come on, girl, small steps.”

She staggered forward, leaning on him, still crying. Zevan murmured comfortingly to her. “That’s it. Let’s get ye down in the hold to rest.”

Tyria took a step toward the stairs, then another. She was already dead. Rye, Zanaya, they were already dead. Her old life, left behind, her spirit rising free like a phoenix to find a new existence. It was waiting for her, waiting in Zevan’s hooves for her to seize.

I can choose my own path, she thought, inhaling sharply, whatever it may be. Not what my father wants. Not even what Zevan wants. Not what anyone but me wants.

What had Rye wanted?

“Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. Even if it means leaving me behind.”

Her hooves froze to the deck. Her nostrils flared. Her lungs filled with air.

I’m not dead yet.

Bursting into a scream, she braced her forelegs against Zevan, and swerved backward. The zebra flew backwards, slamming into the rail with Tyria on top of him, pressing him back against the wood. “NO!” she shouted into his face, flecks of spittle flying from her mouth.

Zevan’s eyes bulged. “Tyria, girl—”

“Shut up!” Tyria shoved him against the railing, rattling his head. “We are not leaving this island, do you understand? We are not. Leaving. Them. To die.”

Zevan pressed a hoof between them, but she didn’t budge. “Tyria, don’t get yerself killed just because yer mate—”

“This isn’t about love!” Tyria’s whole body filled with fire. “This is about who I am, Zevan, and I am not going to abandon this city.”

“Tyria—”

With an enraged roar, she pulled back a hoof and flung it at his face. Zevan’s eyes instantly sharpened, and he shrugged easily out of her grip to catch the hoof in his own. He twisted under her, using her own momentum to flip her over the railing to crash into the lifted boat.

Zevan stood, breathing hard. “It be a fool’s hope to think ye can save them, Tyria.”

“Then I’m a fool,” she said, staggering upright. She collapsed back against the side of the boat, too tired to stand. “But I’m going to try, Zevan. You can come with me or not, but you can’t stop me.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then smiled sadly. “Aye. I suppose not.”

Zevan smashed his hoof into the pin that held the boat winch taut. It clattered to the deck, and suddenly Tyria was falling. The boat smacked into the water with a loud splash, knocking Tyria down again.

“It be time for the Pit Vipers to head fer different climes,” shouted Zevan from above. “I hear Antellucía be lovely this time ‘o year.” He smiled wryly down at her. “If ye survive, come find us there. Me offer still stands.”

She wanted to be angry with him, but her mouth quivered into an unwilling smile. He was simply being true to himself, just as she was. So instead of cursing at him, or begging for his help, she said, “Thank you, Zevan.”

“Here,” he called, tossing something down. It landed in the boat with a soft thud. Tyria bent to pick it up, and lifted a black tricorn with a strip of green cloth.

She tilted her head up at him, laughing. Zevan grinned. “Maybe me lucky hat’ll help ye.” He looked off toward the bay. “I hope ye be right about yer mate, lass. I truly do.”

“Goodbye, Captain,” she said, holding the hat.

“It be Commodore, now,” said Zevan, with an ironic salute. “Goodbye, Tyria.”

And with that, he was gone. Zevan turned back and vanished over the deck. The ship’s sails were unfurling already, as the pirates prepared to leave.

Tyria sat in the boat and began fitting the oars to their slots. As the Copperhead pulled away, setting its course into the night, Tyria lifted the hat. Wearing a crooked, melancholy smile, she placed it on her head. With her aching hooves on the oars, she bent her back and began to row.

37. Mêlée à Trois

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Boats hit sand; hooves hit ground. Breyr’s group piled out of their transports onto the unoccupied beach. Far around the curve of the harbor, the sounds and flashing lights of fire and steel broke the night air as the pirates fell upon the camel ships, but Breyr’s immediate surroundings were calm.

“There, boss,” said Zillian, pointing north, to a warehouse near the last long piers of the harbor. “How’s that for a target?”

“Sir,” reminded Breyr. He squinted into the dark, immediately spying the camels Zillian was pointing at. It was a small team, perhaps one of their advance landing parties. They were standing near the entrance to one of the innumerable storehouses that lined the docks, hammering on the door with a ram. “Yes, there must be Zyrans inside that building. Everyone, tight on me.”

His team, thirty zebras strong, fell in behind him. They swiftly cantered along the pavement, weapons at the ready. The black-and-navy-blue uniforms concealed their stripes handily in the darkness. As they drew closer to the Dromedarian shore party, Breyr’s group slipped across the street, steering down the bank of the shoreline from the road, staying concealed from the enemy sentries.

Coming to a halt, barely ten meters away from the camels and hidden only by the slight slope of the beach and the darkness, Breyr waved his hoof in a signal to halt. The zebras crouched around him, machetes and knives at the ready.

He studied the camel group. Two were standing guard, their spears locked upward in a rest position. Another pair held the ram, sitting on either side of it and using both of their front feet to swing it in metronomic rhythm against the door. Another dozen lounged beside them, most speaking quietly to each other or turning their heads toward the commotion further down the harbor. Breyr spared a glance in that direction and was gratified to see that three of the camel ships had already erupted into a blazing conflagration.

Breyr nodded to Zillian, pointing a hoof at the rightmost sentry, the one furthest from the main group. Zillian hefted one of his throwing axes in his mouth, swinging another idly from a leather strip on his left hoof. Breyr lifted a foreleg, waiting for the right moment.

It came when the other sentry looked down to scratch his foot with the butt of his spear. Breyr jerked his hoof, and the throwing axe instantly flew through the air to thud home into the first camel’s chest. The second axe caught the other sentry in the throat before the first one’s spear had even hit the ground.

The camels barely had time to register that their comrades had fallen before Breyr’s force fell upon them. The black-clad pirates dashed across the street in silence, blades and bludgeons whipping forward. No war-cries from this lot; for the final stage of his plan, Breyr had picked the most hardened, professional killers he could find among the Pit Vipers. Caught off-guard, the Dromedarians were utterly demolished in moments.

While his zebras wiped down their blades, Breyr stepped up to the door and knocked. “Hello? Anyone left alive in there?”

After a few moments of quiet, a trembling voice responded. “Wh-who’s that?”

“I’m Acting-Captain of the frigate Falerian.”

“The Falerian? I thought Zamellik was the captain of that ship.”

Breyr gave a weary, regret-filled sigh. “He was.”

Zillian, who had retrieved his axes and was swinging them jauntily, began to whistle. Breyr glared in his direction. Shape up, he mouthed at the zebra, who gave him a sheepish nod and stowed the blades.

Restraining the urge to roll his eyes, Breyr turned back to the door. “We were sabotaged. A traitor in our crew blew the whole ship to hell. Some of us managed to swim back to the island. I’m just a Commander, but now… I’m the highest-ranking officer left, as far as we’ve been able to tell.”

He ought to be, anyway. The agents who’d set off the barrels had also been instructed to ensure that their commanding officers “drowned” in the confusion of the sinking. Not all could have been successful, but enough surely had been.

“An all-too familiar story,” sighed the voice. “Let me get this door open.” With a rattling of the lock, the door swung inward to reveal a haggard-looking zebra. Behind her, Breyr could see dozens more, many with light wounds, and even more with shadows under their eyes. The zebra in front snapped him a salute. “Corporal Zelly at your service, sir. I didn’t catch your name…?”

Breyr returned the salute with a nod. “Call me Breyr.” His true name was only a liability in Sleipnord, after all. He wasn’t going to rule Zyre under a pseudonym. When King Eberhardt and all the thanes who’d turned on him learned of his new position, he wanted it to burn them.

“A Nordpony,” said the zebra, her eyebrows rising and a faint smile creeping onto her face. “Well, we may just survive the night after all. Come on out, everyone.” The other zebras began to exit the building, uncertain hope on their faces as they met Breyr’s crew.

“How’d you end up in that warehouse, Corporal?”

The zebra’s mouth twisted unhappily. “Like I said, your story’s a familiar one. One of my ship’s crew set off some sort of explosion in the hull. I think the same happened to all of us. There are survivors here from at least four frigates. We managed to get to the shore and hide before the camels reached us, but we were too exhausted from the swimming to fight.”

Breyr’s lips pursed. “And now?”

“I’ve had a rest,” said Zelly, her eyes burning. “I’m ready to give these camels a taste of steel.” She stomped her hoof, her hoof-mace ringing off the paving stones.

“Good.” Breyr pointed to the flaming ships in the bay. “We’re avoiding that, for now. If the camels and their thugs want to have it out, I say let them.”

“Their thugs?”

“Yes, those Pit Viper bastards. The lot of them showed up not long ago.” Breyr frowned. Much later than expected, thanks to the camels, Zevan, and that damnable Metrel tripping the signal early. “They seem to be fighting each other. Perhaps the pirates want to loot the city in the chaos? It doesn’t matter right now. We’ve got to get into the Serabine district before the camels do.”

Zelly blinked in confusion. “The upper class estates? Why?”

“If all of us fell prey to inside traitors, then this isn’t an invasion,” said Breyr.

“A coup,” she hissed. “Zahira! We’ve got to save her and the oligarchs. All right, we’ll come with you and—”

Another zebra strode up beside her and placed a hoof on her shoulder, frowning. “Hold on, Zelly.” He eyed Breyr suspiciously. “I haven’t heard of any Nordponies in the Navy.”

Breyr immediately spotted the silver circlet around his fetlock. “There aren’t many of us. I’m not surprised you haven’t met one before—especially as you’re not in the Navy, are you, Officer?”

The Watchzebra’s brows furrowed. “No, but you’ll pardon me for being a bit suspicious of newcomers. I’ve lost a lot of friends to treason tonight.”

Internally, Breyr steadied himself. This had always been the most hazardous moment of the plan—gaining the Zyrans’ trust. Once he’d killed Zahira’s bureaucrats and his own backers placed him in charge, he wouldn’t need to sweet-talk this rabble into supporting him, but until then it was vital that he did.

He summoned up an air of soul-worn weariness. “As have I, Officer. My—” He took a shaky breath. “My nephew. He was stationed on the Falerian with me. I’d actually… pulled some strings to get him there. I thought I could help him… perhaps advance his career. And now, because of me…” He looked away, swallowing.

Zelly gave him a sympathetic nod. “I’m sorry, Breyr.”

“Hrm,” said the Watchzebra, his eyes narrowing to slits.

Breyr looked at the zebra with buried grief in his eyes, but felt his spine tense up. If this zebra forced his hoof, he was willing to kill the lot of them and find more Zyrans to start over, but he was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. This was taking long enough already.

With a frown, Zelly plucked the other zebra’s hoof off of her shoulder. “Don’t be such an insensitive ass, Zeke. They’re obviously no friends of the camels.” She swept a hoof around at the dead Dromedarians. “Come on, we’ve got to get into the city. The Watch wanted to take most of the nobles to one area, right?”

“Yes…” said Zeke, like the words were being pulled from his teeth. “Commissioner Zireena had us move them to the Marquis’ manor. The logic then was that they’d be easier to protect in a single location, especially on that hill. But—”

Breyr let his face open in unexpected hope. “They’re being guarded by the Watch? Excellent. We might be able to reach them in time, then.” And more importantly, they’re all in one place, ripe for a culling. Exactly as he and Zireena had planned it.

Zeke looked around at Breyr’s crew, his eyes falling on Captain Zillian’s bloodied axes and his frown deepening. “Zelly, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

A new voice suddenly carried over the bustle of the two parties. “You always have a bad feeling, Zeke,” came the dry tones of Commissioner Zireena.

She was trotting toward them with considerable speed from the south, the volcano looming large behind her. Breyr turned to her with one of his rare genuine smiles. “Commissioner! I hadn’t expected to see you so soon.” His smile faltered as he saw the strained look on her face.

Zireena reached their group, exhaling heavily. “Zeke, this is Commander Breyr. You’re right, there are a lot of traitors around tonight, but not Breyr. We’ve worked together before. You can trust him.”

Zeke nodded, saluting. “Of—of course, Commissioner. It’s good to see you alive, ma’am.”

Zireena gave him a nod with a tired half-smile. She looked back to Breyr. “You have a plan?”

“Yes. We must reach the oligarchs and cut out the traitors before they and their camel allies can complete their coup. All of you, get ready to move. We’re on a tight schedule now.”

The zebras milled around, tightening breastplates and stripping the fallen camels of any bandages or other supplies they carried. Breyr pulled Zireena to the side, glancing up at the fading column of green smoke on the mountain above. He leaned close to her. “So,” he whispered into her ear, “is it done?”

Zireena avoided his eyes. “Zahira’s alive.”

Breyr felt a cold pit in his stomach. “What?” he hissed. “You had one job, Zireena. I can’t imagine she put up that much of a fight.”

“Enough of a fight to kill Milliden,” muttered Zireena. “She set him on fire and threw him off of a building.”

That was enough to shock even Breyr. He blinked, momentarily dumbfounded. “Even so, you should have been able to—”

“I tried. She was rescued,” said Zireena, biting back a snarl. “It was Tatius Gableclaw, a rogue officer of the Watch, and that damnable pegacorn ambassador. Where’d he come from, anyway? I thought your people had killed him.”

Breyr’s icy eyes turned sharp as daggers. “Strudel?”

“Yes. He was up on that tower, trying to talk Zahira into helping him. Nearly succeeded, too,” said Zireena with a shudder. “For a moment, I thought she was going to turn on me.”

Breyr stood quietly, his blood pumping with sudden vigor. He’s ruining my plans yet again, he thought, feeling a fuzzy rumble of rage building at the edges of his consciousness. No. Not this time, Strudel.

“Take some of my crew,” he ordered under his breath. “Zillian and fifteen others. Head back the way you came and intercept the Marquis. If she reaches the manor before we do, this entire operation will have been for nothing. Kill her.”

“All right,” said Zireena, grimly nodding. “What about Tatius and Strudel?”

“Kill them all,” said Breyr, jerking the collar of his uniform. “And when you’re done, cut off the pegacorn’s wings. I’ll pay you six hundred florins for each.”

Poorly hiding her distaste, Zireena nodded. “I’ll get it done.”

“You’d better,” said Breyr, striding away from her. He called out, “All right, time to move. We’ll check a few more warehouses for more survivors, but then it’s straight on to the Marquis’ manor.”

“Yes, sir!” said Zelly, throwing a salute. She waved, and the zebras began to follow her forward. Breyr joined her at the head of the group, turning only slightly to catch a glimpse of Zireena and a group of his zebras vanishing into the city streets behind them.

* * *

Tyria jerked awake, gasping in pain and pressing a hoof to her eye. How long had she been out? The last thing she remembered was rowing, the tiny shape of the Copperhead vanishing into the moonlit distance…

She must have lost consciousness—from blood loss, or simple exhaustion? At this point, it was a coin toss. Tyria adjusted her hat with a weary sigh. Reaching down, she rested her hooves on the oars.

One hoof, anyway. Tyria cast about for the other oar, and realized that it was gone. She grabbed the side of the boat and craned her head around, searching the water for it, swearing to herself. It had slipped away during her unplanned nap, and now she couldn’t see it anywhere.

Nothing for it, now. She gave a resigned sigh, yanking the remaining oar out of its socket. Awkwardly grasping it near the middle, she bent over the side of the boat to use it like a paddle. Canoes were one of the few aquatic craft that had never been part of her training, but the principle seemed simple enough.

She struggled on for a few minutes, swapping sides and straining against the seawater, working up a profuse sweat. Panting for breath, she paused, glancing up at the island. It didn’t seem to be getting any closer. In fact, it seemed smaller now than it had when she’d been aboard the Copperhead.

The tide was going out, she realized, and carrying her with it. Her nearly-crippled attempts at locomotion weren’t enough to overcome the inexorable flow of the sea.

Tyria tossed the oar down into the bottom of the boat with an aggravated sigh, flopping onto her back. What now? She couldn’t possibly swim that distance in this state; she hadn’t come this far just to drown herself. If only she’d brought her airstar with her… Alas, it was still back in that cabin on the Adder’s Bite along with the bag of money, both now completely useless.

She gazed up at the sky, looking into the piercing eye of the Mare in the Moon. “Any advice, Goddess?” she asked dryly, but the dark princess gave no answer. Probably for the best.

With another sigh, she pulled off her hat, spinning it around on her hoof the way Zevan did. So much for his “lucky” hat, she thought. Maybe it was Zevan himself carrying all the good fortune. How else could he have steered them through the Maw?

Tyria yawned, resting her head back against the bottom of the boat with a clunk. Would anyone notice her out here for a rescue? She supposed that eventually the tide would carry her back in to the island. By that time, all the fighting would be long over.

She could get into the water and kick the boat forward, climb into it when she needed to rest… but gods, did she need to rest already. Her eyes fluttered closed. The lapping waves against the sides of the boat were like a lullaby, softly soothing to her ears. She rocked gently on the water, slipping slowly into dreamless sleep.

As she drifted on the edge of consciousness, there was a BANG, and the boat tipped violently. Tyria jerked upright, slapping her hat back on with one hoof and grabbing the side of the boat in alarm. The rocking continued for a few moments, until the boat settled.

Did I hit a reef? Tyria scanned the water below her boat, but saw nothing. Looking up, she caught sight of a triangular gray fin cutting through the water’s surface away from her boat, and she swallowed. No, much worse.

It seemed the hundreds of shipwrecked Zyrans had finally begun to draw predators. It was going to be one grisly feeding frenzy once the first kill was made and blood got into the water. Looks like my kicking plan is out.

Of course… where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and where there are sharks… A faint hope sprang to life. She leaned over the side of the boat, looking around, trying to see through the water. It was like a mirror under the white shine of the moon, completely opaque. Her own reflection stared back at her, bruised and bloody. Tyria grimaced, turning away from it.

She didn’t see a single sign of any seaponies, but she didn’t have any better plans. Cupping her hooves to her mouth, she called out as loud as she could, “Meri!”

There was no reply. Tyria waited in the rocking boat, listening intently, but all she heard was the gentle rolling of the waves. “Meri! Meri, is that you out there? It’s Tyria!”

She called for another few minutes, eventually stopping when her throat grew dry and her voice hoarse. Sighing with disappointment, she sat back down in the boat, kicking the oar.

“Hi, Tyria,” said a voice from behind her.

Whirling around, she found a teal pony with her forelegs crossed on the rim of the boat, a smile on her face. Meri winked. “Nice hat.”

“Meri!” Tyria grabbed the seapony, who twitched in surprise, and wrapped her in a hug. “Oh, Meri, thank the Sisters. What are you doing here?”

“It’s not just me,” said Meri, patting her on the back. She pulled away, slipping further back into the water. Tyria looked up and saw dozens of heads popping up around her boat, all at a less intimate distance. “All of us are here. Even my uncle.”

Indeed, one of the heads was a very worried-looking Keron. He gave Tyria a stiff nod. Meri’s smile grew firm. “I told you, remember? Call upon the seaponies, and we will answer.”

“You had to have started swimming a long time before I started calling,” said Tyria, grinning.

“Well, yes,” said Meri, with a small laugh. “We left the same day I returned to New Phoenixia. The direct route here from the city is a lot faster than going around Zendruga, it turns out. Not to mention I didn’t have to carry anyone, this time…”

She took a deep breath. “After all that talk about war and politics… I thought maybe you and Rye could use some more help. Uncle Keron didn’t want us to come, but…” Her eyes twinkled and her smile sharpened. “That’s not his decision anymore.”

Tyria gave a low whistle. Oh, to be an underwater fly on the wall when that argument happened. “And whose is it?”

Another familiar pony surfaced beside the boat. Tyria did her best not to recoil at the sight of Berin’s mutated visage, but his crab mandible was terrifying in the pale moonlight. His eyes, however, were calm and proud. “Tha would be my dawt’r,” he said. He’d clearly begun to learn to speak around his alterations; he was far more understandable now than he’d been when they first met. “She’sh righ, we can’ sit in tha reef all our lifesh.”

“So,” said Meri, redrawing Tyria’s attention, “how can we help?”

“The Zyrans,” said Tyria immediately. “There’s got to be at least half a thousand of them shipwrecked around the bay. Clinging to debris, treading water, who knows—point is, some of them might still be alive. You’ve got to save them, Meri, as many as you can.”

The seapony nodded. “We’ll see them safely to shore.” She turned and issued a few whistles and chirps. The seaponies behind her dove into the water and vanished. Meri looked back to Tyria. “What about you? That eye doesn’t look good.”

“It’s nothing,” said Tyria, wearily sitting back. “The Zyrans are more important right now. I’ll have a doctor look me over, when all of this is done.”

Meri’s brows furrowed with concern. “That’s a lot of blood, Tyria…”

“Dry blood. If I was going to bleed to death, I’d have done so an hour ago. Go on, they’re going to need your help, too.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.” Meri looked to her father. “Stay with her, please.”

He nodded with a smile. Meri gave them both a nod, then vanished beneath the water. Tyria watched the ripples spread across the surface before they were wiped away by a wave, and inhaled thoughtfully. “Well, Rye, looks like your seed’s sprouted…”

Berin barked an approving laugh. “I wash prou’ when she helpe’ you two againsht my brother’sh wishesh. Eve’ moresho now.”

Tyria watched splashes of water in the distance, as the seaponies got to work. Could they rescue enough Zyrans to make a difference? Was the battle even still going? The camels might have won already, if Zevan had been right… She bit her lip, watching the entrance to the harbor, all thoughts of sleep wiped from her mind.

* * *

Zanaya’s sense of unease had been growing ever since they’d left the embassies. Her group, still led by the Marquis, had not yet encountered any resistance on their way toward the docks. The streets had been deserted all the way from Jellico Avenue to Vallum Street, nearly halfway to the harbor.

They were coming up on the edge of the market district, where Mykon Street—the main thoroughfare that led to the piers—began. Zanaya gritted her teeth anxiously, wondering when they would finally encounter the camels or the pirates. The clinking of the manacles still tied around her neck was beginning to set her on edge.

“Lots of fires down there,” said Tatius, breaking the silence.

“Burning ships,” said Zanaya. “Rye said that the camels and pirates would turn on each other… I guess he was right.”

“More time for us,” said the Marquis. “Keep moving.”

They reached the corner that would turn onto Mykon Street, and Zanaya held up a hoof. “Hold on.”

“We haven’t got a moment to waste, Officer,” said Zahira, pushing past her.

“Wait, Madame—” With a frustrated sigh, Zanaya trotted after her. “Madame, this road’s an excellent place for an ambush. We should take a back way, through the alleys.”

“It would take too long. That snake Viridian is down there right now, and I’m not letting him get away.” She continued on, ignoring Zanaya’s protests.

Reluctantly, Zanaya followed. The next several minutes were an exercise in growing paranoia, until she was searching every shadowed corner for assassins as they passed.

Just as she was beginning to think that perhaps the Marquis was right, and that the camels were still busy down in the bay, she heard something crash to the ground with a noise like shattering ceramic. Zanaya hissed, “Everyone, freeze.”

The group held still as if they were made of stone. All eyes darted around, looking for the source. Zanaya turned her head ever so slightly to the right, eyeing the alley that the sound had come from. Beckoning one of the griffon guards to follow her, she crept toward it.

There was a ladder in the alleyway, leaning up against the left building, and a broken shingle lying on the ground. Zanaya’s eyes turned up toward the roof, pointing silently. The griffon nodded, and his wings sprung out. The guard shot upward, and there was a surprised yelp from above. “Wait!”

Zanaya recognized the voice instantly, her mouth gaping in surprise. “Hold on, she’s a friend!”

The griffon fluttered back, tilting his head in impatience, but Zanaya beamed upward. A moment later, Captain Petalbloom’s head appeared over the edge of the roof. “Detective!”

“Good to see you,” said Zanaya. “I thought maybe those zebras had caught you.”

“No, but it was a close thing,” said Petalbloom, scrambling down the ladder. Her hooves thudded to the ground. “They were tenacious. They’ve been on my tail for nearly an hour. I finally managed to lose them about fifteen minutes ago by going all the way down to the docks. The fighting there was just starting in earnest, so they either got caught up in it or were scared off.”

“What were you doing up on the roof?”

“I’ve been moving from place to place. Partly to hide, partly to look for you.” She looked over Zanaya’s shoulder. “Is the Marquis safe?”

“Yes.” Zanaya began to trot out of the alley. “And we’re in a bit of a rush, so come on.”

As they rejoined the main group, Marquis Zahira gave Petalbloom a suspicious look. “Captain.”

“Hello, Madame,” said the captain with a tired yet sunny smile. “Glad to see you’re still breathing.” Zahira replied with a curt nod. Petalbloom looked around, her smile turning to a frown. “Where’s Ambassador Strudel?”

“We… lost track of him. I’m not sure where he ran off to.” Zanaya’s heart thudded painfully, trying not to think about why he’d left.

“Why in the world would he—” Petalbloom sighed. “I swear, he wanders more than a foal in a toy store. I suppose we’ll have to get Tyria to hunt him down for us, she seemed to be rather good at it.”

Zanaya swallowed. “About Tyria…”

“Yes? Where is she, anyway? Poor girl’s got to be terrified. She’s always been shy, but trapped in a city under siege…”

“She’s…” Zanaya found that she wasn’t ready to deal with it after all. “She’s not in danger anymore. I’ll explain later.”

“Right, then,” said Petalbloom. “If we hurry, we might be able to join up with that group of Zyrans I passed on the way here.”

Marquis Zahira’s eyes sharpened. “What group?”

“They were about thirty strong when I left, but maybe they’ve picked up more since then. They were tangling with a group of camels they’d run into. Someone’s getting them organized, I saw a stallion at the front spurring them on.”

Zahira sucked in air through her teeth. “What color were his eyes?”

“No idea. I didn’t get a close look at him; I wasn’t going to get risk getting dragged into the fighting before I found you again.”

“Where were they?”

“Not far, about half a kilometer that way.” Petalbloom pointed down the street.

Without another word, Zahira charged off. The rest of them raced to catch up, as Zanaya wondered how a zebra with a broken leg could move so fast.

* * *

“Quiet,” said Corporal Zelly, holding up a hoof to her mouth. Breyr slashed his own hoof in the air behind them, and the chatter of the zebras instantly silenced.

His force had grown twice more in the last half hour, picking up another group who they’d found locked in a fight with some camels and a complement of Watchzebras who’d been busy barricading the roads. Nearly sixty zebras and a smattering of ponies now followed him, including those of his original team that had not left with Zireena.

“What is it?” he asked Zelly.

“Up ahead. I heard glass breaking.”

Breyr made a stay here gesture. “I’ll check it out. Stay here. I’ll signal if I need help.”

“Yes, Commander Breyr.” Zelly nodded. “Be careful.”

Silently, he crept ahead through the darkened streets, turning the corner and spotting the source of the commotion.

A group of green-swathed Pit Vipers had smashed in the windows of a jewelry store. They were still mingling around the storefront, decking themselves out with gaudy gold necklaces and gems.

“Pity we don’t have a chest on hoof,” said one, laughing, “There’s more in here than we can haul out just by ourselves…”

Breyr strode up to them, scowling. One of the zebras noticed him and snapped into a combat stance, whipping out his dagger, but then his eyes widened. “Boss!”

All the Vipers' attention turned toward him. Breyr came to a halt in front of the gathering. “What are you doing?”

“Looting the city, boss, just like you said.” The zebra grinned, lifting a silver broach with an emerald the size of a chicken egg. “Check this out. That’s got to be worth at least four hundred florins, yeah?”

“I didn’t say loot the city, I said kill the camels. You can steal at your leisure once they’re all dead. Why aren’t you at the docks?”

The zebra shrugged. “Figured we could get a good head start on the fun bit.”

Breyr took a deep breath. “I have no use for tools that don’t work.”

The zebra’s eyes drew together in bafflement. “Huh?”

Breyr flung a punch at the zebra’s face, knocking him to the ground. “ZELLY!”

The roar of a crowd broke the night, and sixty Zyrans charged around the street corner. The pirates’ eyes shot wide and they dropped their jewelry. Most were still scrambling for their weapons or fleeing when the Zyrans fell upon them.

As the last straggler fell, Zelly clapped Breyr on the back. “You all right, Commander?”

“Yes, thank you. I wouldn’t have been able to take them all myself.” Breyr dusted his shoulder. “We can’t stop now,” he said, looking up at the outline of the Marquis’ manor on the hill. It was less than a kilometer away. “Keep moving!”

His prize had never been closer. Even if the commissioner failed, Zahira would never reach them in time now. Breyr watched the manor with hungry eyes.

* * *

Zanaya was still alert for an ambush, but it was Tatius’s keen griffon eyes that spotted the group first. “Look!” he said, pointing with a claw.

She squinted into the night, barely making out a rapidly approaching party of zebras.

“Those are Navy uniforms,” said Tatius, with relief in his voice. “I don’t see any ponies in there, though—not the group you’re looking for, Marquis.”

Zahira cantered to the front again, leading the way toward the Zyrans. “Soldiers! I am your Marquis! I need a report on the situation in the bay, immediately. What the hell’s going on down there?”

They were close enough now for Zanaya to see the blue-and-black uniforms worn by the group—all but one. An unclad zebra stepped out of the crowd, leaning her head idly. “Don’t worry, Marquis Zahira,” she said laconically. “It’s all under control.”

Zanaya’s eyes shot wide. Zireena. She dove for the Marquis, screaming “Get down!”

An axe came whistling out of the formation of zebras, grazing Zanaya’s mane as she tackled Zahira to the ground. The zebras ahead of them charged forward, suddenly bearing a lethal array of weaponry.

Zanaya threw the Marquis backward. “Tatius, get her out of here!”

Aetia and the two griffon guards flew past her. Petalbloom and Zanaya rushed forward with them, hoof-maces at the ready. There were too many, she thought frantically, almost two dozen armed zebras against the five of them. The best they could do would be to buy Zahira time to escape.

The first zebra she met swung a machete at her head, which Zanaya slapped aside with her hoof-mace. She slammed her shoulder into the imposter Zyran, but was immediately forced to retreat by another one with a truncheon. Beside her, one of the griffon guards was tangling with two of them at once, dodging their blades but unable to get any hits in.

Tatius took to the air, hauling the Marquis with him. He flew over the group, his wings straining and soot flying. “Hold on,” he shouted to his charge, “we’ll head for the—”

Another axe came soaring out of the group, spinning through the air. It flew right past the Marquis’ head, sinking deep into Tatius’s chest. With a cry of pain, the griffon’s wings went slack, and he and the Marquis crashed to earth in a tumble of feathers.

Zanaya shoved through the fight, bulling forward and knocking aside zebras as she went. One slashed at her, scoring a light wound with his knife, and Zanaya gasped. She pushed on, using the tangle of confused combatants to her advantage as they got in each other’s way. She burst out of the other side of the melee and sprinted toward her fallen companions.

Tatius wasn’t moving, but Zahira was scrambling to get away. Zanaya helped her to her hooves, and the two of them turned briefly to see the zebras chasing them.

“Run,” said Zanaya, stepping forward.

“On this leg? I won’t make it fifty meters.”

Zanaya didn’t have time to argue. The zebras were coming fast. She braced herself.

Something rocketed down from above, a golden flash smashing to the ground between them like a meteor. Everyone paused, the sounds of the fight vanishing for a brief moment. Zanaya blinked in shock, taking in the new arrival. “Wheatie?”

Wheatie turned his head and flashed her a tight smile. Then, so fast she could barely follow it, he exploded forward.

He collided with the zebras. Zanaya thought she’d seen him fight before, in that little tussle at the brothel. Now, her eyes as wide as saucers, she realized that he’d been holding back against those poor guards. That hadn’t been real combat at all.

Wheatie’s hoof took the first zebra in the head, then the chest, then the neck, all faster than a blink. He grabbed the zebra’s body and flung it sideways, knocking another one aside as he burst forward into a third, his golden-armored hooves moving like lightning. He hit the pirate so hard that the zebra’s head spun nearly a hundred degrees with a crunch, and followed through by sweeping his back hooves into the air to buck backwards against a fourth zebra with a bone-crushing blow to the chest.

Another came in with a blade, but it bounced off of Wheatie’s golden armor without leaving a mark. The Firewing locked his hooves around the zebra’s foreleg, twisting it hard with a snap and a cry of agony from the pirate. He whirled, hauling the zebra like a bludgeon, bowling over another one that was rushing in.

Only a few still fought with Petalbloom and the griffons; the rest had abandoned them to join in the brawl with the new, greater threat. Zanaya wanted to move in to help, but she held back, worried that she would simply be in the way of Wheatie’s dance of death.

He flowed like water around the zebras, vaulting over them and under them, breaking bones and sending them flying into each other with seeming ease. None of them seemed able to land a blow on him. Zanaya felt that same sense of transcendent awe she got when watching Tyria paint; the slow realization that one was in the presence of a master of their art.

Eight zebras had fallen to his hooves already, and the rest were pulling back in terror. Caught between the Firewing and the griffons, they searched for an escape. Petalbloom’s group held back, wounded but preventing the zebras from fleeing.

One zebra stepped out of the remaining group, squaring off with the Firewing. His eyes were slits, the axe in his mouth stained red with blood. It was the same make as the one that had downed Tatius, Zanaya noted.

Wheatie sprang forward, hooves locked, and the zebra barely whirled aside in time to dodge. His axe came down on Wheatie’s flank, bouncing off of the armor plate. Wheatie converted his dive into a roll, coming up facing the axe-zebra with a flourish of his wings and springing at him again.

The zebra ducked the first punch, sweeping his hooves against Wheatie’s to knock the Firewing off-balance. They connected, and Wheatie began to fall.

Wheatie slapped him in the face with a wing, seizing the momentum from the kick and spinning around to land a crushing hoof blow to the zebra’s back. The zebra smacked into the ground with a wheezing gasp. He rolled onto his back, slashing upward with his axe. The blade caught Wheatie’s breast, slashing into the blue star on the front of his armor and lodging there. The zebra jerked at it desperately, trying to yank the blade free. Wheatie tilted his head as if to say good try, and smashed his hoof down to end the fight.

Zanaya thought the rest of the pirates might surrender, but they apparently decided on one last try instead. Together, they rushed Wheatie, weapons raised.

Ten seconds later, all of them were dead.

Wheatie stood in the circle of bodies he’d created, taking off his helmet and setting it on the ground. He released a puff of air from his lungs. “I haven’t been in a fight like that since the war,” he said, sounding mildly out of breath.

Zanaya rushed forward, embracing him. “Wheatie!”

“Hey, Zan,” he said, hugging her back. “Good to see you. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find you in the city, but the streets outside the harbor are deserted. You're the only ones out here.”

“Thank the gods you’re back. The Equestrian fleet, have they arrived?”

He shook his head, but the smile remained. “Not yet. They’re still several hours out. I decided I couldn’t wait any longer. The commander wasn’t happy, but he couldn’t stop me.” He looked around. “Where are Rye and Tyria?”

“They’re… busy,” said Zanaya, bowing her head. “Wheatie, we have to—”

“So!” said Zahira, from behind them. “Sergeant Specklestraw returns.”

“Yes, Madame,” said Wheatie, with a nod. “I see your rescue was a success.”

“More of a work in progress, really,” said the Marquis, glancing down the road toward the bay and the glowing orange fires beyond. “Now that the pirates have arrived, we’ve got more problems than ever.”

Wheatie’s eyebrows lifted. “Actually, that particular problem might be solving itself.” He jerked his head toward the bay. “When I flew in, I saw the pirate fleet peeling off from the city. They’re leaving.”

“What?” Zahira’s face scrunched up in bafflement. “But they’re still in the city!”

“Well, their ships aren’t sticking around to pick their crews back up. They all set sail a while ago. I could see the green flags on the masts as they left.”

“Did Viridian give up?” asked Petalbloom, striding up to them.

Zahira gave a sardonic laugh. “No. His cronies have. Unreliable bunch of brigands. Serves him right.”

Zanaya turned her head to speak to Zahira, and froze. Far behind the Marquis, moving very slowly down the shadowy street toward the docks, she spotted the dim outline of a striped figure. “ZIREENA!”

Dropping her hooves from Wheatie’s shoulders, she turned and galloped at full speed toward the commissioner. Casting a look over her shoulder, Zireena broke into a run, fleeing for her life. Zanaya’s hooves thudded on the cobblestones, closing the gap.

A golden blur flashed down in front of Zireena, and she skidded to a stop, recoiling with a howl of terror. “No! Please, please! Don’t kill me!”

Zanaya slid to a halt beside her, slapping her former commander with a hoof. Zireena gave a pitiful whimper, curling into a ball on the ground. “I’m not going to kill you,” said Zanaya, seething. She swung the manacles off of her neck, clapping one of them around Zireena’s left forehoof. “The Marquis wants you alive. You’ll get to spend plenty of time in a cell, don’t worry.”

Tears streaming down her face, Zireena nodded. “I surrender. Just please, please, keep that pony away from me.”

Wheatie stepped back, a faint smile on his face. “As you wish,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to scare the suspect.” He gave Zanaya a wink.

Managing a brief, wry smile for him, Zanaya turned back down to the traitor at her hooves. She was not in the mood to play good cop. “Viridian. Where is he?”

“I don’t know—”

Zanaya gave a short, exasperated sigh. “Wheatie.”

“I don’t know!” Zireena’s eyes bulged with panic. “Not for sure—last I saw him, he was at a warehouse by the docks, but he was moving on with a group of Zyrans. They were heading for the oligarchs at Zahira’s manor. They could be anywhere in between.”

Behind them, Zahira hissed through her teeth. “He’s going to behead my government.”

“Yes, that’s his plan,” said Zireena, nodding with frantic over-helpfulness. “They left a while ago; they might have already reached the hill.”

Marquis Zahira swore. She looked at Wheatie, biting her lip. “Sergeant Specklestraw, against my better judgement, I’m going to have to ask for Equestrian aid once again.”

“I’m happy to give it,” he said calmly. “To the manor?”

“Yes. We don’t have time to walk.” Zahira turned to the griffons. “You three, accompany me.”

Aetia shook her head. “I have to see to the ambassador.” She turned and ran back toward the aftermath of the fight.

“Fine. The two of you, then.” She beckoned to the guards, who nodded. Sighing, Zahira bent her head. “Sergeant?”

Wheatie bent a leg to allow the Marquis to clamber awkwardly onto his back, wrapping her forelegs around his neck. “Hold on tightly, Madame.” She nodded mutely.

Zanaya touched Wheatie’s hoof with a worried smile. “Be careful, soldier boy.”

He beamed, and leaned forward to kiss her. “Come find me at the embassy when this is all over.”

“You can bet on it,” she said, grinning and slapping his flank, her hoof ringing off the metal plate. Wheatie’s eyes flashed with amusement. Zahira made a disgusted noise.

With that exchange, they parted. Wheatie and the griffons shot into the air, rocketing away toward the Serabine district. Zanaya watched them go, sighing.

She looked back down to the pathetic, quivering lump that was Zireena. “Come on, Petalbloom,” she said, jerking the free end of the manacles. “Let’s get this traitor to a cell.”

As she and the captain hauled their prisoner upright and began leading her down the street in the direction of the Watch headquarters, Zanaya spotted Aetia walking toward them with a weary expression. Zanaya handed the chain to Petalbloom, who took it and continued on.

“How’s Tatius?” asked Zanaya quietly.

Aetia appeared to mull the question over, her eyes downcast. She shook her head. “The axe bounced off his clavicle, but on the way in it nicked an artery. He bled out in seconds.”

Zanaya’s shoulders fell. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Aetia gave a slow sigh. “Perhaps it’s for the best. He would not have had a warm welcome, back home.”

“Yes, he mentioned…” Zanaya looked past the griffon, her eyes narrowing. “Aetia, where’d the body go?”

Aetia’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. “I took it out of the street. He doesn’t deserve to lie out here rotting like those filthy pirates. I’ll bury him later, when there’s time.”

Zanaya studied the griffon’s face carefully. “So…” The corner of her mouth curled upward. “He’s gone, then. Dead as a doornail. No point in telling the Watch to keep looking for him.”

A faint flicker of understanding entered Aetia’s eyes, and a wary smile found its way onto her face. “Absolutely.”

“Hmm.” Zanaya looked back over her shoulder, scanning the sky. It might have been her imagination, but she fancied she could see a faint dark smudge with wings among the stars, heading away from the city. “Where do you think he would have gone, if he’d lived?”

“Hard to say,” said Aetia, setting off after Petalbloom and Zireena. “It sounded like those pirate ships were turning tail and heading as far away from Zyre as they could get. A new identity on one of those… a good way to hide from both the Gryphans and the Zyrans, don’t you agree?”

Zanaya followed her, smirking.

* * *

Breyr’s hooves thudded on the hillside path. Above, the manor waited. Behind, his force of zebras followed in a long formation.

Corporal Zelly kept pace beside him, peering up at their destination. “I think we made it in time, sir,” she said, her words punctuated by the rumbling of hooves. “I haven’t seen any camels since that last group at the edge of the markets.”

“Good.” Breyr looked down at the bay, where all ships but one were guttering with flames. The Adder’s Bite. Breyr smiled thinly. Kind of you to leave my ship for me, Zevan. He wondered where the renegade captain had gone to, in all this chaos. That the ship was still here was surprising, he would have expected Zevan to give this city up for a lost cause long ago.

Zelly and the other Zyrans he’d assembled had proven a good investment. They’d run into a mob of camels nearly eighty strong, likely trying to beat him to the manor, and caught them from behind. The fighting had been brutal, but thanks to the zebras he’d duped into serving him, he’d come out on top once again.

Now, however, they could turn into a liability. The corporal would not take kindly to him slaughtering all the oligarchs not part of this coup in front of her.

“Zelly,” he said, as they neared the peak of the hill. “That camel group won’t be the last. You need to stay out here with the rest of our force and keep the hilltop secure.”

“Yes, sir. What about you?”

“I’ll take the rest of the Falerian crew inside and check on the oligarchs. We need to make sure that their guards weren’t traitors as well.”

Zelly looked ill. “Oh, gods… if they are, then we’re already too late.”

They reached the end of the path, arriving at last before the huge wooden structure. A tiny party of zebras waited for them there, standing at the entrance of the manor.

“Halt!” yelled one, his voice wavering with obvious fear. Breyr’s host came to a slow stop, spilling around to encircle the entrance.

The zebras before them all wore silver circlets. Zelly breathed a sigh of relief. “The Watch is still here, Commander.”

“But are they loyal?” whispered Breyr. He stepped forward. “Let us through, Officer.”

The zebra swallowed. “I can’t do that. Who are you?”

“Commander Breyr. I seem to be the last officer standing tonight. Step aside, we need to see that the oligarchs are safe.”

Nervously, the Watchzebras drew together, casting scared looks at the huge group of military Zyrans that had surrounded them. “Protocol says we can’t let anyone in, sir. Not even the military. Marquis Zahira and Commissioner Zireena wrote those rules up themselves.”

“Please,” said Zelly, lifting a supplicating hoof. “The whole city’s depending on us.”

“And it’s depending on us,” said the zebra, more firmly than his body language could back up. “The island’s full of traitors tonight. We’re not letting anyone past.”

“Yes,” said Breyr, scowling. “The city is full of traitors. How many loyal governors in there have you already murdered?”

The zebra was taken aback. “What?! We’re not—”

“They’re stalling us,” said Breyr, with a snarl. “They must be slaughtering them as we speak. Zelly!”

With grief in her eyes, Zelly nodded. “Please don’t make us fight you,” she said. “Just step aside.”

The head officer’s eyes narrowed. “No! Don’t listen to this madpony. If anyone’s a traitor here, it’s—”

Breyr roared, and thrust a hoof. “Forward! We must save the oligarchs!” His Zyrans knew he had the backing of their chief of police. He’d stopped pirates from looting their city. He’d led them through battle and saved them from the camels.

They followed his orders.

The Watchzebras fought back, but they were no match for dozens of war-bloodied military forces. The entire fight took less than a minute. When it was over, a small pile of bodies lay slumped on the steps of the manor.

Zelly, crestfallen, placed a hoof on one of the dead zebras’ shoulders. “Why…?” she asked, her voice cracking. “How’d the camels turn so many? Even the Watch…”

“Corporal Zelly, listen to me,” said Breyr, waving over the remaining members of his crew. “You have to guard the manor. Don’t let anyone in, even if they seem like friends.”

“That’s what he said,” she sniffed.

Breyr shuffled through the dead guard’s belongings, coming up at last with a ring of keys. “We can’t afford to trust anyone right now,” said Breyr. “We’ll figure out who’s a traitor and who’s not after the fighting is done.”

Closing her eyes, she nodded. “Go, Commander. See how many governors are left alive.”

Breyr fiddled with the key ring, testing each of them in turn. On the fourth, the door lock clicked open. He flung open the doors, entering the mansion with his coterie of disguised pirates. He nodded, and they shut the entrance behind them, twisting the lock back closed.

The foyer was beautiful. Breyr admired the diamond-patterned hardwood flooring and the lush red carpeting on the grand staircase. All mine, soon enough.

The oligarchs were gathered in the room, nearly thirty zebras all together. Ministers of trade, grain, and war; the levers of power. Most were garbed in fine robes. None carried weapons. All of them watched the new arrivals with trepidation.

Breyr walked calmly further into the room, looking around at them. “Is everyone here?” he asked.

One of the zebras gazed into his bright blue eyes and smiled. “Ah, you’ve arrived. Yes, we’re all here.” He reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew a long length of green cloth. He wrapped it around his neck like a scarf.

Others followed suit, standing back from their fellows. The oligarchs without any scarves looked around in confusion. “What’s the meaning of this?” asked one, drawing her robes tight across her chest. She was the chancellor who governed the Zyran outposts in the Zerubian Isles, judging from the insignia on her clothing. “Who are you?”

Breyr allowed himself a leering smile. “You may have heard my name before, Chancellor. A very special shade of green.”

The zebra paled. “Viridian?”

“Vipers,” said Breyr, lifting a hoof. “Get to wor—”

There was a BANG on the door. The wood shook a few more times, as all heads turned toward it. The lock rattled.

What was that corporal doing? It wasn’t like she’d get the door open without a key, and he had the only one besides Zahira’s—

The lock clicked. The door swung in, and a zebra strode through flanked by a pony in golden armor and a pair of griffons. Zelly and several zebras followed them inside, the corporal’s face filled with glassy fury.

Breyr felt his blood turn to ice. “Y—”

“Quiet,” spat Zelly. “You’ve said enough.”

His gaze locked with Marquis Zahira’s, and Breyr’s spine chilled further. She was no Rye Strudel. There would be no naïve mercy here. The Marquis had death in her eyes.

Lost for words, he licked his lips. There was a frozen silence. His crew tensed, drawing their weapons.

Marquis Zahira raised a hoof, centered on his forehead. “Kill him.”

The room exploded. His pirates ran forward, the motley group of Zyrans and foreigners surging around the Marquis to meet them.

Breyr fled. He raced up the stairs, shoving aside one of the governors. His heart pounded madly in his chest as he swerved left, racing down the hallway.

No. NO! It was happening again, all his careful planning and madcap on-the-fly reactionary genius, the skills he prided himself on bringing him this far; they had come crashing up against the machinations of a single pony, shattering at his hooves and leaving him with nothing. Rye Strudel. Somehow he’d saved the Marquis, and foiled Zireena’s second attempt to kill her. He’d forced the camels to attack early, he’d ruined everything. EVERYTHING. This couldn’t be happening.

The sound of rushing air told him that Zahira’s pegasus was hot on his tail. Breyr dashed through a doorway, spinning around and slamming it shut behind him. He swiftly toppled a nearby dresser in front of the door, blocking it. The wood immediately buckled as the pony smashed into it. Blows pounded on the wood.

Panting, Breyr looked around. He was in a hallway, with four doors on either side. No room in this place would save him. His eyes fell instead on the window at the end of the hallway.

Sprinting to it, he heaved the bottom half of the window up, letting in the breeze. Sticking his head out, he looked around. Zelly’s military group was still gathered at the front of the building. There was no one below him.

It was a long drop, but he was out of options. Breyr delicately climbed over the windowsill, clinging to it for a moment of hesitation. Then the pegasus slammed on the door hard enough to splinter the wood beneath the hinges. Breyr let go.

He hit the ground hard, rolling down the hill to absorb some of the impact. The breath whooshed from his lungs as he slid to a stop. Staggering upright, he turned and began a limping canter into the night, down the hill.

Rye Strudel. Breyr wanted nothing more now than to find that half-breed and wring the life from him. Four long years he’d seethed and fumed in distant impotence, waiting for the opportunity to exact his revenge, and when he’d finally found the chance he’d let it slip through his hooves by playing mind games with that cunning little whore Metrel. That temporary satisfaction had cost him Strudel and his crown.

No more games. He’d find the pegacorn again, and this time he wouldn’t toy around. It was clear now that he’d tried to be too clever for his own good. Well, lesson learned, message received loud and clear; next time he’d go right for Strudel’s throat and tear it out with his own teeth.

But first, there had to be a next time. Breyr stumbled away from the hill, heading for the docks. The city was lost, now that Zahira had seized control of her forces back from him. His grand dream of ruling the Golden Isles was dying by the moment; but he still had ships and loyal crew. It was time for the Pit Vipers to leave. Perhaps they could start again elsewhere. Being lord of the pirates was a poor replacement for King of the Carriagibbean, but it would do until he found another opportunity to seize power somewhere.

It took him nearly half an hour to creep his way through the city streets toward the front lines of the harbor fighting. He was sure that by now that pegasus was lurking above, scouring the city below for him, so he stayed in the shadows and moved swiftly from building to building. At some point, he stripped out of the Zyran uniform. He left it behind in a muddy alleyway, spitting on it as he departed.

Twice, he had to avoid groups of camels. They looked ragged, most with wounds of varying severity. Their ships burned and their commanders dead, the camel forces had no doubt fallen into chaos, and were looking for places to hole up against the rallying Zyran military.

He found some Vipers at last, a small group sitting in the flickering light of the burning camel cruisers. Most of them were wounded, he noticed on his approach, which explained why they weren’t trying to push further into the city.

“Boss?” said one, her head lifting at his approach. The zebra smiled at him. “We thought the camels got you, boss!”

“Nearly,” he rasped. “Where are the rest of the Vipers?”

One of the other zebras grimaced. “The camels ripped us up bad. The fighting’s moved further into the city, but we lost at least a hundred in that first battle by the ships.” He sneered up at the flaming hulks behind him. “Got them all, though.”

“It’s time to go,” said Breyr, casting a wary look at the skies, searching for a glimmer of golden armor. He was relieved when he saw none. “We’ve failed. The Zyrans and the camels are too strong for us to fight both at once. Let’s take what loot we have and get out of here.”

“Way ahead of you,” said the mare. “We’ve been packing loot from the warehouses onto the Adder’s Bite down there in the harbor.” She pointed toward the ship, rocking gently at a pier three hundred meters away as if unconcerned by the burning cruisers or the shattered pieces of the Zyran Navy surrounding it. “We can get her ready to sail in a few minutes. How long before the rest of the Vipers get back?”

“They’re not coming,” said Breyr, setting off for the Bite. “If we wait, we die.”

The pirates followed, several of them limping. “You sure? Almost the whole gang’s still on the island.”

“We can find more recruits,” said Breyr. “There’s never a shortage of down-on-their-luck sailors looking for easy gold.”

The mare grinned. “Eh, true enough. Besides, the fewer ways to split the cargo…”

Breyr glowered as he trotted toward his ship. This isn’t over, Strudel. I will find you. And I will kill you.

38. Old Wounds

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The ruins of the chain tower smouldered in the night. It was still standing, mostly; only the top three floors had blown apart, strewing stones and bodies around the upper reaches of the cliff.

Rye was lost in the wilderness. He remembered the cold, white, endless expanses of the north, that sense of complete dislocation and displacement. Compasses and maps were no use in that infinite waste; orientation required knowing where you were, and when you were that far in, you were nowhere.

He thought he’d eventually found his way out, but now the wilderness had returned, crowded inside him instead of all around. Turning, searching, on and on he stumbled, seeking escape.

Slowly, he dragged his hooves through the graveyard of masonry. Cracked shields and snapped spears littered the dirt. The dead lay half-buried by rubble, many burned beyond all recognition, but even a camel reduced to a mass of black charcoal was distinguishable from a pony. Rye moved sluggishly from body to body, checking each in turn. If she was here, he would find her.

The next body was no camel. Rye’s pulse quickened, a little speed returning to his steps. He could see the hoof sticking out from under a large, flat piece of rubble, but it was so covered in soot that he couldn’t tell what color the owner was. Leaning up against the stone, he heaved.

He wasn’t strong enough. Pressing his shoulder harder against the stone, Rye grunted, but the rock refused to budge. His hooves scrabbled for purchase on the ground, sliding in the dust. “Move, damn you,” he breathed, bracing against it with his back. Straining with all his might, he felt the stone shift briefly, but then it settled even further onto the body below.

Sagging, he slid down the rubble to sit beside the hoof. Reaching over, he brushed it, his hoof coming away black with soot. Beneath the layer of black, he saw light and dark stripes. He sighed, half-disappointed, half-relieved. He let his head fall back against the stone.

Why had they left that island with the hot springs? He wanted to go back in time, to scream at his past self, to tell him not to leave, not to go back, not to ruin their happiness…

After a few moments, he got up to resume his grim task. He’d forgotten to keep count of how many bodies he’d checked, but he had to be nearing two dozen.

If he’d known that going to the tower meant her death, would he still have let her? You couldn’t have stopped her, even if you wanted to, he thought with an unwilling smile. When that mare sets her mind to something…

Had the sacrifice been worth it? He couldn’t tell from up here, and he found that he no longer cared. It wasn’t a very heroic sentiment, but he’d rather Tyria had lived than the Marquis, if that had truly been the choice offered. So what if Breyr conquered the islands? He was no Shrikefeather, he wouldn’t begin a wholesale slaughter…

No, but the Zyrans would suffer terribly under him. Rye kicked the dirt. He wished he could turn off that stupid, rational voice in his head. It kept cutting across his grief, reminding him that Tyria had been willing to give her life for this, that she wouldn’t want him to regret it. Somehow, that just made it hurt worse.

Rye reached another body, the charred remains of another camel. This one had a water flask on a strap lying beside his head. Rye had the nauseating realization that some of these soldiers had survived the explosion and the fall… at least for a few minutes. Had Tyria died like this? Her skin seared, that beautiful brown mane burned to ash, croaking desperate pleas for a drink…

He sat and buried his head in his hooves, running one through his disheveled mane. Volcanic ash tumbled out, raining onto his soot-stained robes.

Lifting his head, he cried, “Tyria! Tyriaaaaa!”

There was no response. He was almost grateful. At least she wasn’t still suffering. The yell had made him realize how parched he felt. It had been hours since he’d had a drink.

“Sorry,” he said quietly to the camel, reaching down and sticking his hoof through the strap on the flask. “You don’t mind, do you?”

He waited for some signal from the camel’s absent spirit, but found none. Sighing, he lifted the metal flask and took a sip. Amazingly, the flask’s insulation had withstood the explosion and the time. The water within was cool and fresh. He held the flask a bit more respectfully.

From up here he could see both the entire harbor and the ocean outside. The pirate ships had begun pulling away as he’d reached the top of the cliff, to his vicious satisfaction. A taste of your own medicine, snake.

The camel ships below had all been destroyed. Their forces were still in the city, now trapped, but it would still mean days of hard fighting to remove them all. Zahira had her work cut out for her, assuming she managed to stop Breyr.

Rye stared down the cliff at the rocky shore below, taking another drink. Detective Zanaya thought he was suicidal. Was she wrong? He wasn’t quite sure. It was hard to tell what he wanted, lost in the wilderness.

He was finding it difficult to think much about the future. Moment to moment, he swerved from feeling driven to feeling nothing. He had no obvious way forward, no real goals, beyond finding Tyria. After that… could he return to Equestria? Resume his life as if he’d never met her? I don’t think that’s possible.

Below, movement in the bay drew his eye. The Adder’s Bite was pulling away from the pier, its sails fluttering down from their yards.

Rye’s eyes locked on the ship, his body still as a stone. Is it Zevan? Did they escape the tower, somehow?

Is she with them?

The warmth of hope was immediately doused by a cold splash of rationality. Tyria would never leave while the fight was still going on.

It wasn’t Zevan on that ship. There could only be one pony leading that retreat. Zahira must have forced him to flee, after all.

Rye stared. His choices had led them here. All those years ago, on that frozen winter plain, he’d begged Eberhardt not to kill the snake. He’d worked hard to avoid any more bloodshed, to break the endless cycle of violence that drove Sleipnordic politics in bloody circles. All he’d wanted was peace…

And now, thanks to his mercy, hundreds—thousands—of Zyrans, camels, and others had lost their lives to Breyr's plotting.

He squeezed the flask between his hooves. That olive branch on his flanks had caused more death than he ever could have as a soldier on the field. Maybe it was time to stop trying for a diplomatic solution to everything. There was one quick, obvious course of action that would stop this from happening ever again.

Breyr had murdered countless scores in his quest for power. He’d never stop. If he escaped now, they’d just be at this again in another four years, with more dying to feed the snake’s self-centered ambition. More cities burning. More Tyrias, dying needlessly. The flask creaked under his trembling hooves, starting to bend.

He wandered in the wilderness, just like Breyr had during his exile. The Nordpony had survived by clinging to his need for revenge, using that single-minded focus like a lifeline out of the frozen wastes.

Breyr’s silky voice echoed in his mind. Remember, Rye. Hatred keeps us alive.

Rye’s hooves released their pressure. Well. Time to see if he was right.

He stood, shoving the flask into one of his inner robe pockets. I’d hoped that I’d never have to kill anyone ever again, he thought. The cloud in his head had been wiped away, his thoughts now crystal clear. But we all make sacrifices for the greater good.

The attempt would get him killed, he knew. But before it did, he would clean up his mistake.

The ship had nearly reached the mouth of the bay. Rye spread his wings and sprinted for the edge of the cliff. Hooves thudding on the ground, he inhaled deeply. The edge arrived, and he leaped into the air.

The wind rushed past him, his robes flapping wildly. Rye’s heart lifted in sudden melancholic joy. At least I get to fly one time before I die.

Using his wings, he steered his fall, bracing his hooves together in the diving posture Tyria had taught him. The water rushed up from below, a thousand shards of glimmering moonlight twinkling at the surface. Rye breathed out hard, closing his eyes against the coming impact.

He sliced into the water like a spear. The water ripped at his robes and mane with the force of a gale, swiftly retarding his downward plunge. Rye opened his eyes against the stinging seawater, twisting to head back for the surface.

Floundering into the air, he inhaled with a woosh. He treaded for a moment, looking around, before he spotted the dark hulk of the Adder’s Bite as it passed through the gap in the cliffs. Rye kicked, setting off toward it. He met the ship as it left the harbor, grabbing one of the dangling ropes that hung from the sides, the only remnants of the lifeboats they’d slashed free for the Zyrans.

This is a stupid plan.

Rye clung to the rope for a few seconds, breathing heavily. I don't care, he decided.

Taking another moment to gather himself, Rye began the long, difficult climb.

* * *

Adjusting her hat, Tyria gazed out at the island. “How’s it going, Berin?”

Berin ducked beneath the water. The seaponies’ clicking and chirping could carry for miles underwater; having him at her side was like her own personal carrier pigeon service. He returned to the surface after a few moments with a pleased expression. “Ish going well. Meri saysh they haf save’ near’y two hun’ret sho far.”

Tyria smiled, but there was tension behind it. “Good. Have any of them entered the bay?”

“Naw yet. Th’ onesh ouside arr in morr dang’r.”

“True enough.” Tyria tapped her hoof nervously on the side of the boat. “It’s killing me not to know what’s happening in that city, though.”

“Wan’ me to take you inshi’e?”

Tyria grimaced. “Part of me does, but if you do, I’ll probably just run into the camels or the pirates.” She sighed, idly twirling the remaining oar in a circle. “I just wish I could get a sign of how the battle’s going.”

“How bou’ tha?” asked Berin, pointing.

She looked up to see the outline of a ship, leaving the bay. “What the—” Her eye widened. “That’s the Adder’s Bite!”

“Shomeone you kno’?”

“Berin,” she said, securing her hat and the binding on her head, “how many seaponies can fight out of the water?”

“Mosht of the onesh like me,” he said, ruefully clacking his claw.

“Call them all,” she said, hefting the oar. “I think it’s up to us to finish the job tonight.”

* * *

Breyr stood at the aft railing of the navigation deck, staring backward at the shrinking island. He hadn’t moved since they’d set sail, not even a twitch. His curly, black mane billowed in the wind as his thoughts churned.

“Boss?” One of the zebras cleared his throat. “Boss, where are we heading?”

Restraining a scream, Breyr’s eye quivered. “Bring us alongside the Copperhead. Captain Merrick had the largest remaining crew. We’ll transfer them over to the Bite and leave this godforsaken rock to the Zyrans.”

“Uh, boss…” another zebra coughed. “I don’t see him. I don’t see any other ships out here.”

Breyr’s head turned like a rusty valve. “What.”

“I mean… look around, I don’t see ‘em!”

He felt a spasm in his jaw. He was not hyperventilating. That tightness in his chest was just soreness from falling out of that window. Breyr scoured the open sea, his eyes flying wildly back and forth. “Where did they go?”

“Well,” said the helmszebra dryly, “if I had to guess, I’d say they came up with that leave everyone else to die plan a little sooner than us.”

Breyr wheezed. “They—they can’t just—” Suddenly, he put two and two together. “ZEVAN!”

The zebras all recoiled at the sudden scream. One lifted a hesitant hoof. “Boss, it’s not all bad—we’ve still got the loot in the hold. We can sell that off and live pretty well for a long—”

“Shut up.” Breyr swiped a fleck of foam from his lips. “Set a course for Pyle Island. Zevan’s surely heading there to steal our entire stockpile. We’ll intercept him and lash his head to the mast.”

“A-Aye, boss,” nodded the helmszebra nervously. She turned back to the wheel, her back stiff with awkward anxiety.

“The rest of you, back to work.” The zebras scattered to tend the ship, or simply to flee his presence.

Breyr strode down the stairs, letting his hoof drift along the rail. He walked along the port side of the ship, watching the waves below. “Strudel,” he muttered. “Strudel, Zevan, Strudel, Metrel, Strudelstrudelstrudel…”

A thud from the other side of the deck drew his attention like a lightning rod. Breyr’s head whipped around to see a yellow-robed pony, dripping wet, taking a swig from a metal flask. The pegacorn resealed the cap, then tossed the flask away with a clatter, wiping his mouth. His eyes stayed locked on Breyr’s.

Breyr’s mouth half-smiled, half-slackened. Was he hallucinating? “Ha!” He blinked, but Strudel didn’t disappear. “Haha!”

The pony began walking toward him, his robes fluttering around his gray hooves. His head was set forward, an expression of absolute calm on his face. Only his eyes burned.

Bursting into laughter, Breyr bent double. “Ahahahaha!” He pushed against the deck, trying to stand. Around them, the few zebras on the ship made noises of alarm. Breyr swiped a hoof through the air. “Back!”

They paused, falling silent. Breyr watched Rye approach, giggling. “Oh, ohohoho, oh, no, no, no no… you can’t be serious…”

Rye’s first strike took him in the gut. Breyr toppled to the deck, still laughing. He clutched his stomach, taking the second kick in the face. He felt blood fly from his mouth, splattering across the deck.

One of the zebras rushed forward, but Breyr screamed, “BACK!”

The zebra froze, and Rye paused, giving Breyr an opening. He whipped his legs around, knocking the ambassador over. Rolling back onto his feet, Breyr stood, giggles still burbling from his throat like hiccups. “Is this the plan, Rye? Just walk onto my ship and kill me?”

Rye snarled, leaping up from the deck toward him. Breyr took the hit in the chest, grabbing the pegacorn and whirling him around. He released Rye and sent him flying across the deck. “After all the good times we’ve had, you’re just going to end it without even saying goodbye?”

His crew relaxed, seeing that he apparently had the situation under control. Breyr tilted his head and spat blood onto the deck. “Oh, Rye… I promised myself I wouldn’t play with you anymore, but it’s just so hard to stop…”

He skipped forward and slammed his hoof into Rye’s side. The pegacorn let out a grunt, but instead of recoiling, he seized Breyr’s hoof with both forelegs and yanked. The two fell to the deck, wrestling.

Breyr didn’t even feel the pain of the hoof blows anymore. He grabbed Rye’s foreleg and twisted, waiting for the bone to feather and crack. Rye growled and decked him in the jaw. Breyr rolled off of him, seeing stars. Rye staggered upright, striding toward him.

“What’s the matter, Ambassador? No words left?” Breyr sat up, wiping blood off of his cheek. “You seduced my best captain into betraying me, why stop now? Maybe you can convince me to turn myself in.”

A contemptuous uppercut sent him flying backward. “I have nothing left to say to you,” rasped the pegacorn.

He’d goaded the half-breed into breaking his silence. Breyr grinned. He sprang to his hooves again, hopping lightly back and forth. “I see you’re taking my advice about hatred to heart, Rye. How’s it feel? To want someone dead with every thought? Doesn’t it make you feel alive?”

He circled the pegacorn, backing out of reach whenever Rye approached. “Do you think your lady friend would approve? I do. She had a lot more fire in her than you.”

“Shut up.” Rye lunged, landing a glancing blow on Breyr’s shoulder. The Nordpony blocked the following blow and retreated again.

“Oh, I see; this is the tranquil rage of a grieving lover, isn't it? After all, Miss Metrel must be dead. If she weren’t, she’d be here with you.”

That got a reaction out of him. Breyr dodged the roaring hoof strike, pursing his lips. “Oho! If you want to hit me, Strudel, you’ll have to stop holding back.” He ducked another furious punch, checking the pegacorn with his shoulder and shoving him backward. “Unless this flailing really is the best you have to offer.”

Rye whirled, flinging a hoof with plenty of force but little skill. Breyr easily avoided it again, dancing back just out of reach. “I suppose that answers that. This is pitiful, really. What, did you think that because I prefer working through proxies, I don’t know how to get my hooves dirty?”

That’s enough, he thought, suddenly sober. Go for the throat. He let out one last giggle, sighing. “You seem to have forgotten that I grew up in Sleipnord.”

He drove a hoof into Rye’s stomach, folding the pegacorn like wet paper. With a heave, he sent Rye rolling down to the ground. “Even the peasants are taught to fight from their first birthday, you soft Equestrian fool. I went on my first Aurelisk hunt before you were even born.”

Rye stumbled forward, drunkenly swinging another hoof. Breyr simply stepped aside, slapping him in the back of the head. The pegacorn collapsed, barely holding himself up from the deck with his forelegs.

Breyr leaped at him, swinging his head down to bite. He sank his teeth into Rye’s shoulder, drawing the taste of blood and a scream of surprise and pain. The pegacorn jerked his head back, and his horn jabbed the bridge of Breyr’s nose. It was enough for him to loosen his grip, and the pegacorn flopped away. Breyr bit down again, but only got the pegacorn’s robes. The worn, threadbare cloth finally gave way, tearing down the length of the garment.

As Rye scrambled away, Breyr found himself with a long, bloodstained yellow rag in his mouth. With a shrug, he began wrapping it around his hooves like a pair of cuffs. “Well, Rye, I’m afraid our time together is at an end.” He yanked on the cloth a few times, pulling it taut, and was pleased that it held together.

Rye was holding his shoulder right above that silvery mark of Breyr's branding, revealed by the torn robes, and gasping for air. Feebly, he crawled with one foreleg toward the mast. Breyr swung forward, bringing his hooves over Rye’s head. He pulled back, the yellow fabric catching across the pegacorn’s neck. Breyr dragged Rye’s head up to his chest, crushing the air from his throat.

The pegacorn struggled, wriggling under the garrote, but Breyr was far stronger. He watched with a growing smile as Strudel’s twitching grew more intense. The ambassador’s eyes spun wildly. His hooves clawed at the scrap of his own robes as they strangled the life from him.

“What in the HELL—” yelled one of the zebras, and Breyr was momentarily distracted. He looked up to see a huge, dark shape clambering over the side of his ship. His jaw opened as the moonlight revealed the creature, a hideous sea-monster with the torso of a pony and the body of a scorpion. The zebras recoiled, screaming.

More monsters flooded over the sides of the Adder’s Bite on insectoid legs or slithering snake scales. They crashed into the pirates, a nightmarish whirling of claws, stingers, and teeth.

Breyr returned his gaze to the pegacorn dying in his hooves, and tightened his grip. “Not this time, Strudel. I don’t care what demons you summon, I’m going to kill—”

“Viridian!”

He had barely begun to turn his head when the flat blade of an oar slammed into his face. Breyr flew backward, the cloth unspooling from his hooves. He landed heavily, scrabbling for purchase on the deck. Looking up, he gaped at a sight just as bizarre as the monsters.

There stood Tyria Metrel, soaked with blood and wearing Zevan’s ridiculous hat. She had a massive oar cocked over her shoulder, with one hoof draped over the handle. Her lone, shining green eye flared with fury. “Try fighting someone your own size.”

He’d gone mad. That was it, after all. The monsters, Metrel, maybe even Strudel, none of it was real. None of it mattered. He’d lost Zyre, he’d lost his fleet, he’d lost Sleipnord, and now apparently he’d lost his mind. Breyr laughed brokenly. “All right, then.” He stood, a manic grin on his face.

He charged. Metrel watched him come, her eye narrowing. With a sharp breath, she slammed the handle of the oar onto the deck, so hard that it snapped, leaving a foot-long piece of wood hanging by a strip. She whipped it upward, the broken piece ripping free and flying at him. Breyr batted it aside, leaping into the air to come down at her.

Tyria flung herself back onto her haunches and whirled the oar with both forelegs, aiming it upward. Breyr slammed down onto the shattered end of it, feeling the shaft pierce his shoulder. With a war cry worthy of a Nordpony, Tyria shoved herself up, hind legs straining as she rammed the impromptu spear deep.

Breyr let out a strangled gasp for air, his vision filling with Metrel’s face. She glared at him with one eye, letting the oar drop. Breyr sat stiffly, his entire torso held rigid by the wooden shaft. “Ah—ah…”

He felt the mast against his back, and leaned his head back against it. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. “M…Metrel…” he burbled, his vision growing fuzzy.

She gave him no answer.

* * *

Rye managed to stand, filled with shock. “Tyria,” he whispered.

She turned to him, and gave a tired smile. “Hi.”

The darkness in his head vanished, like fog burning away in the sunlight. A bright beacon shone on the edge of the wilderness, beckoning.

They raced across the deck toward each other, enveloping each other in their hooves. “Oh, Tyria, you’re alive, you’re alive!”

She didn’t say anything, but squeezed him tight. Rye leaned his head to the side, the sight of all that blood taking him like a punch to the gut. “You’re hurt…” He reached up a hoof to touch the dirty green fabric across her eye.

Tyria intercepted it with her own hoof. “Hey, now…” She gave a weak grin. “I couldn’t let you pick up all the scars.”

He felt tears springing up at last. “I’m so sorry, Tyria, I shouldn’t have let you go alone—”

“I wasn’t alone,” she said wearily, still with that crooked smile. “Zevan and the rest of them saved my life. And gave Viridian a good kick in the ass while they were at it.”

“We’ve got to get you to a doctor. A good one. Once the Equestrian fleet arrives, then maybe with magic, they can…”

“Rye.” Tyria brushed his cheek. “The only thing that can heal wounds like this is blood magic. And we’ve both seen the price of that.”

He looked around at the mutated seaponies, who had cleared the deck entirely of pirates. He was too grateful to even wonder where they'd come from. But their twisted forms were stark reminders of the cost of that fountain. The memory of that mural, the thousands of sacrifices… His lips quivering, he nodded. “You—you’re right.”

Tyria let him go, sitting heavily on the deck. “Berin,” she called, “we’ll be fine from here. All of you should go back to helping Meri. Drop the anchor on the way out, would you?”

The seapony was holding on to the back of another with scorpion legs. “Alrigh’. Goo’ luck,” he said, with a bow of his head.

The mutant seaponies dove over the sides of the ship, vanishing back into the water. One smacked the anchor winch on the way over, and it swiftly unspooled chain into the water with a splash.

“I figure we can wait here until the Equestrians show up,” said Tyria, her shoulders slumping.

Rye knelt to help her stand, relief warring with terror. “Come on. Let’s get you to that bed in the captain’s cabin.”

“Mmm. Good memories in there.” Tyria tried a sultry smile, but it was broken when she winced and pressed a hoof to her eye. “Ah.”

“You need to rest, Tyria.” The last time he’d seen a pony in a condition this bad had been… his mother, actually, right after the Battle of Canterlot. That she was still alive was encouraging. Still, his heart ached with worry. “Come on.”

“Wait.” Tyria held his hoof, staying upright with visible effort. “Rye, I don’t know if we’re going to get another chance, so…” she inhaled, her eye opening with… anxiety?

Rye almost laughed. What do we have left to be anxious about, at this point?

“I think—I think I want to get married,” she said, with an adrenaline-spiked smile. “How ‘bout you?”

He kissed her hard, drawing a surprised “Mmf!”

“Yes, Tyria, yes,” he breathed, lifting his head. “I was going to ask you three days ago, but you said to wait till we were somewhere more… romantic.”

Together they looked around the apocalyptic scene on the deck of the ship and burst into laughter.

“Oh, oh, this hurts,” she said, wincing even as she shook with mirth. “Goddess, I’m a mess.”

“Yes, but you’re my mess,” he said proudly. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

He shepherded her across the deck, avoiding the bloodslicked patches where the pirates had fallen. Together, they entered the cabin, which appeared untouched from how they’d left it a lifetime ago that morning. Rye helped Tyria roll into the bed, piling pillows under her head to keep it elevated. He set her hat—wasn't that Zevan's?—on the desk.

Sitting beside her on the bed, he stroked her hoof, smiling to hide his concern. “By the way… ‘try fighting someone your own size’? Really?”

She laughed again. “I was too angry to think of anything witty off the cuff. And, well, you are rather small.”

“Not where it counts.” He winked.

“Ugh, stallions.” Tyria rolled her eye, then winced.

Rye coughed. “Hey, I was talking about my adventurous spirit.”

“Mhm.” Tyria closed her eye, and her breathing slowed. “Do you have any water?”

He slid off of the bed. “There’s a flask out on the deck. I’ll be back shortly.”

Closing the door behind him, he strode back out of the cabin. Casting around for the flask, he spotted it by the railing, and began walking toward it.

“Stru… Str…” came a gurgle, and Rye paused in shock. The gray mass at the base of the mast twitched.

Picking up the flask as he passed, he approached Breyr. The Nordpony was a grisly sight, with half an oar sticking out of his chest. His brilliant blue eyes were unfocused, staring into nothing.

Rye came to a halt before him, gazing down at the Thane of Hoofnjord. He wasn’t sure what to feel. Hate? Vindication? Pity?

Breyr’s eyes wavered back from wherever they’d been looking, focusing on his face. The pony’s features creased with anger. “Y… you… thief…”

Rye looked into the dying stallion’s eyes and shook his head. “I can’t steal something that wasn’t yours to begin with, Breyr.”

“Zyre… should be mine.” Every word clearly cost the Nordpony great effort. “I built… myself… from nothing. I was going… to be king. You don’t… deserve to win.”

Rye sat in front of him, folding his hooves, sighing. “When we first met, I thought you were a friend, Breyr. I wanted you to be. Even now, even after all you’ve done, I wish that stallion I’d met had been real. All this effort you’ve put into Zyre… the camels, the pirates, all that blackpowder… if you’d used that kind of influence for anything but yourself, you could have changed the world, Breyr.”

“Wanted… to… change it…” he said, holding the oar shaft with a hoof. “Wanted… to rule it…”

“But that’s all,” said Rye, frowning. “If the only thing you live for is yourself, then when you die… that’s the end of everything. You’d still have ended up here, Breyr, even if you’d won. Ten, twenty years from now, you’d lie on some deathbed, spitting and cursing at your own mortality. All those people you killed… it still wouldn’t have been worth anything.”

Breyr’s eyes twitched in fury. “Do you… expect… an apology?”

“I don’t expect anything from you, Breyr.” Rye looked up at the moon, which was nearing the horizon.

“I’m dying,” spat the Nordpony, straining against the oar. “But I’ll… always… be inside you, now. That brand… her eye… whenever you look… at them… think of me, Rye. Remember that… pure, beautiful, dark… anger… and think of me.”

“No, Breyr. I've thought about you for long enough. I’m ready to move on with my life.” Rye touched his ear, smiling faintly. How was a wedding band going to feel on it?

Returning to the present, he sighed. “You were half-right. Hate'll keep you alive, but… it’s static. Like treading water. You need something more than that to sail. Your country, or your art, or your passion...” He looked at the cabin with fondness. “Something bigger than just you.”

Breyr was quiet. His eyes softened. “Maybe… you’re right… Strudel. But… too late… now.”

“Yes… Yes, it is.” Rye proffered the flask, dangling from its strap around his hoof.

The Nordpony reached out with difficulty to take it, despair in his face. With jerky motions, he brought it to his mouth and drank. Letting his hoof fall to his side, he looked upward. “Do you think… the Valkyries… will find me… so far south?” His bright blue eyes had gone glassy and dark.

“I don’t know.” Rye stood, and reclaimed the flask. Stuffing it in his pocket, he turned to head back into the cabin. “Goodbye, Breyr.”

He paused at the door. Then he entered without looking back.

39. The Admiral

View Online

A hesitant knock on the cabin door broke Rye’s reverie. He blinked in the morning sunlight filtering through the cabin windows, lifting his head from the pillow. He was careful not to move the hoof draped over Tyria’s side. Though he’d woken some time ago, he had been taking pains not to rouse her from her much-needed slumber.

He thought for a moment that perhaps he’d imagined the knock, but another followed it, more assured this time. Rye gently extricated himself from the bed, tucking the blanket back over Tyria’s sleeping form.

Turning to the door, he took one step before he heard a murmur from behind him.

“Rye…”

Frowning at his foiled attempt to let her rest, he turned back to Tyria and sat on the floor beside the bed. “Hey.”

“Come back to bed.”

He smiled, brushing a strand of her mane from her face. “Aren’t you curious who’s out there?”

With a sleepy smile, she shook her head. Sliding a hoof out from under the blanket, she pulled him closer and kissed him. “They’re going to take you away from me for some stupid political nonsense, I know it.”

Letting his hoof run down her side, he nodded. “Probably. But they might have a doctor with them, Tyria.”

“I don’t care.” She traced the line of his neck down to his collar, her face creasing with sadness as she reached the huge hole that the snake had torn in his garment. “Oh, Rye… I’m sorry about your robes.”

Rye lifted the hoof and kissed it. “You know what the best thing about these robes is?” She gave him an expectant smile, shaking her head.

He winked. “I have a lot of them.” Rubbing her shoulder, he touched his nose to hers. “But I’ve only got one Tyria. And she needs medicine.”

The knock came again, more insistently. Rye slowly stood, letting Tyria’s hoof fall back to the bed. She sighed. “Don’t be gone long.”

He unlocked the cabin door, stepping outside and closing it behind him. Squinting in the sunlight, he lifted a hoof to shade his eyes. Before him were three unfamiliar ponies, two in breastplates and holding spears in the crooks of their right foreleg. The one in the middle was a pegasus in a white Navy uniform, with captain’s insignias on his shoulders. He lifted a pinkish, creamy-white hoof between them. “Good morning, Ambassador Strudel.”

Rye shook it with his free hoof, still shading his eyes. “Hello, Captain. You were expecting me?”

The captain pointed wordlessly to the left. Rye looked over to see the torn fragment of his robes, caught on one of the rigging pins and fluttering in the breeze. “Ah.”

“I’m Captain Telemachus, of the Polaris.” The captain gestured in the other direction, and Rye turned his head to see an Equestrian clipper pulled up alongside the Adder’s Bite. The sails were all stowed on their yards, and the two ships rocked gently together on the sea. “Are you injured, Ambassador?”

“Not badly,” Rye lied, massaging the bite mark on his shoulder. He hoped Breyr had been brushing his teeth. He’d get it looked at, but not before Tyria had been seen to. “There’s a gravely wounded Navy mare in that cabin, Ensign Metrel. She needs—”

“Metrel?” The captain’s back straightened. “Petty Officer Donnelly, please fetch the ship’s doctor immediately.”

One of the spear-ponies snapped a smart salute and trotted off toward the Polaris. Rye raised his voice and called after him, “Bring a stretcher, too. And be gentle!”

Captain Telemachus looked around the ship, his eyes falling on the mangled bodies of the pirates, and let out a low whistle. “Ambassador, what happened here?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Rye yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Has the entire fleet arrived?”

“Yes, Ambassador. The Third Fleet got here about twenty minutes ago. The admiral sent the Polaris to investigate this ship, and took the Levanah inside the city. There’s so much debris in the water that he ordered the rest of our ships to wait outside the bay until we knew what the situation on land was.”

Rye felt a nervous lurch in his stomach. “He’s landing his troops?”

“I believe so. I wouldn’t worry; the Levanah carries nearly three hundred marines on deployments like this. They’ll be fine.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about. If an Equestrian army drops in on Zahira’s shores…” Rye gave a long-suffering sigh. Tyria had been right, naturally. It looked he wasn’t finished politicking, after all. “Captain, I need to get inside that bay before somepony does something rash.”

“Of course. I’ll get a landing craft prepared for you.” The captain nodded to the other spearpony, who followed the first. Rye felt a rush of love for the Equestrians. He didn’t have to cajole, threaten, or bribe them into doing what he wanted—they just listened to him.

A trio of ponies carrying a long white stretcher raced across the planks joining the two ships, heading for the cabin. Another, a unicorn in uniform, a sergeant that must be the ship’s doctor, followed them in. Rye moved to join them. “Excuse me for a moment, Captain.”

Inside, the ponies carefully set the stretcher down beside Tyria on the bed, then began to shift her over onto it. Rye stood behind them, watching with worry. “They’re going to take care of you, Tyria.”

She looked at him unhappily. “But you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“Not for long, I hope. I’ve got to stop some puffed-up admiral from ruining all our hard work.”

Tyria’s lips pursed with amusement. “Yes, you do.”

Rye managed a small laugh. “Here, don’t forget this,” he said, lifting her hat from the desk and placing it in her hooves. “Or this,” he continued, lifting the heavy bag of Phoenixian gold. “Zevan must be kicking himself for not bringing this with him to the tower.”

Tyria laughed. One of the medicos took the bag at his prompting. The pony held the sack over his shoulder, grunting under the weight. The rest of the medicos lifted the stretcher and exited the cabin.

Rye trailed them out, chewing on his lip. “Will she be all right, Sergeant?”

The unicorn rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing. “I won’t make promises I can’t keep. I don’t see any mortal wounds, but she’s in a bad way. I won’t know for sure until I’ve completed a brief diagnosis. We won’t be moving her from the ship for a day, at least.”

Rye exhaled shakily. “Okay. I’ll come back as soon as the situation in the city permits.”

“I’ll let her know,” said the unicorn, nodding. He cantered off after the stretcher. Rye watched them go, feeling helpless.

“Ambassador,” called Captain Telemachus from the side of the ship. “The boat is ready. If you’ll follow me…”

Rye trotted over to the side of the ship, looking down and spotting the boat floating in the water just in front of the Polaris. Two earth ponies sat inside, one holding on to a rope ladder from the Equestrian vessel’s deck. “Come on down, Ambassador,” called one.

Placing a hoof on the Bite’s railing, Rye vaulted over and went splashing into the water below. All of the Equestrians gave a cry of unified alarm, before he surfaced and swam over toward the boat.

Wings outstretched, Telemachus landed lightly in the boat beside him as Rye pulled himself over the side of the hull, rolling into the boat. “Ambassador! You don’t need to—”

“Get moving,” said Rye wearily, waving the pegasus off. “We don’t have time to waste.”

“I—very well, Ambassador.” The pegasus sat, nodding to the other ponies, who began to row the oars.

Rye began wringing water out of his robes over the side of the boat as they moved. “Tell me, Captain, what have the last few weeks looked like from Canterlot?”

“The princess is… concerned, to put it lightly.” Telemachus frowned, looking toward the city. “When you disappeared, at first we thought that it might be a ransom attempt. Captain Petalbloom said that the pirates were suspected in your kidnapping, which was nearly enough for Celestia to send the fleet in—she restrained herself in the hopes that her Firewing would find you. When Milliden was arrested, however…”

“Well, she did send me to negotiate a rather sensitive military matter with the Marquis.” Rye rubbed his forehead. “Ugh… no doubt the Princess thought the Marquis was preparing to launch a retaliatory war for what she saw as an attack on her sovereignty. Zahira is rather touchy about that.”

“Yes. And without any word from you or Milliden, all we had to go on were scant military reports from the outskirts of the Isles and Petalbloom’s missives, which weren’t terribly informative. Then we got word that the Dromedarian fleet had mobilized… Celestia sent emissaries to the camel king, but they were returned with the polite message that he was busy overseeing important matters of state and couldn’t spare the time to see them.”

Rye’s head was really starting to hurt, now. “So, Celestia naturally assumed that he and Zahira had allied against us, and were going to launch a massive assault somewhere on Equestrian or Gryphan territory.” He groaned. “I trust Staff Sergeant Specklestraw explained the actual situation?”

“Mostly. The admiral was a bit confused about the Nordpony he mentioned. I admit I don’t follow most of the thing myself.”

“Short version: camels bad, green zebras bad, other zebras good. Zahira’s a paranoid control freak, but she’s not planning to attack us.” Rye looked up at the ruined chain tower as they passed under it, swallowing. “Now I just have to make sure we don’t attack her by mistake.”

“The admiral was rather, erm, agitated on the way here,” said Telemachus. “Understandable, I suppose. Still, I do think it’s a good idea to get you to him as quickly as possible.”

They were approaching the shoreline, where Rye could see a massive Equestrian cruiser docked at one of the piers beside the burned-out husks of the camel fleet. He placed his hooves on the side of the ship, leaning forward. On the street, two huge groups were squared off. One, comprised of zebras, stood at the intersection where the main road left the harbor to head into the city. The other, ponies with the solar standard of Equestria flying on a post above them, stood between the zebras and the cruiser.

Rye tugged a hoof through his mane. “Oh, no, this isn’t good. Can’t you go any faster?”

“We’ll be alongside the Levanah in a few moments, Ambassador; once we’re on board we can—”

Rolling his eyes, Rye stood in the boat. Telemachus’s eyes widened. “Ambassador, wait, please don’t—”

Rye dived in, breaking the surface and beginning his sloppy paddling toward the shore. He heard the pegasus groan in dismay behind him.

As he reached land, more details of the confrontation on the beachfront grew clear. A few members of each military party had met in between the two. There was Zahira, Rye was relieved to see, alive and clearly pissed. She was jabbing a hoof at the Equestrian ship and yelling something at the pony in front of her.

He was a big stallion, caramel-colored and built like a draft horse. The blue military uniform strained to encompass his muscles, but the epaulettes on his shoulder meant that this was definitely the admiral of the Equestrian fleet. His anger was more measured than Zahira’s, but just as evident. Jabbing his hoof on the ground, he continued arguing with the Marquis as Rye dragged himself out of the water.

Another pony was standing beside Zahira, speaking more calmly to her with plaintive hoof gestures. Rye smiled, pleased to see Wheatie’s familiar golden armor.

“Good morning!” called Rye, trotting up the sand bank to street level. All attention, even that of the masses of soldiers, swerved to the new arrival, making him feel tremendously self-conscious. “Apologies for being tardy.”

Both the admiral and Zahira relaxed visibly at the sight of him. The admiral’s expression rather abruptly jerked from amazed, to delighted, to terrified, then back to subdued anticipation. Rye’s hooves clip-clopped on the cobblestones as he reached them at last.

“Ambassador,” said the admiral with a rich baritone, sounding relieved. “You’re alive, after all.”

“Quite.” Rye gave him a polite nod, before turning to Zahira. “Marquis, I’m glad to see you well.”

“Where the hell did you go, Strudel?” Zahira looked extremely strung-out. She likely hadn’t slept at all last night, Rye reflected. “We were attacked shortly after you left. We could have used the help.”

“I doubt I would have been much aid to you in a fight, Madame,” he said, rubbing the red mark across his throat with a grimace. “You seem to have handled it, though.”

Wheatie coughed. “We got the situation under control.”

The admiral glared at him. “Against my orders.”

The staff sergeant hung his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but if I hadn’t disobeyed you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. Marquis Zahira would be dead.”

“It’s true,” said Zahira reluctantly, yawning. “Zeke! More coffee!”

A zebra with a silver band on his ankle came running forward from the group of soldiers, bearing a flask. “Yes, Madame.”

Zahira took a swig, blinking and scowling. She thrust the flask back into the zebra’s hooves, and he raced back into the group. “I owe Specklestraw and Strudel my life, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to just let the Equestrians come marching over my island—”

Rye put up a calming hoof. “Madame, please.” He turned to the admiral. “Did Celestia give you any orders regarding the island?”

The admiral nodded gruffly. “She said that if we found you, you were to have free rein over the political situation. I’ll follow your lead, Ambassador.”

Rye closed his eyes and leaned his head back in the warm, beatific sunlight. Oh, Princess, I could kiss you. “Then please, Admiral, pull all of our forces back onto the ship for now.”

“Very well,” said the admiral, with a hesitant nod. “Third Fleet!” he shouted, turning around, “back to the Levanah!”

The soldiers, many of them looking faintly relieved, made an about face and began marching back up the pier toward the boarding plank. The rumbling of hooves lifted Rye’s spirits tremendously. He turned to Zahira, who looked a bit nonplussed. “My apologies, Madame, for the uninvited intrusion.”

Wheatie moved to follow the soldiers, but the admiral checked him with a hoof. “Specklestraw.” His eyes narrowed. “You disobeyed a direct order, Firewing. Just because you’re some hot-shot special forces type doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

Rye fiddled with the clasp of his tattered robes. “Admiral, his actions did help save the city. If ever there were extenuating circumstances, these are them.”

The big earth pony’s eyes narrowed. He bit his lip—Sisters, why did that look so familiar?—and released Wheatie’s lapels. “Perhaps.”

Sighing, he set his hoof to the ground. “I’m not going to cause another political mess during all of this by court-martialing one of Celestia’s personal guard.” Grinding his teeth, he jabbed Wheatie in the chest again. “But you are not getting another bleeding medal for this, Specklestraw.”

Wheatie’s head bobbed in nervous relief, and he near-sprinted toward the Levanah. Rye tried not to laugh as he watched the Firewing go.

Zahira now appeared considerably soothed by the retreat of the ponies, her expression lightening several shades of emotion from enraged to merely put-out. “Well, Ambassador Strudel, I’m glad to see that at least one pony has some wits about them.”

Ever the charmer, he sighed to himself. “How are your forces, Madame? I hear that the ones outside the bay may have survived…”

“Yes, we’ve had them trickling in all night and morning,” said Zahira. “Addled by the explosions, I fear. They keep telling stories about sea monsters grabbing hold of them and dragging them to shore.”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Rye, turning toward the bay. “We’re still missing someone.” He cupped his hooves to his mouth and called out, “Meri!”

Zahira and the admiral traded quizzical glances, but Rye simply called out again. “Meri, are you out there?”

There was a lengthy silence, which Zahira broke with a cough. “Strudel, what are you…” her voice trailed off.

Before them, a huge mass began to rise out of the ocean. One of the mutated seaponies, his torso mostly unchanged, strode out of the water on six giant crab legs. Perched on his back, her tail drooping over his side, sat Meri, resting back on her hooves and smiling. The crab-pony bowed to the gathering of ponies and zebras, before turning around and sitting. Meri turned and leaned back, kicking her tail up and over his jointed legs like a chair. “Hello there,” she said, her voice chipper.

Zahira and the admiral stared. Rye swept his hoof out in a bow. “Allow me to introduce Meri, leader of the seaponies of New Pheonixia.”

“Hi,” said Meri, with a little bow of her own.

Rye gestured to the Marquis. “This is Marquis Zahira, leader of the Zyrans. And this is Admiral…?”

“Metrel,” said the admiral absently, still boggling at the seaponies.

Rye’s smile became very fixed. His eyebrows threatened to rise off of his head. OH, he thought, RIGHT, the Levanah.

Meri extended a hoof. “I’m pleased to meet you all.”

As Marquis Zahira strode forward to shake it, Rye licked his lips, thoughts reeling around in his head. “We-he-he-he-ll,” he stammered, “great! Now we know who everyone is.” Oh gods, do we. “I’m Rye Strudel,” he babbled, quite unnecessarily, “Equestrian Ambassador. We, uh, we all have quite a lot to talk about. Quite a lot.” He slapped a hoof against the back of the other a few times.

Shut up shut up shut up. He blinked, taking a deep breath. We’ll deal with this in a moment. First, Zahira. “Madame, I would like to formally extend the offer of Equestrian aid in Zyre’s time of duress. We can allocate troops to help you and your forces remove the remaining Dromedarian and Pit Viper invaders, as well as lead any rescue or firefighting operations that the city may require. We will, of course, only send in the number of troops you request, and only to the places you explicitly ask us to. Our soldiers will remain billeted on the ships throughout the operation.”

Admiral Metrel gave an unhappy grunt. “The sailors were looking forward to some shore leave…”

Rye grinned nervously. “Well, perhaps after the negotiations are concluded.” Turning back to Zahira, he spread a hoof. “Is that proposal acceptable?”

Zahira grimaced. “I don’t like it, Strudel. But… I’m having some staffing problems right now.”

Yes, I’ll bet, thought Rye. I’ve never heard of such an infestation of traitors and double-crossers. Maybe if she was less of an insufferable paranoiac fewer of her servants would have turned on her for gold. He coughed politely.

The Marquis sighed, nodding ruefully. “On behalf of Zyre and her oligarchs, I accept. Zelly!”

Another zebra came trotting out of the crowd. “Yes, Madame?”

“I’m promoting you to Captain. Get a report from the various units we’ve recovered and put together a picture of the city and enemy force positions. We’ll need to coordinate with our Equestrian allies.” That last word sounded like it was being yanked out of her with tongs.

The zebra’s face lit with terror. “Cap-captain? Madame, I’m not even an officer, I’m just enlist—”

“Captain Zelly.” Zahira turned to her with a dryly raised eyebrow. “There are literally fewer than twelve zebras on this island that I trust right now; you’re one of them. Go put that report together.”

Zelly saluted, her eyes wide. “Y-yes, Madame.” She sprinted back into the crowd, beckoning a few other Zyrans to follow her.

Rye swallowed, thoughts churning. He forced himself to look back to Admiral Metrel—her father, oh Goddess—and smile bracingly. “Admiral, I don’t suppose the princess thought to send a team of economists with you, did she?”

“Er… no,” said the admiral. “We can send for some, but it’ll take at least a week and a half for any message to summon someone from the mainland.”

“That’s fine,” said Rye, nodding to Zahira. “I expect the Marquis will need some time to clean this mess up.”

Zahira sourly looked around her harbor at the wreckage of her navy. “Likely more than that. Yes, Ambassador, I think a formalized treaty is in order after this fiasco, but we’ll need to send for many more attendants. Since it seems that every other ambassador in the city was part of this plot.”

Equestria, Grypha, Dromedaria… eesh, she’s not far off. Rye smiled sheepishly. “Two weeks devoted to cleaning up the city, then, before we begin negotiations?”

“That will do,” said Zahira, suddenly sounding utterly weary. “I’ll begin sending letters after I handle some military matters here in the harbor.”

Rye nodded. “Admiral, I’ll pass a list to Captain Telemachus. He can handle the summons.”

“Very good, Ambassador.”

Zahira tapped a hoof. “Well, gentlecolts, if that’s all…”

Rye inhaled, bracing himself. “Yes, I’ll let you get to it, then.” The zebra gave him and the admiral a bow, then walked toward Meri, caution and faint wonder in her eyes. She began speaking with the seapony as Rye turned to face Admiral Jerric Metrel.

The admiral nearly ran up to him, but with clear effort managed to restrain himself to a quick walk. “Ambassador Strudel.”

Rye held out a hoof. “Hello, sir. I’m—” your future son in law—Tyria’s fiancé—the stallion who’s been sleeping with your daughter—his courage failed him. Tyria would just have to handle that particular announcement. “—very happy to meet you,” he finished weakly.

Jerric shook his hoof, swallowing with concern in his eyes. “And I’m very happy to see that you’re alive and… mostly unharmed.” He gave Rye’s shredded robes a worried glance. “Please, Ambassador. Do you have any idea what happened to my daughter, Tyria? She vanished at the same time you did, and—”

“She’s alive,” said Rye, with a reassuring hoof pat that instantly felt more awkward than he’d planned. “And she’s incredible. Saved my life at least a dozen times over. But…” he faltered, “she was injured in the fighting. She’s being tended to on the Polaris.”

“Injured?” Jerric’s voice sounded very small.

“A camel soldier w—” Rye inhaled with a shudder, “wounded her left eye. I… I don’t think they’ll be able to save it.”

Jerric paled, his hoof scraping the road absently. “Will… will she still be able to paint? She loves…”

A little touched, Rye smiled and nodded. “Yes.”

The admiral gave a grateful sigh, but his eyes still held a father’s terrible worry. “Did… when the two of you were captured, did the pirates… hurt her, in—in any way?”

Rye winced. “No. Not like that.”

“Thank the Sisters.” He exhaled, relieved. “Apologies, Ambassador; I realize the situation here is important, but… do you require my presence at the moment?”

“No. Go see her.”

“Thank you, Strudel.” Jerric smiled at him.

Rye nodded, smiling anxiously. “Please, call me Rye.”

Jerric gave him a short bow. “You can find me on the Polaris if you need me.” He turned and cantered at a speedy clip toward the Levanah and the waiting boats that would take him from the bay.

Letting his chest deflate and the tension seep out of his body, Rye blew out a breath. He found that his hooves were shaking slightly. Adjusting the clasp of his torn robes, he turned with relief back to the vastly more comfortable realm of international politics.

Zahira and Meri’s conversation had grown heated. They were arguing strenuously over something. Rye walked up to them, still trying to calm his heartbeat.

The Marquis appeared to be getting quite worked up again. “Strudel!” she said, turning at his approach. “This—this—child is demanding I give up my territory!”

Rye blinked, looking at the seapony with a raised eyebrow. “Meri?”

“Not demanding,” said Meri, calmly, “politely insisting. New Phoenixia must establish our sovereignty if we’re to pursue diplomatic ties with Zyre and the world beyond. Fifty kilometers out from the city in any direction seems fair.”

Zahira spluttered with anger. “That’s nearly eight thousand square kilometers!”

Rye coughed politely. “Madame, if I may—the Golden Isles are at least forty times that size. And half of the territory in question is under the Serpent’s Maw and that storm. It’s not as though you’re using it.”

“Actually,” said Meri with a sunny smile, “the storm broke up some time after you returned from the Black. We’ve had clear skies for nearly a week, now. The water’s still very rough, but my uncle thinks that it will settle in time, once it runs out of momentum.”

Zahira looked boggled. “The—the Serpent’s Maw is gone?”

Rye huffed in surprise. “Well! Nice to know we’ve made the sea a little safer.”

“That’s going to open the entire area up,” said Zahira, her mouth slack. “The route between the tip of the archipelago and the Firetongues has always been too dangerous for shipping because of that storm. If it’s gone…” Her eyes flashed. “It’ll go right through that territory you’re demanding!”

Meri smiled. “We’ll be happy to facilitate trade, Madame. For a small toll, of course.”

“A toll? What would you even do with money?” Zahira sounded almost ready to cry. Rye tried to stifle his amusement. The poor mare had had a very difficult twenty-four hours.

“Not money,” said Meri, her eyes sparkling as she looked up into the air. “Surfacer food.”

At that, both Rye and Zahira’s heads tilted. Meri nodded. “Plenty of it got into the water last night with all those ships going down, so… we may have sampled a bit.” She bit her lip and rubbed her stomach. “And let me tell you, those little… what do you call them? The little round things with the crosses on top?”

“Rolls,” said Rye, faintly.

“Right. Those blow seaweed right out of the water. We want more of that sort of thing. And we’re willing to trade, too. Just so long as you recognize our claim to the area.”

Zahira gave an aggravated sigh. “I’m not letting you extort me just because—”

Rye lifted a hoof. “Zahira. The seaponies are already there, anyway. They’re not going to go away just because you’ve suddenly learned of their existence. Besides, I think the last few days have shown the usefulness of having nearby, trustworthy allies, no?”

“I…” Zahira tapped a hoof.

“And, if I may make a suggestion,” said Rye, sweeping a hoof toward the harbor and the swamp of shattered sailing ships, “seapony aid could be invaluable in dredging up your lost war materiel. You’ll be able to rebuild your fleet in months instead of years, if you can salvage those wrecks.”

“That is… a reasonable point,” said Zahira, looking back to Meri. “Is that something your people can do?”

“Certainly,” said Meri, with another bow. The crab-pony she was sitting on shifted under her, yawning. “Sorry, Fillik, we’ll be done soon.” The pony nodded, waving a hoof at her to continue. Meri looked out toward the harbor entrance. “I’m not sure we can lift that huge chain out of the water by ourselves, though.”

“We’ll rig something up,” muttered Zahira. “That chain was a considerable investment by my predecessor.”

Her mouth twisted, looking at the remains of her navy. “Well… keeping a few dozen seaponies well-fed? I suppose I’ve paid higher bribes, in my day.” With a long, defeated sigh, she nodded. “All right, all right, I’ll consider your offer. We’re not settling anything permanently until these peace negotiations of Ambassador Strudel’s take place. I’ll ensure that you’re able to attend, er… Queen? Countess? What are you, anyway?”

“Princeps, I think,” said Rye, giving Meri a wink. “First Citizen of the New Phoenixians.”

“Ooh, I like that,” said Meri, beaming.

Zahira gave them both a curt nod and turned to leave, muttering to herself. “Zeke!” she suddenly barked, “More coffee!”

Rye watched her go, shaking his head slightly. The Zyrans began to disperse, now that the Levanah was pulling away from the dock to sit in the waters of the bay. Rye sat, lifting his hooves and stretching. He had a long few weeks ahead of him.

Looking up and to his right, he said, “Meri?”

“Yes?”

Rye grinned and held up a hoof. “Nice work.”

“You were right,” she said, slapping it with her own. “This is fun.”

* * *

The doctor was fussing over her entirely too much, thought Tyria. His horn glowed constantly as he poked and prodded points along her body. Every few minutes, he would shake his head and scribble something down on a sheaf of parchment that sat on his little desk at the side of the room. He’d put some sort of medicinal salve on her eye earlier, and it had left her feeling slightly lightheaded. She lay still in the cot, staring up at the ceiling of the medical bay and enjoying the comforting rocking of the ship.

The last time she’d been on board the Polaris was just after her graduation from the academy. It was the ship that took the newly minted officers down the coast from Fillydelphia to Cairoan, where most of them dispersed across the world to their various postings. She’d never expected to see it again.

But it was part of the Third Fleet, she knew. And the stallion who commanded that fleet…

The door to the medical bay creaked open, and the doctor turned. Tyria’s heart lifted as she saw a familiar caramel-brown hoof gently push the door aside. In walked a huge earth pony, his face filled with warring emotions. He paused, a tentative smile coming to his lips. “Hi, Paintbrush.”

“Dad!” She sat up and spread her forelegs, drawing a tut-tut from the doctor. Her father brushed past the irritated unicorn and embraced her.

“It’s been two years, Tyria. I’m sorry it took this mess for me to come out and see you.”

“No, Dad, I should have come to see you.” Tyria clutched him tightly. “I just… I was… I was being silly.”

“Admiral,” said the doctor, clearing his throat.

“Apologies, Sergeant,” said her father, letting her go and stepping back. He had a proud smile on his face.

As the doctor resumed his examination, Jerric’s eyes traveled across her face to focus on her left eye, and his steady expression crumbled. “How bad is it?”

The doctor’s horn flared, and a roll of gauze popped out of a desk drawer. “I finished cleaning it twenty minutes ago. You’re very lucky, Tyria, it doesn’t appear to have gotten infected. Perhaps because of all the salt water that got into it.” He began rolling the gauze around her head, sealing the salve inside it.

“Oh, wonderful,” said Tyria dryly. “Glad to know all that searing pain was good for something.” Her father winced, and she felt a little stab of guilt. Rye would have laughed. “Sorry, Dad, just kidding.”

The doctor’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “You’re a very tough mare, Ensign. And I don’t just mean the eye.” The roll of remaining gauze levitated back into the desk drawer. His horn winked out, the examination apparently completed.

He lifted the parchment. “I found a number of serious contusions, the aftereffects of at least one concussion, a few sprained vertebrae, the beginnings of a crack in your front-left metacarpal, a growing case of Tetanus—which, thankfully, we’ve caught early enough to solve with a quick bit of alchemy—and most puzzling of all, what appears to be the remnants of a dose of snake venom that frankly should have been enough to kill a horse twice your size.”

“Snake…?” Tyria thought for a moment. “Oh, of course; the queen…” she rubbed the fang marks on her neck from where the Pheonixian queen had tried to kill her. Seems that short dip in the fountain water saved my life.

Jerric’s hoof squeaked as he scratched it against the floor. “Sounds like you’ve had quite the adventure, Paintbrush.”

“Oh, more than you know…” Tyria laughed. “Even Breslik’s never gotten in this much trouble.”

His eyes crinkled. “Don’t tell him that. He’ll think it’s a competition.”

The unicorn doctor sighed, rolling up his sheaf of parchment. “Tyria, you’ll be able to recover from most of your injuries. Even the eye won’t be lethal. But… you can’t survive any more punishment like this. I’m…” he glanced at Jerric for a moment. “I’m going to recommend you receive a medical discharge.”

Tyria blinked in shock. “A medi—medical…?”

“What?” Jerric shot to his hooves. “How dare you? My daughter’s given everything she has in service to Equestria, and you want to—”

“Save her life,” interjected the doctor. “Her body can’t take any more abuse. She needs to rest. A lot. Likely for years. We can’t ask her to continue serving like this, it’ll kill her.”

“Ridiculous. She can still serve in any number of ways.” Jerric was fuming. “I won’t sign discharge papers.”

The unicorn stuck to his principles. Stiff-backed, he lifted his head. “I’m not going to change my recommendation, Admiral. And you are not her commanding officer.”

Jerric’s teeth ground together. “We’ll discuss this later, Sergeant. Now go file your report.”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant gave him a stiff salute, which Jerric returned frostily. Then the unicorn left the room, shutting the door behind him.

All at once, Jerric sank to the floor beside her cot, sighing as if exhausted. “Don’t worry, Paintbrush. We’ll fight it. They can’t discharge you over a single eye.”

Tyria looked at the floor. “Dad…”

“I’ve been worried about you, Tyria,” he said, setting a hoof on her cot and leaning forward. “What happened with the pirates? How much of that list was from them?”

“Not much,” she said, lying back down on her cot to rest. “They were very accommodating, actually. Aside from the noose.”

“Noose?” His eyes widened.

“Yes. For a moment, I thought…” she almost laughed. She’d had so many certain-death experiences lately that she’d actually forgotten that feeling of terror as Zennan draped the rope around her neck. It didn’t even rate anymore. “Well, it doesn’t matter, Rye managed to talk us out of that one.”

“Oh?” Jerric gave her shoulder a friendly nudge. “He told me that you were the one who saved his life. Many times.”

“We agreed to stop keeping count.” She lifted her head from the pillow. “So you’ve met him? Good, I’m glad.” She gave a breathy sigh. “I guess you’re going to be seeing a lot more of him, huh?”

“Yes, I’m sure I’ll be dragged into these peace talks he’s putting together.” Jerric made an ugh sound. “I hate politics.”

“Wh—no, I meant—” Tyria suddenly rolled her eye and groaned. “He… didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

She muttered, shaking her head. “He’ll stand up to sea monsters and pirate kings, but one little pony leaves him cowering…” Suddenly laughing, she looked up at her father. “He’s my fiancé.”

Jerric blinked. His eyes opened wide. “Y—what?! You’re getting married?”

She nodded with a shy smile. “We haven’t set a date yet, but…”

“Were…” Jerric fumbled with his mane. “Were you planning on telling your mother or I?”

“I just did!” Tyria twisted a little to get more comfortable on the cot. “We only agreed on it a little while ago. This is quite literally the first chance I’ve had to let you know.” Not Rye’s first chance though… I’ll get him back for this, somehow.

“But—but he’s a…” Jerric rubbed the back of his neck, looking very lost. It was kind of adorable in such a big pony. “He’s a commoner!”

Tyria gave him an are-you-serious look. “Dad, our family’s the dictionary definition of genteel poverty. We don’t exactly have Bellemonts lining up left and right to marry us.”

“Well… no, but—”

“I don’t recall you getting this worked up when Breslik was chasing that Buttercream mare’s skirts on his last leave.”

“He didn’t marry her!”

Suddenly it clicked, and Tyria’s smile faded. “It’s because he’s a pegacorn, isn’t it?”

Jerric bit his lip, shamefaced. “I—I’m not proud of it. But Tyria, pegacorns… if they don’t die young, they go mad. The inability to fly or do magic, it destroys them inside; they all turn out bitter and angry and violent. I don’t want my daughter to suffer that.”

“I’ve seen what bitterness and anger look like when they consume a pony, father. And that’s not Rye.” Tyria thought briefly of cold blue eyes and shivered.

“Tyria, I’m sorry, but even if you think he’s wonderful, everyone knows that pegacorns are—”

“Heroic? Brave? Kind? Funny? Handsome? Yes, they are.” Tyria lifted her chin. “Rye’s the farthest thing from violent you can get and still have hooves. I’ve seen him try to fight. It’s not his forte, believe me.” She stared at her father with a keen eye. “Just how many pegacorns have you met?”

“I…” Jerric bowed his head. “That’s… fair.” He lifted it again, half-smiling. “I admit, he certainly seemed sane enough, if a little… skittish.”

“You’d be skittish too, if you’d nearly been strangled to death by a crazed Nordpony last night.” She sighed, suddenly slumping back down onto the cot. “Dad, let’s not fight. I had to fend off an army of camels and kill a stallion with an oar yesterday, I really don’t have the energy for it.”

Jerric did the smallest of double-takes. “Well… that explains that bizarre scene up on the deck.” He bit his lip thoughtfully. “I guess this wasn’t the quiet posting for you I thought it would be.”

“It was, for three years…” Tyria felt a sudden, sad weight settle over her. Three long, lonely years.

“I wanted to keep you safe, Tyria,” said her father, frowning with concern. “Military life can be rough, as you’ve learned. I thought that out here you could avoid the worst of it—no griffon invasions or civil wars this far out to sea. I’m sorry I was wrong.”

“If you didn’t want me fighting, then why—” Tyria inhaled, biting her lip, mirroring her father. “Why’d you even want me to join the Navy?”

“You’re a Metrel,” he answered, sounding almost confused that it was even a question. “It’s what we do. The service runs in our blood. It has for generations. We serve Equestria, and we serve her well.” His chest puffed up, and he gave her a proud smile. “You’ve certainly lived up to that reputation, Paintbrush.”

The pride in his eyes made it even harder than she’d imagined to break his heart. Tyria’s lips wavered. She put her hooves on his. “Dad…”

Why was this so much harder than blowing up a tower or dueling a Dromedarian soldier? Just two simple words: I quit.

She took a fortifying breath. “Dad, I’m not going to fight the medical discharge.”

Jerric’s brows drew together. “What?”

“I’m accepting the discharge,” she repeated.

“Tyria—” Jerric’s lips moved without words for a few moments. “That doctor said you can’t fight, true enough, but don’t let that scare you into quitting. There’s a lot more to the service than just frontline combat. You can still serve with distinction; maybe a position in procurement, or—”

“Dad,” she cut in, but he continued talking over her.

“—we could file for a transfer to another embassy, one somewhere safer. Maybe Antelluc—”

“Dad, I was going to resign anyway!”

A silence, cold and scary, settled over the room. Her father pulled away and up, his hooves returning to the floor. His eyes flashed with anger. “What?”

Tyria pushed herself upright. “I’m leaving the Navy.”

He ran a hoof unsteadily through his mane. “Why?!”

“Because this isn’t the life I want for myself.” Tyria swallowed. “I don’t want to kill for a living. I don’t want to be a glorified babysitter, either. I want to paint. To sail. To live my own life.” Her gaze faltered, and she looked at the floor. “Not yours.”

“Tyria,” he said, his hooves jerking in confused distress. “I—I don’t understand. The service gives you purpose, it’s a good cause, it’s—”

“It’s left your daughter maimed,” she said harshly, lifting her lone eye to stare into his.

That hit him like a punch. He sat back heavily, his mouth open, hooves limp. The silence threatened to extend indefinitely. She could see tears glimmering at the corners of his eyes. His mouth trembled. “Oh… Paintbrush…”

Tyria leaned over her cot and hugged him. Jerric gasped a little, wrapping his forelegs around her. “I never wanted you to get hurt. I never meant to…”

“I know,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “I know you just wanted to take care of me. But you don’t need to anymore. I can take care of myself.” She smiled, giving him a squeeze. “Your little Paintbrush grew up.”

“Yes,” he said, with a loud sniff. “Yes, she did.”

They rocked back and forth for a little while. Tyria buried her muzzle in the crook of his neck, feeling a sensation of complete peace at long last. “I missed you, Dad.”

He patted her on the back. “I missed you, too.”

After another minute or two of quiet, he released her and leaned back. Wiping his eyes, he gave a shaky laugh. “Well… I guess I’d better start saving up.”

Tyria, feeling a tear run down her own cheek, wiped it away with a smile. “Saving up for what?”

“For your dowry,” he said, a hint of playfulness returning to his voice.

“A dow—Dad, this is the fourth century!” Tyria laughed, her eye still wet. “Dowries went out with Nightmare Moon.”

“So it’s a little old fashioned.” He shrugged. “Point is, you’re going to need money.”

“Well if it’s about money…” Tyria reached under the cot and heaved. “Oof.” She dragged the sack filled with seapony treasure out onto the floor beside him.

Jerric lifted the bag, stunned. He reached in and removed a single gold piece, dropping it to his hoof and tossing it. “Is this a Pheonixian ingot? They haven’t minted these in nine hundred years…”

“That bag ought to pay for the wedding, the honeymoon, and maybe even a few months’ rent.” Tyria grinned. “Technically, it’s supposed to be in someone else’s posession, but…” She leaned over toward the cabinet and picked up her hat. Placing it on her head, she gave it a fond tug. “That someone foolishly gave me their lucky hat.”

Jerric looked askance at the hat, chuckling. “Where on earth did you get that?”

“Well, Dad, you’d better get comfortable. It’s a long story…”

40. Great Things

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Immense swathes of vibrant coral structures carpeted the seafloor. Schools of fish, their scales shining under rays of light from the surface above, swam in great clouds around and through the reef. Cuttlefish darted between gaps in the coral, their brightly colored, shifting skin neatly disguising them in their luminiferous surroundings. A shattered building rose from the underwater jungle, its marble sides cracked and invaded by sea life. Mosses and barnacles dotted the stone, while tiny crabs trundled along its weathered surfaces. An eel retreated into the darkened crevice of a crumbling window, while an octopus toyed with a piece of broken statuary. A lone shark turned slowly around to pass the ruined façade, its eyes dark and enigmatic. Dappled sunlight played across all of it, giving the scene an eerie, dreamlike quality.

Tyria lifted her palette and dipped the tip of her brush into the blot of mixed orange and pink pigment. Leaning back in, she made a few precise strokes, her eyebrows knit in concentration. The tiny grooves in this piece of coral were finally nearing completion. The light and shadow running so close together in the ridges made the creature pop from the canvas like a living thing.

“Morning, Tyria,” came Rye’s voice from behind her.

Smiling, she turned her head over her shoulder. “Morning.”

With a long whistle, Rye strode into Milliden’s spacious living room, which Tyria had commandeered to be her art studio. He came to a stop beside her, studying the enormous painting. It was perhaps the largest she’d ever worked on, a two-by-three meter behemoth. She’d needed a completely new easel setup and a stool to even begin laying down the first strokes. Rye nodded with a small, proud smile. “You’ve outdone yourself. Truly. And I’ve seen the real thing.”

“It’s not even close to finished yet,” said Tyria, turning back and making another dab at the palette with the brush in her mouth. “I’ve still got weeks to go.”

“What? You’ve been working on it for a month already!” Rye sat down behind her, encircling her waist with his forelegs and resting his head on her right shoulder. “Looks pretty complete to me.”

“Oh, I’d say it’s… close to halfway,” said Tyria, still smiling. She set the brush down on the palette, the sticky tip keeping it from sliding. Tilting her head to lean against Rye’s, she sighed. “I still need to give all the coral a few more passes. Some of it’s barely more than color blocking right now. And the fish, and the building… no, I’ve got plenty of work to do.”

Twisting her head a little towards his, she raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of work, what are you still doing here?”

“Well, you weren’t in bed when I woke up. I thought I’d come investigate before leaving for the day.” Rye looked around at the huge room. “I was worried you’d gotten lost in this cavernous house.”

Tyria grinned. “Yes, Milliden certainly liked his space.” She prodded his chest with a gentle elbow. “It’s well after breakfast. If you keep making her wait, the Marquis might stop letting us stay here for free.”

Rye dismissed the idea with a playful wave of his hoof. “We’re fine. They won’t put the house back up on the market until there’s a new permanent Equestrian ambassador in the city.”

“Still, you’d better get going.”

“Hmm.” Rye sighed wistfully. “I suppose. Or…”

Tyria felt one of his hooves sliding down her stomach. “Ryyyye…” she chided with a wry smile, “you’re going to be late.”

“It won’t kill them to wait a few minutes,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“But it’s…” She closed her eye, inhaling. “It’s the big day at last, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed,” he said lightly. “That's why they can't start without me.”

Her eye flicked open. “Ah… but what if… they do? Mmm. Rye, you can’t let them sign your baby… without you. You’ve worked so… hard… on it…” She bit her lip.

He moved his head sideways to look at her with a coy smile. “I think it’ll keep for a few more minutes.”

Tyria dropped the palette and the brush to the floor. She twisted around, placing her hooves on his chest, and shoved him to the carpet. Leaning down, she kissed him, closing her eye. Slipping a hoof under his feather-soft robes, she snapped open the clasp. They didn’t speak much for the next few minutes.

Afterwards, rolling over onto the carpet, Tyria let her right hoof fall across her chest, still rising and falling with pleasant tremors. She tilted her head left to look at Rye, smiling contentedly. “You...” she exhaled, blowing a strand of her mane aside. “You really should take a weekend off, Rye. We wouldn’t have to keep stealing moments.” She ruffled his mane with her left hoof.

Breathing out a satisfied puff of air, he looked up at the ceiling. “After today, I’ll have plenty of free time. We can start planning the wedding, even.”

“Mm…” Tyria sighed. “Well, shouldn’t you be on your way?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine, it’s only…” Rye fumbled beside him with a hoof, dragging his robes over. “Where’d I put that timepiece…”

Tyria stretched her forelegs over her head, cracking her neck. “Are we still meeting Zanaya for dinner tonight?”

Dangling a pocketwatch from its chain, he lifted a hoof. “Yes, after we see the sergeant off…” Rye jerked upright. “Oh, Sisters, they’re starting in five minutes.”

“I warned you,” she said, nudging his flank with a hoof. “Better run.”

“Sorry,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Leaping up, he scrambled for the door, donning his robes as he went. “Have a good day!”

“Good luck!” she called after him, shaking her head with a knowing smile as the door creaked open and then slammed shut. Always in a rush, she thought, rolling her eye. Her workflow on the painting was now thoroughly interrupted, so instead she got up and left the room to take a bath.

Washing up had been extremely awkward, these last five weeks. As she carefully rinsed out her mane, doing her best to keep the most recently applied gauze over her eye dry, she reflected eagerly that soon she’d be taking the bandages off for good. The cut hadn’t hurt in several days, even after… strenuous physical activity. She’d grown more used to seeing only half the world than she’d ever have imagined possible before the injury. The brief pangs of loss still happened, but they no longer brought her to the edge of tears. Now, it was simply a part of her.

In the middle of drying herself off with a towel, she heard the unmistakable rapping of the front door knocker. Lifting her head in surprise, she blinked, wondering who could possibly be calling at this hour of the morning.

She quickly finished drying off and trotted down the stairs to answer the door. Swinging it open, she was greeted by a familiar orchid-purple mare wearing a khaki uniform, a set of saddlebags, and a bittersweet smile.

“Captain Petalbloom!” Tyria tilted her head slightly in friendly curiosity. “To what do I owe the visit?”

“I’ve got presents,” said the captain, her cheeks dimpling. “One long-awaited, one unexpected, I think.”

“Would you like to come in?”

Petalbloom shook her head, raising a forestalling hoof. “Unfortunately, I have embassy business I need to see to right after this.”

Tyria nodded. “I understand.”

“Well, Ensign,” said Petalbloom, fishing in her saddlebags. “It took them about two weeks longer than I expected to get here…”

“My father’s influence, no doubt,” said Tyria with an amused sigh. “He still hasn’t stopped trying to convince me to apply for special considerations to avoid the medical discharge.” At least he’d grown considerably less overbearing about it since their talk on the Polaris. He might never stop trying to get her to rejoin the service, but it no longer felt like the crushing pressure of a hero’s expectations; now, it was merely the frustrated wishes of a concerned parent.

Petalbloom yanked out a large, thick envelope. She offered it with her mouth, and Tyria pressed her hooves around it to pull it to her breast. The captain nodded, looking strangely wistful. “Your P-566 forms and the official discharge letter are all in there. I signed them last night.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Tyria set the envelope inside the house with a sigh, feeling a little off-balance. It was hard to believe that this was finally real. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, ma’am.”

Petalbloom set a hoof on her shoulder and smiled. “I know at times we haven’t had the easiest working relationship, Tyria, but whatever problems we ran into, you were a good officer. I’ve been proud to have you under my command these last three years.”

Tyria felt tears welling up in her good eye. “Thank you.”

“And that, along with your exemplary service during the pirate incident, is why…” Petalbloom turned back to her saddlebags. Her head returned with another envelope, this one with a small box tied to it. Tyria took it, her eyebrow raised. “I thought you deserved this, so I put in the request along with the rest of the paperwork. I’m glad to say it was approved.”

Tyria pulled the little box out of the string tying it to the envelope, and opened it. Staring at the little cloth bars and shoulder-patch insignia within, she threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, Captain…”

“Congratulations, Lieutenant Metrel,” said Petalbloom, with a salute and a smile. “And good luck in your new life.”

Tyria returned the salute, then hugged her. Petalbloom blinked in surprise, but then returned the hug. The captain cleared her throat bashfully. “I figured you wouldn’t mind having that higher pay grade on your medical pension.”

“Thank you,” repeated Tyria. “For everything.” She pulled back, wiping her eye.

“You’re welcome. Now,” said Petalbloom, taking a deep breath, “I do have to be going.”

“I’ll make sure to send you a wedding invitation. You won’t even need to take leave, if you want to come.”

“Oh, you’re having it here?” Petalbloom blinked in surprise.

“Sure, why not? My family and friends are scattered all over anyway thanks to the military, and Rye’s certainly won’t mind an excuse to head down to the tropics when those late August chills start settling in Canterlot.” Tyria raised a hoof in farewell, nodding her head. “Goodbye, Captain.”

Petalbloom waved goodbye as she walked away, trotting down the street and vanishing into the rows of houses. Tyria, still smiling, closed the door.

Walking back into her studio, she sat in front of her painted window to the sea. She picked up her palette and brush from where they’d fallen earlier, wetting the tip of the brush once again. With an evaluating eye, she scanned the reef.

“Lieutenant Tyria Metrel…” she murmured, her mouth curling. She leaned in to continue her work on the coral.

* * *

Rye arrived at the Marquis’ manor ten minutes late, wheezing for breath. The entrance guard was waiting expectantly for him, holding open the mahogany door with a silver-encircled hoof. Rye gave him a grateful nod as he trotted into the building.

In the foyer, Jerric Metrel stood beside one of the display busts, with a very terse expression. Rye waved hello, walking up to him. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Rye.” Jerric gave a long-suffering sigh. “You have paint on your robes.”

Rye glanced down at the little spot of pink that had appeared on the yellow fabric. “Eheh, whoops. Must’ve dropped the hem on it when we—uh, when I tripped, on my way out of the, uh…” The admiral grew further stone-faced. Rye coughed. “Have all the others arrived?”

The way Jerric rolled his eyes was unsettlingly familiar. Rye had noticed just how many Tyria-isms originated from her father during their work together over the past month. “Yes. All the delegations are assembled in the meeting room. They sent me out to look for you, in fact.”

“Ah. Sorry.” Rye began trotting toward the door on the ground floor that led to the negotiating chamber. “Shall we?”

Jerric followed him, muttering so quietly that Rye barely heard him, “At least someone is having a good morning…”

Rye thrust open the door, stepping into the room. It was much larger than Zahira’s office, containing a huge oval table with beautiful Gryphan carvings, a piece of furniture surviving from the original building. Seated around the table were the dozens of members belonging to the various delegations that had come to Zyre to take part in the creation of this treaty, some with friendly expressions and several with gloomy ones.

The happiest person in the room was Meri, resting in a wooden half-bath that had been carted up from the seafront by some unfortunate pair of zebras at Zahira’s request. The seapony’s tail hung over the side of the glorified bucket, but she looked irrepressibly cheerful despite the cramped seating arrangement. She ought to, thought Rye; the seaponies were the only party present to get everything they’d asked for out of this treaty.

Rye and Jerric took their seats beside the violet-maned Lady Vanellen Bellemont. She was the noble Celestia had sent along with the economic advisory team that Rye had requested. Ostensibly she was there in a similar advisory role, but Rye had a feeling she would end up being Celestia’s choice to replace Milliden. Lady Bellemont had a much milder temperament than her predecessor, and an easy way with words that made you want to be her friend. A good choice, thought Rye, nodding to her and receiving a kindly smile in return.

“Well,” Rye said, placing his hooves on the table with a light tap. “Good morning, my ladies and lords. Now that we’re all here…” the comment drew a chorus of rolled eyes and irritated snorts, “let’s discuss those last few issues, and move on to the final ratification. It’s my hope to finally finish these negotiations by this afternoon.”

At the center of the table sat the master copy of the treaty, all six hundred and forty-two glorious pages of it. Rye had spent three and a half straight weeks doing a boggling amount of wining, dining, wheeling, and dealing to put the colossus together. He gazed at it with fond eyes.

All the big issues had been settled days ago, and as such the day was spent listening to the camels, zebras, griffons, and ponies all haggling for a few final economic trifles. For the first time in weeks Rye had little stake in the details being discussed, so he simply nodded when appropriate. He passed the time playing idly with the hem of his robes and smiling occasionally at the little spot of paint.

At last, both the Dromedarian and Gryphan ambassadors seemed satisfied with whatever ultimate agreement they’d reached on the grain tax, made their edits to the page in question, and gave the floor back to the Equestrians.

“Excellent. I believe that means we’re finished.” Rye gestured around at the thirty-or-so zebras, griffons, camels, and ponies gathered at the table. “Unless anyone has last minute concerns before we sign this thing?”

Glances flew across the table, but no one raised any objections. They had better not, by this point, thought Rye.

The sound of sloshing water broke the quiet. Meri leaned forward, pressing her hooves together. “I’d just like to express once again on behalf of New Phoenixia what a pleasure it is to have met all of you. I look forward to our continued relations in the future.”

Rye smiled. Meri was becoming a fine young statesmare. Still some learning to do, of course, but if she could manage to wring out eight thousand square kilometers of territory from Marquis Zahira of all zebras—with his help, granted—she could handle anything.

“All right, Ambassador Strudel,” said the Gryphan emissary, “let’s get this over with.” He had been sent to replace Tatius. The latter griffon had vanished in the attack, presumed dead. His replacement was a bookish sort, who’d had an air of appalled misery throughout the proceedings these last few weeks. Rye couldn’t blame him; Zahira had placed some hefty restrictions on Gryphan trade activities.

Rye had done his best to mollify the Marquis, repeating that Tatius had acted on his own nearly as many times as he had the same argument regarding Milliden; he’d had some success. Still, he hadn’t tried to stop her from classifying blackpowder as a Class IV restricted cargo, now just as thoroughly illegal to trade or possess as Elyrium.

The griffon ambassador had been quite dismayed by the loss of Grypha’s only monopoly, but Rye had made it up to him somewhat by ensuring that all of the rebuilding work on Zahira’s navy would be going through Gryphan contractors.

Rye nodded, gesturing to Lady Bellemont. “Let’s begin.” She obligingly withdrew a sheaf of parchment from within her blue robes, what was to be the final page in Rye’s magnum opus. Rye slid it over in front of himself, bending down with a quill to scratch his signature at the center of the page with great satisfaction.

He passed it to his left. Meri, shaking her hoof a little to dry it, pulled the parchment before her and bit down on the end of her own quill. The seaponies had no writing system, so she simply drew the sigil her people had chosen to represent themselves, a star with five points that curved like shark fins. Rye was unpleasantly reminded of the airstars whenever he saw it, but supposed it was appropriate enough.

She passed the signature sheet on to her left, where it was taken by a camel who gave it to the Dromedarian ambassador. As he dabbed his quill into the ink with a dexterous foot, Rye shook his head slightly in grudging admiration.

The Dromedarian had apologized profusely and at length for weeks about the unauthorized military adventure that a few overly-ambitious rogue agents in his nation’s navy had perpetrated, while firmly denying any culpability of his government or people. They were shunning all responsibility, pinning the entire attack on the vanished Pit Vipers and the conveniently dead Viridian.

Rye had to give it to him, the camel had serious stones for sticking to such a bald-faced lie, but as both Grypha and Equestria were loudly claiming exactly the same thing about their own ambassadors there was little he could do to publicly deny the Dromedarian position.

He’d settled instead for coordinating with Zahira and Celestia’s crack economic team to slap the camels with a series of painful sanctions designed to cripple their precious metals industry. Perhaps more importantly, the camels had—after a week of subtle threats and overt suggestions of further military action on Equestria’s part—agreed to pay close to half a billion Dromedarian lira into a “relief fund” for Zahira’s rebuilding projects.

A reparation by any other name smells not as sweet, thought Rye, rubbing his lips, but it’ll do. It irked him to let the camels escape with little more than financial and materiel losses from their murderous escapade, but he still kept what he’d said to Tyria about them in mind. A war’s great if you win, but when you lose… the camel king is going to be feeling the heat. It wouldn’t be the first time a bankrupt state caused a revolution.

Next, the Gryphan ambassador signed with a sigh, before passing on the document to the first of Zyre’s oligarchs. Rye glanced across the row of zebras, toying anxiously with the hem of his robe.

All of them would have to put their signatures on this to make it valid, and Rye had worked his tail off to make sure they would. He’d bargained off promises, alliance agreements, tariff reductions, and in two cases outright bribes to get support from the Zyrans.

It was difficult to get their attention, at times, as most of them were still busy looking over their shoulders while Zahira purged her government of traitors. The ongoing witch hunt had imprisoned hundreds from all classes and ranks already, including those nobles caught green-hoofed at her manor with Breyr, but there was no end in sight yet.

At last, the parchment arrived at the hooves of Zahira herself. The Marquis stared down at the document, frowning. Rye chewed his lip, watching her intently.

Equestria was prepared to give a lot to her. Celestia would be funding nearly half the cost of rebuilding her navy. It was an astronomical sum, so large that they’d had to dip into the funds originally allocated to rebuild the castle in Canterlot. They’d also made formal vows of alliance against Dromedaria, should it ever threaten Zyre again, and a joint agreement to combat any pirates that rose to fill the vacuum left by the Vipers.

That aid wasn’t coming cheap, though, and it clearly ate at the Marquis every time Rye had met her for negotiations. In exchange for the rest of the treaty, Equestria was getting completely unrestricted military access to the entirety of the Golden Isles. That included escorting their trade vessels—completing Rye’s original mission, to his wry satisfaction—but also opened up the Equestrian sphere of influence to expand southward toward Zebrica and Elefala. Using the more direct route through the isles they’d be able to make stronger alliances and pursue interests throughout the entire southern hemisphere.

Finally, there was the dizzying array of removed or reduced tariffs between the two nations, which even Rye had lost track of about four days into the process. Along with his efforts, the royal economists had managed to squeeze eight percent off of the sugar tax for Equestrian merchants, which ought to repay them with dividends for those shipbuilding costs in less than a decade. Getting Zahira to agree to it had been like doing surgery with words.

She’d agreed tentatively at the time, but this was the moment of truth. Now, here at the end, would she sign? Her vaunted status as Zyre’s sole ruling power would be severely shaken by this treaty, perhaps irrevocably, and she knew it just as well as Rye did. Her quill hesitated over the parchment, dripping a dot of ink.

Licking his lips, Rye pressed his hooves together. The wait stretched on for another ten tense seconds as he watched emotions battle on Zahira’s face. All the other delegates stared at the Marquis with bated breath.

Unable to take it any longer, Rye cleared his throat. “Madame, if I may…”

Zahira looked up at him, a little forlorn. Rye glanced over at Meri. “I’ve seen the remnants of Phoenixia with my own two eyes, and I can tell you, it wasn’t a lack of control that brought them to ruin. If anything, they collapsed because they turned inward, so caught up in holding on to past glories that by the end, all they ruled was a broken chunk of stone at the bottom of the ocean.”

He smiled at her. “Zyre doesn’t have to follow in their hoofsteps. Equestria wants to help you. Let’s build a better world together.”

The zebra gave a long, deep sigh. “All right, Strudel.” With a regretful shake of her head, she said, “You win.” She scribbled on the sheet with a quill. Sitting back with a meditative look, she pushed the parchment forward. “It’s done.”

All the delegates aside from Meri stood and vigorously shook hooves, claws, and feet. Most faces were filled with relief at the thought of finally being finished. Rye looked around, restraining the urge to whoop and break into a dance. Even Jerric had a smile.

As they filtered out of the manor into the fading evening sunlight, Rye inhaled deeply. The city stretched out below him, all its twinkling lights and promises of adventure still glittering under the darkening sky.

Rye’s future father-in-law stepped up to his side, looking out with him. “I admit, Rye, I’m impressed,” he said, a faint smile on his lips. “You’ve certainly taken care of things.”

“Thank you, sir.” Rye closed his eyes blissfully as the ocean breeze played with his mane. “How long will the fleet remain in the area?”

“At least another few months, I expect. Those Zyran ships will take a considerable amount of time to rebuild.”

“Good. We’ll send a message to the camels, if nothing else.” Rye opened his eyes, turning his head to Jerric. “Well, sir, it’s been... interesting.” Or mortally terrifying, one of the two. He extended a hoof.

Jerric shook it slowly, looking down toward the district where Rye and Tyria were staying. He sighed softly. “You’ll take care of Paintbrush, too, won’t you?”

“We’ll take care of each other, I think,” said Rye with a smile. “You have my word.”

“Good.” Jerric set his hoof back down, turning the rest of his body curiously toward Rye. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. Are you related at all to Windstreak Strudel, the old Firewing captain?”

“My mother.” Rye raised an eyebrow, wondering what Jerric’s reaction would be.

“Hah! Well.” His mouth twisted wryly. “I suppose that explains where you get it from.” He loosened his collar, looking down at the bay. “I’m heading back down to the Levanah. I suppose I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll follow you partway. A friend is shipping out tonight. Celestia wants her Firewing back.”

The two set off together, the silence between them no longer awkward; merely the calm, comfortable quiet of two ponies with an understanding.

* * *

Wheatie yawned, tapping a hoof on the top of his suitcase. He looked up at the ship beside his pier, watching the pony crew shifting cargo across the deck. Turning back down to look out of the bay, he sighed wistfully. The setting sun was gorgeous in this city; he was going to miss it.

Along with some other things. “Hi there, soldier boy,” came a familiar voice from behind him. Wheatie turned, grinning.

Zanaya, wearing that same lovely dress she’d had that night at Zahira’s dinner party, stood behind him on the pier, a coy smile on her lips. “I thought I’d show up a little early and give you something.”

“Oh?” Wheatie let the suitcase stand and sidled over to her. “Whatever could you have, hiding in that dress? Must be small,” he said, winking.

Zanaya gave a tinkling laugh. She dragged one of her forehooves against the other, and there was a clink of metal hitting wood. With a stomp, she flipped the object up onto a hoof, and offered it to him.

“Your Watch bracelet?” Wheatie felt suddenly dismayed. “Zanaya, I can’t take—”

“Shh. Yes, you can.” Her warm blue eyes regarded him with fond amusement. “I want you to have something to remember me by.”

“I…”

“It’s not as though I’m using it anymore. Go on, soldier boy, take it.” She flipped it into the air toward him, and he caught it instinctively. Zanaya let her hoof fall back to the ground. “We’ve had a good few months, Wheatie. Come back and see me again sometime, huh?”

He pocketed the silver circlet with some reluctance, grinning. “Well, I’ll be back for the wedding…”

Her eyes flashed with anticipation. “Looking forward to it.”

Behind her, far down the pier, Wheatie spotted a pair of ponies galloping toward them. Rye’s yellow robes flapped in the wind. Tyria had on a set of saddlebags and that absurd hat of hers. Wheatie chuckled.

“We’re not late, are we?” panted Rye, coming to a halt beside them.

“No, no, the ship’s not leaving for another fifteen minutes or so.” Wheatie checked his timepiece, nodding. “Did you bring those letters?”

“Yes,” said Tyria, tossing him the saddlebags. “There you are, stuffed with invitations.”

Wheatie raised a brow. “Date’s set?”

“Mhm. Just wrote them up by the docks a few minutes ago.” Rye looked tired, but happy. “I suggest you tell my father first. My mother’s liable to start crying.”

Wheatie laughed. “Noted.”

Tyria leaned against one of the posts on the pier. “Hi, Zanaya. I haven’t seen you all week. How are… how are things going?”

Zanaya waved a hoof. “I’ll be fine, Tyria. The P.I. business is booming right now. After the pirate attack, everyone’s missing valuables. Tracking them down’s been very lucrative.”

Tyria sighed with a frustrated look. “I still can’t believe Zahira wouldn’t let you stay on the force.”

The zebra’s smile turned melancholy. “She offered, actually. But if I stayed, I’d have been put in charge of the internal affairs investigations into the Watch. She wanted someone with known loyalties leading it, for obvious reasons, but that’s not a job I want any part of.”

Shrugging, she tossed her head. “I’m doing well for myself, though. Thanks to all those seedy underworld contacts our little friend Zedya at the Rider has put me in touch with, I’ve got a huge leg up on the competition.” She flashed Wheatie a smile. “Thanks again for saving her life, Wheatie.”

“Oh, you two have thanked me plenty already,” said Wheatie, grinning. “I’ll miss you, Zan.”

She gave him a hug. “So long, soldier boy.”

He hugged her back. “So long.”

Pulling away, with a deep breath and a covert wipe of her eyes, she turned to Tyria. “So! We’d better get going if we’re going to get to Vera’s before they’re completely packed. Come on, Tyria, tell me about that antelope who bought up your whole Karran series.”

Tyria beamed. “I still can’t believe it, really…”

The two mares strode off down the pier, chatting happily. Rye and Wheatie watched them go, both smiling faintly.

“Well, Staff Sergeant,” said Rye, turning to face him and offering a hoof. “You’ve been an excellent assistant—though perhaps not quite how I intended.”

“Who knows? Maybe we’ll work together again in the future,” said Wheatie, shaking his hoof. “And next time I may not even have to track you down.”

“Let’s hope.” Rye pulled his hoof back and sat, awkwardly tapping his forehooves together. “So… Wheatie… I can’t help but wonder…”

“Hmm?”

Rye looked like he was heavily debating his next words, but curiosity seemed to win out. He raised an eyebrow. “You, Zanaya, and that Zedya mare she mentioned…”

Wheatie matched his eyebrow. “Mm?”

“Did the three of you ever, uh…?”

“Well, that depends,” said Wheatie dryly. “Why have you and Tyria been late to every dinner we’ve had in the last month?”

Rye gave an embarrassed cough. “Ahem. Forget I asked. Have a good trip, Wheatie.”

Wheatie smirked. “Good night, Rye.” He watched the yellow-robed stallion canter off after the mares.

With a sigh, he touched the cold ring of metal in his breast pocket. More valuable than any medal. He gave it a pat and nodded with a smile.

Well, then. On to the next adventure. Turning away, he hooked a hoof around the handle of his suitcase and trundled up the ramp to board the ship.

Epilogue: The Painter and the Pegacorn

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Tyria Strudel reclined beneath a palm, watching the moonlit leaves sway in the breeze. Her hat lifted slightly in the wind, but her hoof firmly pushed it back down over her mane and the strap of her black eyepatch. To her right, the sounds of a sizzling pan and crackling fire melded with the gentle breaking of the waves on the beach a few meters away.

Rye was still humming the refrain of The Mountain, the Mare, and the Dragonslayer as he worked, occasionally punctuated by the staccato raps of a food turner on the metal pan. Tyria hummed a few bars along with him, lifting her sketchpad up in the flickering firelight and flicking her charcoal pencil across the page with a swift head motion.

The wind shifted, and suddenly the scent of dinner was carried across her nose. “Mmm, Rye, that smells fantastic.”

“Oh, it’ll taste even better, trust me,” he said. With a steady eye, he jostled the pan over the beachfront campfire. “Just a minute or two longer.”

Tyria gave a habitual glance down the beach to check on their craft. The little sailboat rested in the shallows, bobbing up and down as the waves rolled in. They could likely have bought one outright with the proceeds from the ongoing gallery showing of Lost Reef and the seapony money left over from the wedding; but it would have been difficult to take with them back to Canterlot, so instead they’d settled on a three week rental.

She yawned happily. Two weeks out so far, and she was enjoying every minute of it. Even Rye had finally gotten his sea legs for the most part, though she had continued trying to take them through calm seas for his sake.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, making another stroke of charcoal on her sketch of the moonlit beach. “Maybe I should get a glass eye. An expensive one, with a magic iris that looks wherever your real one does. Very realistic.”

“Hmm.” Rye lifted the pan off of the camp grill, setting it aside to cool. “Looking for some variety?”

“Well…” Tyria felt her cheeks heat self-consciously. “It’s just... if I don’t, you’re probably going to get a lot of strange looks back in Canterlot walking around with a one-eyed mare.”

Rye strode over with a small ceramic bowl, filled with the best-looking stir fried vegetables Tyria had ever seen—or smelled. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m used to strange looks.”

“Oh... I suppose you are. Thanks.” She set her sketch aside and accepted the bowl, digging in with gusto.

Rye lay down beside her, under the palm. Idly munching on a fried green bean, he traced a circle in the sand with a hoof. “I could help you pick one out, if you really wanted, but…” He flashed her a grin. “I kind of like the whole corsair look. Especially that eyepatch.” He gave a low purr.

Tyria smiled despite herself, tugging on the brim of her hat. “And you told me mares thought scars were exotic.”

“Well now I know why.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I think you’re perfect as you are, Tyria.”

She lifted the bowl and took another bite of cooked pepper. “Keep cooking like this, and I’ll think you are, too.”

Rye snorted. “So, how are the sketches coming?”

“Very nicely. I’m going to have plenty of reference material by the time we head back to Equestria. I’m thinking of doing it as a new series. Islands of the Zebras.”

“Destined for the gallery circuit, no doubt.”

She pushed him away with a hoof. “Oh, stop; they only put the last one up because the pirates stole or destroyed half the old exhibits.”

Rye gave her a look of mock-severity. “Now, now, what did we agree about the unwarranted humbleness?”

“I…” Tyria smiled reluctantly. “All right, I admit it. It was a pretty good painting.”

“You're going to be the next Fillyric Church, if I heard that gallery owner right.”

“Now that is pure, excessive flattery,” she said, chewing another bite of food. “Besides, most fine artists don’t get famous until they die.”

“Surely losing an eye is close enough to qualify. A half-blind painter—it’s inspiring, like Beethoofen.”

“Ha.” Tyria stared regretfully at the bowl, which was emptying far too quickly. “You didn’t happen to make a second helping of this, did you?”

Rye shrugged. “I could, but we do still have seven days left before we reach civilization again.”

“Better save the food, then.” Tyria sighed, looking out at the dark ocean horizon. “It’s strange… I’ve wanted to go back home for years, but now that we’re actually leaving…”

He dipped his head in a meditative nod. “I know the feeling.”

“I’m going to miss the isles,” she said quietly, feeling the breeze play across her face. “It’s so beautiful out here.”

“Yes…” Rye scooted up onto his elbows. “But there’s a lot of other beauty out there in the world. The mountains of Sleipnord… the forests of Elketh… the plains of Zerubia… It would be a shame to only visit one.”

“I wonder how many we’ll get to see?” she said, taking another mouthful of food.

“That depends on Celestia,” said Rye, patting his stomach contentedly. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll be headed to Antellucía next. I hear they have a little pirate problem these days.”

Tyria laughed. “I don’t know that I can handle any more pirates.”

Rye chuckled, before looking over at her with a nervous smile. “You do still want to come with me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she said, lightly bopping his nose with a hoof. “You’re not going to leave me behind in Canterlot while you go getting all the good vistas to yourself. I can only paint the Sun Castle so many times.” She finished off her bowl. “Besides, what if you get into trouble? I’d rather have a head start on rescuing you.”

Rye gave a relieved laugh. “Diplomatic missions aren’t usually as exciting as this one was, you know.”

“Oh, I have a feeling that with you, they will be,” she said with a wink. It was tricky to do with one eye, but she was swiftly becoming a master.

“Certainly more interesting than usual,” he said, smiling. “I’m glad you’re with me, Tyria.”

“Always.” She set the bowl aside and leaned down to kiss him. They lay there for a while, lips pressed together, listening to the sounds of the ocean.

Tyria lifted her head slightly with a coy look. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?” his eyebrow rose.

“Remember when I showed you our honeymoon route through the archipelago?”

“Yes…”

She glanced innocently up at the fronds of the palm above. “Well, I left this stop off of that map.”

Rye rubbed his nose against hers. “And what, pray tell, is so special about this island?”

In reply, she pointed over his shoulder with a hoof. Rye craned his head back, and she felt his little jolt of surprise when he spotted the distant outcropping of rock where a tiny stream trickled down into the sea. “Hang on…”

“I figured it couldn’t hurt to restock on fresh water while we’re doing all this sea travel,” she said, the corner of her mouth curling into a smile. “Good thing we already know an island where there’s plenty of it.”

Rye lunged at her, grabbing her with his hooves and tickling her furiously. “You little—”

Giggling uncontrollably, she fought him off, leaping to her hooves. “Race you to the hot springs!”

“Oh, you—” He scrambled up after her, slipping in the sand. “Hey, no fair! You’ve got longer legs!”

“Loser does what the winner saaaays…” she taunted, galloping into the underbrush.

Rye chased her into the greenery. Their laughter rose from the foliage, rolling away into the night as the waves came in to shore.