//------------------------------// // The Whispered Message // Story: Rhythm and Rhyme // by MyHobby //------------------------------// Queen Chrysalis II tiptoed to the large double-doors of Princess Celestia’s personal chambers. Two guardsponies stood at attention in front of the door, spears held loosely at their sides. They snapped to attention as she loomed into view. “Your Majesty,” one said. “Can we help you?” Chrysalis paused, her eyes wide. Words failed her completely. She knew what she wanted to say, but not much about how to say it. She honestly had hoped to catch Celestia so she didn’t have to explain it to anybody else. “C-can I—?” When she didn’t continue, the other guard cleared his throat. “Would you like me to let Princess Celestia know you wish to see her?” Chrysalis nodded and took a seat in the middle of the hallway. Sturm; that was the guard’s name. Sturm gave his partner a glance and slipped into the room. Drang, the other guard, gave her a smile that seemed sincere enough. Sturm reemerged a moment later and took up his stance beside the door. “Princess Celestia would like you to enter.” “Thanks.” Chrysalis nearly tripped on her own hooves as she got to her feet. She gave them both a shallow bow and stepped through the door, closing it softly behind her. She continue with careful caution, silently taking in the sights of Princess Celestia’s personal chambers. The fire burned bright in the hearth, which sat nearby a glass door to a balcony. Most bedrooms in the castle had some sort of balcony, it seemed. The walls were smooth white, just a touch below glossy, with pictures and paintings of ponies hung here and there. A small wood table held a bust as a centerpiece. Flower pots and hanging baskets dotted the edges of the room—some holding colorful flowers, others aromatic herbs. A small tree sat in a pot by the balcony doors, small strips of paper hanging from its branches. The bed was opulent, as it probably needed to be. Clearly in the alicorn size class. Silky curtains covered the bed itself, while the edges of a ruffled comforter could be seen peering out from beneath. Celestia herself sat in an easy chair, wrapped tight in a pink robe, a newspaper folded tight across her lap. She took a sip from a mug of something bitter—Chrysalis wasn’t sure if it was strong tea or weak coffee. She stifled a snort when she caught sight of the dozens of curlers in the princess’ mane. “Hello, Chrysalis.” Celestia took another sip. Her lips twitched in the beginning of a grimace, but the emotion and its evidence passed. “You wished to speak with me?” Chrysalis moved closer when Celestia indicated a smaller chair near the fire. She nestled into the thing, which placed her just a little shorter than the towering princess. “I didn’t see you at the gala.” “I had to leave early. I’ve got to prepare for the Sunday Sunrise Service tomorrow.” “Okay.” Chrysalis rubbed her hooves together, pausing when one bumped into a gaping hole in her shin. “I’m not sure how to ask this…” “In my experience,” Celestia said, “it’s best to just throw it out there and let things sort themselves out.” “Alright.” Chrysalis II looked the princess right in the eye and released the question with no room for dodging. “Have the changelings ever wielded the Elements?” Celestia didn’t move. She remained impassive; kind yet quite impassive. No reaction flickered across her face, but Chrysalis felt something strange stir in her heart. “May I ask why you ask?” “Well…” Chrysalis shrugged. “I think it’s a fair trade.” Celestia waited for her to continue. When she did not, she sighed. “There is a myth that in the first age, changelings did indeed use the Elements to fight off the Unseelie Court of Fae. Second Age historians discredited the myth as being… well, heretical. But that said, there is no concrete evidence of anybody but the ponies using the artifacts.” Chrysalis felt a shiver run down her spine. “Heretical?” “The battle for power often continues long after dominance is asserted.” Celestia fluffed her feathers and took a tiny sip of her brew. “Unicorn scholars at the time were desperately trying to convince the world that they had a right to control the sun in its arc across the sky. That, in turn, they should also have a right to rule.” She sent a sideways glance at the changeling beside her. “I would argue that it was they being heretical, and perhaps hypocritical, though I have no real evidence. All recorded teams of bearers, from River and her ponies, to Twilight Sparkle and her friends, have been one-hundred percent pony.” She gestured to a bookcase lying against the wall. “Of course, all we would need was evidence from before the second age to disprove that.” She smiled brightly at Chrysalis, all teeth and sparkles. “We’ll know for certain soon enough. I have a team excavating ancient ruins in the Northern Equestrian Wastes as we speak.” “Is there something…” Chrysalis narrowed her eyes. “In the Palace of the Royal Pony Sisters?” Celestia froze. No mere pause, but an ice-cold stop to all movement. The expression never changed. The voice never faltered. “May I ask why you ask?” Chrysalis pictured the image of the old changeling queen, hovering ethereal above the flower. “I was approached by a changeling who believed you were hiding something beneath the palace. Something that was… ‘evidence of our greatest accomplishments.’” “We… certainly never removed…” Celestia clicked her tongue. “The Palace of the Royal Pony Sisters was built on the site of the old Fort Everfree, which was in turn built upon stone ruins we found. It’s possible that there was something there before, but too aged to glean anything from.” Chrysalis II swallowed the lump in her throat. “Ancient changeling cities were not built on the surface. Only the entrance would ever be seen.” Celestia nodded. “And this changeling who approached you believes that there is a city beneath my old castle?” “I think so.” “Alright.” Celestia pursed her lips. “Who is this changeling? Are they a member of your hive?” “No.” Chrysalis wasn’t even sure she was part of any hive. Or that they were even alive. How much did she want to tell Celestia? How much did she want to give away, or keep to herself? How much did she… want to trust? “She—she called herself River Cicada. She vanished after she spoke to me.” “River. Cicada.” Celestia nestled down in her robe, perfectly nonchalant. She slurped up the last bit of her bitter drink, pulled a face, and set the mug on the hearth’s shelf. “I’ve not heard that name before, either.” The princess’ ear twitched as she shut her eyes. “Tell you what. As coincidences go, I have an investigative team heading to the old palace tomorrow. What do you say to accompanying them and seeing what they dig up? You’ll have an expert on hand to ask about the possibilities, and see for yourself whether we’re deliberately trying to hide something.” Chrysalis furrowed her brow, but gave Celestia a polite smile all the same. Nothing like a guided tour on your secret hunt. “How can I refuse?” “Good. They’re leaving right after the service.” Celestia sent a glance at the clock on the wall. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” “Not at the moment.” “Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Bright and early.” Celestia guided Chrysalis to the door with a wing over her shoulders. The changeling queen shrunk beneath the touch, but maintained her posture. “Don’t you worry. We’ll have our mysteries solved before you know it.” As Chrysalis walked back to her guest room, she heard Celestia whisper to the guards. “Put a quiet alert out. Have the patrols look for a changeling not part of Chrysalis’ entourage.” Chrysalis almost hoped they found her, whatever she was, just so she didn’t have to worry about it. Then again, how were the guards supposed to restrain a ghost? It might be better if they found nothing. People could get hurt. And what if the ruins were beneath the palace? What if Celestia or the Founders really were hiding the changelings’ accomplishments? What would that do to her alliance? To Equestria? What would the ponies do to her people if they found out? “You’re a queen,” she whispered to herself. “That means you’ll deal with it.” How? Now that was the question. That was always the question. *** But we keep getting back up. We keep fighting. You taught me that. Daring Do opened her eyes to find the world dark. The curtains were drawn to shut out the moonlight. The lanterns were long since snuffed out. Sound was dampened as well, leaving nothing more than hushed breathing from Care and a stuttered snore from Apple Bloom. She didn’t want to go back to sleep. Not really. The warmth of a hoof holding her own, the tingle of facial whiskers against her nose, both were there waiting. But they weren’t real. They were just faint longings of her heart given form. She popped her silver pocket watch open and flicked on a small magilamp. Two hours before the Sunrise Service. Not cool. Between getting ready and gathering her troops, there wasn’t a whole lot of time left to sleep. Since she didn’t want to disturb her roommates, she slithered out of bed and onto the balcony. The night air was warm. The moon, welcoming. The stars, inviting. She shut the pocket watch, hiding the picture of her and Time. “Are you up there, guy? Are you looking down, dreaming of me? If you are, quit nibbling my ear, you perv.” She chuckled and leaned on the railing. Faint pain shot through her wings as she spread them, but the ambrosia was doing its work fairly well. Tomorrow, she’d basically be pain-free. That would last for maybe a week. Two, if she didn’t do anything vigorous. Fat chance of that, though. She let the watch hang over her chest, where it beat out a second-by-second heartbeat against her own. She raised her head and let her eyes hop from star to star, drawing out shapes and patterns learned from years of navigating the wilderness. Each star, burning bright, its place in the sky only changing with the season. “H-hay, Creator.” Daring Do coughed, scratching the back of her mane. “Creator dude. I, um, I don’t know if you’re listening. Or… if you’re even really there. I mean, I know a lot of ponies who say you’re real and stuff, and I trust them to not be complete idiots, sooo…” Stupid. She felt so stupid. Talking to the sky. Bearing her heart to nopony at all. Speaking empty words to emptier air. Time believed. So what did it hurt, even if she was just venting? “Look, Creator, I’ve never bothered to try this before…” She rolled her eyes. “Obviously. So, You supposedly listen to those who cry out Your name. You’re kinda, like, obligated to listen to me, right? Something like that?” The words hung in the air, unanswered. “That’s what I figured.” She propped her cheek on an upheld hoof. “I’ve been thinking about Time a lot the past year and so. Heck, I even wrote a book about him. That takes some doing. And, I just—I want to say something to him. I want him to know something.” She lay her ears against her head. An owl hooted somewhere down the side of the mountain. The stars twinkled on unabated. “I’m no good at this… Touchy feely kinda stuff As far as talking goes I’m to the point and gruff… “I don’t got time to reminisce I’ve got some stuff to do I’m just making a little guess What they say ’bout you is true” Daring spun around and leaned her back against the railing. She spread her wings to their full length. The mustardy yellow feathers seemed darker in the silvery moonlight, not quite complemented by the heavenly hue. “Would you carry a message? Deliver one for me There’s somebody out there I’d really like to see “Would you carry a message To the stars above Tell him there’s still someone Who cherishes his love…” Daring Do felt her face flush at the sound of her scratchy, squeaky, untrained singing voice. Still, it felt good to air the thought out. Get it on paper, so to speak. She rubbed her cheek and paced across the balcony. “Well, You get the message. Hope I don’t need a stamp or anything.” “What are you doing?” Daring yelped and spun, coming face-to-face with Captain Care Carrot. She flashed a devil-may-care grin and patted Care on the shoulder. “It’s called catharsis, Cap. Just dumping my junk before we go back in neck-deep. Sometimes, you just gotta sing your troubles away.” Care raised an eyebrow. “If you say so. I prefer to punch them away. With a fireball.” “Can’t punch ennui.” Daring jerked her head to the room. “Get suited up. Celestia’s gonna have my head if I’m late to the Sunrise Service again.” Care snorted, soft footfalls leading her across the carpet. “Again? You have a history?” Daring tossed her grayscale mane. “Of course! Never had much love for getting up at the crack of dawn to listen to some old fart read out of a dusty book. I prefer to read dusty books on my own time, thank you very much.” She grabbed Apple Bloom’s shoulder and shook hard. “Daylight in the swamp, kid! Its morning somewhere, and we gotta get a move on.” Apple Bloom sat up, but did not open her eyes. They remained firmly shut against the piercing sting of Care’s magilamp. “Mrglphrm.” Care ran a brush over her coat, moving quickly and precisely with her magic. “I hate mornings, too, but you get used to always being on the move.” “Screw that.” Apple Bloom rubbed the crumbs from her eyes. “Did you guys hear somepony singin’?” Care shot Daring a pointed glance, raising her eyebrows. “Musta been a dream, Bloom,” Daring said, stuffing a compass into the bottom of her satchel. “Just an old dream.” *** “Welcome, My Little Ponies, to the Sunday Sunrise.” Button Mash stood in the darkness beside his friends and comrades, being outfitted with a suit of riot armor. The purple metal slid around his shoulders and flanks and clasped beneath his belly. Hefty boots held snug to his hooves to replace his horseshoes. A crowd had built around the castle gates to put any crowd in Ponyville to shame. From what he’d heard, though, it was a significantly smaller turnout than Canterlot had seen in many a decade. The changelings were principally to blame, since they were the focal point for the minor exodus. The griffons, too, gave many a pony reason to vacation someplace else. Still, Button Mash saw more ponies than he could count at a glance, and that was a lot of ponies. “Today is the day to remember friendship, and how it saved Equestria in the days before the Unification of the Three Tribes.” Princess Mi Amore Cadenza stood at the foot of the castle gates. She belted out in the Royal Canterlot Voice, spreading the news throughout the entire city. Celestia and Luna sat off to her right side, while Chrysalis II and King Ursagryph took up the entirety of stage left. Royal Guards could be seen standing at attention atop the castle wall, while changelings and griffons alike maintained position at the front of the stage. “Today is the day to be thankful to the princesses for raising the sun and the moon. Today is the day to remember the Creator’s gifts!” Button Mash scrunched his muzzle as Rumble ducked beneath his belly. He felt Rumble’s ears bump against his thigh as the pegasus attempted to lock his armor tight. “Watch it, dude!” Spike shushed them, his hand holding Apple Bloom’s hoof close. She stifled a snigger, and then shrugged when Spike turned his annoyed expression her way. “He taught the unicorns to harness the sun and the moon! He taught the pegasi to fly and mold the weather! He taught the earth ponies how to grow food and shape the world!” Button allowed his attention to return to the princess reciting the Gifts. He had heard them every Sunday for as long as he could remember, but never spoken as clearly as he heard them now. Back in Ponyville, Father Fabio the Diamond Dog was in charge of the service, and he had a bit of trouble using the word “the” in a sentence. “He gave to the zebras dominion over secrets! He gave to the griffons the charge to protect!” Martial Paw coughed into his talon. Daring Do nudged him with a wing, sending him a teasing grin. Spike glared daggers at them. “Doesn’t anybody else care about how important this is?” Blankety raised a hoof. “I care.” Spike thrust his hand towards the disguised changeling. “Thank you!” “You know I care, Spike,” Button said, lifting a leg to allow Rumble access to his front clasps. “I’m just a little distracted right now.” “Not my fault,” Rumble mumbled. “If you’d learn how to equip your own gear…” “He gave to the diamond dogs the urge to explore! He gave to the breezies the knowledge to heal! He gave to the changelings a thirst for companionship!” Blankety pointedly did not look at Chrysalis. Button couldn’t help but notice him shrinking down, his ears lying flat against his head. Button chewed his lip as he watched Blankety’s gaze drop to the ground. The naming of the Gifts continued, species after species, until all known sapients had been recalled and honored. Cadenza finished with a final three. “He gave to the dragons an age in which to grow! He gave to the centaurs a wellspring of life! He gave to the draconequui a love of the unexpected!” She raised her head, and light exploded from her horn. It shot into the sky, with two more spells from Luna and Celestia. The light was soon overtaken by the glow of the sunrise, peering over the mountainside. Stars vanished as blue overtook the sky. The moon sank to its resting place beyond the horizon. Warmth filled all who basked in the sun’s glow. Button shut his eyes and soaked it in. Even with Rumble poking around his belly. Even with the creatures around him joking and laughing about this or that. Even with the weight of the world on his shoulders… There was warmth, comfort, strength—all from that sunlight. All from the promise that a new day lay ahead. He opened his eyes and saw Blankety glance away. The changeling pricked his ears towards Button, scuffing a hoof along the ground. “It’s fine, Blank,” Button muttered. “That’s just the feeling that thing’ll work out. Even I get that sometimes.” Blankety Blank nodded, furrowing his brow. “Does it last?” “Not really.” Button shrugged. “But it’s there when we need it.” Rumble popped his head alongside Button’s. “That’s just heatstroke, dude.” Care Carrot looked up from clasping her own suit of armor. “Shut up, Rumble.” “Yes ma’am.” Care laid a hoof across Blankety’s shoulders and winked. He smiled back, leaning into the hug. The eight of them watched the rest of the sunrise in silence, watching the world come awake. A few meters away, the congregation of ponies began to sing the most popular song for welcoming in the new week. “The Fire of Friendship Lives in our hearts As long as it burns We cannot drift apart…” Button cleared his throat. A sting struck him behind the eyes. There it was. The old familiar emotions. Seeing ponies all singing together, united in heart and purpose… there was something about it that choked him up. Unity felt so rare, so precious. He supposed that’s why he felt so strongly when Sweetie Belle sang. Rumble bumped his shoulder against him. “You crying, bro?” “Yes,” Button whispered. “Also, shut up.” “Not a big deal, Button.” Button didn’t look at Rumble, but he felt a small tremor in his voice. “I just kinda know the feeling. This is awesome stuff, seeing so many ponies willing to stand with the changelings. And, you know, griffons.” Button looked up to see a cloudless sky. He brushed the tears from his cheeks with a sigh. Sweetie. There was a name that hung heavy on his heart. There was a pony he could never fail again. Ever. She deserved better than that. Better than him? He sniffed and brought his head down. The ground between his forehooves was no more inviting that the vast, unbroken sky. He whispered, well beneath his breath, pleading to whoever could hear it. “I don’t know if you can hear me Among the stars above I know when it comes to requests You’ve probably had enough “I’ve just got this one thing This sole demanding thought I need someone to share it When clearly I cannot” His ear twitched at a scuffle of motion. Daring Do led the group away from the town square, towards the airship docks. Martial walked alongside her, with Spike and Apple Bloom dutifully trotting behind. Rumble lightly punched his shoulder before he, too, joined the crew. Button stepped aside to get out of Captain Carrot’s way. She raised an eyebrow, jerked her head towards Daring, and proceeded on her way. He followed, with Blankety bringing up the rear. He continued to whisper, hoping against hope that the bleeding of his heart went unnoticed. “Would you carry a message? Just this little note That we’re coming to the rescue A tiny slice of hope “Would you carry a message To a cherished friend That if it takes forever I’m with her to the end…” *** Sweetie’s head pounded. The magic in her heart had nearly dried to a trickle, unable to make its way through her fairy strings. She lay in darkness, unable to light her horn, unable to generate even a spark. Cold. Dark. Damp. Silent. Oppressive. The door came apart to admit a pony into the room. It was Kiln again, carrying a plate of whatever. Nothing sounded good. Her stomach swam. Cheese would have made her puke, while bread would just taste like ash on her tongue. Water sounded good, though. She raised her head and set her glasses on straight. The headlamp he wore was painful to the eyes, but any light was welcome. He drew to her side and placed the food within reach. He gave her a double-take that sent the lantern bobbing. “Good heavens, lass! What happened tae ye?” She tried to speak, but he brain wasn’t quite in a position to divulge information. Instead, she grabbed the water and dribbled it down her throat. Not too fast; she didn’t want to waste a drop. He reached through to place a hoof against her forehead. She drew away, but he apparently didn’t need more than that. “Ye’ve got a fever. Lass, what ails ye? Do ye need medicine?” Sweetie swallowed what she had, pausing long enough to whisper. “Ambrosia.” “We have a wee bit, but…” He squinted at her eye, a deep frown creasing his face. “What sort o’ illness plagues ye?” Sweetie Belle would have rolled her eyes had she the strength. Explaining her medical history to this thug was the last thing she wanted to do. But, if it got her medicated… “A congenital disorder. My fairy strings are shriveled. They can’t move magic without ambrosia.” Kiln scuffed a hoof, glancing between her and the door. He gave her a slight nod and backed away. “I’ll get some ambrosia for ye. Just sit tight.” What else could she do? At least the water cooled her head and calmed her nerves. She dribbled a little over her head to ease the grime from her mane, if only a touch. She was gonna need a long bath after all this. A nice bath, a decent meal, new glasses to replace her chipped and scratched lenses… And Scootaloo… She was probably going to need counseling, or therapy, or something after everything she’d been put through. Kiln was back in a moment’s time, carrying a precious vial of amber liquid. The faint smell of honey temporarily broke through the damp dirtiness of the cavern. “Here ye go. How much?” “Two milliliters.” He unscrewed the cap of the silvery cylinder and dripped ambrosia into the cup. He counted out the small notches placed inside until he had the proper level. She took it from him gently, bringing it to her lips with her eyes tightly shut. It burned going down. Warming her insides and prickling against her throat. The magic-infused liquid moved quickly, seeking out the underdeveloped fairy strings and lending them its strength. The headache subsided, the churning stomach quelled, and the bright tingle of magic returned to her horn. Kiln leaned against the wooden bars of her cage, deep thought furrowing his brow. “And when were ye going tae tell us about this?” Sweetie Belle clutched the loaf of bread in her hooves and chomped down. “Probably after you stopped caging me like an animal.” “Underdeveloped fairy strings is a killer, lass.” Kiln nearly scowled, but not quite. It was more frustration than anger. Perhaps with a little sadness around the eyes. “Are ye so willin’ tae die to prove a point?” “It didn’t come to that, did it?” “Aye, but it may well have.” Kiln pointed at her, his voice going lower. “If it were Rhombus checkin’ up on ye, he woulda brushed yer state off as nothin’. He’s got empathy for naught. Same with the Painted Ones. Ye are playin’ a deadly game, lass; one with no real winners.” Sweetie scoffed. “Speaking of deadly games, how’s your daughter feel about your career choice these days?” “Don’t change the subject.” Kiln snapped his teeth to punctuate the statement. “Ye’ve got a responsibility tae uphold. Not only for yer own life, but yer friend’s as well. Keep yerself healthy, hardy, and survive by any means necessary. Ahuizotl’s gonna be callin’ for ye soon, and that’s when ye’ll have tae put yer responsibility above yer pride.” He clasped the container of ambrosia and carried it out the door, leaving her alone in the dark with a tray of food. She lit her horn freely, her pain slaked and the danger of magic overload gone. There was a time when no ambrosia resulted in an inability to use magic. As she grew older, though, the danger grew alongside her. The pale green shimmer of her magic cast itself to the far corners of the room. She could see the empty cell previously occupied by Scootaloo. She could see the door, looking for all the world like a single piece of stone. Looking up, the ceiling had a faint honeycomb effect, like a long-dead beehive. Time seemed to mean nothing. Down here, there was no sun or moon or stars. The only thing she had to tell the time was Kiln’s meals and how many times she’d slept. Was it Saturday night or Sunday morning? Maybe she’d missed a whole day and found herself in Monday already. It seemed such a shame to go through Sunday Sunrise and not sing in front of the Ponyville gathering… “The Fire of Friendship Lives in our hearts…” Not the same without Spike’s piano accompaniment. She found a dry spot on the floor to lie down. She sipped slowly at the water, savoring its cool, clean, refreshing taste. She rolled onto her back and studied the honeycomb pattern. It was broken up repeatedly by the natural stone of the cavern ceiling, allowing stalactites to grow through. The pattern, though… that had to be created. Carved—or molded? Twilight would know. Maybe she’d ask her whenever she got out of there. The honeycomb reflected her magic, taking on the appearance of stars in the night sky. Or the hearts Ahuizotl kept as prisoners. Both of them, clothed in living color, singing an unheard song. “I’m a little out of practice Both weak of heart and voice This cavern lies cold, bereft Of any source of joys “The only light comes from within My lowly heart beats faint And none of this is evidence I’m any kind of saint” She brushed the mane from her eyes, nearly knocking her glasses from their perch. She straightened them with a spell, peering between the scratches, to see the honeycomb glimmer in response. “Would you carry a message? Shout it out today Let the lonely know That help is on its way “Would you carry a message To those hearts in need A hero’s on the warpath To set the captives free” She listened to the cavern drip and echo blankly back. She nibbled the cheese and found it slightly more palatable than before. “Would you carry a message? Would you carry a message?” *** The air harbor buzzed with activity as Button followed the gang to Martial’s airship. Diamond dogs, minotaurs, ponies, and creatures of all kinds went about their business in the early morning, each getting ready for a long journey ahead. He paused at the foot of the ramp, holding his breath. One more step, and there was no going back. There was a headlong rush. A reckless stampede. A battle cry and a blazed trail. He leaped onto the gangplank and ran up to the side of the canopy. Blankety came after him and raised the plank, stowing it away. They gathered alongside Daring Do and her small crew as she laid out orders. “Alright, guys. My word is law on this ship, unless Marty or Care says otherwise. Rumble, Button, Bloom, get below deck and let the sailors do their work. Don’t touch anything, or you’re going overboard.” She pointed to the side of the ship with a wing. “Spike, Care, get us untied and ready to move. Blank, start up the engines. Marty, you know what to do.” Martial flapped his way to the ship’s wheel and took a hold. “Already ahead of you, Dr. Yearling.” The airship shook as the ropes were released, and listed as the engines revved up. Propellers whirled, rigging groaned, and soon enough, the Vanishing Point was in the air. Button opened a porthole and watched solid ground fade away into the clouds. “Geeze, look at this stuff,” Rumble said. He brushed dust off of a stack of book held to their shelves by a rope. “It’s like a museum in here.” Apple Bloom set her hooves against a table and shook it. It held fast. “Looks like they nailed the thing to the floor. To keep it from sliding. Slick.” Pens and compasses dotted the table, covering a half-finished map. It seemed to be of the same area as the one Daring had shown them last night, though far more detailed. A symbol had been marked in the upper reaches of Equestrian territory, labeled “Spade of Hearts Location.” Another mark, close to Canterlot, held the title of “Map Location.” Button tapped the symbol. “So that’s where we’re going? The map? Looks close.” Apple Bloom leaned over his shoulder—or more accurately, loomed over his entire body. “Yeah, the Palace of the Royal Pony Sisters is pretty equidistant b’tween Canterlot and Ponyville.” Button bit his lower lip. “Right smack dab in the middle of the Everfree Forest.” “The heart of chaos itself. Discord notwithstanding.” Rumble took a seat and tried to shift the chair closer. When it didn’t move, he settled for lounging against the back. His armor clanked against a sextant hanging from the wall. “Sunny Everfree, where the weather’s uncontrollable, the creatures are hungry, and fairy creatures lurk around every corner. Vacation now and save up to fifteen percent.” Button Mash took a seat beside the open porthole. The last thing he saw before a cloud hid them from view was Princess Celestia walking with Queen Chrysalis II through the air harbor. He frowned. Were the changelings leaving already? He turned his attention forward, to the Everfree Forest and their destination. A crew of misfits rushing to the rescue. A storybook character, a shapeshifting monster, a griffon noble, a veteran soldier, a rookie guard, an alchemist, a dragon, and— Button smiled and patted his saddlebags. —a puppet master. “Hold on, Sweetie,” he whispered. “We’re coming.”