//------------------------------// // The Night Has A Thousand Eyes // Story: Love, And Other Felonies // by PatchworkPoltergeist //------------------------------// Weekly Devotional for Night Chamberlain Rarity. Waxing Crescent 9. Our Supreme Lady of the Night is not cruel, but firm. It isn’t that she wishes us to be unhappy, only that our decisions be tempered and wise. Before she left again for boarding school, my sister asked me if our parents had committed Heartcrime because they’d chosen to stay together. Of course they hadn’t, and I told her so. There’s no harm in a little bit of love for our family, friends, and spouses—they, too, are part of Equestria, and we love our dearest Equestria. But think of love as if it were a fire. In a lantern or hearth, it has its purpose and keeps us warm, but a fire let loose with no temperance at all? Why, that could burn your house down. Worse, that fire might catch and raze the whole village. There is a difference between affection and adoration, and the latter must be reserved for Moon, Night, and Kingdom. A moth flown into the flames burns in seconds. Moths flown towards the moon live for years. In other words, there is nothing wrong with the proper amount of love. “How do you know what the right amount is?” my sister asked me. “You don’t,” I told her. “You couldn’t. That’s why the Princess grants us Her wisdom instead.” Besides, splitting up harmless pairings would be pointless; the royal stipend is meant to encourage remarriage, not enforce it. Now, in the event that Mother and Father’s love—Moon forbid—turned treacherous, they would have received a warning. Everypony, as I have said, makes mistakes. It’s only fair we’re given the chance to correct it, as Our Lady corrects our nightmares misaligned dreams. If somepony chooses not to correct that mistake, that pony must, alas, suffer the consequences. Too little, too late, regret comes to so many of us in the shadow of our transgressions only after the light burns the shelter of our self-deceptions. Praise the Night, everlasting in guiding our hearts toward the correct path. Family aside, we can still have friends. There is no harm in a friend for company, or to extend a hoof in scratching a summer itch. Nightmare Moon wishes us to be happy, and so we are. What better choice of companion than another mare sworn to the Moon? Besides, we’ve only had a lunch here, a dinner there, and some talks. Our Lady keeps a magnificent castle, but a relatively small staff. The halls can become lonely. As it so happened, the second lieutenant’s ground patrol overlapped with my own concierge schedule. Over time, one starts to welcome any company at all, even when said company is churlish and insists on flying indoors, despite all pleadings and insistences that she please refrain. (And then has the utter gall to call me a maid of all things! A maid indeed!) She’s an arrogant little thing. Good at what she does, and knows it. Oh, she (usually) won’t put it on display, and she doesn’t brag (openly). After all, a Guard’s a Guard. But you can tell. If you look, you can tell. Last waning crescent, I watched her running drills in the yard. She’s smallest of her squadron, light and swift, but I’ve seen the powerful roll of muscles beneath the armor. A heavyweight powerhouse, no, but I would personally argue that the sheer strength of velocity makes up for it. She cut ahead of the crowd, nipping the corners and swooping through the barricades, the dust clouds swirling behind her. I’ve begun to mark the groundskeepers’ watering schedule by the dust she kicks up. She completely ruined my mane when she swept past the window—my fault for leaning so far out, I suppose. I couldn’t bear to look away. The grim lieutenant who patrolled halls and loomed in corridors of Castle Midnight stepped aside for this sweeping creature of rolling wings and flinty eyes sparking— …Actually. I’m not certain of the color…raspberry? Or would that be plum? No, plum is more of a dark purple and the lieutenant’s eyes lean more pinkish. Not light or bright pink; nothing like the coat of Polomare, or that vile terrorist from the pamphlets. Hm. I used to know these things when I still studied fashion and other frivolous things. So many of the warmer sun-struck colors of the spectrum come rare within the castle, I’ve forgotten their names. Burgundy? Too dark. Let’s just say magenta. There’s a boldness there, in her eyes and in her movement. The sort that makes captains of cadets. Why, it’s enough to almost pity Sunwise. She tackled that winged training dummy and ripped the head off, horn and all, with one strike of her hooves. Strange to know that they’re the same hooves that… well, they’re not always so fierce. It is comforting to know what fearsome ponies serve Her Majesty. It is my personal hope Dash the second lieutenant will be granted her full transformation soon. She deserves it, and I believe it would bring her some peace. Of course, she is already eternally grateful for the armor’s enchantments. (As I understand, they’re less a transformation but more than an illusion? The leather of the wings does feel real, at least. I don’t pretend to understand the details. Magic of that caliber is only for Her Majesty to know.) Still, the good lieutenant fidgets in her armor the way Sweetie Belle used to wear my old hats. It doesn’t quite fit without the pointed ears and nocturnal eyes. It doesn’t bother me at all, for she has the loveliest little ears, but I believe a full and permanent transformation would make her happy. A boon to my duties as well, for sharper night vision might finally stop her from tracking dirt on the carpet. Dear me. I seem to have gone on something of a tangent. The point of it is, there are moments when it behooves us to share the grace and beauty of Her Majesty’s Night with others. Was that not the intention of Everlasting Night to begin with? To bring some comfort and joy of the stars to Equestria? A comfort, indeed, to know Her Majesty is, in return, served with great devotion and love. Another comfort to know she inspires such loyalty and vitality in her Guard. May the same be said of the rest of us, as well. Highest exalted, our Equestria. Best beloved, our glorious Moon. Rarity removed her reading glasses, hunched over her desk, and slowly ran her hooves over her face. “Hormones,” she whispered into her horseshoes. The last two pages—stars save her, almost half the devotional—talked of nothing but bright eyes, strong wings, rakish smiles… no, wait, she’d actually caught herself before writing down the smile. “It’s only hormones. Nothing else. It’ll be over when summer ends.” True, summer only had a week left, and most estrus cycles had ended already, but the cycle was different for everypony. This one happened to last a little longer. Perfectly normal. Nothing but simple, heedless lust. Lust would pass. It always did. When the chamberlain lifted her head, she saw the blue (azure or cyan?) of the lieutenant’s coat in the lamp flame. She remembered the weight of wings upon her back—not when they’d rocked together in the dark, but the quiet moments afterwards. Over a year in, they still hadn’t been caught. Not directly. Rarity dared say that Dash enjoyed the challenge of sneaking about, as if it were some elaborate game of hide-and-seek. Squeezing her eyes shut, Rarity shook herself off. Stars, mare. Some self-control, if you please! The fact remained that she couldn’t leave the weekly devotional in such a horrid state. Rambling tangents and crossed-out sections and erroneous language everywhere, no cohesion at all. It wouldn’t do. Devotionals meant devotion to one mare and one alone. The superfluous material went up in flames. Alright. Time for a second draft. “Huh. It’s a little light this time, Rarity.” Moondancer’s magic flipped through the scant pages. She wheeled her chair backwards into the archive shelves where three books levitated down into her waiting hooves. “Need some inspiration? I know some poems that always give me a boost for my devotionals whenever I need it.” “That’s thoughtful of you, Madam Viceroy, but no thank you. I chose brevity this week. Quality over quantity, you know.” Rarity peered over the tidy columns of scrolls, books, and letters that sprawled across Moondancer’s desk. The crisp new sheets of Ponyville’s records sat second from the top, ready to go at moonrise. She found a Pound and Pumpkin Cake among the list of citizens, current residents of Crescent Cradle Nursery/Seminary. Permanent residents, it appeared. No record of the poor dears’ parents. Foundlings, both of them, now wards of a Kingdom committed to their flourishment. An uncooperative chamber of Rarity’s heart recalled a somepony who’d once given her free cupcakes on her birthday, and always added an extra donut just for her when Rarity fetched bagels for her old boss. He’d been tall, with a blocky chin and a kind smile. But her mind knew better, for there had never been such a pony. Not today, not yesterday, not tomorrow. Rarity shook her head. Ponyville was none of her concern. “Viceroy, are these ready to be delivered?” Moondancer had a poor habit of falling so deep into the rhythm of her work that she forgot everything else. More than once, she’d been tardy with her work. All well and good for her; Nightmare Moon’s favorite could do sun salutations in the throne room and get away with it. Tardy chamberlains afforded no such liberties, good excuse or not. “Yes, take them. The other materials for tonight, too.” Moondancer’s magic rolled up the refurbished records for Ponyville, Appleloosa, and Cloudsdale and passed them into Rarity’s aura. “These are for the mailroom, but deliver the document on top to the courier personally. It’s sensitive.” “Of course, Viceroy.” All but the top document slipped into a waiting satchel. Rarity carried the last one herself: a jet black scroll tied in blue ribbon and addressed with the seal of King Sombra of the Crystal North. The icy scent of Her Majesty’s magic prickled the fur on her neck. Faint green traces of the King’s magic traced the edges, and the scroll wobbled in Rarity’s hornlight. Ignoring the pulsing throb at the base of her horn, Rarity stepped back into the hall. Murmuring voices echoed down the east corridor, headed by the chipper tones of the Flim Flam Brothers. The tour schedule must have shifted again. With no time to lose—and no time to nurse a migraine—it’d be best to avoid the hallways entirely. Rarity counted tiles until she found the fifth one past the seventeenth torch. After a quick check for roaming eyes, she stomped the tile. The stone separated to reveal a pathway hidden within the castle walls. Rarity wrinkled her nose at the moss growing in the old stone as she trotted up the sloping path, and made a mental note to contact the mason about it. A kick to another tile, and Rarity emerged at the top of the stairwell outside Courier Fleetfoot’s office. She pulled the door handle, twitched her ears, and frowned. The Royal Courier worked and lived in a former bell tower, and she often complained of the bats and nightjars that roosted there. Rarity cracked the door, listening for little squeaks and the flapping of wings outside. Nothing. Quiet as a crypt. No sign of activity in the stairwell, either. Did the Guard do regular patrols here? She couldn’t remember. The door creaked open, and Rarity stepped inside. A white unicorn stood there. His blue mane—shaggier than the dress code permitted—matched the courier uniform. “Oh! Hi there.” He had the warm voice of a camp counselor, but stood like a sergeant. “I’m one of the newbies with dispatch. Need something delivered? I can take that right off your hooves. Or horn. Whatever.” He laughed at his little joke and smiled at her. Rarity did not smile back. Officials of the courier office wore three stripes. He had two, and with the colors in the wrong order. The door shut behind her. She noticed something white and fluffy poking out from behind a bulging curtain. A tail. Fleetfoot’s tail. When Rarity brought her eyes up again, the stallion’s blue gaze locked onto hers. He’d lit his horn, and the lanterns cast long shadows over her as he closed the distance between them. Behind her, a lock clicked. Rarity found herself backed against a shut door. “Don’t scream. I won’t hurt you.” Which was what ponies always said before slitting your throat. “Just let me see what you’ve got there real quick.” Rarity snatched the scroll in her teeth and ran. The stallion darted forward, but she faked right and doubled back, scrambling under his legs. She glanced about the room. The door? No. He’d outrun her in the stairwell, or catch her fleeing into the passageway and give chase there, where nopony could hear them. That left just one option. Rarity shoved a file cabinet, and it fell with a crash. In the seconds it took the assailant to shove it aside, she took a running leap out the window. The stallion gasped behind her. “Sweet Celestia, no!” Rarity landed hard on a tower ledge. She pressed against the cold stone, panting hard. That word. Moon save her, ponies had been flogged just for hearing that word. None dared write it, none dared speak it, save one group: Sunwise. Above her, the terrorist gaped from the window. The fool. He may have managed to sneak his way into the castle, but Chamberlain Rarity had overseen Castle Midnight for years. She knew all its secrets and pathways. Now, only a small matter of pulling the gargoyle head, and— The gargoyle didn’t move. Rarity tugged harder. The gargoyle’s horn broke off. …Or perhaps she’d been thinking of the southern bell tower. Oh, dear. Light poured from windows below, but without a rope, she couldn’t reach it. Above, the Sunwise agent crouched on the windowsill. A dagger floated in his magical field, aimed straight at Rarity’s throat. He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll do it,” his face said. But Rarity had seen killers before. No. I don’t think you will. She spat the scroll into her hoof. “GUARDS! Guards, Sunwise in the courier tower!” A great swell of bats rose from the base of the tower, streaming into the night. From the opposite direction, a clutch of Night Guards swerved through the cloud of bats, arrowing into the window. More flooded through the side entrances below her. One of the smaller Guards hovered a moment, blinking at her with wide magenta eyes. “Whoa, is that you, Chamberlain? Are you okay?” “I am, but watch out. He’s armed.” Moonbow’s teeth flashed in a grim smile. “So am I.” “Oh, first could you help—” Wind rushed past Rarity’s ears as the guard vanished through the window. “—me down from here?” She smoothed the strands of tousled mane back into her bun. A breeze blew them loose two seconds later. “Or not.” Inside, the commotion raged, then quieted as it retreated deeper into the tower. Wobbling, Rarity tried rearing on her hind legs to reach the windowsill. The world swayed under her. Balancing on two legs had been much easier when she wasn’t stuck seven stories from the ground. She couldn’t reach it anyway without a running leap. The document passed back into her magical field as she shifted down to four legs. “Hello? Is anypony up there?” A blue hoof reached down and pulled her up. “Finally! Better late than never, but for goodness’ sake, it’s freezing out—” Rarity found herself nose to nose with Fleetfoot. “—there. Ah, Courier Fleetfoot. Alive and well, I presume?” The courier groaned and rubbed the back of her head with her wing. “Ugh. Alive at least, Chamberlain.” “Can you still fly?” “Always.” “Good.” Rarity secured Her Majesty’s scroll—slightly tooth marked, but no harm done—into Fleetfoot’s bag. “Crystal Empire, on the double. Go!” The moment Fleetfoot jumped into the air, Rarity pivoted and rushed down the stairwell. A Night Guard slumped motionless against the wall, midway down the stairs. Still breathing.  Badly hurt. Too heavy to carry. Two more guards sprawled facedown at the foot of the stairs. Rarity swallowed hard; perhaps she’d misjudged the Sunwise unicorn before. She stepped over the guards and into a hallway in minor chaos. Living shadows slithered up and over the walls, blotting out torchlight as they passed, hissing and whispering to each other. One of them dripped down from the ceiling—a wriggling oil leak of a creature—and pooled over the carpet. Like wax melting in reverse, it rose from the floor to become a solid pegasus, dark grey and dressed throat to hoof in black and blue. Glowing yellow eyes blinked once before it flew to join the writhing black mass of its brethren. Beneath them, the unicorn from Sunwise convulsed. Wide blue eyes rolled in their sockets as his head arched backwards, trying to scream through a mouth full of wriggling shadows. Shadowbolts. A whole pack of them, with more arriving by the second. Rarity shrank from the walls and shifted into a quick trot. A magic-scorched helmet sat in the middle of the hall. Several feet away, in a darkening spot on the carpet, Lieutenant Moonbow Dash struggled to find her hooves. A familiar dagger stuck out from under her armor, and red splattered through her short white mane. Still alive, thank goodness, but— Night Chamberlain Rarity. A Shadowbolt watched her with empty sockets full of moonlight. Its voice scraped through Rarity’s mind, tangling through her bloodstream. Castle Midnight stands at high alert. Please retreat to your private chambers. You may resume duty momentarily. “O-oh. Yes, yes of course. I’m just on my way now, but I wanted to mention the injured ponies I found on the stairwell. They may need attention.” Beyond the Shadowbolt’s wispy mane, Moonbow wobbled on three legs, leaning hard on the servant escorting her to the infirmary. At least Rarity hoped it was the infirmary. “Do tell me when it’s safe to come out, would you? I’d hate to fall behind with my duties.” Déjà vu, the Prench called it: the uncanny sensation that one had experienced something before. Impossible, of course. Rarity hadn’t spoken to Lieutenant Dash until she began patrolling the castle roughly two years ago, and she hadn’t known her… closely until a year after that. Yet tonight, as Rarity observed the young second lieutenant grumble to herself while she perused a novel, it brought to mind another image of Dash in a hospital bed. Same pose, same bandages strapped around her head, but with a longer mane plastered on the pillowcase. It never happened, but the image burned deeper than memories of the mushrooms she’d had for lunch. The leftovers of a dream, perhaps. (Goodness, was she appearing in her dreams, now? Stars save her.) She cleared her throat. “I never took you for a reader, Lieutenant.” Dash rolled her shoulder with a huff. “I’m not.” Her mild sneer curled to reveal a missing tooth. Freshly lost, probably; Her Majesty didn’t approve of a scraggly guard. Pity. The rakish look suited her. “The last guy left it under the bed, and I figured I’d take a look. It’s not like there’s anything else to do down here.” She gestured to the rows of empty beds lining the infirmary. A barren place, save for the moon sigils and the sorry vase of evening primrose wilting in the corner. Dash tossed the battered paperback between her hooves and shrugged. “Beats being dead, I guess.” “I can’t disagree, Lieutenant Dash.” Rarity passed through the lines of empty beds, frowning at their untouched sheets. “I saw the guards on the stairs. Am I to understand that they didn’t make it?” “Stinger just got knocked out; I think he went back to work. I guess Rider got the others to walk off whatever they got hit with.” She flicked an ear. “Kicker’s dead, though.” “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” “It happens.” The pages fanned back and forth under Dash’s chin. “We’ve got backups to replace her, don’t worry.” Before Rarity could explain that wasn’t what she’d meant, Moonbow’s eye snapped up from the book. “Shouldn’t you be working right now, Chamberlain?” The title had a clipped, testy edge to it, and Rarity couldn’t say that she approved. “No, my shift ended early in regard for my troubling experience tonight. Not helped in the slightest by being stranded on a ledge in the bitter cold, and I without my coat.” The adrenaline had kept her fairly warm, but that wasn’t the point. “I dunno if you noticed, but I kind of had my hooves full taking down an enemy of the Kingdom and trying to keep my guts from spilling out.” Dash raised an eyebrow. “Besides, you said you were fine. It’s not like somepony didn’t come get you eventually, right?” “I—well yes, but it still...” Rarity smoothed her lapels and cleared her throat. What in Equestria had she expected? One paltry, disposable chamberlain took sixteenth priority against terrorist espionage. Expecting anything less would be absurd. A mare-at-arms had no time for dashing rescues or sweeping ponies off their feet or whatever foalish fantasy the silly part of her brain had cooked up. Such trifles should have been left in the past with sunflowers and straw hats. It served her right. It would have been smarter to ignore Rarity on the ledge altogether, but if Dash had taken the time to check on her, then she could have done... well, something besides just taking off. It was a stupid little thing to fuss about, and Rarity knew it, but now had to clamber out of the hole she’d dug for herself. “It still was… rude,” she finished. Rarity tucked a stray hair into her bun and smoothed her lapels again. “However, I understand you still had a job to do, and as you so bluntly pointed out, so do I. Perhaps I ought to return to it.” Dash’s hoof caught her shoulder. “Wait. No, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s just that my ribs are killing me and my head’s been all—look, can we start over?” She set the book down and pushed herself up higher. “Hi, Rarity. Nice night isn’t it? I mean, aside from the whole getting-attacked-by-terrorists thing.” “Hello, Moonbow.” It felt odd using the name outside an intimate liaison. Odd, but nice. “Yes, it’s a fine night. A bit chilly, perhaps, but I can’t complain.” “You literally just complained about it five minutes ago.” Rarity waved her off. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Dash frowned, looking her over. “You are okay, right? It’s hard to tell with you, sometimes.” “I am, thank you. I wish I could say the same for you.” Rarity’s magic felt at the white tufts of mane poking out from the bandages. In the bright lights of the infirmary, Dash’s bangs weren’t pure white, but a diluted shade of pink. Not unlike a seashell. “What, this?” Dash tapped her bandaged ribs and repressed a flinch. “Nah, this is nothing. You should’ve seen the other guy.” “I did. He’s in the dungeon now, and not a minute too soon. To think of what that vicious sunchasing brute almost did to… er, the sanctity of our kingdom, why it’s…” Rarity dared a glance at Moonbow’s face. The lieutenant grinned. She didn’t have to be so smug about it. “The kingdom, huh?” “Yes, our beloved kingdom. I saw the dagger in your armor, and feared the worst.” Blue-white flames flickered in their sconces, the shadows around them stark and wriggling. Only shadows, or…? “You’re a valued asset to the Kingdom of Night. I would hate for Equestria to lose one of its best talents.” Dash followed Rarity’s gaze. “They’re not down here. Heck, they’re not even in the castle most nights unless it’s a special occasion. Usually they’re out scouting the rest of Equestria. The worst thing that happens down here is a gross infection.” She leaned forward and propped her chin on her knees, inches from the chamberlain’s nose. “So, what’s that you were saying about Equestria’s best talent?” “A simple fact, that’s all. You were among the first on the scene, and all the way from the southeast halls. I don’t think even Lightning Dust is that fast. You’re skilled, I don’t deny that.” Rarity swallowed a smirk at the self-satisfaction spreading across Dash’s face. The blowhard. “You’re also absolutely incorrigible.” “Thanks!” “That was not a compliment, lieutenant.” Dash’s grin grew toothy. “Then why’d you say it like one?” “Because you’ve hurt your head and are clearly hearing things.” Moonbow laughed at that. Sultry chuckles notwithstanding, Rarity had never heard her laugh before. The raspy sound popped and crackled like a campfire, and it squeaked in places. Perhaps it had gotten rusty. “It’s my job to be fast, though. You’re the one who climbed out a window with Sunwise on your tail.” “Jumped, actually,” Rarity said. “I thought the courier tower was the one with the secret slide, but—” “Whoa, back up. You jumped out of a window? As in, the old bell tower’s eighty-foot high window?” She made the ember-pop laugh again. “Sheesh, Rarity! No wonder you got the night off.” “I didn’t have much choice at the time.” An eighty-foot drop or a quick slash across the throat couldn’t compare to the consequences of losing Nightmare Moon’s royal correspondence. Blessed in Her mercy, whatever punishment she’d have received would be no less than what she deserved. Something blue twitched behind Moonbow’s back as she leaned forward with her chin on her knees. Now with room to breathe, her wings twitched and arched just above the line of bandages. “Ooh, are those your real ones?” Dash clapped her wings shut and backed against the pillow. “Oh! Oh no, I’m sorry, I just wanted to look.” Rarity stretched her neck, trying to see the feathers fluffing under the blanket. “Would it be alright if I could see them?” “Well. Okay, but…” The left wing unfurled slowly, and Moonbow’s gaze flicked to and away from it while the right shuffled, still pinned to her back. “They’re not like my Guard wings.” She said it like an apology. “I know.” Rarity’s magic grazed the ragged edges of the primary feathers, and she noted several gaps in the plumage. She remembered something about pegasi going through molt; it would explain why the rest of her feathers didn’t have much sheen to them. “My, I haven’t seen feathered wings since I lived in Ponyville.” Dash tensed as another wave of magic rippled through her feathers. “Careful, those are kinda sensitive, and I’m not exactly in the shape to...” A thought seemed to occur to her. “Sorry if you wasted a trip.” “That isn’t why I came here.” The thought hadn’t occurred to her until Moonbow mentioned it. So much for the estrus excuse. “I was afraid you’d say that,” Dash sighed. The wings drooped, and those lovely eyes pinched in a squint. “Kinda wish you hadn’t.” An awful prospect dropped in the pit of Rarity’s stomach. Something she should have considered months ago. Armored or not, Lieutenant Dash still remained a Night Guard, and the Guard had its duty. She remembered reports last year of the clandestine affair between a magistrate and his gardener. Five months in, the gardener reported him for Heartcrime. Lady Flower Wishes lived quite handsomely these days. Rarity stepped back, wondering how fast she could spin a last-minute alibi. “And why is that?” “Because I don’t really want you to go.” Dash looked away and rubbed the back of her neck. “But I also don’t want to get you in trouble.” “Trouble for what?” Rarity took a breath and allowed herself a coy little smile. “There’s no harm in attending to a guard or thanking them for exemplary service.” She settled on the edge of the bed, a thin island of blanket between their hooves. Every feather fluffed at once. Dash glanced at Rarity’s hoof, then Rarity’s face, then her hoof again. “Yeah, I—” Coughing into her hoof, she casually leaned against the pillow. As casually as one could lean with a blue powderpuff on their back. “I guess that’s true.” It would be rude to laugh; the dear tried so hard. She probably wouldn’t like being called cute, either. “Of course it is. We’re professionals, after all.” “Hey, didn’t you say you used to live in Ponyville?” Dash’s mouth scrunched in thought. “Yeah! Yeah, you brought your kid sister to Cheerilee’s schoolhouse and used to hang around the old Buttonbelle place. And you always stopped by Sugarcube Corner in the morning for donuts, right?” “Not for myself, but yes.” At the crack of dawn before the store opened, otherwise Buttonbelle would rail for the rest of the day. Strange to remember her before she’d changed her name to the more cosmopolitan “Polomare”. “Thought so. You had different hair, then.” “I did.” Rarity dared say Moonbow remembered more about her than she did herself. Memories from before the Final Sunset were few and faded these nights. Vague feelings and wisps of sensations. A dream. “I’m sorry, but I can’t recall anything about you at all, Dash.” “Not surprised. Back then, I never talked to many ponies besides the weather crew. I’ve got a pretty good memory though, and you see a lot from the sky. I oughta show you sometime. The view ten miles up? A-maze-ing!” Personally, Rarity’d had quite enough high-rise adventures for the year. Pointing it out didn’t seem worth blowing the wind out of Dash’s wings, though. “Well, bless the Night we finally had the opportunity to get to know one another, then.” “Yeah. You’re actually pretty cool, Rarity.” She grinned and flicked her tail under the covers. “Even if you are a giant tease.” “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Lieutenant.” Rarity investigated her hoof polish in the firelight. “Besides, you started it, winking that way at ponies in the hall when they’re innocently trying to work. Shame on you.” “That wasn’t a sexy wink, that was a Look-How-Awesome-I-Am wink. There’s a huge difference.” “In other words,” said Rarity, “you have no inkling what a sexy wink is supposed to look like, because for your information, that was the exact definition of a sexy wink. You winked. We had sex. Therefore: a sexy wink.” She propped her back on Dash’s knees and tipped her nose in the air. “That’s that.” “Yeah, well.” Dash ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth. “At least I did it with my face.” Rarity drew back with a gasp. “I—you—in-INCORRIGIBLE!” “Thanks!” She laughed until she flinched from her wounds. Both hooves behind her head, Dash rested against the headboard with a sigh. She moved her legs to offer more room on the bed, and watched Rarity pretend not to look at her while she settled. An empty food tray sat on a nearby end table. Dash wrinkled her nose at it. “Say, do you think you could sneak me something from the kitchens later? I dunno what they feed chamberlains and stuff, but whatever it is has gotta be better than beans, oats, and moss.” “I’ll see what I can do,” Rarity told her, “but no promises.” “What I could really go for is a good old-fashioned cupcake. Remember cupcakes?” “Mm, yes.” Rarity draped over Moonbow’s knee. “And eclairs, petit fours, and gâteau. Oh, how I miss gâteau.” She’d only had it once on a trip to Canterlot, and promised herself to be back someday to buy more. Another hallmark of the Unenlightened Age’s decadence, she supposed. “I know there’s not much room for cupcakes, what with the rations and all…” Dash rubbed her chin. “But you don’t need grain for chocolate, right? I bet Sugarcube Corner still has fudge or ice cream.” She practically melted at the memory. “Man, Mr. Cake made the best fudge.” The air sucked out of the room, dreams of gâteau and donuts at dawn with it. Rarity pulled her legs up and curled in a bed too small for two ponies. Studying the blanket’s thread count, she said, “I believe you must be mistaken, Lieutenant Dash. There’s never been a pony by that name.” Dash pricked her ears. She frowned. “Oh.” A moment of stillness, then she slumped. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” The quiet roared in Rarity’s ears. They had to keep talking. About something. Anything. “How is that novel of yours, by the way?” “Actually, I don’t know yet. I never really got past the first couple sentences.” Dash picked up the paperback by the front cover. The Colt in Crimson: A Shadow Spade Mystery. “I think I’d like to hear it. We could find out how it is together.” She reached up to bap Dash’s elbow. “Don’t hold it like that, you’ll hurt the binding.” Dash thought about it. “That could work. Between the two of us, there’s a better chance at least one of us will like it. M’kay, let’s see: ‘She walked through the night like a burnt-out street sign through the Coltifornian smog—two letters left, flickerin’ like Horse code—hollow eyes that ran straight through Tartarus and into my old husk of a heart. Hocks from here to Cloudsdale. A smile full of hope, with a rolodex of broken promises. One look and I knew: the dame was trouble.’ …How does somepony walk like a burned street sign?” “It’s a metaphor, dear, don’t worry about it.” “If you say so.” Moonbow shrugged and went on to describe the hiss of rain on the pavement on a dark humid night. Nighttime, even in novels. Rarity sighed. The Night was not just forever, the Night was everywhere. The Night was always. When she woke, while she worked, and as she dreamed. In her deeds, her thoughts, her words, her books. She inhaled moon and exhaled stars, and they burned in her chest from being there so long. Rarity could not deny The Everlasting Night's beauty, but oh, how it smothered. “‘Sorry doll face,’ I tell her, ‘That’s not my bag, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. Find somepony else for your little escapade. I’ve got a date with a bottle of cider.’” Dash sighed. “Had to mention cider, didn’t they?” But here, in a tawdry little bed in a lost quiet corner of the castle, she could take some air. Just a little. Rarity let her head rest in the crook of Dash's wing. “I’ve been so tired,” she said. Moonbow yawned, the primary feathers stretching and flexing the way Rarity’s cat used to do with her paws. “Yeah, I heard that. I’m gonna hit the hay myself after these last couple pages, but you can go on to sleep if you wanna. It’s like, what, almost Second Midnight?” Not precisely what Rarity meant, but not wrong either. “Close to it, yes.” And she’d set her alarm for six hundred hours. She should have gone to sleep hours ago. “Pleasant dreams, Moonbow. I’ll visit you later tonight.” Rarity rose from the bed and kissed her. A flickering little thing on the side of her temple, just below the bandage. A kiss not meant to go anywhere, but to stay a while and keep her warm. Dash twitched her ears and blinked in surprise. Slowly, a lopsided grin tilted on the side of her face. “Yeah, I’d like that.” She felt at the soft feathering of Rarity’s fetlocks in the frog of her hoof until it drew away completely. “Later.” Midway down the hallway to her chambers, Rarity realized what she had done. What they both had done, and without even the excuse of an afterglow. But a peck on the cheek didn’t count as eternal devotion. Nothing wrong with affection in moderation. Moonbow made her happy, that’s all. Her Royal Majesty loved her subjects; she only wanted them to be happy. It was not a crime to be happy. The card arrived with a modest breakfast of toasted mushrooms and oatmeal. A glass of orange juice sat to the side—the real thing, not the watered-down drink served at cuteceñeras and graduations. Rarity hadn’t seen a full glass of real orange juice since Ms. Applejack rolled in with her cart full of bribes and insider trading. Bribery, Rarity suspected, was the agenda for today. Nopony requested an office visit without at least two weeks’ notice, and the card had arrived only this eventide. Eight hours before the appointment, plus change. The carriage rumbled across the stone bridge bordering the Everfree Forest. Rarity took a moment to observe the waning gibbous through the claws of the pines. The card rotated in the glow of her magic. Again, she examined the embossed pink lettering on crisp baby blue paper. Night Chamberlain Rarity’s presence is requested at: THE EQUESTRIAN BUREAU OF FAMILY PLANNING. 1st Midnight, Waning Gibbous 10. Mandatory. No further instructions, no manner of dress, no materials or arrangements for an entourage. Not even a mention of who Rarity would meet. She supposed it would be the current commissary, but with the constant revolving door of Bureau officials, that didn’t narrow it down. Only the head geneticist—a Mr. Time Turner, former town eccentric-slash-“scientist”—had stayed constant since the Bureau’s inception. For whatever reason, burnout for matchmakers ran high. Defection, as well. “A petri dish of degeneracy and insurgence,” Moondancer once called it. Rarity merely called it a waste of a lunch break. The second lieutenant would simply have to wait until tonight to get her bagel. In the window, the trees and dirt gave way to towers and cobblestone. Ponyville’s starlit streets rolled past in an assembly line of brick, stone, and iron. After the dragon attacks three years prior—the conflict that had earned Dash her rank, as Rarity recalled—the town eschewed the traditional thatched cottages in favor of sturdier, finer architecture. With half the place burned to cinders, a fresh rebuild only made sense. If anything, Ponyville resembled a cozier Old Canterlot—the sections unspoken for by crop research and farming efforts, anyhow. A funny thing. All night, Rarity dreaded the ghosts of her old hometown, and yet, as with all ghosts, there had been nothing to fear at all. Save for the name, the river, and the apple farm to the south, nothing of the Ponyville she’d known remained. Thus, nothing to be missed. Two blocks from Magistrate Heartstrings’ villa, the arabesques and heart iconography of the Bureau of Family Planning welcomed her. A personal escort of matchmakers swarmed Rarity two steps out of the carriage, armed with complimentary rose petals and compliments for what the chamberlain had done with her mane. “That’s kind of you to say.” Manestyle Number Twelve was standard for mares of Rarity’s rank, but the eager little things sounded so genuine, she couldn’t bring herself to correct them. They lacked both the wide-eyed awe of novices and the hunger of sycophants, with no real reason to fawn over her this way. Surely they had work of their own to do. Rarity didn’t quite know what to make of it. They followed her from the door to the elevator to the hallway. By the time she finally reached the commissary’s office, the five-minute trip felt like an hour. The place smelled of lavender and disinfectant, a cross between a hospital and a perfumery. Rarity knocked on the open door. “You wished to see me, Commissary…” She glanced at the door’s fresh name place. “…Spoiled Wind?” Small portraits of General Wind Rider and the commissary’s daughter hung below a massive banner of the Moon behind the desk. A purple up-do bobbed behind a metropolis of paperwork and coffee cups. “Ah, yes, Night Chamberlain Rarity. Right on time, good.” A pink hoof slid an envelope through columns of paperwork and tapped it. “That is yours. Sorry to drag you all the way out here, but after last week’s incident we can’t be too careful with official documents. Oh, and congratulations on the union.” Rarity blinked at the black envelope. White, blue, and violet striped the corners. Four blue diamonds of her cutie mark sealed it shut. No doubt of it, this belonged to her, but… “I don’t understand.” Pen scratched along parchment. Commissary Spoiled stamped it, filed it in an ivy-covered mail desk, and swigged the rest of her cappuccino. “Opening it helps.” Gently, Rarity cracked the seal, unfolded the paper, and scanned the contents. She frowned. Rarity read it again: “…the Grand Authority of H.R.M. Princess Nightmare Moon & The Equestrian Bureau of Family Planning hereby certifies Night Chamberlain Rarity, formerly of Ponyville & Prince Blueblood VIII, of New Canterlot to be Joined in Lawful Wedlock upon the date of Full Moon 12 (Honey)” Rarity stared at it, wondering if bureaucrats had a taste for pranks. “There must be some mistake, Commissary.” “Oh?” Spoiled Wind took it back, flipped it to see the rainbow of colored stamps that lined the opposite side, then gave it back. “No, everything’s in order. The Bureau does not make mistakes, Chamberlain. We have the best matchmakers and geneticists in the Kingdom. The pair is ideal.” “But he’s a—” “Prince, yes. Quite a match. It will be the highlight of the Solstice Nuptial; center stage, I expect.” The commissary’s pen dipped into a fresh jar of ink. “You’re a very lucky mare.” “I suppose I am.” “Yet here you are, still in my office.” She sighed hard enough to ruffle the stack of certificates. “Do you wish to file a complaint?” Rarity thought about it. “Would that do anything?” “Waste my time and yours.” “Don’t misunderstand, it’s not that I’m ungrateful, but I…” This was happening. This was really happening. Rarity swept her hoof over her mouth. Shaken awe was still an appropriate response, was it not? She didn’t think she could manage a smile. “I-I thought I still had more time before marriage.” The commissary shook her head. “So did we all. It’s not as bad as it sounds. The first year is the worst, but it gets easier. You just need to give it a chance, meet him halfway. You’re compatible in more than genetics, you know.” Her spiel rose from behind the paper towers with that special brand of controlled optimism from reciting a script fifty times a week. Rarity frowned. “Did it get easier for you?” The pen stopped. “They’re not worth it, Chamberlain. It’s better to try and put them out of your mind sooner than later.” “Who do you mean by ‘they’?” Rarity’s envelope slipped into her breast pocket, next to the spare feather she’d found in her mane. “Good answer. Keeps me from filing a second report.” “...Is it really that obvious?” How many others could tell? The commissary hummed to herself. “No, actually. You hide it well. But we’re matchmakers here; we have a nose for it. I’m sure you noticed everypony sniffing at your heels on the way in.” She leaned back in her chair, far enough for Rarity to see the bags under her eyes. “Whoever they are, I hope you haven’t been together long. It’s a lot harder the other way around.”