When the hunger passed, and the pain faded, and Cheval’s gut no longer threatened to devour the rest of her body, she lifted her head.
Right in front of her was a little blue mare, hugging as tight as she could. Beside the mare was a stallion, beside them a little colt, beside them a griffon. It went on like that, and they were all around her. In every direction was a sea of bodies, of faces, of people. They loved her, not as a mother loves her children, but as ponies love their dreams. Their love tasted like hope and wanting and fear.
Cheval ate it.
She waited then, for ponies to start getting sick. Or perhaps, for one of them to say something, to do something other than stand there and prostrate themselves before her. She waited for one of them to object to being her prey.
But they were looking at her, and eventually, she could wait no more. “I’m fine,” she said, barely above a whisper. Then she cleared her throat, and spoke as a princess should. “Thank you. I’m fine.”
So large a mob could not disentangle itself quickly. Ponies close enough to hear her tried to shuffle back, but accomplished little more than to bump the noses and chests of the creatures behind them. An uncertain mumble passed through the crowd, rippling through them like waves on the surface of a lake.
And so Cheval spread her wings, and they buzzed like a dragonfly. She flew to the top of the traincar, and sat like she was on a throne. Changelings did not possess the power of the Royal Canterlot Voice, but Flurry’s drugs had worn off during the long trip. In a flash of green, she took the form of an alicorn with a grey coat, blue mane, and a swarm of insects for a cutie mark.
“Would all the changelings in the front please turn into flying creatures and make room for those behind them?” she spoke. “I do not want any creature getting trampled.”
The crowd flashed like a line of firecrackers and a strange swarm took to the air. Trueblooded changelings, hawks, sparrows, pegasi, griffons, alicorns and more all took off at once. A few bumped heads during their ascent, but there were no serious injuries. The skies over Ponyville were thick with them.
During the first war, so long ago, Shining Armor learned a lesson about the dangers of changeling air power. And Cheval didn’t know what to say.
When the silence grew too long, Gallant took the form of a pegasus and flew up to sit beside her. His shapeshifting skills really were quite poor. She didn’t know if it was his age, his natural inclination, or a weakness shared by this new changeling breed.
“Your eyes aren’t the same color,” she mumbled. “And your pinions are different shades too.”
“Tell them you want to see the hive,” he said. “They’re waiting for you.”
And so she raised her voice and said, “Thank you. Your love sustains me, and sustains future generations of our race.” Then, “show me this hive you have built.”
They stamped their hooves, shouted, and cheered.
For the first time in her life, Cheval stood in a structure built with the assumption that all the residents could walk on walls. In her natural form, she clung to the underside of a dance hall ceiling, and her subjects laughed. They said she looked like a pony tourist, tail dangling “up” behind her.
But they didn’t love her any less for it. She was raised in the Crystal Empire, they said. Of course she wasn’t familiar with changeling architecture.
Then there was music. There were parties. There were gifts, presented by all the changelings of Ponyville. Brightside’s mother gave her guide to slang, and Cheval made an earnest attempt to read from it, eliciting peals of laughter as she accidentally implied Celestia and a slice of cake were in a sexual relationship. Brightside’s sister got her a book of forms, and Cheval transformed into several of them, all while wearing a pin that read, “Secret Shapeshifter.”
The report from Xerox she promised to read later, but several creatures did insist on telling her that a famous changeling actor recently won some kind of award for their role in a TV show she hadn’t heard of. She didn’t remember his name, but they all seemed to think it was a big deal.
Hundreds of others waited to see her, and the gifts piled up. But near the end of the line, one gift stood out from the rest. It was from the changelings (and ponies) of the Ponyville Quarry, made by all of them together, and carefully transported into town by a team of twenty strong earth ponies.
It was a throne made out of black stone, like the one Amaryllis had once sat on.
Then, one of the truebloods produced Amaryllis’s crown. It wasn’t a replica, but the thing itself. It was still dented on one side, and one of the tines was broken off. It had hit the ground quite hard after it fell from her head, and Flurry had stepped on it.
Gallant tried to intervene, to shoo the quarry ponies and truebloods away. But Cheval politely pushed him back and spoke for herself.
“Thank you,” she said. “But this is not the time. Changelings are ruled by a queen, but ponies are ruled by princesses. We have many ponies among us. Some of you think of yourselves as ponies. I would not want to offer disrespect to that noble race by making so important a decision in haste. Maybe I will take the title ‘Queen of the Changelings’ one day. Or, maybe I will remain a princess. I do not yet know your world well enough to say what is best. But my mother’s crown will still be waiting, when we are all ready.”
The crowd said that she was very wise. They stomped their hooves and clapped and called her a great leader.
Cheval bade them all to enjoy the festivities, and excused herself. She was tired.
Light Step’s house wasn’t exactly a palace. Swarms of refugees had lived in it for many years, and the building itself had begun to suffer from the ravages of time. But since the children left home and Demure passed away, Gallant couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
He’d made up the guest room for Cheval. In a room whose walls were no longer quite straight, she sat on a bed covered in an old quilt. Amaryllis’s crown was in front of her.
It was black, with little blue baubles on the end of each tine. They matched the color of her mane and tail.
“I’d like to talk to Gallant alone,” she said to her rescuers. “Give us privacy, please.”
Mirror Pond and Double Entry and Moth and all the others filed out, vanishing down the stairs. When only he was left, she shut the door to the hallway. Then she said, “We need to go to Canterlot.”
He paused, then frowned. “Why?”
“I need to renounce my claim to the Crystal Empire. Publicly. Ideally in front of Celestia. To force her to accept it.” Her wings buzzed against her side. “And, I need to forfeit the changeling nation’s claim to the original hive. To any territory in the North.”
Again, he asked, “Why?”
“Because there are still yaks so bitter about the outcome of the war they risked their lives to help me escape. Because this place we’re standing in is called the Ponyville Hive, but the one in the north is just the Hive. Definitive article. And because Celestia is clearly reserving the right to kick Diamond Path off his throne and put me in his place.”
When Gallant didn’t say anything, Cheval’s tone turned snappish: “Don’t you get it? The Crystal Empire isn’t safe. Everything that was done can still be undone.”
“Your nation is outside,” he gestured at the window. “You’re their beacon of hope. You’re their leader. Why is the security of the Empire the first thing you’re thinking of?”
“Because they’re not my nation.” Her voice was tight, run through with emotion. “I was raised in the Crystal Empire. I was raised in a palace, and my friends were crystal ponies. I don’t know how to walk on walls and I barely speak vespid. What ties me to these creatures, exactly?”
“They love you.”
Cheval sneered, looking off into a corner of the room. “They love a fantasy.”
“It’s a fantasy that you give hope that their race will survive?”
“They’re not changelings, Gallant. I thought you knew that.” She scoffed. “They’re ponies with shapeshifting powers.”
“Does that distinction really matter?”
“It does. It does matter. Because this is all very sweet, but you know what it is?” Her voice rose, and her sneer sharpened. “It’s Ponyville. This is what ponies are like, in the most Equestrian town there ever was. They’re kind. They’re kind and loving all the way down to the bottom of their souls. And if you take a creature like that and tell it it’s a changeling, it’ll come up with a version of the changeling race that’s so sweet and so fluffy.”
It was with a bitter tone, she finished: “But it’s a lie. These aren’t changelings. They’re ponies playing pretend.”
“Because you care for them, so they can’t possibly be like you.” Gallant said. “Is that right?”
Before Cheval could answer, he pushed open the door to the hall and walked out. She stared at the open doorway, mouth open. Sounds of rummaging carried through the hall, and it wasn’t long before Gallant returned. He had a large wooden box with him, covered in dust.
“This was made by my mothers. Double Time and Light Step, in case you forgot.” He put the box on the bed and brushed off the dust. “They made me promise I would rescue you, and once you were safely back in Equestria, to return it to you. It’s everything that’s left of old changeling culture. The original, from the northern hive.”
He unlatched the box. Inside it was a collection of books, scrolls in cases, a handful of magical items, and bundles of letters. “These were all that could be saved from the hive’s library, before it burned. Copies of them are still in print in Equestria. But these are the originals.”
Slowly, Cheval picked up one of the books. The old binding cracked when she opened it, but the book held together. The writing inside was in equestrian, since vespid had no written form.
“Cupid’s Broken Bow,” she read the title aloud.
“It’s a story about a pony named Aro who suffers a traumatic brain injury and loses the ability to feel romantic love,” Gallant said. “They travel to the changeling hive in the hope of a cure. There, they meet a gatherer who is fascinated to meet a pony they can’t feed on. It’s the first time they’ve met a pony they can interact with like a person, instead of like prey. They talk about everything: life, humor, carpentry. They talk about carpentry a lot actually. At the end, Amaryllis finds a cure for Aro’s condition, but they ask not to be healed. They like who they are, and the friend they’ve made.”
“Well.” She shut the book. “That’s fine.”
“This one,” Gallant picked up another book, “is a collection of essays on how to start a business or hold a job. The hive didn’t have money, and lots of workers who moved out into the North got fleeced because they didn’t know any better.”
“Yes, it’s fine.”
“This one is An Unworthy Proposal. It was a quite famous essay, published shortly after the hive reformed. It argues for the abolition of the caste system, in favor of individual clutches being free to determine their own destiny. The author was arrested for—”
“You think I can’t lie on paper?” Cheval asked. “My powers to deceive are somehow limited to verbal communication?”
Gallant considered that. Then he plucked two letters from the pile. “These are for you. The one with the blue seal was written by Light.” He put that one back in the box. “The one with the red seal was written by Double Time.”
Cheval started to push the letter away, but before she could, Gallant snapped: “Given what you did, I think reading it is the least you owe her.”
A mix of emotions played over Cheval’s face: shock, guilt, uncertainty, and finally, anger. She snatched the letter from Gallant’s grasp.
“Get out,” she said, “or I throw you out.”
Cheval didn’t open the letter. She lay in bed, the open box untouched beside her. The clock on the wall told her it wasn’t even 8 PM, so she shut her eyes and willed it to move faster.
Midnight couldn’t come fast enough.
“I hate you,” she said, hugging a pillow like it was a lover. “I hate you so much.”
When Amaryllis didn’t say anything, Cheval picked up the crown off the bed and threw it. It passed through Amaryllis without slowing down, knocking over a lamp behind her.
“There you go,” Cheval snapped. “It’s yours. Take it. I don’t want it.”
But Amaryllis could only say: “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not sorry enough.” Cheval turned away, going back to hugging her pillow. “What… what do you think you’re going to do? Make up for sixteen years of being a terrible mother with one good haunting?”
“No. It’s too late for that. But I wanted…” She let out a breath. “I wanted you to see that you’re different. And you are different.”
“I’m not.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “In the train station today, I felt the love of tens of thousands. They adored me, and I took what I wanted, and when I was done I used what was left to control them. They’d die for me, if I asked right.”
“I know.”
“They’d wage war,” she said. “If I told them that the Crystal Empire and the North alike were mine by right, they’d petition Celestia to make it so. I could drown the North in blood.”
“You could.”
“I’d be the liberator. Of the crystal ponies and the yak and the diamond dogs and the griffons and every other race and nation Flurry wronged. I’d have built the empire you always wanted—a core of changelings surrounded by servant races who love us.”
“It’s a beautiful vision,” Amaryllis agreed. “Enticing. Like being aroused. Lustful. Your body knows what it wants and how easy it would be to take it.”
Silence hung between them for several long seconds. “But you didn’t,” Amaryllis said. “You didn’t take it. And you didn’t look like you were enjoying yourself either. You were terrified.”
Cheval dragged a hoof over the old quilt. It was a quick, spastic little motion, like a dog pawing at the ground. “I don’t want to be that creature.”
“You’re not.”
“I was. I am. Nobody cares about Gia and Gideon because they were peasants. Just two little minions of the International Party. If I’d abused and murdered two princesses, ponies wouldn’t be so quick to forgive.” Her voice cracked. “But they were my friends and I betrayed them.”
“You did,” Amaryllis agreed. “Double Time betrayed a lot of ponies. Did she deserve what you did to her?”
“No, she…” Cheval froze. “She earned her redemption. You could see it.”
“But there was a time when she hadn’t earned it yet. When she was nothing but a mass murderer with a royal pardon, like a piece of paper somehow made her victims less dead. That’s who she was when your mother met her. Your real mother. And Cadence forgave her.”
“She made a mistake.”
“No, she didn’t.” Amaryllis sat by the edge of the bed, and rested a hoof on Cheval’s side. “And she didn’t make a mistake when she adopted you. You should read what Double had to say.”
Cheval’s horn glowed, and she levitated over the letter with the red seal. The paper crinkled as she opened it, and old wax crumbled away. Her eyes flicked over the paper, randomly settling somewhere in the middle.
It was my job to teach you about your people, Double wrote, and I failed. Instead of teaching you about our best moments, I taught you about our worst. I showed you how to lie and I showed you how to kill. And then I wondered why you turned out like me.
Your mother always loved you, and it wasn’t ever cheap. If she doesn’t understand you, it doesn’t mean she cares about you any less. You were too young to remember how she struggled—
There was more after that, but Cheval couldn’t focus on the paper. She shut her eyes and squeezed the pillow. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted any of this. All I wanted was to be a pony, okay? I’m sixteen. I wanted to be a teenager and get acne and be awkward around colts and have a normal life. I don’t want to be this thing and I don’t want to rule anyone and I miss my family. But now this is all happening and I don’t know how to deal with it.”
She shivered in bed, and with a faint voice continued: “I need help. I need help and you’re the only one who has any idea what I’m going through. Please…” She struggled with the words. “Please stay.”
There was no answer, and when Cheval rolled over to look, she was alone in the bedroom.
She never saw Amaryllis again.