I
The Case of the Missing Princess
All things considered, Sunset Shimmer thought, there were worse places to be than the hallway outside the Headmistress’s office. Given enough time, she'd have finished counting all the tiles in the winding hall. Not that it was particularly preferable, for no matter how hard she tried to convince herself, that tiny part of her wondered if this had been a step too far. Perhaps she’d gotten herself into more trouble than was worth her while.
‘That doesn’t sound right,’ she told herself. ‘I did exactly what I was supposed to do, didn’t I?’
She hated second-guessing. She had felt so certain of her move then. The fire had burned bright, just as she willed it. And was that not the evident truth of her potential, when she’d earned her mark right as the inferno subsided?
A glance at her flank emboldened her. There she beheld a fiery Sun that burned crimson and amber, a mark of her worth.
Why, then, were they taking so long to decide? Sunset had only seen a few teachers enter the office, close to an hour ago. The crusty old Headmistress and her nebbish assistant – or was that the Deputy Headmaster – had gone in first, followed by Sunset’s agitated supervisor, whose mane was only slightly scorched by now. None had spared her more than a second glance, which was fine by her. She didn’t need them anyway.
Neither had the Princess of All Equestria, who’d arrived soon after, taken one look at her, then entered the office with nary a word.
That left her here, alone with only her thoughts for company, in the empty silence of the School for Gifted Unicorns.
It was all rather silly, really. By any metric, she had passed the exam, more impressively than most.
And yet, what was that feeling in her gut, sinking and heavier by the second–
“Sunset Shimmer?”
She’d heard that velvet voice before, in the common room at the orphanage, yet never so close as it was now. Sunset looked up from the tiled floor, her gaze beholding the regal figure that again stood before her, a closed door at her back.
Impossibly tall and beautiful, her resplendent wings held tight against her body, Princess Celestia was a sight familiar to many a pony of Equestria. The golden crown she wore shimmered bright, her alabaster coat vibrant even in the dim light of the hallway.
It was her eyes that caught Sunset’s attention. Soft, kind, and maternal, yet with an underlying solemnity that belied all else in the magenta gaze. A look which few had seen up close.
And here they were, only the two of them.
“Hello,” said the Princess, still with that gentle voice. “I’m sorry, have I startled you?”
Sunset said nothing, at first. What else could she say? Encouraging as the Princess’s tone was, surely there was little she could do to convince the school staff otherwise.
Even as the Princess opened her mouth to speak, Sunset puffed up her chest and spoke first.
“It needed it, okay?”
So brash and sudden it was that, to Sunset’s own surprise, the Princess’s mouth hung open.
“What?” she asked.
“The fire,” Sunset said. “What else?”
She’d come this far, Sunset told herself. It was now or never, lest her voice be silenced for good by the old geezers waiting inside the Headmistress’s office.
“They asked me what I’d do to care for the stupid bird,” explained Sunset, taking a deep breath. “It looked all old and sick, and no-one else figured it out but me.”
“Is that why you set the classroom on fire?”
Her tone was still gentle, yet firm. For a moment, Sunset looked away, her mind racing. Of course this was what they’d told the Princess – that brash little Sunset Shimmer’s fire had burned hotter than it should and burnt the classroom to ash.
She held her ground, and looked at the Princess eye-to-eye.
“Yeah. Are you gonna kick me out for it?”
The Princess looked at her for the longest time, her gaze unreadable. Then, her ever-tranquil smile returned, and she let out a soft laugh.
“No, actually,” said the Princess. “That was quite the marvelous display, all things considered… Risky, and dangerous… yet beautiful, in some ways.”
Just as she trailed off, a great fiery bird appeared, flying down the hallway, turning the black-and-white tiles two different shades of orange with its incandescent glow. Sunset’s eyes widened to behold it, as this was a sight she’d seen only in textbooks.
A phoenix, in all its splendour.
The majestic bird landed, glancing at her with a curious tilt. Before Sunset could say anything, the bird gave her a nuzzle, then flew up to perch upon the Princess’s back. It chirped softly, a sound the Princess answered with an affectionate nuzzle.
“You can thank Philomena for her say, just as she thanks you,” said the Princess. “Colour me impressed, Sunset. Very few can recognise a dying phoenix, let alone give them what they need. You should be proud of that.”
Sunset looked at her, still feeling as lost as ever.
“Wh-what? But wait. What about… Aren’t you going to–what?”
A delicately-bound scroll appeared with a brilliant yellow flash, held in the Princess’s aura. “It was a unanimous decision,” she said simply. “Welcome to the School of Gifted Unicorns, Sunset Shimmer.”
Passing from the Princess’s aura to Sunset’s, the scroll slowly lowered before her eyes. There was no mistaking the seal – the very same golden star emblazoned above the school entrance, the sigil that greeted many anxious and eager children throughout the passing seasons.
Scholars, inventors, mages, and artists of all disciplines and trades, the greatest minds of their time. All of whom had trodden these halls, finding – no, earning their place amongst the very best. And she knew she could shine brighter than them all.
Just as quickly as her amaranth light shone, it dimmed ever so slightly, for even as Sunset held the delicate scroll within her aura, those old fears stirred and tugged at her. Whispers, where they thought they couldn’t hear her, uttered amongst all whose paths had ever crossed hers.
“...I’m not staying at the dorms, am I?”
It was more a statement than a question, for she knew the answer already.
“Oh, that is optional,” said the Princess. “Some do, others walk or travel, whichever they prefer. But no, you are not.”
For a single, shameful moment, Sunset felt her heart sink. Of course. They feared her, and nor could they ever trust her. Not when she’d done so much with so little. They’d be jealous, as they should be. Nevertheless, it didn’t make the thought of lonely days and silent nights any better.
But before Sunset could speak her thoughts aloud, the Princess was already looking at her with the kindest smile Sunset had seen on her face.
“You shall be staying at the Palace,” said the Princess. “It’s all been taken care of.”
She stretched out a wing, beckoning her to follow. From atop her back, the great phoenix spread her own wings and flew ahead.
“Come along, Sunset. There’s so much to talk about, once we’re at the Palace...”
Sunset’s eyes widened, a hundred thoughts racing through her mind, though she remained silent. After the longest minute of her life had passed, she reached for her saddlebags and hopped off her seat.
There was little else either of them said afterwards, as they went on their way to the orphanage, to collect her belongings and say her farewells to the first and only home she’d known all her life. But as the Sun rose further in the sky, so too did Sunset Shimmer hold her head up high.
One Spring morning, the Sun rose a minute late.
Sunset had noticed it, much as she had noticed other things amiss that morning, when her clock rang a minute early. A moment’s glance at the clock once she’d awoken, and she knew something was off, for she had never been wrong in setting her clock. Yet her mother, in all her years, could still miss a thing or two.
She’d spotted the other thing amiss when she emerged from her bedroom and saw the door to her mother’s room wide open, not a feather to be seen.
So she went downstairs at a brisk pace, huffing all the way, and found the third thing amiss. This was something very important indeed. Breakfast. Or rather, a lack thereof.
Their dining table was tidy, true, with the tablecloth in place and all the utensils neatly arranged where they should be. But no food whatsoever. Not even a stray crumb of bread.
Now, this was quite unlike her mother. Much as it befuddled Sunset, her mother had always insisted on cooking breakfast, from pancakes to porridge to even the occasional hayfries. Sunset never much understood this, for the Palace had many servants running about. Surely, one of them had the time to spare.
‘State employees, dear Sunset,’ her mother had said then. ‘They only cook for special occasions.’
Grown-ups could be so weird. But no sooner had this thought formed that Sunset spotted the other two ponies in the room, deep in discussion. They hadn’t noticed her arrival, so caught up in their conversation that it took a rather conspicuous clearing of her throat to prompt their notice.
Their heads turned to look at her. Sunset had many questions to ask. Only one escaped her mouth, struck by her mother’s appearance opposite Kibitz’s perpetually-stuffy look.
“Uh, Mom? What are you wearing?”
It was as polite, or least-blunt, as Sunset could put it. She didn’t want to call her mother ridiculous, but how else could one describe the get-up that she was wearing, a garish ensemble that could hardly ever be called regal? No Princess that Sunset knew of would dare to wear such a colourful, red-shaded button-up, or sunglasses as tacky as the yellow ones her mother wore. And that was without mentioning the largest sun hat she had ever seen, too.
Not that any of this bothered her mother. She raised her sunglasses, her smile as cheery as ever.
“Oh, hello, Sunset!” Celestia greeted, waving. “Ah, I’m just getting ready for my trip. Kibitz’ll be in charge when I’m gone. Need anything for breakfast?”
The Palace majordomo nodded along, as he usually did, quiet and reliable and so very proper.
Sunset raised an eyebrow. “Trip?” she asked. “What trip? You didn’t tell me you were going anywhere.”
Her mother’s sunglasses did little to hide the crestfallen look that followed. Sunset knew her tells, no matter how hard she tried to conceal them.
“Just something that came up on short notice, Sunset,” her mother said, quieter than her enthusiastic tone had been moments earlier. “I…” She trailed off, her gaze falling upon the dining table. “Right. I forgot to cook breakfast. Forgive this silly old mare, Sunset. I know how much you love pancakes, with the little smiley faces and–”
“Mooom,” Sunset cut her off. “Stop it. It's fine.”
“It’s true, though!” Her mother pressed on, her nostalgic smile growing wider still. “Oh, when I come back, I’ll cook extra stacks! Maybe the ones with little red berries for noses–”
Feeling her cheeks heat up, Sunset rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, I get it,” she said dismissively, though she hoped her mother wouldn’t forget it either. “It’s fine. I guess I’ll just cook for myself for now.” She paused again. “Where are you going anyway?”
“Oh, just across the sea,” said her mother. “I’ll be back in… two weeks, give or take.”
“Uh-huh,” said Sunset, hiding her apprehension. “And it’s taking that long, because…?”
“Well, I’ve a few things to do,” her mother answered. “I mean, we’ve only just arranged the sky-boat this morning.”
“But you’ve got wings,” Sunset pointed out. “Can’t it be just, I don’t know, a quick round-trip?”
“No, no no, it’s fine,” her mother insisted. “Really, it’s fine. I, um– I kind of might need the boat for a souvenir. Who knows?”
“Stars above, you’re really weird,” Sunset deadpanned, shaking her head.
“No, I’m your Mom,” her mother replied, still with that obnoxious smile. “That’s how it works, right?”
Sunset buried her face in a hoof. “Okay, you need to stop,” she replied. “Please.”
Her mother laughed. “Oh, come on,” she said. “Or maybe something a little bit more old-fashioned would do?”
“No–”
Her protests went unheard as her mother placed a forehoof against her chest in an exaggerated gesture, sticking her muzzle up in the air. “Hark!” she exclaimed. “Pray tell, daughter of mine, how may I entertain thee? Huzzah!”
She laughed, as melodious as she could be, while Sunset exchanged a glance with Kibitz. The laughter died down as suddenly as it appeared, Celestia’s bright smile fading away for something more solemn to take its place.
“Mom?”
“Ah, pardon this old mare,” Celestia said, shaking her head. “But I’ve had a lot on my mind recently, Sunset.” She shook her head, kneeling down before Sunset. She removed her sunglasses, revealing those familiar magenta eyes staring at Sunset’s own blue pair. “I’m going to Oleander. There’s a little filly waiting there and I’ve promised her I’ll come pick her up myself.”
… Ah.
Right then and there, it all came together. Sunset’s frown relaxed, but still she felt an odd apprehension tingling at the back of her neck.
Her mother had plenty of students. She knew this well. Few measured up to her, the Princess’s personal student, but the School was open to all. In their time together, her mother would occasionally speak of those that came before her. Radiant Hope of the Crystal Realm, or Professor Inkwell and Professor Spell Nexus who headed the School for Gifted Unicorns, here in Canterlot – all the best and brightest of their times.
“Ugh,” Sunset finally said aloud. “You could’ve just said you’ve got another student coming in…”
Her mother said nothing to that at first, merely brushing away part of her fiery mane. “You always were the cleverest, Sunset,” she said sweetly.
Yet Sunset was unmoved. “Yeah, and Oleander’s pretty far,” she stated matter-of-factly. Her geography was a little rusty, not that she’d admit it, but a whole two weeks there and back again was no short distance. Her mother’s smile was apologetic, and a touch sadder still.
“I’m sorry, it’s… all a bit of a rush,” she said. “I promise I have a lot of letters to send, and I know how much you like my drawings, and two weeks is a long time. I’ll send as many as I can.”
“... But you’re still going away,” Sunset said quietly. Her mother, soft and gentle as always, was nevertheless decisive in her actions, and little she could say could ever dissuade her. “Fine. Have a safe trip, I guess.”
Her mother nodded, then took a step forward, pulling her into a tight hug. She was a hugger, alright, and this one was almost bearable in its tightness. But a hug was a hug, and so Sunset returned it as best as she could.
“Just come back, okay?” she said. “I still gotta study, you know.”
“Of course,” her mother said, with a smile radiant as the Sun. She glanced at the dining-room’s grandfather clock, letting out a long, tired sigh. “I have to go,” she said. “Take care, Sunset. Watch over the Palace while I’m gone. And don’t forget Philomena’s treats. You know she likes getting them from you.”
“I won’t,” Sunset replied shortly. “Bye, Mom.”
With one last, motherly smile, Celestia was out the door, closing it behind her. That left only Kibitz, and, to Sunset’s unspoken horror, the majordomo withdrew a large scroll from within the confines of his coat.
“Right, Miss Shimmer,” said Kibitz, with all the stuffiness of her other teachers. The scroll, unbound, rolled upon the floor, on and on. “Her Royal Highness has left me in charge of your schedule, and–”
Before Kibitz could finish unfurling that scroll or finish his words, Sunset had disappeared in a pop and a flash of light.
* * * * *
So very strange. It was so unlike Princess Celestia to travel at short notice.
As befitting a Princess of All Equestria, her mother’s trips were usually meticulously planned and organised, Sunset thought, even if they were smaller than what she had imagined. Yet faraway Oleander – that earthpony realm famed for its flowers and a lyrical language as rustically graceful as its people – was a destination few would come unprepared for. And ‘hasty’ was the most generous descriptor she could call her mother’s trip. Despite having said her goodbyes, Sunset’s mind remained on fire, and she found she couldn’t let the matter rest.
She needed to know more than just what Celestia had told her about this trip.
Not long after she’d left Kibitz with his list, Sunset dragged the one pony in the whole Palace with meticulous sky-faring knowledge out of bed, all the way to the East Tower where she and her mother resided. Once there, she rested upon the windowsill, keeping her gaze narrow and true.
Before her lay a sight that had greeted her on the busiest of days and the loneliest of nights. Canterlot, Equestria’s crown jewel, with its polished buildings and pristine winding roads. Here she saw it all, a sight for a privileged few. Above the bustling, waking city, sky-boats, pleasure yachts, and even a few grand airships flew in and out of the city, guided by the wind.
More often than not, she’d dreamt of what it’d feel like to rise above the city, the wind embracing wings to call her own…
But this was no time to dwell. Wherever her mother’s chosen sky-boat was, it was surely getting further away, and soon would be out of sight.
“Well?” Sunset asked aloud, as her erstwhile companion kept his spyglass focused upon the departing sky-boat. “What do you think?”
The pale-white colt next to her, his blonde mane somehow neatly combed and coiffed already, tapped his chin.
“Mmh, Vanhooverite make. Sturdy, yet light frame. Built for pursuit. Definitely Trailblazers, Captain Green Fields’ unit. Auntie’s got the Guard with her, alright.”
“I know what the Trailblazers are,” Sunset remarked, rolling her eyes. “They seek what’s lost and return what they’ve found, or however that pledge goes.”
Astron Blueblood let out a short laugh. “Careful now, Sunny. Wouldn’t want Kibitz to know you’ve been slacking on your studies.”
“Oh, knock it off,” Sunset bit back, lightly hitting him with the nearest notebook she could find. “No one’s gonna get on my case for forgetting a guard pledge.”
“Hey, you never know–” Blueblood retorted, dodging a swipe of Sunset’s hooves.
She stuck her tongue out at him, then sighed. “Ugh, why do I even bother…” Sunset lamented. “Three years I’ve known you and you’re still this insufferable.”
“But you still hang out with me,” Blueblood pointed out. Sunset couldn’t tell whether it was snark or sincerity he’d carried in that pompous voice.
For a Prince, he’d never been the most dutiful; Sunset knew well enough. But that lifelong obsession with ships was, she had to admit, useful enough from time to time. No filly nor colt in all of Canterlot had lived amongst them as long as he did. Not that she’d ever admit Blueblood might have expertise in an area which far exceeded her own.
Shaking her head, Sunset went back to looking out the window. The sky-boat was out there, amongst the many other ships flying about in the Canterlot skies. Soon, it would disappear into the clouds.
“What’s a bunch of guards doing escorting Mom, anyway?” Sunset remarked.
Blueblood shrugged. “Maybe she’s being careful? Gotta prepare for anything, ’specially if you’re a Princess.”
“No, you dolt,” said Sunset. “Mom raises the Sun. No one’s that dumb.”
“I dunno, someone could be,” replied Blueblood. “It happens!”
“Yeah, I can tell,” Sunset deadpanned. She massaged her temples, gears turning and nose scrunched up. “Does your Dad even know where she’s going?”
“Father’s busy,” Blueblood answered simply. “Navy business today, I think. I dunno, I woke up late, so I guess he’s off already. Oh, hey!” he exclaimed, lifting his spyglass again, aiming towards the docks below. “A Mareabian dhow! Don’t see that everyday. I wonder why’s it come here…”
Sunset nodded, but said nothing else as he went back to his ship-watching.
Azure Haven Blueblood – stars, what a mouthful – and his escapades were the talk of the town, from joyrides to ventures in the navy. Yet, she’d scarcely seen him around. Taking his son out on excursions had always been trivial, both for her and her mother. Sometimes, she wondered if Azure noticed his son’s frequent absences, if he noticed him much at all.
One look at Blueblood’s awestruck eyes and cheery smile, and Sunset decided she could ask him about his father another day.
“Eh, who knows,” Sunset answered at last. “Spices, maybe? I dunno. Anyways, Bluey, d’you think we can follow Mom?”
Before that moment, Sunset hadn’t actively been planning to pursue her mother’s trail, yet now the question seemed as natural to her as waking up that morning.
Her companion lowered his spyglass, brow furrowed in thought. “Well, Father’s still gonna be a little busy, so we can scratch that away. The Guard, hmm, maybe I can–”
“Forget about the Guard. Can’t you borrow your Dad’s airship?” Sunset pressed. “Or sky-boat. Whatever.”
“Just the latest, you know, and I can!” Blueblood exclaimed. “And an airship is big, a vessel that can hold at least a hundred souls and many tons of shipment. Sky-boats are small,” he added pedantically. “I just don’t know where Auntie’s going.”
“She’s going to Oleander,” Sunset said as patiently as she could, even as her lips twitched. “Keep up, will ya?”
“Oh no, that’s the thing,” Blueblood retorted, waving a hoof. “I don’t know where in Oleander.”
“Then figure it out!” Sunset said, a touch annoyed. She poked his flank where his mark lay – a compass rose. “I thought you were the navigator in the family.”
“Well, yeah, I am! Latest, at least, but it’d be seven days to reach Oleander most of the time, and don’t suppose we’d bump into her, right? Sky’s a huge place and all.”
Sunset groaned, burying her face in her hooves. Yet she conceded his point, agonising as it was. All they could do at the moment was watch the Royal Guard’s sky-boat disappear into the clouds.
“Hey, uh…” Blueblood began. “You know, Kibitz can cook. Not as good as Auntie’s cooking, but then again, he does lots of things too. We’ll be okay.”
Sunset’s ears flicked, and she looked up from her hooves. Of course. How could she have been so blind?
“I’ll be back,” said Sunset. “You stay here and… I dunno, do whatever it is you do.”
“Okay!” Blueblood said. “I’ll be–”
Sunset hadn’t heard what he’d do, for she’d blinked and disappeared yet again.
* * * * *
Kibitz, like many of his ilk, was the sort of pony whose routines were easily guessed. So there was little surprise when Sunset found him exactly where she thought he’d be.
The Chamber of the Ministers was the oldest in the castle, its pillars tall and its polished marble floor as old as the Palace itself. Far above, one could see the stars twinkle, so lifelike the ceiling had been painted. And true to its name, the massive roundtable that dominated the chamber usually seated all the members of the Cabinet, the Archmage, and the Prime Minister herself.
And, of course, her mother would oversee them, seated at a chair grander than all.
But at this particular hour, and at the end of the week, there were no stuffy officials or stacks of paperwork, and each of the seats were empty. By the fireplace, beneath the painting of the Changeling Winter Treaty of 517, Sunset saw Kibitz. Seated at one of several identical-looking chairs with Philomena perched above him, he looked deep in thought, listening to the person seated opposite him. The barest hints of the visitor’s white feathers and coat gave her pause. She couldn’t have returned that quickly, right?
As Sunset approached, her rising hope disappeared. A foreleg tipped with a clawed appendage rose from the seat, and the speaker leaned forward.
A very pale, almost whiteish pink dominated this visitor’s features. A plume of purple-and-blue feathers adorned their head, their mouth was a beak, and though their eyes passed for her mother’s pair, they lacked the same warmth.
A hippogriff, then. Taller and lankier than griffons, with a more colourful plumage.
“...His encroachment on our ancestral lands can no longer be tolerated,” the hippogriff said, their voice majestic yet haughty. Their hand clenched. “His power must be broken at its source. Are you certain Equestria cannot aid in a pursuit?”
“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty,” Kibitz said, nodding. “The Storm King is beyond our… Miss Shimmer?”
The hippogriff poked their head out of their seat, taking in the sight of her with an uncomfortably griffon-like gaze.
“Ah, and who might you be?” they asked.
Sunset held her head higher still. “Sunset Shimmer, daughter and apprentice to Princess Celestia,” she recited primly. “And you’re–”
“Queen Novo, of Hippogriffia,” Kibitz interrupted, in the grandest voice he could muster. “Her Royal Majesty is an honoured guest, Miss Shimmer.”
That gave Sunset some pause. Hippogriffs were known to be nomadic, a people without a home. If her history lessons were correct – and she doubted they weren’t – only in recent times had they resettled the ancient mountain from whence they came with the support of Equestria. Based on what she cared to recall of her studies in contemporary politics, this was all part of a greater ideological current, gaining traction in recent decades, of co-operation between the equine peoples of the world. Pan-Equinism, that was the name.
None of this mattered much to her right now, however, for Queen Novo was not her mother, and her mother was not here.
“Right,” Sunset said, giving the Queen an acknowledging nod before turning to Kibitz. “Can we talk for a sec, Mister Kibitz?”
“Miss Shimmer, please,” said Kibitz. “I am tending to a very important meeting.” He gave a respectful nod towards Queen Novo. “Her Royal Majesty has been seeking an audience for some time, and it’s unfortunate that Princess Celestia’s newfound obligation this week has unexpectedly superseded it.”
This piqued Sunset’s curiosity. Her mother was not one to leave people hanging. Already Celestia’s personal departure to pick up a new student, arranged on the fly – as it were – was highly unusual of her. But to deem it of greater importance than a meeting with a fellow head of state, on the very day when their meeting had been planned?
The Hippogriff Queen inclined her head slightly, smiling serenely. Sunset gave her a once-over before scoffing.
“Well, if this meeting’s so important, where is she, then?” asked Sunset. “Where’s my mother?”
That regal smile fell. Kibitz paled more than Sunset thought he ever could.
“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” he said, before joining Sunset’s side. “I shan’t be long.”
* * * * *
“Alright, Miss Shimmer,” Kibitz began. Though he’d tried to hide it, Sunset could see his whiskers bristle with impatience. “What seems to be the problem?”
In a hurry, Kibitz had ushered Sunset away, and nothing more was spoken between her and the Hippogriff Queen save for a pointed exchange of glances.
Now they were in one of the ministerial offices. She sat where the Minister of Foreign Affairs would sort out the most recent crises. Kibitz stood by her side, looking at her with tired eyes.
“Where’s Mom going?” Sunset asked in return, directly, determined now to get to the bottom of this affair. “You know where she’s going, don’t you?”
Kibitz let out a long, weary sigh. “I cannot say for sure,” he said – lied, more likely. “She’s been rather… mum about things.”
Sunset stomped a hoof, huffing. “Ugh, you’re no help either! Then I guess I’ll go find her myself.”
“Miss Shimmer, please,” Kibitz said, not unkindly, and Sunset was surprised that characteristic weariness when it came to her didn’t show at all. “I’m certain all will be explained in time.”
“But when? You said you don’t even know where exactly she‘s going!”
“Her Royal Highness herself is uncertain how long it shall be,” Kibitz replied, undeterred. “Beyond the two-week estimate, I don’t know all the details for certain–”
His words were interrupted by an agitated cry. Sunset sunk to the floor with another groan.
No answers, no direction, nowhere near finding her mother again. A dead end. Some protegée she was, to rely on others so very greatly…
Then, a calming touch on her shoulder prompted her to look up. The frustration she recognised in Kibitz beneath his unflappable surface had long melted away, with nothing except for concern left in his aging eyes as he knelt down to meet her gaze.
“Miss Shimmer,” said Kibitz. His voice grew gentler still. “I know how… difficult this all is. But I assure you, she’ll return in time. And you know she promised letters.”
“But it’s not the same.”
“It isn’t. But it’s the best she can manage for now. I’m sorry.”
He rose up, dusting himself off.
“I shall have to return to the meeting soon,” he said, wiping his glasses. “Please, Miss Shimmer, know that all will be explained.”
For an eternity, Sunset ruminated on this, biting her lips. Her mother, who seemed so open, could be inscrutable when she chose to be. Sunset had no doubt that all the letters and kind words she’d receive while Celestia was away would tell her no more, either. But there was nothing left to be done. Not here, as much as she hated it.
She sighed.
“Oh, fine,” said Sunset. “But I’m hungry. And I want pancakes.”
Kibitz tapped his chin. “Well, it’s getting a bit late in the morn, but I suppose I can arrange that…” With a loud pop, one of his perennial scrolls appeared in his aura. After a moment’s scribbling, it vanished just as suddenly. “The kitchen ought to be available most times, breakfast and dinner. You need only ask them, just as I did. Now, your pancakes should be ready quite soon.”
Sunset beamed at that, but it faltered ever so slightly when she caught sight of Kibitz’s smile.
“Wait,” Sunset said. “Which one did you ask them to make?”
“The one with red berries for noses, of course.”
“Wh–Kibitz!”
“I’m afraid I am needed elsewhere, Miss Shimmer,” Kibitz said, louder than he ought to be, quickly moving towards the door. “Have a good breakfast!”
Before Sunset could let out so much as an indignant cry, he’d already shut the door on her.
* * * * *
The pancakes were, Sunset begrudgingly had to admit, fine enough. But they weren’t her mother’s, and, at the end of the day they were yet another reminder of how far away Princess Celestia had gone.
Next came the wait. An agonising, painfully slow, two-week wait. Day after day, the Sun rose and set, as it always did. Letters arrived all the same, written in that regal cursive only a Princess could ever do, telling stories of whimsical encounters and enchanting vistas, from meetings with intrepid Kirin and wandering griffons, to turbulent skies and the familiar beaches of Monacolt.
Even in the long stretches of nothing, her mother still found the time to write of the various antics of the Guard on board with her. How laid-back Captain Green Fields had been, how riveting their tales of monster-fighting were. And always, always, the image of the skies followed. Most of these were accompanied with a water-colour most lush, some of which Sunset deemed worthy of the place upon her desk. But even then, it did not help much in curing her longing, for little else had been of her interest.
Parliament had been boring. Utterly so, with long, fruitless debates that she couldn’t bother listening to in great detail. Her only source of amusement came when a group of journalists approached her the first day she’d come there, peppering her with questions about herself and her mother. Before she could answer any of them, Prime Minister Stormy Flare herself came over and ushered Sunset away, frantically asking what she’d been doing alone in the building.
And even the dashing ex-Wonderbolt of a Prime Minister had grown increasingly bothered, Sunset could tell, by the proposals Sunset had brought up over the passing days. Among others, that the Princess of All Equestria ought to take charge more often than not, that healthcare should rely more on the kindness and charity of the people, that the voting age ought to be lowered so she herself could vote. Most of which, to Sunset’s chagrin, was received with lukewarm stares, patient rebuttals, and utter confusion. She swore the opposition leader, Sky Trot, nearly burst out laughing when she’d proposed immunity from taxation.
It did come as a surprise to her that, of all things, orphanage subsidies were the one suggestion they were most interested in.
As for school, to call it less boring would be a fair statement, but it hadn’t occurred to Sunset until the second day that much of the fun had been with her mother. The teachers at the School for Gifted Unicorns had been far more interested in results than the flourishes of her spellcraft. Not that her talents were ever in any doubt, since she’d passed every assignment just as well as preceding her mother’s absence, but there were more critical comments concerning her stance in spellcasting, her work with her classmates, even the quality of her cursive.
Of course, that dolt Neighsay had denied it when Sunset had asked about the nitpicks, but he clearly had it out for her. Sure, she could have helped out little Lyra Heartstrings with a tricky teleportation spell, lest that accident with the beaker in the pre-entrance exam could be avoided, but juniors were always such a hassle to deal with, and it had never been her responsibility to ensure others would make it in.
Above all, the crushing, empty, agonising loneliness wore her down day and night. Not Kibitz, not Astron or Philomena, not even that little flower-shop down the main road – where she could speak away her greatest worries aloud without a care – could have cured it. Not even a peek at Kibitz’s agenda, nor a letter from her mother informing her the very day she would return, gave Sunset much in the way of comfort.
So every evening of every day, Sunset would return to her room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Celestia above, with wings as beautiful as the Sun she raised, amongst the clouds and stars.
All for naught. Nothing for her to see, for her mother was away, so very far away, and there was little else Sunset could do but look out towards the skies, her dreams carrying her to join the great aviators, feeling the winds embrace her as if she belonged there…
Then, on a particularly bright, cloudless afternoon, Sunset caught sight of a sky-boat fast-descending upon the city.
* * * * *
Down, down the winding steps of Canterlot Palace, Sunset galloped. Past ancient tapestries and confused staff, a sleepy Blueblood and a startled Kibitz with a stack of papers, all the way down until she came to a screeching halt at the Entrance Hall.
Panting, her breathing heavy and shallow, chest feeling tight, Sunset cursed her carelessness. So excited was she that she’d forgotten to cast a spell or teleport. All passing regrets, though. She waited before the Hall’s doors, firm as a statue.
So many questions to ask. Where had her mother gone off to? Who had she met, spoken to?
Above all else, why in Equestria had she left?
All of which Sunset was dying to know, as the seconds went by and grew longer still with each beat of her heart.
Not too long after she’d arrived, the doors to the Entrance Hall swung wide open. Sunset first saw Captain Green Fields – as lush green as his name implied, yet hardly inexperienced – leading the way as befitting a Trailblazer.
Next, Sunset saw her–looking as tall and beautiful and kindly as ever. Gone was that garish outfit – besides the sunglasses – as Princess Celestia looked for all the world as regal as she should.
But who Sunset saw by her mother’s side gave her some pause. She had never seen anyone so cheery before. A very bright and warm pink coat assaulted Sunset’s eyes, coupled with a three-tone mane of regal purple and pink and faded yellow, crowned by a long, spindly horn.
Above all, those purple eyes, with curiosity and anxiety both, yet warmth all the same in them. Eyes that widened upon sighting her, as she raised a hoof in a greeting.
“Oh, hello, signorita! My name is–”
The filly began to speak in thickly accented, almost-musical Equish, but Sunset paid her little heed, as she stomped ahead.
Her mother lifted her sunglasses, her gaze falling upon her.
“Hello, Sunset,” she said, smiling brightly. “I’ve missed you.”
Sunset said nothing, furrowing her brow and scrunching her nose. A quick apology from Kibitz, galloping in and ushering away the other filly as fast as he had appeared, went unheard.
Not another word was spoken as Sunset closed the distance between them with haughty stomps to give her mother the tightest hug she could ever muster.
* * * * *
It had taken all of Sunset’s strength not to bombard her mother with every question she could think of. Not right away, at least. She kept mum all the way, not even speaking when Philomena joined them with a curious chirp. No word came from her as she guided her mother up the East Tower.
Only when they’d arrived at her room, across from her mother’s, and those dumb sunglasses were off her mother’s eyes, did she finally speak.
“Where were you all this time?! Do you have any idea how insufferable things get? I had to deal with Kibitz and Bluey! Ugh! Everything is just, so, so slow! Every time I want to do something, Kibitz shows up and just goes, blah, you can’t do this, blah, you can’t do that!”
Her mother let out a gentle chuckle. “Come now, I know you don’t really mind them much, do you?”
Sunset, undeterred and feeling her cheeks heat up, stomped a hoof. “Not both of them at the same time! Bluey doesn’t seem to care about anything other than the dumb title his dad gave him! Or will give him, whatever! Airship this, princely that, argh!”
Her mother, ever so inscrutable and distant, yet warm all at once, said nothing to that at first. Sunset looked away, grumbling, cheeks burning. She went over to the windowsill, looking out towards the sight of Canterlot.
"You told me about… about all these amazing places you got to visit and see from up above,” said Sunset, watching the city stir in the light of the Sun. A hoof reached out to follow an airship, as it descended to join others in the city’s port. “And I'm stuck here, like I always will be."
Still she kept her eyes away from her mother, for surely the wetness in them wasn’t something her mother needed to see.
“Why did you have to go?” Sunset asked, “Couldn’t I have come with you? See all these sights and places you got to see? Do you not trust me at all?”
Every syllable was harder than the last. Sunset cursed herself for allowing some softness to creep in through her bitter voice.
All of that melted when she felt a familiar nuzzle, for Philomena had joined her on the windowsill with that melodious phoenix song of hers. As Sunset gave her a pat, her mother laid a wing on her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have left so hastily. I’ll explain, Sunset. I promise.” A pause. “You can come with me to Monacolt for two weeks next time. What do you think about that?”
Sunset had to roll her eyes. “Ugh, fine,” she said. She poked her mother’s chest. “Just don’t ever do that again, okay?”
Her mother let out that dumb, stupid, endearing laugh of hers, and pulled her into a hug. “I know how much you miss my cooking, so, how about an extra portion this evening? How’s that sound?”
“Okaaay, Mom, you don’t have to lay it on so thick. Also, you owe Philomena an apology, too,” Sunset said. “I took good care of her, alright, but you know how fussy they get, phoenixes. You’re lucky she didn’t molt.”
“And for that, I am grateful, Sunset.” Her mother beckoned Philomena to approach, lifting a welcoming forehoof. When the great phoenix came to perch upon it, she gave her a nuzzle. “I’m sorry too, Philomena. Seems it’s been a hectic fortnight for you too, hasn’t it?”
The phoenix chirped, poking the Princess of All Equestria’s snout with her beak. And what could her mother do but let out another melodious laugh. One that, as it went on and filled the air, Sunset couldn’t help but join in with a smile and chuckle, for she too was pulled for a tight hug.
But the laughter died down, and as Sunset’s mind cleared, one last question remained.
“Mom?” she asked at last. “Who’d you bring with you?”
* * * * *
In the deepest, darkest days of the past Winter, Cadenza had seen a garden.
It was a garden not of Oleander, nor of any realm under the Sun. Who else could have dreamt of a garden such as what she had seen? A garden lit by twinkling stardust?
An endless expanse under the eternal night. At the heart of it, when she’d walked a great distance, there Cadenza came across a clearing with flowers of so many scents and colours. All of which she could not name, arranged in pots and planted upon the rich soil. Yet none came to join her there, no matter how long she’d waited under the silver Moon.
There was little else she could recall when she woke up in the freezing cold of her village, beset by an enchantress. But she could always remember the warmth and calm it had brought to her, in all its tranquil beauty.
When the Sun Princess came, bringing stories of family and heirs and a lost legacy for her to bear, Cadenza knew in her heart where the garden would be.
But here, standing in the Canterlot Palace, across the sea and so far away from her village home of Florentina, she found that she did not recognise the garden at all.
‘Yet I mustn’t be unkind,’ Cadenza thought, listening along to the gardener, Mister Greenhooves, as he recited fondly how everything had been arranged just as requested by the Palace.
“... And that’s about the last time we’ll let possums in ‘ere,” Greenhooves finished his recount, most of which had gone unheard by Cadenza. The hardy earthpony tapped his shovel. “Well, whaddaya think, Miss?”
Cadenza blinked twice, focusing her eyes on Greenhooves, all hopeful and cheery. She mustered a gentle smile.
“I think you do a fine job, Mister Greenhooves,” said Cadenza, wincing at her Equish. Though Aunt Celestia had taught her the bare basics of the alicorns’ Gift of Tongues, their capacity to understand the many languages of the world, she still felt her native Oleandrite accent creep in. “Pardon me, I’m still not familiar with Equish. Ahem. Sorry.”
“Shucks, I’d reckon you’re better than most o’ my family as is,” said Greenhooves, chuckling heartily. He tipped his hat. “You’re mighty kind, Miss.”
Cadenza could only nod to that. It was as kind as she could put it, even as her heart still ached.
For where she saw lush, unwieldy beauty in that dream-garden of stardust, here she only saw a neatly arranged, well-ordered, soulless facade. This was no garden of Oleander’s, of her village’s. Perhaps it was the way things were here.
She steeled herself as Greenhooves returned to tend to the garden. She’d made her choice. She’d joined the Sun Princess’s side. And here was a new realm to see…
So distracted was Cadenza that she’d almost missed the short, polite cough behind her. She turned ‘round and saw Kibitz standing beneath the garden’s gates.
His glasses prim, his gray mane proper, his moustache impossible to miss, Aunt Celestia had mentioned him as the Palace majordomo. He’d ushered her away from the fiery, incandescent-looking filly, brought her here at her request while he departed to finish an errand. An errand that, evidently, he’d finished.
“Mister Kibitz,” said Cadenza, giving a little curtsy, or what she hoped might pass as one. “Is something the matter?”
“We’re a bit overdue for the next item on your schedule,” said Kibitz, glancing over at the scroll he’d brought. “Dinner ought to be ready in the next half-hour.” With a tap of his horn, the scroll rolled up back into his coat. “You’re due a meeting with Her Royal Highness. Still a few things to arrange, I believe…”
He looked at her, frowning a little. For a moment, Cadenza was worried he’d picked up on her weariness, surely unbecoming of a Canterlot denizen.
“Right,” he said, softening. “We did take care of your luggage, Miss Amore, but I don’t suppose you’re looking forward to a tour of the room?”
Was that jest she heard – a playful tone behind that prim look and voice? Cadenza couldn’t tell just yet. But Kibitz had stepped aside, beckoning her to follow.
“Gladly, Mister,” said Cadenza, smiling. “Lead the way.”
As she waved goodbye to Mister Greenhooves and joined Kibitz, the two of them walking through the historic palace, Mi Amore Cadenza wondered if she’d see the garden wreathed in stardust again.
