//------------------------------// // Chapter Twenty Four : Plans, Partnerships and Poison // Story: This Platinum Crown // by Capn_Chryssalid //------------------------------// - - - (24) Plans, Partnerships and Poison - - - Rainbow Dash returned home under a curtain of darkening clouds. The last shift of weather ponies had prepared for a short shower tomorrow by corralling and collecting rain clouds above and outside the normal residential airzone. Moisture had been collected and banners hung from different sections of perforated cloud so, when the shower was scheduled, each could be moved by designated teams into place over Ponyville’s farms and fields and town. Every cloud was marked for a weather team – blue or red or orange or green – and for a location. The orderly rows drifting overhead were a contrast to Dash’s own tumultuous thoughts. Flying slowly, just drifting with the air currents, she eventually circled around her home: a multi-level bachelorette pad with cycling, flowing rainbow waterfalls and frostflake trellises behind coiled cloud pillars. She couldn’t imagine living her life on land, or like one pegasus, under it in a cellar. She checked her mail box by rote, though it was too late for any mail to have been delivered, and then reached for her door. Her hoof paused, then, before pulling the door open. “You can come out now,” she said, and for a moment, Rainbow Dash simply waited. “You are there, aren’t you?” A quick one eighty turn didn’t reveal her supposed pursuer and the brash pegasus groaned. “Oh man, I hope I’m not talking to myself here!” “You aren’t.” With a yip of surprise, she spun around and saw Soarin peeking out from over the lip of her roof, his hooves resting easily on the cast cloud-stuff shingles. A rainbow waterfall cascaded down to his left, just missing one of his pale blue hooves. He wasn’t wearing his Wonderbolts blues and seemed very at ease with that fact. “You were following me,” she told him, frowning. “And what’s with surprising me like that?” “I thought about not revealing myself at all,” he replied, with the same easy smile as always. Soarin was well known as a mare’s pony, despite his tendency to goof off, and Rainbow Dash could see why. Being so close to him in her training had brought up more than a few naughty thoughts she kept to herself. “But, yeah,” he admitted, “I was following you. When’d you notice?” “When I left Fluttershy’s place.” Dash leaned bodily against one of the pillars near her front door. “The birds told me.” He nodded, seeing how that could reveal him. “Did Ritter notice?” “I don’t think so.” Rainbow Dash sighed, coming to the question she was a little worried to pose, “Are you gonna tell me why you followed me… when I explicitly said not to? Did Spitfire order you to?” ‘Doesn’t she trust me?’ she wanted to ask. ‘Does she think I’m going to back out?’ Soarin shook his head. “Spitfire didn’t order me to follow you. And I know you said not to…” He looked away, guilty. “I was a little worried. So I lied.” “Worried about me?” Dash asked, not sure whether she was touched, amused, or angry. “Soarin?” “Spitfire and me… we…” he said, still looking away at the horizon somewhere, “We’re putting our hopes on you. If Ritter had attacked, if she does attack, before you’re ready… that’s another reason why I’m here.” He slowly turned back and startled when he noticed she was flying just within reach. A cyan hoof reached out and bopped him on the head, just in front of the ear. “Thanks,” Dash said, deciding on ‘amused.’ “But we just talked.” “I saw,” he replied, grinning again, this time at her acceptance of his going against his word. “But what did you girls talk about?” “Things,” Rainbow answered, evasive. She turned and flew back down to the door, her tail swishing. “Anyway, between you working me ragged and… that mare making my head hurt trying to understand her… I’m turning in. Are you headed back to the Wonderbolts mobile HQ?” “I suppose I should,” Soarin agreed, standing up and stretching his wings. A beat passed and, unseen by the Wonderbolt, Dash softly bit her lower lip, unsure but tempted to ask something. Sensing he was about to head off, Rainbow Dash did what she always did: she just spoke her mind. “You can crash here tonight if you want,” she blurted it out quickly, her back to the stallion. “As long as you don’t snore. You don’t snore, do you?” “You do have a comfy couch,” Soarin commented, and then with a smile she could somehow hear, “And crashing sounds more appealing than usual. The real question is: do you snore?” “M-me? Snore?” Rainbow Dash laughed, totally not nervously at all. “No way! Not this pony!” He hopped down, landing alongside her. It was much more comforting having him close by than trying to play hide and seek in the twilight sky. It almost made Dash regret that, for all his professional protectiveness, she had to tell him at least about one thing she and Ritterkreuz had discussed. He wouldn’t like hearing it. “There was one thing,” she warned him, and saw a flash of confusion on his face. Soarin’s expressions were so often exaggerated, it nearly made her giggle to see his eyebrows shoot up. “One thing?” he asked. “What? Like ‘don’t look in my medicine cabinet’ or something?” “No,” she said, laughing lightly. A cyan wing slapped him on the side. “I was talking about… when I do fight Ritterkreuz… you can’t get involved. You have to promise me you won’t.” He opened his mouth, but didn’t respond, hesitant to tell another white lie. “This is important,” Dash told him, making sure she had her serious face on. “Soarin, this is really important. It has to be just her and me.” “…why?” he asked, tentatively. “You don’t have to do this alone. Spitfire and I, we…” “I do have to do this alone,” Dash corrected him, resting a hoof on his shoulder. “Not just because… of things… but because I want it, too. I want to do this alone. I have to. Trust me.” He came close to frowning, but looked more disappointed than angry. “Even if you beat Ritter,” he reminded her, “We have to take her in. She turned against us. Don’t tell me you… that you’re sympathetic to her?” Rainbow Dash snorted, dismissive of the implication. “Not sympathy,” she said. “Besides, I’d bet something like that would just make her angry. Just trust me, okay? Promise you won’t get involved when it happens, whether I’m winning or losing. And no telling the others. I want you to be there…” She was almost pleading, less with her voice and more with her eyes. She had learned so much from him, about flying, about the Wonderbolts and about the world – of air to air combat – that so many of her heroes came from. She’d thought about joining the Air Guard, like he had, but she had never been one for strict rules and regulations. She and Ritterkreuz shared that, at least. “I do want you to see me win,” she said, “but you have to promise!” Soarin did frown, then, and she was sure he meant it when he said, “Fine. I promise. My word as a Wonderbolt.” “Not just as a Wonderbolt, but at my friend.” She held up a hoof to her eye level. “Pinkie Pie promise.” He went through the motions, but did the eye-squish a little gingerly. It was his first time, after all. “Happy?” he asked, when it was done. Clearly, he wasn’t pleased with the vow he’d made. “No, but I will be proud to have you there, cheering me on.” She briefly touched her hoof to his, lowering it from his face. “We’re going to do it outside town to make sure nopony interferes. I can only bring one pony, and I’m glad it’s you.” “I won’t get involved,” he promised again, closing his eyes to sigh. “I guess you never did really grasp the Dicta Boltcke’s eighth rule of combat.” “Always attack in groups of four to eight,” Dash recalled, and opened the door of her cloud home. She headed inside, Soarin following close behind. “So you do remember it.” “Sure, I remember, but I told you: I’m terrible when it comes to rules. I know ‘em, I just don’t like to follow ‘em.” “When is this fight going to be, then?” “During the Art Festival. With town security and everypony hanging around Blueblood and Rarity, Ritterkreuz and I will finish this.” Rainbow Dash glanced back at him, for just a moment. “One way or another, we’ll finish it.” - - - “Good morning, Eunomie!” “Good morning, Twilight.” It was seven thirty, and the prim crimson-maned unicorn had already made and set out breakfast for her host and her sleeping twin sister. She seemed bright and alert, though without the usual cheer of morning ponies like Applejack or Fluttershy. Twilight thanked her again for the food and sat down to eat. Today, Eunomie had prepared eggs and waffles with fresh apple juice. It would have been a wonderful start of the day, except… Twilight noticed the sword from the night before, resting on a mat near the back of the library. She hoped it didn’t mean what she thought it meant. Euporie’s words from last night came back, about how Eunomie had to compensate for her lack of talent by working herself to extremes. Eunomie had called her special talent ‘focus’ – but was that intense focus just a crutch for lack of natural talent? It seemed too cruel to be true, and as she eyed the longsword, Twilight realized she did not want to imagine her new acquaintance and helper transmogrifying it another thousand times. “Last night, didn’t you…?” she led the question on, hoping for a ‘yes, I finished with that spell.’ Or most anything along those lines. “If you mean the swords to plowshares spell, last night,” Eunomie replied, emotionless. “No. I did not get to one thousand before making another error. I will try again today. And, if I can not do one thousand today, I will do one thousand two hundred tomorrow.” “What… what went wrong last night?” Twilight asked, and secretly, she wondered if Eunomie had practiced making thousands of waffles before she perfected it to her satisfaction. ‘If I can not prepare one thousand perfect scrambled eggs today, I will prepare one thousand five hundred tomorrow.’ “If you don’t mind me asking,” the lavender unicorn channeled a little Fluttershy, so as not to sound rude. Eunomie couldn’t somehow enjoy doing so many hundreds of spell repetitions. Could she? It seemed impossible. Even a robot unicorn would get tired of it. “After Euporie came home, she entertained herself by attempting to distract me in various ways,” Eunomie explained, levitating a set of books around her head like tiny orbiting moons. “I was on my nine hundred and ninety third repetition of ‘swords to plowshares’ when I accidentally transmuted the plowshare into a Coltish shortsword instead of the hoof-and-a-half longsword. I finished my set, ended at one thousand and went to sleep.” She opened one eye, and Twilight realized her other one was blank, blind, the pupil missing. Her familiar was off somewhere. Twilight glanced around, looking for the arcane construct that cost its user half of her vision. Galen was normally quite bright and easy to see… except when he was moving, and thus, immaterial. It reminded Twilight a little of Princess Luna’s spells, from Nightmare Moon’s return. Shadow magic specialized in the manipulation of the immaterial. “Is that how you learn all your magic?” she asked, and Eunomie blinked – just the good eye. The other stared off into space. It was a little creepy, and Eunomie must’ve noticed something in Twilight’s expression, because she reached a hoof up and closed the blind eye. “Repetition is the key to how I learn spells. Yes.” “Is that what your tutor taught you?” “…” There was an unusually long pause then, before Eunomie responded. “No.” That caught Twilight by surprise. “Your tutor didn’t…?” “My tutor was not very effective,” Eunomie answered, her one good eye skimming through a page in a hovering book. “She essentially gave up on me after a time. I developed this method on my own. It is simple, and straightforward, but it works.” “I doubt any other pony in Equestria could do swords to plowshares a thousand times in one day like you did, even with a few mistakes…” “Nine incorrect transmutes out of a thousand is still nine incorrect transmutes.” “It’s only one percent.” “If I were to rely on a spell to save my life or the life of another, one percent is still an unacceptable failure rate.” Eunomie put two books down on the table and floated the others back to their shelves across the lower floor of the library. “I would be willing to accept one failure in a thousand transmutes. One tenth of a percent.” “Well, would you… like to study with me some time? Maybe if we study together a little…” “Are you also learning swords to plowshares?” Eunomie asked, though she had to know Twilight’s answer. “No,” the other unicorn replied, “but…” “Then I must decline,” Eunomie said, deadpan. “I must focus on one thing at a time if I…” A thought crossed her then, and the serious mare’s brows lowered slightly. “No. That is incorrect. Learning swords to plowshares is an ancillary pursuit. Learning more about one another, especially if you are to lead our family, is much more important. I apologize for my rudeness.” It was a somewhat reserved reception, but Twilight had come to see that that was just how her guest was. She offered a wide, genuine smile – enough for both of them. “I’m glad!” she said, possibilities already running wild in her mind. Princess Celestia’s teaching methods probably wouldn’t work as well with Eunomie as they did with Rarity, but there were other ways to teach and learn, and Twilight loved them all. The most important thing, though… the one concept that united them all… “Learning should be fun!” Twilight told the straight-faced and tight-laced mare. “Learning should be… fun?” Eunomie repeated, blinking slowly, as if the concept was more perplexing than an armory of swords turned into plowshares. She closed her other good eye, and though her mouth never moved to smile, Twilight got the feeling she was amused by something. “What?” “Be enthusiastic about what you do,” Eunomie said, repeating something she had clearly been told before. “Love what you do, in your own way. My step father said that to me, years ago. I do love… what I do… in my own way. I would like to know how you love what you do, Twilight.” Eunomie finally put on a grin, though it was clearly forced and for her host’s benefit. “What are you studying?” she asked, and Twilight didn’t feel offended by the plastered on smile. It was just the other mare trying to be polite and normal. Twilight could sympathize, remembering how social norms had vexed her before coming to Ponyville and learning about friendship. She’d never been quite this bad (not by a long shot), and Eunome didn’t seem like a recluse, but it was similar enough for there to be some understanding between them, or so she thought. “I was just going to compile some more of my dragon research first…” “Dragon research?” Eunomie raised a delicate eyebrow, her curiosity not as veiled as her other emotions. “For the Free Company Rarity’s hired,” Twilight explained, taking a quick drink of apple juice. It must’ve come from the market just this morning. “They’re working for information now as much as gold. Mostly because we have more of the former than the latter!” “Of course,” Eunomie’s response was typically curt. “Their Captain, Sir Germolio, was willing to make a little trade, and he understands how important knowledge can be in the right hooves. Once I finish with that, though, my transmutation studies are up to ‘apples and oranges’ … orgo-trans is a step up from plowshares, but after seeing what you can do, I bet you’ll surprise yourself by how easy it’ll come to you.” “I am willing to try, Twilight, but I do not wish to hold your own studies back.” “Don’t you worry about that!” Twilight was just about finished with her breakfast, and as she washed it all down with a glass of water, she noticed Galen had materialized overhead. The crystalized arcane construct was just floating there, moving slightly up and down, like a living creature would draw breaths. Wiping the corners of her mouth with a napkin, Twilight remembered Eunomie asking her to make use of her familiar as needed. “Galen,” she said, and the floating crystal chimed in response. “Yes, Twilight Sparkle?” “I have a bundle in my room, on the floor and next to Spike’s bed. Can you get it for me? And please be careful.” “Retrieving.” The familiar turned back to wind and shadow, vanishing from sight and leaving only a faint magical tingle that danced along the sensitive skin of Twilight’s horn. She knew she couldn’t follow the familiar with her eyes… but this wasn’t just a request on her part. It was another test. So far, she had seen Galen easily navigate the open areas of the library’s lower and upper floors. The door to her room was closed; would Eunomie’s familiar be able to deal with the obstacle? If so, how? Twilight turned an eye on Eunomie herself, but the reserved unicorn opposite her didn’t seem perturbed or interested in her host gathering some additional information on her familiar’s capabilities. Twilight’s ear twitched as she heard a noise: the door opening and closing. Galen returned a moment later, and with him, the bundle Twilight had requested. He had clearly opened the door, either in coming or going or both. She filed that information away. “Thank you, Galen,” she said, her magic overlapping that of Eunomie’s familiar. Eunomie glanced up, as Twilight undid the cloth, but said nothing to express her interest or curiosity. There were a few things inside, notably the pieces of the puzzle box Alpha Brass had given her. She was still working it – it was fiendishly complex! Time seemed to fly while she worked, and she wanted to make at least a little progress before she got distracted by other things during the day. As for the other objects she’d wanted brought down… “I’ve been thinking about what to send back to Alpha Brass with my letter,” Twilight explained. “I wanted to ask first, though: how do you send things back to him? Can you only send small things like scrolls and this puzzle box?” “No,” Eunomie replied, and for a moment, it seemed as if that was her only answer. After a moment, she explained in more detail, “There is no weight limit, only a limit of volume. The largest space I can teleport is a cylinder of roughly one thousand cubic hooves.” Twilight did the math in her head in a split second. “So, a little less than eleven by eleven hooves?” “Correct.” “And how do you do it?” she asked, standing up to put away her dishes. “Can you teach it to me?” “It is possible to teach you the technique, and I am willing to do so, but it will not function without a contract,” Eunomie replied, following Twilight with her good eye. The librarian and Element of Magic left the dishes in the sink and cantered back into the athenaeum. “A contract?” she asked, “A magical contract?” “Correct.” “You know contract magic?” Twilight was more than a little surprised. How could Euporie call her sister unskilled, when she practiced one of the most difficult of arcane arts? Contract magic required very high level magical understanding and a keen, disciplined mind. Then again, that was to compose the initial contracts and runes… once made, anypony could use it… “Correct, again.” “Can you show me?” Eunomie nodded and stood up. Her horn shimmered as much as it glowed, and she summoned up a small brown and green case. Opening the lid, she retrieved a paper slip and the closed the box again. Walking slowly over to the clear area in the athenaeum where she had been practicing swords to plowshares, the pale mare ran a hoof along the floor. Twilight followed and watched, closely, as the other unicorn ripped open the paper slip, and a trickle of white powder sprinkled from it onto the ground. “Ash and salt?” Twilight asked, sniffing the air. “Volcanic ash and common magnesium sulfate.” Eunomie first drew a circle, and then within the circle, a triangle, and within that triangle another triangle. The circle was ubiquitous to any sort of transformative magic, and the triangles were ways to denominate bracing glyphs from controlling glyphs. With the ash and salt in place, Eunomie’s horn began to heat up with light, and a second glow formed, etched into the floor. On the corners of the first triangle, where they met the circle, the pictographic characters for ‘matter,’ ‘power’ and ‘movement’ appeared. Between them, facing the sides of the triangle, were ‘pass,’ ‘wall’ and ‘key.’ “The ash and salt are only required for larger or more static transportation circles,” Eunomie said, and the glow of her horn faded slightly. “This one will continue to function for several hours. Feel free to study it. As you can see, it is not very complex; however you will need a contract with myself or my father to actually cast it yourself without my aid.” Before Twilight could ask just why a contract was needed, rather than the essential intricacies of the spellwork itself, Eunomie asked, “May I ask what you wish to send back to father?” “Oh! That!” Twilight trotted back to the bundle unwrapped on the table, also eager to see what her suitor’s step-daughter thought of her return gifts. She first floated over a small wooden case, opening it to reveal a quill pen with bright orange plumage, the color and intensity of living flame. Eunomie’s amber eyes widened a little as she realized just what she was looking at. “Oh,” she replied, the first surprised sound Twilight had heard her make. “Is that…?” “A phoenix feather quill,” Twilight answered with a happy grin, glad to have shocked the normally implacable and emotionless mare. “I don’t have anything like a first edition Starswirl treatise, but Princess Celestia gave me two of these when Philomena died and resurrected a few months ago. I read that the only time phoenix feathers don’t turn to ash is when they’re near death, so it’s pretty rare. Do you think Alpha Brass will like it?” “I am confident he will,” Eunomie said, nodding. “This is a fine gift.” Twilight was personally rather proud of her first choice of courting gift. It was hard thinking of things she would have on hoof that her would-be husband did not. The two Phoenix Quills in her possession were probably the most materially valuable items in her possession. It was the second gift, though, that she considered more personal and meaningful. “I also copied some of my research on the magic of friendship,” Twilight explained, a sealed scroll of her own wrapped protectively in wax and parchment drifting behind her and then over to Eunomie. “I’ve learned so much since coming to Ponyville and… and I thought...” She blushed a bit. “Well, maybe it would help provide some insight into me as a pony and how I feel.” Eunomie examined the sealed scroll for a moment, tilting her head to the side. “You as a pony? Yes. I can see how that would be an emotional investment. One material gift and one personal one. Very good.” “When you put it like that it sounds really contrived and pre-planned,” Twilight complained, her maidenly blush quickly receding. “But it is pre-planned. You planned it last night, did you not?” Eunomie asked, and shook her head. “We already have one dangerously impulsive member of our family, I do not think we need another. My father will understand and appreciate this, Twilight Sparkle. He is much better with feelings than I am.” “I look forward to meeting him,” Twilight said, and Eunomie blinked in momentary surprise. “I can teleport you to him if…” “I want him to meet me here,” the librarian insisted. “I know a good place.” “But – but…” For the first time Twilight saw the pale mare stammer. “But, he… here? In Ponyville? On the surface?” “Is that a problem?” Twilight asked, taking note of how Eunomie had said ‘on the surface.’ What did that mean? Eunomie reached up to her eye, her blind one, self-consciously. “Father will be reluctant to leave his home for Ponyville on such short notice. I was instructed to take you to him when you were ready…” “Plans are good things to have,” Twilight agreed, floating over her response to Lord Alpha Brass. “But sometimes they have to change.” - - - Granny Smith ‘hmmed’ and hawed as she inspected the ripe fruit, rolling the apple in her open hoof, feeling and gaining and testing the weight, the glossy shine of the skin and peel, the healthy spring of the stem, and of course the blush red color. She sniffed it, gave it a tiny, tentative lick, and then went back to checking for sore spots. Hers was the eye of a wizened and time tested master – a true apple connoisseur. Applejack just bit into hers and finished it in two bites. “That’s pretty good,” she concluded, after exhaustive scientific-al study and analysis and all that bookish stuff. The taste buds told the truth. “Pretty darn good!” “And shiny!” Apple Bloom reflected the rays of the just risen sun off the skin of her apple. Applejack frowned and stepped back to avoid her little sister’s attempt to get the light into her face. That was unnaturally shiny! She turned to her older brother. “What do you think, Big Mac?” Big Macintosh was a stallion of few words, especially when his mouth was full. He chewed his bite of apple slowly and methodically. Applejack watched his jaw move, chewing… and chewing… and chewing… And chewing. “Just swallow it already!” Applejack growled, not one for waiting. Not when it came to this. Big Mac chewed one or two more times and then gulped, licking his lips. “Well?” His sister prompted. “Was it good? Did it pass muster?” “…eyup.” “So far, so good!” She exclaimed, patting the big workhorse on the back. “Now we just need Granny Smith’s stamp of approval.” “Eyup.” The eldest of the Apple Family still seemed to be inspecting her apple, and the remaining basket full besides. It was lying next to the tree that had born and delivered the fruit for them: Maggie. Poor Maggie. She hadn’t handled the frost too well a few years back and her harvests had diminished year after year in both quantity and quality. Applejack had picked Maggie to be the tree Lady Yumi proved her magic on, and the Earth Pony Princess hadn’t disappointed. In the span of an hour, Maggie had sprouted new foliage, a fresh and healthy green against the sea of fading orange and tan. Her apples had morphed right before Applejack’s eyes, too, growing fuller and richer than she could recall Maggie ever producing. Lady Yumi, her job done for the moment, did not partake of the apples herself, though she had permitted her retainers to try some. Instead, the aloof foreign mare had sat down on a clean white cushion, itself on top of a mat rolled out over the grass. One of her silent unicorn servants was floating a brush down her back and combing out her pitch black, straight mane. Nopony could say she had a very warm or outgoing personality, in Applejack’s opinion, but when she said she could do something… she sure as heck did it! “Crush up a quarter barrel of cider,” Applejack told her brother, once he had finally finished his apple. “Let’s see how the end product turns out.” Rather than another ‘eyup,’ Big Macintosh nodded slowly and picked up the basket of apples from next to the STILL ‘hmm-ing’ and hawing Granny Smith. It took her a few seconds to realize her oversized grandson had come and gone, only noticing when she reached for another apple to inspect and finding them all gone. She called out to Big Mac and with surprising vigor headed over to the press to make sure the cider turned out to Apple Family Standards. Applejack kept an eye on that, but she also trotted up to the tree to run a hoof along Maggie’s bark. It was rough and thick to the touch, and snapping off a tiny chuck had taken some work. Despite her injuries, Applejack herself had bucked the applies from Maggie after Yumi used her magic on the old cultivar and it had been like taking the apples from a young, vigorous tree mid-season. She’d actually needed to kick twice to get them all! “Amazing,” she muttered, turning away from the tree. Still, she was a little wary. It was probably smart to test this on one tree first before she had Yumi go over half the farm. Yumi’s retainers were also milling around: the pegasus, Cool Breeze, was standing protectively near the dark-maned heiress, the unicorn, Evening Squall, was sitting opposite the other unicorn servant brushing Yumi’s mane. White Dew, the other earth pony besides old Antlers, was watching the Apple Press in action. Applejack had learned that his family had been farmers, generations ago, before they swore service to the Neighponese royal family. He found the whole apple-farming thing fascinating. As for Late Rains, or Antlers, he seemed to be fielding a few questions from Apple Bloom. Watching him, it was sort of hard to recall how he had stood in that spot behind Sugarcube Corner, shrugging off everything Applejack had thrown at him. Even if she had earned the unwanted nickname ‘she who moved a mountain,’ Applejack could hardly believe what Shigure could do. Now, she had to add Yumi to that too. Theirs was earth pony magic, but taken to an extreme she hadn’t imagined before. “Mind if I jump in?” Applejack asked, approaching her little sister and the older earth pony – ‘my father’s age,’ she thought for a moment. “Hey! Applejack!” Apple Bloom stood on her hind legs and pressed her forehooves into Shigure’s upper leg, pointing at the white capped mountain that was his cutie mark. A three chain link stretched behind and through the triangular peak. “Mister Shigure here got his cutie mark by being a cutie mark crusader, just like me and Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo!” “Really?” she asked, smiling. “Yep!” Apple Bloom spun around, looking at her flank and probably imaging the same cutie mark on her rear. “And if he got it from Miss Yumi’s dad, then Ah bet ah could get it from him, too! All ah gotta do is sit under a waterfall fer a few days and maybe smash mahself with some boulders… and…!” “Let us not go overboard,” Shigure suggested, patting the filly on the head with a fatherly smile. “Remember, this cutie mark is meaningless without something to protect. Do you really want to spend your life doing that? To get this cutie mark, you must accept and understand that ‘life is a mountain.’” “How is life a mountain?” Apple Bloom grumbled, pouting. “Ah don’t get that part.” “I didn’t either, at first.” Shigure turned to Applejack. “Was there something on your mind, Miss Applejack?” “Actually, yeah.” Applejack sucked in a deep breath of the morning air. It almost made her forget the aches and pains she still had from their sort-of duel. “Ah don’t mean no offense with this, but… well, I kinda trust you more than I do Lady Yumi…” “No offense is taken,” Shigure replied at her lengthy pause. “Lady Yumi’s first impression on you was not her best, and you have not known her long.” “Ah haven’t known you that long either, sugarcube.” Applejack grinned a little, glad that he wasn’t so easily offended. “Ah just need ‘ta hear it from you: what Yumi’s doin’ here… it’s on the up and up, ain’t it? I mean, it looks good, and the apples off Maggie came out… great… but…” “It seems too good to be true?” Shigure guessed, Apple Bloom still looking up at him and then at her sister. “I can assure you: the cost of this magic is born entirely by Lady Yumi. It is the burden, responsibility and honor of the Neighponese royal family to bring prosperity to the land and to give of themselves for the good of all.” “She bears the burden…?” Applejack asked, looking off to the side at the uppity noblemare on her pillows. She reminded the apple farmer a little of the hoity-toity Oranges in Manehattan: privileged and pampered and so emotionally and physically removed from the earth and dirt that was an earth pony’s calling. “Apple Bloom,” Shigure said, and it was a bit of a surprise to hear him address the little sister instead of the older. “Would you like to hear another cutie mark story?” “Sure!” Apple Bloom agreed. “That last one already gave me plenty’a great ideas ‘ta try out!” “Yes, just be mindful not injure yourself,” the old stallion cautioned. “Now, around ten years ago, there was a small crisis in Neighpon. One of our most important crops is the sugar beet. We process it to make much of the sugar Equestria enjoys, and the trade earns Neighpon many hundreds of thousands of bits. Well… one day, a friend of the royal family came to the citadel and requested an audience. I was already a Mountain, then, and listened in as Lord Yama’s retainer.” “The petitioner was a very wealthy tradespony and her beet crop was in dire straits because of a withering sickness. She had tried other remedies, but all had failed, so she called on her lords for help. Lord Yama deigned to answer her plea. While Lady Kai reigned in the capitol, he and his young daughter Yumi left to use their family magic to heal and recover the sugar beet crop.” “So Miss Yumi got her cutie mark for healin’ up some sugar beets?” Apple Bloom asked, jumping the gun but making a pretty accurate guess, in Applejack’s opinion. This was a cutie mark story, as Shigure had said, and the only one who would be needing a cutie mark a decade ago was Yumi. “Now, let me finish,” Shigure asked, chuckling good naturedly. “Normally, I was retainer to my sensei and master, Lord Yama, but since his daughter was to leave the walls of the citadel, he put me in charge of her safety. Lord Yama himself went to handle the bulk of the crop, and Yumi was sent to handle three small villages. All had large beet plantations owned by Lady Sweet and Lord Sour. A week passed, and Lady Yumi did as she was asked, using her magic on the two outlying towns and saving the beet crop.” “I saw that Lady Yumi, even as a young age… at your age, even,” he said to Apple Bloom. “Had great talent in her family’s secret art. However,” he added, growing a little more solemn. “At the third village, in addition to the sugar beet failure, the rice crop had also turned bad. It was believed to be something in the water… acidic fumes from below the earth…? I am not entirely sure, myself. Worse still, an infestation of pests had invaded, devouring what was left. Rice and oats and even imported corn, all were in very bad condition.” “Lady Yumi saw this as we traveled the countryside in her norimono… what you would call a ‘sedan chair,’ I believe. She saw the suffering of the smallfolk and, on receiving lodging at the third plantation, asked for my advice. Her father had entrusted her to see to the sugar beet crop, but I could tell she was torn between doing her duty and averting the suffering before her eyes. I did my duty, and reminded her of hers.” Shigure’s smile widened and he chuckled at himself and the him he had been, then. “She did not listen to me,” he explained. “She went out to the small fields owned by little ponies – plots a tenth of what you have here in Sweet Apple Acres, Miss Applejack – but there were hundreds across the mountainsides, built on half flooded terraces. For five days, Lady Yumi used her magic, sleeping only a few hours every night in her norimono.” “I saw with my own eyes… imagine it, if you will: the leaves of plants curled and crushed caterpillars, and roots choked and mangled beetles… the pests that infested the fields themselves became fertilizer for the crops there…” Applejack recalled the grass, bowing and angling towards Yumi on her hill. Yes: she could imagine it. “The soil itself glowed with her magic,” Shigure continued. “And by the end of the fifth day, the mountain was green and rich, the crops alive and plentiful.” “One crop of sugar beets failed that year,” he said, shrugging. “Lady Yumi swore to repay it for her failure, and she did in time. But to this day, the smallfolk of that mountain pray for her and honor what she did for them, putting their needs before that of their wealthy lord and lady. It was also on that fifth night, as Lady Yumi lay exhausted in her litter, that I noticed she had earned her cutie mark. It was a blade, an arrowhead, wreathed by three leaves.” “It became her banner,” he concluded, swelling in pride. “And I swore to serve it as long as I lived. That same village… before we left, the daughter of a local dam came and pleaded for us to take her with us. Her father had served Lord Yama, she said. That little filly was Suzukaze, and she had watched Lady Yumi from up in the clouds. She had also sworn to serve, though as you can see, she still has the zealousness of youth to overcome.” “She did all that?” Applejack asked, still finding it hard to reconcile the Yumi in the story from the stuffy mare on the blanket and pillows. “Lady Yumi is still young… and with that youth comes pride, a hot temper and ambition, but her heart is in the right place and she is gifted. She will grow up into a great Lady Lord,” Shigure assured the apple sisters, and Applejack could sense the conviction in his voice. “I know she will.” “So Miss Yumi got her cutie mark by workin’ real hard,” Apple Bloom concluded, hoof to her lips in thought. “Hmm. And by makin’ plants crush bugs and stuff. We haven’t tried getting cutie mark crusader exterminator cutie marks yet… ah wonder where ah could get some industrial strength pesticide… maybe some’a them killer plants from Everfree…?” “Don’t even think about it,” Applejack warned, leaning down and surprising her little sister. Apple Bloom jumped back with a squeak. “Ya gotta know that Blueblood ain’t gonna change his mind,” Applejack said to Shigure, and she had said as much to Yumi, too, the night before. “That’s the truth. No point otherwise. He’s in love with Rarity, and you can’t reason with a pony in love.” “I know this,” Shigure replied, nodding slowly. “Nonetheless, Lady Yumi is convinced she must try. It is her dream to be the first earth pony to wear the Crown of Canterlot – to prove that earth ponies can rule as well as unicorns and alicorns. I had thought that dream crushed when Lady Antimony visited our realm and talked Lady Yumi into a duel. Now, I almost wish it had stayed that way… but…” He shook his head, dispelling his doubts. “I have faith in Lady Yumi, and I will protect her. That is all.” He turned to Applejack. “What faith you have in me, have in her as well.” “Cider’s ready!” Granny Smith called. Over near the Apple Press, Big Mac was stepping down from the driving belt and squeezing out a mug of cider from a tap. He passed it on to Granny Smith first, and then poured for himself and the others. Applejack, Shigure and the still plotting Apple Bloom headed over, but Applejack could tell just by the look on granny Smith’s face when she took that first sip… It was good. They had a product. “We’ll give out free samples,” Applejack said, already thinking up plots of her own, all of them ending with her driving the Flim Flam brothers out of town by the time the Art Festival came around. The two idiots had spurned her offer to work together; that only left them as competition. Hostile competition. Again and again, she had tried to play nice. Now? “We’ll crush them.” - - - “I hate to have to ask you this a third time,” Blueblood said, his features shaded by the awning of a parasol. “When the Emir gets here, you remember the order you have to greet his party in?” “Of course I do. And this is the fourth time you’ve asked me,” Rarity replied, a little cross with the Prince. “First his wife, Gentle Stream: pink, blue mane. Then the Emir himself, then for some reason I must greet his mother, the Padishah – even though she is not here – and then his second wife, Soft Melody: white coat, blue mane, and then his first concubine, Swift Stroke: white, purple mane, and armor. Blueblood, how many mares does this stallion have and how many are we housing? And why do they all have blue manes?” “My dear friend the Emir only has three wives,” he replied, chuckling a little under his breath, “Though he beds all his concubines, who make up his personal guard. There will only be two wives and four concubines. We’ll still have plenty of room for our other guests.” “And the blue manes…?” “A fetish, I believe,” Blueblood responded, winking at her. “I prefer purples, myself.” Rarity blushed and huffed dismissively at his lecherous smile and bright eyes. “A fetish, is it?” “The last time Golden Star visited he…” Blueblood, for once, wisely knew when to shut up. “Suffice to say, it is a fetish. Are these the first Marabians you’ve met?” “Face to face, yes,” Rarity admitted, feeling a little uncomfortable with a silk and cloth-of-gold cap between her usual curled mane and her scalp. It was apparently considered uncouth for a pony’s bare mane to be revealed in Marabian culture. “Ah, and here they are!” Blueblood announced, puffing up a bit. Their guests arrived in a painted wooden wagon, trailing white and ocean blue silks. A hundred tiny strips of cloth dangled from the seams, each with a pearl at the end that caught the light. It was a magnificent carriage, not just in appearance, but in size. Marabians were larger and taller than all but the largest ponies and, among alicorns, only Celestia herself stood taller. There were no Equestrians among the procession. Bronze and iron scales polished to a high sheen reflected off the backs of tall, proud mares – Antimony’s bodyguard, Gewitter, came to Rarity’s mind for a size comparison, but these mares were slimmer and taller with long, graceful necks. Laced breeches and shoes covered their legs and hooves as they trotted forward, and thin spear-like lances stuck out from beneath the barding that draped over their sides, resplendent in exotic hues of purple and blue, gold and milky white. Three ponies – not that Marabians considered themselves ponies – eventually emerged from their silken wagon. The first was a pink mare, with a long, wavy blue mane. Rather than a dress, she wore a heavily accented and delicately constructed mesh of cloth from around the base of her tail, to under her gem encrusted violet barding, to around her chest and collar. Amethysts set in sequins and dangled from tassels around her neck and in front of her eyes like a veil, and behind them, greenish sea-blue eyes blinked against the sun. Like all Marabians, she wore a cavesson noseband, though the four escorts outside the carriage wore full bit-less bridles. She was followed by the first and only stallion of the group: a slightly taller pony, cream brown in color with a neatly trimmed golden mane. His barding was blue and gold, less intricate, and studded by a jeweled star and crescent. Behind him came another mare, with a white coat and rose and crimson schemed clothing. Embroidered breeches covered her front legs halfway to the torso, glittering with pearls. Rarity quickly overcame her initial surprise and cantered forward with practiced grace to make introductions. First, the First Wife: Gentle Stream. Then, the husband, the Emir Golden Star. Then, she bowed to the empty space to the left of the Emir, imaging the illustrious Padishah was in said place. Finally, she welcomed the Second Wife, standing behind and to the right of the first: Soft Melody. Finally, she greeted the First Concubine, Swift Stroke – a tall and fierce looking mare with a dark coat and cold, blood-red eyes. She felt… unusually small and vulnerable around them. Marabians were not true ponies, like unicorns, pegasi and earth ponies. They were like zebras, and the disconnect within that similarity created an unintentional sense of unease. Blueblood had warned her it would take a little time to get used to them. Their faces – their snouts – were just so exaggerated, and they were so uncannily tall! They were like alicorns… but like earth ponies, too. It was all very strange, and Rarity silently longed for more familiar faces. Blueblood’s Manor was becoming so full of strangers… “All for my Art Festival,” she reminded herself, as Blueblood chatted easily with the Emir. It was so odd seeing a pony larger than Equestria’s Prince. Blueblood himself was very nearly at the limit of how large most ponies got, and Golden Star towered over him easily on those long, thin looking legs. Rarity spent the next few hours checking in with Photo Finish and Sapphire Shores – both mares were beginning to frustrate the household staff with peculiar demands like bouquets of orange blossoms to eat, even though the season was months over, and nitpicky complaints about seating arrangements during meals. Then she had to attend to real business, like finalizing where all the displays were to be in the three sections of the festival and seeing the pavilions raised… And still, through it all, she couldn’t stop thinking about the argument she had with Applejack. ‘I should have been less unkind,’ Rarity thought to herself as she descended a long, broad curving stair. ‘Fluttershy would have been firm, but kind. I should apologize and just get it over with.’ But, really, what did she even have to apologize for? Sweet Apple Acres wasn’t just important to the Apple family, it was important to all of Ponyville, and Ponyville was her domain now. It was her responsibility. Princess Celestia herself had recognized her as Baroness of Ponyville, the very same position Applejack’s great grandparents had eschewed so long ago. She had made vows before the Stable of Lords; before both Princesses! Why should she have to apologize for doing what a Baroness should do: protecting the interests of her town and her ponies and her friends? ‘Then why do I keep thinking of it? Why does it keep bothering me?’ She had reached the bottom of the stairs, paused in thought, when one of the household staff approached her. “Lady Rarity?” “Yes?” she asked, snapping out of her thoughts. “The front gate has announced the arrival of more guests.” It was the castellan, a dour, bristly moustached gentlepony with a Canterlot bearing. Bushy white eyebrows framed the base of his horn. Rarity hated that the announcement of more guests only lowered her spirits where she had hoped they would be raised, just days earlier. “Who is it? The Riches?” “Lady Fleur-de-lis and Master Fancy Pants, Madame.” Rarity was secretly dreading having to force Sweetie Belle to attend to Diamond Tiara, when the promised Canterlot shopping spree and play date came around. Yet, promises had been made to the Rich family, and they were bankrolling many of her projects in Ponyville. It was a commitment. One made more dire because of all she had needed to do to save Sweet Apple Acres. If only Applejack had – if only she could – understand that. “Fleur and Fancy…” Rarity said, and smiled a little. “I will meet them out front.” She cantered towards the front door even before she heard a response. It would be good to have somepony to talk to, and it would be a relief to see Fleur and Fancy Pants again. She normally had no problems talking to Blueblood of her problems, but this… this was Barony business that she should be able to handle. She could not allow herself to rely so much on her Prince, and she did not want him to think less of her for her difficulties. Opening the door, she only needed to wait a few seconds for a stylish open-air carriage to come up the road and park before the statue of Pegasus Victory out front. Fancy Pants emerged, wearing a vest suit and bow-tie, and Fleur – being Fleur – proudly wore nothing. Her amazing alicorn-like figure was all she needed. “Fleur!” Rarity greeted the other mare, taking her hooves in her own. “Fancy Pants. I am so glad to see you again! You can’t imagine!” Fleur pulled her into a quick hug. “It’s wonderful to see you, too!” “Indeed, a pleasure as always,” Fancy said, kissing her hoof. He adjusted his monocle, and noticed something about her. “Is there some distress?” Rarity smiled, relieved, but a little sad it was so obvious. “A little,” she admitted. “Come inside, please.” - - - “Are you asking me out on a date?” Pokey finished levitating a box of Nightmare Night costumes out of storage, setting it down on the carpeted floor. He owned and operated a number of party supply stores in the greater Canterlot area, but the Ponyville one was his favorite… for several reasons. “Yep!” Pinkie said, but was immediately distracted by the box full of masks. “OH! Look at all these! Do you have a beak in here? I was thinking about being a chicken this year, or if not a chicken, then maybe a chicken disguised as a pony! But nopony can tell that I’m a chicken disguised as a pony, except maybe one pony nopony will believe, so I’d actually need a chicken costume and then over that a pony costume! Oh! Or a Fluttershy suit! Do you have a Fluttershy suit? Tell me you have a Fluttershy suit!” “A Flutter – wait, a, what?” Pokey sighed at the sight of Pinkie half buried in the box, rummaging around like a dog digging for a bone. “Hm. Oh! Rarity suit. A whole bunch of Rainbow Dash costumes?” Pinkie briefly stuck her head up out of the box. “That’s weird!” Then back down again. “Where’s the Fluttershy suit?” “We don’t have one of those,” Pokey said, and used a little magic to yoink the hyperactive pink pony out of his party supplies. “We do have a chicken costume, but… a chicken disguised as a pony? Where do you get these ideas?” “Just here and there,” Pinkie replied, hanging upside down thanks to Pokey’s magic. She snapped her hooves - a gesture he had never seemed to figure out how she managed. Hooves didn’t normally make snapping noises. “So, what-do-ya-say?” she asked again. “Wanna go to a super fun party with your favorite pony?” Pokey only really needed to think about it for a second. “Sure. But is this an actual date or just… I need somepony to help me carry things and I’ll call it a date-date?” “Totally a date-date! I think. Which one was which again?” With a little twirl, she slipped out of his magical grip and rushed up to envelop him in a bone-crushing hug. “Thanks Pokey! You’ll have a great time, I promise!” “I usually do, even when I’m just being a workhorse.” The unicorn stallion chuckled, not really minding the overly enthusiastic crushing Pinkie was giving him with all four of her limbs. “So,” he asked, “What’s this next party of yours for? You haven’t stopped by here to buy any new supplies…” “Oh, I’m not hosting this party,” Pinkie said, releasing him but still filling his vision with bubbly pink smiles and bright blue eyes. “My new friend is! And she’s hosting it for me!” “A new friend?” he asked, mentally going over who could possibly- “Her name’s Euporie, and she’s from out of town!” Pinkie explained and started tearing into the box again. Somehow, every article of costume she threw behind her stacked into neat piles. A few even ended up hanging on hooks, somehow. How she did things like that without magic… well, Pokey had basically given up on trying understanding it. He wasn’t even sure if she was sorting all the items perfectly on purpose or not. “Euporie?” That was an odd name. Most ponies had compound names. Unless… “Mosaic,” he said, one instance of the name coming to mind. But that was impossible. “You aren’t talking about Euporie Mosaic, are you?” “Mosaic?” Pinkie asked, standing up in the box, a chicken beak hanging from a thread over one ear. “Oh! Yeah! That’s her! You know her?” He was a Canterlot socialite as much as a Ponyville entrepreneur. Yes, he had heard of her. But – but Euporie was here? In Ponyville?! “Euporie is…” he hesitated a few seconds, and Pinkie sensed that something was wrong. “What?” she asked, ear flicking at the chicken horn hanging from it. “What’s wrong, Pokey?” “Euporie is, well,” he struggled with just how to say it. “I’ve heard stories about her kind of parties in Canterlot. Ponies who go there eat and drink and…” “And?” she led on, big blue eyes blinking in innocent curiosity. “Eating and drinking is fun! What else?” “And…” Pokey had to sigh and just force it out. “And they have sex, Pinkie.” “Sex,” Pinkie Pie repeated, her lips pursing together. “Ponies have sex at Euporie’s parties?” “Uh, yes, supposedly,” Pokey said, a little flustered. Not that he and Pinkie hadn’t… from time to time… but they usually didn’t talk about this sort of thing. Fun was just fun, and ponies you liked were ponies you liked. They were good friends, that was the point, so there was no problem. He thought. Then again, at that moment, Pokey Pierce wasn’t sure what he thought. Pinkie blinked again and finally asked: “Do you want to have sex at Euporie’s party?” “GAH!” Pokey gasped, hiding his blush with a raised foreleg. “Do you?” Pinkie asked again, lowering his leg with a pink hoof. “I wouldn’t want you to go and be uncomfortable. That’s not fun.” “I don’t have… a problem with it, I guess? I’ve never been to that kind of party,” he admitted, now a little ashamed that he seemed more flustered by it than Pinkie was. “Do you have a problem with it?” “It does seem sort of strange,” she said, ear flicking on and off. The chicken beak part of the costume she had been looking for was still hanging there. Distracting. “Usually, if you’re going to have that kind of fun with somepony, you do it after the party. Not during the party.” “OHHHH!” Pinkie Pie suddenly cooed, her eyes wide with excitement and realization. “That’s why she wanted me to bring a cute date! And why she only wanted pretty ponies to come!” Seemingly lost in her own little world, Pinkie nodded to herself, eyes squinting as she pondered. “I’m still not sure I get it,” she decided after a few long seconds, during which Pokey wasn’t really sure what to say. “But if everypony’s having fun and no pony’s feelings are hurt, I guess I don’t see any problem with it… everypony is bringing ponies they care about and like after all, and if they want to do that there, then I guess that’s their business, isn’t it?” Pokey opened his mouth to ask- “As long as they stay out of the cake!” Pinkie decided, slamming her hooves together. “No super special fun time in the cake!” “Ah…” “No making woopie in the cake either.” “I…” “No bedroom ball dancing in the cake.” “Yes, b-” “No tying each other up and playing wrestle the cowpony in the cake.” “…” “The cake is a sacred trust,” Pinkie concluded, and tilted her head in wonder. “Wait, are we having cake? There has to be cake!” “...I-” “I’ll bring cake,” Pinkie finished. “Well, with that-” “As long as no pony has sex in it.” “…” Pokey waited… and waited. Pinkie remained where she was, staring at him, her ear occasionally twitching. Not saying a word, he reached out and plucked the costume beak off her ear. Naturally, she saw it and gasped loudly in surprise. “Hey! You found it!” Pinkie cheered, crushing him with another full body hug. He was on the verge of sighing when the pink pony whispered something into his ear. A certain something that caused his horn to light up a bit. “In the cake… really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Pinkie hugged him even harder, somehow eliciting a toy-like squeak. “Oh! I can’t wait for the party now! We’re gonna have tons of fun!” - - - “Our good Princess fails to find the banquet to her liking and now raids the pantry?” Cadance demurely hid her face behind a napkin, her appetite seemingly lost. Hiding half in the darkness of a fading oil lamp light, draped in the concealing safety and anonymity of the scullery shadows, the pink alicorn stiffened as she turned towards the voice. A voice that had been but a whisper in the darkness. The sweet and loving couple she had followed – a pair of female servants seeking refuge in the scullery - did not seem disturbed, if they had heard it at all. They continued their secret lovemaking. The Princess’s amethyst eyes flashed green as they narrowed, annoyed but not concerned that her privacy had been lost or that her voyeurism had been revealed. She quickly gleaned the identity of the offender: her erstwhile partner and ally. The lean and hungry looking stallion stalked through the half-light more like an inquisitive jungle cat than a pony. His golden coat and mane slipped all too easily into the shadows for how bright it had appeared in the lights of the ballroom, or even the dimming fires of a bedroom. “Brass,” she whispered, not bothering with his full name in private. “Or perhaps our young Princess seeks to whet another appetite?” The Marquis smiled but didn't laugh. He craned his neck to show her that he caught sight of the couple in the pantry. “Ah. Our Lady has fine taste. They are a pretty pair.” “Their affection for one another,” Cadance whispered in reply. “It is fresh, young, and sweet, with hints of fear and confusion. It has a delicious texture.” “I prefer wine, myself.” “One of them would be a wonderful candidate for replacement, should the relationship deepen…” “My servants are not yours to prey upon, ‘Princess.’” Alpha Brass was not a large stallion, nor was Princess Cadance’s form that of a small mare, yet he succeeded in cornering her in her hidden oriel of shadows, his body blocking her means of exit. “No, not your servants,” Cadance replied, lips parting in a sensual smile. “Only your guests.” “I am a protective and jealous creature,” he told her, their chests inches apart. “As you know.” The breath of the two mingled for a moment, but ultimately, Cadance drew away. Alpha Brass had no taste to him, not when her palate had been teased by the potent cocktail of love and life. As useful as he was, as useful as he had been, he was not food. He was loved, but gave no love in return. It had been impossible to coax it out of him, not since Olive Branch had ‘died,’ and even then, it had been a dry, bitter, dutiful love of family and country. Cadance did not miss that bitter milk; it still left a foul taste in her mouth. There was so much richer and more wonderful emotions to experience in the world… Equestria was a banquet, and soon, she and all her brood would feast. “You always flee from the parties to feed,” Alpha Brass observed, whispering into her ear. “I prefer these sorts of tastes now,” she explained, watching the pair of mares in love. “Call it… quality… over quantity. Even with that vile step-daughter of yours gone, simple flavors like lust and friendship bore me.” “Euporie will be so sad to hear it.” The ravenous Princess’s eyes disappeared before the napkin that inched a little higher over her face. Feeling this much affection, feeding on it, always tested her control over her shape. Had she stolen the form of one of the mares, she doubted she would have been able to maintain her normal level of control. Luckily, like all changelings, she had the ability to influence the minds of those whose partners she replaced. It really did make feeding on their love so much easier, like a mosquito drawing a painless bite to suck blood, or a leech numbing the pain of a bloody incision. Evolution was just such a wonderful thing. What poor creature had to feed on an unwilling host? Cadance had always imagined it to be an unduly terrifying experience for the predator in question. Prey should be willing and compliant before their predator, giving of themselves to sate the desires and hungers of their betters. “Be quick with your meal, Princess,” Alpha Brass teased her ear, and then backed off, slowly. “Gluttony is unbecoming of a Queen and there is much to do.” He vanished back into the shadows as easily as she herself could. Cadance let him go without a word, taking her fill from the two ponies in the scullery. Siphoning off affection was less satisfying than receiving it directly, unfortunately, and the supposed Princess knew that her hunger would quickly return in a few hours. She longed for Shining Armor: his touch, his mouth, his words and his bottomless well of love for her. For the ‘her’ he imagined her to be, anyway. Secretly, she laughed. Shining Armor’s love… it was perfection. It was all she ever needed! The flavor of it was rich and thick and sophisticated with notes of jealousy and protectiveness, the sharp tang of long repressed desire, and soothing notes of relief and joy. She could drink it in night after night, reveling in how it brought her personal power to new heights. No other Chrysalis could have imagined just what could be gleaned from these seemingly insignificant ponies. She had devoured her forebear, of course, but had she been alive, Chrysalis would have laughed to her face. A great many races had been seen fit to feed the Hive, from lowly Diamond Dogs baying for lost loved ones in the echoing, fiery depths of the earth, to young dragons who roared for their mates and set the sky ablaze in their passion. Changelings, as the other races called them, had followed starving tribes of camels across endless desert dunes, naked under the merciless heat of the sun; they had infiltrated ancient cities lost to jungle, dwelling in canopy and shadow and the recesses of the world. From sewers and crypts to palaces and temples, they had fed. Yet, before her, none had found the land of ponies, this “Equestria.” It was rich and untapped: a bountiful harvest, waiting for the reaping. Since her ascension, her Hive had grown without check, without predators of their own, their numbers swelling. Cadance… Chrysalis… herself had held off the growth for a time, knowing that secrecy was their ally, refusing to lay more eggs, but even she could not hold back the swarm. If she did not soon lay, as all Queens must, then another of her offspring would turn, as she had once turned, and try and supplant her. Who knew what chaos that would cause? Disappearing into the darkness, letting it consume her, Chrysalis left the scullery and kitchens behind, escaping the notice of the sleepy and distracted staff. The air was thick with the smells of baking foodstuffs: pastries, pies, meals for dozens of their kind throughout the Gardens, but none of that interested the faux Princess. Only the ones preparing the meals. They were all just food to her, and she could feel the warm ambiance of their friendship and kinship towards one another. Equestria… Canterlot… Soon, it would be her banquet. She would feast and lay and the Hive would grow and be content. For a time, anyway. The other great cities and realms of Equestria would follow in the years to come. Then all the world would be painted black with her Hive. They would hunt down their own predators in numbers never before seen, and all the world would become her larder; all the creatures under the sun and moon her nourishment. “Gluttony? Unbecoming of a Queen?” Chrysalis laughed under her breath, passing by two of Brass’s stoic guardmares. “We shall see.” “…your faith in me is not misplaced, your Lordship,” the tail-end of the conversation came from a barrel-chested, balding unicorn stallion, standing to the side of a desk with Alpha Brass and shaking hooves with the smaller, younger pony. The two stallions had smoking cigars in their mouths from a box of the vile things on the Lord’s desk. To her distaste, Chrysalis, as Cadance, recognized the stink: imported Mareabian tobacco. Why ponies indulged in such things, she couldn’t imagine. “Cadance!” Alpha Brass called out, waving her over. “I was just concluding some business with my good friend, Broad Way, the future Mayor of Manehattan.” “Charmed, my Lady,” the bull-like unicorn said as she drew closer, taking one of her hooves in his own to kiss it. “The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” she lied. The three made some small talk, the business of things already concluded earlier, chatting about the ornate fireplace and some varied trophies Alpha Brass kept about his study. Cadance had seen it all before. She had virtually grown up around such. To her, the beautiful white marble looked poisoned by veins of blue, the roaring fire smelt of dying shadows and places to hide, and the delicate pillars that rose from floor to ceiling were like thin bones stripped of flesh. She imagined it all covered in a thick coat of green slime and wax, and smiled. That time would come. Sooner than any thought. “The Mayor of Manehattan?” she remarked, after the pony had left Brass’s study. “We should replace him when he is elected. Or even before, to be sure nopony notices.” “There is no need,” Alpha Brass assured her, trotting over to the fire to stoke it with a poker. “No?” “Even ponies lacking ambition will strive to do much for their children,” Brass explained, staring into the rippling flames of the hearth. “Between gold for his election campaign, and the possibility of a noble life for his daughter, a pony like our friend Broad Way can be very tempted… and attached, to certain powerful new allies. Unlike my father, I care nothing for high birth or the proper social strata. It is a trifling thing to me, to raise a lowborn pony up to high station.” “Is that what you promised him?” Cadance scoffed at the obsession ponies had with material things. “Gold? Titles?” Trinkets and words. Worthless baubles. “Opportunities,” Brass corrected her. “I only gave him opportunities.” He floated the iron poker over to a rack by the side of the marble fireplace. “Have your changelings finished putting on their new clothes?” “They are in place,” Cadance assured him. “I have also set one to work on my new Bridesmaid.” Alpha Brass paced around his desk and past her left side. “Is something the matter?” she asked, sensing his ire. “Some trouble?” “You could call it that,” he replied, and with his magic, he retrieved a small brown package. It had already been opened once, and plucking it out of the air with her own magic mimicry, ‘Cadance’ saw for herself what was inside. Her eyes widened and, for a moment, they reverted into narrow slits. Before her, she held the edge of a wing. Not a pony’s wing, but a thin, delicate diaphanous wing. Like her own. “Who?” she asked, only that one word. Disturbed, she folded the wing back up and returned it to the package. Without a doubt, it had belonged to one of her kind, perhaps even one of her children. The smell was gone, so it was impossible to tell for sure. Brass poured himself a drink of softly glowing ambrosia, quick to dispose of the half spent butt of his cigar. His lengthy pause began to test Cadance’s patience. Swirling his drink, he took a tentative drink, but still didn’t answer her question. “Who. Was. It?” she repeated. “My little sister, Antimony,” Brass finally replied, glancing back at her over his shoulder with one eye. “It seems she has learned some … unfortunate things. I had wondered about the rumors of her mobilizing her guard.” “Impossible!” Cadance snarled, hurling the package across the room to skid into a corner. “How could she have found out? How could she even find…?” “Finding one or two of your children isn’t as difficult as you imagine it to be,” he interrupted, slowly walking back to his desk. “The Princesses still don’t know, so whatever my sweet little sister discovered, she only wants me to know that she knows. You understand what this means?” “Yesss.” Chrysalis let some of her true self slip through her façade. “She has to die.” “She always did,” Brass commented, neither excited nor disturbed by the prospect. “She would never just sit idly by while some calamity befell her birthright of Canterlot and her idols the Princesses. I must have the armies of the Terre Rare before she does.” “Send me to her.” Cadance’s mask returned, but it was streaked by cruelty and thirst for blood. “I will kill her myself.” Alpha Brass sighed, as if he had long since dismissed the idea. “Antimony may treat other ponies with some honor, but if you come to duel her… Changeling Queen… she will laugh at you and call up her guard in their hundreds. And,” he concluded, chuckling dryly. “Before the night is out, she will have you stewed in a pot and hung in a cage for peasants to throw rotten apples at. She will hammer chains into those holes in your legs, and then, when you have suffered enough, she will present your preserved head to Princess Celestia in a silver box, stuffed with flowers.” Cadance hissed, a ripple of energy running through her alicorn disguise, momentarily revealing the black chitin and punctured carapace beneath. Shining Armor’s love had given her great power… power above and beyond that of a mere unicorn… but a thousand ants could still kill a spider. Especially one that left the safety of her web. “It would be inconvenient for me to have to deal with another would-be Queen Chrysalis,” Brass continued, only momentarily amused by her rage. “So, no, I’d prefer you remain here, or close to here. I already have a counter to Antimony and all other threats in the works and things are not as dire as they seem.” “How can things not be as bad as they seem?” she asked, still stewing in anger. “One of my children is dead! Revealed!” “Revealed, but with no real proof,” he assured her. “Recall the eight changelings we sent to my sister’s realm?” ‘Yes, eight… that you know of,’ Chrysalis thought, but nodded. “Yes. I remember that you put some sorcery on them.” “A failsafe, in case my sister were to catch one with her eyes,” Alpha Brass explained, and motioned back to the case with the wing in it. It was still on the floor where she had thrown it, and he used a spark of magic to float it back to him. “The spell I had cast on those changelings was to burn them should they be revealed. The end of this wing is singed. I’d say it was ripped off just as the magic consumed the owner.” The thought of one of her precious children in flames made Chrysalis want to scream, but she choked down her rage and disgust. It was foolish and naive. Of course, some of her children would perish, bringing about their new utopia of flesh and sensation. More would perish when they reclaimed their original homeland beyond the mountains of the south. Growing too attached was unwise. Still, it rankled. “So we are not exposed?” she asked, after a deep breath. “No, or else the Princesses would have been informed,” Brass told her, holding the case in one hoof. “What is a single wing? Nothing. Except to those who know what it is. As I said, I have things in motion to deal with Antimony and all the others.” “The unicorn you mentioned?” “Twilight Sparkle,” Alpha Brass said, and his smile returned, small, smug and always deliberate. As if he knew very many things she did not. “For your information, you foalsat her when you were younger. ‘Cadance.’” The would-be Princess cocked her head. “Did I?” “You did,” he replied, staid, “so please don’t act surprised when you see her. She is to be my wife. After you take Canterlot, we will need a replacement for Celestia and perhaps Luna as well, though I still hope Chalice to be capable of filling in for the latter.” ‘As if I would allow that,’ the changeling Queen thought, but she guarded her expression well to let no trace of her innermost desire betray her. Just as her partner did. They were each consummate liars. For most of their life, lies had meant survival. So she lied again. “So long as she is under our control, so be it.” “I’m glad you agree,” Brass said, simply. “This is how it must be.” Chrysalis nodded and craned her neck to look back at the door Broad Way had exited through. “You know, I always felt rather sad for you,” she remarked, sniffing. “You don’t smell much like these other ponies, and the flavor of love has been drained from you.” “Ah, well, I do have you to thank for that,” he replied, finishing his drink and placing the empty glass on his desk. “You, my former wife and your predecessor.” “Yet,” Queen Chrysalis continued, trotting up to the desk to rest her front legs on it, close enough to touch his hooves with her own. “Here I am, a monster pretending to be a pony, and there you are, a pony pretending to be a monster. You would make a superb changeling. Except you have no Hive. No real family. Not anymore. Should I replace you, too, some time? Would you be happier in a woven cocoon?” “If I were to become a cocoon…” Brass’s response was strange, enigmatic. “What would I emerge as? Perhaps-” And he smiled, darkly. “I would become the monster I pretend to be. Would you like that?” The creature that was Princess Cadance felt an unwanted tingle run down her thorax. “No,” she decided, tasting a bit of her own fear. It was bitter and unfamiliar. “I wouldn’t.” “Good!” Alpha Brass pushed off from his desk, breaking contact with the Changeling Queen. He headed for the door, floating over a black-velvet cloak. Before he left, however, he gave one parting piece of advice, “You should know my plans have changed and my would-be wife wishes me to come to her. Expect my absence.” “But,” he cautioned, just before he left. “In the meantime, please remember: you would be wise not to underestimate ponies. We could well be the most terrifying monsters of them all.” Chrysalis let him leave, and with a thought, snuffed out the fireplace. ‘We shall see.’