This Platinum Crown

by Capn_Chryssalid

Chapter Twenty Eight : A Celebration of Art and Culture

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(28)

- - -
 
“Pinkie Pie!” Cup Cake lightly rapped on the door. “Pinkie Pie! Time to get up, dearie. Pinkie Pie?”
 
Nothing.
 
Staring at the door for a few seconds, Mrs Cake looked a little shiftily side to side and pressed her ear up to the door itself. Ear twitching, she tried to listen in, but frowned at the lack of noise. Was Pinkie even inside? Was she still asleep?
 
Usually, Pinkie Pie was up well before the morning rush of customers. Sleeping this late wasn’t like her, and today of all days? Lady Rarity was having her art festival in a couple hours and Pinkie would need to be there to help oversee things. It wasn’t like most her parties, either, which were held pro bono. Pinkie Pie, not to mention Sugarcube Corner, were all being paid handsomely to organize and cater the event! This was no time to stay in bed!
 
“Pinkie Pie!” Cup Cake repeated, knocking a little more loudly. “You need to get up! I’m coming inside!”
 
Hesitantly, she opened the door.
 
“OH! Oh my!” A quick gasp, and the door shut again, Cup Cake’s face flashing pink. “Oh dear!”
 
“Honey muffin!” Carrot called from downstairs. “Is Pinkie Pie up yet?”
 
“N-no! Not yet!” she called back, and furtively opened the door just a crack to peek inside, a rosy blush on her cheeks. This was just too good!
 
- -
 
Yawning languidly, Pokey Pierce stretched out his front legs and rolled to the right, a strange weight shifting on his lap. Feeling his hooves gently brush against something warm and soft, he murmured and drowsily opened his eyes. It felt like he was in bed, and he could smell Pinkie Pie close by. She usually didn’t mind a little early morning friskiness either, so--
 
Pierce’s thoughts hit a dead stop when he noticed the color of the pony sleeping next to him.
 
“You’re not Pinkie Pie,” the baby blue stallion said, shuddering involuntarily.
 
Flim, also just awake, shook his head. “Afraid not.”
 
Rolling over to his other side, Pokey Pierce saw an almost identical face as before, except with a moustache. So, basically, if anything that was even worse.
 
Flam simply smiled.
 
Rolling again, facing upward, Pokey finally looked down to where a familiar mat of pink had itself draped across all three stallions. An awkward moment passed, and then passed again, until Pinkie Pie muttered something in her sleep - “that’s right, everypony, get all the marmalade out” - stretched her forelegs and somehow managed to grab all three stallions into a drowsy hug. “Mmm! That’s right. We’ll need it to make peach fruitcakes! Mmmmm.”
 
Pinkie licked her lips hungrily, squeezing the four of them even more tightly together.
 
Blink. Blink. Blink.
 
Pokey Pierce, crushed between Flim and Flam, finally did what any dignified stallion would do. Actually, he whimpered a little, but after that he did what any dignified stallion would do. In this situation. He opened his mouth and--
 
“AAAGGGGHHHH!!!”
 
- - -
 
“You know, I never ended up in these sorts of situations before I met you,” Pokey grumbled, forelegs crossed. He was pretty upset.
 
Pinkie jammed a cinnamon bun into his mouth.
 
Everything was better with cinnamon!
 
At first his cheeks puffed up, but then he slowly chewed and the upset look faded away. Pinkie Pie patted him on the head. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
 
“I’m not a wild animal. You can’t just placate me with food.”
 
“Cinnamon bun?”
 
“…okay, yes. I’ll have one more cinnamon bun.”
 
Pokey grumbled a little while he ate, and before Pinkie Pie went back to sitting down herself, she pecked him quickly on the cheek. His eyes widened a bit as the gesture.
 
“What was that for?” he asked.
 
“For being my friend and special somepony,” she replied, her bright blue eyes a little downcast. “And for last night.”
 
Pokey paused in his cinnamon bun munching to meet her eyes. “Pinkie. I don’t remember all that much, but I do seem to recall you punching Euporie in the face last night. Something tells me that’s all the thanks I need.”
 
“Yes, indeed! You socked her good, I’d say!” Flam chimed in, also sitting down on the floor in Pinkie’s room. Pokey glared at the other stallion, one or two memories of what he had done last night still rather vivid despite the haze of alcohol, sugar and sex. Pokey Pierce may not have been the most aggressive of stallions, but he was still a stallion. Bereft of Euporie’s overwhelming alpha mare presence, he wasn’t inclined to take much from the other bachelor.
 
On the other hoof, Flim and Flam had apparently helped save both their hides from Euporie last night. Celestia herself knew how or why they had all ended up in Pinkie’s bed. Frankly, Pokey didn’t even want to think about it.
 
“Well, she did,” Flam amended, turning away from Pierce’s glare. “Miss Pie saved our hides, too, isn’t that right, brother?”
 
“Almost got us killed, too, brother, don’t forget that,” Flim said, using his magic to hold up half of an eaten cinnamon bun. “If not for you know what, we wouldn’t be here right now.”
 
“Why can’t we ever get involved with nice twins, like those two mares at the spa?” Flam wondered, sighing into his cup of coffee.
 
“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Pinkie said, bouncing back over to her spot on the floor. “Now that everypony’s here and not so grumpy or panicky or freaking-out-y, I had some super important questions and stuff!” She pointed to Flim and Flam. “What’s the really-reeny-roo reason you two were at that party? And don’t lie to your Auntie Pinkie Pie!”
 
“Auntie?” Flam asked, moustache twitching in amusement.
 
“We can’t really answer that,” Flim replied, taking another small bite of the complimentary cinnamon bun.
 
“I thought you guys were supposed to make me smile or something?” Pinkie asked, leaning way over until she somehow managed to invade Flim’s personal space. One of her eyes focused on the stallion and almost seemed to bulge out of the eye socket. He shrunk back slightly.
 
“Well, um…”
 
“That’s basically true,” Flam spoke up for his brother. “That’s why we’re still here, after all. But--”
 
“But we can’t talk about certain things,” Flim continued.
 
“No matter how much we want to,” Flam added.
 
“Rules--”
 
“--are rules.”
 
“Unfortunately,” they both concluded.
 
“Are you following any of this?” Pokey asked, still frowning at the twins. “Rules are rules? What does that even mean?”
 
“It’s a groovy mystery,” Pinkie agreed, retracting back to her seat. She popped a warm cinnamon bun into her mouth and gobbled it down in one bite. “Okey dokey lokey. Let’s say I accept that you two can’t talk about some things. At least you can say why you didn’t agree to my friend Applejack’s proposal the other day!”
 
“Can we?” Flam asked.
 
“We might,” Flim said, and took a deep breath. “We rejected her deal because we aren’t in Ponyville to make money. Hey! Looks like we can talk a little about our deal with--” His lips moved, but his voice instantly gave out.
 
Hanging his head, Flim waved a hoof to his brother.
 
“We came to Ponyville to take over Sweet Apple Acres,” Flam explained, a little more cautiously than his brother had been. “If that meant operating in the red for a few weeks, that’s what we were going to do; we could afford to take a short term loss for a long term gain. Are you alright, brother?”
 
“Better,” Flim replied with a cough.
 
“We didn’t have the bits to do all this by ourselves…” Flam continued, and gestured to Pinkie and Pokey. “So, we did what ponies do when they need money. Do you see what I mean?”
 
“OH! You sold lemonade!” Pinkie guessed, hopping up and down. “No! You danced your way through college! Donated your bodies to science? Kept buying lottery tickets until you finally won? You didn’t work at a rock farm, did you?”
 
“I think he means they looked for an investor, Pinkie Pie,” Pierce said, deadpan.
 
“Awww!” Pinkie turned around, to where a whiteboard now hung from the door with the names ‘Pinkie’ and ‘Pokey’ written on it. She made a line under his name in black marker.
 
“Euporie must have been one of their investors,” Pokey continued, and Flam didn’t move a muscle, not even nodding or shaking his head to confirm or deny the speculation. “So she basically forced you to go to the party as her dates because you owe her money?”
 
Flam’s jaw set, clenched, but he didn’t dare to speak.
 
Flim, meanwhile, cleared his throat. “I think what matters the most right now is what our options are, brother.”
 
“What do you mean, brother?”
 
“We still can’t accept Miss Applejack’s offer, no matter how much we may or may not want to,” Flim said, eyes closed in thought. “Either we bankrupt Sweet Apple Acres or they bankrupt us. Given that new cider they started making… I believe, from the very start, we were always meant to fail.”
 
“Brother?”
 
“We were just pawns,” Flim realized, frowning deeply at the implications. “At this rate, we’ll owe our investors thousands of bits. We need a way to sell out without… breaking our word to our investors.”
 
Flam nodded gravely. “We really got in over our heads this time, brother.”
 
“Hey.”
 
The two stallions turned at Pinkie’s relatively sedate outburst.
 
The pink pony was grinning, not with a silly smile, but with a sly one. “You should try thinking inside the chimney! I just got a super neat idea.”
 
“It doesn’t involve a song, does it?” Pokey asked, pointing to his wrist and the nonexistent watch there. “We really need to meet Miss Rarity before noon.”
 
“Pokey, Pokey, Pokey!” Pinkie tut-tutted. “Of course it involves a song! And!” She held up a hoof, smiling broadly. “A little bit of a show!”
 
Flim and Flam exchanged looks.
 
“We’re listening,” they said, as one, “but what about Miss Mosaic?”
 
“What indeed?” Pokey asked as well, scowling. “I need to check with some of her other guests before the art festival anyway. Perhaps we should contact Lady Rarity to arbitrate things?”
 
“Leave Miss Meanie Mind Magic to me!” Pinkie insisted, and none of the stallions present dared to argue with her. “I think I know just what to do with her!”
 
Pokey Pierce narrowed his eyes at the zany mare. “It doesn’t involve cupcakes, does it?”
 
Pinkie Pie just smiled, an expression trotting the fine line between adorable and frightening.
 
- - -
 
Applejack arrived early to set up her family’s exhibition under the local produce pavilion. The art festival was still a few hours away, but already much of the Blueblood Manor outside town had been transformed. Having visited several times before, Applejack knew the front of the villa to be an open air expanse, all the better to awe visitors with the statue of lady victory on her raised platform and with the grand façade of the house itself. It was pretty darn fancy for not being a real castle with towers and parapets or anything.
 
Now, though, earth pony landscapers had been all over the place.
 
They were still all over the place! Short spruce trees, trimmed narrow like green pillars, were being watered and coaxed into place while other ponies put the finishing touches on the ring of black mulch beneath each tree. All the decorative trees were the same shape, but different heights, giving the appearance of a fantastic forest of pillars, higher in the back than near the front.
 
Other trees were flowering and in places entire streams of petals had been laid down on stonework and gravel paths through the immaculate green front lawn. A half dozen large pavilion tents had been erected before, and many of those ponies set to put their wares - and the creative energies of Ponyville - on display had arrived at the crack of dawn. The pavilions themselves were thematic, spreading radially from the statue that was by necessity the center of the front acre of the manor. Pendants and flags and streamers in a dozen colors waved in the air.
 
Prominent among them were the three diamonds on a field of white and blue - Rarity’s personal sigil.
 
“Boy howdy, she’s really outdone herself with this,” Applejack couldn’t help but remark.
 
Big Mac’s assessment was a little more succinct: “Eyup.”
 
Pulling their cart into the voluminous produce pavilion, Applejack saw one of the sculptures defining the various wings of the festival: in this case, a tree made of delicate iron latticework, through which a collection of vines and flowers grew and sprouted. Applejack even remembered when Rarity had first described the commission, calling it a ‘living sculpture, part topiary, part metalwork.’ The finished product was rightly impressive, towering well over a pony, the branches of iron and vine thick with flowers red and gold and white and purple.
 
“Commerce,” was the name of the sculpture, and the pavilion.
 
Applejack tipped her hat as she looked up, and then hurried on to keep up with her brother. Big Macintosh was already parking their cart at their assigned space, while Apple Bloom rode on top, looking at the festival-in-being with wide eyes. No doubt she’d be quick to run off as soon as things were set up. Sweetie Belle would be here, soon, too, and Scootaloo would likely come by later. Applejack just hoped they didn’t cause too much trouble. Granted: they always caused a little mischief, but poor Rarity would have a heart attack if something went wrong today.
 
“Alright, let’s get things set up!” Applejack said, picking Apple Bloom up and off the cart.
 
Big Mac’s reply was his usual laconic “eyup” and together they unloaded barrels of their best, signature family ciders, including two of the new batch produced from apples sharpened by Lady Yumi’s magic. They had their usual country mugs all stacked together and a decorative tap for the festival with a little steel apple on the top for a handle.
 
Applejack’s preference would have been to use the classic cider stand, too, but this was an art festival, which meant things had to be artsy and fancy. Everypony had been given stands to use designed by artists in town, and the Apple family had one made of white-grey limestone with planter’s inlets built into the sides. Miniature apple trees sprouted from within little plots of earth, and a mural along the front depicted a sunny countryside of rolling hills, capped by a rustic home and a barn, set against the blue sky. Behind the limestone façade, most of the back was polished wood, including two wings that swept out wide to the left and right.
 
“Just like we practiced,” Applejack said, directing her brother. “Stack up the barrels back there. We’ll rotate the ones on tap and keep them on the top. When they get empty, we’ll swap 'em with the ones on the bottom. There should be a little nook with a cold spell on it. I’ll take care ‘ah that stuff. Apple Bloom, you help with the apple baskets. Use the little hooks at the bottom there ta keep ‘em in place and then start fillin’ 'em up with apples.”
 
“Eyup.” “Right on it, sis!”
 
“Once we’re done, I figger we can get a quick bite ta eat, then I wanna see both of ya’ll dressed up,” Applejack continued, and the mention of ‘dressing up’ evoked a disgruntled mutter from both sister and brother. “Hey now, this is important! And that goes double fer you, Big Mac.”
 
The workhorse shrugged, picking up another barrel off the crate in his bare hooves.
 
He was without his usual yoke, having left it behind when he took off the cart’s harness, but if he looked out of sorts without it, he would look even stranger in the vest and jacket they’d gotten for him - Applejack thought he looked a little like a big, red Braeburn. This wasn’t going to be like the Gala, but they still had to look they very best when all the bigwigs and tea-drinkin’ types came in. A certain “country style” was expected, but Rarity had stressed to everypony at the festival that it be at least a “classy” country style. Since ol’ Mac just had to have something around his neck, Applejack saw he’d brought a buffalo-style bolo tie Braeburn had given him last year. At least it was better than the frilly thing Rarity would probably be having Blueblood wear, the poor pony.
 
“Lookin’ good,” she remarked, taking a second after setting up an area for slices of family style Dutch apple pie. Not just their own area, but the whole setup. The whole festival. It was looking pretty good. Fancy, but not too stuffy-fancy: Ponyville-like, but dressed up a bit.
 
She also remembered her promise to Lady Yumi…
 
“Welp, that can come later, I reckon!” She went back to unloading the cart. They’d take their clothes out of storage last, and then wheel the whole thing away to a designated lot out of sight. Yumi wouldn’t be showing up until the festival really got underway. Applejack would make an arrangement for her then, settling all debts. Once the farm was in the clear, it’d be easy to sort out Rarity’s insistence on bailing the family out.
 
Today, Applejack decided, was going to be a good day.
 
- - -
 
Sandy held up the hoof-mirror for Rarity to examine her mane, moving it to the side to better provide a good look at the top where it pooled behind her horn before curling off to the side. Rarity nodded, and Sandy vanished off to the side, providing a clear line of sight for Rarity to examine herself in the three tall vanity mirrors. She closed her eyes and felt Sandy touch up her hint of eyeshadow. That done, Rarity fluttered her eyelashes at her reflection, making sure the lashes were firmly in place and to her liking - there was no margin for error.
 
“Hmm,” she mused, lifting a leg and tilting her head.
 
“My Lady looks wonderful,” Sandy said, bowing politely but offering a shy smile. Rarity returned the smile. Light Touch and Sandy were both wonderful hoofmaids - discrete, soft spoken, attentive, loyal and possessed of keen eyes and a fine fashion sense. Rarity had taken a liking to both mares very quickly, though she had initially been a little wary of them. They had been dressing Blueblood for years and it seemed to have prepared them very well for attending to a mare’s needs.
 
Rarity giggled a little at that thought.
 
Sandy was the shyer of the two, though not on Fluttershy’s level. She and Light Touch seemed very close, but there was always a perceived difference of station between her and the Lord and Lady she served. Light Touch had steadily become a bit bolder around Blueblood since the Gala, or so it seemed to Rarity, but Sandy was demure as always. With her dark brown coat and a mane just a little darker than Applejack’s, she didn’t stand out very much among a crowd of colorful equines.
 
“I believe I am ready to see just how much of a disaster this dress looks, now that it is too late to make any modifications to it. I pray it doesn’t explode or fly apart while I’m near anypony too important.”
 
“As my Lady wishes,” Sandy said, and so the process of putting on her newest creation began.
 
The art festival was HER big event, and it required a new and special dress for the occasion.
 
Becoming a Baroness of Ponyville may have made it faux pas to sell dresses anymore, but there was no affront to her making them or her wearing what she made. She could even continue to give them away to her friends. So long as not a single bit was made in the exchange, and no pony could accuse her of holding a mercantile or artisan’s “job” then it was just another lavish indulgence, one of many among the aristocracy.
 
For the festival, she had designed and prepared a gorgeous dress of white beaded lace, reminiscent of a bleached garden. All white sea-shell lace, it was lavishly embellished with imported white pearls woven into the fabric; around the collar, neckline and shoulders, the upper part of the dress, bugle beadwork had been stitched in depicting a great wreath of flowers, each one unique, all around and down along the legcyces and hemline. A gap in the design had been made at above knee level up to where her torso would move beneath the dress, pure white except for a faint wave like motif. Then the floral patterns returned as the dress neared her hooves and the floor. Her front hooves were also circled with silk cuffs. With how tightly it hugged her curves, two kick-pleats had been necessary to either side, around her tail. A simple black and white ribbon curved around the front, like a bodice, coming together as a zeppelin bend knot.
 
Satisfied with the dress, for the time being, Rarity then indulged her inner milliner by trying on the matching hat. It was something of a sinful pleasure of hers: finding a hat for most any occasion. It was nice to think she hadn’t developed the minor obsession because of her father’s rude attachment to his single natty straw hat, which he wore whenever the occasion arose, but a more realistic look back on her life probably pointed to that being the case. Lamentably, efforts to wean her father off his old straw hat and onto something fashionable had met with as much success as her attempts to part Applejack from her Stetson - which was to say, none.
 
The hat she put on now was large, black velvet, with an almost invisible obsidian braid trim. Silk chiffon ribbons adorned the top right side of the hat, opposite the curl of her mane. Pivoting, posing a little, raising and lowering a leg as she examined herself from the angles provided by the vanity mirrors, Rarity’s coy smile became increasingly genuine. It wasn’t bad at all. In fact, it could well be fabulous!
 
“What do you think?” Rarity asked her attendant. “I didn’t overdo it with the white, did I?”
 
“No, my Lady,” Sandy replied, holding a hoofmirror up with a little magic. “The weave is very… complex… um, ornate, I mean. It looks very pretty on you.”
 
The compliments sounded heartfelt and honest, not just telling her what she wanted to hear, but there was something to Sandy’s downcast eyes. It was like she didn’t want to look the other mare in the eyes.
 
“Is there something wrong?” Rarity asked, putting aside her own concerns about the festival and her appearance. She reached for Sandy’s hoof and took it gently in her own, hoping to coax her out of her shell a little. “You can tell me.”
 
“My Lady, you and… his Lordship… have been very kind to me,” Sandy began, and just as quickly faltered, looking away and snapping her mouth shut. It was an expression Rarity had seen many times in a very dear friend of hers.
 
“You have been wonderful company,” Rarity told her. “If there is anything I can do for you, darling, you need only ask. I know Blueblood feels the same way.”
 
Sandy hesitated, swallowing some of her doubts, and nodded.
 
“My Lady, it isn’t… I’m not the one to worry for,” she said, eyes still fixed on her hooves. “I worry about you.”
 
Rarity was a little surprised by that. “Me? Whatever for?”
 
“I received a letter in the mail…” Sandy whispered. “From my family. Somepony is coming… here, to meet you.”
 
“Who?” Rarity asked, and she felt a little worry rise up from within. Sandy’s family?
 
“Sand Dune,” she said, and her eyes met Rarity’s. “Lady Sand Dune is coming here.”
 
Sand Dune. Blueblood had mentioned her: that she had left Bitaly, but that his agents had lost track of her. Antimony had mentioned her before as well. She was the daughter of Desert Flower, the Southern Princess of the Quartz Clan. The Salt Princess, too, as her family controlled that resource that was essential to pony life in Equestria. Lady Sand Dune. Her magic was the hourglass: the ability to manipulate time itself.
 
Coming here?
 
“I think she only came to talk, but… but please be careful around her,” Sandy insisted, and there was real fear in her voice. “She’s dangerous.”
 
It was such a simple statement, but the weight behind it--
 
“I see before me a vision of beauty,” a stallion’s voice interrupted, chuckling as the owner entered the room unannounced. “More beautiful, still, beneath all this wrapping.”
 
Blueblood gave her a playful nudge with the side of his head, and Rarity rolled her eyes.
 
“You describe a present under a hearths warming tree, not a pony,” she admonished him but gasped a little when the tip of his hoof brushed teasingly up her foreleg. She batted him away with a huff.
 
“Don’t you dare mess up this dress!” Rarity wrestled a second with his wandering hoof. “If you must unwrap, do it with your eyes.”
 
“Done and done!”
 
“I spend two hours getting dressed and all you can think about is undressing me?”
 
“You do look positively dazzling,” Blueblood assured her. “You usually wear so much color, all that white and black draws the eye to the blue of your eyes and the indigo of your mane and tail.”
 
Rarity blushed and quickly went back to looking at herself in the mirror. “You are an accomplished flatterer, sir.”
 
“I practice on myself,” the Prince admitted.
 
Rarity took only a second or two to really admire herself in the mirror, more than a little pleased by the stallion’s description of her ensemble. It really was nice - she had to admit - having a pony around who actually appreciated her love of dresses and other fine attire. She spent a much longer time discretely looking him over in the mirror.
 
He was handsomely dressed in a light sky blue wool mohair blend waistcoat, a dark silk back panel visible against his pure white coat and pearl shirt. A silk blend 1-button jacket dangled from a hanger, suspended by his magic. Unlike her, Blueblood did not include hats in his normal repertoire of haberdashery. Which was a shame, she suspected he’d look rather dignified in a matching, proper, woven straw hat with ribbon detailing. The sort her father dismissed as not being ‘rough enough’ around the edges. A pleated satin stock tie rested loosely, untied, around his neck.
 
Rarity sucked in a deep breath, looking at the two of them side by side, reflected in her mirror.
 
“Your friend Applejack is out there.”
 
“Is she?”
 
“You know she is,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.
 
“I’ll speak with her,” Rarity promised, teasing one of the curls in her mane. “This situation between us must be resolved. I just… just give us some time. We will sort it out, you’ll see.”
 
“Good! They’re about to start announcing our honored guests,” Blueblood leaned down to remind her. “I’ll hold down the fort while everypony holds their breath, waiting for their hostess to appear. Golden Star and Fancypants have, of course, hit it off already… so I plan to flirt shamelessly with both their wives until you show up to put them in their place.”
 
She stared at him, eyes half lidded.
 
“Take too long and there may be a diplomatic incident,” he warned, and leaned in to kiss her lightly on the cheek. Trotting happily back to the door, he hesitated, almost as he was about to leave. Rarity didn’t fail to notice as she examined a case of tiny earrings.
 
“Blueblood?” she asked, and he shook his head.
 
“Nothing,” he assured her with a smile. “Just a question I’ve had on my mind. I’ll ask you another time.”
 
Once he was gone, Rarity sought out the ever unobtrusive Sandy. The younger mare was sitting by the dresser, trying to be inconspicuous while she and Blueblood spoke. It was likely all part of her training: good maids and personal servants were often privy to secrets. They were trained to be quiet and discrete. This time, though, Sandy seemed to know something - something Rarity needed to hear more about.
 
“Sand Dune,” the former dressmaker said. “She’s a relative.”
 
Sandy nodded, shyly, as if the admission might get her in trouble.
 
“Tell me everything you know.”
 
- - -
 
“Rainbow Dash! Rainbow Dash! Hey! Rainbow D-”
 
Despite being tempted to just fly higher to escape the noise of her own name being called, over and over again, Rainbow Dash instead dipped down and cruised towards the ground. It wasn’t that there was no avoiding this little run-in. Scootaloo couldn’t have caught her if she had genuinely not wanted to be caught, but today? Today she could guess and even understand why the little flightless filly was after her for a word or two.
 
Soaring lower, she caught sight of Scootaloo on her scooter, doing her best to keep pace along a packed dirt road. The filly could actually build up a surprisingly good head of steam on those wheels. Dash had expected her to eventually just give up after a minute of following, but the filly’s endurance had clearly improved. Rainbow Dash frowned to herself at that realization and her own guess as to the reason for it.
 
Touching down into an easy canter, Dash narrowly dodged a small column of smoke as Scootaloo zipped by. The filly came to a skidding stop and hopped off her scooter and onto her hind legs by the edge of the road, nimbly avoiding planting herself face first into a bush. Hastily pulling the helmet off her head, she trotted over. Normally a huge smile would have been threatening to split her cheeks, but this time, Scootaloo seemed more focused than excited to see her.
 
“Heya, Scoots,” Dash greeted the filly with a little salute.
 
Scootaloo stopped just in front of her, looking up at the grown mare. She seemed to mentally debate something before dropping her eyes, looking abashedly down at the ground underhoof.
 
“Rainbow Dash,” she said, haltingly. “Please…” Scootaloo shook her head and looked back up at her idol. “Please don’t kill her, Rainbow Dash!”
 
A moment of shock hit her, replaced almost instantly by a frown.
 
“Scoots, I’m not going to kill anypony,” she promised, offering the filly a confident smile. “Geez! What even gave you that idea?”
 
“Ritter.”
 
Of course. Dash groaned.
 
“Ritter said she wouldn’t be ‘so bad’ if you killed her with a rain boom,” Scootaloo explained, her speech running fast to cover her anxiety. “I don’t - I don’t really know why she wants to fight with you… I don’t know why you’re going to fight with her… but you shouldn’t be trying to hurt one another!”
 
Rainbow Dash stared forward, not letting her own doubts or fears show. What Scootaloo had said - how could she explain to the filly that she felt the same way? That she didn’t want to fight anypony or hurt anypony. How could she explain how Ritter’s stupidity and bull-headedness had torn the Wonderbolts apart? How could she explain that this wasn’t about just what she wanted, or what Ritter wanted? How could she explain that, even in light of all that, her heart was still racing at the thought of what would happen when she did get to the meeting place this morning?
 
How could she explain that, deep down, as much as she hated it, a tiny part of her she wanted this, too?
 
“You two…” Scootaloo cried, but to her credit didn’t cry or plead. “Can’t you just be friends?”
 
Dash closed her eyes, but still didn’t have a response. Ritter and Spitfire had probably been close to friends, hadn’t they? It sounded like it, and yet…
 
“She isn’t bad,” Scootaloo argued, and Dash could see she was passionately trying to make her case, even though she only had her instinct to rely on and few of the real facts. “Maybe a little bad, but she never really hurt anypony too badly, did she? She - she was nice to me…”
 
“Scoots,” Dash interrupted, reaching out to pat the filly on the head.
 
She looked up at her idol with wide eyes: hopeful eyes.
 
“Trust me,” was all Dash could say. “Trust me, okay?”
 
Scootaloo sucked in a breath and nodded. “Okay.”
 
“Good!” Dash spread her wings and tensed to fly. “And, uh, shouldn’t you be in school?”
 
The filly smiled a bit. “Nope! We got the day off on account’a the festival!”
 
“Oh, Rarity can cancel school, too?” Dash asked and laughed. “Being Baroness suddenly sounds pretty cool.”
 
As she took off, she caught one last cry from her biggest fan.
 
“Be careful, Rainbow Dash!”
 
‘Yeah,’ she thought, rising up over the clouds. ‘Careful. I will, Scoots. And I’ll win, too, without killing anypony.’
 
- -
 
Breakfast was a quiet affair.
 
Cheerilee was the most talkative of all of them, but she was gone. Only Ritterkreuz and Chalice were still hanging around, the former to hide in her root cellar and the latter to chase off the curious. Whenever a guardpony happened to come by, they would find Chalice staying with her friend and assume she was the only out-of-town character to be found. Fluttershy herself was a friend and gendarme of Rarity, and Chalice was a noble mare. No pony dared to press them, not since that one scarred unicorn mare from Rarity’s Free Company had left.
 
Fluttershy understood that today was the day when her half-sister left to settle some score with the Wonderbolts, and with Rainbow Dash. She was shy, not oblivious. There just seemed to be nothing she could do about it. Ritterkreuz was so much like their shared father in that way: nothing ever changed his mind and nothing ever changed hers.
 
Angel Bunny squeaked from his side of the table, the furthest from Chalice, and the big pegasus mare batted a salt shaker over in his direction. He caught it and soon started unloading the contents into his minced carrot oatmeal.
 
“Angel, you know all that salt isn’t good for you…” Fluttershy tried to object. “You promised you’d try and cut down. Remember your blood pressure…”
 
Angel just glared at her for a second, rattled out one last load of the stuff, and put the shaker back down.
 
Ritterkreuz and Angel both finished eating around the same time, the irate bunny hopping off and giving the still seated Chalice a wide berth. He hadn’t tried to bite her again, after a good, stern talking to, but something about the mare still seemed to upset him. Fluttershy wasn’t sure what. Chalice seemed quite nice and she had tried to be helpful around the house, though all the animals were scared or upset with her. Only the birds and butterflies could be talked into giving her a chance and even they flew away rather quickly.
 
Sensing Fluttershy’s attention, Chalice primly returned her fork and dabbed her mouth. “Fluttershy, I wanted to tell you… I’ll be gone for much of today. Would - would it be alright if I came back later? I could come back with some oil paints and we could practice landscapes or animals?”
 
“I’d like that,” Fluttershy replied and Chalice’s smile grew, only to recede just as quickly. “Are you going to Rarity’s art festival? We could show up together?”
 
“Oh. Oh, no, I… can’t.” Chalice found her small, mostly empty bowl of greens rather interesting. “I have something to do.”
 
“Something to do, huh?”
 
“Ritterkreuz,” Fluttershy said, scolding. Why did the big mare always have to sound so suspicious?
 
“This b- this mare is Antimony’s little sister,” Ritter said, picking her teeth with a thin wooden splinter. “Don’t forget that. I wonder what it is you need to ‘do’ all of a sudden.”
 
“I--”
 
“She and Lady Antimony have as much in common as you or I do,” Fluttershy said, her protective instincts starting to emerge from slumber. “Please don’t judge her so quickly. She has kept your secret, hasn’t she?”
 
“Yeah, I guess.” Ritter shrank back a little under Fluttershy’s chastisement. She turned to the soft spoken unicorn with a shrug. “My bad.”
 
For some reason, Chalice only nodded, still looking down at her breakfast.
 
“Anyway,” the former Wonderbolt quickly swapped topics. “I guess I should probably thank both of you too. You know, for not ratting me out. And… Tartarus, I wanted to say…” She made as if to flick the toothpick away, noticed Fluttershy’s disapproving stare, and put it down on her plate instead.
 
“I wanted to say: I probably won’t be coming back, not after my little run in with your buddy Rainbow B- Dash,” it was clearly a constant struggle to keep her language in check. “I don’t think I’ll be that welcome around here if I wreck her, and if she wrecks me, well, that’ll be the end of that. So before either, I wanted to thank you for, you know, helping me out and covering for me.”
 
“I know we were never close or anything,” she hastened to add. “I didn’t really belong, once…” Ritterkreuz stole a look at Chalice and didn’t say much more on that. “Anyway, we had Dad in common, but nothing else. I didn’t mind it, but maybe I should have dropped by anyway. At least a few times or something.”
 
She rapped a hoof on the table, trying to get to the point.
 
“You didn’t have to help me at all,” she said, getting it out. “No pony would’ve blamed you for not wanting me around. Pony Hell, the Wonderbolts would probably have been happy if you sold me out to them. So I wanted to thank you for that. I don’t know any other pony who’d have done the same. Maybe one, but he…” The big mare set her expression to neutral and pressed on. “Anyway, thanks.”
 
Fluttershy smiled comfortingly at her half-sister. It was true, they’d never been close. They had different mothers, and more than that, different lives, as different as night and day. But that didn’t change anything: sheltering Ritterkreuz hadn’t been a family obligation.
 
“I did it because I thought you needed it, and because it felt like the right thing to do,” Fluttershy said, feeling a bit of her inherent shyness kick back in, even inside the sanctuary of her own home. Her mane fell across her cheek as she averted her eyes. “I mean, it was… I think it was the right thing to do, even though…”
 
“Right or wrong, I’m glad you did it,” Ritterkreuz told her, and slowly spread her wings, flexing them. “I’m feeling good. This’ll be a good day. But before I head out, Fluttershy: this may be asking a lot, but depending on how things go, I’d like you to send Dad a letter… or tell him this, or something.”
 
“What is it?” Fluttershy asked, looking up again.
 
“After this, if I’m still flying, I’m gonna leave Equestria for a while,” Ritter admitted, though she didn’t sound all that happy about it. “Dad used to take down monsters, protecting villages and tribes on the borders. I thought I’d be good at that, like I could do my part for Equestria and cr- and stuff, but… things didn’t work out. He’d know that. So I think the best thing is for me to just fly around on my own for a while. Kill some strong creatures way out there. Stuff ponies haven’t tangled with before! If I beat the rain boom today, tell him I’m leaving to get stronger. Someday soon, I’ll come for him, first, then the Princesses. Tell him not to get flabby.”
 
“You actually want to fight Princess Celestia?” Chalice asked from her side of the table, shaking her head in disbelief.
 
“Sure I do!” Ritter responded with a boisterous laugh. “Unless I can find somepony or something more powerful than her. Then she’ll be my target instead!”
 
“Why?” Chalice insisted. “Why bother?”
 
“A pony like you probably couldn’t understand,” Ritter said, standing up. Her wings spread and then snapped closed with an audible ‘fwsshp!’ “When I see a cloud, I want to fly up to it and kick it. When I see a wall, I want to break it down and see what’s on the other side. When I find a pony with a strong body and a strong will, I wanna fight them. Everypony and everything in this world is just another cloud or another wall to me. That’s all.”
 
Fluttershy sighed, but let her half-sister say her piece. Without another word, the big mare was gone.
 
“Fluttershy?” Chalice asked, seeing the butter coated mare also stand up. “Are you--?”
 
“Going out today?” Fluttershy asked, shaking bodily despite her resolve. “I - I don’t want to, but… I think I have to.”
 
- -
 
Soarin saw Ritterkreuz first.
 
He held himself back, too. For the honor of the Wonderbolts. That was what this was about, after all. There were no Royal Guards or Free Company ponies this far into the hills of the Rambling Rock Range. This was, he reminded himself, what Spitfire wanted. What the Captain wanted, since she was now their leader. Just as important, this was what Rainbow Dash wanted. So he held himself back.
 
He watched as his former teammate rode an updraft from the rolling green lands below and leapt off his cloud to intercept her. The ground rushed past in a blur as he dove and pulled up, his body lining up with the other Wonderbolts as they fell into a familiar pattern. Though the Wonderbolts were further subdivided into flight teams and squadrons, they all practiced and flew together. They knew one another: how they moved and how they reacted to the wind, to the glare of the sun, to each other.
 
For a few seconds, Soarin felt that familiarity and camaraderie again…
 
Then it was gone.
 
“This way!” he yelled, to be sure the other pegasus could hear him.
 
He turned, wings wide and carrying him effortlessly across miles of empty land below. A quick check, just a glance out of the corner of his eye, confirmed that Ritterkreuz was following along. They flew in silence, little to say to one another at that point. Both of their thoughts were focused on what was up ahead.
 
The Rambling Rock Range.
 
It stretched on into the horizon, growing higher and taller to the east and south, forming part of the border with the Everfree and containing the wild forest, but here in the lowlands it was something else entirely. Here, ragged and rough serrated peaks - a fraction of the size of a real mountain - stuck out of the broken and irregular ground. It was still rubble strewn, despite a thick blanket of green attempting to obscure and eventually wear down the obstructions.
 
It was not a naturally occurring formation on the land. In this part of the range, the earth had been excavated in ancient times. Back then, a process called “ruina montium” had used water pressure to literally demolish mountains, shearing and splitting them apart for gems and gold. Equestria was a gem rich country, and the early settlers - unicorns, earth ponies and pegasi - had all rushed to exploit the most abundant veins.
 
The ancients called the process literally “wrecking of mountains.”
 
“She’s here,” Ritterkreuz said, accelerating.
 
Soarin angled his wings and kept pace as his former team mate spotted a speck of blue perched on top of one of the shattered mountain monoliths. Though spade shaped, it was still large and flat enough on top to support a few pegasus ponies coming in for a landing. Rainbow Dash eyed them both as they approached. She had packed something with her in a small saddlebag that now lay at her hooves on the ground.
 
The two mares met each other’s eyes, wings spread.
 
Ritter, the first to speak, chuckled darkly. “You’ve got a confident, fierce look. The kind that says: I won’t run away, this time. Am I right?”
 
“Yeah,” Dash agreed. “I’m not going to run away this time.” She then pointed to Ritter’s wings and the remaining bandage around her left foreleg. “Are you still hurt?”
 
“I’m always a little scuffed up,” Ritterkreuz replied, unconcerned, and pointed over to Soarin. “You aren’t all tired out from your intense training with cutie here?”
 
“Hey!” Soarin yelped. “We never--”
 
“I hope you enjoyed your time with him,” she continued, ignoring his outburst. “Sparky is so overprotective, I never got to give him a ride myself. Such a shame!”
 
Rather than rise to the bait, though, Rainbow Dash just shrugged. “I didn’t make him sleep on the couch, if that’s what you mean. How has that been, by the way? Sleeping in the hay by yourself?”
 
“It’s pissed me the fuck off, actually!”
 
The two mares closed, the gray towering a good head over the blue.
 
Rainbow Dash lifted a hoof, not saying a word. Ritter looked down, saw it, and raised her own hoof as well. There was a soft ‘clop’ as they touched, bumping hooves. Both mares were grinning.
 
“You talk the talk,” the former Wonderbolt said, backing away, large wings flaring out wide to find purchase in the air. “Now let me see you fly. Let me hear you Boom.”
 
“Sure,” Dash replied, and shot forward. “I never disappoint a fan!”
 
- - -
 
“Twilight Sparkle! Always a pleasure to see you again.”
 
“Mister Fancypants! Hello again!” Twilight Sparkle graced the multi-millionaire socialite and industry mogul with a charming smile. She dipped her head respectfully to him, and then to the other pony he was in conversation with. “You must be… Prince, I mean, Emir Golden Star? Was that right?”
 
“Charmed, my little lady,” Golden Star stood taller than his companions, and inclined his head just a fraction as he greeted her. There was strange accent, a mild affectation, to his speech. “We were merely reminiscing about our youths in Canterlot. You must be Lady Celestia’s apprentice?”
 
It was the first time Twilight could recall a pony referring to Celestia as ‘lady’ instead of ‘princess.’ She recalled that Saddle Marabians saw the Princesses differently, less reverently, than normal Equestrian ponies.
 
“Twilight Sparkle,” she introduced herself, rather humbly. There was no need to tack on ‘apprentice to the princess’ or her family relations or her technical gendarme status to Rarity. She angled two of her legs in a polite curtsy, her purple and fuchsia dress gliding around her back hooves.
 
“Gentlemen,” she said. “Prince Blueblood, I was wondering if I could…?”
 
“It seems I am needed, my friends,” Blueblood told them with a suave smirk. “”You’ll have to excuse me a moment or two.”
 
They exchanged a few more polite greetings and a few jibes about a certain Prince being at the beck and call of the mares of Ponyville and then Twilight lead him a short distance away. The Art Festival itself was in full swing around them: well to do guests visiting Ponyville by train and elegant celebrities and nobles given the courtesy of staying at the new manor itself, all mingling with Ponyville residents in a mix of social strata and Equestrian classes. The overall atmosphere was still kept rather highbrow by Ponyville standards - even the ‘hoedown’ that was planned for later was fairly tame and billed as an exhibition of local dancing and musical traditions - but it was a remarkable middle ground in being.
 
“Well then, Miss Sparkle,” Blueblood asked, “what can I do for you?”
 
“You can just call me Twilight,” she reminded him.
 
“In private, I would be happy to,” he said it with a charming smile, but Twilight sighed and rolled her eyes. She had spent enough time with him in private to know when he was being his real self. But, that was probably a masquerade all ponies in his position felt the need to engage in. Even her brother, at times.
 
“Alright. Twilight,” he relented a bit and she brightened.
 
“Good!” she said, but quickly came to the point. “I need to ask you a few things.”
 
“So long as you do not mean to foalnap me again,” he joked. “Ask away.”
 
“Night Iron.”
 
Blueblood’s smile remained, but no longer quite reached his eyes.
 
“You mean enchanted meteoric iron,” he asked, after a few seconds.
 
Twilight nodded. “Do you know how to break it or how to reforge it? Or any way to fix it?”
 
“Why… would you ask?” he was hesitant, but as a few pregnant seconds passed between them, he let out a soft ‘hmm’ and remembered who he was speaking to and how he trusted her. “Night Iron is only found in old magical arcanery: ancient amulets, talismans … the odd clockwork apparatus. You know better than I that these things are not meant to be reforged once cast and empowered.”
 
“There has to be a way to repair them when they break,” Twilight argued.
 
He tapped a hoof against the decorative gravel floor. “That would stand to reason.”
 
“Blueblood--”
 
“Yes,” he admitted, before she could ask. “Yes, I believe we do have information on that. I never read it myself - the books and scrolls are forbidden for a good reason, I assume - but we do have copies. Those things are not strictly Black Arts, though. Auntie should have copies in her royal archives in the palace, too.”
 
“I’d rather not rely on the royal archives or a palace courier,” Twilight told him with a pleading look. “Not for this. Ponies would notice if the books went missing, wouldn’t they?”
 
“They would, yes,” Blueblood agreed, scratching his chin. “The royal archives are semi-public, whereas the Blueblood archives are entirely private. But, as I said, the tomes are forbidden. We have them for the sole purpose of keeping ponies from reading them or rediscovering their secrets. Do you really need to look into this?”
 
“I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important,” Twilight replied. “I need… help with something.”
 
“Ah.” Blueblood nodded again, his mind made up. “Say no more. I just wanted to be sure. I promised to help you before and I meant it. In fact, I expected something like this to happen, sooner or later. Do you remember that book I gave you for your birthday?”
 
“Hiding in Plain Sight,” she recalled. “The Art of Invisibility. I had to find a special place for it in the library to keep it from getting lost!”
 
He smirked, hearing that. “Do tell.”
 
“Spike can’t see it,” she explained, without wondering why he would ask. “I mean, obviously he can’t. Only I can see it! So I kept it in my room.”
 
Actually, now that she thought of it, Eunomie hadn’t noticed it either. She had catalogued and referenced every book and journal and scroll in the library as part of her reorganization in Spike’s absence. Using Galen, she could retrieve any one of them faster than Spike or Owloysius ever could. It was really very impressive. But … “Hiding in Plain Sight” hadn’t been on the complex library index Eunomie had given her for reference.
 
It was her own private book, not part of the library, but Eunomie had also scanned and recorded other books: even the very private ones that Twilight kept under her bed, and that one novel she’d tucked away in the closet under a blanket and even those magazines she’d hidden inside her old dictionary! Eunomie hadn’t seemed particularly interested or perturbed by the find and had simply omitted the books from the publicly available index.
 
Nopony knew “Hiding in Plain Sight” was in her bottom dresser drawer.
 
Twilight gave Blueblood a sidelong stare. “I guess it makes sense you gave that book to me so I could hide it…”
 
“Naturally,” he replied, a little amused. “Don’t tell me where you keep it. Don’t tell anypony. What matters is both that the book is kept secret and that you read it. You did read it?”
 
“… I did.”
 
The book was invisible to all but Twilight, the owner, bound to it by a seal the moment she touched it. It had been a fascinating read, too: all about the historical development of invisibility spells and their various foundations in illusion, enchantment and even transmutation magic. But what--
 
“Did you read between the lines?” he asked, pointedly.
 
“I… I just read it normally,” Twilight replied, a little confused. “Was there…? Oh! There was!” She put hoof to face as realization sunk in. “Hiding in Plain Sight! There was something invisible in the book! Something I couldn’t see just because I could see it! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”
 
By the time she finished upbraiding herself, she saw he had grown rather amused.
 
“It was supposed to be a timely secret of sorts,” Blueblood admitted, keeping his voice low as a couple passed by on their way to the commerce pavilion. “I got the idea from Auntie. She always sets these things up so they look obvious in retrospect, and so ponies only catch on to them when they need to. Maybe this one was too difficult? Or maybe the timing was just wrong?”
 
He shrugged. “I am rather new at this, but yes, I suppose I should just as well explain it. There is a spell hidden within the book to give you access to the - shall we say - sensitive archives under my family’s care.”
 
“Invisible books in the library?” Twilight guessed, already imagining where a few could be hidden.
 
Blueblood chuckled, shaking his head. “No. Not in the library, though you could say through it. I won’t ask that you go look up the spell now, of course. I’ll retrieve the books when I have some time. You don’t need them this moment, do you?”
 
Twilight shook her head. “No, I can wait for later; I just wanted to check with you first.”
 
“A little later then,” he promised and craned his neck to look around. “By the way: is she also hiding in plain sight, or has Rarity run off somewhere? I haven’t seen her in some time.”
 
Twilight thought back to the last time she had seen her friend. “I saw her a few minutes ago,” she remembered, “before I went over to talk to you. I think she was meeting with this other mare…?”
 
- - -
 
Sand Dune.
 
“My Lady, she’s here.”
 
One of her Free Company pegasus mares had come to her with the news, alighting next to Rarity in dress uniform: a steel cuirass polished to a high sheen with a linen shirt beneath, the collar and wrists of the front legs all done in ruff. All those appearing at the festival also wore their beautiful nickel-plated pickelhaube helms. They were representing her, after all. It would not due for them to appear either unprepared or unfashionable. Whispering the details in the former seamstress’s ear, Rarity listened to the companypony and then motioned for her return to the air.
 
“So Lady Sand Dune actually came?” Fleur asked, having stood by while Rarity attended to the news. “Do you mean to make her wait?”
 
“Only a short time,” Rarity replied, brows knitted in worry. “I find it hard to believe she is as dangerous as you and… my other source paint her to be.”
 
“The Quartz family is not to be trifled with, though I have heard they place more value on bits than titles.” The two mares slowly turned to walk back to the manor overlooking the art festival. “They are also staunch rivals of the Terre Rare. They could make strong friends, if you can find common cause with them.”
 
“Perhaps.”
 
“Have you talked to His Grace about this?”
 
Rarity shook her head. “No. I do not wish to trouble him with it and he has already cautioned me about Sand Dune before, weeks ago.”
 
“What did he recommend?”
 
“Blueblood recommended that I bribe her with gifts, promises and gold,” Rarity answered with an upset exhalation, a sound that built up in the back of her throat but never made it to her lips. It was clear to Fleur that the option left a bitter taste in the mare’s mouth.
 
“I would recommend the same,” the graceful model agreed with her liege lord. “Gifts and gold for friendship.”
 
“Friendship cannot be bought, Fleur. Not even with gold.”
 
The taller mare dipped her head at that. “I see what you mean, of course. But this is how things are done. She will not have come all this way to make friends in the manner to which you are accustomed. She will have come here to flesh you out, as either an ally or an enemy.”
 
“You know I do not wish to be anypony’s enemy,” Rarity argued.
 
“I know,” Fleur agreed, sparing a moment and a friendly smile for two passing gentlecolts from Manehattan. Both bowed their heads in greeting to first Rarity, and then her friend. Fleur - Fleur was one of Rarity’s friends, despite a rocky start and a difficult misunderstanding. Some mares, though, would not be so charmed. By all accounts, Sand Dune was of this variety. Lady Antimony had been as well, and that had culminated in a duel that Rarity did not care to repeat. Not if it could be avoided.
 
Soon, the two mares ascended the long, winding white marble staircase up to the upper front door of the mansion. Two Free Company ponies stiffened at attention at their approach, having escorted Sand Dune personally. Not that she distrusted Blueblood’s Royal Guards, just that she wanted the other mare to know the she had teeth of her own as well.
 
“I would very much appreciate your insight, Fleur,” Rarity said, taking a deep breath.
 
“It would be my pleasure and honor to assist in any way.” The supermodel righted one of her pink mane’s gentle little curls with her hoof and, naturally, struck a little pose in the process. “I am also rather curious! They say Lady Sand Dune is the most beautiful mare in all of southern Equestria. We should compare notes!”
 
Rarity - considering herself no slouch in that department either - spared the model a knowing smile.
 
“And perhaps I can design a dress for her as well,” she joked, partly. Nodding to the guards, they opened the door for the two mares. “Let us see what Lady Sand Dune came so far for.”
 
- -
 
Rarity and Fleur had greeted the other mare in the drawing room on the first floor, east wing of the manor. Upon hearing that Sand Dune would be making a surprise visit, Rarity had quickly sent a servant down to prepare the room to receive company. Blueblood’s manor actually had four drawing rooms or parlours meant for relaxation, two on the lowest floor and two on the highest. The uppermost ones were the sunrise parlour and the sunset parlour, facing in different directions and meant to provide views of the dawn or dusk, but to be smaller and more intimate than the regular solarium.
 
The two lower parlours were the smoking room for the stallions and the withdrawing room for the mares, though either sex could and did make use of either parlour. The naming was mostly due to tradition and convention and the style of each. The manor’s drawing room was one of the more opulent in the villa: the walls were adorned with paintings set in golden mercury-gilded ormolu-style frames and were complimented by other ormolu decorated devices, from a clock to a multitude of porcelain cups. A large and beautiful marble topped table with cabriole legs took up the center of the room. Bergère legchairs, a trio of fainting couches and a plethora of luxurious floor pillows provided ample room for guests to sit, recline or relax.
 
The hope had been to overawe the Bitalian Princess, at least a little, and put her off balance with the assumption that she had come, expecting to meet with a new Baroness strapped for bits and political capital. Granted, Rarity knew she was - in fact - a brand new Baroness strapped for bits and political capital… but she had no intention of advertising that fact to anypony she didn’t trust with the truth. Especially not this mare.
 
“Lady Rarity,” a dulcet voice greeted them, belonging to a tall, graceful mare in her late twenties. “I am afraid I do not recognize your friend.”
 
Rarity inclined her head, giving Fleur a moment to introduce herself, as confident and self-assured as always. She extended a dainty, delicate hoof and bowed her head. “Fleur, of the Iris Family, if it please.”
 
“It pleases,” Sand Dune replied, inclining her head just as Rarity had done.
 
It was all rather vexing: Lady Sand Dune was as fetching as her reputation had led Rarity to believe. The southern mare wore a rather simple gauzy white muslin-cotton chemise with a wide embroidered pink sash - Rarity recognized the design and the style right away. It was a new fashion twist on the popular neoclassical look, with the skirt of the dress beginning further towards the front of the chest rather than around the waist. The resulting dress was worn loose and light, without a corset, and the fabric clung snugly to the body, almost as if both clothed and nude as the same time. Golden netting covered her bared shoulders and neck.
 
With a stylist’s eye, Rarity imagined Sand Dune entering her boutique in that dress, and what it could say about her as a mare. It was a modern take on an old style, not very popular in Canterlot yet. It was probably a Piuttosto design from her shop in Reinice, though that was only an educated guess. She would not have traveled in it, but would have packed it for this one appearance. As a noble mare to one of Equestria’s richest families, she could certainly have afforded something more expensive. Sand Dune wore no jewelry: no necklace or ear-rings or bracelet. Even her hooves were bare and natural, revealing the trim of her glossy hooves and her neat feltlocks.
 
She was, Rarity also saw, just the type of mare to turn quite a few heads on her way over.
 
Sand Dune’s coat was a luscious light peach, flawless as far as Rarity could see. Her mane was a deep sky blue that bordered on midnight, done up in an elaborate bun that was never higher than her horn, though that horn was - Rarity noted with some annoyance - longer and taller than her own. Standing close to the southern mare, Rarity had to tilt her head slightly. Not only was Sand Dune’s horn a little longer, but she was taller as well, with perfectly proportioned legs. Her neck was graceful, but not noticeably longer than normal, like Antimony’s had been, back when Rarity had first met that mare. Her tail also had perfect little half-curls in it and her eyes were a frothy gray-blue.
 
‘Never in my life have I thought about kissing another mare, but… my word! If Bon Bon or Lyra… or even if Applejack were here, she’d probably be drooling.’
 
Rarity hastily put those thoughts aside and returned to her assessment of the mare based on her dress. Appearance: meticulous and calculated. Vanity: little, enough to impress, not enough to show off. Physically beautiful, and she would know that. More than that, she would use it, exaggerate it, play with it. No need for necklace, rings, other things. Pride: this mare would have plenty of it. She would be proud of her looks, proud of her accomplishments, proud of her magic. Height: taller than most mares, taller even than Fleur, she would be used to looking down on other ponies and especially other mares. Expression: not haughty, but cautious, explorative, calculating again.
 
Not so subtly, Rarity checked her cutie mark.
 
It was partly covered by a thin enough strip of cotton to still be visible as a whole for what it was: an hourglass. However, it was not the normal and fairly common hourglass cutie mark, within which there were as many small variations as there were ponies. This hourglass was two tear shaped ampules, covered with an intricate golden framework, more like a pair of Fabergé eggs, set within a thin golden cage. A pair of wings extended from the middle, where the two halves of the hourglass met, and Rarity could see that they were actually sand, escaping from the hourglass itself.
 
“Lady Sand Dune,” Rarity said, after more cordial introductions. “Please, have a seat. Is there anything I can get you? You’ve traveled a terribly long way; I would extend every courtesy to see you at ease.”
 
“A glass of water would be wonderful,” Sand Dune replied. “With ice. More ice than water, if you please.”
 
“Of course,” Rarity agreed. She rang a small bell, and soon one of Blueblood’s house staff went to the request. The three mares made a little small talk while they waited, mostly discussing the various pavilions of the art festival outside and the other guests in attendance, some noble and some ‘merely’ famous. The starlet, Sapphire Shores, had also recently arrived, and Rarity regaled her company with how she had made dresses for the pop singer and media sensation. In the process of hunting for gems she had been abducted by Diamond Dogs, too, a fact that seemed to light up Sand Dune’s eyes with surprise and interest.
 
“Diamond Dogs!” Sand Dune exclaimed. “I was not aware they ranged so far north of the Macintosh hills and the Badlands in general.”
 
The visiting noblemare accepted a glass of ice and water without offering her thanks, and soon the servant left the pitcher on a tray on the table, leaving quietly and without disturbing the trio. Raising the glass not with her hooves but with a bit of telekinetic magic, she took a small, experimental sip of the freezing cold water.
 
“We have them all over our border opposite Saddle Marabia,” she explained. “They do occasionally ponynap, but most are fairly civilized. They mine gems and precious ores… they used to trade with the dragons, back before we chased them off. Now they trade with us.”
 
“They mine salt for you as well, don’t they?” Fleur asked, having claimed a few pillows on the floor to lounge on. Rarity had, by necessity, chosen a couch. Sand Dune had also reclined on the floor, and as hostess, Rarity felt it appropriate she remain a little higher than her guests. As Blueblood had told her once, there was an instinctive confidence that came from one’s height, and an instinctive compliant reaction to it.
 
“Yes, yes they do,” Sand Dune replied, swirling the water in her glass. “When my ancestors discovered the salt, the dogs had been there for centuries. The ones who mine our salt, all of Equestria’s salt really, are a different, more civilized breed than the ones you must have encountered. The ones I know of wear clothes, speak Bitalian and often common Equestrian, hold council and court, and even serve in some guard companies. They have been loyal and staunch allies for a thousand years, content with their underworld realm. ‘Canida’ they call it: a curious place, but a good neighbor and mostly harmless.”
 
“Food for salt must be a good deal,” Fleur continued, feeding her own curiosity a little. “One that has benefited the Quartz Family greatly.”
 
“We do pay another price for the bargain,” Sand Dune explained with a tiny grin. “Unlike ponies - in fact, much like the griffins up north here - our allies eat more than what our earth ponies grow. We have had to create far larger wild areas with untamed animals for the dogs to hunt. Areas that are dangerous to ponies as a result of these untamed creatures. A wild boar, for example, is not like a domestic pig. It will not speak to a pony, not even one whose talent is in animal care, and every year some poor pony is killed approaching a beast that wanders into a civilized area. The tusks are quite terrible, and they can disembowl even a grown stallion in but the blink of an eye.”
 
“Dreadful!” Rarity shivered at the thought. Applejack had quite a few domestic pigs at Sweet Apple Acres. It was hard to imagine their untamed cousins could be so dangerous or so vicious!
 
“The dogs hunt them with long spears with a sort of spar near the tip,” Sand Dune said, and used a slim hoof to demonstrate, as she jabbed it forward. “The beast is stuck on it, but then meets the spar and cannot continue to charge. If it cannot come in close and use those tusks then it cannot do you harm. I would not try it myself - a ghastly occupation, truly - but often the dogs invite stallions along to help them. One of my brothers was once wounded grievously in the leg on such a hunt.”
 
She shook her head in disapproval.
 
“Some enterprising ponies actually trade in imported meats that they then sell to the dogs, or to the occasional young dragon or minotaur or what-have-you. You know minotaurs, don’t you? They come from an island off the coast. Well, once we have the salt out, all we need do is transport it across the San Palomino desert, by rail or by sea mostly, and then to you.”
 
“The salt is much appreciated, of course, but as a mare of fashion, I must express my appreciation for your silks and other wonderful fabrics!” Rarity meant it, too. “I still have some reams that Blueblood sent me after his visit to your land. I haven’t the heart to use them, they are simply so lovely! I just touch them once, or see them in the light, and can’t bear to begin cutting!”
 
Lady Sand Dune tipped her head in thanks for the compliment. “Our textile industry is one of our pride and joys. Many of our most revered ponies are those who discovered new fabrics, dyes, prints or other techniques. I am actually glad this topic came up, as it did, as I brought you a gift from my holdings.”
 
“A gift?” Rarity asked, and she had to keep from sounding too excited.
 
Sand Dune’s smile was friendly and warm. “Yes. I knew of your background, Lady Rarity - that should come as no surprise - and I thought it might please you to present six rolls of some of our finest silk, two bleached and four hoof- dyed. They are gifts from me, and from the hard working artisans of our Bitalian villages. I have also brought four phials of some of our rarest dyes, all shades of indigo, from the murex, so you might make your own in your free time.”
 
“That… is a wonderful gift!” Rarity could already imagine what she could make with it - assuming she finally felt up to cutting up some of her tiny supply. A single roll of silk would have been generous enough, but six, and four of them in shades of murex indigo? It was altogether too much!
 
In fact… it was suspiciously much.
 
That thought, in turn, made her regret how her dealings had made her so paranoid. Was a gift not simply a gift? Even a generous one? Surely, it could be… just as surely it wasn’t, in this case. Sand Dune was altogether too intelligent and shrewd made to not make a statement out of her generosity. That statement was very likely: ‘I do not need to flaunt my wealth, I can freely and easily give it to those I call friend.’
 
“You have my deep thanks,” Rarity said, and meant every word. No matter what else it was, it was a truly magnanimous gift. “I will have to think much on what to give you.”
 
For just a moment, she remembered Antimony’s dress. She still had it. Finished, even. All that was missing was the owner, but who knew where that mare was, these days.
 
“Perhaps I could make something for you?” she wondered. “Indigo is more my color than yours, but white looks marvelous on you and two rolls of bleached is plenty! Perhaps a new shawl, as thin as the one you have now, light as gossamer but beaded with tiny gems? I have a great deal of experience working with jewels, both large and small.”
 
“I believe I would like that,” Sand Dune replied, and raised her glass in agreement. Fleur pouted, noting that she had ‘so little to wear’ and that the world seemed to fancy her that way. Rarity and Sand Dune tittered, feeling the ice break among them, and as if to celebrate that, Sand Dune floated out one of the many ice cubes from her drink.
 
Placing it between her lips, she sucked the ice cube into her mouth with a happy sigh.
 
“I do so love ice,” she remarked, rolling the cube around with - Rarity couldn’t help but think - a rather nimble pink tongue. “Especially flavored ice. Do you have that here?”
 
“We have ice cream,” Rarity said.
 
“Not the same texture.” Sand Dune shook her head. “What say we come to the matter of my visit, Rarity? I may call you Rarity?”
 
“Rarity is fine. May I call you Sand Dune?”
 
“Yes, please.” The beautiful mare bit down on the ice cube with a crunch. “I came to tell you that I do not need the Platinum Crown or the Duchy of Canterlot. I am not like Antimony. Unlike the Terre Rares, the crown and the throne have no ancestral or emotional significance to me. You may have both and you may marry His Grace. I will not interfere, so long as you grant me a few… favors.”
 
Favors.
 
Rarity kept herself from sighing or wincing; she had known it would come to this. It was no surprise.
 
“Favors, then,” she acquiesced. “And what might these favors be?”
 
“My youngest brother is a gentle, scholarly soul,” Sand Dune explained, “a sweet young colt who has only recently acquired his cutie mark. We would see him toughened up into a proper stallion by joining your Canterlot Royal Guard for a period of no less than five years. You may also see him as a hostage to guarantee my family’s cooperation and good behavior.”
 
Rarity frowned as she thought. So far, this mare was promising to give much and ask for little, but it already left a sour taste in her mouth. A ‘hostage’ in return for cooperation. She was moments from objecting on principle, telling Sand Dune that a hostage was entirely unnecessary but that she could and would gladly see to her little brother’s guard apprenticeship, when--
 
“Naturally,” Sand Dune continued. “After say, a year or two, I will expect a token hostage of my own. Your little sister is the same age as my brother. When she has blossomed into a young mare, she is welcome to learn magic and courtly manners from her sister’s good friends and allies in Reinace. She will have the finest tutors, of course, as befitting a young noblemare.”
 
Rarity had to grit her teeth to keep from snapping at this mare. There was the rub.
 
She closed her eyes and thought of Sweetie Belle. In a few years, the little filly really would need to be apprenticed to somepony to learn magic appropriate to her special talent, whatever that ended up being. Despite funding the construction of Ponyville’s new and only mage tower herself, Rarity still expected Sweetie would spend a year or two in Canterlot. It was the place to go for a unicorn to learn. Then again, Bitaly was also renowned for its academies and ancient centers of learning. But calling it an exchange of hostages, settling all this for Sweetie instead of with her…!
 
Rarity tried to remain diplomatic; this mare, though her offer rankled, was not an enemy she could afford to make right now. “Your offer is generous. I will need to consult with our parents as to any deal involving Sweetie Belle.”
 
“Yes, I forget you are not yet head of your household,” Sand Dune replied, but did not laugh or even smile. She merely nodded, once. “Consult with your mother, as you need to. If there is issue, I will gladly speak to her myself.”
 
Rarity was smart enough to see that as the threat it was: her mother was a lovely mare, a kind mother, but she would wilt if faced by Lady Sand Dune. Worse, she would accept what the other mare said completely and utterly at face value. Sweetie could end up in Bitaly for four years out of eight instead of two out of the same.
 
“There is more?” Rarity guessed.
 
“There is more,” Sand Dune confirmed. “I have numerous younger sisters, some legitimate and many illegitimate, in the way Canterlot defines these things. I would see one of them, chosen from a list I provide, given high station. It need not be a challenging duty. Under-Minister of Aqueducts for the city, for example, would be fine. The prestige and the station are all that matters. A second one of my younger sisters shall serve you as an honored hoofmaiden.”
 
Nepotism. Blueblood had told her about the Quartz Clan and their fondness for it.
 
“I can make arrangements,” she agreed. It was ugly, but not a problem. She could assign one of the sisters to some menial job, or even ask Blueblood to make her his Under-Minister as Grand Veneur. The younger one could be a hoofmaiden and attendant, so long as she wasn’t a bumbling foal… and so long as she had somepony to watch her. Sandy had asked to be kept hidden from much of the rest of her family, however, so an arrangement there would also have to be made.
 
“When you are crowned, we intend to raise the price of salt by two percent. Canterlot will not object when we do this.”
 
“I don’t know if I can do that,” Rarity admitted, frown deepening. She was a businessmare, but this sort of economics was out of her hooves. “Your family already makes millions of bits exporting salt. Why raise the price…?”
 
“The bits are needed to combat smuggling, of course,” Sand Dune’s response sounded rehearsed, but Rarity nodded.
 
“I will see what can be done, but I cannot speak for Canterlot’s merchants nor can I stop them seeking redress with the Princess, Privy Council or the Stable of Lords should they object.”
 
And most certainly they would object, and loudly. Two percent didn’t sound like much, but it could and would add up. No doubt it would end up debated for years as each side brought complaint after complaint to various ponies in high places. It would probably end up as a one percent hike, years down the road. She suspected Sand Dune knew that, too.
 
Lady Sand Dune smiled, then, as if the salt concession was what she had expected to argue about the most. “Then, lastly, I need only one more thing.”
 
“And that is?” Rarity asked.
 
“Shortly after you find yourself with foal, if you are not already…” Sand Dune gave Rarity’s middle a narrowed look, prompting an indignant huff from the element of generosity. “Your husband is to sire my own first born.”
 
Rarity’s mouth, caught gawking, quickly clenched shut. Anger rose up in her throat. “I will not--”
 
Fleur picked that moment to cough, interrupting Rarity’s outburst. The lithe model reached for a glass of water, acting as if the cough had not been entirely intentional. Rarity was secretly thankful to her friend for diplomatically preventing an outburst. She also floated over a glass of water to conceal her frown and her thoughts while she drank.
 
“I am not asking to be part of your household, nor do I wish to attempt to usurp or undermine your position in Prince Blueblood’s heart,” Sand Dune hastened to explain, seeing the rising tide of indignation in the other mare. “The stallion is yours. I merely require his seed.”
 
The blunt assessment did little to assuage Rarity’s concerns or her ire. “Of all the-” She sputtered, despite really trying to keep cool. “Why, I never! I am not his breeder and he is not some - some pedigreed dog!”
 
“No, he is a pedigreed stud,” Sand Dune countered, her voice level against Rarity’s higher pitch. “He is also a Prince of Equestria and a stallion. He knows his worth and his value includes what is between his legs. You may have all the rest of him, to love and cherish for all the days of your life; I only need that one little part for a night or two.”
 
A thousand questions, and just as many angry accusations, raced through Rarity’s mind.
 
“Why?” she finally settled on, as her thoughts went back to the other noble mares she had met since the Grand Galloping Gala. There was, she realized, no chance that this mare wanted Blueblood in a personal sense. They were after his legacy. All they wanted - all any of them wanted - was his bloodline. His all-important pedigree.
 
“Do I need to spell it out?” Sand Dune asked, primly crossing her legs as she put down her glass of ice. “Though weakened and diluted these last couple hundred years, the Bluebloods have always been Equestria’s most powerful unicorns. Their blood is the blood of ponies who once moved the heavens themselves! I have some of it myself, but I want my child to have more. In this part of Equestria, the foal would be a bastard, born outside of wedlock or even mistress-ship, but in Bitaly, this is not a stigma. His or her pedigree and lineage will instead be an asset in their rise to power.”
 
Rarity closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was shameful to admit, but the moment Sand Dune had proposed this last stipulation to their alliance, she had thought of the beautiful mare in the arms of her Prince and burned with jealousy. This mare was not her friend. She did not trust her. She did not want her to lay one hoof on Blueblood. Just as damning as the thought of agreeing to this deal was the last knife to the back it would deliver to her notions of a gentle and fanciful world of refined, delicate noble mares and selfless charming princes. What would it say about her, if she accepted this? That she had become one of them?
 
One of the snakes, eating other snakes, begetting other snakes?
 
“My demand makes you uncomfortable,” Sand Dune observed, dryly. “How strange. Were you not prepared to accept the role of an alpha mare? Your husband is both a weapon and an asset, and a bargaining chip. You handicap yourself. I am sorry, Rarity, but I will not compromise on this. If you do not wish to see me as an enemy or a rival, then you will give me this concession.”
 
“Blueblood will never--”
 
“His Grace is a noble stallion who knows his duty,” the foreign princess cut Rarity off. “He will do as you tell him, and you will tell him that you need my cooperation. This is the price of that cooperation.”
 
Rarity was quiet for a moment, the seconds ticking between them.
 
“Did you propose this deal to Antimony, before the two of you fought?” Rarity asked, finally.
 
“No.”
 
“Why not? Why me and not her?”
 
“Antimony was inflexible,” Sand Dune explained, a scowl beginning to form, etched on her oval eyes. “She would die before she compromised with me, and I knew she wanted Blueblood for the same reason I do… only she needed both his crown and his bloodline. Whereas I only require the latter. Also, while I reasoned that she would adhere to a pact made in good faith and honor, her family would not. It is well known that the Terre Rare covet Canterlot. Where Antimony herself would not act, a dozen others would plot and scheme for her. I fear no pony in Equestria, but I know when to deal and when to fold.”
 
“And if something were to happen to me, or my foals?” Rarity asked, raising her chin to look down at the noble mare, lying down on the floor.
 
“By certain laws, if such a sad scenario were to develop,” Sand Dune replied, unperturbed. “Then my son or daughter would be next in the line of succession.”
 
Fleur felt the need to interrupt. “The foals of a legal mistress would take precedence over--”
 
“Yet, will there be one?” Sand Dune asked, her smile morphing into a smirk. “You are the very Element of Generosity, Lady Rarity. However, if I have gauged you correctly, you are a jealous mare when it comes to love. Blueblood may also love you in return. I therefore consider it unlikely the two of you will ever have a legal mistress. So, yes, my foals will also have the right to succeed you, should you die or fail to conceive.”
 
She laughed, demurely, her mouth hidden behind a gilded hoof. “That isn’t a problem, is it?”
 
Rarity took a long, slow breath before responding.
 
“The strongest alliances are those of mutual self-interest,” Lady Sand Dune reminded her. “Make it in my interest to see you wear the Platinum Crown, and I will act accordingly.”
 
“I dreamed, once, about being a mare like you,” Rarity said, at last. Blue eyes met golden yellow. “Like Antimony, like Fleur… your lives seemed so wonderful and carefree. You lived in castles, went to the finest parties, you wore the most beautiful gowns and you made fine friends from foreign lands. By day you charmed envoys and suitors with grace and wit. By night, you sang and danced. That was the dream I had of you, Lady Sand Dune, and those like you.”
 
“It is a pleasant dream,” the noblemare replied, a little shiftily. “It is also an image we all cultivate, to please the common pony.”
 
“But it isn’t real,” Rarity concluded. “It never was. Do you even know what real friendship means, Sand Dune?” She didn’t wait for an answer, only shook her head. “Maybe it falls to me to teach you, as I taught it to Lady Antimony.”
 
“Is that a threat?” Sand Dune asked, and there was sharp steel beneath the velvet of her perfect voice.
 
“No,” the Ponyville seamstress assured her. “You are not Antimony. I will not treat you like her. Do you want my answer?”
 
Sand Dune nodded. Listening on the side, Fleur looked worried.
 
“Very well,” Rarity replied. “Then I shall give it to you.”
 
- - -
 
“Hey there, sugarcube!” “Hiya, Twilight!”
 
“Applejack! Apple Bloom!” Twilight waved to the pair as she approached the Sweet Apple Acres stand in the commerce pavilion. “Hello, Big Macintosh!”
 
The stallion merely nodded, tilting his chin in greeting.
 
“Who’s that with ya?” Applejack asked, leading over onto the stand, her Stetson tipped back to show a little forehead.
 
“Eunomie Mosaic,” the mare introduced herself, bowing just a few inches, “I have been helping Twilight with the library. It is nice to meet you.”
 
“Likewise!”
 
“Ya’ll want some apples?” Apple Bloom asked, quick to hop up onto a stool and point at the many treats available, free of charge of course, for anypony visiting the festival. “We got all kindsa great stuff!”
 
“Why don’tya try some of our new cider?” Applejack suggested.
 
“Sure!” Twilight agreed, but Eunomie shook her head.
 
“Oh, sorry,” she apologized. “I don’t drink.”
 
“Not even cider?” Apple Bloom was incredulous. No pony turned down cider! No pony turned down free cider! She looked at the stoic mare with large saffron eyes. “Are you sure?” she asked, sounding hurt.
 
“I could drink… a little, I suppose,” Eunomie relented.
 
Applejack affectionately bopped her little sister on the head. “Yer startin’ ta abuse that look’a yers, ya know.”
 
“Hey! Ah’m not half as bad as Sweetie Belle!” Apple Bloom whirled around, collecting two steins and bringing them over to Big Mac. Taking two in one oversized hoof, he opened a tap and filled one most of the way up and the other partway.
 
Applejack noticed Eunomie watching her brother a little intently and grinned. Big Mac always was a good draw with the mares in town. When he brought the filled steins back to the stand and tipped his head to the two unicorn mares with a wink Applejack almost burst into laughing. Her big brother could play it up, too, when he wanted to.
 
“So how’re you two likin’ Rarity’s artsy stuff?” Applejack asked, mostly directing the inquiry to Twilight. “There anything ya think I’d like in there?”
 
“A few things,” Twilight ventured.
 
“The art on display is mostly impressionist,” Eunomie explained, “Of those, most are oil on canvas. A few works stood out on my review of them. I was particularly interested in ‘A Study of Shadows’ and the exploration of the various mediums and backgrounds and the reflection of color. Many of the realist pieces were also quite nice, especially ‘Dawn on Everfree.’”
 
“My favorite had to be the picture of the dancing mares, the one without anypony wearing clothes? I think it was ‘Ballroom in Nude?’” Twilight guessed. “Yes, that had to be it!”
 
“Nudes?” Apple Bloom asked. “Ain’t we always naked?”
 
Applejack nodded. “Ah’ve been sayin’ that fer years. I figure I’ll give that tent a look see when ah get my break. Ah do kind of like some of the lighter colors they use sometimes. Pretty different from the serious lookin’ paintin’ mom and dad and granny and grandpa had made back in their day. That’s about all the art ah know, though.”
 
“You must’ve met a bunch of out of town ponies, though, right?” Twilight asked. That was one of the promises of the festival. It was a chance for Ponyville businessponies and artists to all get to show their stuff and meet ponies from Canterlot and elsewhere. The librarian took a healthy chug of her cider and her friend sipped at it, rather daintily.
 
“Actually, we did!” Applejack chuckled, heartily. “A couple ponies form Canterlot came by and left wantin’ ta order a barrel or two of cider, and another gave us some information fer a regional grocer up north who’d carry our apples and other products. One’a them Saddle Marabians even said he’d buy a whole wagon load ta bring home. That tall fella wanted ta buy a few cultivars - a few trees - offa us, too, but ah don’t think we can oblige that much.”
 
“That must have been the Emir, Prince Golden Star,” Eunomie whispered to Twilight, but not so softly Applejack couldn’t overhear.
 
“Ah was gonna ask him if he wanted ta be interviewed fer the Foal Free Press!” Apple Bloom interjected, also overhearing.
 
“The what?” Eunomie asked, quietly finishing her stein of cider.
 
“The local school newspaper,” Twilight explained.
 
“We’re tryin’ ta find somethin’ good ta write a column about,” Apple Bloom said, crossing her forelegs in an upset pout. “This might be the only chance we have ta get our investigative journalist cutie marks! Or even yellow journalism cutie marks would be somethin’! Scootaloo said she had a bat-colt for our newspaper but it was just a plain ‘ol bat. We need a hook to draw in readers!”
 
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Twilight told her, floating her empty stein back to the table. “If you need any ideas, we have periodicals and some historic newspaper copies at the library.”
 
“Ah told her ta just write about what ya know,” Applejack added. “What’s wrong with interviewin’ yer big sis and writin’ a column about apples?”
 
“Really?” Apple Bloom asked, sarcasm dripping from the word.
 
“What?” Applejack snickered, hiding her mouth with a hoof. “You need some juicy news? Apples are plenty juicy!”
 
Apple Bloom groaned and stomped off.
 
“By the way, Twilight,” Applejack asked, still snickering a bit at her bad play on words. Apple Bloom and the other crusaders would come around. At least this newspaper thing would keep them out of trouble! “Ah wanted ask if you’ve seen Blueblood around? Ah saw him an hour ago, but he looked real busy.”
 
“I think he’s in the ‘progress’ pavilion,” Twilight suggested, pointing over to a black and gold tent to the right of the ‘commerce’ pavilion they were all in.
 
“May I ask why you wish to see him?” Eunomie inquired, also returning her stein.
 
Applejack eyed the mare for a moment but shrugged. “Ah’d just like him ta hear out a new friend ah mine. She’d been waitin’ ta meet him fer a while and I kinda agreed ta play middle-pony. Ah need to catch Rarity, too. We gotta have a little talk ‘bout the farm.”
 
“I see.” Eunomie smiled. “Then I wish you luck, Miss Applejack.”
 
- - -
 
Applejack found Yumi and her retainers easily enough. All one had to do was look for old Antlers; Shigure was hard to pry away from the Neighponese mare’s side. Evening Squall was with them as well, and the two stallions were dressed formally in tuxedos: the type that really only covered the front of a stallion’s torso, with a little bow tie and a plain collar. It was the first time Applejack had seen them wear anything both mundane and classy.
 
Yumi, as a pony could expect, was dressed in a white and light blue dress with high boots on all four legs. Lady Yumi was no Rarity, if only due to her personal color scheme being entirely black and white. She didn’t play around or do anything exotic with her straight onyx mane, and her tail ended in a small black bow around where Applejack had a band on her own blonde tail. She looked very prim and proper and serious, but not what Applejack imagined most stallions would consider seductive. She was a pretty pony, or at least most would probably think so - Applejack figured - but she was probably too intimidating and severe to ever pick up the kind of allure plenty of noble mares here cultivated, day in and day out.
 
Luckily, Cool Breeze - far from Applejack’s favorite pony and house guest - was absent, along with Pixie Dust and White Dew. She wasn’t sure where those three were.
 
“Lady Yumi,” Applejack said, calling out to the mare as she trotted over.
 
“Miss Applejack,” Yumi replied, returning the gesture with some discomfort. Ponies didn’t shake or wave hooves all that much in Neighpon, it turned out.
 
“I got ya yer meetin!” the apple farmer told her, showing quite a little pride in fulfilling her end of the bargain. “Just ask one’a them fellas inside ta point ya ta the study on the top floor.”
 
Yumi’s normally stern expression melted with an uncharacteristic grin. “You have done me a great service, Applejack. One I will not soon forget.”
 
“It was the least ah could do, but…” Applejack own smile became more pensive, as she felt the need to, as always, embody her element of harmony. “But ah gotta be honest with ya, Lady Yumi. Ah hope ya won’t hold it against me fer sayin’ so, but Blueblood, from everythin’ I’ve heard… heck, from all the times I’ve seen him starin’ or just lookin’ at her real quiet like… I’d bet bits to barrels that he’s head over heels fer my friend Rarity.”
 
Yumi blinked, but didn’t seem upset by the news. Maybe she already knew?
 
“Rarity and I have bumped heads a few times,” Applejack hastened to say, just in case the other mare tried to interrupt. “Well, actually, we’ve bumped heads plenty a times. Like two bulls in a corral. But she’s my friend, my good friend, and ah know she loves him, too. Ah got you yer meetin’ with him, alone, but ah really don’t think yer gonna be able to convince him ta feel about you the way you feel about him.”
 
The Neighponese heiress nodded and walked past her.
 
“If he rejects me, then so be it,” she said, and didn’t look back.
 
“Yumi-hime,” Shigure objected, starting to follow. “I really should--”
 
“Stay outside and wait for me,” she ordered, and as she turned away, her hidden grin revealed a hint of fang. “I won’t be gone long.”