XIII: Of Bonds
She wouldn’t leave us. She wouldn’t.
Twilight floated through the drowned avenues of Stalliongrad, suspended in a glowing orb of lavender magic. She scanned the half-buried alleys and the leaning rooftops, her eyes darting between flickers of movement at the corners of her vision.
You yourself found the message. What cause would the Premier have to lie to her own government?
Midnight had elected against projecting herself onto the physical realm for the moment, its cold, almost mocking voice echoing in Twilight’s head. Despite this, Twilight could clearly see an image of her dark passenger reclined in the sunlit reading nook of her old study, an untitled book laying ignored on the desk.
I don’t know! Maybe it was some kind of power play. Or maybe—she must have been misinformed. The Princess wouldn’t abandon Equestria.
Midnight hummed down at her book with faux contemplation. Is it really Equestria that you’re so concerned about?
Twilight drew up short. Wisps of red energy drifted from her bubble as she fixed Midnight with a tight-lipped scowl. Of course it is! Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve suffered—all of it’s for Equestria!
True, yes. Midnight looked up, meeting Twilight’s mental glare with her own bloodshot eyes. But this denial of yours only seems to appear when Celestia does.
Twilight grit her teeth. The butterflies in her chest fluttered about in panic as the pressure around them began to build. What exactly are you trying to say?
Don’t play dumb with me, little flower, Midnight scoffed. Your foalish worship for your princess does little more than leave us unfocused and vulnerable. We should be focused on feeding ourselves, not mewling over dead alicorns.
“She isn’t dead!”
A wave of energy burst from Twilight’s horn, slamming into the water outside her shield and obscuring the city in a rush of bubbling heat. The ruins groaned around them, disturbed by the sudden change in pressure, and for several seconds Twilight hovered perfectly still, listening to the distant thuds of displaced rubble sinking down to the streets.
Midnight’s soft chuckle echoed between Twilight’s ears. Your actions prove my words true, sweet blossom.
Don’t call me that! Twilight snapped, her chest heaving. It’s your constant prodding and mocking that’s doing this! If you’d just give it a rest then maybe I’d be able to focus for once!
Curious that the prodding works best when Celestia is involved, isn’t it?
Twilight let out a frustrated scream as she pushed herself deeper into the ruins, her eyes scanning her surroundings without really seeing. You’re insufferable! What is it that you get out of this?
I seek only our own improvement. It’s never my wish to hurt you, little flower. Midnight’s lips parted, revealing a bloodstained smile. We have only each other, after all. Sometimes the truth hurts, but do we not always seek the truth?
We do, Twilight admitted. Thick red tears began to well in her vision, obscuring the colorless ruins before her. And that’s what we’re doing! We’ll find more clues in the Frozen North, and then we’ll have a better idea of what happened, but we shouldn’t jump to conclusions!
Twilight, have I ever lied to you?
Twilight drew up short. It was the first time she could remember the twisted facsimile of her voice uttering her name. Midnight hovered before her, a calm expression on its bloodied face.
What’s wrong? it asked, cocking its head. Did you not want me to call you Twilight, either?
I… Twilight found her thoughts wandering as she stared into her own eyes, seeing herself in the reflection. She looked just like Midnight now, didn’t she? You’ve… you’ve tried tricking me before.
Midnight gave a soft smile, but shook its head. When?
When you killed Philomena. You tried to make me sleep.
You were exhausted. Midnight’s voice was warm, lacking its usual edge. But I handled the creature, didn’t I? As I promised you I would.
Twilight grit her teeth, looking away as blood traced familiar paths over her cheeks. But I didn’t want you to! It was wrong!
Perhaps. But did I lie?
Twilight squeezed her eyes shut, throwing herself back into her memories. Surely there must have been one time when her dark passenger had lied to her? It had been in the back of her head for weeks now, whispering into her ears, pushing her to violence and trying to manipulate her…
But to her horror, she couldn’t think of a single lie it had ever told. It had always been honest with her, perhaps even to a fault. Wouldn’t it have been easier for it to wrest control from her if it had presented itself differently? If it had tried to fool her perceptions and fill her head with treacherous falsehoods?
No. Twilight licked her dry lips, opening her eyes and meeting Midnight’s steady gaze. No, you’ve never lied to me.
Then you know I speak truth, Midnight continued. I’m the voice in the back of your head, Twilight. I cannot lie to you anymore than you can lie to yourself.
A soft sob escaped Twilight. The endless expanse of the ocean rumbled around her, uncaring. It’s not fair.
Don’t take it personal, my sweet, Midnight cooed, brushing an invisible hoof along Twilight’s cheek. Twilight flinched away at first, but the chill was oddly comforting to her. Even one as powerful as Celestia cannot surmount every threat that might oppose her. We can be stronger. We must strive to be so.
“She wouldn’t leave me.” Twilight shook her head, speaking in a quiet whimper. “Rarity saw her; she’s still alive. If I can just find her…”
In time, perhaps. For now, we must hunt. The cold, ghostly pressure of Midnight’s touch drew away, and Twilight looked up to see it floating before her, scanning the settling ruins. Weakness will invite danger, and we haven’t eaten in two days. This distraction has already gone on for too long.
Twilight bit her lip as a red tear fell from her chin, sizzling against the shield below. “I d-don’t want to—kill something.”
Midnight turned, looking back over its shoulder at her with eyes narrowed. We ate half a changeling just last week. Are we not over this?
“It’s different!” Twilight snapped, looking up with sudden heat. “We didn’t kill that changeling!”
Midnight cocked its head. And? We scavenged its body while its blood was still warm. It paused, looking away in thought. Though you insisted on draining the corpse before we ate. I’d like to keep the blood this time.
“How can you possibly not understand?” Twilight asked. “These fangs, these eyes, eating the flesh of another creature—I hate it, but I can bear it. A body doesn’t feel any pain. But to kill another living being just so I can survive? It’s monstrous!” She tried to stomp a hoof, but the effect was diminished by the lack of solid ground underneath her. “Who’s to say that my life is more important than that of any other?”
Midnight arched a brow. Us, obviously. Would you rather starve? When we’ve come so far?
Twilight’s whole body was shaking. She couldn’t deny its argument. Some part of her had known that this day would come ever since she first gave in, first bit into the meat of a changeling deep in the bowels of Canterlot, but she had hoped it wouldn’t be today. She had hoped it would never be today, that she would always find some way around it, some way to sustain herself without having to face that undefeatable fact of her cursed existence—she needed meat, and nothing was going to surrender its own flesh without a fight.
“I—” She paused as a sob interrupted her. “Okay. But I h-have conditions.” She winced at the piteous tone of her own voice.
Midnight regarded her with curiosity. Name them.
“First, it has to be a fish,” Twilight began. “No seaponies—o-or any other mammals.”
Midnight narrowed its eyes. An odd stipulation, but if it appeases you, then so be it.
Twilight nodded, her voice growing stronger after the small victory. “And we’ll be sure to clean it properly.” She shivered as she spoke the next words. “If I’m going to k-kill something, then I’ll do it with minimal w-waste.”
Efficiency is always a noble goal. Midnight nodded. Is there a third?
“N-no.” Twilight took a deep breath, calming herself. “Just those two. We can hunt, but we’ll do it—” she bit her lip, looking away “—ethically.”
She could feel the smirk on Midnight’s face, but mercifully, it didn’t call her out on her word choice. Very well. Let us return to the hunt, then. We will have to look harder if seapony is forbidden to us.
Relief washed over Twilight, followed immediately by a wave of nausea. There was nothing to be proud about; one way or another, some creature was about to die because of her.
But it was necessary. She had to survive so that she could follow the clues, find Celestia, save her friends and restore Equestria. The death of an ocean creature was such a small obstacle to get caught up on in the face of all the good it would enable.
It was too easy. Her shiverings grew stronger as she reminded herself that what she had committed to was not the right decision. No, violence upon another living being could never be right. But it could be necessary, and a small wrong choice now would allow her to make greater right choices in the future.
Perhaps she was surrendering her soul, but how could she not pay such a price when it meant she could set the world back to how it should be?
She needed to stop wasting time and energy.
You are just adorable, Midnight said. Are you done?
Twilight sighed. I suppose I am.
It was at that moment that a shadow passed overhead. Or rather, the lavender glow of Twilight’s magic, which previously had dissipated into the greyscale of the pitch-black ocean around her, was suddenly being reflected back at her from above. She looked up, eyes widening as she took in the glimmering mass moving above her, and after a brief shock she finally figured out what it was.
A school of fish was swimming above her, their scales catching her magic and twisting it into twinkling patterns with the flutter of their tails. They danced among each other in a captivating display, each fish in perfect sync with its neighbors, each one unmarred by the bloody signs of corruption that had seemed so omnipresent on the ocean floor.
That, Midnight observed, is extremely convenient.
Twilight’s ears flicked at the warbling screech of a seapony, and her open-mouthed awe turned to horror as she watched a trio of the monsters suddenly swim into view, diving in amongst the fish and staining the water red.
“No!” She jumped into motion almost without thinking, teleporting into the middle of the school with a burst of magic. The fish scattered around her, and she found herself in the middle of an unbroken sphere of glittering scales as the three bloodthirsty seaponies turned to face her.
She hesitated, and they lashed out with their wild, haunting screams in her ears. She countered with magic, striking them with a wall of arcane force that sent the trio spiraling away with strangled shouts of alarm.
For a few seconds she lost sight of them among the swirling, panicked motion of the fish, but the school was quick to flee, and soon they had left Twilight behind, alone against the three glaring monsters.
Twilight blinked, and Midnight was in front of her. “Begone, mongrels! This is our meal!”
The seaponies hissed, flinching backwards as if struck, and backed away. When Twilight floated closer, they gave more ground. The three ponies swam around in circles, their ghostly shrieks filling the water.
Twilight kept her eyes trained on them as she backed away, guiding herself towards the school of fish with magic pings. The seaponies held her gaze with hateful glares, but made no attempt to close the gap. Once she’d satisfied herself that they wouldn’t follow, she turned back to the fish, following in their wake.
Twilight looked to Midnight curiously. What was that?
They were trying to steal food from us, and I asserted our strength, Midnight spat. Not a hard concept even for you to grasp, I would think.
Twilight ignored the jab, pressing on. But you warned them. You scared them off.
Midnight stiffened, looking away. What’s your point, little flower?
A small smile tugged at the corner of Twilight’s lips as she turned to the beautiful display before her. You could’ve just killed them.
She followed the school in silence for several long minutes, marveling at the way her hornlight reflected on their scales. What species were they? It had been a long time since she’d read anything on marine biology, and she couldn’t recall the exact name, but she was fairly certain they were a coastal species. But what would coastal fish be doing so far from shallow waters?
Twilight only barely noticed the ruins fading away around her, giving way to open ocean once more. She cast a simple spell to check her heading, and was pleased to find the fish were heading mostly north. Occasionally she would see seaponies watching in the distance as if sizing up the school and its odd guardian, but none of them made any move against her.
I don’t like hurting things.
Twilight jumped, having nearly forgotten about Midnight in her reverie, but said nothing. She could feel it mulling over its words inside her, and was loathe to shatter the fragile peace she’d found with fresh argument.
It’s just… the best way to deal with threats. Midnight paused, and Twilight wasn’t sure if it was thinking or hoping for a response. When something threatens us, or our friends, I eliminate it. It is an act of necessity.
And those seaponies weren’t threatening us? Twilight hovered closer, catching a single fish in her magic and bringing it into her air bubble—being careful to bring a pocket of water along with it. She held it up to her eye, her muzzle scrunching up as she wracked her memory. Threadfin, maybe?
Their destruction was not necessary, Midnight said curtly, remaining unseen. If they had attacked again, I would have ended them in an instant. Warning them first was just… more efficient.
Ah, yes. Of course. Twilight took a deep breath as she watched the fish swim frantic circles in its little sphere of water. Could a fish feel fear, she wondered? Either way, it would be needlessly cruel for her to confine it any longer. She wrapped a tendril of magic around its body, holding it still. With a single thought she could crush its skull and put it out of its misery.
But she could do that at any time, couldn’t she? She could wait a little longer. If that’s alright with you?
If it helps you. There was a brief pause, and then Midnight added in a stern voice, But we mustn't tarry too long. We must reach the Frozen North without delay.
Right. Twilight nodded as she relinquished her grip on the lone fish, pushing it back into the open ocean and watching it disappear into the shifting kaleidoscope of its friends. Thank you.
What for?
For compromise. It doesn’t mean you’re weak, you know.
Midnight’s only answer was a low growl, and Twilight didn’t push the matter further.
Jab, cut, spin, kick. Wince.
Rainbow grit her teeth. She ignored the complaints from her back muscles as she returned to the starting position, her wings spread and the blades fastened tightly to her feathers.
Jab, cut, spin—slip. Growl.
Sabre had warned her against starting practice so soon after the fight with the changeling, but what did she know? Rainbow’s knowledge of her own body was intimate, a thing developed over years of rigorous training and dozens of injuries. Sure, she’d never been in the hospital for excessive blood loss before—most of her extensive experience was with blunt trauma—but she knew when she was ready to get off bed rest. Or at least she knew when she was ready enough that it wouldn’t cause any further damage, despite the protests of whichever doctor might be supervising her.
Jab, cut, spin, kick—and her hooves flew past the target without making contact. Tail flick.
There wasn’t a doctor on the Argo anymore. In some ways, Rainbow blamed herself, even if it made no sense. How could she have known there was a changeling aboard when none of the other crew members did? But she had been the one to find the body. She had been the one flying laps on the lower levels in the middle of the night. If anypony was going to save Dusty Tome from that changeling, shouldn’t it have been her?
She shook her head and got back into position. That wasn’t the kind of thinking she wanted. That was the kind of thinking that a mare did when she was trapped in a bed, strapped down with wires and brought three meals a day because she was too weak to get them herself. She was a mare of action, and she sought out the soothing repetition of practice precisely because she didn’t want that thinking. If Sabre wouldn’t train her today out of some misguided worry over reopening wounds, she’d do it herself.
Jab, cut, spin, kick. Impact, but off center. She hissed at the pulsing pain that raced up her leg, nearly sending her to the floor, but caught herself just in time. Straightening up with an annoyed groan, she found herself facing the door to Twilight’s room.
She’d pushed herself hard today. The sheen of sweat stuck to her coat. She turned and grabbed a mug in one wingtip, lifting it to her lips and chugging down three big gulps of water.
Maybe it was time for a quick break.
With another sip, Rainbow stepped up to the thin metal door, gently nudging it open. Princess Luna was sound asleep in the bed that Twilight hadn’t used in almost two weeks, her face as peaceful as if she were napping in a woodland glade, with only the chirp of birdsong and the rustling of the leaves to lull her instead of the constant ticking of the walls and the deep, pulsing thrum of the engines. Opposite her was Twilight’s desk, the books and papers left neatly organized just as she had left them when they first arrived at Altalusia.
Rainbow approached the desk cautiously. She knew the chance of her waking the princess was slim, but it still felt wrong to stomp about in her presence. There was a certain reverence for the desk itself, as well. Twilight had left these things where they were for a reason, and she would probably be happy to see them undisturbed if she came back.
When she came back.
Rainbow’s eye passed over the assorted texts with a vague curiosity. What was it that Twilight had spent so many long hours reading in this little room, locked away while her friends fussed over her outside? Thick history books were stacked up under the desk tall enough to act almost as like a fifth leg, and much of the metal surface was hidden behind books held open by paperweights to pages full of mind-numbing text. She picked one book at random and flipped it closed: Callus’s Classified Collections on Chiroptera.
She arched a brow. A bat-shaped silhouette graced the cover, giving her at least some hint as to the book’s contents. She opened it back to the marked page and reached for another book, but this one had no title. The cover was a plain, unbroken purple.
With a deep breath, Rainbow opened the book once more and decided to try her mind at the words within.
Dream Journal, 4th of June, 673 Anno Caeli, 3:01 AM
I’m sinking again. The water is cold, and I can’t open my mouth to breathe even though my lungs burn. I settle onto the ocean floor and I find myself in the ruins of the Golden Oaks Library. Owloysius is there again, as well as the Griffon and a new character who I believe might be Philomena. It’s difficult to remember clearly.
The Other was there, too. It watches from outside, peering into the window with glowing eyes. I can’t tell if it takes any satisfaction out of watching me beg for mercy while the Griffon cuts my horn off.
There’s not much more to record. I don’t think the specifics of my babbling are particularly significant, and the Griffon’s song is the same as previous entries. I wake up covered in cold sweat, twisted in my sheets. The silence spell has kept my friends from hearing me, thankfully, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to return to—
Rainbow slammed the book shut and took a step back, shooting a guilty look towards first the open door, and then Princess Luna. The ship tick-tocked away in the background.
She’d just read her best friend’s dream journal.
Rainbow shook her head, rushing out of the room and shutting the door behind her. She’d known Twilight was having nightmares; silence spells or not, Twilight’s magic hadn’t been able to hide the jumpiness, the extra cups of tea, or the heavy bags hanging under her eyes in the mornings. Still, to actually read a first-hoof account…
A shiver ran down Rainbow’s spine, followed by a flare of anger as she remembered how Applejack had argued to give their friend the space she requested. They should’ve pressed harder!
She groaned, banging her head against the nearest wall. “Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Twilight had needed them, and they’d let themselves be pushed away, and now they might not ever get her back again!
She jumped at the sudden hiss of steam behind her. She turned just in time to watch Star Trails step into the cargo hold, smoothing down her drab-green uniform with a hoof.
“H-hey, Trails!” Rainbow gave a weak smile. “What’s up?”
Trails looked over the pegasus with a bemused smile. “Have you been practicing on your own? Even after Sabre told you not to?”
“Hey, I’m good enough for practice!” Rainbow shot back, standing up. “And it’s just some light exercise, okay? It’s not a big deal.”
Trails shrugged. “Whatever, Dash. You’re the one with super magic healing powers, I guess. Where’s your uniform?”
Rainbow cocked her head. “You mean the ugly one that made Rarity vomit?”
Trails nodded. “Yeah, that one. Find it and put it on. We’ve lucked out, so it looks like we won’t have to go all the way to Alton after all.”
Rainbow perked up at that. Anything that wasted less time was good news as far as she was concerned. “What happened?”
“We spotted a merchant lord’s fleet on the horizon,” Trails said. “Prince Silverblood’s, assuming he hasn’t been usurped in the last few years.”
Rainbow snorted. “Prince Silverblood?”
Trails rolled her eyes. “Hey, once you hit a certain level of rich you can call yourself whatever you want and most ponies follow along. But c’mon, get dressed. We’re getting boarded soon, and you need to look like you’re on Crazy’s payroll.”
It only took Rainbow a couple minutes to ready herself: one to put away her wingblades, ten seconds to quickly brush her coat, fifty seconds to find where she had tossed the wrinkled uniform off to, and another ten to actually put it on. Soon the two mares were walking through the halls of the lower level, Trails leading the way while Rainbow peered through the windows in search of the supposed fleet they would be meeting with.
“Where is it?” she asked. “I don’t see anything.”
“That’s cause the ship’s pointed at it,” Trails said as they approached the door to Flint’s quarters. “Say, do you know where AJ is?”
“She wasn’t hanging out in the galley with Flint?” Rainbow asked. “Or checking the pipes with Sunfeather, maybe?”
“Sunfeather’s on the bridge with Sabre, and I didn’t see Flint anywhere. I figure he’s probably taking a nap.” She raised a hoof and pounded on the door to his room. “Hey, Flint! Get out of bed, big guy! We’re expecting visitors!”
There was a heavy thud from within the room, and both Trails and Rainbow let out muted giggles at the sound of his deep-voiced grumbling muffled by the door. Then a second, higher voice joined in.
The door cracked open, revealing a squinting, hatless Applejack. “Y’all raised in a barn, Trails? Cause if I didn’t know any better I’d think ya had two hundred apple trees in need of buckin’ by sundown.”
Trails blinked. “Uhm.”
“AJ!” Rainbow hissed, leaning in. She frowned as the scent of alcohol wafted out of the room. “What the hay?”
“I ain’t gotta explain myself to ya, Dash.” Applejack rolled her eyes. “Now did y’all need somethin’?”
“Well, uh, we found a ship we can dock with and resupply. Sabre wants us all up and uniformed to be boarded, so.” Trails looked away, a soft blush on her cheeks. “Pass the message on, I guess.”
“I heard ye!” Flint called from deeper in the room. “Just cause I’m a bit tipsy don’t mean I’m deaf!”
“Great. Great.” Trails nudged Rainbow with a leg as she turned away. “We should go.”
“Whoa, just hang on, will you?” Rainbow hadn’t looked away from Applejack’s exasperated gaze. “What are you doing over here?”
“Rainbow Dash, I am an adult.”
“But Flint? Really?”
“Still ain’t deaf!” Flint called.
“Y’all can hush.” Applejack looked over her shoulder for only a moment before turning back to Rainbow. “We can talk about this tonight, ya hear? Promise. But for now, we’ll be seein’ y’all on the bridge.”
Rainbow flinched as the door snapped closed in her face, the thud followed shortly by the click of the lock. She looked up to Trails, mouth hanging open, but couldn’t find any words.
“Not my business,” Trails said, starting down the hall at a brisk trot. “Not. My. Business!”
Ten minutes later, the crew were all assembled on the bridge. Sunfeather stood in her usual spot on the control dias, hooves idly resting on her levers while Rainbow and the others gathered around Sea Sabre on the upper level.
“Now we’re all here—our previous plans to resupply at Alton are no longer necessary,” she said. “We’ve been fortunate enough to cross paths with Lord Silverblood’s homeship on its way back south, and he’ll likely be willing to trade supplies in exchange for written promises of payment from Mr. Rich. We’ve flagged him down, and there’s a picket ship en route now to inspect us before we dock.”
Rainbow’s eye kept shifting sideways, to Applejack and Flintlock beside her. Had they always stood so close together? Her depth perception was all but gone with only one eye, and she couldn’t quite tell if they were brushing shoulders or keeping a more normal distance. She’d seen them getting familiar over cider and stories, sure, but she’d never thought the two would… share a bed together. Though if the way Applejack kept her eyes firmly forwards was any indication, she was unwilling to discuss it.
“This presents two problems for us,” Sabre continued. “First, there’s the potential for you two being pressed into his service. A merchant prince like him will have several Gifted under his control already, some of which will be on the ship, and they’re always looking to gain more. If he’s heard of you—and with how long it’s been since you arrived, he almost certainly has—then he might try something.”
“He can try.” Rainbow puffed herself up, her jaw clenching at the idea of some arrogant pony trying to imprison her or her friend. “Wouldn’t be the first time I have to deal with a bounty hunter.”
“It shouldn’t come to that,” Sabre said, fixing Rainbow with her stern red gaze. “For the duration of this visit, you’ll present yourselves as employees of Mr. Rich. He does a lot of business with a lot of ponies, and Silverblood will be less likely to mess with what he sees to be the property of one of his peers.”
“Makes sense,” Applejack said.
Sabre nodded. “Just keep your heads down, don’t do anything to stand out more than you already will, and do as I say.” She turned back to Rainbow with the last few words. “You’re supposed to be under my command, and ponies might start asking questions if you keep ignoring my orders.”
“I understand.” Rainbow straightened up, meeting Sabre’s eyes with a steady expression of her own. She thought back to the lecture Sabre had given her after she woke up, wounded from her fight with the changeling. “I… I won’t let you down.”
“Good. As for the second problem,” Sabre said, “we have an alicorn aboard, and this isn’t a smuggling ship.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “If any of you have suggestions about where to hide her, now’s the time.”
“Hide ’er?” Flint echoed. “Th’ mare’s huge! It’d be hard enough t’ hide me!”
“Maybe we could pull up a grate and squeeze her between some pipes?” Trails suggested. “Or we could put her in the envelope.”
“Didn’t ye hear what I said, Traily?” Flint shook his head. “Even if we found a gap big enough fer ‘er, she’d probably burn up against all th’ pipin’. And th’ envelope—which is full of holes, mind ye—is th’ first place they’ll look.”
“Can we just leave her in Twilight’s room?” Applejack asked, frowning. “Rich’s got a good reputation, right? Maybe they won’t look too hard as long as we give a good impression.”
Sabre shook her head. “Not worth the risk. That should only be our last resort.”
Rainbow perked up, clapping her hooves together with an excited grin. “I’ve got it! We can put her in my room!”
Flint arched a brow. “Yer cloud room? Won’t she just fall through?”
Trails rolled her eyes. “She’s an alicorn, you buffoon. Hay, half the pictures of her have her standing on a cloud.”
“So?” Flint countered, shooting a sideways glare at the unicorn. “They’re pictures! Ye think th’ ponies that make ’em know all there is t’ know about alicorns?”
“No, Trails is right,” Applejack said. She put a calming hoof on Flint’s shoulder, ignoring the frown it brought to Rainbow’s face. “The Princess’ll be fine up on those clouds. The question is how we get her up there.”
Rainbow waved a hoof in the air nonchalantly. “Pfft, no problem! I’ll just fly her up. It’ll take me five seconds, tops!”
Applejack arched a brow, fixing the pegasus with a skeptical look. “Rainbow, that mare’s twice your size, and you’re still hurtin’ on top of that. Ain’t no way ya can lift her up there all on your own.”
“Oh, yeah?” Rainbow flapped her wings, taking flight with only a slight wince. “Just watch me!”
As it turned out, Rainbow realized several minutes later, Princess Luna actually was just a bit too heavy for her to lift.
She couldn’t even get the alicorn’s hooves off the ground. No matter how hard she flapped, how loud she grunted, or how long she talked herself up, the sleeping princess wouldn’t budge, and all her back muscles were on fire from the exertion.
Then Applejack had pursed her lips, taken a look up at the ceiling, and asked Flint to fetch her some rope.
With two earth ponies, a firm knot, and a makeshift pulley made by Rainbow threading the rope over a thick pipe running over her little cloudhome, they managed to hoist Princess Luna up into the air. Rainbow had been forced to form a temporary hole in her floor for the Princess to fit through, and after great effort and several complaints, the job was done.
Rainbow leaned against the fluffy bulk of her bed, letting out a relieved sigh before calling down, “There! Problem solved.”
“Good!” Sabre called back. “Now get back down here! They’ll be coming aboard any minute!”
“Right, right! Just a sec!” Rainbow grinned as she took a moment to admire the result of her labor. Princess Luna was splayed out on the floor at the base of her bed, her expression no less serene despite the awkward twist to her limbs. She stepped up and rolled the Princess into a more comfortable position before giving a little nod. That would do for now, and then they could put her back in Twilight’s room once they were back on their way.
Wait. Rainbow blinked, stiffening in sudden alarm. What if they want to leave her up here?
Ah, ponyfeathers.
“Hmm.”
Rarity’s reflection pouted back at her as she held up first one scarf, then another. The chill in the air had grown more prominent over the past three days, and even with every window tied shut and the fire crackling in the hearth downstairs she’d been reluctant to leave the warm embrace of her bedsheets. But she’d been feeling rather cramped staying inside discussing strategy with Whitehorn, and today was Sunday. The Commoner’s Guild would be holding their primary meeting for the week, and she had every intent to attend—after she sorted her outfit out, of course.
She had thought long over precisely what impression she wanted to impart. She didn’t want to wear a dress, for if her experience with Applejack was any indication workhorses tended to look down upon proper fashion. She wanted to appear familiar, approachable, but not so much so that she would be dismissed as just another mare. She had to carefully thread the needle between being pretentiously outstanding and being forgettably common. She wanted to present herself as a noble, but she must also appear truly sympathetic to the concerns of the commoner.
Luckily, the weather had done some of the thinking for her. She wore a cloak of striking burgundy, the hood trimmed with wispy white wool, over the very sort of drab brown jerkin that appeared popular among the working class. Of course she had taken the time to embroider the simple cloth with some more vibrant colors and intricate patterns, but she hoped nopony would mind as long as she didn’t go too far with the personal enhancements.
All that was left was to choose a scarf. The chiffon matched the trim on her hood quite well, but she was always partial to any shade of purple that complemented her mane.
“My Lady?” Pontius called from out in the hall. “Are ye ready yet?”
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to rush a lady, Pontius?” Rarity called back, turning to face the door.
A few seconds passed before he answered. “It’ll be getting dark, my Lady. If we don’t depart soon th’ meeting might be over by th’ time we arrive.”
With a dramatic sigh, Rarity muttered, “Oh, very well then.” She reached out with her magic, pulling the door open and brandishing her two scarves. “I require your assistance, my sweet. Do you think I should go with the chiffon, or the mulberry?”
Pontius blinked. His eyes darted from one to the other.
Rarity rolled her eyes. “Chiffon. Mulberry.” She gave a soft shake to each respective scarf as she named them.
“The… chiffon.” Pontius let out a sigh of relief as Rarity gave a little nod and wrapped the chosen apparel around her neck. “It matches the wool of yer hood quite well.”
“Oh, my.” Rarity giggled as she levitated the remaining scarf back into her luggage. “Perhaps I’ll make a fashionista of you, yet.”
Pontius answered her with an uncertain smile. “But I’m a stallion, my Lady.”
“Oh, pfft!” Rarity scoffed as she stepped out into the hall and closed the bedroom door behind her. “It’s a gender-neutral term, darling. Did the others send you to check on me? I wasn’t taking too long, was I?”
Descending the stairs, Rarity greeted Pinkie Pie and Whitehorn waiting patiently in the common room with a bright smile. They had pushed the table aside to make more room for pillows around the hearth, the bluecoat keeping watch from the kitchen area eyeing the flames with obvious envy. Whitehorn was wearing a short cloak over his vest, the sleeves of his shirt unrolled for once, and Pinkie had a cherry red shawl draped over her shoulders for warmth.
“Oh, she’s finally ready!” Pinkie pushed herself up off the cushion she’d been lying on with an energetic wave. “Rarity! I hope you’re ready to make some new friends!”
“And new connections,” Whitehorn added, dipping his head in greeting.
“I just hope it’s not too late,” Rarity said with a sigh. “It seems every day there’s a little more venom in the eyes of every Frieslander I pass.”
Pontius grunted as he took up a spot by the fire, his polished breastplate catching the flickering yellow light. “I don’t see what help ye hope to get from commoners. They hold no power t’ accomplish anything.”
“Perhaps not officially, no,” Rarity said, looking to Whitehorn with a hopeful smile. “But a wise pony once told me that pressure flows both ways.”
Whitehorn returned the smile warmly. “You’re too kind, Countess.”
Pontius stepped between them, clearing his throat intently as he nodded towards the door. “Well, seeing as all preparations seem t’ be made, best we set forth before dusk.”
He reached for the door, only to flinch back as Captain Piaffe barreled through it from the other side, narrowly missing his muzzle.
“Apologies, Pontius.” Piaffe smiled a greeting around the room, taking her hat off with a flourish. “You lot about to head out? Commoner’s Guild, yes?”
Rarity nodded. “We discussed the escort and curfew yesterday, no?”
“We did, but I’m afraid there’s been a slight change of plans.” Piaffe hung her coat by the door, exposing the ruffled white shirt underneath and the small saddlebag tied close to her side, and made for the liquor cabinet as she spoke. “New orders, you see. I’m only to let you out two at a time from now on.”
Pontius was the first to react, his voice hard. “And what exactly have we done t’ deserve such restriction?”
“You’re asking the wrong mare, love.” Piaffe shrugged before pulling a bottle out of the cabinet and pouring its clear contents into a glass. “I just follow orders. If I had to guess I’d say that Governor Rhea’s concerned for your well-being. There’s an awful lot of ill will towards baronlanders floating around right now, and the best way to avoid any incidents is to ensure you’re well guarded.”
Rarity let out an unladylike snort. “Or well watched, you mean?”
“Don’t take it personal, Countess. Every precaution must be taken in times such as these.” Piaffe settled onto a cushion near the table with a relieved sigh. “You could put on a blue coat and kill a dozen baronlanders, and I doubt it’d make any difference.”
Rarity’s tail flicked behind her. “I wasn’t aware I was such an untrustworthy mare.”
Piaffe smirked as she poured the clear liquid into her glass. “It’s not that you’re untrustworthy, love. We just aren’t very trusting.”
Rarity pursed her lips, but said nothing. After the deadly attack on the city two days ago, she couldn’t really blame the Frieslanders for being suspicious of her party. That airship hadn’t hijacked itself, after all, and Rarity still hadn’t told anyone but Pinkie about the brief sight of Gava and Ana escaping just seconds before the blast. She’d meant to speak to Whitehorn about it, but she’d been unable to get him alone without a bluecoat within earshot.
They were still out there, somewhere, playing some game that she couldn’t understand. What did they get out of terrorizing a city under siege? Had they given up on chasing her and her friends? And when would they strike next?
“I do have some good news, however.” Piaffe reached a hoof into her saddlebag, pulling out a trio of scrolls. Two of them were sealed with red wax marked with the pike-and-shield crest of Duke Titus, but Rarity barely noticed them laying next to the third scroll, the parchment tied shut with strands of long pink hair.
Pontius’ hard frown faltered as he saw the letters. “Correspondence from my father?”
“And from Fluttershy!” Pinkie giggled gleefully as she rushed forwards, hooking the scroll on the tip of her forelock. With a shake of her head the scroll unfurled, and her eyes darted left to right across the message within as she hummed a cheery tune.
Pontius and Whitehorn picked up their respective letters as well, each of them shooting confused glances at the pink mare, while Rarity moved to Pinkie’s side with nervous relief.
“Dear friends,
“I’m glad to hear that you’re all still safe inside the city. We saw the explosion from here in the camp, and we were all so worried that you might have been hurt! I’m so sorry that I wasn’t able to write sooner, but Brownie and I have been so busy ever since the attack on the camp. We’re being careful not to overdo it, so please don’t worry about us. I’d hate to distract you from your important business with the Governor.”
Rarity snorted, a small smile tugging at her lips. It was just like Fluttershy to be more concerned about distracting others with danger to herself than she was about the actual danger.
“I hope you’re able to make a breakthrough soon. More ponies are hurt every day, and we work so hard to make them better, but sometimes they just get come back hurt again. Or worse.
“I’m seeing so many terrible things, girls, but I don’t feel anything. It scares me, but I’m doing my best to be strong. I feel more useful here than I have in a long time.”
The smile turned to a frown. It was a cruel irony that Fluttershy, the softest of all of them, would be the one to find some solace in a tent full of wounded ponies, but there was a part of Rarity that envied her. It would be nice to lay her head to rest every night without the troubling thoughts that plagued her, that it was all hopeless, that she wasn’t making a difference.
Rarity shook her head, closing her eyes. She was making a difference, however slight. With a soft sigh she turned her attention back to the letter.
“Please don’t give up. I don’t want to stress you, but if we fail here then many more ponies are going to get hurt.
“I’d appreciate it if you could keep writing, if you can find the time. I have to go now, but I’ll be thinking of you all.
“Fondly, Fluttershy.”
Rarity let out the breath she’d been holding, feeling much of the tension bottled up inside her melt away. Fluttershy was well, or at least as well as could be expected considering the circumstances. She looked to Pinkie with a wide smile, seeing her own relief beamed back at her in return.
Whitehorn stood up, folding his letter up and slipping it into his shirt pocket. “Good news, fillies?”
A beat passed as Pinkie sucked in a deep breath, belting out her next words in a lilting sing-song. “Fluttershy’s okay! Whoo!”
“What about your letters?” Rarity asked, looking from Whitehorn to Pontius.
Pontius’ eyes flicked up to meet Rarity’s for only a second before returning to the letter, his brow furrowed with consternation. “Nothing unexpected. Th’ Duke clearly thinks we’re wasting our time here. He requests I return t’ his side afore he presses th’ siege.”
Rarity’s smile faltered at the indecision in the young stallion’s voice. “You know I wouldn’t hold it against you if you left, darling.”
He met her gaze, his eyes hardening as he gave a firm shake of his head. “Nay. As long as ye’re willing t’ continue the fight, so shall I.”
Rarity’s smile returned. “That’s very sweet of you, Pontius.”
He nodded, the corner of his lips twitching up in turn.
Whitehorn cleared his throat. “Assuming we’re still planning on attending this evening’s meeting, we really should be going.”
“But only two of you,” Piaffe said. “And you’ll have an escort.”
“Of course.” Whitehorn dipped his head courteously before turning to Rarity expectantly. “I think it’s obvious that the Countess should be one of the attendants. But who shall be your second, my Lady?”
Rarity pursed her lips, looking between her three companions in turn. Pinkie would probably be a priceless asset in a room full of commoners, and could quickly sway any animosity against them based on their class or origins, but there was a chance that the stressed Frieslanders wouldn’t respond well to her particular brand of socializing. Pontius was eager as well, both to impress her and to stop the war, but the son of the very stallion besieging the city was unlikely to be welcome.
Then there was Whitehorn. Polite, well-spoken, and the most seasoned among those present with regards to modern politics. If any of them might be able to walk into a room full of commoners and find the pressure point that would stop this war, it would be him. And maybe she’d finally be able to speak to him without a bluecoat listening in, and see what he thought about Ana and Gava’s presence in the city.
“As much as it pains me to leave you two behind, I think it would be best if Whitehorn accompanies me to the meeting,” she said.
“Aw.” Pinkie kicked a hoof at the floor in dejection. “I wanted to go!”
“Maybe next time, Pinkie.” Rarity drew Pinkie into a quick hug. “Would you be a dear and write a response to Fluttershy for us?”
She brightened up at that. “Oh, okay! I have the perfect thing!” With the clatter of her wheels and a fit of giggling, Pinkie zipped upstairs, leaving only a thin cloud of confetti in her wake.
Rarity turned to Pontius next. “You understand, right?”
“Aye, I understand.” He gave a short nod before starting up the stairs himself. “I’d best write t’ my father. Be careful, my Lady.”
Rarity’s brow furrowed in concern as she watched him ascend the steps, but there was nothing to be done at the moment about any hurt feelings he might have. Instead she started for the door, glancing to Whitehorn as she did. “Shall we depart then, darling?”
“At your pleasure, Countess.”
The wind was picking up as they stepped out into the streets of Friesland, carrying with it the distant scent of smoke and blood from the siege lines. It was early evening, and the sun was just visible above the surrounding buildings, its light broken only by the occasional airship casting a long shadow over the city below. A pair of bluecoats were leaning against a building across the street, and they fell in behind the duo without a word.
So much for getting time alone, Rarity thought, giving the soldiers a small smile. They ignored the expression, the sharpened horns fitted to their helmets gleaming in the sunlight.
The atmosphere of the city was a distant shadow of the warm bustle that had first greeted Rarity at the start of the siege. Gone were the throngs of careless ponies going about their business with little care for the army parked outside their walls; civilian traffic was thin, and what ponies she did see walked at a hurried pace, their eyes sometimes flicking upwards when an airship’s shadow passed overhead. Those who didn’t keep their gazes forwards would glare at Rarity or Whitehorn with undisguised contempt, tails flicking and ears flattening whenever she tried to answer their suspicious gazes with a disarming smile or a dip of her head.
The distant boom of the cannons rolled over them as they passed through the courtyard in the center of the city and turned north, towards the residential district where many of the dockworkers and other laborers lived. The colorful market stalls that had proudly displayed their wares when Rarity came to speak to the governor were mostly gone at this time, with those merchants who still remained so late packing up their goods in tired silence. Opposite the cathedral, a line of ponies were waiting outside the old stone guard tower, filing forwards one at a time to speak to a bluecoat officer at a desk while another watched in silence.
“The pressure is mounting,” Whitehorn observed, leaning in close to be heard over the wind. “That attack has spurred the city into action.”
Rarity pursed her lips, stealing a furtive glance back at the two soldiers trailing them. They were scanning the city with bored disinterest, and far enough back that she doubted they’d be able to hear a quiet conversation over the wind.
Pulse quickening, Rarity stepped close enough to almost brush shoulders with Whitehorn. “I know who did the attack.”
If he was surprised by the information, he did an excellent job of concealing it. “Who?”
“Gava and Ana.” Rarity kept her eyes forwards as she spoke. “I saw them flying away just before the blast.”
“Curious.” A pause. “And nopony else saw?”
“Only Pinkie and I, I believe. We were atop the wall, but everyone else had their eyes turned outwards.” Rarity paused to allow a passing pony to walk out of earshot. “But what do you think they’re up to? What could they possibly have to gain from bombing a city under siege?”
“Hard to say, Countess, though it often is with mercenaries.” Whitehorn narrowed his eyes as the thundering of cannon shot sounded in the distance. “Perhaps they were hired by the barons to pressure the city into surrender. They helped Duchess Nettlekiss in her attack against Titus, after all.”
Rarity grimaced as she thought back to that dark night. Things had finally been looking up, and then they had gone so wrong. “You think they might have turned against her?”
“I think there are many angles many ponies could play here, and we don’t know enough to speculate.” Whitehorn paused, letting out a thoughtful hum. “We could turn this to our advantage, you know.”
Rarity blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Pressure is good for us,” he continued. “We want an end to this conflict, and if the city’s guilds begin to fear for riots or sabotage, then they can pressure Rhea into breaking ties with Nettlekiss and surrendering. There hasn’t been much damage done yet. The barons would likely be satisfied with Nettlekiss’s execution, and would leave the city relatively whole.”
Rarity’s frown deepened. The idea of using such a terrible act to advance her own causes made her feel dirty, but if it would ultimately save lives, perhaps there was some merit to it. “What would we even do?”
Whitehorn shrugged. “For now, bide our time. There are pieces moving on the board, and none of them are ours. With luck, however, we may gain some tonight. Ah, here we are.”
“What, this?” Rarity looked up at the building before them with a skeptical cock of her head. “This looks like a tavern.”
The building did nothing at all to stand out. Amidst an unbroken line of stone-faced storefronts and homes, the only thing unique about the Commoner’s Guild Hall was the lack of any kind of identifying signage to label it as such. It displayed the same squalid stone facade as its neighbors, and the dim-eyed ponies that sometimes trundled through the doorway—though far quieter than drunk bar patrons—wore the same tired and beaten clothing that she’d caught glimpses of through the open windows of taverns.
“Quite sure, yes,” Whitehorn said. “I’ve made a few rounds of the city since we’ve been here, looking for possible allies. This is the place.” He turned to her with a shallow bow, gesturing with a hoof and a smile. “After you, Countess.”
Walking through the open doorway with a measured stride, Rarity found that the guild house looked even more like a tavern on the inside than it did on the outside. If not for the dull-faced ponies seated behind the bar on raised seats or the lonely podium set up in an open space before them, it would’ve been impossible to tell the difference. Square, stone tables were spread evenly around the main room, with most of the guild members seated close to the two hearths burning on either side, their hooves wrapped protectively around clay mugs or bowls, while a set of stairs off to one side led to a second floor above. A solitary serving mare drifted among the members, the bun of her mane threatening to fall apart as she rushed to answer summons, disappearing only briefly into a door behind the bar before emerging once more with fresh food and drink balanced on her back.
Taking all this in, Rarity shot a confused glance towards Whitehorn. “Are you certain this isn’t a bar?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the sudden arrival of River Pie.
“Ye came!” River beamed as she rushed up to Rarity. She stopped a respectful distance away to dip into a quick bow, but she couldn’t quite keep her hooves from fidgeting in excitement. “Twinkle was beginnin’ t’ worry that ye’d brushed us off, but I told ’em! I told ’em ye’d said ye were interested, and Countess Rarity ain’t no liar!”
The mare’s eager energy was more than enough to bring a smile to Rarity’s face, driving her hesitation away. “My apologies that we couldn’t attend sooner, darling. Things have been rather hectic since… you know.”
River nodded, turning away and beckoning with her tail. “Aye, I understand. Come on over here, then. Twinkle ’n I’ve got a table back here.”
Rarity followed with her head high, ignoring the mixture of curiosity and suspicion aimed her way from some of the tables they passed. Glancing back, she saw that only one of the bluecoats had followed them inside, the mare staring down anyone that dared look towards her.
Twinkle Smith and River Pie had a table to themselves near the middle of the room, far from the warmth of the fires but close to the podium. Rarity drew her cloak a little closer as she sat down, noticing for the first time the lack of cushions on the stone, and Whitehorn sat beside her. Their bluecoat escort remained standing, scanning the room with a far more attentive leer than when they’d been out on the street.
“Welcome, Countess!” Twinkle kept his voice low as he stretched a hoof out, and Rarity offered hers up for him to briefly embrace before drawing back. “I hope you aren’t too uncomfortable inside our humble guild hall.”
Rarity answered with a wan smile. “It’s quite charming, really. Er, who are those ponies sitting behind the bar?”
“That’s th’ guild council,” River Pie explained. “Him in th’ middle’s the guildmaster, Mr. Marks. He represents us in matters with th’ other guilds, and casts our vote fer governor durin’ elections.”
“Ah.” Rarity regarded the thick-set earth stallion seated at the center of the bar, on a seat slightly taller than the other four council members. His dull yellow coat was mostly covered by the long grey coat he wore, and he drank out of a glass instead of one of the clay mugs the other guild members used. “So the governor is elected purely by the vote of guild masters?”
“Aye.” River nodded. “I haven’t been in th’ city very long, so I don’t know ’em all yet, but there’s dozens of ’em.”
“Could we speak with him?” Whitehorn asked.
“I’ll see about getting you a meeting,” Twinkle said, pushing the brim of his hat back with a hoof. “It’ll have to be after the general meeting, though. Another hour at least, while the council listens to general petitioners.” He perked up as he saw the serving mare rush past. “Perhaps you’d like a drink?”
“Oh, no thank you, dear.” Rarity did her best to gather her cloak around her for warmth as she settled in for the wait. “I’ll be quite alright.” And that poor mare looks overworked enough as it is.
The hour passed at a snail’s pace, the room growing gradually darker as the sun set outside until only the flickering light of the candles and the fireplace remained. Several ponies rose to the podium, each one rising up from a table, briefly introducing themselves, and then presenting the council with their problems. Many complained of long hours or low pay, and Mr. Marks promised to speak to the appropriate guild masters over the matter. Some discussed dangerous working conditions such as open foundries or unprotected machinery, and again Mr. Marks assured the speakers that he would see to it.
Rarity leaned over to Twinkle Smith as one mare told the story of how she’d lost an ear to the gears of a conveyor belt. “How often are these ponies’ problems actually solved?”
Twinkle shrugged. “Often it’s hit or miss. Mr. Marks does what he can, and sometimes we’ll see results, but not always. We have to choose our battles if we want to get anything done.”
Finally the petitioners ran dry. Most of them left the guild hall shortly after voicing their complaints, and the room was full of empty tables with only a few small parties left in scattered pockets.
The room was silent, and all eyes fell on Mr. Marks as he downed the last of his drink and stood.
“I am calling this meeting of the Commoner’s Guild to a close,” he said. He scanned the room with half-lidded eyes, pausing only briefly on Rarity and Whitehorn before moving on. “We shall convene again on the morrow. Until then—take heart, and work hard. It is our aching limbs that keeps the barons at bay.”
He sat back down with a tired groan, and in the same instant Twinkle Smith shot up out of his seat. “Uh, Mr. Marks!”
Mr. Marks sighed. Around him, the other council members busied themselves with gathering their notes and filing upstairs. “Yes, Mr. Smith?”
“I’ve brought some ponies that need to speak to you!” Twinkle stepped forwards, gesturing towards Rarity and Whitehorn with a hoof. “Countess Rarity of Canterthusia, and Mr. Whitehorn, from Heighton. They wish to lend us aid in our affairs!”
Slowly, Mr. Marks turned to regard Rarity and Whitehorn in turn. Rarity stood, dipping into a quick curtsey, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Whitehorn give a courteous smile.
“Very well, then. You may lead them to my office, Mr. Smith.” Mr. Marks let out a few low grumbles as he slid out of his seat and made for the stairs. The bar hid most of his body at first, but the limp in his gait was obvious even still. The cause became clear once he stepped out into the open—one of his hind legs was missing, the metal stump in its place just visible under the shadow of his low-hanging coat. “But let’s make it quick, eh?”
“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!” Twinkle turned to Rarity with a grin. “Come on, then. Let’s make this count!”
“Good luck, Countess!” River Pie gave an excited wave as the others stood. “I’ll be here, holdin’ th’ table fer ye.”
Rarity frowned. “You aren’t going to come, darling?”
River shook her head. “I’m nothin’ important in th’ guild, Countess. Mr. Marks wouldn’t want me gettin’ in th’ way.”
“Ah, I see.” Rarity gave River a hopeful smile before turning for the stairs. “Well, I shall be sure to fill you in on every detail once we’re done, then. Ta for now!”
The second floor was exactly as Rarity had expected. A single narrow hallway lined on one side with cheap tin doors, it was obvious that the guild council’s offices were just repurposed inn rooms. Mr. Marks’ office was closest to the stairs, and so it only took a brief minute for Rarity, Whitehorn, and Twinkle Smith to follow him inside. Their bluecoat escort attempted to enter as well, only to be deterred by a sharp glare from Mr. Marks as he settled onto the deep cushion behind his desk.
“Alright, then.” He looked between Rarity and Whitehorn in turn. “Cart Marks, master of the Commoner’s Guild. What do you want?”
Rarity exchanged a quick glance with Whitehorn and received an encouraging nod. Rather than take the direct approach, she decided to be more cautious this time. “As our companion here said, I am Countess Rarity, wife to Sir Pontius, son of Duke Titus, who currently leads the baronlander army.” She paused, giving him time to process her words. “How do you feel about the war, Mr. Marks?”
He snorted, reaching under his desk to retrieve a wide bottle of whiskey. “I think if the barons want our city then they’d best be ready to pay in blood, because Friesland is more than ready to toll them.” His lip curled as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a sip. “It’s no wonder they need to resort to bombing granaries, though I hadn’t expected them to stoop so low as to do it with their own diplomats in the city talking of peace.”
Rarity grimaced. “The bombing was certainly a messy affair, but I do believe it’s important to remember that we still don’t know who committed the attack. We should refrain from jumping to conclusions.”
Another snort, another sip. “What other conclusion is there, Countess? Who else has anything to gain from the attack?”
Rarity glanced to Whitehorn, who gave a subtle shake of his head. “Well it’s rather hard to say, but—”
“But nothing! Bah!” Mr. Marks waved a dismissive hoof in the air. “What do you care for it, anyways? Is there some land at stake for you? You nobles are always obsessing over land.”
“Mr. Marks!” Rarity snapped, her ears flicking back against her head. “I am trying to save lives, and your attitude towards me is not helping!”
“You want to save lives?” The stallion shook his head. “Talking isn’t gonna do it. You need to get out there and get your hooves dirty, Countess.”
“Ah, Mr. Marks?” Twinkle Smith raised a hoof, cutting off Rarity’s sharp rebuttal. “The Countess was actually one of the ponies helping at the site of the attack. She’s the Gifted I told you about, if you remember?”
Mr. Marks frowned. He looked to Twinkle, then back to Rarity, his eyes narrowed curiously. “Is that so?”
“It is so,” Whitehorn said. “If there’s a single pony on this island who holds the interests of the common citizen above all else, this is the mare.” He paused, giving extra emphasis to his next words. “I’d expect your causes would align, considering your office.”
“Mm, yes, well.” Mr. Marks leaned back against the wall behind him with a sigh. “We pick and choose our battles here. It wasn’t easy to protect those dockworkers from retribution after they walked out on their shift, but it had to be done.”
“This, too, has to be done,” Rarity said, leaning forwards intently. “If we don’t stop this conflict before the barons launch an assault on the city, hundreds of ponies could die—on both sides of the wall! Governor Rhea has been unreceptive to diplomacy, but surely there’s something you could do to help?”
“Me? And the governor’s already turned you away?” Mr. Marks arched a brow. “What exactly would you expect me to do?”
“You control the city’s labor, do you not?” Whitehorn asked. “Without labor, ships full of supplies cannot be unloaded, factories cannot be run, and repairs cannot be made. A general strike would apply immense pressure.”
“A—a general strike?” Mr. Marks blinked, his jaw hanging open for a few long seconds, and then he broke down a deep laugh. “Hold on, hold on! Let me get this straight.” He raised a hoof to buy time while his laughter drifted into quiet chuckles. “So you want me to tell a city full of commoners, fresh full of hate for the baronlanders after a bombing in the very center of their city, to walk out on their jobs and force Rhea to—to what?”
“Well…” Rarity hesitated for only a moment. “To surrender, darling. If the city retracts its protection from Duchess Nettlekiss then—”
“You want us to surrender a war that we’re winning?” Mr. Marks shook his head as the laughter came back in forceful guffaws. “Your goals are admirable, Countess, but letting the barons win this will be the end of Friesland as it stands. We need Nettlekiss grain to keep our dominance, and without it, the barons might actually have a chance of sieging us out!”
“No, they won’t!” Rarity insisted. “I won’t let them!”
“And what will you do? You’re the wife of the son of the Duke, not queen of the island.” Mr. Marks paused to drink from his bottle before giving a lazy shrug. “Even if the city wanted the war to end, calling a strike during wartime is tantamount to treason. I won’t have my neck snapped over your lost cause, Countess.”
The words hung in the air, left unchallenged as Rarity struggled to find an argument, but again she was useless. Her hooftips shook in frustration as she looked between Mr. Mark’s eyes, searching for some crack in the unyielding facade.
She jumped as Whitehorn laid a hoof over hers. “It seems we’re done here, then. We’ll take our leave.”
Rarity rounded on him, ready to demand otherwise, but the look in his eyes gave her pause. He gave a slight shake of his head before nodding to the door.
“Yes.” She stood stiffly, drawing her cloak about her. “So we shall.”
Mr. Marks gave a curt nod. “It was good to meet you, Countess. Perhaps in kinder times we might find our positions more agreeable, but until then.” He turned to Twinkle Smith. “See them out, Mr. Smith.”
“Yes, sir.”
The walk back down to the main room was made in silence, their bluecoat escort following behind like a stone-faced shadow. The guild hall was almost completely empty now, with only River Pie patiently waiting alone at their table while a trio of ponies spoke in hushed tones at another.
River’s hopeful smile faded away as she saw the expression on Rarity’s face. “He turned ye down, didn’t he?”
Rarity looked away with a sigh as they approached the table. “I’m sorry.”
“Well—we shouldn’t give up hope yet!” River rose out of her seat with an indignant pout. “Perhaps ye’d join Twinkle ’n I t’ discuss it over some drinks? I’m sure there’s somethin’ we can do!”
The bluecoat escort cleared her throat. Rarity glanced back to see her gave a slight shake of her head.
“I’m afraid no further detours will be allowed, darling,” Rarity said. “Whitehorn and I must return to our lodging, though I’d encourage you to come visit or write. It always puts a smile on my face to hear from you.”
“Then I shall write ye regularly!” River promised.
Rarity’s lips curled up into a small smile. She reached out with a hoof, pulling the ex-bandit into a quick hug. “I look forward to it. Until then, keep doing as you do. I’m proud of you.”
River beamed as Rarity pulled back, but there wasn’t any time to relish the moment. Soon Rarity and Whitehorn were out on the street once more, one bluecoat leading them between the puddles of lantern light while the other brought up the rear.
The streets were dead at this time, with only the soldiers stationed at street corners or hawk-eyed patrols disturbing the stillness. The wind had grown stronger as well, and Rarity found herself walking with her cloak’s hood pulled low, the breeze pulling the fabric away from her legs in strong gusts. It was bitter weather, but it gave her and Whitehorn a good excuse to walk close enough to share the heat of their bodies, and made it easy for them to speak without their escort overhearing.
“I just don’t see a way through this, darling,” Rarity said, a shiver passing through her. “Everywhere we go, we face the same obstacles. It was hard enough before, but now with this attack the Frieslanders are out for blood!”
“Understandably so,” Whitehorn said. “Though I do have some ideas.”
“Oh?” Rarity turned to face him. The wind tugged at her forelock, pulling the curl apart into a fluttering wave. “Do tell.”
“Just some contacts of mine who may be able to assist.” Whitehorn met her gaze with a smile, and for a moment the torchlight reflecting off the lens of his glasses almost seemed to make his eyes glow. “I’ll let you know how it pans out.”
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I like
Huh. Maybe it's just Twilight's perspective, but I wasn't expecting Midnight to say that it doesn't really like hurting things. It certainly won't hesitate when necessary, but I suppose its not really sadistic. It's simply trying to look out for Twilight, I guess.
Rarity...your goals are noble, but this resistance was inevitable. Not sure what Whitehorn is going to have Ana and Gavia do now, though.
When is Celestia going make an appearance?
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I expect to go into detail on that in the next chapter!
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Celestia's next appearance is a fair bit away at this point. She's a character who will only be involved in small, powerful doses.
A nice update, during the holiday lull. Thank you and merry christmas.⛄
I empathize do much with Rarity's frustration but I also see her curreng plan of action as not being attractive whatsoever to the current populace.
The situation is so complicated I can only hope they find a solution with minimal bloodshed.
Also, always very happy to see an update of your stories! Such an amazing world you've created!
Oh smoof! Just caught up, but still thirsty for more! Oh the curse of a binge reader!
Looking forward to following this as it develops, thank you for keeping me so enthralled.
Also maaaaan this 'other'/corruption business really has me hungry for answers. Starving even! Wondering what explanation or cause you have just behind the curtain. But knowing the story goals, I'll probably have to wait until Book 3 for the answers I seek.
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You should come join the Discord! You can talk with other readers and myself about the story, and get updates on new chapters being written. Link's in every author's note!
Because fish do not have any feelings, yeah?
Ah well, I'm not sure what Rarity expected. Things are going to have to get a lot worse inside the city walls before anypony is amenable to parley, and as sneaky as it is, that's what Whitehorn appears to be after.
Huh. Like Rainbow, I thought I saw AJ and Flint bonding a tad- or at least talking more than average- but was still surprised to see it escalate so suddenly. Well, it is their own business, and I suppose we don't really need to follow every step of a developing
romancefling of convenience on top of everything else.How much does the Lost Student have to do with the plot of Sunken Horizons?
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Not that much. LS is a sort of AU that branches off at the end of EH, focusing on Twilight and her wyrd and completely dropping the other plotlines. The Twi and Twyrd (as Psy likes to call it) are a little different from mine, but the origins are the same and in fact I'd consider LS's prologue to be basically canon.
If you like the dynamic between Twilight and Midnight and want more of that, with more focus on character development and how they grow with each other, then I'd definitely recommend LS. Psy is a lot better at emotional plotting than I am, and she has a lot of original ideas too!
What exactly is a Wyrd?
Ding, Midnight would be excellent at CinemaSins.
Ohhh, further proof that Whitehorn is definitely not as he seems. It seems the pieces are moving into place, I can’t help but wonder if it will be something terrible or something miraculous that breaks the stalemate. Onto the next chapter!
Curious. Celia and her wyrd seemed to be able to talk past each other, though that may have been a consequence of her self-deceptive nature.
RAINBOW! How could you?
Oh joy, Flint, AJ, RD love triangle, I'm gonna love this, yipee...
RD: Princess Moving Company!
I've done some reading. This is how a lot of relationships formed in ancient times. Marriages occured as part of some arrangement for money or political power or something, and in SOME cultures people didn't even meet their spouses until their wedding day. The relationship between them didn't come until later. Seeing it develop over time here is actually realistic and a fascinating tradition we rarely see portrayed in media today.
Yes, I will keep praising you for this. No, I don't think I will stop.
-GM, master of replies.
*Sigh*
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Yup. There are plenty of ways to manipulate or trick someone outside of lying. I'd imagine Twilight would have caught this if she weren't already in such a bad way.
... you know, this would probably had had a lot more punch if it didn't come right after a fairly major tirade about how Twilight's lying to herself about Celestia.
Mr. Marks. Is that spoof on Marx?? And Mr.Smith is here too.
AJ was busy bucking a dufferent tree
Flint and applejack... this ship pleases me greatly
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just got into reading this.
but i can tell from that alone that she falling for tha trap.
where its like this "ok if i kill just this one king then we can have rule!" then it gsoe "ok lets kill a few more people that go agist us!" then it gose "kill everyone that gets in our way!" and you get the french revolution in a nutshell
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if so then eeehhh, let hope this world don't have millions killed with a pony of steel if you get me
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Just with less beheadings and trigger(rope?) happy leaders
Didn't midnight bodyslam pinky through a tree?
Like I guess it was collateral damage but like that was literally the only thing twilight asked her not to do and now she's a cripple so I would consider that a "lie".