Love, Sugar, and Sails

by DSNesmith

40. Great Things

Immense swathes of vibrant coral structures carpeted the seafloor. Schools of fish, their scales shining under rays of light from the surface above, swam in great clouds around and through the reef. Cuttlefish darted between gaps in the coral, their brightly colored, shifting skin neatly disguising them in their luminiferous surroundings. A shattered building rose from the underwater jungle, its marble sides cracked and invaded by sea life. Mosses and barnacles dotted the stone, while tiny crabs trundled along its weathered surfaces. An eel retreated into the darkened crevice of a crumbling window, while an octopus toyed with a piece of broken statuary. A lone shark turned slowly around to pass the ruined façade, its eyes dark and enigmatic. Dappled sunlight played across all of it, giving the scene an eerie, dreamlike quality.

Tyria lifted her palette and dipped the tip of her brush into the blot of mixed orange and pink pigment. Leaning back in, she made a few precise strokes, her eyebrows knit in concentration. The tiny grooves in this piece of coral were finally nearing completion. The light and shadow running so close together in the ridges made the creature pop from the canvas like a living thing.

“Morning, Tyria,” came Rye’s voice from behind her.

Smiling, she turned her head over her shoulder. “Morning.”

With a long whistle, Rye strode into Milliden’s spacious living room, which Tyria had commandeered to be her art studio. He came to a stop beside her, studying the enormous painting. It was perhaps the largest she’d ever worked on, a two-by-three meter behemoth. She’d needed a completely new easel setup and a stool to even begin laying down the first strokes. Rye nodded with a small, proud smile. “You’ve outdone yourself. Truly. And I’ve seen the real thing.”

“It’s not even close to finished yet,” said Tyria, turning back and making another dab at the palette with the brush in her mouth. “I’ve still got weeks to go.”

“What? You’ve been working on it for a month already!” Rye sat down behind her, encircling her waist with his forelegs and resting his head on her right shoulder. “Looks pretty complete to me.”

“Oh, I’d say it’s… close to halfway,” said Tyria, still smiling. She set the brush down on the palette, the sticky tip keeping it from sliding. Tilting her head to lean against Rye’s, she sighed. “I still need to give all the coral a few more passes. Some of it’s barely more than color blocking right now. And the fish, and the building… no, I’ve got plenty of work to do.”

Twisting her head a little towards his, she raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of work, what are you still doing here?”

“Well, you weren’t in bed when I woke up. I thought I’d come investigate before leaving for the day.” Rye looked around at the huge room. “I was worried you’d gotten lost in this cavernous house.”

Tyria grinned. “Yes, Milliden certainly liked his space.” She prodded his chest with a gentle elbow. “It’s well after breakfast. If you keep making her wait, the Marquis might stop letting us stay here for free.”

Rye dismissed the idea with a playful wave of his hoof. “We’re fine. They won’t put the house back up on the market until there’s a new permanent Equestrian ambassador in the city.”

“Still, you’d better get going.”

“Hmm.” Rye sighed wistfully. “I suppose. Or…”

Tyria felt one of his hooves sliding down her stomach. “Ryyyye…” she chided with a wry smile, “you’re going to be late.”

“It won’t kill them to wait a few minutes,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“But it’s…” She closed her eye, inhaling. “It’s the big day at last, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed,” he said lightly. “That's why they can't start without me.”

Her eye flicked open. “Ah… but what if… they do? Mmm. Rye, you can’t let them sign your baby… without you. You’ve worked so… hard… on it…” She bit her lip.

He moved his head sideways to look at her with a coy smile. “I think it’ll keep for a few more minutes.”

Tyria dropped the palette and the brush to the floor. She twisted around, placing her hooves on his chest, and shoved him to the carpet. Leaning down, she kissed him, closing her eye. Slipping a hoof under his feather-soft robes, she snapped open the clasp. They didn’t speak much for the next few minutes.

Afterwards, rolling over onto the carpet, Tyria let her right hoof fall across her chest, still rising and falling with pleasant tremors. She tilted her head left to look at Rye, smiling contentedly. “You...” she exhaled, blowing a strand of her mane aside. “You really should take a weekend off, Rye. We wouldn’t have to keep stealing moments.” She ruffled his mane with her left hoof.

Breathing out a satisfied puff of air, he looked up at the ceiling. “After today, I’ll have plenty of free time. We can start planning the wedding, even.”

“Mm…” Tyria sighed. “Well, shouldn’t you be on your way?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine, it’s only…” Rye fumbled beside him with a hoof, dragging his robes over. “Where’d I put that timepiece…”

Tyria stretched her forelegs over her head, cracking her neck. “Are we still meeting Zanaya for dinner tonight?”

Dangling a pocketwatch from its chain, he lifted a hoof. “Yes, after we see the sergeant off…” Rye jerked upright. “Oh, Sisters, they’re starting in five minutes.”

“I warned you,” she said, nudging his flank with a hoof. “Better run.”

“Sorry,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Leaping up, he scrambled for the door, donning his robes as he went. “Have a good day!”

“Good luck!” she called after him, shaking her head with a knowing smile as the door creaked open and then slammed shut. Always in a rush, she thought, rolling her eye. Her workflow on the painting was now thoroughly interrupted, so instead she got up and left the room to take a bath.

Washing up had been extremely awkward, these last five weeks. As she carefully rinsed out her mane, doing her best to keep the most recently applied gauze over her eye dry, she reflected eagerly that soon she’d be taking the bandages off for good. The cut hadn’t hurt in several days, even after… strenuous physical activity. She’d grown more used to seeing only half the world than she’d ever have imagined possible before the injury. The brief pangs of loss still happened, but they no longer brought her to the edge of tears. Now, it was simply a part of her.

In the middle of drying herself off with a towel, she heard the unmistakable rapping of the front door knocker. Lifting her head in surprise, she blinked, wondering who could possibly be calling at this hour of the morning.

She quickly finished drying off and trotted down the stairs to answer the door. Swinging it open, she was greeted by a familiar orchid-purple mare wearing a khaki uniform, a set of saddlebags, and a bittersweet smile.

“Captain Petalbloom!” Tyria tilted her head slightly in friendly curiosity. “To what do I owe the visit?”

“I’ve got presents,” said the captain, her cheeks dimpling. “One long-awaited, one unexpected, I think.”

“Would you like to come in?”

Petalbloom shook her head, raising a forestalling hoof. “Unfortunately, I have embassy business I need to see to right after this.”

Tyria nodded. “I understand.”

“Well, Ensign,” said Petalbloom, fishing in her saddlebags. “It took them about two weeks longer than I expected to get here…”

“My father’s influence, no doubt,” said Tyria with an amused sigh. “He still hasn’t stopped trying to convince me to apply for special considerations to avoid the medical discharge.” At least he’d grown considerably less overbearing about it since their talk on the Polaris. He might never stop trying to get her to rejoin the service, but it no longer felt like the crushing pressure of a hero’s expectations; now, it was merely the frustrated wishes of a concerned parent.

Petalbloom yanked out a large, thick envelope. She offered it with her mouth, and Tyria pressed her hooves around it to pull it to her breast. The captain nodded, looking strangely wistful. “Your P-566 forms and the official discharge letter are all in there. I signed them last night.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Tyria set the envelope inside the house with a sigh, feeling a little off-balance. It was hard to believe that this was finally real. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, ma’am.”

Petalbloom set a hoof on her shoulder and smiled. “I know at times we haven’t had the easiest working relationship, Tyria, but whatever problems we ran into, you were a good officer. I’ve been proud to have you under my command these last three years.”

Tyria felt tears welling up in her good eye. “Thank you.”

“And that, along with your exemplary service during the pirate incident, is why…” Petalbloom turned back to her saddlebags. Her head returned with another envelope, this one with a small box tied to it. Tyria took it, her eyebrow raised. “I thought you deserved this, so I put in the request along with the rest of the paperwork. I’m glad to say it was approved.”

Tyria pulled the little box out of the string tying it to the envelope, and opened it. Staring at the little cloth bars and shoulder-patch insignia within, she threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, Captain…”

“Congratulations, Lieutenant Metrel,” said Petalbloom, with a salute and a smile. “And good luck in your new life.”

Tyria returned the salute, then hugged her. Petalbloom blinked in surprise, but then returned the hug. The captain cleared her throat bashfully. “I figured you wouldn’t mind having that higher pay grade on your medical pension.”

“Thank you,” repeated Tyria. “For everything.” She pulled back, wiping her eye.

“You’re welcome. Now,” said Petalbloom, taking a deep breath, “I do have to be going.”

“I’ll make sure to send you a wedding invitation. You won’t even need to take leave, if you want to come.”

“Oh, you’re having it here?” Petalbloom blinked in surprise.

“Sure, why not? My family and friends are scattered all over anyway thanks to the military, and Rye’s certainly won’t mind an excuse to head down to the tropics when those late August chills start settling in Canterlot.” Tyria raised a hoof in farewell, nodding her head. “Goodbye, Captain.”

Petalbloom waved goodbye as she walked away, trotting down the street and vanishing into the rows of houses. Tyria, still smiling, closed the door.

Walking back into her studio, she sat in front of her painted window to the sea. She picked up her palette and brush from where they’d fallen earlier, wetting the tip of the brush once again. With an evaluating eye, she scanned the reef.

“Lieutenant Tyria Metrel…” she murmured, her mouth curling. She leaned in to continue her work on the coral.

* * *

Rye arrived at the Marquis’ manor ten minutes late, wheezing for breath. The entrance guard was waiting expectantly for him, holding open the mahogany door with a silver-encircled hoof. Rye gave him a grateful nod as he trotted into the building.

In the foyer, Jerric Metrel stood beside one of the display busts, with a very terse expression. Rye waved hello, walking up to him. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Rye.” Jerric gave a long-suffering sigh. “You have paint on your robes.”

Rye glanced down at the little spot of pink that had appeared on the yellow fabric. “Eheh, whoops. Must’ve dropped the hem on it when we—uh, when I tripped, on my way out of the, uh…” The admiral grew further stone-faced. Rye coughed. “Have all the others arrived?”

The way Jerric rolled his eyes was unsettlingly familiar. Rye had noticed just how many Tyria-isms originated from her father during their work together over the past month. “Yes. All the delegations are assembled in the meeting room. They sent me out to look for you, in fact.”

“Ah. Sorry.” Rye began trotting toward the door on the ground floor that led to the negotiating chamber. “Shall we?”

Jerric followed him, muttering so quietly that Rye barely heard him, “At least someone is having a good morning…”

Rye thrust open the door, stepping into the room. It was much larger than Zahira’s office, containing a huge oval table with beautiful Gryphan carvings, a piece of furniture surviving from the original building. Seated around the table were the dozens of members belonging to the various delegations that had come to Zyre to take part in the creation of this treaty, some with friendly expressions and several with gloomy ones.

The happiest person in the room was Meri, resting in a wooden half-bath that had been carted up from the seafront by some unfortunate pair of zebras at Zahira’s request. The seapony’s tail hung over the side of the glorified bucket, but she looked irrepressibly cheerful despite the cramped seating arrangement. She ought to, thought Rye; the seaponies were the only party present to get everything they’d asked for out of this treaty.

Rye and Jerric took their seats beside the violet-maned Lady Vanellen Bellemont. She was the noble Celestia had sent along with the economic advisory team that Rye had requested. Ostensibly she was there in a similar advisory role, but Rye had a feeling she would end up being Celestia’s choice to replace Milliden. Lady Bellemont had a much milder temperament than her predecessor, and an easy way with words that made you want to be her friend. A good choice, thought Rye, nodding to her and receiving a kindly smile in return.

“Well,” Rye said, placing his hooves on the table with a light tap. “Good morning, my ladies and lords. Now that we’re all here…” the comment drew a chorus of rolled eyes and irritated snorts, “let’s discuss those last few issues, and move on to the final ratification. It’s my hope to finally finish these negotiations by this afternoon.”

At the center of the table sat the master copy of the treaty, all six hundred and forty-two glorious pages of it. Rye had spent three and a half straight weeks doing a boggling amount of wining, dining, wheeling, and dealing to put the colossus together. He gazed at it with fond eyes.

All the big issues had been settled days ago, and as such the day was spent listening to the camels, zebras, griffons, and ponies all haggling for a few final economic trifles. For the first time in weeks Rye had little stake in the details being discussed, so he simply nodded when appropriate. He passed the time playing idly with the hem of his robes and smiling occasionally at the little spot of paint.

At last, both the Dromedarian and Gryphan ambassadors seemed satisfied with whatever ultimate agreement they’d reached on the grain tax, made their edits to the page in question, and gave the floor back to the Equestrians.

“Excellent. I believe that means we’re finished.” Rye gestured around at the thirty-or-so zebras, griffons, camels, and ponies gathered at the table. “Unless anyone has last minute concerns before we sign this thing?”

Glances flew across the table, but no one raised any objections. They had better not, by this point, thought Rye.

The sound of sloshing water broke the quiet. Meri leaned forward, pressing her hooves together. “I’d just like to express once again on behalf of New Phoenixia what a pleasure it is to have met all of you. I look forward to our continued relations in the future.”

Rye smiled. Meri was becoming a fine young statesmare. Still some learning to do, of course, but if she could manage to wring out eight thousand square kilometers of territory from Marquis Zahira of all zebras—with his help, granted—she could handle anything.

“All right, Ambassador Strudel,” said the Gryphan emissary, “let’s get this over with.” He had been sent to replace Tatius. The latter griffon had vanished in the attack, presumed dead. His replacement was a bookish sort, who’d had an air of appalled misery throughout the proceedings these last few weeks. Rye couldn’t blame him; Zahira had placed some hefty restrictions on Gryphan trade activities.

Rye had done his best to mollify the Marquis, repeating that Tatius had acted on his own nearly as many times as he had the same argument regarding Milliden; he’d had some success. Still, he hadn’t tried to stop her from classifying blackpowder as a Class IV restricted cargo, now just as thoroughly illegal to trade or possess as Elyrium.

The griffon ambassador had been quite dismayed by the loss of Grypha’s only monopoly, but Rye had made it up to him somewhat by ensuring that all of the rebuilding work on Zahira’s navy would be going through Gryphan contractors.

Rye nodded, gesturing to Lady Bellemont. “Let’s begin.” She obligingly withdrew a sheaf of parchment from within her blue robes, what was to be the final page in Rye’s magnum opus. Rye slid it over in front of himself, bending down with a quill to scratch his signature at the center of the page with great satisfaction.

He passed it to his left. Meri, shaking her hoof a little to dry it, pulled the parchment before her and bit down on the end of her own quill. The seaponies had no writing system, so she simply drew the sigil her people had chosen to represent themselves, a star with five points that curved like shark fins. Rye was unpleasantly reminded of the airstars whenever he saw it, but supposed it was appropriate enough.

She passed the signature sheet on to her left, where it was taken by a camel who gave it to the Dromedarian ambassador. As he dabbed his quill into the ink with a dexterous foot, Rye shook his head slightly in grudging admiration.

The Dromedarian had apologized profusely and at length for weeks about the unauthorized military adventure that a few overly-ambitious rogue agents in his nation’s navy had perpetrated, while firmly denying any culpability of his government or people. They were shunning all responsibility, pinning the entire attack on the vanished Pit Vipers and the conveniently dead Viridian.

Rye had to give it to him, the camel had serious stones for sticking to such a bald-faced lie, but as both Grypha and Equestria were loudly claiming exactly the same thing about their own ambassadors there was little he could do to publicly deny the Dromedarian position.

He’d settled instead for coordinating with Zahira and Celestia’s crack economic team to slap the camels with a series of painful sanctions designed to cripple their precious metals industry. Perhaps more importantly, the camels had—after a week of subtle threats and overt suggestions of further military action on Equestria’s part—agreed to pay close to half a billion Dromedarian lira into a “relief fund” for Zahira’s rebuilding projects.

A reparation by any other name smells not as sweet, thought Rye, rubbing his lips, but it’ll do. It irked him to let the camels escape with little more than financial and materiel losses from their murderous escapade, but he still kept what he’d said to Tyria about them in mind. A war’s great if you win, but when you lose… the camel king is going to be feeling the heat. It wouldn’t be the first time a bankrupt state caused a revolution.

Next, the Gryphan ambassador signed with a sigh, before passing on the document to the first of Zyre’s oligarchs. Rye glanced across the row of zebras, toying anxiously with the hem of his robe.

All of them would have to put their signatures on this to make it valid, and Rye had worked his tail off to make sure they would. He’d bargained off promises, alliance agreements, tariff reductions, and in two cases outright bribes to get support from the Zyrans.

It was difficult to get their attention, at times, as most of them were still busy looking over their shoulders while Zahira purged her government of traitors. The ongoing witch hunt had imprisoned hundreds from all classes and ranks already, including those nobles caught green-hoofed at her manor with Breyr, but there was no end in sight yet.

At last, the parchment arrived at the hooves of Zahira herself. The Marquis stared down at the document, frowning. Rye chewed his lip, watching her intently.

Equestria was prepared to give a lot to her. Celestia would be funding nearly half the cost of rebuilding her navy. It was an astronomical sum, so large that they’d had to dip into the funds originally allocated to rebuild the castle in Canterlot. They’d also made formal vows of alliance against Dromedaria, should it ever threaten Zyre again, and a joint agreement to combat any pirates that rose to fill the vacuum left by the Vipers.

That aid wasn’t coming cheap, though, and it clearly ate at the Marquis every time Rye had met her for negotiations. In exchange for the rest of the treaty, Equestria was getting completely unrestricted military access to the entirety of the Golden Isles. That included escorting their trade vessels—completing Rye’s original mission, to his wry satisfaction—but also opened up the Equestrian sphere of influence to expand southward toward Zebrica and Elefala. Using the more direct route through the isles they’d be able to make stronger alliances and pursue interests throughout the entire southern hemisphere.

Finally, there was the dizzying array of removed or reduced tariffs between the two nations, which even Rye had lost track of about four days into the process. Along with his efforts, the royal economists had managed to squeeze eight percent off of the sugar tax for Equestrian merchants, which ought to repay them with dividends for those shipbuilding costs in less than a decade. Getting Zahira to agree to it had been like doing surgery with words.

She’d agreed tentatively at the time, but this was the moment of truth. Now, here at the end, would she sign? Her vaunted status as Zyre’s sole ruling power would be severely shaken by this treaty, perhaps irrevocably, and she knew it just as well as Rye did. Her quill hesitated over the parchment, dripping a dot of ink.

Licking his lips, Rye pressed his hooves together. The wait stretched on for another ten tense seconds as he watched emotions battle on Zahira’s face. All the other delegates stared at the Marquis with bated breath.

Unable to take it any longer, Rye cleared his throat. “Madame, if I may…”

Zahira looked up at him, a little forlorn. Rye glanced over at Meri. “I’ve seen the remnants of Phoenixia with my own two eyes, and I can tell you, it wasn’t a lack of control that brought them to ruin. If anything, they collapsed because they turned inward, so caught up in holding on to past glories that by the end, all they ruled was a broken chunk of stone at the bottom of the ocean.”

He smiled at her. “Zyre doesn’t have to follow in their hoofsteps. Equestria wants to help you. Let’s build a better world together.”

The zebra gave a long, deep sigh. “All right, Strudel.” With a regretful shake of her head, she said, “You win.” She scribbled on the sheet with a quill. Sitting back with a meditative look, she pushed the parchment forward. “It’s done.”

All the delegates aside from Meri stood and vigorously shook hooves, claws, and feet. Most faces were filled with relief at the thought of finally being finished. Rye looked around, restraining the urge to whoop and break into a dance. Even Jerric had a smile.

As they filtered out of the manor into the fading evening sunlight, Rye inhaled deeply. The city stretched out below him, all its twinkling lights and promises of adventure still glittering under the darkening sky.

Rye’s future father-in-law stepped up to his side, looking out with him. “I admit, Rye, I’m impressed,” he said, a faint smile on his lips. “You’ve certainly taken care of things.”

“Thank you, sir.” Rye closed his eyes blissfully as the ocean breeze played with his mane. “How long will the fleet remain in the area?”

“At least another few months, I expect. Those Zyran ships will take a considerable amount of time to rebuild.”

“Good. We’ll send a message to the camels, if nothing else.” Rye opened his eyes, turning his head to Jerric. “Well, sir, it’s been... interesting.” Or mortally terrifying, one of the two. He extended a hoof.

Jerric shook it slowly, looking down toward the district where Rye and Tyria were staying. He sighed softly. “You’ll take care of Paintbrush, too, won’t you?”

“We’ll take care of each other, I think,” said Rye with a smile. “You have my word.”

“Good.” Jerric set his hoof back down, turning the rest of his body curiously toward Rye. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. Are you related at all to Windstreak Strudel, the old Firewing captain?”

“My mother.” Rye raised an eyebrow, wondering what Jerric’s reaction would be.

“Hah! Well.” His mouth twisted wryly. “I suppose that explains where you get it from.” He loosened his collar, looking down at the bay. “I’m heading back down to the Levanah. I suppose I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll follow you partway. A friend is shipping out tonight. Celestia wants her Firewing back.”

The two set off together, the silence between them no longer awkward; merely the calm, comfortable quiet of two ponies with an understanding.

* * *

Wheatie yawned, tapping a hoof on the top of his suitcase. He looked up at the ship beside his pier, watching the pony crew shifting cargo across the deck. Turning back down to look out of the bay, he sighed wistfully. The setting sun was gorgeous in this city; he was going to miss it.

Along with some other things. “Hi there, soldier boy,” came a familiar voice from behind him. Wheatie turned, grinning.

Zanaya, wearing that same lovely dress she’d had that night at Zahira’s dinner party, stood behind him on the pier, a coy smile on her lips. “I thought I’d show up a little early and give you something.”

“Oh?” Wheatie let the suitcase stand and sidled over to her. “Whatever could you have, hiding in that dress? Must be small,” he said, winking.

Zanaya gave a tinkling laugh. She dragged one of her forehooves against the other, and there was a clink of metal hitting wood. With a stomp, she flipped the object up onto a hoof, and offered it to him.

“Your Watch bracelet?” Wheatie felt suddenly dismayed. “Zanaya, I can’t take—”

“Shh. Yes, you can.” Her warm blue eyes regarded him with fond amusement. “I want you to have something to remember me by.”

“I…”

“It’s not as though I’m using it anymore. Go on, soldier boy, take it.” She flipped it into the air toward him, and he caught it instinctively. Zanaya let her hoof fall back to the ground. “We’ve had a good few months, Wheatie. Come back and see me again sometime, huh?”

He pocketed the silver circlet with some reluctance, grinning. “Well, I’ll be back for the wedding…”

Her eyes flashed with anticipation. “Looking forward to it.”

Behind her, far down the pier, Wheatie spotted a pair of ponies galloping toward them. Rye’s yellow robes flapped in the wind. Tyria had on a set of saddlebags and that absurd hat of hers. Wheatie chuckled.

“We’re not late, are we?” panted Rye, coming to a halt beside them.

“No, no, the ship’s not leaving for another fifteen minutes or so.” Wheatie checked his timepiece, nodding. “Did you bring those letters?”

“Yes,” said Tyria, tossing him the saddlebags. “There you are, stuffed with invitations.”

Wheatie raised a brow. “Date’s set?”

“Mhm. Just wrote them up by the docks a few minutes ago.” Rye looked tired, but happy. “I suggest you tell my father first. My mother’s liable to start crying.”

Wheatie laughed. “Noted.”

Tyria leaned against one of the posts on the pier. “Hi, Zanaya. I haven’t seen you all week. How are… how are things going?”

Zanaya waved a hoof. “I’ll be fine, Tyria. The P.I. business is booming right now. After the pirate attack, everyone’s missing valuables. Tracking them down’s been very lucrative.”

Tyria sighed with a frustrated look. “I still can’t believe Zahira wouldn’t let you stay on the force.”

The zebra’s smile turned melancholy. “She offered, actually. But if I stayed, I’d have been put in charge of the internal affairs investigations into the Watch. She wanted someone with known loyalties leading it, for obvious reasons, but that’s not a job I want any part of.”

Shrugging, she tossed her head. “I’m doing well for myself, though. Thanks to all those seedy underworld contacts our little friend Zedya at the Rider has put me in touch with, I’ve got a huge leg up on the competition.” She flashed Wheatie a smile. “Thanks again for saving her life, Wheatie.”

“Oh, you two have thanked me plenty already,” said Wheatie, grinning. “I’ll miss you, Zan.”

She gave him a hug. “So long, soldier boy.”

He hugged her back. “So long.”

Pulling away, with a deep breath and a covert wipe of her eyes, she turned to Tyria. “So! We’d better get going if we’re going to get to Vera’s before they’re completely packed. Come on, Tyria, tell me about that antelope who bought up your whole Karran series.”

Tyria beamed. “I still can’t believe it, really…”

The two mares strode off down the pier, chatting happily. Rye and Wheatie watched them go, both smiling faintly.

“Well, Staff Sergeant,” said Rye, turning to face him and offering a hoof. “You’ve been an excellent assistant—though perhaps not quite how I intended.”

“Who knows? Maybe we’ll work together again in the future,” said Wheatie, shaking his hoof. “And next time I may not even have to track you down.”

“Let’s hope.” Rye pulled his hoof back and sat, awkwardly tapping his forehooves together. “So… Wheatie… I can’t help but wonder…”

“Hmm?”

Rye looked like he was heavily debating his next words, but curiosity seemed to win out. He raised an eyebrow. “You, Zanaya, and that Zedya mare she mentioned…”

Wheatie matched his eyebrow. “Mm?”

“Did the three of you ever, uh…?”

“Well, that depends,” said Wheatie dryly. “Why have you and Tyria been late to every dinner we’ve had in the last month?”

Rye gave an embarrassed cough. “Ahem. Forget I asked. Have a good trip, Wheatie.”

Wheatie smirked. “Good night, Rye.” He watched the yellow-robed stallion canter off after the mares.

With a sigh, he touched the cold ring of metal in his breast pocket. More valuable than any medal. He gave it a pat and nodded with a smile.

Well, then. On to the next adventure. Turning away, he hooked a hoof around the handle of his suitcase and trundled up the ramp to board the ship.

Comments

[Bast]

Rye's mom is going to cry tears of joy when she finds out her little colt is finally getting married xD

[mustangdrew4]

Rye dismissed the idea with a playful wave of his hoof. “We’re fine. They won’t put the house back up on the market until there’s a new permanent Equestrian ambassador in the city.”

I think this was supposed to be embassy?

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I really like how you've started to wrap things up. Everything is so neat and concise. I hope your planning to show us the wedding and maybe a glimpse into their lives a few years or so after the wedding. Thank you for the entertainment.