On the longest night of the year, it is said that two slices of cake mysteriously vanish from the castle kitchens. But Twilight Sparkle has never been one to believe in superstition. Her mystery novels have taught her there is always an explanation.
A holiday mystery in Canterlot, unsolved for as long as anypony can remember, leads a teenaged Twilight to ask a simple question: Why steal cake?
As her favorite detective has discovered in every book of the Sable Sleuth series, it's often the simplest of questions that will lead a pony down unexpected paths. As Hearth's Warming Eve approaches, and the deadline for the next theft looms, will Twilight Sparkle be able to unravel the mystery behind the Cake Thief?
Twilight’s hooves echoed in the long hallway on her way to the kitchens. She splashed through wide pools of light drifting across the marble floor, throwing her shadow up high against the opposite wall while the black and white tiles sent a chill creeping up her legs as surely as any of the icy patches outside.
As she passed each window, the Mare in the Moon, accompanied by a twinkling halo of stars in a cloudless night sky, watched her, intruding like a sour note into the hum of magic ringing like a silver bell just outside her hearing.
She’s not watching me! She hopped a step and swiped a hoof at the base of her horn. The hum popped like a soap bubble, letting in the stillness of the night. Most everypony else had already gone to bed, and this far from the castle’s heart, very few wandered around at night.
She stomped down the hallway just a little louder. Spike and his silly notions of a mare actually living in the moon. She snorted, and hopped a few steps ahead as even that echoed back to her as laughter.
They were craters. That was all. And the hallway was a perfect acoustic chamber.
A ghost of her hooves’ echoes far down the corridor came back just in time to silence the niggling voice in the very back of her mind. The one that contradicted everything else.
There wasn’t anything to worry about, she assured herself.
Another two turns, a flight of stairs, and she came to the ground floor. There, the wide bay windows, frequent favorite spots for her to read during the summer, gave way to the massive floor to ceiling picture windows that looked out on the courtyard. There, the cold glow of the moon spread out like a vast, implacable sea, drowning color and shadow alike. The Mare in the Moon floated in stolid pre-eminence over all the argent landscape both without and within, surveying her domain with a steady, fierce gaze.
Twilight steeled herself and tromped down the hallway, denying the myth’s power with every step. But, there on the lower floor, her hooves found carpet instead of stone, and her tromping defiance was swallowed up whole, the muted echoes dying before they came back.
But, before long, the warm golden light flowing out from under the swinging door to the main kitchen, far down the hallway, reinforced her earlier assurance. The picture windows turned again to high-set transoms, diminishing the moon’s domain. She let out a small breath, cast one last glance at the still visible moon, and shook her head to settle her mane and her thoughts.
The Mare in the Moon was only a myth. A legend.
She took another breath, checked her saddlebags again for the books she’d meant to pack, and set her shoulder to the solid panel of the door.
Stepping past the kitchen’s threshold was like stepping into the portal to another world. The cold that had crept up from beneath the richly carpeted floor vanished as her hooves touched the roughened stone. Heat rushed over her from the half-dozen fireplaces and ovens still blazing even so late at night, driving the shivers, not entirely induced by the cold, from her. The clatter and bustle of the kitchen swept over her, further quieting the nag.
“Whoa, whoa,” said a rough male voice, and she looked around to find a stallion stepping away from a mixing bowl to frown at her. A streak of pink frosting slashed across the bridge of his muzzle, bisecting the white star between his eyes. “Little fillies can’t—”
“Leave off, Crunchy. That’s Twilight Sparkle, you goof.” Honey Cake’s sonorous voice broke over his voice like a rolling wave, easily washing over the minor din of the nightly preparations for the next day. “I have Celestia’s own word that she’s okay to be here,” she added in a minutely softer voice, though it still reminded Twilight of the distant thundering of a storm at night.
Honey Cake flowed nimbly through the kitchen from the ovens, and it seemed that she stopped at every station to sample or offer brief critique on her way to where Twilight stood, waiting. Her burnished gold coat was so dusted with flour so that Twilight could barely tell she didn’t come from a branch of old Paints, but the trio of gleaming honeycombs on her hip stood out, even under the flour.
Twilight ducked her head in greeting. “I’m sorry if I caused a fuss.”
“Nonsense. Just a moment, and you’ll have my attention.” She brushed Twilight’s apology away and shot a look at the still hovering Crunchy. “Get that table cleared off. You’ve got to learn how to use as small a space as you need.” With a toss of her head, Honey indicated a smaller table to the side.
When the stallion was well on his way, silently, to relocating, Honey turned her considerable attention back to Twilight.
“How are you, dearie? Another late night study session?”
“Yes, Mrs. Cake. I couldn’t sleep.” Spike and his fables.
“Oh, call me Honey. Or Honey Cake, if you must.”
Twilight blushed, turning aside from the smiling mare and her oft-repeated demand. “Um. Can I sit at a table?” She indicated the recently vacated one. “I have some Thaumaturgical Theory and Practice reading.”
Honey Cake blinked, mouthing the words, and smiled. “Of course, dearie.” She nodded to the table, lighting her horn to lift off some few scattered dollops of icing and dusted it with a dry rag. “Don’t mind Crunchy Crust. He’s new, but he’s got a good eye for cake decorating.”
The stallion setting up on the table next to hers beamed for just a moment, and swallowed when Honey leveled her attention at him.
“But that doesn’t mean he can assume control of the kitchen.”
“Y-yes ma’am.” Head lowered, he sighed and kept up the stirring motion on what smelled like a buttercream frosting with a hint of—
She snatched her thoughts away from the thought of cake and frosting and started unloading her books. Surreptitiously, she wiped at her muzzle, surprised to find she hadn’t actually been drooling.
“Best be careful, Crunchy! Might be one of your slices the Mare in the Moon steals next,” an older mare said as she wandered by. Her wings were stacked with muffin trays. She cackled at his grimace, followed by snickers drifting around the kitchen.
Crunchy bore down on the whisk, a red streak edging up the pale star on his muzzle. Twilight thought he looked a few years older than her, his skinny frame more lank than trim, and a contrast to the rounded heft of Honey Cake and some few other mares and stallions who enjoyed their cooking, and had been at it longer.
“He should,” another mare called out, her voice almost a laugh. “She took two pieces of mine last year!”
“But she’s just an old pony tale!” Twilight stopped putting out her books to stare at the young, gray mare, her mane a sunny gold. She carried a stack of muffin trays perched between her ears, and stood next to the older mare, both of them so similar in color they had to be related.
The elder was working a long wooden paddle in the oven before setting it aside. “Is she now?” The old mare cackled as she slid one tray down from the younger’s stack with a wing, across her back and down the other to slide into the open oven fast enough to not even ruffle her flight feathers. “Oh, the things you younger ponies take for granted. Why—”
Honey tsked loudly as she swatted at the mare’s backside with the butt end of a ladle and smiled at Twilight. “Don’t you mind Silver Dish, Twilight, or her granddaughter. They poke their noses into everything. Why, when she was younger, Muffins was underfoot almost more than my two boys! How she managed that feat, I’ll never understand.”
Muffins blushed as she shifted about, following her elder to another oven, her wings ruffling as she cast a glance at Twilight, the tray stack staying perfectly level the entire time.
“Just settle to you your studying, Twilight,” Silver Dish called out, “and never mind us. Kitchen ponies chatter.” She nodded to her granddaughter, staring cross-eyed at the stack of trays perched between her ears. “Another tray, please, Muffins.”
The two engaged in a ballet, almost, drifting from oven to oven, chattering as they went, and their talk wandered away to the blizzard scheduled for the next week, and the festivities planned afterwards.
Twilight tried to focus on her open books, but the talk about the Mare in the Moon continued, although quieter and drifting from table to table as Honey Cake made another round of spoon checks and discussion of this or that dish.
She couldn’t help but notice that the stallion’s blush faded as they went on, giving way to furtive glances at a large stack of cast-iron cake forms resting one atop the other on the largest trestle in the room. She caught only tidbits here and there, about The Mare in the Moon and the stolen slices of cake.
The study of Star Swirl’s theories on Thaumaturgy and their practical applications kept slipping away from her, and Spike’s worrying crept back in on slippered hooves to ghost around the figures and formulas.
It wasn’t until she stared down at the last bit of a sentence she’d just written that she realized she was too distracted to study.
‘In the guidance and use of a joint effort spell, the Mare in the Moon must be taken into account when aligning the magical flows.’
That sentence was supposed to read: ‘…the confluence of the sun and moon must be taken into account…’
She tore out the page and balled it up, frowning, but halted just as she was about to throw it in the waste bin. The words on the paper still scampered around in her thoughts like mice in the pantry.
She smoothed the paper back out and laid it flat. “Mrs. Cake? I-I mean Honey.”
“Yes, dearie?” Honey said, her horn glowing a warm orange as she turned. Behind her, a monstrous cake mold continued to float, a stick of butter making turn after turn over the interior.
“E-everypony, and Spike, keeps saying that the Mare in the Moon is real. But, she’s just…” Twilight twitched an ear as the hum of the moon swelled against her horn. She shivered. “She’s just a myth, isn’t she?”
A soft smile tugged at the mare’s lips. “Oh, I think so.”
Twilight sagged against the table, and gave Honey a small smile.
“But…” The stick of butter stopped and the mold froze in place. “Most myths are just a glaze of honey over a muffin. Just a little bit of truth covering a whole tasty treat to tease little fillies with.”
“Like the Winter Solstice cake thief!” Another mare said, just a few years older than Twilight. “Crunchy’s the new decorator for the Hearth’s Warming cake this year, and every year, so the legend says, two slices of cake decorated by that year’s apprentice decorator go missing!”
Snickers and not quite laughter came from almost everywhere in the kitchen, dying down as Honey pulled up a stool across from Twilight. Crunchy had almost buried his face into his bowl, ears folded back.
“Some myths, though, are more like the honeydrop treats my grand-daughter makes. A little paper wrapped around the larger truth.”
“Which one is The Mare in the Moon? Or the cake thief?”
“Even if I knew, why would I spoil the fun? Half of it is in the talk and telling of the tale over and over. Why, last year, it was said that three slices went missing. We still can’t decide why!” Honey’s smile grew as she surveyed the pile of books scattered over the large, flour-covered and knife-notched surface. “The other half is arguing over which tales are true and which not.”
Honey reached out to touch one pile, shifting the topmost one aside to reveal a dark paperback book showing a mare, her coat dark as night, her cutie mark a silver horseshoe wrapped around a magnifying glass, and she wore a wide-brimmed, white hat pulled low so that only a twinkling corner of an eye showed above a sly grin. Her white trench coat, flapping in a breeze, held the title: ‘Sable Sleuth in: The Noir Nadir.’
“Mm. My daughter loves these.” Honey flipped through the first few pages quietly, smiling. “I had been thinking about seeing if she would loan one to you.”
Twilight blushed, pulling her forelock over her eyes with a hoof, and tucked her muzzle close in to her chest.
“Oh, come now. What’s wrong with loving a good work of fiction? There’s a lot you can get from reading them, you know, and a lot of fun to be had. Especially for a little mystery lover like you.”
“I know I should only study,” she said into the curl of her mane, “but I like them so much.”
“Nonsense! Only study—pah! I’ll wager the Princess has never heard that from you, and if she hasn’t, I’ll tell her myself. Only study…” Honey shook the book at her, frowning. “There’s more to life than facts in books, Twilight.”
Twilight shuffled her hooves against the stool’s rim, plucking the edge of one shoe against the wood. “I know, but I shouldn’t right now. There’s so much to do to keep up.”
“Keep up? The way I hear it from around the castle is you do more than keep up, dear. Maybe it’s time you slowed down.”
“But I can’t!”
Honey sighed, shaking her head. “What if I offered you a deal? Put away your studies for tonight, and I’ll tell you any story you want.”
“Any story?” Twilight shot a glance aside at Crunchy just in time to see him duck back down and focus on his bowl of frosting. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Muffins as the young mare winked at her grandmother.
“Any story.” Honey turned aside and tipped her horn at a row of lockers beside the door. One of them opened, and a book drifted out: Daring Do and the Sinister Sanctuary. “I’ll bet you like Daring Do.”
“Oh! Yes, yes! I love that one! Especially when Daring Do—”
“Whoa there,” Honey broke in with a light tap of the book on her forehead. “I haven’t read all of it yet.”
“You read Daring Do?” Twilight almost danced right off the stool, only barely restraining herself to clapping her hooves. “I am so excited for next month! Daring Do number eleven comes out! Did you know she’s written one every year since I was born? I’m as old as Daring Do!”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Honey said with a chuckle. “But let me tell you a story. If it’s not Daring Do… and that’s really the only book I have right now...”
Muffins came up and dropped off a tray of freshly baked muffins, their tops still glistening wetly with honey, and returned to her grandmother, taking a path behind Crunchy.
Crunchy spoke up when she passed by. “Honey knows all kinds of stories.”
“I do! There’s not much to do aside from our baking in here, so I tell a tale or two through the day, or Silver Dish does, or one of the others.” Honey gave the stallion a smile. “Now back to your whipping, Crunchy. I don’t want to find a single lump later.”
He nodded, smiling, and bent to his task.
“I would like to hear about the Mare in the Moon and the cake thief.” She swallowed, forcing her hooves to still on the edge of the stool. “Please.”
Honey smiled broadly, and tucked the Daring Do book under her folded forelegs as the kitchen seemed to quiet all around them. “That tale’s been around a long time. Where to start…”
“Where to start…” Honey Cake repeated. She settled in on the stool, making it creak, and rubbed a white streak of fine flour over her coarse blue apron.
Twilight covered her Sable Sleuth book again with a thick textbook she had intended to be reading by then. In fact, her scheduled study time should have had her already filling out questions from homework due right after the Hearth’s Warming break.
When she dragged the textbook away from its resting spot, the edge of her schedule scroll peeked out, accusing her of not following its tightly regimented schedule. Nowhere on it were the words “Listen to a story,” let alone “Ignore my schedule.”
Honey must have guessed her reason for staring at it. She pulled off her apron and set it down atop the scroll.
Twilight pulled her eyes back to Honey Cake, flicking her ears. “Sorry. I really should be studying.”
“Oh, who’s to say you won’t learn something from a story, hmm? Some of the best lessons come from stories.” Honey chuckled. “Now, where to… Ah, yes. Every year, a day before the hearths are cleaned, and two before we celebrate their warming, Princess Celestia comes to inspect the Hearth’s Warming cake, and sample the flavors that will be used for the outer frosting.
“That part’s true.” Honey nodded to the stallion, who had stopped stirring to listen. “And every year, the newest kitchen apprentices all decorate a piece of the cake on the lowest tier, so all can see their imagination and skill.”
Crunchy Crust ducked his head further, until Twilight was sure he had his nose in the frosting. The pale star on his forehead below his horn glowed pink.
“As the legend goes, on the longest night, when the Mare in the Moon watches over her ponies for the longest time out of any year, she comes to visit. Not for stealing candy or for stealing foals, no. She’s sated after her Nightmare Night repast, and only comes to mark those of interest for the next year. This is the time of the year when she is out longer than the sun, after all. She sees more of us, and she looks for those who look the tastiest, so she wanders the halls of the home she once craved, looking for the signs of somepony with the skill to feed her forever!”
A loud crash startled Twilight, and she almost fell off her stool. When she recovered her balance and darted a look around, she saw the stack of muffin trays had toppled over, and both Muffins and Crunchy Crust were cowering under the table.
“Pft. You two.” Honey Cake smiled and shook her head. “That part’s not true. At least… I’m pretty sure it’s not.”
“She’s just a myth,” Twilight said calmly. “Nopony ever goes missing on Nightmare Night.” She paused, considering. “Well, some ponies do, but they always show up again the next day. I suppose it’s more accurate to say they were reported missing.” She reached out to touch the edge of her saddlebag, and shrank back when Honey shook her head. “Um… my statistics book is in there.”
“Well… if statistics is what you’d like to hear instead of a story…”
Twilight drew her hoof back, and crossed them both on her stool. “N-no. I do want to hear a story. It’s just that, statistically speaking, it’s more likely to be struck by a meteorite than it is to be coltnapped by a… hmm. What classification of creature would you call The Mare in the Moon?”
“Twilight…”
She stared hard at her saddlebag. True, statistics was a chancy thing to go off of for anything close to reality. She reached for the bag again, shuffling through the books. Maybe Taxonomy and Mythology. The saddlebags slid away from her, enfolded in an auburn aura, and settled to the ground.
“Ahem. They’ll be fine.” Honey Cake clucked her tongue, and smiled at both of them. “Oh, very well. Set that aside, Crunchy. You and Muffins come over here and listen. I don’t want you spilling that icing all over everything. Or,” she added, flicking an ear at the gray pegasus, “muffins all over my floor.”
The story paused while Crunchy Crust covered his icing and relocated to sit, his chin perched on the edge of the table. He looked very young, sitting with only his eyes above the edge.
“Every year, she comes down to the kitchens on the only night they’re empty. Every cook and assistant gets sent to bed early.”
“But that’s because it’s a night for family time, right?”
“Oh yes. A family night it is, and everypony is off with theirs if they can, or in their beds thinking of families if they can’t. And every year, when we return to the kitchens, two slices are gone! That’s true, too. You’ll see. It’ll happen again this year.”
Twilight leaned in closer.
“On the darkest night, when the kitchens are closed, when Celestia herself puts the sun to rest early… That’s the night ponies say the old spirits wander. Windigoes, willow-the-wisps, wood sprites and snow faeries.” Honey’s voice dropped lower with each, softer. “The moon, it’s said, is brighter than ever that night, rivaling the sun for brilliance. Waking the oldest of them all. It’s said…”
“Zombie ponies rise up from their graves! Rawr!”
Twilight jerked upright, eyes wide, and Crunchy Crust let out a startled squeak.
Muffins giggled and shook her head. “Sorry! I couldn’t resist.”
“Scamp!” Honey cake reached out and swatted at the younger mare’s ear, chuckling. “Oh, shoot. Where was I?” She paused while Silver Dish laid out a plate with three fresh, steaming muffins, each freshly glazed with honey and sprinkled sugar.
“Thank you,” Twilight murmured along with Crunchy, bobbing her head as the old mare winked and ruffled Muffins’s mane with a wing. “The oldest spirit?”
“Yes, thank you. The oldest spirit of them all, the Mare in the Moon. She who watches over us, night after night, unceasing. It’s said, though you understand I’m long abed by the time it happens, that she leaves the moon to wander these very halls. You might look up and see, if you dare. If she winks at you, you might be the one she chooses.”
Twilight started to look up at the skylight, but dragged her eyes back down, and tried to catch Crunchy’s gaze. Only, he was underneath the table, shaking. His muffin was gone. Muffins was chewing contemplatively, half of her muffin already gone, and she was staring unabashedly up at the brilliant moonlight streaming in through the frosted glass.
“And every year,” Honey Cake continued, winking at Twilight, “Celestia gives up her piece to a special pony. That way everypony can have their fair share again. ”
“Wait. Wait.” Twilight tapped a hoof on the table. “That’s not right. Two go missing, but Celestia’s one makes it whole again? Does that mean they find one of them?”
“Oh, yes. One piece. Out in the Garden of the Moon. Perfectly preserved. Some say that the Mare in the Moon comes down and takes the pieces, and leaves one to taunt us. I’ve heard that Celestia feels guilty about letting her ponies down again, for letting Nightmare Moon slip free again, so she gives up that piece to another, very special pony, and has none for herself.”
“Was that why I got a piece my first year in the school?” Twilight cocked her head and studied the cook, a smile on her face and her stout forelegs folded across the edge of the table.
“Oh, that’s right! You did get a piece that year. I remember, now. But what happens to the other slice… nopony knows.”
“It isn’t Nightmare Moon,” Twilight insisted, tapping a hoof on the table. “She’s a myth.”
“That we celebrate every year.” Honey smiled broadly. “Nightmare Night, young Twilight, isn’t just a celebration of the harvest. Why do you think it’s called Nightmare Night?”
“Um… Shining Armor says it’s because it’s a fun holiday to scare your parents and give them nightmares!”
“Oh, true enough…” The motherly cook shook her head. “True enough. My colts gave me plenty of nightmares. And my filly even worse!” She squinted one eye across the table. “Have you given your mother nightmares?”
Magic surges powerful enough to uproot small trees, turning her parents into plants, accidentally rearranging the house in her sleep…
“Noooo…”
“You haven’t been trying hard enough, then. You’ll be a right nightmare when you grow up, I’ll wager! Wait until you bring home your first coltfriend. But… back to the matter at hoof… Who do you think the first Night Mare was, if not Nightmare Moon?”
“But…”
“Just think about it, Twilight. You can tell me tomorrow what you think is true. I’ll be here.” Honey Cake grinned. “Maybe you’ll surprise me!”
“Maybe it’s just a pony with a sweet tooth and a sticky hoof,” Muffins said quietly.
Twilight nodded along with her, then noticed Honey wagging her head. “Who do you think did it?”
“Oh, me?” Honey Cake stood again, brushed at her apron, to little effect, and slipped it back on, smiling. “I think it’s something somepony ought to decide for herself. What’s real, my little pony? My tale or something else? Little mystery for a mystery lover.”
Her textbook drifted aside to uncover Sable Sleuth, darting along an alley, her cloak flared about her.
I need a cloak like that.
Twilight pushed aside the thought and touched the cover of the book, tracing out the mare’s figure as she thought.
“If the Mare in the Moon is real…” She frowned, pushing the book away. “But she can’t be real.”
Honey turned her eyes up, and up. Twilight followed her gaze, up to the skylight, where a pane of crystalline glass perfectly framed the moon and the dark craters on its surface. In the golden glow of the ovens and lamps, the silver light of the moon could gain no purchase, and she’d managed to push aside its piercing gaze for a time.
“Okay, maybe she’s ‘real,’” Twilight muttered. “But that doesn’t mean it’s a pony! It’s just an old pony tale. And some craters on the moon. Shaped like a unicorn’s head.” She gulped and pushed away from the table. “I-I should get to bed. I-it’s late.”
“Sweet dreams, little Twily.” Honey Cake turned away and returned to buttering the unicorn shaped mold. Twilight shivered again. The mold looked exactly like the shape of the Mare in the Moon’s profile.
Nonsense. I look like the Mare in the Moon’s profile. Coincidence.
Twilight gathered her things as every eye in the kitchen watched her. Or seemed to. Whenever she looked up, everypony was about their own business and paying little mind to her. Talk started up again as she packed her saddlebags.
The Mare in the Moon’s name came up several times, quietly, as did the other spirits named in the story. The Windigoes were the closest thing Twilight was willing to accept as a real thing and not a fable, and even then most of what was known about them came from fables.
Conjecture. Nothing but conjecture and supposition. She glanced up as she left, but the Mare in the Moon’s visage was as implacable and still as it ever had been when she viewed it through her telescope.
Invisible eyes followed her down the long, empty hallway, and found her as she crept past the tall windows spilling argent light into the dimly lit passage. The cold stone floor rang with her hoofsteps before she stepped onto the thick rug running down its center. She paused again to look at the still courtyard, silver and white, without a hint of other colors.
Above, watching over it all, the Mare in the Moon shimmered and winked.
As a cloud passed in front of her eye.
That was it.
Just a cloud.
Her heart skipped a beat, and raced ahead of her. She stared at the moon. It was as implacable as ever. Still, stately, regal, and watching her with a brooding mien.
The night air was still, the stars brilliant pinpricks.
Just a cloud.
That had to be it.
The halo of stars twinkled with silent laughter as Twilight galloped the rest of the way back to her room.
By the time she had brushed her mane, brushed her teeth, and brushed her tail, her hooves had stopped shaking. Better, the pool of light below her window was as dim as the stars outside, and the thin spear of it faded away as she set a candle on her desk in its path.
She could still see the moon, if she crept to the edge of the window and pressed her cheek against the glass. The Mare was still there, and the craters as still and solid as any of the nights she had spent watching them through a telescope.
“Y-you think she’s real, too,” Spike said, clutching his tail and his blanket. He was curled up and peering over the edge of his small bed, and his voice sounded too small.
“I do not.”
“B-but the cake thief!”
“Is a mischievous pony. That’s all. A thief.”
There were literally hundreds of items to steal that were far easier to find than cake, and would last longer. Possibly thousands. So, as any good detective would, she was left to wonder: Why steal cake?
Spike’s fears and Honey Cake’s tale made as much sense as a thief breaking into the castle, bypassing all of the security, and her brother, to sneak into the one kitchen big enough to bake the cake, and steal only two slices. Or three. And, they somehow knew exactly which pieces of the vari-decorated cake had been decorated by that year’s newest artisans and stole only those.
If that few, and that specific, why not the entire top layer, or the entire cake for that matter.
Unless she couldn’t. Maybe… The Mare in the Moon could look directly into the kitchens from the skylight. Could the old pony tale be true?
All of the signs and portents trundled through her mind, one after the other. Silent laughter sprinkled in the heavens like argent stardust; the Mare in the Moon winking without a cloud in the sky; hoofsteps echoing like laughter.
Twilight took up the brush again and swept it through her bangs, already smooth and straight from earlier, but the stiff bristles on her brow always seemed to settle her mind and set her churning thoughts straight.
With one final swipe of the brush, Twilight shook her head. There was no mysterious Mare in the Moon. It was all a trick of the senses, or upper level atmospheric conditions caused by the blizzard the pegasi had scheduled for tomorrow night, or runaway hallway acoustics.
Spike wound himself tighter in his bed, curling up until nothing but his tail and the tip of his purple snout peeked out from under his blanket.
“Sleep well, Spike,” she whispered, stroking the quivering bundle gently. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”
She settled into bed, drawing the covers over herself and facing the window. She set her jaw when her ears wanted to fold back of their own accord and pulled out the paperback, stroking a hoof over the well-worn cover before opening it up and finding her place.
Sable Sleuth lifted the edge of the mat on the director’s desk, revealing the dark ink stain soaked into the oaken desk. A perfect circle, save for two bumps at opposite ends. She studied it, even going so far as to use the precious crystal-cut magnifying glass her father had left her, she ignored the director as he went on about inconsequential details about the break in.
Satisfied after a moment’s study of the surprisingly intricate patterning left on the desk, Sable put her father’s magnifying glass away. No mere soaking, but a deliberate and delicate tracery that only appeared to be haphazard at a glance.
“No, Director Quill. The question is not who broke into your office. That, I am fairly certain, will come to light by following the clues. I will leave that to the San Franciscolt police. No, the question I would like answered is why steal only an inkpot when you have an entire museum of more valuable items sitting in the open.”
She carefully wet a paper with a drink and laid it down on the ink-spot, very, very lightly pressing before shifting a dry sheet underneath the wet one.
The blotch came free, clear as day, on the white paper. “And why this ink pot has the ancient symbol of the Noir Nadir in its base.”
Twilight stared at the passage. She knew why the inkpot had been stolen. She knew because she had read this book three times before. But, as she put herself in Sable’s shoes, she wondered if she had started down the same path as the storied detective, and if she would face the same perils. Vampire ponies, ancient secrets, and secret societies were just a few of the things Sable had faced in the fourteen books so far published.
Of course, those were fictional. This, stealing cake, was real.
Why steal cake?
As she fell into sleep, her hoof resting on the book, the question nipped at her with phantom teeth.
“Spike, come on. Wake up.” Twilight shook the young dragon again. His snoring didn’t stop, nor did his eyes so much as crack open. “You can’t be hibernating today! I need your help!”
But that’s what he appeared to be doing. She had been taking notes on his behaviors since he had been hatched. According to all the data she had gathered, he regularly went into micro-hibernations. Longer than sleep, and far deeper. Nothing short of a moat dunking—experimental sleep-response stimulus number three hundred and five—would wake him. The previous three hundred and four steps had done little more than aggravate her and confuse the guards.
Besides, all the lore she could dig up on other dragons indicated they slept for centuries on end. But that could be only older dragons. Maybe baby dragons had to work up to a century of sleep.
Certainly, Spike would never get enough nourishment if he slept that long in one go. She pulled out her notebook and made another notation, marking the time she noted him in a state of non-responsive sleep.
She made a few more notes on the subject, documenting the rate of respiration, his heartbeat, and the position he was sleeping in.
Throughout the scritching of quill on paper, Spike made no move other than to twitch a limb and curl his claws about an imaginary quill and write along with her on nothing. That brought a smile to her face. He was getting used to writing, at least. Maybe she ought to pull back on his lessons, though. Auto-sleep-writing might be a sign of discomfiture. She’d have to consult Princess Celestia at their next meeting.
Princess Celestia would know.
“Hmm.” Twilight twirled the feathered end of the quill against her chin. The question of the cake thief hadn’t been resolved over a good night’s sleep. Maybe the princess would have some insights. It was something to consider, even if her next meeting with her mentor wasn’t due for another…
Twilight flipped up the calendar. Nothing this month. Pursing her lips, she flipped to the next, and the next. It wasn’t marked. She checked her notebook again, breath coming faster and faster. She had to have written it down. She wrote down everything Princess Celestia told her.
Page after page, she found only notes on history, magical theory, alchemy… Nothing about her next meeting with Princess Celestia!
What if she hadn’t written it down? What if… What if she’d already missed it? Maybe it was even happening right now and Princess Celestia was wondering if she’d overslept. She could imagine it clearly.
“Where is she? That is quite unlike her. I hope this isn’t an indication of her slacking off.”
Then, the princess, her mentor, would make a tick mark on a tally sheet, cluck her tongue, and wonder if she had made the right choice after all. All the times Twilight had ever missed a question was tallied there, too. Too many. Too many mistakes, all of them because she hadn’t studied, or been on time.
“Well,” Princess Celestia would say, looking over the tally sheet, “another indicator. I shall have to speak with her about this trend.”
With a squeak, she snapped the notebook closed and called her books to her. They dove off shelves, from under her table, flying at her with blinding speed. She ducked, shifting their mad flight to smack haphazardly into her saddlebags as she dashed out the door.
A muffled thump sounded, and then two more in rapid succession as she closed the door. Sheepishly, she opened the door again, glancing around the dormitory hallway as she ushered the other three into what little free space remained.
The castle flashed by her, guards and servants giving her polite hellos she couldn’t possibly stop to return. It went against everything her parents had taught her about being polite, but what was she to do? She couldn’t stop and say hello to everypony who greeted her. She’d be constantly late. And one thing she could not do was be late for Princess Celestia.
Soon, she discovered that adrenaline only bolstered her speed so much before it wore away, leaving her shaking and staggering to a halt against the pillared entrance to the Royal Suite. The sitting room was just beyond the doors ahead, and the trio of ponies standing at attention barely gave her a second glance.
Two royal guards and Raven, Princess Celestia’s personal scribe, stood at the door, conversing quietly together. The older mare—well, Raven was only five years older than Twilight, but she was still older—made a note on the scroll floating in front of her, nodded to the two guards, and turned to leave.
Twilight became acutely aware of the fact that her coat was streaked with sweat from her run, and her mane must have appeared as a feather duster. She flushed, pushed aside the personal concern, and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Raven?”
Raven glanced at her, then back at her scroll. “Good morning, Twilight Sparkle. How can I help you?”
“I was, er, wondering if… you knew if Princess Celestia had any appointments this morning?” Twilight swallowed the lump in her throat. “Because I just wanted to show her—” Think! Think! Thought escaped her. “Something. Uh. Something I came up with… er… last night.”
Raven rolled the scroll up and turned her attention more fully on Twilight. “The Princess has no scheduled meetings this early in the morning. She has requested that she have a moment of privacy.” Brown eyes swept over her, pausing at her mane, and sliding to her flanks. Raven’s cheek twitched.
“I, er, it’s kind of urgent. I had to run the whole way here.”
“I see.” Cheek still twitching, Raven unfurled the scroll again and reviewed the contents, tapping a hoof as she did so. “As it so happens, the Princess had allotted up to an hour of time for—” Raven coughed. “Expected unexpected events this morning.”
Twilight paused, staring. “How can you expect unexpected events?”
“By expecting the unexpected, of course.” The scribe gave her a tight smile, sighed, and ducked into the sitting room, leaving Twilight standing outside, smiling at the familiar guards stoically at attention.
Less than a minute passed before Raven came back. “I will never understand how she expects the unexpected with such precision.” Another long-suffering sigh came as Twilight flicked her tail. “Yes, she will see you now.” A tick, a check, a wave of a hoof at the guards, and Raven shooed her in.
Almost on the edge of the door, Twilight balked, seeing herself in the mirror just past the door. Her mane was worse than a feather duster. It was a used feather duster. Maybe taking that shortcut through the pantries hadn’t been such a great idea. Not when they got less attention or traffic than the cellars, but the pantries bypassed so much of the winding maze interior. She’d saved at least two minutes.
But the cobwebs in her mane, and the distressed looking daddy-long-legs clinging to her horn said maybe the two minutes wasn’t worth it. And what was that stain on her flank? It certainly wasn’t ink. And it had an oddly metallic smell. It took only a moment of leafing through her mental map of the castle to realize where she’d gone.
“Um…”
“Take a moment to clean yourself up. You look like you singlehoofedly cleaned the cellars.” The other mare’s flat, quiet tone belied the smile on her lips.
“No… I took a shortcut through the pantries.” And maybe one of the cellars. Or two. It had been hard to keep track in the dark. “You know, the ones over by the dormitory.” They connected the dormitory with the castle proper without going through any of the intervening hallways and corridors. Why they were unused, she didn’t know. Nor did she know why they had been disregarded for long enough to build up so much cruft, even with her occasional wanderings and explorations to stir it all up.
“Oh. I shall have the cleaning staff look into them.” Raven made a short notation on her scroll, and floated a brush over to Twilight. “Thank you.”
With that, the scribe closed the door and left Twilight to stare at herself in the mirror. The daddy long legs was still wrapped around the tip of her horn, his legs clutching each other. He was so light and delicate that she couldn’t feel him any more than she could feel the cobwebs in her mane.
A gentle spell unwrapped him, the gossamer weave of magic little more than a sparkle about his tiny limbs as she set him down on the floor, next to a tiny, itsy-bitsy crack. Before he crawled out of sight, she was sweeping the detritus and dust from her mane with curling branches of magic that still left too much webby gunk in between the strands of her mane. She paused before using the comb. It wasn’t marked with Raven’s inkpot and pen, but with a sunburst crest.
Something told her Princess Celestia wouldn’t expect her personal grooming brush to be used used to sweep so much gunk and cobwebs out of her mane and off her coat. It wasn’t proper to use regal items like that, but her mother would have screamed bloody murder at the sight of her if the incident with Shining Armor and the Toad Army were anything to go off of. She certainly wouldn’t appreciate Spider Army any more.
One more look at the mirror said another sweep with her magic wouldn’t do. Whatever else might happen, Princess Celestia was always a tidy mare, and kept everything in her personal space neat, orderly, and clean. It would never do to barge in, expectedly unexpected or not, looking as if she had run a race through a cave on her head. The comb was needed.
She brushed her mane free of the last, sticky bits of web, and turned the bristles to her coat. More cob, more web, and icky little black spots she didn’t want to think about fell away. She collected every last little speck in a growing ball of ick when she was done, and tucked the brush gently into her saddlebags. She would need to sterilize the brush before she could let the Princess use it again
The ball, she tossed into the crack after the spider. She had ruined its web after all. The least she could do was return the results of his labor. And probably the labor of his sire, and his sire before him, and before him… the ball wasn’t big, but it was many times the size of the spider’s body.
“Good morning, Twilight Sparkle.” Princess Celestia’s sunshine warm voice flowed from the chamber before she had even finished opening the door. Inside was the picture of tasteful opulence. She had been in Celestia’s private chambers before, often enough that the sight was no longer as overwhelming as it had been.
Goldenwood pillars stood silent sentinel all around the sitting room, each one carved with fanciful decorations ranging from the truly fantastic to more mundane scenes of ponies at play or work, all done in exquisite detail. Twilight had sat and stared at them in her youth, making up stories about the ponies depicted in them, stories that she would share with her journal later that night. Someday, she would find out if they were real ponies. Or had been real ponies.
The furniture matched the pillars in appearance. Long, goldenwood framed couches lay on either side of a sea-green rug, the stitching of which had not faded in all the years Twilight had seen it. Not even a little. Seaponies gallivanted about, their features done in such fine detail that she almost expected to fall into the ocean each time she stepped on it.
“Good morning, Princess.” Twilight bowed, her chin almost touching the rug, and rose when she felt a gentle, featherweight touch against her shoulder.
“What brings my prize pupil about so early?” Celestia asked gently as she came into the sitting room from her bedroom beyond, a place Twilight would never dare to venture. A muffin floated on a silver chased plate, honey glazed and still steaming, a dainty bite already taken from one edge. “Did you sleep well?” The other mare’s eyes twinkled. “I understand from some of the other students in the dorms that Spike takes to snoring. You know I would be happy to find the two of you separate rooms, if you wished.”
There was a test in that offer, Twilight knew. Everything was a test. Subtle or not. She gnawed on the answer, and her lower lip, staring at the muffin. It looked so familiar. The golden glaze on the top, the sweet, sweet blueberry batter scent filling the space between her and it.
Her stomach certainly remembered.
Grrr-grrgl.
Flushing, Twilight crossed her hooves together and averted her eyes. A muffin for ‘dinner’ wasn’t enough to eat, and she knew it, but it was so hard to find time to fit in everything else into her schedule. And there she was, contemplating solving a mystery that might stretch…
“Twilight Sparkle, have you not had breakfast yet?” Celestia floated the muffin over to her, lips pursed. “It is very, very important for a young mare of your age to eat properly.”
Dutifully, Twilight nibbled at the edge of the muffin. Celestia waved a hoof at her to finish, and pulled up a newspaper. A cup of tea popped into existence, followed shortly by another muffin. Both spells had the same silver shading as Raven’s magic, and a quick glance at the door confirmed Twilight’s suspicions.
They weren’t alone, precisely. But, she reminded herself, Princess Celestia was only very rarely alone. She was surrounded day in and day out by ponies of all stations. That she would take a little time in the morning to be there for her, if she needed her…
Swallowing the last, delicious bite of blueberry muffin, Twilight looked up to find her mentor watching her quietly over the edge of the newspaper.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, Princess.”
“Good. What’s on your mind this morning?”
Twilight shook the cobwebs from her mind. “It’s about our morning meetings.” She shook her head again. “I, um…” It was rapidly becoming obvious that she hadn’t missed her scheduled appointment with her mentor. What would it seem like if she told her mentor that she had forgotten to write it down? Or worse, that she had, and misplaced it?
“I… was wondering what… we would be discussing at our next meeting. You know, this week.” She wished she had saved a piece of muffin to cover the quavery nature of the smile she tried to force.
Celestia blinked and cocked her head. “Oh? Did I not tell you at our last? I must not have. Silly me.” She smiled, her horn glowing bright gold. “It’s time for you to begin your independent studies. I’m sure I must have mentioned it at some point.”
“Independent studies?” The words rolled off Twilight’s tongue like rocks from a cliff. “But I haven’t even graduated yet! And the results from our finals haven’t come back yet! How do I know if I passed or not? How can I—”
“It’s not something everypony does,” Celestia broke in with a smile. “It’s often only the demesne of my personal students. However, other students seeking professorships at other schools, or a hoof up before they take more advanced courses elsewhere, may choose to do so of their own accord once they have graduated. For my personal students, it is a requirement of graduation.”
“Requirement?” Twilight repeated dully. She swallowed against the feeling of her heart climbing its way up her throat. “But what will I study? I haven’t even made a list of things I would be interested in!”
“Whatever you wish! That’s the wonder of it.” Celestia smiled over the rim of her teacup. “I have always been surprised by what my students in the past have come up with. I am especially eager to discover what you decide to study.”
“Magic,” Twilight said, lifting her head to meet Princess Celestia’s gaze. “I want to study magic.”
“Which area of magic would you wish to study? Magic by itself is such a large body of knowledge that I doubt any one pony could possibly—” Celestia broke off, cocking her head to one side. “You could even choose something else. I meant it when I said you could study whatever you wish. Anything, Twilight Sparkle.”
“Anything? Even… anything not directly related to magic?” With Celestia’s nod, a numbing jolt shot through her thoughts. Whatever she wished. The possibilities were endless. Twilight stroked her chin with a hoof and stared at the small plate. She levitated the few remaining crumbs from it, savoring each last bit. She needed a scroll. A dozen scrolls.
No, a graph. Scrolls and a graph! And charts. Pro and con lists. Maybe Cadance could help her decide. It had been years since she and her foalsitter had sat up late, each helping the other with homework. It could be a late night study session! She resisted, barely, clapping her hooves. “When do I have to decide?”
“By the summer solstice, I would like to have a course proposal from you. You get to decide what courses, even to design some of the material to fit your chosen topic.” Celestia raised a hoof when Twilight opened her mouth, forestalling the flood of questions bubbling up in her mind. “Or topics. I won’t limit you to just one, but I will expect the same depth of commitment to each that you choose. You will get to choose your instructors. It won’t be one on one all the time, of course, but you will have the opportunity to consult with them and they will grade your papers just like they do now.”
Through her mind raced every possible iteration of magical spell. From the intricate talents each unicorn possessed on their own, to the vaster array of magical schools of study like illusion, conjuration, evocation, and the even wider array of thaumaturgical studies ranging from alchemy to the poorly understood Zebra mystical arts and the vagaries of tarot, tea reading, and so many more. Twilight’s ears ticked back slightly more with each possibility adding more potential work, and ticked forward with the promise of learning more magic, more history… Just… More.
“Take your time to think about it, Twilight Sparkle. There may also be another area of study you wish to pursue as well. You need not decide now.” Her smile came back, as warm and confident as the sunrise. “Talk to your friends, and let them help you narrow your choices. Or broaden them. I will not deny you any course of study you choose. Now, it’s nearly time for court to begin, and I believe—”
“Your Highness,” Raven’s dry voice drifted into the room, followed by a gentle knock. “Your early morning appointment has arrived… early.”
“Unexpected, expected events?” Twilight asked.
“Quite.” Celestia smiled at her again, and vanished the two plates and her cup of tea. “Go see to your day, Twilight. I will talk with you again in a week. Say… Same day, about this same time?”
Twilight noted the date and time in her journal, circled it twice, underlined it three times and added four exclamation points. No way she would forget that.
It wasn’t until she got back to the dormitories, taking the roundabout corridors instead of her ‘shortcut’ that she realized she hadn’t asked Celestia about the Cake Thief story. Maybe, she decided, it was for the best. The Princess was certainly busy enough already.
Nor, she thought grumpily, when she found Spike still sleeping, had she remembered to ask about what the Princess knew of draconic sleeping habits and hibernations.
She sighed and started unpacking her saddlebags again. Maybe she was getting too used to Spike taking notes for her as part of his writing practice. That, she decided, would have to change. Maybe something else instead of notetaking.
Rely on something too much, and it became a crutch. It was a lesson she had learned again and again, but it always seemed so easy to slip back into needing to learn it again.
That was probably a test, too. She sighed and pulled out the last book and the brush from her saddlebags. Sable Sleuth stared back at her, black coat and white trench stark in the harsh, faded yellow light of a street lamp.
Trouble waited for her back at her office, on the corner of Nickel and Dime. Trouble always waited at that corner, it seemed. Some days, it was good for business, other days…
The mare stood back from the pool of light, scribbling hastily on a note she was leaving on Sable’s office door. A high class mare, her tail brushed and threaded with fine silver chain from which hung tiny bells in the shape of hearts. They should have been broken hearts.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Sable growled as she stalked past the mare, hooves resounding solidly on the wood planks. “You won’t be able to leave a message and run this time, Silver Heart.”
The mare flinched, dropping note and quill. “It’s not like that, Sable! I swear.”
Sable pulled the note up closer with a spell, read it, and crumpled it into a ball. “Sure seems that way to me. Isn’t it enough that you stole my fiance? Now you’re horning in on my business, too?”
“No! You don’t understand!” Silver Heart stepped into the light.
Sable saw it, then. Silver Heart’s right cheek was marked with a bright red line, and her eyes were reddened from crying.
“They took him, Sable! They took Gray Wind, and they tried to keep me quiet, but they didn’t count on me knowing about our old hidey hole. You know the one, where you and I used to play Mares and Mysteries? I waited as long as I dared, but they might have followed me! You have to save me!”
Great. Family always made things complicated. Especially a sister who wrapped everypony’s hearts around her hoof and made them ring to her tune. But… she was Sable’s sister. Family was family. “Who?”
Sable knew the answer before Silver Heart even opened her mouth.
“The Long Night,” Sable mouthed along with her sister.
The same criminal ring Sable suspected was behind the theft. And her sister was right in the middle of it. So was her ex-fiance, Gray Wind.
“Why am I doing this?” Sable opened the door with the right key, and waved a hoof inside. “Come in.”
Family made work complicated.
And, despite the warnings of her friends and her own common sense, she still loved Gray Wind. Love made everything complicated. Mixing the three together was a recipe for disaster, and she had just invited personification of all three ingredients into her kitchen.
Just another Tuesday.
Twilight looked up from the book at the end of the chapter, asking herself the same question. She knew why, of course. There must be somepony who knew why somepony was stealing cake. She just needed to focus on that. Sable’s sister and her ex-fiance were a distraction. She just needed to make sure…
She needed to make sure her checklist of things to do before the holidays was completed. Then she could put it aside and focus on solving the mystery.
Except for family and going home for the holidays. Where she couldn’t investigate.
She sighed. Family was always important. And unpredictable. Except for Shining Armor. Except when he was. Which was often.
Thoughts about Hearth’s Warming and the break coming up in a few days swirled around Twilight’s thoughts like fluttering butterflies. She had to solve the mystery before the break, or she might not get to for another year. If at all. Her snooping around might alert the thief to change tactics for the next time.
If there was a next time. Her snooping might scare the thief off entirely.
She sighed, glancing up at the sky as she started out across the courtyard. Looming clouds and streamers spun from tree to tree, strung with lights for the coming Hearth’s Warming Eve celebration—with its attendant cake-cutting and cake thievery—greeted Twilight as she huffed like a dragon’s foul temper across the courtyard, leaving a trail of slowly rising fog in her wake.
It was yet another ‘shortcut’, but one that had no unused cellars or disused pantries. All it had was the outside. During winter, that was quite enough to dissuade most ponies from venturing out into the high mountain air.
Spike, being a slugabed—or hibernating—would still be curled up in his basket, covers draped over him. There, he was immune from the cold that seeped up through her shoes with each sharp tap against the hefty paving stones in the courtyard.
The dormitories did have a direct access to the western wing of the Castle, where the classrooms were, but that morning she needed the brisk air and sharp breeze rising up from the plains to remind her that she was, in fact, awake. The single muffin for breakfast—she had been late for general breakfast after taking the long way around from Celestia’s chambers, and all of the food had been cold—hadn’t been enough to wake her up.
Sleep had been a fitful thing, flickering away from her as the moon sank lower and lower, scattering bands of light across her bed from the shuttered windows. It was almost as if the moon had sought to waken her to the task of finding out why. But that was just her tired mind putting reason to circumstance. Being perturbed by the question was reason enough to have a fitful sleep. She didn’t need to dream up reasons for her tiredness.
Of course, Spike’s snoring hadn’t helped, either.
She snorted. Everything had a perfectly rational, completely valid scientific explanation.
A skirling wind, carrying just a touch of the scent of snow, hurried her on towards the warmth of the castle. How the guards stood at attention day in and day out, no matter the weather—excepting blizzards—was one of those other mysteries. One she could leave to her brother to discover.
Or maybe he already had. She would have to quiz him when she got home. There had to be something about the barding they wore that was more than met the eye. Magical warmth enchantment, possibly. Such a thing would need constant renewal during the winter.
“Good morning, Twilight,” the guard said. “Awfully cold to be walking around.” He held open the gate for her with one hoof.
“I could say the same.” She started past him, stopped, and faced him. “How do you stay warm?”
He seemed surprised, and blinked at her. “I’m a pegasus.”
She stared back at him, the train of logic tick-ticking along. Pegasus. Flight in the upper reaches of the atmosphere. Rarefied air, average temperatures below surface norms, even below norms at the height of Canterlot Castle. And they lived at those heights. In order to do so… Natural insulation. “Oh! Oh, yes.”
He laughed, lifting a wing. “You won’t see the earth corps or the unicorns on duty much during the winter, except inside.”
Natural immunity to the cold. It made sense. Cloudsdale was even higher than Canterlot, and the city was never abandoned, then. Maybe they wore warmer clothes, too.
“And we have shorter watch-shifts,” he added as he ushered her in. “No pegasus is totally immune to the cold, as much as some of our young bravos would like to have you believe it.” He snorted, flaring his wings. A touch of a warm breeze licked against her nose. “And we can trap thermal currents against our flanks.”
“Thank you,” she said, stopping to look up at him, more than the cold flushing her cheeks. “For answering my question. I should have put more thought into it.”
“Hey, nopony knows everything.” He smiled, chuckling. “But you’re very welcome, Twilight. Now let me close the door so you can stay warm.”
She hurried past as the guard closed the door behind her.
Today’s bonus lesson on the History of Hearth’s Warming Eve has been rescheduled. Please read pages 410 - 450 over the break. Happy Hearth’s Warming!
—Professor Tome
Twilight stared at the message pinned to the door. She’d already read that chapter. And gone over the questions, worked out the essays—twice—and had all of them tucked away in her saddlebags.
“Why?” She stared at the note as if it could provide the answers. It was, of course, silent.
Other ponies wandered by, took one look at the note, and wandered away, wishing her a happy Hearth’s Warming as they went. She returned each absently, puzzling at why Professor Tome would cancel class.
Put a little more thought into it.
Professor Tome, her Ancient Equestria history teacher, must have had something unexpected happen. He was always punctual, to the point that he put even Twilight Sparkle to shame. But… something niggled at her memory. Last year, he’d put off the second bonus lecture. While it was unusual for a teacher to cancel a class over anything other than illness, it wasn’t unheard of. But to do so two years in a row?
She stared at the note, recognizing his hoof from the little flourish he put, using the tail of the ‘e’ to underscore his name. So, he had written it himself, and it wasn’t the sickly scrawl of a pony barely in control of their magic from some illness.
Maybe visiting relatives showing up without warning. That made sense. She nodded at the door, sighed, and wondered what she was going to do with the rest of her morning. This close to the holidays, few teachers had the inclination to give optional classes, tending to spend that time getting ready for the holiday or spending it with family.
Maybe it was a sign. Hearth’s Warming Eve was still a little more than a week off. Maybe she should go home early. It wasn’t like it was far away. An hour would have her away from the castle and at her parent’s doorstep. But… it was comfortable in the castle, and she’d gotten used to living in the dormitory. It was certainly easier to get to the castle’s library from there, in the middle of the night. She didn’t want to think about wandering the city in the dark just to slake her mind’s thirst.
But then… she couldn’t ask why.
Why steal cake? It wasn’t something she could just look up in the library, as if a thief would keep meticulous records of every item they took. It was the question that had kept her up. It was the question that Sable Sleuth kept asking, and it was at the heart of everything a pony did.
“Why?”
Honey Cake had said that the ponies in the kitchens told stories all day long, or sang songs. Maybe she could learn something if she listened. At the very least, it was a cozy, warm place, and Honey Cake was always kind.
Giving the note one more glance, she wished Professor Tome a happy Hearth’s Warming and made her way down to the main kitchens. Maybe she could get a snack along with a story. Maybe she could even get more information.
The kitchens smelled even better in the early morning than they had last night. The foundation of the cake was taking shape in four massive sections, each one with its own team of cooks working under the dawning light through the frosted skylight. When it was finished, Twilight estimated it would be larger than the biggest oven in the kitchen, seven layers stacked together, each one a pie slice as thick as her hoof.
Seven cake layers, seven layers of icing and filling… fourteen flavors of berry and citrus and crumble and chocolate and vanilla. All of it was heavenly to smell and, as her mouth and stomach reminded her, heavenly to taste. The cake was meant to be eaten vertically, savoring each pairing of flavors as a pony made their way up from the bottom or down from the top.
And they had two more tiers to go. Twilight was almost happy for them that the other two would be smaller.
In addition to the confectionery preparations continuing in one corner of the kitchen, pastry chefs were sliding out racks of croissants, coffee cakes, and tarts from the ovens.
She lost herself in cataloging the smells. Cranberry, strawberry, cherry, cream cheese, lemon, orange… more. Sugar and brown sugar, vanilla mixed with the clean, sweet smell of clover honey.
“Excuse me.”
Twilight shook herself and stepped out of the doorway as Muffins padded up to her. The mare smiled sweetly and dipped her ears.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s easy to lose yourself in the scent.” The mare smiled at her and slipped past into the hallway, trailing that heavenly honey and crusted brown sugar steam. “Gotta deliver these to the throne room!” She balanced a tray of muffins on her back, braced between her wings, all of them leaving a trail of heavenly steam.
If she’d had wings, Twilight was sure she’d be floating along after them.
The bustle of the kitchen, in between breakfast and lunch, seemed less than it had the night before, even though there were more ponies tending to cook pots, ovens, and mixing bowls than there had been. An almost festive air permeated the air. Three ponies hummed the opening bars to a Hearth’s Warming jingle, and three more standing across from them at a long table of pastries, hummed the counterpoint.
“Good morning, Twilight Sparkle!” Honey Cake’s voice twittered from the far corner, where she was guiding Crunchy in the making of a tiny confection. Globules of icing danced around a dark blue circle, and the younger stallion had his tongue between his teeth as he separated tiny beads from a plain white mass and held them in place, adding color with another spell at the same time.
The weave of his spell was remarkably fine. She almost couldn’t make out the individual threads of telekinetic spells holding not only the medallion, but the droplet and three different food dye squeeze bottles in blue, silver, and dark gray. A separate heat spell froze the droplets in place as they landed without burning the rest of the piece. That heat spell must have been his special talent. She hadn’t seen anything like it with such fine control before.
Twilight walked as quietly as she could up to the table.
After a moment, Crunchy noticed her and twisted the medallion around to show her, beaming. “This is what I’m contributing this year. ”
Twilight stared at the mark. It looked familiar, but she couldn’t remember where she’d seen it before. It was the moon, a white crescent, on a dark blue emblem. There wasn’t any of the color-bleeding she was used to seeing in such treats. Every line was crisply defined, and the colors stayed exactly within them. Up close, what she had thought were blemishes were actually single grains of dark sugar. Through her study of the moon, she knew they weren’t there accidentally.
“Neat, huh?” He jiggled the medallion in midair, his golden aura brightening briefly.
“Very. What is it? What’s it for?”
“I’m… well, I’m not really sure. It’s my decoration for the cake, but I think it’s for…” Crunchy’s face fell for a moment as he shrugged. He smiled, hefting the floating ball of icing. “Would you like me to teach you how to make them?”
“I, um.” Twilight shuffled a hoof against the floor, forcing her ears to stay erect. Why do colts keep acting like that? If she wanted to learn how to do something, she would ask. “Maybe. I’m not a baker though.”
“Oh, it’s pretty easy, once you get the hang of it.”
“Maybe.” One ear folded back against her will, and she frowned until it popped erect again. She didn’t want to tell him no outright.
Honey Cake came back, brushing a hoof on her apron. “Focus on your work, Crunchy. It’s not break time yet.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t quite sulk, but he did return to his work with a bevy of sighs and glances in her direction.
“What is he working on?” Twilight asked Honey when they were back closer to her study table.
“It’s one of a dozen such devices Princess Celestia has requested for this year’s decorations,” Honey Cake said. She held up a template with twelve cutie marks, two of which she recognized; they were the cutie marks of two new students in the school. She hadn’t had much to do with them. She was three forms ahead of them. The other nine, she wasn’t certain of. At least one, she might have seen once, elsewhere.
As she studied the sheet, she noticed one that was missing. “Where is Princess Celestia’s mark?”
“She never has her mark on the cake.” Honey paused to study the disk Crunchy was working on, nodded, and turned her attention back to Twilight. “She picks two students from each year, four castle staff, and six ponies, one from each of the provinces, to honor. Your piece had your cutie mark on it, if you recall. That was… five? No, six years ago, this Hearth’s Warming. Do you remember?”
“No… I don’t remember. My piece was plain. Delicious, but plain.”
Honey Cake was quiet for a moment, lips pursed. “I see. Interesting.” Her eyes focused elsewhere. “I didn’t realize.”
“Didn’t realize what?” Twilight sidled up closer, pulling a notepad and pen from her saddlebags. She made a few short notes, summarizing what she knew already in a few quick lines. “What are the emblems for? I thought they were just decorative.”
“They’re the markers for special pieces. Twelve each year, one for each month.” Honey frowned at the sheet. “Yours was supposed to be for December. The moon Crunchy is working on is for December this year.”
Twilight cocked her head, studying the piece’s back, then flicked a glance at the template sheet. Every line and curve of the moon was perfectly recreated on the surface of the decoration. Even the shading was right. Slight imperfections that one less familiar with the moon’s surface might have mistaken for errors, but which she knew to be minor craters.
“And who is the moon for?”
“Oh, I never know that until she cuts the pieces and calls out the names. Of course, sometimes she has to have the cake preserved and flown out to the pony. Not everypony can drop everything for a slice of cake.” Honey chuckled and drew Twilight away from the table, template sheet still in tow. “Princess Celestia herself chooses the cutie marks, and she doesn’t ever attach names to them. That’s part of the surprise for me, when she gives this or that piece and I get to match mark to pony. It’s fun, too, to try and guess whose mark is whose, or what kind of pony is on the other side of that cutie mark.” She smiled warmly. “That’s about as much mystery as I like in my life.”
If that wasn’t an invitation, Twilight didn’t know what was. “I’ve been thinking about that story. And what you asked me.” She decided not to mention that she’d barely slept because of the questions the story raised. “I think… I think I should find out more.”
“No guesses? Conjectures?”
Sable Sleuth would have made a dozen theories by then. Sized up potential suspects, and would probably be keeping a close eye on Honey Cake as a suspect. But, as she had when she’d woken in fitful moments from slivers of dreams about chasing down the thief, she couldn’t bring herself to suspect Honey. The matronly baker made the castle feel more like home while she was living there. She couldn’t repay that hospitality with suspicion.
“No. I don’t have any leads yet,” she said finally. It wouldn’t have been right. She knew that. “I want to find out why. Why always leads to who,” she added, quoting a line from the novel. “But I need to know more. I can’t just guess at why.”
“Hmm. I do recall…” Honey Cake made a small sound, pursing her lips. “We do keep a record of past years if you’d like to look them over. Can’t remember why we keep em, but Matron Cherry Tart started the tradition over a thousand years ago, and we’ve been keeping it since. There’s at least a few hundred pages in there. It’s fun, sometimes, to go through and wonder who all these ponies were. What their cutie marks meant to them.”
Records. Secret papers. Obscure historical facts and figures. That was something any good detective would be looking for when trying to unravel a mystery like this. Slowly, Twilight nodded, peering at her notepad. Amid the scattered notes, diagrams and charts detailing what she knew so far, she had started a summary of what she knew… and what she didn’t. The second list was far larger than the first.
— Cake pieces go missing. Yearly occurrence.
— Who steals it?
— Why cake? When, exactly, do they go missing?
— Why?
— Myth links to Nightmare Moon and the Mare in the Moon.
— Same myth? Some link to thief? Calling card?
— Using myth to mask activities? Cult of ponies dedicated to Nightmare Moon?
— How long has it been going on?
— Cutie Marks on cake
— My cutie mark wasn’t on my slice? Was it taken?
— Do only slices with cutie marks on them get taken?
She frowned at the last. If her slice had been taken, what did that mean? She jotted that question down, too, sighed, and looked at the other column, labeled ‘Answers’. Empty, of course. Even knowing whose cutie marks had been on the cake might have been able to answer why those pieces were among the ones stolen.
“It’s a place to start. Do you know which pieces were taken?”
“Oh, I think it’s easy enough to figure out.” Honey’s eyes twinkled as she smiled.
Twilight chewed her lip, working back through the logic. “Mine was taken, you said?”
“I suppose it must have been, if your mark wasn’t set into the icing on the top.”
“But I still got a piece…” Twilight twiddled her pen against her notepad. “And I was the December choice?” That was something Sable Sleuth did. Ask the same question, just to make sure the story held up.
“Maybe not. Hum.” She lifted her chin and glanced at a cabinet. “My memory isn’t what it used to be, you know.” Out of the cabinet drifted a hefty book so stuffed with additional pages that the covers no longer sat parallel to one another when closed.
Twilight winced as the book thumped down on an empty table. That much paper would tear apart the bindings before too long if a pony wasn’t careful.
“Do you think you can manage by yourself, Crunchy?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t look up from his work as a thin flow of silvery speckled sugar water flowed up from the cup.
“He can be very focused,” Honey whispered as she drew Twilight aside. “When he’s not flirting.”
Twilight blinked, glancing at Crunchy Crust. “Is that what that was?” She made a small note to the side. Sable Sleuth was often the target of flirtation… but, in the books it was very different. More visceral, obvious, and even a little risque. Sometimes. She looked over at at Crunchy again, catching him looking at her.
He flushed, his eyes locking again on the sugary confection in front of him.
“Maybe. It’s not too important right now.” Honey paused, plucking at her apron. “Unless you want it to be. Sometimes… you get lucky and meet that right stallion—” She chuckled then, flicking her eyes at the door. “Or mare, when you least expect it.”
“Oh. Um…”
A dozen other instances of the same type of interest in her flooded through Twilight’s memory. She remembered other times colts, and even some fillies, had given her looks just like that. But they couldn’t all be flirting with her. She dismissed it. Maybe it was just when they tried to show off.
“I don’t think so. Not right now. This is more immediate.”
“Of course.” Honey tapped the cover of the book. “Just don’t get so lost in there you can’t come back out.”
“I won’t.” Twilight opened the book, each page loosely bound to the inside of the book with a simple glue spell. Pages towards the back felt like their spells were fading. She could still feel the lingering traceries of magic like a faint hum as she flipped through the first several pages, making notes of which cutie marks had been taken as Honey Cake filled her in.
After that, she sped up, her eyes flickered over pages and pages of cutie marks, adding a mental tally as she went.
If each page represented a year, then there were close to a thousand years of collected cutie marks there. A second flip, and a second, more precise count, and she came up with a different number. The reason why was apparent on a third, slower flip. Some of the pages were sticking together because of little globs of ancient icing. On that third time through, she realized something else.
The kitchen had kept better records than some of the bureaucratic offices specifically charged with keeping historic records. Certainly, it was less detailed than what the historians dealt with, and only gave cutie marks. There wasn’t even any guarantee that the pages were all in chronological order. They were held in place by a simple glue spell that would have been easy for even the most junior of unicorns to renew, but it also meant the pages could be removed by nullifying the spell, and rearranging them would be as simple as nullification and recasting.
Even so, the book would have been a valuable research tool for anypony researching repeat incidences of cutie marks through the ages. Well, discounting the necessarily shallow sample size. And the informal, non-rigorous selection parameters. And the undocumented source. Other than that, it was perfectly legitimate source of information.
By the time she had accounted for all of the sticky pages, some of which had actually been victims of the glue spell, she had counted nine hundred and ninety-five pages—give or take a few. Some of the pages had been thicker, and she hadn’t been able to tell if that was because of the change in paper quality or pages fused together by age and abuse.
This year’s sheet made nine hundred and ninety-six. The last was a sheet of vellum, old and marked with the fiber of the bark of the tree they had used in those days, and yellowed almost to the color of an orange peel. That, despite the powerful preservation spell she could feel impregnating its every fiber.
It must have been reinforced over and over again in order to last so long and still be that strong. The magic, too, vibrated against her own in an oh-so-familiar way.
“This is the first?” Twilight studied the sheet of cutie marks, puzzling out the symbols through the age-patina and cruft of being in a non-sterile environment for close to a thousand years. The preservation spells sunk deeply into the paper had done their job well.
There was Princess Celestia’s sunburst on the sixth month, and there was the moon symbol again on the twelfth. Only… it didn’t look like the one that Crunchy was working on. Maybe it was that the grays had faded, but it looked like the moon was fresh and clean white, with no shadowed craters marking out the Mare in the Moon’s profile.
The moon was on the twelfth month. Next page.
Neither sun nor moon. “Hmm.” Ten more pages, she flipped through, stopping at the twelfth page. The moon, again, on the twelfth month—the Winter Solstice. The style had hardly changed. Back to the front.
The page of cutie marks Crunchy Crust was working off of had the moon on the twelfth month, and the sixth month… wasn’t a cutie mark she recognized: a hammer and chisel over a pink heart. But five pages back… there was hers. On the sixth month. The month, she realized, of the Summer Solstice. A warm tingle ran through her as she remembered again watching Princess Celestia rising with the sun, her grace and beauty making the sun pale in comparison even as the halo of gold swallowed her in a brilliant blaze. She shivered from head to toe as the memory faded, no less potent ten years later than it had been that first moment.
Celestia must have known, even though she had shared her experience that day, so long ago, with nopony except her journal. Out of curiosity, she flipped back to the page for that year. Ten years ago. She didn’t recognize any of the cutie marks.
“Mrs. Cake?”
“Honey, dear.” The older mare cupped her ears forward, smiling. “Figure it out?”
“No… Maybe. Is it always the six and twelve?” She flipped to her page, touching a hoof to the twelfth cutie mark, an hourglass filled with water instead of sand. That would be Water Clock, a stallion who specialized in water-powered clockworks. She’d seen him around the grounds now and again, and had spent time with him learning about the intricacies of fluid dynamics and flow control.
Maybe she could add that as one of her areas of— Focus! She shook her head sharply. “Was his stolen?”
“Yes,” Honey said with a bright smile. “He was being honored for improving the efficiency of the Central Equestria dam’s turbines by nearly forty percent. He also, apparently, postulated some silly notion about the air being a liquid. He wasn’t at the cake giving, but out at his pet project.”
“Liquid air? But that…” Twilight groaned, shaking her head. She needed to focus. “But that’s not what’s important. Why was he the twelfth? And why was I the sixth?”
“Oh. Hmm. You’d need to ask Princess Celestia that. She makes the list. If she has a system about it, I’ve never been able to determine it.” Honey’s horn glowed briefly, and Twilight felt the detachment of the filaments making up the glue spell, and the paper with her cutie mark came free. “You can have this page, if you promise to bring it back. Maybe it will help you find some clue? A few of the ponies whose cutie marks are there still live close by, if memory serves.”
“O-of course!” The cutie marks on the page looked so real, freed of the faint haze of the glue spell. Her own sparkled and almost seemed to shine brighter than the light streaming in through the frosted skylight. Taking every care to not crease it, she slipped the page in between the pages of her notebook, careful to align it so no edge stuck out.
She made another note to track down the ponies on the sheet, especially Water Clock.
That still left the question of the numbers. She tapped the tip of the pen against her nose, staring between the numbers she’d written in her journal, and her cutie mark emblazoned on the page.
But why, then, would her piece have been stolen?
And this was the month of the winter solstice. Did the numbers mean anything? Looking at them on the paper, she could derive several solutions, and quickly sketched them out. Perhaps it was an indication of a type of numerocracy. Or numeromancy.
Twilight scratched out the last line. Numerocracy wasn’t even a word, let alone a form of government. But it was odd. Or, rather, even. The field of numeromancy was a well understood, hard science magical study, but she couldn’t think of any link from it to cake.
Hypothesis:
The years the moon showed up were even reciprocals of twelve. Falling on Years of the Moon, in the old calendar.
Only one way to find out.
Twilight held her breath as she went back twelve pages… and found herself staring at the moon in the twelfth slot.
Another twelve. Same result. She checked a random smattering of pages in between the first two sets of twelve, and found all manner of cutie marks from stars and hearts to xylophones and ant farms. But no moons.
A twelve year cycle, with this year being the crest of that cycle. It was the year of the Moon, as the old Equestrian calendar dated it, but that calendar had fallen out of popular use in the past centuries. Professor Tome lamented its passing, and had had them all calculate the current name of the year in that calendar, and provide a list of important historical events that had happened in others of the same year.
But, on the Solstice, it would become a new year, and the year of the Moon would pass into the Year of the Sun.
More and more, Equestrian calendars treated each year as a distinctly unique year. Some were given names, even; but that was up to the Equestrian Chronological Council to decide upon. But in the past, twelve year cycles had been the norm, starting with the Sun and ending with the Moon, and cycling through a list of other years in between.
She stared at the numbers, turning them this way and that, running them through multiple calculations, divisions, and derivations in her head. None of it came close to matching up. Maybe it was just coincidental. Twelve was as close to a perfect number as she had ever found. Twelve months in a year. Five sets of twelve seconds in a minute. Two sets of twelve hours in a day.
All related to time. But no matter which way she turned the times she derived from any of the derivatives of nine hundred and ninety-six, she couldn’t work it back into the stolen cutie mark medallions. Which were sugar anyway, and would melt, eventually, even in the mild humidity at the top of the mountain.
There would be nothing left of them, even if she hadn’t been almost certain everypony had eaten theirs. Or saved them and taken them elsewhere. Maybe a few were scattered here and there about the country. Maybe a few from ancient times still had preservation spells cast on them.
But they wouldn’t tell her anything about why. They would tell her what was stolen. Maybe. They wouldn’t even tell her who had stolen the pieces.
“Mrs—Honey, how are the sugar medallions arranged?”
“Two on the top tier.” Honey Cake gestured at a diagram of the finished cake, languishing under the field lines of a preservation spell shaped into a dome. “They’re always students here, and they’re the easiest to figure out, usually. Silver Bowl and I had you pegged as soon as you arrived here.
“Let’s see… the four on the second are for Equestrian bureaucratic staff who step above and beyond their duties—and they can be from anywhere. The six on the third tier are for any citizen of Equestria who does something spectacular.” No icing had been applied yet, but the bare cake layers still drew Twilight’s eye and set her mouth to watering. “The two on the bottom are selected by Celestia herself, and the rest, as I understand, are nominated by some sort of special council.”
“And they all mark a slice of cake?” Twilight asked. It would make sense. Twelve slices set apart from the rest, two of those twelve stolen each year, and one always found again. Is there a pattern? “Which piece was found preserved when I got a slice? I mean… which medallion had been on that piece? Or… I suppose you can’t tell that, I guess.”
“No, we could. We use a buttercream frosting that leaches a little of the color from the sugar because it’s so wet. If I recall correctly… and I’m not sayin’ I do, but if I do, I think it was the piece with your sugar medallion on it.”
“Mine.” A tingle ran up Twilight’s spine. Except her piece had been unadorned. She could remember that clearly. The frosting… Was it marred? Discolored? No... It was white. And lemon-flavored. She rubbed at her forehead with a hoof, as if she could work free the exact image in her mind.
Why mine? Another thought occurred to her, almost equally baffling. And who would take it?
Later that morning, back in her room and waiting for Spike to finish his hibernation, Twilight looked up from studying her notes. All she had to go on so far was conjecture and supposition. Nothing at all solid that she could form any kind of reasonable theory out of.
At least, not one that wouldn’t immediately fall prey to more whys, hows, and whos.
She rubbed a hoof at her eyes, sighing, and pulled out her Sable Sleuth book again.
“I don’t know why I dragged you along,” Sable whispered.
“I don’t know, either. Your apartment was safe enough,” Silver Hearts hissed back, flipping her tail into Sable’s face. “You could have left me there!”
“Oh, that’s right. I didn’t want you destroying the carefully crafted order—”
“I get that you're still upset, but it's been three years. I’ve apologized a hundred times! I didn’t know he had been your fiance!”
“Yeah… well, you dating him cinched that.” Sable snapped Silver’s tail out of her face and brought the binoculars back up to her eyes. The building was quiet. The grounds dark, save for the occasional security pony wandering around inside and looking out. “Why did you keep dating him anyway? You knew it would make me upset.”
“Yes, I did. And I’m sorry about that. But what else was I supposed to do? You’d broken it off. You have no idea how much he missed you. You didn’t tell him anything, Sable. What was he supposed to think? He’s gentle and very, very kind. It’s not in him to be angry… but you did it. You managed to hurt him so bad he didn’t want to look back. How could you do that to him? Do you know how much he was hurting? You breaking off the engagement nearly destroyed him.”
Silence settled between them. Sable couldn’t deny anything her sister had said.
“It wasn’t my choice.”
“You broke it off.”
“To protect him! The life I live isn’t exactly friendly to those close to me.” She flicked a meaningful glance at Silver. “As you’re finding out. He’d… seen something he wasn’t supposed to, and some ponies he wasn’t ever supposed to run into ran into him.”
“Who was it?”
“I… I can’t tell you. They’re not exactly… contained.”
“That doesn’t explain why you got so upset when I started dating him.”
“Because it was supposed to be—” Her heart was racing, blood boiling, head pounding. Get your head back in the game, filly. “It was supposed to be temporary. As soon as the bad guys were locked up, I was going to explain it to him. I was… I still love him, Silver.”
“And since the bad guys aren’t locked up…” Silver Heart shook her head. “But maybe it’s for the best, you know. Even if you got them locked up and put away forever, what about the next time he stumbles across something? Would you divorce him?”
“No! Of course not! I’d keep him safe!”
“Like you’re keeping me safe now? Huddled under a bush, staking out a museum with Celestia only knows what crawling around in the grass.” Silver turned around, facing away from the street she was supposed to be watching. “He’s not like you, Sable. He's like me. He and I can’t handle this kind of life all the time. I don’t even understand how you do it.”
“Someone—”
“Has to. I get that. But how can you live like…” Silver made a gesture, taking in the museum, the bush, and somehow Sable’s entire life. “This? Not knowing if your next case will be some eldritch demon from the past?”
“That’s Daring Do’s territory. I’m a detective. I solve mysteries, not fight ancient evils.”
“But you solve ancient mysteries that might someday uncover something you can’t handle. What will he know? You went off to… what? Wash carriages, and never came back? Or went off to work in the bakery, or as a scrivener, and your body washes up somewhere. What’s he going to think? How is that going to tear him apart?”
Silver Heart turned around, and did as she was told.
Leaving Sable to try and rationalize away the questions her sister had brought up.
Twilight held a hoof to her mouth, holding back tears. The end of that chapter always hit her just in the right place. Just the wrong place, more like. She knew it would be alright. But… what must Sable have been feeling right then? She didn’t know everything would be okay.
A chill ran up her spine. The thief had meddled with her six years ago. What if they remembered her after all this time? Her case had become more personal than she could have expected. She didn’t know everything would be okay. Cake… is cake. But what if it’s more than that?
She closed the book, holding it to her chest, and prodded Spike with her other hoof. Spike would be able to calm her down. He always seemed to be able to.
“A tray of muffins for the royal audience,” Muffins announced to the guards, almost dancing in place.
“Good morning, Muffins,” the guard on the right said, holding open the door with a faint pink aura. “They smell divine, as usual.”
“Thank you! I made them myself!” She paused to beam up at the taller stallion, quite handsome in his gilded chain and plate. “It’s my first time delivering them!”
“Well, you’d best get in, then. The Princess has a full schedule this morning, and her morning muffins are all that keep her going.”
It should have been one easy task to step past that door. “All that keep her going?” What if they’re not scrumptious enough? Maybe a little more— But the look the guard gave her, a warming smile under the cool gold rim of his helmet, calmed the turmoil. “Are—” She swallowed. “Are muffins really enough?”
The guard’s smile widened and he chuckled. “The Princess has often told me that she lives for her morning muffins. Go on in, Muffins.”
One side of the wide door swung open to let her into a room lit with the scattered light from a dozen stained glass windows. Golden light predominated, and reds spread between them in the colors of sunset and sunrise. Two guards flanked the other side of the door, resplendent in gold and silver barding, heads held high, spears leaning against their shoulders in casual grace.
The carpet underhoof deepened, grew softer and more plush, until it felt as though she were back in Cloudsdale, walking on clouds.
The sight of Princess Celestia pulled her back out of the dreamy state, and she glanced back to make sure the muffins were still in place. She could hear, again, her grandmother’s admonishment to “Keep your wings up. That’s a good filly. Don’t let the tray fall.”
“Your Highness,” Muffins murmured, bowing her head low as she approached the throne.
“Good morning, Muffins,” Princess Celestia said in a bright tone. “Thank you ever so much. But, if I could ask a favor of you…”
Muffins nodded swiftly, suddenly nervous. “O-of course, Your Highness.”
“If you could stay here for but a little bit longer, I’m afraid my table is quite…” The princess waved a hoof at the stack of books on the dais, and the smaller stack on the table beside the throne. “Full. I promise I will let Mistress Cake know you did not dally unneeded.”
Muffins bowed low again, her hooves quivering. Up close, the princess was even more beautiful than she was from afar, and her eyes shone with a warmth that spread through her. “T-thank you!”
“Of course. One moment, please…” With that, Celestia turned her attention back to the pony in black robes and black cap, his bushy mustache bristling. “I understand, Dean Line, that I placed the school under your supervision. Believe me when I say I am loathe to interfere in the day-to-day running of the school.”
It must have been her imagination, but Muffins could have sworn the princess shuddered.
“But this is a special case.” A muffin floated free of the platter on Muffin’s back and began unwrapping itself slowly. “The curriculum change for next semester is minor, but I assure you that it is both necessary and will impact no other classes. However, I do have certain obligations that I must attend to, and among them is the education and care of Twilight Sparkle. As she is the only student, thus far, who has signed up for the class, I trust you will trust me to set my own curriculum.”
“Very well, Your Highness. Will Your Highness close the enrollment for the class, then?” he asked.
“If any others wish to attend, they are free to sign up. I will not prevent any other students from learning what they may.” Celestia smiled, one eyebrow raised slightly. “I highly doubt that any other students will be interested in Ancient Esoterica.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Will there be anything else this morning?”
Muffins caught him glancing at her, a faint scowl turning his lips down. She got the feeling he would very much like to argue. She tried her old standby to treating frowns, and crossed her eyes at him, sticking out her tongue at the same time.
The frown vanished. If anything, he looked confused.
Not laughing, or giggling, or tittering, or letting any of her amusement show was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
Celestia seemed to have no compunctions about showing hers, and laughed softly.
“I… um… Enjoy your breakfast, Your Highness.”
“I most certainly will.” She took a tiny nibble from the crusty edge of the muffin. “Thank you Dean Line. I do appreciate your input, and I hope you will continue to bring your concerns, any concerns, to me.” Celestia raised a hoof and set it down gently.
He bowed, gathering up the scrolls and tomes in a telekinetic spell, and left.
“Mmm…” Celestia made a small noise of pleasure as she took a heartier bite from the muffin. “You spoil me, Muffins. Truly, you do.”
“Your Highness?”
“Oh, please call me Celestia when we are alone. But—” Celestia arched an eyebrow and lifted a wing. “—only when we’re alone. The trappings of state do so wear on the ears.” Another bite, another small noise. “So much better than those bran muffins Quiverquill forces on me.”
Muffins stood quietly, gnawing on the inside of her lip. Curiosity about what Celestia had been talking to the Dean of her school for gifted unicorns inched its way through her thoughts.
“Do you know anything about Twilight Sparkle, Muffins?” Celestia asked as she lifted another muffin, sniffed it, and took a more delicate bite. “Blueberry. Delicious.”
“A-a little. She came to the kitchen last night to study. She does that a lot. But…” It wasn’t really her place to say that Twilight had done little studying. But the but was already said, and she couldn’t take it back. “She heard us talking about the Cake Thief. And Honey Cake told her the story.”
“Oh? I’ve heard… rumors about this ‘thief’ as you call them.” Another nibble. The platter of muffins on Muffins’s back lifted and settled behind the dais, where they would be hidden from view. Celestia winked at her, as if to say ‘You didn’t see that,’ and settled more luxuriantly into her throne’s plush cushioning. “What do the cooks say about the story? Or, better yet, why don’t you tell me all that you know.”
“I’m not as good a storyteller as Honey Cake, but I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I ever ask,” Celestia said. A muffin lifted from the tray and floated over to Muffins. “For your trouble.”
“Thank you!”
In between bites and nibbles, she told Princess Celestia what she knew about the story and the legend and, at prompting from the princess, Twilight’s reaction to the story.
By the time she had finished, she was working on her second muffin, savoring one that her grandmother had made the night before. “And that’s about it. She left before the overnight cooks were coming in to start baking up some food for the night shift of guards. Honey Cake sent me and… Crunchy and I to bed as she was turning down the main oven.”
“And yet… both you and she were up at unreasonably early hours for your ages.” Princess Celestia sighed. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, my little pony. I do appreciate your dedication, and I’m certain Honey Cake does as well, but you are growing still, and need your rest. Do be certain to go to bed early tonight.”
“And the cake thief?”
“Will get their just desserts.” Celestia smiled, tapping a hoof against the padded seat. “Run along, Muffins. I don’t want Honey Cake lecturing me about keeping young fillies from their duties.”
“Honey Cake lectures the Princess?” The question formed in her mind and left her mouth in the same instant. Shocked, Muffins stood stock still, staring up at Celestia’s sparkling pink eyes.
Celestia laughed her rich laugh. “Oh, thank you for that, Muffins. And…” She smiled, waving a hoof to bring her closer. “Nopony escapes lectures when they deserve them. Not even I.”
It wasn’t until she was halfway back to the kitchens that she paused, looking back the way she’d come. “She’s… just a pony. Like me.”
She shivered as she said it, as though she had just spoken a precious secret that shouldn’t have been said aloud. Resolutely, she steadied herself and locked that bit of information in the back of her mind and threw away the key.
Keeping state secrets… she fervently hoped she wouldn’t be given any more to keep.
Later, as she was mixing a massive bowl of batter with the hoof-powered mechanical beater, Muffins watched Crunchy Crust frowning down at a perfectly circular, pale lavender disk. He set it aside after a long moment with a sigh, and picked up a sheet of cutie marks.
A quick glance around for Honey Cake, apparently off inspecting or directing one of the other, smaller kitchens, and she hopped down from the stand holding the big mixing bowl. It could sit for a little while. She’d just added the baking powder, and it would take time for it to rise before she had to stir it back down and pour it.
In the meantime…
“What’s that?” She touched the lavender—Or is it purple?—medallion. To her surprise, it deformed slightly. Crunchy hadn’t heated the icing into firmness yet. That was usually the first step he took after forming the basic shape. “Sorry!”
“Oh… Hey, Muffins.” He sighed, long and heavily. “Nothing much. Just… I heard… Nevermind. I’ve got so many of these to do, and just three more days.”
“Come on, Crunchy. You can tell me. I told you about the batter bomb I made, yeah? So what’s this bit of icing you’re sighing over?” She bent down to study it more closely. What had been plain lavender from afar revealed a few darker speckles arranged at regular intervals around a shallow, pointed depression.
“Oh, this?” He floated the disk up and turned it around. “I overheard Twilight say she didn’t get one. And, um… well, I thought I would make one for her.” His eyes lit as he rotated it slowly, leaning against the table. “She’s so smart, isn’t she? I’ll bet she catches the thief.”
Oh colt. “Yes… er. Of course she is. And will.” Muffins covered her muzzle with a hoof. “And… when will you give her the special piece?”
“Oh, it’s not done yet. I, um, I need an amethyst. And… um. Well, a few amethysts of a lighter shade. And a few tiny flecks of diamond.” He winced. “I have no idea where I’m going to find them this close to the unveiling.”
Muffins studied her friend from underneath her hoof, holding onto the sigh with all her strength. After another moment, she regained her composure and locked eyes with him.
“Look, if you’re gonna do this, I think I know how. But it’s not gonna take gems. It’s gonna take guts. And bravado!” Muffins pranced around the table to swing a hoof over Crunchy’s back. “And a friend!”
“How? I’m just a confectioner.”
“Aww. That’s so sweet! But do you always want to be a confectioner? Or do you want to be a… um… what’s a word for a brave person that starts with con?”
“Conqueror?”
“Conqueror of hearts! And sugar. Crunchy Crust the Bold!”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the muffin dough swelling above the rim of the mixing bowl. Swifter than she could react, a thin bubble of air puffed up as though inspired by her speech. A unicorn working nearby noticed, called out a warning and ducked under the table he was working at just as the bubble popped.
Crunchy Crust followed suit.
“Hey! I did not give you permission to rise yet!” Muffins jabbed a hoof at the bubble and fixed her best cross-eyed glare on it.
As the dough settled down with an enthusiastic, if slow, whistling wheeze, Muffins sighed along with it and set a hoof on his back, patting gently. “Maybe we start with baking muffins.”
“Does she like muffins?”
“Of course she likes me!”
Crunchy Crust didn’t groan like he usually did at her puns. Instead, he was biting his lip and staring down at his hooves.
Muffins rolled her eyes. Colts. “Okay, listen, Crunchy. You just met Twilight, and you’re already looking for gems to give her? You don’t give a mare gems before your first date. Unless you’re insanely rich, which you aren’t, so no gems. Frosting.”
“B-but, it’s… what?”
“You heard me. If you want a serious chance at catching her attention, you have to be bold, not desperate. You have to stand up, raise your head, and proclaim, ‘Twilight! I made you a sugar medallion!’”
A snort of laughter exploded from the other side of the kitchen, followed by a series of titters and hushed shushes.
Crunchy Crust shrank in on himself, cheeks flushed brighter red than a strawberry.
“What? That’s perfection. Now finish that confection.”
“But what if—”
“It’s not Nightmare Moon!” Twilight stamped her hoof for the third time. Usually, that was the end of the debate. When her mother put her hoof down, it certainly ended debates in the Twilight house. Not even her dad would lightly open an argument again if she did that. The same was sort of true when Dad did it.
Being in charge wasn’t as easy as her mother made it look. She took a small breath, held it, and met his eyes, trying to will the reason across the gap between them.
“Spike, if it were Nightmare Moon, don’t you think Hearth’s Warming would be much more dangerous?”
“But—”
“No, Spike. No more buts. Please stand still. And lift your right claw three centimeters.”
Twilight nudged his claw gently up and let go with the spell. He stood, balanced with one foot on the frame of her bed, the other planted on a stool, and both arms were raised at right angles to each other, a string tied to each of his talons. The resultant web of red string, borrowed from the castle seamstress, held a multitude of cards hanging at odd angles, some of them bisecting multiple lines.
At her feet, a bevy of other cards lay scattered about, still waiting to be placed on the connecting web of intrigue. At least, that’s what Sable Sleuth called it. Each one had its place, and the strings held them in a dimension of time, space, and meaning. Of course, after the second missing hat rack had been commented on, pointedly, by Mrs. Heatherswitch, the mistress of the dorms, she’d had to make do with Spike and the two.
Which was working out better, as it let her see the shift of meaning as he lifted and flexed his claws, shifting the cards in time and space through the thousand years of mystery.
Twilight flicked an ear at the flash cards strewn about the floor. Each one should fit into the great web, but each one represented a supposition rather than the facts already hanging on the strings. They fit. She only needed to see how.
Time.
It all had to do with time. Little drawings of cutie marks—Spike’s contribution—littered the web as tiny dots scattered throughout history.
“Spike, I think I might need to have you go to the library again and see if you can find—” She peered at the list crudely drawn cutie marks on her page, then at the more faithful recreations Spike had drawn on each of the cards. “This one.” She pulled a card with a crescent moon surrounding a trio of stars, all perfectly drawn. How he’d gotten the figures to look just right…
“The librarian said she was going home after two.” He jerked his head at the clock on her wall. “It’s three.”
“Oh. Right. I remember, now…” She rubbed a hoof at her forehead, staring at it. She could have sworn she’d just looked at it two minutes ago. Time was slipping away from her, ungluing and sliding every which way. If only she could pin it down like she could cards.
“Besides, I think you’re being a little too obs… obsti…”
“Obstinate.” She smiled. At least he was trying to use those vocabulary cards she’d given him for his birthday. “And I am not. This happens to be the best way to visualize information short of actually drawing it. And I am not going to try that again.”
“Good idea. I still don’t know how you thought that drawing looked anything like a cat. I told you it was a catcus.”
“It was clearly a cat! Four legs. A head. A tail. Claws. A cat.”
Spike rolled his eyes.
“It was a cat. Mom’s cat. You’ve seen Mister Wiggles.”
“I hope you didn’t show Mister Wiggles…”
Twilight growled and stamped her hoof yet again.
He sighed. “Fine. It was a cat.”
“It was.” She stared at him until he looked away. “Thank you. And… thank you for drawing the little cutie marks.”
“You’re welcome. So… what’s all this got to do with your cutie sugar… medal… thing.”
“The proper term is medallion. A disk made out of a solid… usually metal, but in this case sugar, and decorated to show an acclaim or as the recognition of nobility or an appointment of office.” Twilight poked his belly with a hoof. “And somepony singled me out. Me! What if it’s a ploy to get to the Princess through me? That happened in Sable Sleuth and the Ivory Igloo, and it happened to Daring Do with her sister in Daring Do and the Copper Cornice, remember?”
“Are you sure? You keep telling me what I read isn’t necessarily true.”
“That’s because you read comics. Comics aren’t great at giving minute, personal detail like the written word.” She flicked an ear and lifted another card, this one adorned with the profile of the Mare in the Moon. With a set of fangs, she noted. “Comic books also exaggerate everything for the visual appeal.”
He frowned, opened his mouth, and closed it again, not meeting her eyes.
“Why, though… That’s the question.” She pulled the card free of the tangle and examined it more closely. Spike, whomever his parents were, had apparently gifted him with an early talent for art. The book she’d had him pull it from lay with a half dozen others on her bed, all of them with various objets d’art also collected from the library. “Why is everything connected to you…”
“I thought you didn’t believe in Nightmare Moon.”
“I don’t.”
Spike met her gaze for a moment and turned his nose up with a hmph.
“I’m sorry, Spike, but you know how I feel about comic books. I’m not going to change my opinion of them because you like them.”
“But you don’t have to act like I’m wrong for liking them,” he grumbled.
She flinched. “Oh… I didn’t… Spike, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Of course you’re not wrong. It’s an opinion, and we have differing opinions.” She touched a hoof to his foot. “Will you accept my apology?”
“Yeah. Fine. But what about Nightmare Moon? You’re focusing an awful lot on her for not believing in her.”
“I believe that the myth of Nightmare Moon is something that a lot of ponies put a lot of stock in,” she said, shifting the card up and down through the ages, pairing it with this string or that, and bringing it back to her own cutie mark. It didn’t seem to fit in any one place, either in her mind or next to any of the facts. “It may be important in some way. Somepony might believe in it enough to try and make the myth a reality.”
“Like in Power Ponies issue five,” he said, a note of smug satisfaction in his tone. “The Power Ponies were stalked by a villain that wanted to make an old prophecy come true predicting the return of Grand Duchess Larcenia, Destroyer of Property Values!”
Twilight looked up from her cards. “That’s…” She bit her tongue. He was trying.
“Brilliant? It’s one of my favorite issues! In the end, the villain takes up the name! She’s a recurring villain, now.”
“That’s called a self-fulfilling prophecy, Spike. It’s one of the most common types of ‘prophecy’. Which is why I’m worried. What if somepony is trying to make Nightmare Moon real? Or at least as close as they can get to real.”
But Nightmare Moon’s card didn’t fit anywhere in the web. Not next to any one of the other cards, nor by itself. It only seemed to center on Twilight’s card. But the cake thief touched on almost every other card she’d tacked up, and none of them shared more than two or three other intersections in time, and hers certainly didn’t.
Not even when she bunched the strings up and had them flow through Nightmare Moon did any of them make sense. It just made a mess of radiating lines that led nowhere. Just like before. Except… they came from somewhere when she bunched them all up.
She was missing something. A myth, even one as long-standing as Nightmare Moon, had no power, and myths changed over time, losing their original intent.
“You know what I think?”
Twilight let the card drop. “What?”
“I think, maybe, you should ask Shining Armor for help.” He shrugged. “He knows all the guards. He is a guard. Maybe he knows something.”
“Maybe. But… I don’t want to get him involved in this. He’s… he’s doing really well, Spike. What if this is all a ploy to get me drawn in to get him drawn in to get him replaced as a guard, and replace him with somepony else who seems more trustworthy, but isn’t, and later—”
“Whoa! Whoa. Slow down the crazy train. Why would you even think that?”
“I don’t know! I’m making this up as I go along!” With the help of Sable Sleuth, who was written by somepony who knew how intrigue worked. Was that the answer? She rubbed her chin with a hoof, staring at the problem floating in her mind’s eye.
And her mother had a picture in her office, of her standing with the author of Sable Sleuth, Sandy Scruple, both holding first print runs of their first books. Her breathing calmed, and the haze over her thoughts began to recede. Everything came through more clearly.
Twilight might not know how to go forward with the investigation.
But I know who would. She hoped her mother would know what to do. And, as much as she wanted to go to Princess Celestia with the question, it was little more than conjecture, too much supposition, and not enough facts. “Spike, we’re going home early.”
“What? But what about Shining Armor? I thought that was a good idea.”
“And we will talk to him. He’s due back in two days from from winter training in the Northern Plains. If I can’t find out what I need to do next, or where to look, I will bring Shining Armor in, one hundred percent.”
“…and volumes one, two, and three of Star Swirl’s Astra Carta.” Twilight sent the three hefty tomes drifting into the trunk by the door. The wheels squeaked, but they’d been doing that since she’d loaded Tulip Moon’s Compendium of Cutie Mark Theories.
“And why do you need those? They’re just… con…” Spike paused, squinting at the scroll in his claws. “Stell… ations. Constellations!”
“Very good. To answer your question, I need them because, as I demonstrated in Marellan’s Myths and Mysteries, many old stories are connected to the constellations. Like Celestia’s first raising of the sun, or the Hearth’s Warming Heart. One of them may correlate to Nightmare Moon. From there, maybe I can cross-reference old stories about that constellation and uncover the hidden secret of the thief. Or thieves. Mom will know what it means.”
She couldn’t rule out the possibility of a cult of ponies trying to bring an old myth to life, however silly it sounded.
“Um. What about.. the moon?” Spike pointed a claw up at the ceiling. “You know, the one with Nightmare Moon carved into it?”
“It’s not a set of stars, Spike. Constellations are groups of stars that ponies have drawn pictures over. Some change, but Celestia makes sure that the most important ones stay the same. Some of them date from before recorded history. Like the Horseshoe. It dates all the way back to the first horseshoe, before ponies migrated to Equestria. It’s… it’s history!”
“Okay, fine. Sheesh. I get it.” Spike made another tick on the scroll. “I think that’s it.”
Twilight snatched the scroll up, peering at the columns of checkboxes on the right side. Every one of them had a check, but she couldn’t remember doing more than double-checking.
“What? Did I miss something?”
“No… just… just double checking.” Each book name drifted by, and she could picture it easily enough in its proper place in the trunk, but she couldn’t remember placing them all. But the top was level, as her mental diagram said it should be.
“You mean triple checking? Geesh, taking the ‘being careful’ part a little too far. Not even Listeria went that far.”
“Why would a bacteria have anything to do with making a check… list.” She groaned, rubbing a hoof at her forehead. “Spike, that was terrible.”
“No, no. Listeria! Mistress of Lists! From Power Ponies #42. She had every step of her crimes on a list, and she was so organized that the power ponies had a terrible time catching her. Until they swapped her ink for, get this, disappearing ink!”
“Spike…” That’s ridiculous. She held it back, let herself smile, and laid the list back in the trunk. “Good job on the list. Are you all packed?”
“Yup!” He hefted his backpack, a lumpy thing with too many pockets. Comics sprouted from every one, rolled, folded, and crammed in where they would fit.
She held back a comment about treating books right, swallowed, and swung the door to her dorm open.
Crunchy Crust stood there, facing Muffins, his hooves clasped over hers, cheeks flushed.
“…can’t give it to her! What was I thinking?” Crunchy drew a hoof to his muzzle. “You have to do it!”
“But… uh. What about, you know, the confectioner a-and… and…” Muffin’s flicked a look aside and brightened, ears perking. “Hi, Twilight!”
Crunchy froze, swallowed, and took a step back, planting all four feet firmly. “As I was saying, Muffins, you should give her the medallion. She does like muffins, after all.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
Twilight traded a look with Spike, who shrugged. “Um… I was just about to leave. Is there something I can help you with?”
“No, Crunchy is just being obtuse. You give her the medallion! You made it!”
“You asked me to finish it!” Crunchy pushed Muffins back, let go of her clasped hooves, and turned to head back down the hallway. He didn’t, Twilight noted, ever look her in the eyes, and his cheek was twitching furiously. “She likes Muffins. She said so herself. Well, I like Muffins, too. Maybe I’ll just give it to you.”
His tail sagged as he slunk away, ears drooping.
“That doesn’t make any sense! You’re the one with the crush on Twilight!”
If her words had any effect, Twilight couldn’t tell. He disappeared around the first corner he came to, his hoofsteps stopping, then resuming as a door opened and closed.
“He has a crush on me?”
“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know.” Sighing, Muffins looked at the object cradled between her hooves. “I think he thinks that I have a crush on you. And that I have a better chance.”
“At… what? Dating me? I’m not interested in a relationship. I have far too much time invested in school and research.”
“Ouch. Blunt. But, yeah. I get that. I think he’s got his head in the clouds, though. He was making this after you left this morning.” Muffins held out the object, a crystalline chunk of sugar, fused to a solid shape almost like a hard candy.
It was partly translucent, and the steady magical lamps in the hallway cast a purple glow over Muffin’s gray hooves. It was perfectly round, or as near to perfect that Twilight would have needed a compass to tell otherwise, and fused all the way through the center was her cutie mark, purple and silver sugar crystallized into a perfect double-star, the twelve points sharp, and the surrounding five stars tiny pinpricks of silvery sugar, not unlike the stars in the night sky.
“He made that?” Twilight looked up from studying the candy, but couldn’t find the young stallion anywhere, nor could she hear his hoofsteps in the hallway. He must have picked up the pace after getting out of sight. “It’s beautiful.”
“It looks like a gem…” Spike murmured, reaching up with a claw to touch the edge. Twilight pulled him back before he could make a grab for it.
“Maybe it does, but it’s not for eating.”
“Hey! I’m not a baby. I don’t stick everything in my mouth.”
Anymore. Twilight smiled at him. “Well… I know. But impulse control is still something you need to work on.”
He folded his arms over his chest and looked away with a grumpy harumph.
“Hey, that wasn’t very nice. You’ve gotta be gentler. Especially with the stallion dragons… male dragons. Uh…” Muffins scratched at her chin. “Stagons!”
“I’m a boy dragon, thank you very much.”
“But that’s so boring!” Muffins’s beamed her widest smile at him, golden eyes almost meeting his.
“Both wrong. Technically,” Twilight said. “The taxonomy is very clear. He’s a dragonling. But—”
“Twilight! You promised you wouldn’t call me that!”
“And that’s why I don’t call you a dragonling anymore.” Twilight ruffled his spines. “He made a very convincing argument about dragonlings also being dragons, regardless of taxonomic conventions. So he’s a dragon. Just a baby one.”
He growled, but kept his mouth shut.
“Both of you need to lighten up.” Muffins tapped a hoof against Twilight’s chest. “And you need to be nicer. Colts… boys… They’re easier to, um, be around when you’re nice.”
“But I’m his teacher. I need to tell him what he’s doing wrong. My teachers don’t waffle around telling me what I did wrong.”
“Well, sure. But he’s not you. Do your teachers treat all of the students the same way?”
“Of—” Twilight froze, mouth open. She couldn’t recall if her teachers did or didn’t treat the other students the same way. They must have. Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns wasn’t for ponies who couldn’t handle direct criticism. “I’m sure they do. They must.”
“Uh-huh. Look, Grandma is really good at handling the other helpers in the kitchen. Lemme see… So, instead of saying ‘You’re impatient, Spike!’ do this.”
Spike glanced at Muffins, one eye ridge raised.
She smiled at him and reached out a hoof to pat his shoulder. “I know you like gems, Spike, but this one is super-duper special. Crunchy Crust made it because he wanted to do something special for Twilight, and I just need to know that you’re not going to eat it, okay?”
“Why would I eat it? It’s not real gemstone. It just… it looks so tasty. Like an amethyst. All purple, and…” He glanced at Twilight, snapping his mouth shut. “But I would never eat anything of Twilight’s.”
“Okay. I’m going to trust you with this, then. Crunchy Crust made this because he really likes Twilight, and it’s special to him, and to her.” Muffins held out the sugary cutie mark, her ears going limp, and just a hint of a tremor creeping into her smile. “Keep it safe, okay?”
He watched her for a moment, his spines beginning to droop as Muffins’s smile grew ever more tremulous.
“I can do that. Dragons are naturals at keeping special treasures safe!”
Before he took it, Spike doffed his backpack and flipped open the biggest compartment. Inside, he made a nest of some of the comic books, glancing up at Twilight intermittently with a defiant set to his brow. Then, with exaggerated care, he placed the cutie mark in the nest and double checked the straps holding the flap closed before strapping the backpack on again.
“Good! That’ll be nice and safe in there. Thank you, Spike.” Muffins ruffled his dorsal spines, smiling.
“No problem! Consider it as safe as a dragon’s egg!”
“See?” Muffins grinned at Twilight. “Now he knows that if something happens to it, he’s the only one who can be blamed for it. He’ll work extra hard to keep it safe. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have muffins to bake!” She bounded down the hall, pausing at the intersection where Crunchy had disappeared. “Maybe you should, um, not try hiding in the mare’s room.”
A flushing Crunchy galloped away. Muffins followed at a slower pace, shaking her head, muttering under her breath and giggling to herself.
“Uh…” Spike met her gaze, his brow furrowed, mouth hanging open. “Just what in the hay was that?”
Twilight shook her head. “Priorities, Spike. Let’s get back on track.”
It was often easy to forget, living as she did in the wing of the castle most isolated from the bustle of life that tended to swirl around the running of the government, that Castle Canterlot was not only a school, but a place of business, the seat of government for a continent-sprawling nation, and at the center of a city of almost a hundred thousand ponies. Sure, it wasn’t as populous as Manehattan or Los Pegasus, but even the ancient lost cities of pre-Equestrian times had been bustling. Cantercourt and Mareopolis had especially been bustling cities.
Which made it all the more confounding to her why nopony could ever seem to get a taxi pony to take them someplace in her books, or, as it turned out, in real life. For a moment, she considered what it would be like to follow a course study program in traffic dynamics. I’m sure there’s somepony out there with a cart for a cutie mark who’s fondest dream is to direct traffic and organize all this mess. But, as she considered it further, even they would probably balk at trying to direct traffic around the castle right now.
“Add in the holidays,” Twilight muttered, frowning. The driver she’d spent the last minute trying to entice with promises of bits had given her calls for attention no more mind than it seemed he did the empty bed of his cart.
She stuck her tongue out at him when he passed, but he was busy talking to the mare at his side, and his eyes never even came close to meeting hers. She sighed. She was sure the mare was perfectly enrapturing, with those big blue eyes and shimmering orange mane done up in a fashion Twilight didn’t think she could pronounce properly even if she’d known what it was called. She pulled at her drab bangs, sighed again, and sat down on the warmed sidewalk.
Just as she did, another cart and a pony with mane streaming flew up the road, a glow of unicorn magic sent a parcel flying to plop in front of the gate, and then he and his cart were gone.
“You could have stopped!” She called after him.
His ears didn’t even twitch.
A guard came out, took the parcel, and disappeared inside again. The wind skirled down to tug at her bangs. She shivered.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” she whispered, glancing at the trunk beside her. It had been a small miracle that it had survived the trip down to the front gate. It would be a larger one to get it back inside. Two of the wheels were sagging alarmingly, creaking each time Spike kicked the trunk. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?” Spike looked up from his comic. She caught a glimpse of a full moon and part of a ship’s rigging.
“Stop kicking the trunk.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Spike stopped moving his legs. “It’s just this is a really good story.”
She lifted the corner to peer at the title. Seraph of the Silent Seas. Below a full moon, without the mare’s head craters, a ship full of swashbuckling pirates lifted cutlasses and hung impossibly from rigging as they sailed towards a unicorn skull island, the tip of its horn spouting lava into the sea.
“It’s really good,” he said, “like, really super awesome amazing!” He folded the comic closed, a claw stuck in between two pages, and pointed at the pony with the wild mane at the helm. “That’s Seraph Seaborn, she’s a wizardess of Skull Island. She just got together this huge crew of pirates, buccaneers, and even some gryphon mercenaries to take back her island from the evil seapony witch who threw her out four issues ago. It’s a huge arc, starting back when Seraph stole the…”
Twilight bit back a sigh and tuned him out, letting his description of the plot, characters, and improbable acts of heroism drift by. Depressingly few carts were coming and going. If only she’d had more time to plan. But the thief was going to strike in two nights. The cake was almost done. The perpetrators might even now be surveiling the castle, making their own plans. There hadn’t been time for her to plan. There’d barely be time to ask her mother and return. Not because it would take long, but because there would be family night, morning, lunch, and then explanations, warnings, more questions…
The sigh came out as a yawn, and she clamped down on it before it got further.
The sun was already well on its way towards night, and Princess Celestia would be close to wrapping up afternoon court and getting ready to raise the moon. If the thief struck early, before the cake was finished, she’d be left trying to piece together the mystery from clues left behind instead of trying to solve it before it happened and stop them. But Sable Sleuth always managed, somehow.
The courtyard was empty of carts for the moment, but ponies with laden saddlebags came and went at regular intervals. A few other ponies sat farther down from her, piles of luggage perched precariously on the edge of the walkway.
Another cart came up, and Twilight stepped down, raising a hoof to signal the driver. But he had eyes only for the mare prancing excitedly a few meters farther down the lane. They hugged, kissed briefly in the wintry cold, their bodies giving off a faint steam, and loaded her luggage while she told him all about life in the castle. In the entire minute they were loading his cart, Twilight learned that she was a cook from one of the smaller kitchens that served the staff of the castle. They had all been busy getting ready for the celebration too, she learned, and were just wrapping up the final preparations.
She sat back down when they left, shaking her head. Just two days before Hearth’s Warming Eve, even less time before the thief struck. It would have to be tomorrow. If the thief steals the cake, that will make what I have to do easier. The thought felt wrong, though. To just give up and let them win. Sable would find a way.
“You know, we don’t have to bring all these books,” Spike said, looking down at the trunk. “We could be home by now if we left them behind.”
“I know.” She shook her head. It had seemed like the logical thing to do at the time. Her mother’s library was all fiction, histories, and biographies, nothing about the stars and myths. There were so many myths and legends around Nightmare Moon that she could have filled two bookcases with all of the books recording them, and she’d had to pare down her selection to the most pertinent. If only the ponies of the old days had been less effusive in their writing, and learned to write smaller and less elaborately, more could be packed into less. “But...” She tried to put it into an argument. “But what if...” She nudged the trunk, half hoping it would give her an idea.
It sat there, obtusely remaining an inanimate trunk.
Spike flipped another page, shrugged, and settled back to silence.
“We could try walking, I suppose,” Twilight said. “It does have wheels for a reason.”
“I’m not pushing that thing around.” He rapped on the lid with a knuckle, not looking up from his book. The trunk groaned piteously. “I know buddy, I know.”
“I could try lifting it?” She asked, not really sure if she meant it.
Spike just gave her a raised eye ridge and slid to the ground. “I guess.” He didn’t sound enthusiastic. He pulled his backpack down from the top and backed away, glancing at the setting sun. “Whatever we do, can we do it quick? I don’t want the Mare to see us outside. I mean, what if she comes for us?”
“Ridiculous, Spike. She’s no more real than... than...”
“Pickled bug snouts?”
She snorted. “Sure. I guess we’ll have to wheel it home. Maybe.” She bent to inspect the wheels. They still held, even though she could see a few bright spots where the brass spokes had bent, flaking off the tarnish of long years. She frowned, mind flicking over her repertoire of spells. Nothing seemed to be more effective than a simple telekinetic cantrip. She cast it experimentally at one of the bent spokes. It straightened.
Three more bent immediately. She cast the cantrip at them, straightening them before they could snap.
More spokes failed, popping free of the wheel and springing away like crooked arrows into the lengthening shadows of evening.
She didn’t have time for even a gasp as the other wheel on that side collapsed completely, dumping the trunk to one side and sent it rolling towards her.
She didn’t even have time to think as she called on the strongest telekenetic spell she had ever cast to halt the roll before it crushed her. The motion halted, reversed, and settled the entire weight of the trunk on its remaining two wheels, a mistake she recognized at an autonomic level. Before she could correct her error, those two wheels snapped off entirely, taking a chunk of wood each with them. They spun away down the lane.
Momentum carried the trunk towards a knot of ponies just starting to look her way when the commotion started. The side of it smacked the pavement, sending chips of stone flying everywhere and rebounded, still lightened by her spell.
“No!” She screamed, her panic fueling the spell to even further heights of power. More than she had wielded since her magic surges had stopped.
Creak. Crackle. The weakened base, held to the top only by two slim iron bands, buckled under the surge. She cast another spell, bleeding some energy from a reserve she hadn’t realized she had, and directed that spell to hold the bottom planks together. In the moment of distraction, her overpowered spell had continued trying to lift the trunk by its top.
“Um, Twilight...” Spike was backing away.
The iron bands holding the trunk to its base sounded out one tortured shriek and parted in twinned thunderclaps. In desperation, she canceled both spells, attempting to bleed their energy away.
Too late. The top of the trunk caromed off in a wild spin as the uneven spell dissipated too slowly. It missed the walls of the castle by a wide margin in a high arc as she felt the last of the energy of the spell flickered into the wind, leaving behind purple sparkles and whorls to fly aimlessly away. The books thumped onto the base, splintering the remaining boards into flinders and kindling. They shifted restlessly for a breath, then stopped, still roughly in the same order she had packed them in.
The trunk made a whistling sound as it flew, and left a trail of splinters glowing with her spell power, and dust fluttered loose behind it, almost like a comet’s tail. The whistling faded as she lost sight of the trunk. It wasn’t the most aerodynamic thing she’d seen flying, but with even the fading remnants of her spell keeping it aloft, it didn’t need to be.
For long seconds, she held her breath, only able to track its arc deeper into the castle grounds by the tenuous tingles of magic against her horn until even that faded. But the flickers of orange light off the buckles and iron bands as it sailed down again showed her exactly where it was headed: a tall white tower visible even over the walls and the tall pines behind it, and its windows glinting in the sun.
“Nononono!” She wanted to cover her eyes, close them, but she watched, breathless as what she was certain was the black dot of her chest followed an almost perfectly described parabola, only shifting slightly in gusts of wind. A diabolical wind, it must have been, for it guided the black speck unerringly towards one of the gleaming windows.
A moment later, the glittering light of the window shattered, marking the arrival of the chest. There was no tinkling crash from that distance.
She glanced around, noting all of the eyes on the distant tower turning towards her, every jaw dropped. She looked away, eyes stinging.
“Well.” Spike said, staring up at the tower, claws shading his eyes. “It’s no spaghetti bomb, but somepony just got a trunkful of surprise. Quite an elephant of a surprise!” he barked a laugh, slapping his claws against his thighs as he doubled over.
She sat, shaking her head slowly, staring at the window. In her mind’s eye, she saw an elderly professor, maybe even one of hers, in the middle of some grand experiment she could only imagine the complexity of. Maybe an astrological experiment, divining the next movements of the stars, or the precise position of the moon and its shadow as it would appear that night. Or...
“Elephant of a surprise!” Spike slapped her flank. “Get it? Because—”
She sat down heavily, letting her hooves slide out in front of her until her chin was laying on the ground. She did cover her eyes then.
“Twilight? Come on, nothing blew up. It’ll be okay.”
And then, at the apex of the spell, her trunk landed in the middle of the chamber, spraying glass and wood everywhere. Maybe it had hit somepony, and they were laying on the ground, unable to get up. Maybe it was a chemistry experiment, something so delicate and potentially dangerous that it had to be done in a high tower so nopony was at risk. She could hear it already, a rushing thunder in her ears.
There would be an explosion. A puff of smoke? Flash of light?
She leapt to her hooves, pulling her mane into her mouth. The tower was still intact. She chewed as she had when she was young and anxious in the new castle dormitory, hardly knowing anypony. She kept her eyes open, fixed on the tower, as though her stare were the only thing keeping catastrophe from happening, even though the cold was making her eyes ache. She would have to blink soon.
She chewed more vigorously, gnawing on the edge of a hoof now, willing disaster not to happen, dreading that it would. Vials turned over, volatile chemicals mixing...
Nothing happened. She stared harder.
Nothing continued to happen as she stared. Nothing. Not even a muffled shout. Not that she thought she would hear something from this distance. She blinked, shook her head, and looked away, then back. The tower was still there. There was no cry from the guards, no blare of trumpets announcing the royal guard mobilizing.
Twilight let her mane drop, and let her eyes sink to the ground. Splinters littered the sidewalk, and one of the wheels lay by her hoof, bent in half. She kicked it back towards the broken trunk, and sighed. Myths and stars. That was why she brought the poor thing down. It carried myths and stars to help her chase down thieves and mysteries.
Who am I kidding?I’m not going to make a difference if cake has been stolen for a thousand years. Tears trickled down her cheeks, spattering the ground and freezing in tiny domes of ice. She watched them pile up, shaking her head slowly.
“Twilight?” Spike pressed against her flank, patting her shoulder. “It’s okay. Come on. Nopony got hurt.” He pulled open his backpack and showed her the little jewel-like sugar confection sitting in its nest still. “This didn’t even crumble a bit.”
She tried a smile at him, and sniffled. “You’re right. But…”
She'd let her magic get out of control again, and almost hurt some ponies, and definitely caused damaged to a tower. Celestia’s tower, maybe. She couldn’t just let that go until she got back. She would have to tell Celestia, and do what she could to correct the situation.
She clenched her jaw, decision made. She swiped at the frozen trails on her cheeks and took a deep breath, then turned away from the window, returning her attention to the small gathering on the sidewalk.
Almost everypony was staring at her.
Twilight cleared her throat and cast her gaze about for somepony who didn’t look quite dumbfounded. “Can somepony look after these books, please?”
A male pony in the lane cleared his throat. Twilight glanced at him, then past him to the cart attached to his harness. It was empty.
He folded his hat down to his chest in a little awkward bow, then resettled it haphazardly on his head. “Well...” He glanced in the direction her trunk had shot off in. “I suppose I could take em someplace. I’s headed outta town tomorrow, and s’long as it’s not too far off the road, I suppose I could drop em off on my way to, er... where I’m stayin’. Where were you takin’ em?”
The pony’s buck teeth made his speech a little hard to understand, but the friendly tone was hard to mistake. He wore a warm looking brown coat over his pearl gray pelt, but nothing else, and didn’t seem bothered by the cold cobbles. His cart was sturdy, dark wood and looked heavy enough to have outweighed the trunk four times, even loaded with books. “My parent’s house. Night Light and Twilight Velvet. They live on Eleven Canter Circle, down near—”
“Ms. Velvet? Can do! My son loves her work. Can’t hardly get him to stop talking about meetin’ her one day. Somethin’ called, what was it? Some kinda convention. I told him, I says, ‘If’n you get good grades, then sure.’ Regular little scholar he is now.” He laughed and scrubbed at a not quite well-groomed beard, shaking his head. “Heck, just pile em in here and I’ll take em down straight away Ms... Velvet?” He glanced at her expectantly.
“Sparkle, actually. Twilight Sparkle. It’s my great-grandmother’s name.”
“Suee!” He whistled through his teeth, somehow managing it. “Well, nice ta meecha, Ms. Sparkle. Name’s Turnip Road. Heh. Can’t wait ta tell Lil’ Truck just who his pa met. Oh, it’ll drive him nuts!” He stamped all four hooves in a quick staccato, laughing. He stopped and sucked his teeth. “Say, d’ya think she might, er, sign, uh, somethin’? Y’know, for my boy?”
Twilight smiled weakly, blushing. “Um... I, uh, don’t see why not.” At a loss for words, she moved the books in manageable chunks into the back of the cart, which she noticed had several empty bags that smelled like turnips and old dirt. “Where are you from?”
“Oh, noplace special, really. Little town called Berry Mead, down a couple stretches past the mountain and the railroad. Betcha hain’t heard of it.”
Twilight shook her head, backing up as she settled the last book in the bed. “I, uh, have not, no.” She glanced at Spike, still cautiously standing over his backpack, then at her saddlebags. She sucked on her lower lip briefly, then drew out a nearly pristine Daring Do novel. She held it up, the book trembling slightly. “Please, give this to, er, Truck. I’m sure my mother would be happy to sign it.”
He blushed, pulling his hat down to his chest again. “Gollee, Miss Sparkle. I’s just happy ta help. That was just a bit o’ funnin, really.”
“Well, I insist. You’re doing me a great service.” She slid the book on top of the pile, underneath one of the lashings. “Thank you, Turnip Road.”
The hat went back on his head, the flush still on his cheeks. “Thank you, miss.”
They stood awkwardly for a long moment, staring at each other.
Turnip Road broke the silence first, sucking in a breath and smiling broadly. “Well, you ever come down that way sometime, me an’ the missus will cook ya up somethin’ right nice. S’long as it’s turnip stew.” He laughed and winked at her, tipped his hat, and trotted down the road with a casual “Later!” tossed over his shoulder.
“He seemed nice,” Spike said, waving after the wagon.
“He was.” Twilight’s attention lingered on the wagon and its driver for some time after it rounded the bend on its way down the road towards her home. She shook her head, wondering if she was making a mistake. She ought to talk to her brother. To her mother and father. They would know what to do, even about the window, and Shiny would definitely be able to get her to the top of the tower.
“Spike,” she asked after another long pause, “is this the right thing to do?”
He shrugged into his backpack and looked up at her, frowning. “If you want to get in trouble, I guess it is. Just remember, I was sitting here the whole time.”
“I know. It was my mistake, and I’m going to get in trouble anyway.” She tossed her head at the distant tower and started back up the walkway towards the castle. “The longer the trouble has to gain momentum, the more trouble it’s going to be when it finds me.”
He snorted. “That’s because you don’t sleep through the trouble. Really, Twilight, you should try being a dragon. It’s very relaxing.”
The entire gallop back to the throne room, Twilight was expecting to be accosted by a guard and questioned about how her trunk ended up in the tower, or hear news of somepony who’d been rushed to the castle infirmary for projectile trunk trauma.
She did pass guards, who startled away from her rush, but called a greeting after her when she was already a dozen strides down the corridor. None of them tried to stop her, or even seemed all that interested in what she was doing rushing around the castle.
“Odd,” she said to Spike as she stopped to catch her breath and urge him to let go of her neck. “Why is nopony surprised?”
“Twilight, as often as you run around the castle looking terrified, they must just assume it’s Tuesday.”
“But it’s Thursday.” She gasped. “Isn’t it? Today is Thursday, right? We haven’t missed—” She cut off at his waving claws and exasperated clucking. “Oh.” She shot him a disgusted glare. “Don’t tease when I’m this tense.”
He laughed. “I tease because you’re this tense. You need to lighten up. Honestly, Twilight, you weren’t this bad outside. What happened? You’re thinking too much, aren’t you?”
She shook her head. “I, well.” She paused, considering, then shook her head after a moment. “No, I’m not thinking too much. I may be thinking too little. And it’s perfectly normal to be tense when going to…”
“Sure, it’d be okay if you were going to the gallows, maybe.” Spike swatted the back of her neck. “Seriously, lighten up. As often as other students have blown up the chemistry lab, it’s not like one broken window is going to do you in.”
“It’s not the same. Princess Celestia expects so much from me, Spike. I can’t let her down.” Twilight shook her head sharply. “What if…”
“For the love of—” Spike leapt off her back and dashed around in front of her. “Twilight. You need to stop. You are not a bad student. Celestia wants you to pick your own courses. Why would she ask you to do that if she didn’t trust you?” He put his claws on his hips and stared up at her, brow ridges furrowed. “Why are you so upset about breaking a window?”
“Because it’s Princess Celestia’s window.” As soon as she said it, she knew it was the right reason. “I broke something of hers. Maybe something important.”
“Oh.” He scratched his chin, eyes darting around as though looking for an answering quip. “Well, I don’t think she’ll be mad at you. I mean, how many weather ponies have broken windows of hers, too, with hailstorms? Even if it was accidental.”
Twilight shook her head and continued on through the castle. Spike followed behind, keeping up a constant chatter of things other ponies had broken through the ages.
In a way, it helped. By the time they came across a line of ponies stretched out to the main gate, Twilight found herself laughing at some of the more absurd things he said ponies must have broken.
The crowd of ponies, murmuring among themselves too quietly to be overheard above the general hush and whisper of them all, didn’t pay them any attention at first.
Near the back, country ponies with winter coats draped over their backs and furry snow shoes peeking out from underneath stood talking in hushed tones while looking at the ponies farther up the line. The townsponies, wearing flankcoats and top hats, their manes coiffed in swooping shapes held together with what seemed to be wishes and fairy dust chattered more animatedly, louder, and making cracks about country bumpkins.
Twilight wove her way past two ponies to the center of the hall, and made her way towards the guard at the front of the line. Mutterings followed her all the way, and quite a few of them offered to show her where the back of the line was. She only ducked her head, folded her ears back, and muttered “Thank you, but I have something urgent.”
Spike, being his usual helpful self, rushed ahead, holding his arms outstretched to ward off a nonexistent crowd of ponies, and shouting, “One side, everypony, official castle business!”
Twilight felt her face grow hot, certain that everypony knew what she’d done, but none of them tried to stop her. A murmur of recognition even filtered down the line, and more ponies turned to watch her. Which didn’t help at all.
The guard looked up, eyebrow arching under his silver and gold helmet, and ran his eyes down a scroll stretching so its end almost curled against the floor. “I’m sorry, Twilight, but the Princess is currently busy talking with—”
He stopped when the doors behind him opened, letting Raven out accompanied by a well dressed pony in black judicial robes. Princess Celestia’s personal scribe touched the guard on the flank and flicked a glance at the list, then Twilight.
“Good,” Raven paused briefly to stare at a clock, “evening Twilight!” She checked her clipboard. “Do you need to see the Princess? If so, there’s nothing free until a short walk from the throne room to the Royal Balconies for a late snack before setting the sun and raising the moon in twenty minutes. You’ll have to share the time with Lord Fancy Pants, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.” Twilight thought for a moment, glancing at the line of waiting visitors. She hadn’t quite thought Princess Celestia even had her walks taken up by stately duties. “Um. Well… Maybe you can help me.” She waved Raven closer, dropping her voice to a faint whisper. “I broke a window in the southernmost tower. The one with the big window. What should I do?”
Raven’s eyebrows climbed up towards her mane. She glanced along the line of petitioners waiting to hear the judgment of the Princess. “Oh dear. One moment, and I will ask Her Majesty’s counsel.” She winked and whispered low, “She’ll appreciate the diversion.”
The pony directly behind Twilight in line, dressed in a peacock gown with a peacock headdress, glowered sourly at her.
“Rude,” was all the mare offered before fanning her face with a feather fan.
Spike poked her in the side with a quill. “Excuse me, Miss Twilight, what else does the Princess have for us to do tonight?” His arched brow and a quick nod at the doors to the throne room gave her the hint.
“Um.” She stared at him. He jerked his head towards the doors and poked her again.
“The list.” He hissed. He tapped the top item.
“Oh! Well, I suppose… Fixing the window in the south tower, now.” She said, trying to smile like she meant it at the mare.
“We’re fixing up the castle for Hearth’s Warming,” Spike said, puffing out his chest and shaking the scroll at the old mare far too quickly for her to read it. “We’re apprentice, uh, apprentices to the, er, maids. Head Pony Glitterbrush sent us.”
“Oh, oh my. I do apologize. Of course that is very important.” She tried to peer closer at the list. “Do make sure the heating spells in my chambers are refreshed. It does get so dreadfully drafty at night.”
Spike wrote something down and nodded. “Of course, Lady…”
“Blueblood, of course,” she said, waving her fan. “My grandson will be making his debut soon. I’m certain you’ve heard of him.”
Twilight had not, but Spike just bowed. “Of course, m’lady. I’m certain he’ll make a splash.”
“Quite!” She waved her fan again, apparently satisfied, and turned away to stage-whisper to her companion. “It does the heart good to see the youth stepping in. It makes me feel like maybe this generation isn’t a lost cause after all.”
Spike’s smile strained, and his brow ridges lowered, but he turned away from the mare to stare at Twilight. “You do know how to cancel a heating spell, right?” He whispered, so soft she barely heard him.
“We are not.” Twilight shot back.
“But Twilight!” He jerked his chin at the old mare.
“I said no,” she hissed.
For a moment, he seemed like he wanted to set something on fire.
“Fix the window,” Twilight said softly, but loud enough for the mare to hear. “Clean up the glass, and the, er… mess.”
Spike nodded, brow ridges still furrowed, but he wrote carefully, apparently focused on forming the letters. “Okay. And then?”
Twilight glanced at the grandfather clock. It was nearly five. “I don’t know. Full moon rise is in another hour. We’ll… I guess go back to my room.”
“You don’t want to go outside under the Mare in the Moon, either, do you?”
“It’s not that, Spike. It’s cold.”
He looked like he was about to argue, but the doors to the throne room opened again, letting Raven out again, a roll of parchment and a well worn key on a gold chain floating before her.
Raven proffered both to Twilight. “Her Majesty understands that it was a mistake, Twilight Sparkle, and she accepts the apology, but also decrees that you must make amends immediately,” the secretary said in the tones of a proclamation. “To aid in this task she has given you,” the mare continued, a mischievous gleam in her eye, “she grants you the boon of a key to the tower grounds and a map of the tower.”
“Er…” Twilight looked around as she caught the key and scroll in a spell, seeing that everypony else was watching her intently. “Of course.” She nodded to Spike. “Please make a note, and mark it top priority.”
Spike shot Raven a beleaguered look, and the secretary pony laughed. He smiled back, a bit sheepishly, and scribbled on the scroll.
Twilight, bemused, spared a glance between the two. “What was that about?”
Raven waved a hoof, dipped into a brief curtsie, and waved the matronly mare forward. “Lady Blueblood. Princess Celestia will hear your proposal now. Please follow me.”
Twilight, at a loss for words, stepped out of the way of the mare’s harrumphing glare.
“Thank you,” she said mechanically to the retreating Raven. She stared at the key, a golden sunburst head and a well worn, polished base. In places, the pins were worn almost to a parchment thinness.
“So…” Spike said after they had left the line and gone down a side corridor, following the map. “We’re going on a quest?”
“I hope not. I’ve had enough of adventure for one day.” She rubbed an ankle against Spike’s shoulder as they walked. “How did you know how to handle Lady Blueblood? I thought she was going to shout herself hoarse at us.”
“Oh, pshaw.” He snapped his claws. “It was easy peasy. She was just like Old Lady Weather in Storm Surge issue one. Storm, that’s who the series is named after, pulled the same trick on her to get inside Thunder Castle and rescue Princess Cloudtop.”
“Huh.” She shook her head in wonderment. Maybe she’d been wrong about comics.
“Of course,” he added after a moment, “Lady Weather really just wanted to seduce Storm. Because he’s a handsome rogue, and oh boy was she angry when he ran off with Cloudtop.”
Maybe not.
The map was an elaborate thing, hoof drawn lines in perfect alignment with each other and the course she had to follow. She could have navigated the castle with her eyes fixed only on the map. There was even a delicate gold embroidery around the edge of the scroll to prevent the fibers from fraying.
She felt a moment of awe as she realized who had drawn it. There was no signature anywhere, but she didn’t need to see one to know Princess Celestia’s hoof behind the immaculate work of art.
“Hold up, Spike,” she called to him, pulling a scroll case from her saddlebag and glancing over its contents before handing them off to him. It was her bonus history homework on the traditions of Hearths Warming and their evolution through the ages. She spent a moment committing the map to memory and spent almost a full minute rolling it up and sliding it into the protective case before capping it and putting it back in place. She could not risk Celestia’s map of the castle being damaged.
“What should I do with these?” He asked, waving the bundled scrolls at her.
“Um.” She glanced at his stuffed backpack, then at her other saddlebag, full of fiction books, and the sun setting inexorably outside. Twilight gritted her teeth and said, “Place them somewhere in your backpack, please.” No time for repacking her bags entirely.
“Okay!”
And, with far more vigor than she would have liked, he stuffed the bundle into a side pocket, crinkling most of the outer pages, and bending the whole stack in the middle.
Twilight set off again, the map firmly in her mind, Spike following behind, and tried not to think about her crumpled homework.
The map’s course, which Twilight had to check once to make certain they were on the right track, led them swiftly out of the castle and into the inner castle grounds, back around a corniced ivory tower attached to the main palace, and to the gate leading back towards the front walls, but closed off with a high wall made of alabaster stone bricks enclosing a tower stretching high into the sky.
From the grounds outside, Twilight could see the broken window, and the bust of a unicorn statue, reflecting the fading light of the sun so that its horn seemed to glow with an inner, purplish light. She stared at it, mouth dropping. It had to be Celestia. No other pony had such a long and gracefully fluted horn, nor the same aristocratic slant to her nose, or the same fullness of cheek and finely boned muzzle.
Spike was already pushing open the gate, unlocked, unguarded.
Inside the garden, Twilight saw twinkles of light come on in the distinctive golden glow of Celestia’s magical aura, lighting up a meandering path through trees and bushes still green despite the onset of winter outside.
“Come on, Twilight! It’s warm!” Spike dashed through, dropping his backpack and dropping to roll across the path and into the grass, stirring up a cloud of fireflies in his wake.
She followed more cautiously, testing the barrier that seemed to keep out the cold, and finding it clung to her as she pulled her hoof away, then bobbled back into place like an out-sized soap bubble. Shaking her head to throw out the speculation about what kind of spell Celestia had used to isolate the ground from the world outside, she stepped through and into a perfect spring evening.
The air was far warmer than outside, but still no warmer than a cool spring night should be. Or autumn. As she walked, she let her gaze wander just as much as the path did.
The oak trees, their branches laden with green leaves stirring as the wind rose and settled, loosed a few leaves to flutter to the ground. But no snow came with it, nor any hint of the winter outside. It even smelled like spring. Definitely spring, and not autumn, she decided. The smells of leaves decaying slowly was there, but the essence of autumn was missing. No woodfire smoke, no distant chill on the air promising snow. But neither were the essential parts of Spring there in full, either. No distant smell of rain and farmland being tilled, no promise of warmth to come in the wind.
It was as if Princess Celestia had frozen the garden perfectly in a balance between the two equinoxes. Why she hadn’t frozen it during a summer month was a mystery.
For a different time.
She followed the meandering path through the little wooded copse to a bridge standing across a babbling brook that rose from one side of the wall and disappeared at the other side, making a miniature moat cutting off the garden area from the rest. Crossing over it was a bridge that widened into a circular platform in the middle with a gilded ivory railing all around the edge.
“You know,” Spike said, pausing at the edge of the bridge to look back over it.
Twilight stopped at the center of the widest part and looked around at the stone around her hooves. “Know what?”
He crouched down, lifting his claws to frame a picture, then backed up higher towards the closed door to the tower. “This looks kinda like that painting of the moon you showed me. That weird one that didn’t—” He shifted his stance, leaning back, then standing on his toes and looked down through the makeshift at the surface. “Yeah, look. You can even see where the shadows would be…” He glanced up. “At night.”
Twilight sucked in a breath and held it. She turned, watching her shadow shift over the surface until the shadow of her head lay in the spot Spike was looking at. She eyed it, shifting her head up, down, left and right. Her muzzle was far shorter than the Mare in the Moon’s, and her ears were too short. Her horn almost was the right shape, but, again, too short. Everything about the Mare in the Moon’s shadow was grander and spoke of more mystery than her own.
“Twilight…” Spike said in a hushed tone, backing away from the bridge until his back was pressed flat against the door. “W-who?” He pointed up at the tower. “Who lives here?”
Twilight shook her head. “I don’t know, but it’s not who you think.” I hope. She pointed at one of the golden shapes etched into the railing, and walked over to it herself, hoping the trembling in her legs wasn’t apparent.
A miniature copy of the bridge’s surface, the moon’s surface she supposed, in bas relief shone back at her, half gold, half silver. At least, a moon without the darker craters marking out a mare’s head. In fact, the place where the craters should have been was no different than the rest of the moon’s surface: pocked by seemingly randomly spaced and sized craters of no discernible pattern. Each one of the twelve discs showed a different phase of the moon. They had the feel of old artifacts she’d had occasion to glimpse in Celestia’s presence and radiating an ancient feeling of power that tingled the base of her horn.
“Why?” She asked no one in particular. The shadow of the Mare in the Moon had been present for all of living memory, as far as she knew, and something so cataclysmic that it changed the moon’s surface forever in such a specific pattern had to be passed down through the ages. Nopony would forget something like that.
Spike clicked his claws together and bit his lower lip, looking up at her. “I, uh… I think we should go.” Even his spines were drooping, the crest on his head lowered so she could barely make out the green scales.
“No. We have to get my trunk. If this is—” She swallowed. “If this is a part of the co—” She swallowed again, going on more forcefully, “Conspiracy, then we need to know.” A thought bubbled up. “And besides,” she added, feeling the thought warm her. “Princess Celestia wouldn’t send us into someplace dangerous.” It was that thought that decided her. “Come on.”
There was another door at the base of the tower, and she could see the edge of a ramp leading up from some thirty hooves above her head. This gate did not swing open at Spikes touch, and the key Celestia had given Twilight pulsed softly against her neck when he did.
A warding spell, then. It was guarded, but not obtrusively so. Celestia almost certainly had known when the trunk had crashed in.
They key clicked in the gate’s lock smoothly, and the white timbered door swung open silently. The interior, far from being a disused mess, was made of the same pristine white stone as the outside. The floor was worn smooth in places where ponies, or a pony, had trod for perhaps hundreds of years.
She held back from entering and held out a foreleg to stop Spike.
Spike didn’t budge, and tapped his claws together, frowning up at her, then at the doorway. “Do we just go in?” he asked, looking up at her, then back the way they’d come.
The small glade was empty except for the wind.
“We have permission,” she said, casting a glance at the sky. Middle evening was chasing late afternoon with streamers of purple and navy and maroon. In the warmth of the garden, she could appreciate the beauty of it, but outside it would be another reminder that it in the depths of winter and she lived on top of a mountain.
“Permission is one thing,” he shot back. “What if this is a prison tower?”
Twilight shook her head after a brief consideration. “I think, in that case, it would be more obviously guarded if it was. Guards on post around the clock, a watchtower at a corner, and a gate that doesn’t open to anypony. No.” She put a hoof out across the threshold. “I can’t feel anything different inside. I think the,” she gestured back out across the glade, “that, whatever it is, continues inside, too.”
Feeling more confident about her choice, Twilight stepped inside.
For a moment, the mat at the entrance enveloped her hooves, then withdrew before she could feel more than a mild panic. A simple Clean Hooves spell, from Star Swirl’s Amniomorphics for Beginners handbook.
Spike, on the other hoof, was completely enveloped by the mat for the space of two screams and a break for breathing. When it let him go, he was as shiny as two hours after he hatched, scales gleaming and spines as shiny as pike-heads.
A powerful Clean Hooves spell. Twilight suppressed a giggle.
The dirt drawn from both of them had rearranged to form the words “Bless this mess” on the mat before they marched out under the edge of the gate, presumably to disappear into the glade.
“A little warning!” Spike half-shouted at her. “Would be nice.” He took a deep breath, clutching his chest and leaning on her leg. “Next time.”
“I didn’t know it was going to do that,” Twilight said, frowning at the last letters as they left. “But it serves you right. Disrespecting the Princess.”
“How so?”
She pointed at the dirt trailing out the door. “By having the forethought to take a bath today.”
He waved a claw at that. “Dragon scales don’t need to be cleaned as often as pony coats. Just one of the many benefits of being a dragon.”
“The princess apparently doesn’t think so,” she said as she looked around the small room just inside. To the right, an over-sized chair sat with well used cushions of a faded purple-blue color, silver instead of gold tassels hanging from each corner, and a moon instead of a sun stitched into each one. To either side, and in front stood tables stacked with books, and small lamps giving off a silver glow cast unfaltering light over all.
“Yeah, well…” He trailed off, shrugging and looking around, claws tapping together over his stomach. He seemed reluctant to step away from the mat.
“She’s not wrong,” Twilight finished for him. “Dragons out in the wild must…” She shrugged one shoulder and pointed a hoof at the fireplace. “I guess they must bathe in fire or something like it. You start to get a little ripe after a hard day.”
He only grunted, watching intently as she stepped farther into the room. Nothing happened, and nothing continued happening as she wandered around the room, peering at the titles on the spines of the books, but careful not to let even a hair of her mane touch them. Predictions and Prophecies, Manewallace’s Treatise on Lunar Effluvia, among others. On another table, Lunar Moths, an Observation headed a stack of moon related creatures and myths like the owlbear in Why It’s a Bad Idea to Go Out at Night, a Field Study of the Noble Owlbear, published posthumously by Magnus Owl. Wereponies, vampire batponies, and Nightmare Moon featured prominently on the cover of The Myths, The Monsters, The Moon, author unknown.
There were no bookshelves on the first story, nowhere to neatly store the books that were obviously recent reading. The walls were covered with tapestries and paintings, and half of one wall was taken up with a wide staircase leading up to a second story.
Twilight jerked her head at the stairs. “Come on, Spike.” The second story was given over to long couches for a pony of Celestia’s size and build and mementos smaller than the tapestries below hung from every wall or lay on every surface.
Here, short bookshelves lay scattered about, stuffed to the brim with tomes and doubling as display stands for oddments the Princess must have collected over her lifetime.
There was even a very old, tattered flag she remembered from every Hearth’s Warming play she’d ever seen, except this one was far more detailed, and embroidered in silver, gold, and seemingly threads made out of gemstones instead of painted on paper. It was encased in glass, or crystal, and a plaque underneath read “Cantercourt’s Founding, circa 4 After Winter”
“Huh.” She read the plaque again. “That’s… old.” The Princess was old beyond memory, but certainly not that old. Those were the days of Princess Platinum, Chancellor Puddinghead, and Commander Hurricane, not of Princess Celestia. Despite that, she had no doubt it was an original flag. The Princess wouldn’t collect something that was a fake or a forgery, and the appearance of it felt weighty, a certain indefinable air about the object that she couldn’t put a hoof on.
“Wow, the Princess is as old as dirt?” Spike blurted, looking up at it. After a moment, he forced a laugh, and he kept darting his eyes around, as if expecting a monster to jump out at any moment. “Gee, uh… I hope she doesn’t have any, uh…” He tapped his claws together and backed up until he was pressed against her hind leg. “She can’t hear us in here, can she?”
“She just might. So be respectful.”
“It was, uh, just a joke! Nothing meant by it!” Spike called out to the empty room.
Twilight resisted the urge to look around more at all the relics and memorabilia in Princess Celestia’s private chambers. She had to remind herself that she was a guest, not a gawker as her mother would say.
She jerked her head at the door leading outside again and started up the ramp leading around the outside of the tower. The strange effect of the almost spring continued all the way up the tower. As she wound her way around, she could see the strange, thin film that kept in the spring night flex slightly against the howling winter wind, slowing it until it was a gentle, faintly cool breeze against her nose, heavy with the smell of flowers from below.
The city of Canterlot and all the rest of Equestria spread out around her as she climbed, the lights coming on in a thousand points of firefly sparkles across both, flowing from the west to the east in an inconsistent wave of golden hearth light speckling the countryside, and the steadier flares of gaslight lamps outlining streets and keeps.
From the top, she could see Cloudsdale in the far-away distance, pulsing with rainbow light and flickers of lightning as the weather ponies fashioned a thundersnow storm for delivery.
She paused, one hoof on the door to keep herself steady and looked back on the castle still illuminated by the sun, its parapets and onion domes gleaming scarlet and royal purple, the stouter turrets of white stone gleaming like solid gold.
“Wow.”
Twilight glanced down to see Spike looking out into the distance. “Wow,” she agreed.
“Being the ruler has its perks. That’s for sure.”
Rolling her eyes, Twilight dragged her attention away from the vista. “Come on, Spike. We still have to clean up, and it’s almost night time.”
Another lock opened without complaint or resistance, and Spike dashed inside, stopping after a few steps.
Dominating the center of the room was a massive hourglass, slowly trickling sand into the bottom trough. A quick mental calculation of relative volumes told her the hourglass was close to being turned over again, and by the rate of flow, it would be about a week before it was time.
Unlike every other hourglass she had ever seen, this one must measure a year at a time. Surrounding it was a rail with beads glowing with the same light as the moon and stars. One bead was stopped almost an inch from its companions, still dark, but flickering with an inner glow in her peripheral vision as she took in the rest of the room.
Directly across the room was a massive window in several panels, arched with silvery metal glowing like bands of fire in the evening light. On either side, bookcases spread out in concentric half-circles around the room, forming a bullseye of the room centered on the hourglass. Smaller windows breached the walls at regular intervals, two between each broad bookcase, an upper and a lower.
One of the lower ones was broken, glass shards and splinters of wood from the frame spreading across the floor between two bookcases, and her trunk. What was left of it lay crumpled against a glass display case, one of several scattered around the hourglass at even intervals. The case had survived, but her trunk sagged, the steel bands that held it together parted from the wood. The bands that had been meant to hold her trunk to the base had snapped cleanly at the corners, leaving jagged weals of iron that had scraped bright white lines across the floor.
She rushed up to the case, peering at it, then at the trunk. The case wasn’t even scratched, though its contents were mildly perturbed.
They were medallions of some sort, most of them white, or near to it, fading from the brightest colors on the right to nearly identical white on the left.
“What are these, do you suppose?” She asked Spike, lifting him up to her back to take a look.
“Um. Rock candy?” He asked, pointing at the ones on the left. “They’re solid sugar.”
Twilight sucked in a breath and bent to peer more closely at them. In some, rudiments of color still held on, black lines the boldest, outlining what were obviously cutie marks.
“Spike, are you absolutely certain these are, um, rock candy?” She jabbed a hoof down at them, not daring to open the case. “Not, say, cutie marks made out of hardened, baked sugar?”
It took him a moment, and he fairly leapt backwards, scrabbling for the door.
“Not so fast,” Twilight called after him, picking him up in a telekinetic spell and depositing him back in front of her.
He curled up in a ball at her feet, quaking.
“Oh, Spike, I’m not saying Princess Celestia is the thief.” She shook her head emphatically. “But what if she already knows about it? What if she has been trying to stop them, too?” A thought occurred to her. “Quick! See if you can find my cutie mark!”
Before he could reply, she had leapt to the next case to her right and pressed her nose to the glass, looking at each cutie mark in turn. Then the next case. And the next.
A little more than three quarters of the way around the inner circle, she passed Spike going the other way, and they both spent a moment staring in at cutie marks almost bright enough to be fresh. She fairly pranced with excitement the rest of the way around. But when she’d reached all the way around to the start again, there had been no sign.
Spike shook his head too. “Nope. Yours is gone. Probably taken by—” He jerked a claw over his shoulder, opposite the sun. “You know who.”
“I really doubt that,” Twilight muttered under her breath. More loudly, she said, “Okay. Something to keep in mind. For right now, though, we need to do some cleanup. Do what you can to, um,” she gestured vaguely at the pile of broken planks and twisted iron, “tidy this up a little. I’m going to try to find a broom and dustpan for the window.”
He saluted and bent to the task, pulling out the unbroken planks and stacking them. She noticed as he did that he paused between each board and looked around, biting his lip.
Twilight shook her head minutely and made her way through the bookcase maze in the other direction. She let herself meander, unable to help the temptation to even look at the titles of the books in Celestia’s personal library. Her secret personal library, she thought with a twinge of guilt, but kept looking.
Most of the titles were familiar, if far older, their spines faded and cracked in places. That they were first print editions was no doubt, or even from the days before the printing press had been invented. Many had gold embossed lettering that was flaking and peeling away, fluttering even as she passed by.
In the distance, she heard him shout, “Okay! All done! What now?”
“Just wait! I’ll be right there!” With a shake of her head, Twilight backed away from an edition of Highlights of High Magic and back towards her task. As she knew there must be, she found a small closet tucked in behind a column and, sure enough, there was a broom, dustpan, and waste bin. Every library had a janitor’s closet. Even the Princess’ personal library.
It was the work of only a couple minutes to sweep up the glass and drop it in the waste bin. The boards of the trunk were a different scale of problem, as were the twisted iron bands. The one, she could only stack of a few of into the bin before it was overflowing. The other, she could loop around outside the bottom of the bin, she supposed.
“So, what now?” Spike asked from his perch on top of the stack of wood. He glanced at the big window. The sun was completely set, and the faintest glow of goldenrod was being swallowed up by the descending veil of full night.
From a high window, faint silver light stretched down to trace shadow and light across the walls and illuminating the statue she had seen through the broken window. Up close, she could appreciate the beauty and artistry of it, a bust only, of a mare, and whomever she had been, she had been a unicorn of surpassing grace, her fluted horn spiraling to a razor tip and her muzzle bearing the same aristocratic bearing and timeless beauty of Celestia. But the details were subtly off. Twilight knew her teacher’s face like she knew her parents’ faces, and that wasn’t her, though they could be sisters.
“Who do you think that is?” she asked after a moment, nodding up at the statue.
“A pony I once loved as much as you do your brother.”
Twilight spun about. “Princess Celestia!”
Celestia did not look at her immediately, instead watching the shadows shift and stretch on the statue. After a long moment and a deep breath, Celestia shifted her gaze. “Twilight Sparkle,” she said, smiling. “Thank you for taking care of your accident. And I thank you even more for not trying to hide it from me.”
“Y-yes, Princess Celestia,” Twilight stammered, lowering her head in a jerky bow. “W-who? Who is she?”
Princess Celestia only shook her head, eyes closed. Twilight caught the bob of throat as her teacher swallowed some past grief. Her own throat tightened. She shouldn’t have said anything. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“It is not your fault, Twilight. It is… painful, even now. Remember, will you, that the past, Twilight, is the past for a reason. It has passed us by. Dwelling on it does us no good, save to learn our lessons.” A wan smile parted Princess Celestia’s lips briefly. “It is a lesson I keep re-learning.”
Uncertainty fogged Twilight’s mind. “S-should I not, um…”
“Perhaps I wasn’t as precise as I should have been,” her teacher said softly, though her voice lost some tension as it fell into a more familiar lecturer’s tone. “The past as an academic pursuit is one of the loftiest goals a scholar can reach for. The past, as a personal matter, is not as healthy to dwell on or live in. Remembrance, of course, is paramount.” Celestia waved a hoof at the display cases, at the books, and at the statue. “It has been a long time since anypony else has come up here.”
“Oh. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“No, Twilight, I’m not angry at you. Not at all.” Celestia laughed softly. “You misunderstood. I meant to say, it is good to have you here.” She nodded at the cases again. “Though I hope you won’t send me your cutie confection for a long time yet.”
Understanding dawned. “These… Your students? All of them?”
“Each and every one,” Celestia agreed, stepping up to a case, the first one Twilight had seen.
Hesitantly, Twilight followed her, looking down into the case as Celestia’s horn glowed. Color bled back into the confections, glowing brightly as they must have in her memory.
“I’m proud of them all,” Princess Celestia continued, “and happy that they lent me a piece of themselves. They are all a part of me, Twilight.” The spell, and the color, faded. “And so are you. You make me so incredibly proud to be your teacher. Thank you.”
Twilight’s eyes burned, her vision blurring, and before she knew it, she had rushed up to the Princess and wrapped her in a hug about the neck. She sobbed as memories of her in a classroom by herself with Princess Celestia patiently walking her through the steps for a transmogrification spell for the tenth time, only for her to break down and cry because she just didn’t get it. And Princess Celestia’s words, “I believe in you” that gave her the courage to continue.
“Thank you,” Twilight gasped.
Princess Celestia’s warm cheek pressed against her shoulder. “Thank you.”
Spike stumbled up to her and petted her flank gently. “Twilight?” He asked.
“I—” Twilight pulled back from Celestia, feeling a wing slip over her head as it folded back to Princess Celestia’s flank. “I’m okay, Spike.”
“I’m glad.” Princess Celestia didn’t try hide the tears on her cheeks or wiping them away. Twilight thought she seemed proud of them. “Now off with you two,” she said more strongly. “It’s almost past your bedtimes.”
She stalled, raising a hoof.
“No need to raise your hoof in private, Twilight. Ask what you wish, and if I can, I will answer.”
“Y-you know about the thief, right?”
“To my sorrow, I do.” Princess Celestia’s smile took on a wan cast, and her eyes tracked back up to the domed ceiling of the tower, spilling over with moonlight cast through the protective veil until it seemed that a sea must be about to crash down on them. “She…”
“She?” Twilight’s jaw dropped. “Who is she?”
The smile she got from her teacher dripped with sorrow. “A ghost from the past, Twilight. Off with you now. It’s bedtime, and do not worry about the thief overmuch. I doubt very much she will concern you.”
“But,” Twilight started, waving a hoof at the bin and stack of wood and iron, desperate for any reason to stay and ask more questions.
“I will take care of it. I’m always looking for spare bits of wood and metal.” She winked. “Reclaimed wood is all the rage these days.”
As Twilight was closing the door, she heard Princess Celestia speaking.
“I won’t know what the future holds for much longer, dear Luna.” Princess Celestia’s clear birdsong trilling laughter drifted through the bare crack in the door. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Was it a name?” Twilight asked Spike that night as she brushed her mane. “Was it her name?”
“I still don’t think you heard anything. You were so bonkers crying, and what was that about anyway? You weren’t sad, were you? And I think you hall-lucin-atered.” He frowned at her from his bed over the cover of a comic. “Is that right?”
“Close. Hallucinated. And no, I wasn’t. I heard her very clearly. Luna. Could she have been talking to the moon? Or about the ghost?” She paused in her brushing to untangle a lock at the base of her neck. She was silent as she worked the hairs free, then shook her head. “But ghost can mean a lot of things, too. What if she means it’s an enemy she made a long time ago? If that’s the case, we really do need to find the thief. Even if it’s some kind of petty revenge.”
“I suppose,” Spike said, folding the comic across his chest. “But what if she means a real ghost? Like, someone she knew a long time ago, and loved.” He perked up. “Maybe she had a sister? Maybe that’s who.” Then he settled back into his bed, looking disconsolate. “But… that would make me sad, to know that.”
“Ghosts are real, you know. They’re documented apparitions and there’s even a school that studies them, off somewhere near the Everfree Forest.” She groaned. There wasn’t even time to properly research what she didn’t know about ghosts, on the off chance it was one. “I really hate not being able to study what I need,” she grumbled aloud, laying aside the brush.
“You know a lot of the books I read—” he gave her a hard stare, daring her to question them as books or reading, and when she didn’t, he continued, “—have the moon personified as a pony, and sometimes as a dragon or spirit. Maybe she meant the moon as a spirit? And she calls it Luna?”
“And?” She asked softly. “I’ve heard the moon referred to as Luna before, but…” Twilight shook her head. “It felt like she was talking to somepony.”
“And I think maybe Princess Celestia talks to the sun and the moon like they were ponies. Maybe they even listen to her, y’know. I mean, what if she doesn’t control the sun and the moon, but is friends with them, and they do what she wants because they want to make her happy. But what if—” He lifted a claw to stall her when she opened her mouth. “—what if she had an argument with the moon? Or what if the moon isn’t really nice to her all the time? I mean, her cutie mark is the sun. What if the moon resents that, but can only really do anything about it tomorrow night because the moon is out way longer than the sun is?”
Twilight stared at him. The thought had never even occurred to her. In all of her studies of the heavens, she had never once thought of the sun as more than a ball of fusing gasses, and the moon as a barren rock, not as living beings that might have emotions, lives, and complicated motives for doing what they did.
“Huh.”
“I know, it’s silly, but…” He shrugged. He was still reading the pirate comic, she saw. “There’s some strange things out in Equestria and beyond. Like ghosts.”
“That’s true.” And the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. She had never felt such a strong magical force from Princess Celestia that it felt like it could move the moon or the planet, let alone the sun. There had to be more finesse involved than force, or Princess Celestia’s horn would blaze like the sun up close and personal all the time. “It’s not impossible,” she said finally. “But I don’t think it’s related to the thievery. That’s immediate. After we catch the thief—”
“If we catch the thief, you mean.”
“When we catch the thief,” Twilight said, staring him down until he nodded, “we will be able to ascertain their motives. And we still have a lot of work to do. But first—” She held up a hoof. “—we need some help.”
“Who?”
“I have some ideas…”
“So do I!”
“Shh. Let me think. I’ll be happy to listen. I just need to get the thoughts out first.” She tapped her chin with a hoof as the thoughts came out in a slow murmur. “We can’t go home and get help. Mom wouldn’t let me leave for at least a day. At least. And Shining… well, I think I’d be home until winter break was over.” She snorted, smiling despite the distraction of Hearth’s Warming festivities waiting for her. “Besides, the answer has to be here. Somewhere.”
“Yeah. Where?”
She shrugged, waving a hoof expansively to include the whole of the castle. “The kitchens especially. That’s where the thefts take place. Something there must be drawing them besides the cake. Or letting them in.”
“Like what? Muffins? Cookies?” He folded the comic down to look over it. “Sapphire encrusted blueberry tarts?”
“No, Spike. But I think we’ll need some help there anyway. And I know the pony to talk to.” Twilight lowered her hoof and stood, nodding to him. “Get some rest, Spike. We’re going to talk to Muffins tonight after everypony else is asleep.”
Spike looked up over his comic and smacked his lips. “You know, I could use a midnight snack. And Muffins… well.” He smacked his lips some more.
“I would like to talk to Muffins, not eat her.”
He sighed. “Twilight… that was the perfect setup.”
“For what?”
“Midnight Muffins! It’s like a chapter in Sable Sleuth!”
“It is—” The title of chapter five of Noir Nadir sprang to mind, Donut Dawn. “Fine. So it is.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Get some rest.”
A thought occurred to her as she lay on her bead, a close eye on the clock. “How did you know what that chapter title was?”
Spike looked up from his comic, rolling his eyes. “What do you think I do when you’re in class all day? I’m not made of bits. I can’t buy comics every day.”
“Oh.” She smiled down at him. “Thank you, Spike.”
“Uh…” He frowned up at her, biting his lip. “Sure. You’re welcome.”
Sable Sleuth was waiting for her when she opened the book to chapter six, Chaste Charity.
Sneaking around the castle long after they were supposed to be in bed was a new experience for Twilight. She’d been out in the castle proper even later, but always with permission. Sneaking out without permission was, she admitted, oddly thrilling in a scary sort of way.
She had had to wait until the sounds of snoring and murmurs filtered in under her door before she’d dared to leave her room and risk the hallways. Even with her sleeping slippers on, it had felt like every step was going to bring the guards or wake up the floor’s matron.
They hadn’t.
The student’s dormitories occupied the second and third level of the westernmost wing of the castle. Stairwells connected the two levels at four corners of the cube of hallways and rooms. The cafeteria was one level below that, and directly connected to a smaller kitchen than the castle’s main kitchen, and was always dark after a certain time, but it had a door that led to the servants’ corridors that tracked through the castle like the veins of some great being, delivering goods and ponies to each part of the castle.
They were also dark, claustrophobic, and had blind turns at odd spaces.
Spike clung to her side, staying always within the pool of radiance from a weak light spell. Celestia’s map, which she had forgotten about completely and forgotten to give back, helpfully changed as she descended the floors, always showing her the floor she was on. Other than that, she had to go by dead reckoning.
After popping out into closets and bathrooms more than once, Twilight stopped at a small arched doorway and nodded to Spike, shutting off her spell.
A moment later, a flicker of green light erupted, showing his face briefly as he lit a miniature torch no larger than two matchsticks. He had a collection of them in his backpack, little things he said he was trying to make for her brother’s Ogres and Oubliettes campaign that they held every time he was home, along with some old friends of his from Canterlot High. He’d offered them up as a part of his contribution to the investigation before they left.
By the feebler light, Twilight poked her head out into what she was glad to see was actually her destination, the servants’ quarters. Every door had a bright brass name tag affixed to it. It wasn’t hard to find Muffins’ room, and she knocked as quietly as she could.
“Moment,” came a gruff voice. The sound of hooves on stone, a grunt and slurp, and Muffins’ voice came back, brighter. “Who is it?”
“Can we come in?” Twilight hissed.
“Twilight?” The door opened a breath later, and Muffins, her mane looking rather like it usually did, actually, if a bit more so, appeared and yawned expansively. “Sure. ‘Time is it?”
“Um.” Twilight shrugged. “Late? After midnight.”
“Yeah. Figured. Late o’clock. Whas up?” Muffins stumbled back to her bed and slid mostly onto it, leaving only one foreleg dangling above the floor.
“We want your help to catch the thief.”
“Oh?” Blank confusion clouded Muffins’ face for a moment. “Oh!” Her head jerked up. “Oh, that thief.”
“Yes, that thief.” Twilight nodded in solemn agreement. “You know the kitchens and their routines better than we do. We need to plan a…” She fished about for a moment in her mind. What had Sable called it? “A, er, sting.”
“I don’t like bees,” Muffins said through another yawn. “Or wasps.”
“No, no. It’s a plan. Like, um.” How to explain it? “Like, if I told you there was going to be a cake on the fifth floor, but you’re not supposed to go up to the fifth floor. But then I told you nopony would be watching, and it would be safe. And then, when you go up, I caught you being someplace you shouldn’t be.”
“Oh! That kind of sting. Okay.” Muffins gazed at Twilight, blinking slowly. “But that’s not very nice, is it?”
“No-o-o, it’s not.” Twilight sighed. “But we’re trying to catch the thief, not hand the cake to them on a platter.”
Muffins shook her head again and seemed to wake up some more. “Why not?” she lifted the dangling hoof to point it at Twilight. “It’s not like we can apprehend them. We’re not guards, you know, and I can’t hit somepony. Why not let them have some cake?”
“Because—” I don’t want Celestia to feel guilty anymore. And I want to know more about this ghost from the past. Maybe… Maybe she can be put at ease somehow. Aloud, she cleared her throat and said “It’s stealing. It’s wrong. And we have to catch them.”
“Oh. Okay.” Muffins yawned.
Spike, fighting a yawn, shook his head. “Why not give them some cake. It doesn’t have to be real cake you know. It can be just… fake cake. Or a different cake. Why don’t we make a small one just for them. Only, er, put some kind of spell on it so we can follow them to their hideout and show the guards where they’ve been hiding.”
“Spike… that’s… That’s—”
“Genius? Amazing?” He grinned at her, brushing a pair of claws against his chest and blowing on them. “I know.”
Twilight closed her mouth on what she had been about to say, opened it again, and tried to be diplomatic. “I think,” she said slowly. “I think… That the thief is after more than something like cake. I think they’re after something that means something special to Princess Celestia, not just cake.”
“Hmm.” Rather than looking defeated like she’d expected, he looked thoughtful. “Why not make the cake special?” He patted his backpack. “I do have the cutie mark that Crunchy made for you.”
“And,” Twilight said, continuing the thread, “we make it look like there was going to be a special cake, a small one, like a big cupcake, just for me. But…” She shook her head. “I might be Princess Celestia’s personal student, but wouldn’t it look odd to break tradition like that? Nopony has ever gotten two pieces of cake before. And you saw all those confections in her tower. She’s had hundreds—” She did a quick mental calculation of the number of cutie confections in each case times the number of cases. “—at least nine hundred students who thought highly of her. If anything, that might make the thief even more wary.”
Spike crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, fine. Don’t take my brilliant idea. Not like it didn’t work in Crusaders of the Last Rainbow.”
She shook her head slightly, not wanting to argue about comic books again. But, it was fair. She’d also been prying some of her ideas wholesale from Sable Sleuth. “We’ll have time for planning tomorrow. We can talk about it more then, okay?”
“Okay, fine.” Spike let out a breath and deflated, trying to hide a yawn from her. “But I still think it’s a great idea.”
“I’ll help. Both Spike and you bring up good points—” She yawned hugely, and Twilight fought to keep herself from yawning too. “I think. I really don’t know. I’m too tired. Come back in the morning, ‘kay?”
Back in the servant corridors, Twilight consulted Celestia’s map again, tracing a path along several corridors that branched into the main corridor, backtracking, and following another. Finally satisfied, she nodded and tucked the map back into its case.
“What was that all about?” Spike was glaring at her. “I gave you a good idea.”
Twilight shook her head. “I’m sorry, Spike. I didn’t mean to disparage it. I’m… I’m stressed is all. I shouldn’t have let myself say those things.”
He snorted.
“Can you forgive me?”
“Of course. But please, at least think about laying some bait. It would do what you want, wouldn’t it?”
“If it works, yes. But…”
“But you’re worried it will scare the thief off. Sure.” He shrugged. “And… you’re right too. Sorry.”
“Apology accepted.” Twilight smiled at him, brightening her horn briefly to let it show. “Now, onto the next part we need to do tonight.”
“Sleep?”
“No, Spike.” Twilight set off to the left. “The library. I need to see if I can find any reference in the Lunar Lexicon about the name Luna. If we know who, we might have some information about how to stop her.”
Groaning, Spike trailed after. “But it’s after midnight.”
“Don’t worry. I just need your help a little bit longer to look out for guards, then we can go to bed. Even I’m not supposed to be in the library after it closes.”
“Alright, great. Now we’re breaking the law. Then what?”
“Not the law, just a rule of the library. Well, more of a suggestion, really. The library closes when the student dormitory is in lights out.” She felt a tingle along her spine. In the library when she wasn’t supposed to be. It was almost thrilling, and maybe would have been if not for the gurgle in her stomach. “And besides, it’s for a good cause.”
“Sure. Good cause. You know what else is a good cause? Sleep.” He yawned again. “And what about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, we get up extra early. We have a lot to do.”
Spike groaned more loudly and slumped against the wall. “Just leave me here and wake me up tomorrow.”
“It is tomorrow. Well, today. Tomorrow is after the thief strikes.” The worry of it sent giddy tremors up her spine. “I need you, Spike. I really do. Who else is going to watch out for guards?”
As if speaking the words had summoned them, barely a few more paces down the corridor, she heard heavy hoofsteps tapping up the hall and saw a bright light gleaming underneath the door nearest her. She quickly shut hers off and raised a hoof to her mouth.
Spike stood straighter and backed himself up to the wall.
The steps slowed and came to a halt just outside the door. They stopped for a long time, and she could hear the rustle of mail on plate as a guard shifted in front of the door.
The door burst open, flooding the narrow passage with light and a booming voice.
“Halt! This is—” The voice choked off in a bleat of surprise.
Even through the blinding light and shock, Twilight recognized that voice immediately. “Shiny! What are you doing here?”
At the same time, Shining Armor’s flashlight spell faltered, plunging the hallway into darkness. “Twily! What in the seven layers of Tartarus are you doing out this late at night?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” She brought up her own glimmer spell, leaving it with only a touch of power to fill the corridor with a gentle solar glow.
“Well, let me think,” Shining Armor started, stepping in and closing the door behind him. His horn glowed chartreuse, and the echoes around them faded as his cone of silence spell took hold. He held a hoof to his chin as if in deep thought. “Gee, I wonder why I got sent up to the castle so late at night.” He made an exaggerated gasp. “Ooh! Maybe It’s because your books arrived at the house without you, and the best that hay—er, gentlepony could say was that you’d had an accident involving your trunk, and maybe a tower, and then he asked Mom to sign a book of yours.”
“Oh. Ah-heh.” Twilight crossed her forelegs in front of her, looking down. “Right. Maybe I should have written a note.”
“Ya think?” He sat back and scrubbed at his mane with two hooves, then stood and paced back and forth in the narrow corridor. “Geeze, Twily. I know you get focused on something, but come on.” He stopped, turning to her again. “And then I arrive, and find out you were supposed to be sound asleep, and that you’d only knocked a hole in the princess’s private tower—”
“A window!”
“—which thankfully wasn’t occupied at the time. Oh, and then I couldn’t get to sleep because, gosh darn it, I was worried sick for my little sister, so I volunteered to take the night shift so I could talk to you as soon as you woke up. And here you are, running around willy-filly, scaring me even closer to an early retirement.” He huffed, took several deep breaths, and glared at her.
“Done?”
Laughing and shaking his head, Shining Armor grinned at her. “Sure. But geeze Twily, you’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do.”
“Er… well. Yes, Spike? What?” She looked down at Spike tugging on her tail.
“Does this mean I get to go to bed?”
Shining Armor snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, little guy. And Twilight, too. You both look a little haggard.”
“I can’t! It’s very very important that I be able to do at least some research today.” Twilight ignored Spike’s exasperated groan. “You see…” It took her the better part of half an hour for her to explain the situation to her brother, who stood like he’d been stuffed and mounted, only his mouth dropped open at odd intervals like a fish gasping for air. At the last, she added, “And that’s why we’re sneaking around giving you gray hairs.”
By the time she was done, Spike was leaning against the wall, eyes sagging and breathing growing slow and regular.
Shining gave her a quizzical look, then burst out laughing.
“Hey! I’m being serious!”
“Oh, Twily, I know you are being absolutely one hundred percent serious. But come on, a cult of ponies worshiping an old mare’s tale? The old mare’s tale itself coming out to steal cake?” He glanced at Spike. “You don’t believe this, do you?”
“Actually,” he said, looking Shining Armor in the eye, “I think it’s the Mare in the Moon,” Spike said, “but Twilight thinks it’s just an old mare’s tale, too.”
“I think, now, there might be some merit to it,” she said. “Just not enough to mention. Yet.”
“Well, it’s not cultist ponies, I can tell you that. There are traps and spells that you don’t know anything about, Twily, that would let us know if somepony was sneaking around at night. Like you are now. It’s not coincidence that I’m in this part of the castle.” He gave her an arch look. “Oh, and shutting off your light when you heard hoofsteps, big mistake by the way. Super suspicious. If you’d just left it on, I might not have been so forceful coming in.”
“But the spells—”
He cut her off with a sharp shake of his head. “I’ve probably said too much. Suffice to say the Princess is well guarded and not in any danger so long as we’re here.”
“But then who’s stealing cake?”
Shining Armor shrugged. “Have you ever thought maybe the Princess might have a sweet tooth? It’s her cake, after all. She just shares it very generously.”
“You’re accusing Princess Celestia of theft?”
“No… Not Princess Celestia.” He laughed, but it sounded forced to Twilight, and he kept looking not at her.
“What other princesses—” Her eyes widened. “No, you wouldn’t accuse Cadance of thievery!” She eyed him as he began laughing. “Would you?”
“Joke, Twily. Joke.”
“Fine. But I’m being serious. There’s a thief stealing cake every year for the last thousand years if Honey Cake’s story is right, or at least for a long time. Princess Celestia herself told me there was a thief.”
Shining Armor’s face hardened. “Did she, now?” He scrubbed at his chin. “Well… that might change things.” He looked her in the eyes directly, still rubbing his chin. “We… we know about the thief,” Shining Armor said slowly. “I’m surprised you’re taking it so seriously. Everypony, and I mean everypony, thinks it’s some prankster trying to keep us on our toes. But, no.”
“You know?” Twilight goggled at her brother. “And you tried to make me believe it was something else?” She stood up straighter and tried to meet his eyes. “You know. What else do you know?”
“Hey, easy now. I’m a guard commander. I have to take orders like everypony else.” He raised his hoof from his chin and pointed up. “These ones came from on high, but if the Princess said it was okay…” He shook his head and grunted. “Let me think.”
“She seemed really sad when she said it. Like she was about to cry.”
“She did cry,” Spike said.
“After she started remembering her students again,” Twilight said softly, trying not to let the memory choke her up.
“Hmm.” Shining armor stared off into the distance, apparently deep in thought. “We’ve generally been told not to worry about the cake. And if Princess Celestia says ‘don’t worry’ you don’t worry. Out loud.”
“But you have been looking into it?” Spike said.
“Couple of the mares and stallions on their off days, sure. There’s a perpetual bet going on what it is, but we’ve been ordered to leave the cake alone, and specifically to be in bed, resting.” He shrugged. “And not to talk about it with other ponies. But, you know, ponies talk, tales get told, and pretty soon anything recognizably fact-based is lost.”
“But you must have some theories, too, right? Your grades were almost as good as mine in school.”
“Sure…” Shining shook his head. “I’ve always thought it’s a ghost. That’s about the only thing that could get past most of the wards around the castle… but ghosts are harmless.” He winced, shifting around on his backside. “Mostly harmless.”
“Ghosts, huh?” Twilight looked her brother up and down. “You’ve had an interesting year.”
“Yeah, no kidding. Anyway… that’s all I’ve got. But Spike’s Mare in the Moon theory might have merit, too. A couple of the guards have thought that one up in the barracks.” He laughed, shaking his head. “And, to think that my little sister was taking that one seriously. So… wanna tell me exactly why my little egghead sister is wandering around the corridors at night giving her big brother a gray mane?”
“The library!” Spike said with a mocking gesture to Twilight.
Shining Armor snorted. “Oh. Silly me for thinking otherwise.”
In the end, Spike got an escort back to Twilight’s room to sleep, and then Shining Armor came back, ready to escort Twilight to the library.
“This is okay, right?” Twilight asked as they stepped out into the main corridor.
“Sure. So long as you don’t tell anypony.” He grinned at her and winked. “It’s fine, Twily, really. You’re not breaking any rules, just making me and the watch stander nervous, but you’re with me now, so he knows it’s okay.”
“If you’re sure. I just need to get to a copy of the Lunar Lexicon.”
“Then bed?”
“Um.”
“Then bed,” Shining Armor said gently, nudging her. “I know you. You’ve barely gotten any sleep because this whole thing has been in your dreams, too.”
“It has not. I learned about it yesterday. Well. Two days ago, I guess. At night.”
“Two days, huh?” He laughed and shook his head. “And you haven’t broken the case wide open yet? Twily, you’re slacking off.”
She glared at him and sped up her pace.
“Sorry.”
For the rest of the way, Twilight kept her silence, more because she kept catching glimpses of the moon through windows with their curtains drawn back, and felt an eerie certainty that whenever she passed in front of one, she was being watched.
The library felt empty as Twilight perused the card catalog. She kept glancing back to make sure Shining Armor was lounging on one of the couches for readers while she looked. Two of the cards that should have been there were missing, meaning they’d been checked out. She sighed.
“There’s one copy left, Shining. I’ll be right back.”
“Sure. I’ll be right here.”
She found the shelf, and the book without issue. It was a gigantic book, supposed to contain all of the collected lore of the moon, but also disorganized as though it had been added to instead of carefully thought out and planned ahead of time. She loved exploring it when she could, but with so much else she had to explore and learn, there wasn’t as much time as she would have liked.
She ran a hoof down the disorganized index, really little more than a list of pages and a brief summary of the information on them and the author. The index was almost as long as the rest of the book.
At least it had an index. Many of the older tomes in the library lacked even that basic helpful tool.
A quick scan of its disordered information revealed no mention of the name Luna, but a few pages in the index had references to names of the moon in one age or another.
But a quick check of those pages, with one hoof always trapped at the index line, revealed some interesting tidbits about what it had been called and some of the history of the name of the moon in older pony civilizations before Equestria, but little more.
There were infuriating fragments hinting at a guardian of the moon’s cycle, but no mention of a name. And plenty of paintings of the moon without the Mare in the Moon’s shadowy craters, something she had only noted with a passing interest before. Now, she noted the dates the paintings were claimed to have been done. All more than a thousand years ago.
“Twily? Is this going to take much longer?” There was something of a yawn in Shining’s voice.
“It shouldn’t!” She called back, feeling a giddy rush at yelling in the library. She giggled and tried another reference, this one appearing to be more about the guardian. “Ooh. Star Swirl the Bearded was their teacher?” she mused as she perused the page. There was a small portrait of a dark coated mare, wearing an unfamiliar silver crown. The caption below it noted that it was supposedly taken from a locket found in ruins west of Mt. Canterlot some centuries ago. She stared at it for a long time, trying to fit the profile to the statue in Princess Celestia’s private tower.
It wasn’t quite there. The mare in the picture was obviously younger, and even in the worn condition of the portrait, she could tell the horn was shorter, and the muzzle lacking the regal superiority of the larger. She sighed and scanned the rest of the page. No names. Apparently everypony had just called her the “Guardian of Dreams” or “Your Highness” or Princess of the Moon. A foreign ruler?
At the bottom of the page was a note written in a precise, angular hoof, added far more recently. “For more information, see Tome CA01-1, pages three through fifteen, an illuminated history of Equestria’s founding through AC 40. -B. Card, Librarian.”
Feeling like she was onto something, she put the Lunar Lexicon back and dashed back to the reception area.
“I know that look,” Shining Armor said with a small laugh. “What is it?”
“The Lunar Guardian,” she said shortly, already flipping through. “Forty years after Equestria’s founding. C… CA…” She flipped through the cards, stopped at CA02, and rolled back the last ten. “CA01-10, 9,” she murmured, going all the way back to two. “BZ10-9?” She read over the card quickly. “A Treatise on Zapwillows and their use in hydro—” She flipped forward again. Maybe somepony had just misplaced the card.
“Where is it?”
“Check the checkout drawer,” Shining suggested. “It’s okay. You have permission to go back behind the library desk. I’ll make sure you don’t steal anything.” He grinned at her and twisted his neck to watch her.
Hesitant at first, she pushed past the swinging doors into a territory she’d never once even thought of treading. Nopony but Quiet Word was allowed back there during normal hours. But she had to know. Even the title would be helpful.
“Let’s see… Ordered by date of last checkout,” she murmured, flipping back through the cards slowly. It was a short drawer, and not very filled so close to the holidays when ponies returned their books to avoid library fees.
She had to go to the very last card before she found it. It was warped in the way card stock did when it was old or exposed to the elements, the corners browned and the center yellowed with age.
The print, however, was still very much legible.
The Sun and the Moon, Sisters at War, an Illuminated History, Tome CA01-1. Penned originally by Illuminated Wit, 2 AC, translated and copied from original circa 300 AC. Recopied, updated, 700 AC. History of The Battle of the Eclipse and preceding events.
She turned the card this way and that, shaking her head slightly at the way old illuminaters embellished their works with fancy titles and grandiose wording. And, judging by the fact it was created by the first court scribe, a master illuminator described in history class as being especially full of creative prowess, it was likely suitably impressively illustrated, even if its density of information would be pitifully low.
But that title… Something about it tickled at her thoughts. “Hum. Sisters at war? I mean, I suppose. Night and day. Opposites?” She thought about that for a moment, filed it away for later reference, then checked the back of the card.
It was a wonder a three hundred year old copy had ever been in the main library at all. Mrs. Word wouldn’t even let her check out a hundred year old book—she had to read them in the library where Mrs. Word could keep an eye on her. “On permanent loan to Princess Celestia, pursuant to statute 15A of the National Records Initiative, preservation of vital histories.” It was dated ten years ago, around the same time she’d been first accepted into Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns.
“More mysteries. Maybe a hint, though…” A war in olden times that wasn’t in any history books presently. But no solid answers.
“What had Spike said? That he thought the sun and moon were… sentient?” She sat back and tapped the card against her nose, thinking it through. If they were, then they’re ‘sister’ celestial bodies. And the Battle of the Eclipse… Soon after, apparently, Princess Celestia took the throne. She lifted the card an inch and leaned in close, as though even closer inspection could reveal its secrets. “What if she… mediated a truce? What if she’s still mediating between day and night?”
There was an odd symbol at the top right of the card, almost impossible to make out. She cast a faint light on the symbol and pressed it flat against the table, studying it. After a moment, she realized that the squiggles around the edge of one half of it weren’t part of the stain, but half of a stylized sun. The other half could have been the moon, if the darker patches didn’t look so much like moisture stains.
“Princess Celestia’s cutie mark?”
“What was that, Twily? Sorry, I dozed off for a moment.” Shining Armor shifted around on the couch and four hooves clopped to the ground. “They really should not make those couches that comfy.”
“Nothing,” she murmured, putting the card back in its place and pushing all the rest back into their proper order before closing the drawer.
“Nothing, huh?” He eyed her. “You look awfully thoughtful for ‘nothing,’ Twily.”
“Nothing I’m sure of,” she said, looking up at the ceiling and its broad glass dome, frosted with mist while the moon hung steadily in the night, shining down into the library. The Mare’s eye seemed to twinkle in the frosty pane as a diffuse swirl of snow passed in front of her gaze.
Then it was gone and a static shadow of a grand unicorn stared down at her once more.
There wasn’t the same menace in that gaze as she had felt the first night, when she had first learned of the tale of the cake thief. Maybe it was her brother’s solid, bored presence.
“Alright, Twily. So… what have you not quite figured out yet?”
“Do you know about any kind of war that happened around the time Celestia took the throne?”
Shining shrugged. “Sure. Lots of little wars are in the military histories. Diamond dogs encroaching, gryphon raids, some kind of shadowy thing from far up north. There’s just a footnote on that one.”
“Maybe that’s it. It would make sense. Darkness would be the enemy of light, and the moon—”
“Is pretty bright, Twily.”
“Hmm. True.” She stopped pacing. “What about siblings. Does Princess Celestia have, or had, any siblings?”
“That’s a little farther back than our records go, y’know. We don’t know much about the Princess’ private life before we came into the guard, and, well, we don’t ask. None of our business.” He shrugged.
“And before Equestria?”
“Hold on there now. Princess Celestia is not as old as Commander Hurricane or Princess Platinum, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“No, no. Of course not.” Twilight shook her head and rubbed at the base of her horn. She’d already been awake too long. “What about right before Celestia’s reign?”
“Nope. There wasn’t a court scribe before, er…”
“Illuminated Wit. You should know that, silly.”
“Uh, yeah. Him.”
“Her.”
“Of course.” Shining Armor laughed and scrubbed her mane roughly. “You were always better at history than me.”
“Will you be able to help us out, um, later today isn’t it?” Twilight asked her brother as they walked back from the library. It must have been nearing one in the morning.
“Afraid not. I just came up here to check on you. If I don’t go back home…” He winced. “Well. I’d rather not leave her in suspense.”
“Right.” Twilight sighed. “Can you do anything to help?”
“I thought that’s what I was doing.” He grinned at her and bumped her shoulder. “’Sides, you apparently know more about this thing than I do. And no, the guard is not going to help you catch this thief, be it spirit, or ghost, or marauding band of diamond dogs. Princess Celestia has made it known, quietly, that the theft of the cake is nopony’s business but hers. But if she’s decided to clue you in, it must mean she wants you to do something about it.”
“But she could—”
“Twily, If she were ‘stealing’ cake, she’d only be taking what is already hers. She hardly needs to ‘steal’ anything in the castle.” He yawned. “Why in the ever would she do that, then tell us not to worry about it? It’d be like pointing a hoof at herself.”
“No, I meant she could be in danger.”
“The Princess is always in danger. There’s always some plot or scheme, or foreign power, or monster out there wanting to claim her power—not that they could. But they’re always out there. Always. We do our best to mitigate it. But the farther away we can handle it from the castle, the safer she, and her subjects, are. Which is why all these foreign assignments come up in the guard.”
Twilight nodded unhappily.
“The bulk of the royal guard is mostly here for the other ponies in the castle, Twilight, and it’s why we’re so spread out over the rest of Equestria. Hurting her subjects is the best way to hurt her, because she’s so well protected, harming her person is extremely difficult. Her subjects, on the other hoof… She cares. She really does. Which is why I’m proud to do what I can to make sure all of you—” He paused to wave a hoof at the castle. “—stay safe.”
“I know,” Twilight said quietly. “It’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. I want to help keep her safe, too.”
Shining leaned over and gave her a chaste brother’s kiss behind her ear. “I know. I’m proud of you.”
With nothing else she could do that night, and with the promise to Shining Armor still fresh in her mind, she wandered through the motions of getting ready for bed all over again: brush her mane, brush her teeth again, put on her nightcap. By the time her head hit the pillow, she was already drifting down into sleep.
That night, with thoughts of a war in the heavens swirling around her, and a younger Princess Celestia using her wisdom, intellect, and power to broker a deal with them all, her dreams were plagued with visions of her mentor failing over and over again, in different, all too horrifying ways. The sun gone dark after the moon swallowed it whole, the land reduced to an icy waste. The moon reflecting the full light of the sun, turning all of Equestria into a scorched desert littered with the bones of its once subjects.
And all throughout, she was the one who’d let it happen, by not knowing enough, not knowing the right things, or in one particularly horrifying instance when the world had turned into syrup and pancakes, because she hadn’t turned in her homework on time.
She woke to her internal clock a full ten minutes before the small desk clock was set to go off. Her covers were flung half to the floor, with only one spare edge tucked under her flank keeping it from falling to the floor. One of her pillows, the one she hugged close to her, was on the floor, its case somehow under her right shoulder and wrapped halfway around her neck. The other had lost its case entirely, it being wrapped around a hind leg, but the rest of it was still under her head.
After making her bed and making sure she hadn’t done anything else to the bed or its fittings, she checked on Spike.
The poor guy was still sleeping with a comic clutched in one claw. The place it was turned to was apparently a two page spread of a unicorn mare looking up at the moon from atop a giant unicorn horn. The dialog balloon was obscured by Spike’s claw, but judging from the expression, she was shouting.
Twilight’s morning routine served as a calming balm on the lingering phantasms of her dreams, and by the time she had brushed her mane and tail, brushed her teeth, and showered in the empty communal bathroom, the last tatters of bad dream had faded to a faint disquiet.
By that time, Spike was blinking his eyes and yawning. The comic had been put away in his personal bookcase—three shelves of nothing but comics representing four years of accumulation based on his allowance from Twilight’s mother as their adopted son, and copious donations from Shining Armor’s foalhood collection.
“Coming down for breakfast?” Twilight asked him.
After a yawn, he nodded. “Sure. What’re we having?”
That was right. The school cafeteria was closed for the winter holidays after yesterday. She rapped a hoof on her forehead for not thinking of that sooner. “I… suppose we’ll find out. Maybe we can go to the kitchens and make something ourselves.” It wouldn’t be the first time she’d made some abortive attempt at cooking breakfast at the school, and the thought didn’t fill her with confidence. Today was the day. She had to get her plans finalized.
“Go take a bath, Spike, then we’ll go down for breakfast,” she decided, pulling quills and cards from her desk.
“Aww, but I just had a bath yesterday!”
“Being scrubbed down by a carpet does not count as a bath. For one, it doesn’t get behind your spines. Or other places.”
“Oh, trust me,” he grumbled, but pulled a towel from the room’s small linen cupboard and stalked into the bathroom. “It got me plenty clean.”
Breakfast in the cafeteria level found her in the company of only two other ponies, Muffins and Crunchy Crust, both of whom she had only seen in their wing of the castle. Not that there was a prohibition against non-students eating in the student cafeteria on holidays, provided they bring their own food, but it was uncommon. The doors to the cafeteria line were closed, as she’d expected, but at least she wouldn’t have to cook, she saw.
“Good morning, Twilight!” Muffins called, startling Crunchy into accidentally squishing his muffin into a ball. “We’ve got muffins!”
The white star on Crunchy’s forehead blazed pink as he looked away, trying in vain to decompress his muffin. “’Morning,” he murmured.
“They look delicious,” Twilight said politely, then smelled the warm scent rising from the platter piled high with them. “And smell amazing. Thank you!” She pulled one from the pile and sat down with them. “When did you get up to cook all these?”
“Oh, no problem, and just around five. Normal time. Crunchy helped, but he was a little reluctant to come. Something about making a mess of things yesterday.” Muffins grinned across the table, seemingly unaware of Crunchy’s embarrassment.
“She’s evil,” Crunchy muttered in between nibbles of his muffin.
“Oh, come on. I am not evil. I’m the bubbliest mare you’ll ever meet! I’ve even got the cutie mark to prove it.” She laughed, unrestrained by tray of muffins or dark story, and its echoes chased each other around the cafeteria like playful foals. “You’re just upset that Twilight didn’t notice you mooning over her.”
“Eee-vil,” Crunchy hissed, but he didn’t move, and a cautious glance up at Twilight seemed to strengthen his resolve. “M-Muffins told me why you wanted our help.” He swallowed, his throat bobbing harshly. “I, uh, I’d like to help. If I can. I mean, I can do some things, but leave me out of the sting, okay? I… I don’t like confrontation.”
“Obviously,” Muffins said, rolling her eyes and rolling a muffin towards Twilight with a flick of a wingtip. “I will likewise have to call out. I’ve got to fly to Ponyville and help my mom before tonight’s blizzard.”
“Ponyville?”
“Yeah, little town, down by the Everfree Forest.”
“Oh.” She could recall the town vaguely from geography lessons, but little about it other than it was known for its apples. “So just Spike and I, then?”
“I’ll stay with you, Twilight!” Spike said around a bite of muffin.
“Thank you, Spike.”
“I guess so.” Muffins looked apologetic. “If we don’t catch them this year, there’s always next year.”
“I don’t think there will be.” Twilight shook her head slightly. “Something about all of this is nagging at me, and I can’t put a hoof on it. It’s something important, though. Something…” She glanced at the two kitchen ponies. “I’m not sure I can share everything I know with you. Some if it was said to me in what I think is confidentiality, even though it was never said explicitly.”
To Twilight’s surprise, Muffins looked guiltily down at the plate of muffins and nodded.
“What?”
“I… I can’t say. That confidence thing. I don’t want to share something I wasn’t supposed to know.”
“About the thief?”
“Er… Can we talk about something else?” Muffins rolled one of the muffins toward herself with a wingtip, pointedly not looking at Twilight. “I don’t feel comfortable even thinking about it.”
“Um. Suuure.”
“Bait!” Spike said and grabbed a muffin off the plate to take a big bite. “We leaf baith. Shomethinf—”
“Chew, then swallow. Don’t talk with your mouth open, please.”
“Yeth, motherf.” Spike rolled his eyes, finished chewing, and swallowed. “We leave bait. Like I suggested last night. Cupcakes. Big ones. With frosting like a cutie mark. Or,” he patted his backpack, slung beside him on the long bench. “A cutie confection.”
Crunchy blushed even looking at Twilight, but his voice was more under control as he said, “I can always make another one for you. If you’d like. I mean… I’m getting better. It wouldn’t take but a thought.”
“Sure. Can you make two today?”
“For you? Of course!”
“Not for me. I want them to be yours and Muffins’s cutie marks. I’ve already been recognized. I don’t want to scare the cutie stealer… the… Shoot. Sable always has a nickname for them. Like the Blind Burglar, or the Tempestuous Thief.”
“Yeah, that last one doesn’t really roll off the tongue,” Muffins said, frowning. “But I agree it is important to name them. Ooh! The Caked Crusader! Because they’re on a quest to steal cake!”
“No, they’re stealing. I wouldn’t call that… but—” She thought back to the war. Suppose it was a cult of ponies, but not like she thought of them as, but as a faction of the losing side in the Battle of the Eclipse. Maybe they’d held a grudge for so long that they considered it a crusade of sorts. “That… might work, now that I think about it.”
“Caked Crusader! Your time is up!” Spike shouted, thrusting his half-eaten muffin in the air like a sword. “The Juvenile Justice Jury comes for you!”
Crunchy snorted a laugh, then covered his muzzle and continued giggling, trying not to look Spike in the eye. Muffins, either less afraid of Spike’s ire, or less restrained, burst out laughing and fell off the bench into her back, wings stretched up to hold her sides as gales of laughter wracked her.
Twilight couldn’t help herself either, but managed to stay in her seat at least as she struggled, failed, and kept on trying to contain her laughter.
“What?” Spike asked with a half-laugh, staring around the table. “What’d I say?”
“J-Juvenile J-justice—” Twilight managed to get out before breaking out into a fit of the giggles. “Where’d you g-get a name like that?”
“Well… From the Juvenile Justice Jury comics, of course.” Spike tapped his claws together, looking flushed. “Shining Armor gave them to me last year,” he added, sounding defensive, “and I love them. See, they’re all sidekicks of the Power Ponies who went off to start their own team when they got tired of being sidekicks.” He fished around in his backpack, pulling out a comic. “All that’s left of them in the original comics is Hum Drum, and there’s a big emotional arc about him deciding not to follow the Triple Js in Power Ponies number 45. Of course,” he said, waving a claw dismissively, “he tried to deliver the final speech in the middle of a battle between the Power Ponies and Maneiac, and set off the—”
“I get it, Spike. Really, I do,” Twilight said quickly, lips quivering with the force of contained giggles. She swallowed and coughed, tapping her chest with a hoof. “I don’t need to know everything about them to understand why it’s important. We’ll call ourselves the—” She had to pause and swallow another fit of the giggles. “Juvenile Justice Jury if it makes you happy.”
“Thank you.”
“Now that we’ve n-named everything,” Muffins said with a titter, quickly stifled, though her eyes shone bright, “What’s the plan? And how can we help you get ready?”
Twilight pulled out a stack of cards, tapped them lightly on the table to sort them, and started laying out pieces of a map, copied from Princess Celestia’s master map that morning.
Because she had been in a hurry, she hadn’t much of a chance to experiment with it, but she had found by saying the name of a room and thinking about what it looked like, the map would show her the room in exquisite detail. The same for ponies, if she said their name and thought about what they looked like in her mind, showing the section of castle they were currently in, but not which specific room. At least, she assumed that was the case. Having no time to think further on it or experiment with it, she had brought it back to the kitchen and traced out its every contour onto nine index cards which she laid out for her companions to see.
“This is the kitchen where the cake is.” Twilight pointed to a green oval she’d drawn on one of the cards farthest from the door. “This is approximately the construction area for the cake.” She next indicated a red line drawn from one card to the next in a straight line configuration. “And this is the optimum path to the cake from the entrance.”
When she sat back, Twilight watched her companions puzzling over the map.
“What if they come in from the skylight?”
“The skylight? But it’s solid glass. And they’ve never come in that way before. Spike, this is a crime of habit. According to Honey, it’s the same every time, year after year.”
“But what if—” He cut off, looking down at his feet. “What’s the point?”
Twilight glanced around the small group, settling on Muffins, who was giving her an encouraging smile and a subtle head bob towards Spike. It took her a moment, but she got it.
“Spike, I don’t think they will. But we’re also showing a lot more interest in the case than before, too. So who knows. Maybe they will try something.” A thought hit her then, and she chuckled. Brilliant! “Here’s a new word for you, Spike. Contingency. I want you to come up with as many contingencies as you can. And then plan for them. It’s called contingency planning. It’s something Sable does all the time.”
“Yeah? What’s that mean?”
“It means, in this instance, possible events in the future. I want you to come up with as many ideas as you can, and write them down. You can use as many note cards as you want.” Twilight peeled off twenty from her stack, and floated a quill and inkpot from her saddlebags towards him. “You’ve come up with so many different ideas, Spike. I would greatly appreciate you continuing that effort.”
“Will do!” He snatched up the offered items and started immediately drawing and writing.
“Nicely handled,” Muffins murmured across the table.
“Thank you. And thank you for, er, teaching me a little bit about colts.” Twilight shot a glance at Crunchy, still not sure how to handle that confusion.
“Hey, no problem! So… what’s the main plan?”
“Well, the main plan is the original plan that Spike came up with last night. The decoy cakes. Or bait cakes.” She frowned. “Spike, what’s a good—”
“Baked bait,” he offered. Twilight could tell he wasn’t really paying attention anymore. He didn’t even look up when he offered the suggestion, but he did smile.
“Hrm.” Twilight pursed her lips. “Not quite… Maybe… Tricky Treats?”
“I like it!” Muffins laughed and slapped a hoof against the table. “It’s like… Nightmare Night! But no Nightmare Moon.”
Twilight kept her gaze from rising to the ceiling by main force of will. “Right! No Nightmare Moon. So. We lay the Tricky Treats in the center of the kitchen, already plated, with your two cutie marks on top. We can tell the chefs that I asked for two cakes to share with my friends tomorrow.”
“Well, you are. Aren’t you? And shouldn’t we make four? You, me, Spike, Crunchy.”
Twilight clicked her tongue. Muffins was right. “Of course. Four. Crunchy, can you make something like a cutie mark for Spike, too?”
“Sure can. What should it be?”
Spike looked up. “I’d like a green flame.” He pursed his lips and blew a thin stream of the magical flame up to a few inches above his nose. “Like that.
“Can do. So…” Crunchy chewed his lower lip for a moment, looking off in the distance. “Why four cupcakes specifically? I thought it was two pieces of cake.”
“Two out of how many? I don’t think we can rely on the thief choosing just our two pieces. With more options to choose from, the more options there will be for them to take. And,” she glanced at Spike, still happily drawing and writing on his notecards at a furious pace, “it’s always two, right? Not three or four or more some years, then less, or more. This isn’t a regular crime.”
“And, um.” Crunchy looked down, up, anywhere but at Twilight. “Why are, um is, the thief going to take our cupcakes instead of the regular cake?”
“Because we’re going to borrow the pieces the thief would have taken.”
“Borrow?” Honey Cake asked. “How do you borrow cake?”
Twilight smiled. “Borrow, and in this case, hide the cake. I would like to borrow the pieces that would normally be stolen. The sixth and twelfth month pieces. I promise I will not let any harm come to them. In fact, I would suggest putting them in one of the smaller kitchens, closer to the castle barracks. I very much doubt a thief would want to get any closer to the barracks than necessary.”
“Mhmm. You’ve thought this out, I see.” Honey Cake sighed and swiped a hoof at a seemingly permanent flour stain on her coat. “I admit, I would like to see us lose one less piece of cake this year. Let’s hear the rest of the plan.”
Twilight hesitated, fighting to trust her memory instead of checking her notes for the umpteenth time. “Well, once the pieces are hidden, and the thief comes in here looking for the pieces they’ve always stolen, and they’re not here, we’ll be able to catch them. Or at least follow them to where they’ve been hiding. Once they’ve been caught, and the plot exposed, there won’t be any benefit to stealing cake again. I mean, other than delicious cake.”
“And what will you do when some unsuspecting, hungry guard inevitably checks the refrigerator for a late night snack?”
“Well… leave a note asking them not to eat it at Princess Celestia’s request?”
“And you have this note, of course.”
“No.” Twilight scrubbed at her chin. She couldn’t even ask Princess Celestia for a note after she’d been asked to ignore the thief. “I’ll leave a note, in that case, asking them as Princess Celestia’s personal student to not eat the cake. They’ll listen to me, won’t they?”
“Hmm. A hungry guard versus a piece of paper, even one signed by Princess Celestia herself, tacked to a plate. You have seen the guard eat before, right?” When Twilight shook her head, Honey Cake laughed softly. “I’ve seen calmer tornadoes. Tell you what. I’ll lend you my kitchen for the day to cook enough to feed the night guards so they don’t go looking for something to eat. You do that, clean up, and bake the four cupcakes to my satisfaction, and I’ll lend you the two pieces of cake. Does that sound like a deal?” Honey Cake glanced behind Twilight to the three onlookers. “Oh, and you can have Muffins and Crunchy Crust help you out, too.”
“And me,” Spike called.
“Your helping your friend—”
“Sister! Twilight is Spike’s sister.” Muffins laughed, tapping her hooves together.
Spike and Twilight shared a look, and she started giggling. He snorted and looked away.
“Oh, come on, you totally are!”
Honey Cake laughed too. “She’s right, you know. She is more like your sister than a teacher, and family is very important. You both help each other, even though each of you annoys the other.”
“Yeah, well, big sisters are supposed to be frustrating, right? She is totally that.”
Twilight scrunched up her nose, annoyed. “We are not.” Her eyes grew wide at the seeming admission of sisterhood. “Anyway, it’s my job to teach and educate you, even if you find it annoying or frustrating.”
Spike made a matching face and stuck out his tongue.
Behind them, Muffins laughed raucously, followed a moment later by a nervous titter from Crunchy.
“You are definitely siblings,” Honey Cake declared with a hearty laugh of her own. “You’re just like my oldest filly and youngest colt, Twilight.” Before any more complaints, she slapped a hoof on the floor and glanced up at the skylight where morning light was spilling in and down the smooth inner surface of the dome’s supporting wall. “Morning is on the move, and you’ve only got five hours or so before the kitchens officially close down. There’s a lot of cleaning we have to do before the feast tomorrow evening, so you four better get moving.”
It took Twilight and her companions four hours to bake enough muffins for the entire night shift of guards, all fifty of them, aided by the industrial scale of the main kitchen and its ovens. In the end, one hundred muffins on ten platters waited to be carried down to the northern barracks kitchen, the one closest to the throne room, and the barracks most populated during the winter months. They were responsible for the personal safety of the Princess.
Twilight had hoped to visit her brother there and explain things, but the guard captain she talked to said he’d already left to return home. The captain, who identified himself as Rough Tumble, snorted—an act that in no way diminished the way he seemed to resemble his name in some indefinable way.
“Hmm. I was hoping he’d help. See,” she gestured at the ten platters on the cart rolling behind her, pushed by Crunchy and Spike with Muffins hovering above to ensure none of the muffins fell off. “I wanted to do a favor for the guard tonight, and feed them.” The two pieces of cake balanced on a plate in a telekinesis spell were covered by a small glass dome with a note taped to it and a black cloth tied around the top knob to hold it there. “And this,” she indicated the plate, “is going to be kept safe in the barracks kitchen fridge. Preferably in the back. It’s for the feast tomorrow.”
“And the cart of muffins?” He asked, sniffing the air, his eyes brightening.
“As payment for a job well done. In advance.”
He snorted, shaking his head. “Sure. That’s what it is.” A small grin parted his lips. “Miss Sparkle, I’ve been around a long time, and I’ve seen a lot of ‘covert’ actions.” He laughed at a joke only he seemed to understand. At least, Twilight didn’t understand what it was all about. “This smells like a bribe to not eat whatever is under that covering, rather than a payment. Am I right?”
“Um. Sure. I guess it might be.” Twilight cocked her head at the guard captain, then at the plate hovering in front of her. “Can I tell you the real reason we’re doing this?”
“I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”
“Do you know about the Winter Solstice cake thief?”
“Oh.” Rough Tumble made a faintly disgusted face. “Sure I do. Not sure why you’re getting all worked up over that faerie’s tail, though. You tweak and tweak and never get more than a hair or more off that pony’s posterior. I suspect Princess Celestia told us to lay off so as to not waste time on a harmless prankster.” He nodded at the cloaked cake. “Nice touch, though. Not gonna help any, I’d wager. It needs something more, or you’ll just get more cake stolen, and maybe this lot ate.”
“Like what?” Rising panic forced Twilight to take a breath. What did I overlook? “Hide the whole cake?”
“Well, no. Ya can’t really hide something that big and keep it undisturbed. ‘Specially not in a castle as busy as this. But, y’see the thing about pranksters is, they like to be acknowledged. It’s the thrill. The skill it takes to pull off something like this. Usually they don’t care about bein’ caught, cuz that’s part of the game to them. This one, though…” He rubbed at his chin again, looking off into the distance.
“What about this one?”
“Well… Is’ gotta be some kinda family tradition to keep it goin’ on this long. Y’know, like a family pride kind of thing. That’s the only thing that’ll keep something so silly. Blood, y’know. Pride in yer family’s history.” He shrugged. “Lotta us in the Guard, we’re lifers. Our moms and pops, too. And their moms and pops before em. And so on, down to… who knows. Mayhap some snide little fool got their tail chewed a few centuries back, started stealing cake. Thought it was a point of pride to keep on keepin’ on, brought their kid in. Who knows.”
“So… I just give up?”
“Nah.” He grinned. “I figure somepony’s gotta catch up to ‘em some day. Heck! Maybe I’ll toast ya a cider someday for finally stoppin’ that nag.” He laughed softly, a rumble of rocks down a mountain. “Jus’ feel like it needs a little more.”
“Maybe a note? Maybe if we just asked please to the thief directly, they would stop. If it’s been going on in a family like you say, then maybe the current generation doesn’t really know why. Maybe if they knew it was causing grief to the Princess, they would stop.”
“Could be. Could be.” He was nodding for a moment, then shrugged one hoof. “Sure. Why not. I’ll keep a personal watch on the, er, goodies.” He nodded at the covered plate. “And my mares and stallions won’t even question it if they’ve got some a’ Muffins’ baking—” He gave the young mare a wink. “—to distract em.”
“Thank you!”
All the way back to the kitchens, Twilight was composing the note in her head, throwing out ideas and thoughts as often as new ones popped in. Rough Tumble’s suggestion that it might be a family feud extended into centuries on some decision of Princess Celestia’s or another had been low on her list of possible reasons.
Most families, she had assumed, would stay in Canterlot because they enjoyed living in the auspices of the capital city and under the protective gaze of Princess Celestia’s ever vigilant eye. But if they had stayed for a more sinister reason…
But he had also been right that the real reason for a family maybe doing that would almost certainly be lost to the centuries. Maybe the rightly reasoned letter would work to dissuade them from even taking the cupcakes.
If it is, in fact, a pony doing this. Ever since she had overheard Princess Celestia talking to an empty chamber, she had become less and less certain that it was a pony. There were strange things out in Equestria. A ghost would be the least of those strange things, and scholars and explorers were constantly discovering new, although truly only new in the sense that they had been rediscovered, artifacts, creatures, and scrolls that told of even more improbable things lost to the distant past.
That Equestria was a land of ancient ruins and myths wasn’t up for debate, as far as she knew. Even Canterlot had its store of historical sites buried in plain sight and disregarded except for the curious few. The First Hoofsteps upon Mt. Canter, for example. It was a set of three gold inlaid horseshoes at the bottom of the mountain, just outside a cordoned off cave. When she had placed her hoof on one, a thrill of excitement had filled her, and an awe at standing in the same place Smart Cookie had once stood.
She had long been convinced that it wasn’t just a feeling of excitement, but a reaching out from somewhere, or somewhen, else to her. A ghost of the past, as in Princess Celestia’s explanation.
Muffins stopped ahead of Twilight at an intersection, tail frozen in mid flick. Crunchy, whom she’d been talking to quietly, kept going for several pony lengths before he was aware of her absence.
“Oh no! I’m gonna be late!” Muffins shouted, pointing at a clock in a niche along one wall, the hour hand pointing at three, and the minute hand at three quarters of an hour. “I’ve gotta go now!” Before Twilight could do more than offer half of ‘What’, Muffins had thrown a foreleg over her neck, planted a sloppy kiss behind her ear, and bolted past Crunchy, giving him a flick and a wink as she passed. “Talk to you next year, Crunchy!”
She leapt with an echoing laugh and caught a wingful of air. Moments later, the sound of an upper balcony aerie door opening and slamming shut again announced she was gone.
Evening, and the night beyond it, were fast approaching.
“Well, would you look at the time,” Crunchy said, his cheeks reddening even under his darker coat, and the star on his forehead took on the look of a particularly ripe raspberry. “I… uh…” His tail flicked back and forth as he desperately looked anywhere but at Twilight.
“So…” Twilight murmured. “Um. Thank—”
“I’vegottago!” Crunchy blurted, and before Twilight could parse the rush of garbled words, he was gone, hooves clattering down a side corridor.
“Colts are strange,” Twilight said flatly, watching his tail disappear around a corner leading to a mare’s bathroom. Muffled screams erupted from the hall, and Crunchy dashed out again, not looking back even once.
“Yep. They sure are.”
“Aren’t you a colt, though?”
“Pfah. No. I’m an adol… adultess…” Spike frowned, tapping his chin.
“Adolescent? Adolescence?”
“That’s it. I’m an addled essence dragon!”
Twilight opened her mouth, thought better of it, and snorted a laugh. “Yes, Spike. Yes you are. But in that context, it would have been adolescent. Addled essence means something… different.”
The skylight was bleeding orange and gold into the kitchen when they arrived, draping the frosting with a dappled gilt pattern and setting the cutie confections to blazing with internal light.
As Twilight watched, a drift of snow occluded the gleaming brilliance, then snuffed it out as the dome was covered by a sifting drift of gold, fading the kitchen back to a cheery copper peppered by the reflected flicker of the fireplace, the one active remaining oven, and the stabler unicorn lamps bracketed to the walls.
“All set?” Honey Cake asked her from one of the counters. She was engaged in rolling out a thin crust and alternately sprinkling cinnamon and sugar on the dough.
“Not quite,” she said and walked to her saddlebags. She pulled out a quill and small scroll of parchment to start a note. “I want to write a note to the thief, so they don’t get angry.”
Honey cake looked at her quizzically for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, dear. The kitchen is yours then. Be sure to bank the fire in the main oven at nine o’clock sharp, and if you want to get a handle on cleaning up for us, that would be mighty appreciated.”
“But I’m not—” Staying overnight. But she was. All night if she had to. “Is there a checklist?”
“Of course.” Honey Cake pointed to a scroll tacked to the wall beside the door. “It’s all in there. Tell me all about it tomorrow, okay?”
Honey Cake left then, leaving Twilight and Spike alone in the warm and cozy kitchen, with its fading golden glow turning purple and red by inches.
Dear
She paused, staring at the page. She couldn’t call the thief a thief. That would be confrontational and likely produce a counter to the effect she wanted. She tapped the feathered end of her quill against her lips.
connoisseur of fine cake,
That looked about right, she decided.
Please accept these four cupcakes, of a volume equal to or greater than the two slices of cake you would have otherwise
She left the nib sit too long in one spot in the place she would have written stolen and sighed. She pulled out another small roll of parchment and transcribed all she had written so far, then stopped to think.
enjoyed tonight. We made these cupcakes especially for you, and included the finest of confectionery toppers representing on each one of the helpers who put their work and toil into creating these cupcakes for you. The frosting for mine, Twilight Sparkle, is a purple fudge, and the cake is red velvet with a touch of coloring to make it match my coat. Spike’s is the minty green frosting with the flame confection, and a double-fudge cake. Muffins chose vanilla and lemon-drop icing. Her confection is a series of bubbles, and Crunchy Crust made one with a cream cheese frosting on a plain red velvet cake. His confection is a pie crust in a tin.
She pondered the names and the descriptions, sighed, and pulled out another scroll. On this one, she transcribed everything except for their names, leaving only the descriptions of the cupcakes and their ingredients. The thief didn’t need to know whom had contributed what.
We hope that you will enjoy them.
For her signature, she hesitated, wondering if she should sign it at all. Or if she could sign for her companions. Or even for Spike.
Almost an hour into Twilight’s moonlight vigil, long after she had finished cleaning the kitchen and setting the list to rights, and then double and triple checking it, Spike began snoring quietly beside her, having almost an hour ago set aside his comic so that Twilight could dim the light from her horn. Now, she waited in a silver slice of light.
The pantry she’d found to hide in had a great view over most of the kitchen, being close to the door, but built in at an angle so as not to obstruct the flow of movement in the kitchen.
The sand in the hourglass before her hooves shimmered like liquid silver as it hissed quietly into the bottom reservoir. She’d already reset it three times, and it was fast approaching the midnight hour.
Not long. She reminded herself as a yawn crawled up her throat, only to be strangled in a teary-eyed groan. If she yawned, there was no turning back. She wiped the exhausted tears from her eyes and resettled herself again, going over the speech she’d prepared and re-prepared in her mind for when the thief finally came out.
She could see both the cake and the plate of cupcakes from her vantage point. In the quiet silver light, both shone with subtler colors that were hidden in the golden light of the sun, or even the waning molten copper of the ovens and fireplaces, and seemed frozen in the argent moonlight drenching the kitchen beyond.
Above everything, the spectral moon hung, the Mare in the Moon staring down, seemingly right at her, her eye twinkling in the wind as snow or high stratus passed in front of it. The glass dome had been blown clean by a late-night gust, and not even a drift rested against the insulated plates of glass. Of the wind, she could hear little beside a faint, ethereal moaning.
On the other side of the kitchen, the banked fire gave off a faint streamer of smoke, the last of the visible embers dying into an almost invisible glow before even that little light faded, leaving the tidy pile of ash and cinder looking like somepony’s crude attempt at a snowpony, fallen apart and frozen in the night air.
Cold seeped in through the pile of beet and carrot sacks, all empty and waiting to be hauled down to the farmers again.
Her breath began to mist before it happened.
It took a moment for Twilight to notice that the faint shushing hiss of sand in her hourglass had stopped. As before, she prepared to flip it again when she froze. It hadn’t stopped. It was as though time had turned sluggish and was freezing even as the temperature in the kitchen dropped.
Silver specks hung motionless just below the neck of the upper reservoir. But not quite motionless. Sparkling bits of moon dust held in stasis by a gravity one tenth of the usual. As she watched, the motes drifted down to settle, but instead of flowing down into a cone, it piled up higher and higher, a silver stalagmite, until it plugged the neck.
For what felt like an hour, she stared at the hourglass, then closed her eyes and listened. Her heart beat still, and her lungs filled with air and emptied as she exhaled, but a few inches past her muzzle, the fog of her breathing crawled to a stop and hung motionless.
Is this a dream? For a moment, she panicked. I didn’t fall asleep, did I? But in the time it took to think it, reason returned. She had always woken at the moment of greatest panic before, and she was curiously aware of her whole self, something not usually in a dream.
She tapped the hourglass with a hoof. It tipped to an angle, the sand pillar inside dissolving into a spray of sand against the side and and froze again when she pulled her hoof back.
The light of the moon dimmed, flared, and dimmed again. Twilight looked up quickly, scanning for what had caused the shadow. The moon still hung above the dome, the single eye of the Mare glowing cyanic blue. After a moment, the blue glow flickered and waned, died, and came back.
The Mare in the Moon’s horn glowed gold, and a piercing streamer of light lanced down to connect the earth to the moon, and froze. After a brief flash of light, it looked less like light and more like a rope. An impossibly brilliant rope that gave off no light of its own.
In the kitchen, a flicker of argent blue light drew her eyes.
There, just feet away, was a young mare, her wings furled, her horn glowing the same brilliant, pale blue. Alicorn. The word flared in her mind. Like Princess Cadance. Like Princess Celestia. A powerful magic user. Living on the moon?
And she had cast a time spell that halted everything but Twilight. She could still move, still think and see. She could still act.
She needed a plan. None of her plans had included facing down an alicorn, immortal or not, in the castle.
Think, Twilight, think! There has to be a way to stop her.
One way might be to get time moving again. Time spells. Time spells. She gritted her teeth. They had covered the theory of time spells in Thaumaturgical Math, but there wasn’t anything concrete. One of the things her teacher had impressed on them was that time spells were dangerous, and they were only covered so that students would know to stay away from them.
“If only-” She caught the rest of the words behind a hoof, but not before the intruder reacted.
The doors of the pantry wrenched open, freezing where they were when the powerful spell stopped acting on them as the magic field redirected to catch her. Twilight clenched her teeth, waiting to be picked up and handled roughly, but nothing happened.
The magic field, the same cyan as the eye, brighter than the the alicorn’s coat, halted, flowed around her as if to drown her in it, and faded.
“Huh?”
“Who art thou?” The voice, that of a teenage pony, did not quaver or hitch, sounding almost angry. “Who art thou that throws off our spell so readily? Be thou an alicorn?” A moment later, the aristocratic features of the face came into the light of the moon fully, her mane at first the shade of clouds in a moonlight sky, her coat the night itself, and eyes somewhere between the silver of the moon and the blue of an ocean wave. As she moved, her mane rolled like a tide against her shoulders, almost the shade of a summer morning on the mountain, a blue so clear Twilight could almost see the fading stars in them.
She had a sudden inkling of the nervous churning, gut-wrenching tug of yearning that must have plagued Crunchy Crust the last few days.
“Me?”
“Indeed. Answer us.”
“Twilight Sparkle.” She stepped out of the pantry, looking back to see Spike still sleeping, as motionless as the hourglass, as everything else. “Is this a dream?”
“Dream?” The regal mare snorted. “Our realm is not known to one such as thee. This is no dream, stripling mare.” Something in her bearing, the way her head no longer rose imperiously, her muzzle no longer level, or a sixth sense, made Twilight wonder if a seed of doubt had been planted. “Our dreams are our domain. No pony may encroach upon them without our consent. It was decided when we rose to this—” The pony flared her wings and her horn at the same time. “—that it would be so.”
“Are you sure? Because…” Twilight pointed at the hourglass, hanging precariously on one edge, as though perfectly balanced. “Unless you can maintain a time freezing spell for this long, it’s a dream. I don’t think even Star Swirl could do this, and he’s the most powerful spellcaster I’ve ever heard of.”
“Time freezing?” The intruder’s wings slumped, folding back along her flanks, and the flare of power around her horn faded to nothing. The mention of Star Swirl seemed to put the mare at ease, though, and the aristocratic bent to her neck relaxed ever so slightly. “I—we are casting no such spell. We have never learned time spells. Our sibling said they were too dangerous. Who art thou, truly? Is this a dream we find ourselves in?” She pawed at the floor with a hoof, but no sound came of it. She frowned, first at the silent floor, then at Twilight. “Thine own dream? Did thou summon us?”
“Not on purpose. So I am dreaming? Who are you?”
“Our name is Luna.” Luna looked up to the moon. “This must surely be a dream. Our moon had no such mark when I…” Uncertainty bloomed in the mare’s expression. “Art thou… real? Is this some nightmare of ours, come back to us?” She took several steps closer to Twilight, stopped, and turned around to the cake. “It must be. There is our cake. This must be the academy. And…”
Twilight watched as the mare flickered in and out of existence, then steadied and looked at her. “We cannot remove thee from our dream. We have always been able to control our dreams. Why art thou still here?”
“I’m… here to stop a thief. A thief that steals cake every year. Princess—” She stopped from mentioning Princess Celestia’s name. If this was a ghost, mentioning a past acquaintance might upset its presence. “Our princess has lost cake for a long time, and I’m putting a stop to it.”
“Noble of thee,” Luna said, glancing at the cake with its two missing pieces. “Thou hast failed, dreamling, but noble of thee all the same.”
“I have not failed.” Twilight pointed a hoof at the table with the cupcake platters on it. Will a ghost be satisfied? She seems a lot more solid than any ghost I’ve ever heard of.
The mare spent a moment reading the note, and laughed, a sharp sweet note of mirth. “Thou art a clever pony indeed, Twilight Sparkle. How did thou know of our plans for this night in particular? Nopony but us and our sibling knew of this night, and I doubt very much she would dream of this in such a way.”
“Investigation. Reason.” Luck. “What was your plan?”
“We are not a thief. Of that, we can assure thee. Tonight…” Luna turned a slow circle.
As Twilight watched the young mare’s face, her heart grew heavy in her chest. She was beautiful, even as the certainty that she had appeared with faded and the stars in her mane dimmed and winked out, leaving her with a still beautiful mane of starlit cloud. Her chest ached with the need to tell Luna, but she couldn’t be much older than Twilight was herself, and she couldn’t confront her about what she suspected, and didn’t want to watch that beautiful face fall in despair.
Besides which, it was rude to tell ghosts they were dead, and sometimes even dangerous. There was none of the despairing feeling about this apparition that Twilight would have expected, only an uncertain confusion that clouded her features, obscuring some of the statuesque precision of her mien, softening her cheeks and her brow as her ears drooped.
“What was going to happen tonight?” Twilight ventured after a long pause of watching Luna study her surroundings, and seeing the mare’s confidence and seeming stature diminish even further.
“We… I.” Luna stopped pacing to face her. “My sister and I are going to celebrate. We have graduated. We are at the top of our class.” She nodded to the cake. “We, along with every other of the twelve, were to be celebrated tonight. But tonight is not tonight, is it? And I am… My memories seem to be clouded.”
Twilight hesitated, torn between honesty and a gentle lie.
“Thou consider my feelings? Do not worry.” Luna swallowed. “I am… We are strong.”
“No.” Twilight stepped closer, lifting the plate with hers and Spike’s cupcakes on it, letting it drift closer to Luna. “It’s not tonight. Not the night you think it is.”
“Ah. We see.” Some of the cold authority came back into the voice for just an instant, and faded as Luna lifted the other plate. “Thou offer cupcakes to us?”
Something about the ‘us’ felt different, as though it was less personal and more intimate than a royal plural. “I do. Will you accept them?”
“I will. Will thou walk with me for a time? There is… comfort in thy presence, I find.”
“Of course.”
With little ceremony, Twilight followed Luna out of the kitchen, opening the door for her, and closing it behind them with a quick glance at Spike’s hiding place. From what she could see, the doors were still open in mid-swing, the hourglass still halfway towards falling over. Whatever was happening, that was a powerful effect. The thaumaturgical equations for how much power must be inherent in freezing time in even an area the size of the kitchen for so long ran into problems with unbelievable numbers running out of the range of her ability to comprehend. It would take a year or more to build up that kind of power, at the least.
“Art thou a student?” Luna asked as they rounded a corner. A guard locked in mid-step waited, her eyes unmoving, her wings folded to her mail shirt.
“I am. Are you?”
“I was. I am graduated now, of course. But from this night,” she said, pausing to gesture towards the kitchen, “tomorrow, my sister and I move down the mountain and take up our new duties. Princesses, they say. Royalty? I’m not certain of this, but sister dearest says I must practice. I hope that my earlier brusqueness was not antagonistic towards thee.”
“No,” Twilight blurted. “I mean, it was surprising is all.”
“Good.” Luna paused beside the guard, inspecting her carefully, studying the lance and its head before turning away. “Curious. Somepony has laid a powerful enchantment on the school. A mishap? Considering it is a time spell… could this be an image of the future I am seeing? Thine accent and manner does remind one of the country ponies to the south, so it could be or it could not be. Thou could be a student from next year for all I know.”
“I… don’t know.” Twilight considered the thought. A visitor from the past, stealing cake every year? She shook her head. It would have to be an improbably powerful spell, even more so than freezing time, and cast with even more precision, to project a pony forward in time in reliable steps. Unless it were a mishap, a million to one mistake; a time loop stuck in a one year cycle for a thousand years. “It could be.” Her heart jumped at the thought. Perhaps not a ghost at all.
They passed the guard, who gave no indication of unfreezing anytime soon.
“Out of curiosity,” Twilight said a few steps later, “and just in case you are a time traveler, so we don’t mess with the past, what year is it?”
“1560, A.W., of course.” Luna gave her a curious glance when Twilight stumbled over her own hooves. “Why? What year is it in thine hypothetical time? My answer seems to have startled thee quite severely.”
“Um…” Twilight thought, throwing calculations together. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Hmm.” Luna stopped at the main gate, considering the design of the wood and iron banding, all of it etched decoratively and painted with essence of pearl so the etchings seemed to glow in the scant moonlight. The gate was sealed for the night, and the etching and paint, more than decorative, would hold against an army. “Let me think on my answer. This gate, with so powerful a warding, makes me nervous to ask. Never was there a need for such protections before.”
“A-and how old are you?” Twilight asked impulsively. “N-not that it matters much, considering the whole… you know, time thing.” She laughed unconvincingly.
Luna shot her another high-brow look, and smiled with a laugh. “I will see my twentieth birthday in another week. Nineteen, then. But thou cannot be much younger than I.”
“I am sixteen years old, last month.”
“I see.” Luna turned from the gate and made her way down another corridor to a smaller, less used, concealed gate, and pursed her lips as she walked, glancing about her as though at unfamiliar landmarks, though it seemed to Twilight that Luna knew her way around the castle better than she did. “I withdraw my question. I do not wish to know what year it is in your time.”
Twilight smiled weakly. 1560 A.W. was not quite a decade before the A.C. notation began in the histories. This mare would live through the Eclipse War, perhaps fight in it. Perhaps even die in it. She swallowed back a lump in her throat and blinked rapidly to clear her vision. “M-maybe that’s for the best.”
“I am certain thy conjecture is correct.” Luna smiled at her, chuckling. “Do not worry. Whatever fate falls in the years to come, I am glad to know that our ponies will survive. Come. Let us go someplace quiet to…” She nodded to the cupcakes, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Enjoy our bounty. Celestia will no doubt be wroth with me when she finds out I have pilfered her cupcakes.”
“C-Celestia?”
“Why, yes. My sister. Even in your time, you must have heard of her?” The note of bitterness underlying the tone was unmistakable to Twilight’s ears, and so sharp and sudden that it seemed the world had cracked open. “Such a fair beauty, she, so regal that they fairly crowned her princess before she even knew the title!”
Twilight held out a hoof to Luna’s shoulder, intending to comfort the other mare, but stopped as the cold radiating off of the apparition bit deeply into her hoof. Luna’s face had changed from the regal beauty to a sharply lined, bitterly snarling apparition, her eyes halfway towards that of a cat’s, slitted and glowing with fury.
The rage passed in moments, and Luna was there again, the look of confusion etched even deeper upon her brow than before. “Twilight Sparkle? Why do thou look so frightened?” The frown on Luna’s lips deepened as she leaned closer, looking between Twilight’s eyes, thoughtful. “Has a ghost frightened thee?”
Twilight stared, shivering still, thinking about the war between the Eclipse War. A war between actual sisters? It chilled her blood to think about it, to even conceive of Princess Celestia being able to war with her sister, that this Luna might have been the instigator. Nightmare Moon, the Mare in the Moon, all of it was real.
But it can’t be, she told herself, starting to shake as she stared into the eyes that were changing from slitted pupils to normal, luminescent sea foam and silver. It can’t all be real? Can it?
“Twilight Sparkle? Why the frightened look?” Luna reached out a hoof, and the cold that had before bit, was now warmth and comfort paired with a gentle ease that felt so familiar that it tore at her throat to leave it raw and sore. “Is something the matter?”
Almost, she sobbed, but held it back and wiped at her eyes. Luna had sounded so like her mentor in that moment that it was easy to imagine them as sisters, caring sisters, loving and kind to one another. She couldn’t tell Luna what she’d heard. Not yet.
So she shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice sounding strangled even to her. She needed time to think, and time to understand. She couldn’t imagine that warmth and care turning to the cold and bitter hatred she had felt only moments before.
“Something disturbs thine heart, Twilight.” When Twilight didn’t answer for several seconds, Luna put a hoof to her lips to silence any confession. “But if it is a secret thee wish to keep, very well. I shall not pry.”
“O-okay.” Twilight tried to smile, and almost broke down in tears again.
“Come, Twilight, we are nearly to the courtyard. I shall show thee a wonder that surely has not been seen since… since…” Luna faltered, frowning. “Why cannot I remember? It is there, in my mind, but something blocks my thought from reaching it. Some…” She swept a hoof through the air imperiously. “Bah! Onward, Twilight Sparkle. The night and its many wonders waits for thee!”
Twilight gnawed on the idea of Luna and Nightmare Moon being connected somehow, possibly being the same pony the entire way through the castle’s labyrinthine halls to the cistern beside the castle gate. Nightmare Moon was a myth. Some myths, as she was finding out, were true. Or had a basis in truth.
But Luna, as a pony taken by herself was nice, intelligent, and articulate in ways Twilight had grown accustomed to when speaking with Princess Celestia, but for few other ponies. She couldn’t believe that Luna had become Nightmare Moon. Perhaps she had fought against the Nightmare, and lost. Maybe even sacrificed herself to trap it in the moon with her.
That could make a kind of sense. The thought grew slowly, until it became almost a certainty in her mind. Luna was the hero, Nightmare Moon the villain, and Princess Celestia the grieving sister who longs for her lost sibling, her self-sacrifice living on in eternal grief.
The small cistern door Luna led them to had seen little use in apparently a thousand years, but it was still maintained nicely. Only a small cobweb in an upper corner, glimpsed only because of the way it had frozen in place scattered the light just right to sparkle like a small galaxy when Twilight and Luna’s light spells fell on it.
The door was sealed with waxy resin that reformed after Luna closed the door, making it watertight again. A narrow channel ran through the middle of the room, coated with ice, and the walls facing the interior had condensation dribbling past waxy runnels where mortar should have been, and the outside facing wall had ice cobwebbing the surface in delicate traceries of lace.
On the far side was a hatch attached to chains that rose up into the castle above. The hatch opened upwards, revealing a rubber seal and a steel ring that led into a small stone hall that curved along the outer wall to come out a few hoofs from the main gate. Twilight had always assumed it was a part of the curtain wall, and not a duct for water, and when she looked back after the door swung shut again, there was only blank stone.
Luna strode ahead into a flurry of snowflakes that drifted in her wake before freezing again as they left the strange time field surrounding her, but not seeming to touch her at all, leaving an odd wake behind her.
Twilight, when she followed, felt the snowflakes melt against her coat when she brushed past them, and saw she left a pony sized hole in the flurry behind her. She focused on the difference, considering possible reasons for that to be so instead of that it was so.
She and Luna must be in self-contained bubbles of time for the snowflakes to react at all to them. That must be why the thief was never caught, or even seen. That was one mystery down. But it brought a new mystery to the fore: Why am I not frozen, too?
Consideration of this new problem served to distract her from the frightful idea that Princess Celestia had been doing this every year for a thousand years. For all of five steps.
Why? Wouldn’t it be tantamount to torture? Does she blame herself for her sister’s… the thought went unfinished. Luna didn’t appear to be any kind of shade or ghost that Twilight had ever read about. Then again, she had never read about the kind of ghost an Alicorn might leave behind. And then there was the curious case of the moon, and the Mare in the Moon, whose eye had sparkled with the same light at Luna’s horn before she appeared.
Is Luna the spirit of the moon, in pony form? The idea seemed to have little merit on its face. Princess Celestia had never claimed to be more than a pony, and Luna seemed to have memories of going to school, something she had never thought a spirit would need to do. But no, she had said her sister was Celestia, and it hadn’t felt like a metaphor when she’d said it.
“Luna,” Twilight started to ask, but the mare was far ahead, and Twilight’s voice didn’t seem to reach her. She was staring off to the left, past a frozen drift of windblown snow and up at the slender cord of light stretching to the sky, seemingly touching the moon at the tip of the Mare in the Moon’s horn.
“Luna?” Twilight hesitated, then touched the other’s shoulder with a hoof. Heat and bitter cold raged up her leg, and she staggered back, gasping. “Luna?” Her voice rose, cracking. “What’s wrong?”
“She is me, and I am her,” Luna said softly. “I am the one who struck first. The fault is mine, but it…” Luna dragged down a deep breath, let it out as a cloud of steam that froze in front of her, obscuring the sight of the beam of light. “It was not my fault. She took from me so much…”
“Who? Who took? Struck whom?”
Luna looked down at her, the icy visage of a mare older than Luna looked back. Her smile was weak and shallow, and she closed her eyes over a trickle of tears that froze on her muzzle. “I took. She took. I gave in. She, the nightmare, I the victim and villain in one. She, who offered to give back what she had taken, with poison in her heart.”
“Celestia?”
“Speak not that name!” Luna thundered. Light and shadow flared around her horn, half black spark, half cyan fire.
Twilight shrank back, heart thudding, readying a spell-shield in her mind.
Before them, the golden cord pulsed, throwing back the shadows enveloping Luna, sweeping away the cold in a blast of summer wind that touched nothing and threatened to carry her away. Twilight staggered, slumping against the sudden change.
In a whimper, the younger Luna was back, her eyes once again fixed on the brilliant cord, once again no more than a rope of sunlight leading to the moon. “It hurts too much. To look upon her light, to think of what came between us. But nay, ‘twas not her that offered poison, nor her who took my pride and let me see it twisted. ‘Twas I, and not I, the other, the shadow that spoke in my voice, who told me my own thoughts.”
Twilight crept forward, head lowered. “The shadow? What shadow?” She was getting somewhere, but it was all so cryptic. Why can nopony speak plainly, either in novels or in reality?
“Shame, Twilight,” Luna said as though Twilight had spoken aloud, closed her eyes again and turned away from the light. She walked off, hooves dragging and wings limp at her sides, and lay down on a compacted drift. “It is shame,” she said so softly that Twilight could barely hear it over the sound of her thundering heart.
Twilight sat and watched the light. Its presence tingled against her horn, familiar and foreign at once. It felt like the times she had seen Princess Celestia raise the sun on Midsummer’s Morning, and felt too like the first moment she had seen Luna through the crack in the door, a thrumming beat of life and power that spoke of great control and boundless love. It made her throat ache to stare at it, to feel it, and she didn’t want to stop looking.
What, she thought in her smallest voice, glancing at Luna, could be so shameful?
But she couldn’t ask. She had other questions she wanted answered, and she pulled her eyes away, then turned her body. Even though she couldn’t see it, and the cord seemed to add no light to the world, it felt as though the sun were beating at her back, beckoning her to it.
She pushed the sensation away and made her way to Luna, settling onto the cold snow-pack beside her.
Instead of feeling cold or any kind of incorporeal distance, the mare’s body was warm against hers, and solidly there. For some reason, she had thought that Luna would be a ghostly presence up close, but she was as solid and real as the cold snow. Definitely not a ghost.
Luna didn’t seem to take any notice of her except for a tensing of muscles and a slight fluttering of wings. After a long moment, the tense feeling relaxed, and Luna sighed.
It could be time travel of some kind. Dependent upon the type of time travel, and the method, and there appeared to be a huge amount of magical energy involved in this sending that froze time as well. Time travel was possible, but only to the past, she had thought, to fixed points that didn’t violate, directly, causality. Perhaps it was some kind of moving time loop that moved through the years, but only allowed an exit at a specific time of each year. Maybe Luna wasn’t a victim of the war, but a victim of a magical experiment gone wrong.
Maybe, she thought, the magical light was a beacon for Luna. Her cutie mark was the crescent moon, so maybe it would make sense for the beacon to appear when the moon was out for the longest time. If she wasn’t aware of what had happened to her, and kept going back through the same memories over time, it would explain the confusion and possibly even the apparent fragmentation of memory.
I’ll study time spells. Okay, maybe not time spells. I really doubt Princess Celestia would let me study that if this is what happened to her sister. But maybe I can study theory and application. And history. And Star Swirl’s lectures. Maybe… I can make that my special course of study. She pulled a piece of parchment out of her bag and wrote down a brief outline.
1. Special Course of study
History
Time Magic theory
Eclipse War
Nightmare Moon
IMPORTANT!!!
“That… could work,” she murmured, reviewing the parchment and putting the course through her mind for a moment, imagining the books, and the few she had found that had actually been important to her studies.
“What could work?” Luna asked.
“Gah!”
“Thy thoughts have been deep indeed.” Luna said. “As have mine. Thou art strange, Twilight Sparkle. Thine presence is comforting to me, and unfamiliar at the same time. Yet I cannot divine the reason this should be so. I have told thee of my thoughts, so tell me, what draws on thy mind so deeply that you forget I am here.”
“I was thinking about what courses I wanted to take next year,” Twilight said, tucking the list back into her bag surreptitiously, faintly embarrassed that she had ignored the object of her future studies for the thought of future studies.
“Very well, keep thine secrets, Twilight Sparkle,” Luna said with a laugh. “We all have our own.”
“Well… no. I’m not trying to keep secrets. I don’t want to forget after I got to sleep. Meeting you has been the most important thing I’ve done.”
“Surely not.” Luna raised an eyebrow, but the feeling of warmth intensified in the point of contact between them. “This is a jest at my expense?”
“No. Of course not. Even you being here explains so much. But your being here also raises so many more questions that I don’t even know where to start.”
“Ah, yes.” Luna looked briefly confused, as if not certain what Twilight meant. “Have we not met before? I keep circling around to this idea that thou art well known to me, but it cannot be, for I see no recognition of me in thine eyes, and there is no memory of thee in mine own mind that I can find, yet here in thine presence, I can feel that thou art known at least as well to me as my own wings.”
“No… I don’t think we have. You… don’t seem familiar to me at all.” Except for the cutie confection, Twilight recalled. In all the excitement, she’d forgotten completely about it. “I don’t suppose you remember, um, celebrating some ten years ago with a piece of cake with my cutie mark on it?” She twisted about to show her flank.
Luna appraised the mark carefully, clucking her tongue. “It does bear a certain familiarity… But so do many stars and constellations to many other things.” She looked away, then back and met Twilight’s eyes. “’Tis not thy flank, but thine being that seems familiar to me, Twilight Sparkle. In thee, I find a feeling of a friend I had long ago forgotten, but just now remembered upon meeting her once more.”
“It could be that this is all a dream? Maybe that’s the reason for it all? Maybe I’m not really out and about in the castle—” She slapped a hoof on the snowpack, wincing as the cold and shock rolled up her leg. “Or… not. That felt very real.”
“I am of the certainty that it is real. Dreams do not often proceed in so linear a fashion for so long a period as this.” Luna smirked. “Besides which, all of this feels real, and I have not yet awoken to my sister’s droning snore, so it must be real.”
Twilight snorted a laugh. “C—” Twilight cut herself off and swallowed the rest of Celestia’s name. “She snores?”
“Oh, that she most assuredly does. Or did.” Luna frowned faintly and stood. “Come. I feel there an urgency in my need to reach the Tower of Moonlight, and the way is blocked, though it should not be, were my memory of this place timely.”
“Why?”
“I know not. Yet. But some inkling tells me that I must. Come, Twilight. Let us see if there is a gate somewhere along the wall, lest we have to backtrack through the halls once more.”
Almost, she told Luna of the way, how she knew of it, and why, but curiosity kept her from speaking. If she was going to find answers, she needed to stall as long as she could, and hope that the right question came to her because she had no time to sit and think of questions, or time to ask every question that came to her mind.
Even though they searched for what felt like half an hour, they could find no gate in the curtain wall dividing the private domain of Princess Celestia and the main courtyard. But during the time the spent shifting snow and probing at the wall for hidden passageways, Luna talked and Twilight listened.
Since the past was already set, Luna explained, it wouldn’t hurt to tell Twilight how the school used to look, and even some of the shenanigans she and Celestia had gotten up to, though Luna never referred to her by name again.
Whenever she got close to mentioning it, Twilight could feel the warmth in her companion seep away, and it took a long time to work up the courage to ask the question she wanted answered.
“Luna?” She asked after turning a pile of snow over and finding nothing but grass. “Why does her name… hurt you?”
“Hurt me?” Luna looked up sharply, brows raised. “Why, she doesn’t hurt me, nor does her name.”
“Then why don’t you say her name ever? The only times you’ve heard her name, you’ve… gotten scary.”
Luna was silent for a long time.
“Luna?”
When Luna spoke, it was as though she had aged centuries. “Her name…” Luna lifted her head to stare at the golden cord. “Celestia.”
The cord pulsed, and an answering darkness rose briefly from Luna, quashed in an instant by the warmer light.
“It wakes something within me, something that fights to get free. It wants her, not me. I am but a vessel, a tool, and a fool.” She lifted her head higher, looking down at Twilight. “Do not pursue this course. It will not end well for thee, as it did not for me.”
“What course?”
“Fighting a shadow, with a shadow in thine heart. I thought I could save her, our ponies, myself. But I was wrong.”
She sighed, turning away from the light and Twilight, careful not to meet Twilight’s eyes. “Let us return the long way ‘round, Twilight Sparkle. There does not appear to be a way through.”
“Couldn’t you fly us over?” Twilight asked, glancing pointedly at Luna’s wings.
Luna glanced back, then at her flanks and ruffled her wings. “Nay. I know not the rules of this spell, or place. Were it truly a dream, and I recognized it as such, I could but stamp my hoof and walk through the wall as through fog.” Luna gestured at the wall, huffing. “‘Tis not a dream I recognize, nor any spell, and so we must follow its rules, whatever they be. Thus far, walking has broken nothing, and so long as nothing continues to break, we too shall continue. Come.”
Twilight followed her back through the cistern and into the warmth of the castle, silent, thoughtful. If this were a dream, writing something down would accomplish nothing. She glanced at her bag, then ahead, thinking.
“Luna?” Twilight asked as they passed through the hidden gate back into the castle. “Before, you mentioned that you were planning to celebrate with… with your sister.”
“Indeed, and we did. I recall it now.” Luna smiled back at her, closing the cistern hatch and making sure the seals were solid. “Through this very gate I went, carrying something very like these cupcakes. Decorated one each with a sun and a moon.”
“She didn’t help?”
“She didn’t know. Not until I showed her.” Luna laughed softly at Twilight’s expression. “She has been straight-laced since… since we were barely past foalhood. Tell me, Twilight Sparkle, can she still be a stick in the mud?”
“U-um…” Twilight glanced around, wondering if any word of this might reach Celestia. “She’s my… mentor.”
“A teacher,” Luna’s eyebrows rose. “I can see it, and I also shall not expect an answer, as thou art in an awkward position. Did you know that before we left our village, for village it truly was, on the edge of nowhere, she taught me much of what I know, and how to be a decent pony? She continued to teach me well into our school days.”
“She did?”
“Oh yes.” Luna paused again, letting Twilight pass by her before closing the hatch again. “She was older than I, but started school later, and Star Swirl would not let her advance farther than I, nor faster. She was impatient at my slowness some days, and others languished in the ease of lessons. But she did love me.”
Luna’s smile widened, then faltered as they started down the hall, at right angles from the path Twilight knew was right. She weighed the option of slowing their progress against possibly slowing it too much and not learning all she could.
She hesitated, then touched Luna’s flank with a hoof and pointed down the right hall. “This way. I know how to get there from here, I think.”
“Thou has seen the Tower of Moonlight?” Luna looked faintly startled. “Nopony but…” She eyed Twilight again. “Art thou a student of Star Swirl?”
“Um, no.” Twilight caught herself before she explained that he hadn’t taken any students in a thousand years, being dead and all. “And… I kinda saw it by accident. See, I threw a trunk through a window, and—” When Luna laughed, she hastily added “By accident!”
“Of course.” Luna stifled her laughter, though her eyes and her mane twinkled more brightly than before. “Continue, Twilight Sparkle.”
“And when I went to tell—” Twilight cursed herself and swallowed Celestia’s name again. “—your sister what happened, she told me to go to the tower and see what I could do to make up for my error.”
“So, you have been inside the tower.” Some of the enthusiasm faded from Luna’s voice. “Have thou viewed the length and breadth of Equestria at night from its balconies?”
Twilight heard a note of hope in her question, so eager to see it again that Twilight wished she hadn’t watched the setting sun so Luna could show her that for the first time as well. “No. I mean, I saw the sunset, but I had to leave before I could look, and I was in such a hurry to get down.”
“Then I will show thee a wonder eyes have not beheld in…”
“Are you sure you want to know?” Twilight tapped a hoof on the floor, looking down, then up into Luna’s eyes. “I’ll tell you if you want, but… I’m also enjoying talking with you. It’s so… fascinating.”
Luna coughed delicately. “And thou art afraid I will not like the answer?”
“I am afraid… that…” Twilight trailed off. “I don’t want to upset you.”
Luna sighed and rubbed her chin. “Conundrums upon mysteries upon curiosities, and thou art at the center of it all, Twilight Sparkle.” She considered for a time longer, eyes darting from shadow to shadow and back to Twilight again. “I will accept thy judgment, Twilight Sparkle. Thou art more knowledgeable about the state of my being here than I am, I am certain.”
It didn’t take long to retrace the path through the castle, pushed on by Luna’s insistence that time was growing shorter even in the absence of time.
“It is a curious feeling,” Luna had said quietly, saving her breath as they trotted along still hallways and past stationary guards that gave no notice of waking soon. Some few were actually asleep. “I do not know why I have the feeling that time is short, but it is growing ever shorter, and I do wish… I wish to see her. A growing sense of the time I have lost is pressing in upon me.”
“Lost?”
“Lost,” Luna said shortly. “I can feel whatever I am sealed away from in my memories gaining ground upon me.”
They stopped at an intersection, Luna glancing at her for guidance.
“This way,” Twilight said, pointing, and trotted off. She could see the door leading out to the courtyard. From there, the trail would wind around the small wooded area, and then to the walled off private garden where seasons… stood still. She gasped, stopping as the thought hit her. “Luna!”
“Yes?” Luna slowed, stopped, and turned about. “We are short of time, is it important? Are we going the wrong way?”
“Yes… no. I mean, yes it’s important, and no, this is the right way.”
“Then let us go.” Luna turned again. “Whatever else has come to thee, it may wait, but I cannot.”
Twilight stared after her, shaking her head, and broke into a gallop to catch up, barely slowing as Luna picked up speed.
“Call out directions. Time passes more swiftly the closer we get, I can feel it!”
Twilight felt nothing, but held her doubt and led them through the rest of the castle, bursting through the gate leading out in a haze of cyan barely dissipated when they passed through.
Necessity slowed Luna, then, as the snow was deeper than Twilight remembered. Drifting now must have covered the trail as the wind had risen. Now, the time-locked snow resisted their movement through it, and Luna threw out a myriad of imaginative curses in languages Twilight could only faintly recognize, and couldn’t at all understand.
When, at last, they reached the turn towards the tower, Luna’s flanks heaved and sweat glistened in her coat. “Twilight Sparkle,” she huffed. “If I ever discover which pegasus thought snow should be made from so much water, I shall banish them from Equestria for all time.”
Twilight laughed and fairly collapsed at Luna’s hooves and glanced at the cupcakes floating timelessly above them. No magic surrounded them, but they didn’t seem to mind defying gravity on their own.
“Shall we partake?” Luna asked, following her gaze. “If we cannot make the tower, I would at least share a delicacy with thee before…” Her eyes strayed upwards to the moon, and her brow furrowed. “Before I must leave thee.”
“Luna? What do you mean?”
“I mean, Twilight Sparkle, that I am beginning to remember where I have been for almost a thousand years.”
“How—”
“The stars, Twilight Sparkle. The stars have a pattern of their own, and while it took some time to find the ones I remember most, and it may have taken me more time yet to trace their paths through the heavens from when I remember them last… The stars are my domain, as is the moon. Thou could not hide the truth from me for long, though I appreciate thy concern.” She straightened her neck, looking up. “And more, I remember a part of why I have been gone for so long. I made war upon my sister, upon my ponies, and thought myself right. That if I could only show them all the beauty of the night, and how empty it was without the laughter and joy that my sister surrounded herself with during the day, that they would understand the pain that I felt every night, alone to view the land from my tower.”
Twilight pushed herself up to all four feet and stepped closer. Luna’s coat was growing darker, the shades of her mane taking on a midnight cast. The golden cord did not pulse, and the change crept along to the beat of Twilight’s heart, close to racing as she watched.
“Luna?” She touched the other mare’s shoulder, feeling a tingle of chill rising along her hoof, and pushed past it, stepping closer to press her shoulder to Luna’s, twining her foreleg with the other’s. “You’re not alone. The night is beautiful, and the snow…”
All about her, silver-blue mounds of snow gleamed brightly in the moonlight, in colors that couldn’t be seen in the full light of day. Delicate shades of blue and darker purples, stark lines of shadow that traced fractal patterns in the snow under the trees that cast them. Above, clouds lit by the moon glowed like Luna’s mane, and cast halos closer to the moon into a fractured rainbow never seen during the daylight.
“The night is beautiful, Luna,” she repeated. “I’m glad to share it with you.”
The cold that had seeped into her briefly began to fade. The shadows withdrew from her companion as though the moon had come out from behind a bank of clouds. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gazed upwards. “I have waited to hear those words for too long. So many ponies fear the night, so many look upon my beautiful land, our beautiful land, at night and fear to walk it, to go out and wonder. For there is much wonder in the night, Twilight Sparkle, and mysteries hidden from the day that only can be witnessed by the light of the moon.”
Twilight felt her throat growing tight, certain she was crying as well.
“Twilight, share with me a cupcake.” She laughed, but there was little humor in it. “It seems so paltry a thing, to share a confection…” Luna drew a deep breath, held it, and let it go. “I want to have this at least, to take back with me.”
One cupcake drifted closer to Twilight, a purple-frosted one with her cutie confection. Twilight drew down Spike’s and let it float in front of her, pushing her own confection towards Luna gently. “I want you to have it.”
“Thank you.”
They ate in silence as they walked onward, at Luna’s insistence. Twilight saw that Luna had not eaten the confection as she had Spike’s, but carried it beside her, cleaned carefully of icing so only the amethystine rock candy remained.
She caught Twilight looking at it curiously and laughed. “If I can take anything with me, let it be this, Twilight Sparkle.”
“You will leave?”
“I am a prisoner, Twilight Sparkle. I have divined this through careful observation and experimentation. It is as though I am behind a glass wall, and only you can reach past it to touch me. I cannot do the same to you, though I have tried to tweak your tail this past hour.”
Twilight glanced back, snapping her tail. “Scientific study?”
“Of course,” Luna said in a teasing voice, before sobering again. “I am beginning, also, to recall more of what led to my imprisonment. I fear that whatever force is letting me walk, freed from my past mistakes for this moment, is weakening. I feel that the bars of my cell are righting themselves from being twisted askew just enough to let a small part of me out, and it’s not right. This has never happened before, I can feel it. I have walked free before, I can see that now, for near a thousand years, I feel that my mind has walked free as little more than a shadow of what I am now, and never so free as I feel now, never so in tune with myself, never so aware of what I missed, of what I threw away in…” All of it came out in a rush, Luna’s voice rising and rising, cracking, and fading. “And I am so very afraid that the pony you speak with now is not the pony I truly am, and I wish you to know me as I truly am, and accept me.”
Luna’s breath came out in a huff of mist that froze beyond her face, and she walked through it, her pace quickening. “And the closer I get to my tower, to the source of my freedom, I feel… afraid.”
“Why?”
“Because I will go away again, and it may be another thousand years before I meet one such as thee, Twilight Sparkle, who accepts, questions, but does not judge. Thy mind is… clean, simple, brilliant, and yet naive, as I was once. I fear that… I will never see thee again, and that frightens me.”
That, she hadn’t considered. A chill ran up Twilight’s spine. “Then there must be a way to set you free.”
“No!” Luna jerked to a halt, standing straight. “I must—!” She cut herself off, listening to something beyond Twilight’s hearing. “I must not be set free. It whispers to me, even now, and it wants thy help to free me. It could be done, it says. Now, it says. Tonight.” She staggered, her mane flickering black and fading, her eyes slit-like, widening until she closed her eyes sharply and leaned against the wall. “I could… I could be free tonight. It let me see the thousand years. It let me…”
“What’s wrong?” Twilight stepped forward, reaching out. Cold beyond winter assaulted her hoof, and a winter wind whipped out from nowhere to batter her back. “Let me help!”
A summer wind surged past them, tossing the shadow free of Luna. It spun and flared, wings and horn pulsing dark. “Free!” screamed a voice howling out of the arctic north. Its head bent to look at the figure it was still tenuously connected to. “Mine… mine.” Sparks flared into a rough dome around the two of them, sending the hot summer wind spiraling out into a tornado of snow, ice, and light, unable to reach the cold shadow within.
“What are you?” Not that it mattered, she decided, gritting her teeth and standing as tall as she could before it. “Let her go!”
“Why should we let this one go, little morsel? Thy heart is not strong enough to fight us. We could take thee as easily as we took this one, so long ago.” It laughed at her, a twisted mockery of Luna’s lively voice.
“She’s my friend. I won’t let you take her from me!” Before she could think on it further, Twilight staggered forward, baring her teeth and flaring power through her horn without thinking about what she would do with it. The light from her horn seemed to do what the wind could not, and pushed back the shadowy dome. She advanced further, gathering more magic within her unthinking, focused on the thing intent on Luna.
“Thou art brave, little bug,” it said, it’s shadowy form flowing away from the light sparking from Twilight horn. “But thy heart is not strong enough to save this one,” it hissed. “It is ours, and thou wilt watch as we wither the last of its strength. We must thank thee for daring this one to expose its last hopes. Thy heart shall not survive the watching, and will be ours after hers.”
“I won’t let you!” She unleashed the energy racing through her body in a burst of pure magic. Light blazed across the snow, as though dawn had come early, and a spear of light lanced through the heart of the shadow, replacing the arrogant disdain in its blazing eyes with shock, widening to panic as the light gathered and burst like a firework, eating away the shadow until it was little more than a rising fog of lightning sparks.
The dome of shadow snapped away, the summer wind swept in a tornadic fury around Luna, dispersing the last of the shadow clinging to her and throwing snow into a curtain wall of white, freezing at the edge of timelessness.
When it died, Twilight gathered herself, fearing the worst, that Luna had been taken in that moment, and she wouldn’t see her friend again, and pushed through the diffuse barrier of ice and snow to the calm center.
Luna lay there in the center of a patch of brown grass, not a trace of shadow on her or about her, and a lingering warmth of summer lay draped about the clearing. As Twilight pushed her way into the clearing, shoving snow and ice away from her into a rough arch, Luna lifted her head and staggered first to lay on her belly, all four legs trembling, then to her feet, swaying left, then right until Twilight pressed herself against her side.
“Are you okay?” Twilight asked quietly, her own legs trembling from the exertion of unleashing so much magic at once. She made a mental note to practice large scale spells more often. “What happened?”
“Freedom,” Luna said in a small voice, “It felt me thinking of being free… It wants to be free of its prison.”
“Can’t we keep it imprisoned and free you?”
“Nay.” Luna shook her head and stood straighter. “I am as much its prison as its host. So long as I am…” She shuddered. “Let us go, Twilight. What little time I have left, I would like to share with thee as I promised.”
The rest of the trip through the snow went quietly, Luna leaning against Twilight, the two of them no longer forging an easy path with magic, but trudging through the piles of snow, only occasionally finding the track Twilight had carved through it the day before. Neither spoke, but Luna seemed to warm against her the farther they got.
The walled garden loomed first through the fog of frozen white vapor, growing slowly into a solid structure devoid of the protective bubble that had been there only the day before.
The gate stood closed, as it had before, the golden cord stretching up into the heavens seemingly right behind it.
The closer they got, the slower Luna’s steps became, and the more she seemed to shrink in on herself until she stopped. Twilight continued on for several steps more, exhausted and hardly paying attention to where she was going.
“What’s wrong?” Twilight asked, looking back at Luna, then at the cord. It had been growing dimmer by the step, each one step closer to it seeming to drop its luminance another degree. “Are we out of time?”
“Nay…” Luna shook her head violently side to side, staggered back a step, and sat heavily. “Rather, to say, I am running out of courage. She is there, waiting for me. Waiting to welcome me home. I-I cannot. I cannot, Twilight Sparkle. As much as I wish to, she cannot see me, and I cannot see her.”
“Why?”
“Because…” Luna trailed off, eyes locked on the cord, shifting to the gate as if she could see through it. Long moments passed. With a shiver, she turned her eyes away from the gate, head down, tail and mane pooling about her on the snow, glowing now, nebulous and hazy. “In my mind, I see the last moment, over and over again. I saw the horror, the pain, and the realization.” She choked and fell to the snow, openly sobbing as she hadn’t before. “I-I-”
Twilight dashed to her side, only to be halted as the nebulous mane swallowed Luna whole, little more than a star field rising up into the night towards the moon. With the cloud of vapor went a tiny purple sparkle, held at the center like a comet’s seed crystal.
“I’m sorry,” came a last fading whisper.
Twilight watched until she could no longer make out the moon for the shadow enveloping it, knowing its position only by the golden cord stretched from ground to sky.
Twilight felt it in her chest when the cage slammed shut around Luna once more, a deep shuddering, as of a monstrous key turning inside a lock made of flesh. Somewhere close, a cry of anguish went up, and the cord disappeared. The moon twisted subtly, turning sideways in a dimension Twilight could only vaguely recognize as a feeling of nausea emanating from her horn, and the Mare in the Moon’s eye twinkled at her again. In that last frozen moment, it was a sprinkle of tears.
The cold hit her like a slap across the face, and Twilight lurched forward, raising a hoof to her pounding heart, as if it finally remembered to beat again. She called for Spike, but his name died in the howling wind. Wind, wind, how was there wind inside the pantry?
There couldn’t be, she reasoned after a long, foggy minded moment.
Shivering, she shrank into herself to find some center of warmth. Wind and snow, she wasn’t in the kitchens. That much was for certain, but little else. The cupcakes lay on the snow in front of her, one toppled to the side, showing her a familiar cutie mark, white bubbles on a gray background. She remembered two more. There was sweetness on her tongue, something that touched a memory, and in a rush, a dark mare loomed over her, face like a queen, mane like moonlit clouds and eyes like nothing else. A golden cord leapt at the mare, binding her wings and muzzle, stifling her beautiful laugh, and darkness roared up from within those eyes to consume her.
She staggered away from the vision, stumbling into a patch of loose snow and almost falling. She caught herself at the last moment, stopping and turning to catch the plate of cupcakes in a spell. They were important to her plan.
“Spike!” She called, hoping to hear the echo of her own voice reaching back to her from the kitchen, to hear him demanding she wake up. That was it. A dream, she was dreaming. She’d fallen asleep waiting for the thief, and this was all a dream.
She stood still for several moments, willing herself to wake in the warm pantry, laying on her burlap sacks that smelled of must and rind. She could picture the scene when she’d fallen asleep so easily, the hourglass winding down towards midnight, Spike half-snoring under his comic book. Each detail brought her a step closer to waking.
All the while, her instincts screamed at her that it was all too real, and the sere, bitterly cold wind bit far too hard and painfully across her nose for it to be a dream. But she kept on, until she had the scene perfectly formed. Something odd happened to the hourglass in her vision, as the grains began forming a pillar. She gasped, snapping her eyes open and looking about her furtively. Not the pantry at all. She was outside, on the trail to Princess Celestia’s tower, but she wasn’t sure how far away she was.
She dashed forward, stopping as the wind whipped at her, dashing snow and ice into her eyes. But for just a moment, she had seen a light blooming in the distance, the flicker of a torch through a window maybe. She started off again, calling out “Is anyone out there?” But the wind tore her voice away from her ears even as it numbed them.
Several steps further, she came to a loose patch in the snow, an echo of fading warmth at its center. Somepony had lain there just a moment before, and not her. Another mystery in a cavalcade of them.
She called again, huddling deeper into the depression with its fading warmth that seemed as nebulous as the reason for her being out there.
What could have been a minute or an hour later, a voice called to her from her left, and she turned towards it. A moment later the voice repeated, and she could make out a name through the wind: “Luna!”
Luna. The name released a lock in her mind, letting the memory flood through her. For the briefest moment, the laughter had a face to it, sharply defined features like a benevolent queen’s statue, eyes twinkling, smile bright and mane like a waterfall of starlight, but it faded into the howling wind before she could grasp it and hold it to her. She cried out, her heart flaring with an ache that she couldn’t even remember the reason for. Luna cried with her, a clarion voice in the blizzard. But even the name slipped from her grasp as she sagged into the depression once more.
A figure loomed out of the white, seeming apart and a part of it at the same time. Golden light flared, lighting up a regal face in shades of sunlight.
“Luna?” The figure hesitated at the edge of the depression, looking down at her. “Twilight? But… I swear I heard—”
The voice reminded her of the laughter at the edge of her hearing, and she wept again, surprised at herself. Why am I crying? She staggered to her feet, slipped on ice, and fell.
Golden light encompassed her, soft as goose down, warm as freshly baked pie, and smelling indescribably like home.
She fell for a long time, buoyed by light and gentle reassurances spoken to her ear. Nearby hovered the plate holding one cupcake, one missing.
“Twilight Sparkle,” said the regal voice with a soft laugh as the golden glow faded. “You are up far past your bedtime, my little pony. What brings you out this far in the storm?”
The familiar timeless state of the garden bled away the exhaustion suffusing her in dribs and drabs. She was in Celestia’s private tower garden. She shivered one last time, shook herself and looked up. The prepared speech she had made before, and rehearsed in the pantry just in case she was caught fell away from her lips.
“I know…” She took a deep breath and pushed herself upright to stand before her Princess. “I know you said I should forget about the thief, Princess Celestia, but… I couldn’t. I’d come so far, learned so much, too much to let it go. Can you forgive me, Princess?”
“Yes, Twilight, of course. I wish…” Princess Celestia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “There was no harm done. Are you feeling okay? You really shouldn’t be out and about in a storm like this. How did you come to be out this far?” The princess’s voice, always regal, turned soft and motherly. “Tell me, and no rush, what is the last thing you remember?”
“I-I don’t—” The memory came free of the jumble. “I was standing watch with Spike, waiting for the thief to come, and my hourglass started to act funny, like it was slowing down. And then…” The fog of fragments after that refused to be handled, and even the barest of ideas slipped free before they touched her tongue. She closed her eyes tight, chasing down the last fragments of wispy memory, gritting her teeth as one after the other evaporated like so much fog. When she opened her eyes, she was surprised to find her vision blurry.
“Gently, Twilight, gently,” Princess Celestia’s soothing voice washed over her. “I do not expect miracles.”
Twilight burst into tears. Something important had happened, she knew, but her memory, always so faithful before, was failing. “I can’t remember!”
Feathers and warmth enveloped her, and the strong smell of sunlight on grass wafted past her nose as wings and mane covered her. It took a long time for her to realize that her teacher was hugging her close, whispering soothing admonishments to be calm into her ear.
Twilight flushed and drew back, firmly but gently. “I-I’m sorry, Princess—”
“Nonsense.” To her surprise, Princess Celestia’s eyes were also gleaming with unshed tears. “That is how it always is for me, as well, my Twilight Sparkle. I cannot remember her face, nor her voice anymore. Oh, paintings, but to see a painting and yet know the reality… It is no substitute. Alas, time has dimmed the reality, though I have been careful to keep my own memories of her alive as best I can, but… I’m afraid what little memory I have of her is growing dimmer by the year. I keep vigil here year after year, hoping to catch some glimpse of her, a scrap of her voice, some small token that she was here at all.”
“Who was she?” A glimmer of laughter, bright and happy, in dusky tones similar but unlike Princess Celestia’s, rose in her mind and faded again before she could think of words to describe them.
“As you must have surmised… she is my sister, and long ago we ruled Equestria together.”
“And she’s haunting the castle?”
Something slid behind Princess Celestia’s features, a faint look of surprise, though Twilight wasn’t sure how she knew it; her teacher’s face remained as still as before, almost stiff. “She does. You are the first to see her, I believe, in a thousand years. Please, anything you can tell me would be the greatest gift. But be gentle with your memory, Twilight. Time spells of such power have a way of twisting one’s thoughts into pretzels when they end.”
Time spell? That hadn’t been in her planning or even a thought of a possibility in her consideration. Something about that thought triggered a fragment to solidify, twisting out of the confused fog into an idea. “I… was…” Twilight drew the words out carefully, letting them come instead of trying to force them. “I… wrote something down.” Carefully, as though moving too swiftly or suddenly would jar the last remnant of laughter from her mind, Twilight pulled open her saddlebag. There, on the very top, was a corner scrap of parchment in her hoof.
It was a list of study subjects, important ones at the time she’d written them down, though why she’d chosen those was beyond her; they were nothing but ancient history and myths. And Time Magic theory. That, at least, made more sense, and it cemented the idea that something had happened outside of time. This list was real. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should have drawn her. I must have seen her, but I’m not very good at art.” She held out the scrap to her mentor as an offering.
Instead of disappointment, as she’d expected, Princess Celestia’s eyes lit up for the briefest of moments as she read over the list, and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You needn’t worry, Twilight Sparkle. Are these the subjects you would like to study?”
“I must have thought they were important. So, yes, I suppose.” Twilight puzzled over them. “Can you tell me anything about them?”
“Only what is available in my library, and in the Star Swirl the Bearded wing,” Celestia said gently, looking up and over her back at the tower. “If these are your courses for the coming years, I cannot tell you anything about them, that would be cheating, but if these are truly the subjects you wish to study, then I will grant you full access to this tower for as long as you wish.”
Twilight stared, first at her teacher, then at the tower beyond. “But… why?”
“I am hoping that you will discover that, Twilight Sparkle. My thoughts are too… close to this matter to consider rationally, even after so long a time. I will not bias your studies with conjecture and supposition.” Princess Celestia held out a hoof, beckoning Twilight close again. “There’s even a bedroom downstairs. Many of my personal students over the years have taken up residence there during their final years of study, Twilight Sparkle, and if you wish to move in, you can do so as soon as you like.”
“Do I have time to think about it? I don’t want to take this tower away from you.”
“Worry not, Twilight. I have all of my personal mementos kept somewhere quite safe.” Princess Celestia looked pointedly at the spire housing her suite. “And of course you will have time. Tomorrow and the week after are holidays from school.”
“And Spike too?”
“Of course. And I will have some special classes for him to take as well. I expect much of your time here will be spent in research, when you are not in class. Do you have any other questions?”
Twilight sat back and pondered. There wasn’t anything of importance left in her room. All the books she had considered important were at home, and most of those and the ones left in her room were semi-permanent loans from the school library. Her clothes, she could collect at almost any time, not that she had an extensive wardrobe, just a few sets of boots for mud or snow, a raincoat and a winter coat. And a simple dress for special occasions; it was currently gathering dust in the farthest corner of the wardrobe.
Luna stared up at the tower she had left more than a thousand years ago. She remembered almost none of the intervening time, and much of what she did remember between the night she and her sister were last happy together and the blank thousand years, she shied away from. The Tantabus would take care of the temptation to think too long on that time.
But she didn’t come here to reminisce. At least, she reminded herself, not to reminisce about the distant past. The more recent past called to her, pulsing in a carved wooden box held close to her chest. The box and its contents did not pulse, of course; that was only in her imagination, but she felt a deep significance surrounding the cutie confection that had appeared with her when she had been cleansed so long ago.
For the longest time, almost five years, she had believed it to be the talisman of the pony who had rescued her, a reminder of friendship and its power to heal.
But even before Twilight had become a Princess in her own right, it had taken on a new importance in her mind. Memories of the intervening years she had thought were blank surfaced. A thousand frozen nights, wandering the school alone, and one night when a familiar pony had walked with her, laughed with her, and called her friend.
In her dreams after letting the Tantabus control her, shame her, and bury her in remorse, she had dreamt of the school as she had known it. She had sat in mute witness as it changed in a thousand tiny ways, from the way the guards dressed, to the way the murals changed, and even the extent of the school seemed to swell and overtake familiar parts, every time new to her, and every time seeming like a different castle.
Ever since visiting Ponyville and the Elements of Harmony on that Nightmare Night, a celebration of her past self’s defeat, the dreams had come frequently, though some days, her dreams following her castigation were empty. Most times, she walked the castle alone, always with a plate of cake with her. She was going to celebrate with her sister their graduation from Star Swirl’s School of Magic. In her mind, each time she saw a duality of cutie confection—at once her own and Celestia’s, and cutie marks completely unfamiliar.
Each time, she wandered the school, lost in a fog of uncertainty as memory and terror mounted, always towards a golden cord stretching into the sky like a rent in the heavens. Each time, standing before the gate to redemption, she had fled as the last moment before the gate opened, overcome by memories of striking down her sister and diving in for the finishing blow.
That last time… Just a few nights ago, she had dreamt of Twilight Sparkle, younger and more uncertain, intruding on the by then familiar empty castle.
She had more than dreamt of Twilight Sparkle but inhabited her thoughts and emotions. Time and again, the dream had drawn her into other ponies, all of them touched upon Twilight in some way, and she had even seen Princess Celestia, of all ponies, intriguing to push Twilight into her path.
That night she had stayed long enough to watch as anguish and grief spilled down the regal face she’d known better than her own as she saw her sister push resolution ahead of love, and fled as memory of the final clash swept down upon her.
When she woke at last, it was far past time to raise the moon, but Celestia had not bothered her. The moon was raised, and a note on her door, and a gilt wooden box on the floor told her that her sister had expected this; the box had held a note, wishing her well, and promising an ear if she needed one. Perhaps Celestia, too, had been experiencing dreams of an uncertain quality and divined their reason and purpose.
She had no more dreams of walking the castle.
She now stood in front of the tower that she could never reach in the dream, the timeless bubble twinkling in the late afternoon light, and wondered at the hints Twilight had dropped throughout the intervening five years. Little clues that suggested she had remembered long ago.
“How long ago did you know?” She asked the tower and the box. “Did you think you could not approach me with your supposition or theories or knowledge?”
Neither answered, but the pony who could answer them was in the top, cleaning. Celestia had hinted strongly that she should visit.
Steeling herself, Luna pushed open the gate, walking into a springtime garden filled with the sounds of life. The babbling brook that wended its way under the moon bridge captured her attention for a minute, until she goaded herself onward with an admonishment for stalling.
She made her way through the sitting room, past the entrance to the bedroom, marveling that so little, and yet so much had changed in the thousand years since she last remembered it. The same books must have been written and rewritten, and newer texts seemed older than the copies she had flipped through when she was young, as though time was moving backwards.
Again, she pushed herself against stalling.
Up she went, to the library and observatory. The hourglass marking the year was still there, still spinning slowly, though the markers of moon times and seasons had apparently worn off long ago, and a statue of her bust mounted over a bookcase drew a curious glance. The last time she’d seen that piece had been in their castle down by the future site of Ponyville. Celestia must have had it moved.
The tower top was also pristinely clean, not a speck of dust or detritus anywhere except the garbage pail tucked discreetly, but not completely, behind a tapestry hanging beside one of the bookcases. Hovering beside it, lower lip caught between her teeth, Twilight surveyed the small study area hidden behind the tapestry.
“Oh,” Twilight said, stamping a hind foot, “I shouldn’t have sent Spike away so quickly.” She disappeared, and soon a cloud of dust appeared from beneath the edge of the tapestry amid the sound of furious brushing and sweeping.
Luna, laughing quietly to herself, lifted an edge of the tapestry to find Twilight standing there staring at her, a look of horror fixed on her face.
“I wouldn’t worry, Twilight,” she said gently. “I always forgot about this nook, too. But it was cozy during the winter months.”
“P-Princess Luna!” The dust pail, broom, and dustpan snapped away, as did about a quarter of the books on their shelves. A moment later, the books re-appeared, slightly damp. “S-sorry. I wasn’t…” She trailed off, cheeks visibly coloring under her dusky coat.
“Princess Twilight Sparkle,” Luna said in as officious tone of voice as she could muster, though she had to fight to keep her lips from quirking in a smile, “I would appreciate it if you would call me Luna.”
“O-oh. Of course. Luna,” Twilight said, bowing her head briefly, then jerking it up again, eyes darting back and forth. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I realized,” Luna said with a chuckle. “But… I came because…” She cleared her throat. “Because I made a promise a long time ago. Do you remember it?”
Surprise flitted across Twilight’s features, then understanding. “I had worried that you never would.” Tears sparkled in her eyes, trailing down her cheeks. “After I remembered, I didn’t visit here ever, just in case. I hoped some day you would remember.”
“It meant so much to you? I… I had worried. It meant much to me, as well. But I couldn’t be certain.” Luna blinked away the ache in her eyes and held out the box. “It is nearing evening time, Twilight Sparkle. Will you join me on the balcony?”
Inside the box were two cupcakes, one made of a midnight blue cake, topped with her own cutie mark, the confection a recent creation of sous chef Crunchy Crust, the other twilight purple, topped with a replica of the long-treasured piece of rock candy, hardly faded by time.
“I didn’t know it came with you,” Twilight said in a soft voice, reaching out a delicate hoof towards the purple confection.
“When did you know?” The question came out more harshly that Luna had intended, accusing rather than curious. She winced, flattening her ears. “I did not mean it so…”
“No, I understand.” Twilight smiled up at her and sat back. “It was after that first Nightmare Night after you came back. I had the strangest dream that stayed with me after I woke up. I talked to Celestia about it, and she suggested rather strongly that you would remember someday.” She glanced at the blank wall, then back again. “She also suggested that it might be unwise to confront you with the memories before you were ready.”
Twilight stood up, ruffling her wings as she left the little cupola. Dust drifted down from her feathers. “I admit,” she said with a sideways glance at Luna, “that it was hard to keep it to myself, but I didn’t want my friends to know either. Not until I could talk to you about that night. Not even Spike knows.”
“Why?” It was all she could get out past the lump in her throat. She would not cry, she told herself. “Why?”
“Because I wanted to tell you first. That night, Luna…” Twilight closed her eyes. “And every night since I remembered, I wanted to tell you. I felt courage that night. Even though you had done something…” She opened her eyes, darting to and fro, from eye to eye and back. Seemingly satisfied with what she saw, Twilight added, “So terrible, but I could see the remorse. I cried myself to sleep so many times, wishing I could show you that the pony I met that night was the real you. The strongest thing I remember is your doubt that that was truly you.”
“It’s not. I’m—”
“It is!” Twilight surged forward, wrapping Luna in an embrace. “It really is,” she continued more softly, whispering into Luna’s mane. “I’ve seen you, watched you all these years, with that thought in my head. But… I couldn’t tell you. You have no idea how hard that was, to see you struggle with your past and yourself, and not be able to do anything. I hated myself for knowing how to show you, but worried that showing you would break…”
Twilight broke down into quiet sobs and snuffling, ragged breaths. “I thought…” She sniffled and pulled back briefly to rub at her muzzle. “I thought if I told you, you would never remember that night.”
Wet tracks trailed down Luna’s neck where Twilight had wept against her, cheek pressed close. The dream, so fresh in her memory, of Twilight Sparkle’s bright curiosity and gentle kindness flooded her again. Bounding through the snow in the courtyard, talking of her youth with a stranger, of happy times, and remembering so much without the shadow of her past actions to haunt her. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, unable to stop the tears trailing down her cheeks. What would it feel like to never remember that?
The thought was terrifying, but she kept the fear from overwhelming her. “Thank you, Twilight,” she said through a throat tightened by relief. “For everything, and for waiting.”
Twilight laughed weakly, rubbing tears away from her eyes. “You’re welcome.”
The tears on her own face felt like a mark of absolution, but she scrubbed them away all the same and lifted the box from where she’d sat it. “This isn’t the original cutie confection,” she said apologetically. “I had Crunchy Crust make up a new one just for you… Your original one means too much to me to eat. Is that okay?”
Shaking her head, Twilight laughed and plucked the other one, the one with Luna’s cutie mark and coloring from the box. “Don’t be silly, of course it is. As long as you don’t mind me eating your cutie confection.”
Luna chortled with her. “I had meant for you to eat your own. I hadn’t wanted to seem pretentious, but… Yes, I would appreciate the sharing.” She nodded towards the balcony. “I checked the weather ponies’ reports, and the sky should be clear from here to Ponyville, if you would care to join me.”
“I would be delighted,” Twilight said with a bright smile, opening the slatted doors to the open balcony, empty save for two cushions placed side by side, clean and plump. “I’d hoped,” she said gently as she took the one on the right, “that my ‘unexpected guest’ would be you. I’ve been waiting to share this view with you for years.”
Luna took the left, enjoying Twilight’s warmth as she settled. As warm as the bubble of timeless seasons was, it still grew chilly at night, as she well remembered. In none of her years living and studying in the tower had she ever had a companion to watch the night come. “You haven’t seen the view from up high at all?”
“Well…” Twilight squirmed on her cushion, glancing from her cupcake to Luna’s face, then away again. “Only occasionally, before I remembered. I was too deep in my studies to appreciate it at the time.”
Luna smiled wryly at her. “And I, too bookish to make friends, had been stuck up here for near six years with nopony to share it with. ‘Tis new for both of us then.”
“But Celestia—”
Luna cut her off with a shake of her head. “She was too tired at night to stay with me during my evening studies, save that one night, when we two sat in this very spot and…” She lifted her cupcake to take a sniff, then a nibble along the edge of the frosting. She sighed as the butter-cream and blackberry frosting slid down her tongue.
“Mmm.” Twilight agreed, closing her eyes as she took a mirrored bite. Luna had requested that her frosting be black currant, a delicacy that she had enjoyed greatly as a filly but was rare in this time for some unknown reason.
Below, as they nibbled away, the land grew darker as forests seemed to drink up the last drams of light as the sun faded in the west and Mt. Canter’s shadow spread like a blanket across patchwork fields of green and traceries of blue lakes, brown rivers. Closer to hoof, the aptly named Rainbow Falls blazed orange and red, sliding to purple and finally disappeared in the darkness.
“The moon?” Twilight looked up from her cupcake, almost denuded of frosting, a crease on her brow.
“Soon,” Luna answered her. “I wish, for a moment, to savor the night as it truly is. Look, Twilight.”
She waved a hoof down towards Ponyville and its suburbs. Like fireflies, lights flickered on and spread. Unlike fireflies, they stayed lit and steady. From on high, streets, houses, and Twilight’s castle glowed with torch and the more fey, otherworldly light cast by crystalline embrasures. All across the visible land, lights came on and stayed, lighting the night in patches of glowing fog or cloud. In the distance, Cloudsdale’s highest towers were still lit with the last traces of sunlight, blazing like torches slowly fading out.
“This, I missed,” Luna said. “Never in my time have ponies so enjoyed the night that they would light the land with a hundred thousand pinpricks of light. And now…”
She stood, passing the remains of her cupcake to Twilight and centered herself.
The moon waited with the obduracy of stone and the patience of the inanimate yet flowing with affection for her. With little more than a whisper of power, the moon began to rise, huge and silver-white on the horizon, casting an answering, feeble glow to the sun’s brilliance, but revealing in its light details that had been obscured by the glare of full day.
Hills and forests transmuted to oceans of deepest navy blue, cut through by the wavy wave-crests of rivers and streams. Even the muddy brown of the largest rivers turned light, reflecting back glimmers and flashes as the waters flowed ever so slightly faster, answering the call of the moon as she rose.
Towns became islands, their rooftops glinting rocks on a pale shore, their flickering golden light dimming as the moon rose and grew smaller, brighter. The patchwork of fields and forests, streams and rivers took on a bas-relief look as shadows took hold, deepening the colors revealed by first moonlight and brightening others, hidden until the full light of the moon shown down upon the land.
Throughout it all, she felt Twilight beside her, still as a stone, eyes wide. Almost, Luna could feel her companion’s awe and wonder, and even the imagining of it made her weep silently for the answered wishes for somepony to appreciate the night as she did. Even if it was only this night, sharing it with one pony who saw her for who she was, it was enough.
When the moon had fully woken from her slumber and begun her own path across the sky, Luna let go of the communion spell and sat back, accepting again the silently offered cupcake.
“It’s beautiful,” Twilight whispered, eyes wide as she craned her neck to look every which directly down the mountainside. “And look at my castle!” She pointed with a hoof.
The crystalline tree, standing alone at the edge of Ponyville, radiated like the moon herself with an inner light of blue-tinged silver, casting her own shadows and seeming to drink in the moon’s light.
“It’s never done that before,” Twilight added, glancing at Luna. “Why is it doing that?”
“It’s reflecting your joy, Twilight. Do you not feel the happiness? I can. It radiates from your castle like a bonfire.”
“Oh.” Twilight flushed and sat back. “Yes. Yes, I’m happy. Very much so. I… corrected a mistake, and helped a friend keep a promise. But I’ve done that before, and it’s never done that.”
“Perhaps it has, and you have not seen it because the light of the sun overpowers all other light, where the moon lets the light of others shine as well.” Or so I thought. Luna took another bite from her cupcake, folded the wrapper back and took another bite. “That is what I once thought. That the sun outshone everypony because my sister wished it to. How wrong I was. She is a leader, Twilight Sparkle. She shines so bright because she is happiest when her example inspires others. I am happiest when I share my joy with others and let them shine as well. You, dear Twilight, appear to be happiest when you help others shine.”
“Is that true?”
Luna snorted. “Partly. One cannot escape certain physical limitations. The sun cannot be dimmer than it is, nor the moon brighter, but surely you can feel the magical radiance beyond the light they give off?”
“I… can. Yes.” Twilight squinted up at the moon, shifting her head back and forth like a dowser testing for water. “It has been so faint, though. How can it be so much stronger tonight?”
Luna glanced at her, pondering for a long moment before she decided for truth. “Because this is the first time in a long time I have been truly happy.” On the edge of her tongue sat a confession about her self-imposed punishment for her past misdeeds, but she swallowed it at the last moment. “There was something missing, but now I have it again.”
Twilight pulled her gaze down from the moon to meet her eyes. She smiled. “Friendship is like that.”
Unable to meet her eyes for more than a moment, Luna looked up to the moon again, feeling its silent insistence that she confess all.
