Twilight Sparkle at the Gate of Heavenly Peace
Compass Call set the ancient vase on the table, in view of the other conspirators.
The amphora had been an antique even before the Crystal Empire vanished for a thousand years. It stood on a base so narrow that Compass half-expected it to tip over and shatter under the mere weight of their breath. Broad handles, designed for an earth pony’s hooves or teeth, supported the plump vessel, above which rose a neck as slender as a crane’s. The porcelain was so thin that even the faint light of the cellar lanterns shone through it, illuminating the prosaic images adornings its sides and giving them the illusion of movement and life.
“It’s safe to touch, right?” Peridot asked. She shied away from the vase as soon as Compass Call set it down. Her ears lay flat against her mossy mane, and she crouched low to the floor.
“Touch, yes,” he said. “As long as you don’t drink from it, it’s perfectly safe.”
Fever Dream stepped up to the vase. Her eyes were wide, as always, wild and full of spiteful energy. She sniffed at the handles and gave them a nibble, ignoring Peridot’s quiet inhaled gasp. She reared up on her hind legs to peer down into the mouth of the vase, then stuck the tip of her muzzle into it and drew in a deep breath. She held it for a moment, then exhaled.
“I don’t smell anything,” she said. She dismounted the table and fixed Compass Call with a stare. “How do you even know it’s in there?”
“It has no scent,” he said. Every conversation with Fever Dream was a battle, and he could already feel the temperature in the underground room rising. “It wouldn’t be much use if it did, would it? You want to get caught before we even begin?”
Fever marched up to him, shoving her muzzle up against his. Although significantly shorter than Compass Call, she had an energy and presence that filled the room, drawing every eye and holding it captive. She snorted, and he could smell the apples and hay that had been her lunch. His hind legs struggled to hold ground against her.
“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe you’ve had second thoughts about all this? Going soft? You wouldn’t mind if we missed this opportunity, huh, and had to wait another year while you found more excuses to—”
“Enough,” a quiet, calm voice cut through Fever’s rant. “Fever Dream, Compass Call, you know what I’ve said about your quarreling.”
They broke apart and turned toward Lazulite. She ignored their looks, her eyes on the vase. She walked a slow circle around the table, sending Peridot skittering out of her way.
Compass Call ducked his head and muttered a quiet apology. Fever Dream just scowled.
“Remember, we’re all comrades here,” Lazulite continued. She stared at the vase, her eyes darting across its painted forms – crystal pony phalanxes aligned against windigoes, elaborately dressed courtiers presenting gifts to a monarch, a pale mare nursing a foal beneath a crystalberry tree; all typical motifs of the early Spring and Autumn Empire. She reached up a hoof to gently brush the porcelain skin, then turned to Peridot. “Go fetch one of your pets.”
Peridot started at the sudden attention, then nodded. She vanished up the stairs so quickly that Compass Call wondered, not for the first time, if she had some pegasus blood in her veins.
The three of them waited in silence. Above, he heard the quiet ring of Peridot’s shoes on the crystal floors as she ran around the spacious halls of her family’s manor. He focused on the sounds, his ears rotating to track them. It gave him an excuse to ignore Fever, who slowly simmered at his side, too angry to speak but too proud to walk away. Lazulite had eyes only for the vase, and she studied it quietly until Peridot returned, panting with effort, bearing an offering in her hooves.
Peridot set the heirloom rabbit on the polished floor and nuzzled its side with her nose, cooing quietly. The product of centuries of breeding by Crystal Empire aristocrats, the rabbit bore as much resemblance to its wild kin as a cocker spaniel to a wolf. Golden fur, polished to a gleaming shine, filled the cellar with a warm glow. Ears and tail several sizes too large for its body dragged on the crystal as it hopped between Peridot’s legs.
“Prove it,” Lazulite said.
Compass Call picked up a decanter from the side bar and took a swig. It was filled with snowmelt, and chilled his throat as he swallowed. The rest of it he poured into the antique vase and then, very carefully, he grasped the vase by its handle and tipped it over, forming a little puddle on the floor.
Peridot gave her rabbit a little nudge. It peered up at her, black eyes and nose glittering like gems, then bent down to lap at the water with its tongue. It shivered, fell over, and lay still.
“Satisfied?” Compass asked. He set the vase back on the table.
Fever just snorted again. Lazulite peered at the dead rabbit for long seconds, then nodded.
“It is excellent,” she said. She turned around and walked to the far wall. A huge map of Crystal City, the capital of their ancient empire, stretched from one end of the room to the other. Little flags and symbols were pinned to it here and there, annotating the various puzzle pieces of their conspiracy. Lazulite approached the center of the wall and stopped.
She reached out a slow hoof and rested it against a wide open space on the map. The Gate of Heavenly Peace, the massive square that guarded the approach to the crystal palace, where so much of their empire’s history had started and ended. The square where the crystal ponies first set down their kingdom. The square where their honored ancestors stood against the windigoes, scattering them forever. It was the square where centuries of kings and queens had ruled, their empire slowly decaying from within as corruption and decadence took hold.
It was the square where Lord Sombra had dispatched the last of the ancient, rotting monarchs, bringing order and purpose to their empire. It was where he had started a new, glorious age for their kind, burning away the gangrene of the old. It was the site of their lord’s defeat a thousand years past by the Equestrian bitch-princesses. And when at last they were reborn, rejoining time’s stream in a too-brief moment of glory, the Gate of Heavenly Peace was where they watched in horror as their lord was destroyed by the monsters and demons of the Equestrian kingdom.
“Here,” Lazulite whispered. “All our effort, all our work, it’s led us here. Soon, comrades, we’ll have our revenge. Twilight Sparkle will be dead.”
* * *
Like most crystal ponies, Compass Call sometimes had trouble remembering the past.
There was a clear demarcation drawn in his memory, like a curtain pulled across the room of his mind. On one side, this side, the events since the return of the Crystal Empire from its banishment were clear and full of life. Every sight, every scent, every touch burned his senses with unnatural clarity, as though he’d lived his entire life with his eyes wrapped in gauze and suddenly had it ripped away, revealing the world in all its hidden splendor.
On the far side of his mind, memories of the time before the exile were dim and hazy, shadows on a cave wall. When he thought back just a few years, it was as though his mind belong to someone else, and he was just a witness to their thoughts. Sometimes, he wondered if Lord Sombra’s spell had somehow mixed up all the crystal ponies’ bodies and minds, like a box of toys upended by a foal and hastily tossed back together. Maybe it was not his past that he remembered at all.
Such thoughts were blasphemous, and he kept them to himself. Fever would flay him if she heard him even whisper such doubts about their lord, though sometimes, when they were alone in one of the empty rooms of Peridot’s mansion, talking about events long ago, he would see a shadow of confusion flicker across her face, and he knew that she felt the same sense of disconnection from her own past as he.
Time was not a plaything. Even a god should let the river flow on its natural course.
* * *
The rapid ring of metal shoes on crystal floors woke Compass Call from a deep slumber.
He lifted his head from the pillow just as Peridot burst into the room. Beside him, Fever Dream shifted, groaning quietly, more reluctant to join the waking world. The sharp report of the door slamming against the wall startled her upright, sending the sheets floating through the still air to pool on the floor beside the bed.
Peridot skidded to a stop, her shoes screeching and cutting ugly gouges on the crystal. She panted, her eyes wild, mane askew, her lungs about to collapse or explode.
“They know,” she gasped. “They’re coming.”
Shit! Compass jumped from the bed. They knew this might happen, they had bolt plans, 30-second drills they’d practiced at Lazulite’s insistence. He’d thought them silly at the time, but now, frozen, panicked, all those carefully memorized orders fled from his mind. There was only the sudden cold fear of capture and death. They’re coming. They’re coming! There was something he was supposed to do now, but—
“Go! Move!” Fever Dream rescued them. She dashed to the closet and grabbed a set of saddlebags, sliding them across the floor toward him. “Compass, get the vase. Peridot, wake Lazulite and—”
“I tried! She’s not in her room!”
“Then just go!” Fever shoved a final set of saddlebags onto Peridot’s back and gave her a rough shove toward the door. “Both of you, go!”
That worked. Peridot spun, her emerald tail vanishing out the door. Fever, a red shadow in the darkness, followed a few steps behind. Compass Call stared at them, lost, until a shout from outside the window caught his ear. He turned to see a row of lights marching down the street toward the manor – lanterns, held aloft by a squadron of the guard. He stared at them for a moment, his hooves frozen to the floor, before another shout shattered his fear and set him running into the depths of the dark house.
Get the vase. Get the vase. He tore down the stairs, taking entire flights in a single bound. The crystal panes cracked beneath his racing hooves. Outside, there came more shouts. Lights filled the ground-floor windows.
Above, in the bedrooms, he heard a series of crashes, followed by a sudden glow. Fever Dream starting fires. Her part of the plan. The plan was working. That gave him a moment of hope as he reached the cellar stairs. Behind him came another crash near the front door and the rattle of armored figures running through the halls.
The amphora was where they’d left it, resting on a stand in the center of the room. It looked as fragile as a dry leaf, and it would shatter the moment he touched it, and all their plans would be for naught. He slowed to a stop and gently grasped the handle in his teeth. It rattled as he shook. He turned toward the wall where—
“Halt!”
He spun toward the stair. A guard was already halfway down it, a short spear held in the crook of his foreleg. A visored helm covered his mane, but his face was exposed, showing his bared teeth. He looked young, younger than Compass Call, and his eyes were filled with as much fear as Compass felt, as though he were the one holding the vase, and not the one with armor and a razor-sharp spear. Compass edged back until his rump hit the wall.
“Halt!” the guard shouted again. “Turn around and—”
He never finished. A red blur flew down the stairs, crashing into the guard with a deafening rattle of armor and crystal. They tumbled to the landing at the base of the stairs, the guard on the bottom, Fever Dream atop him. She reared up, drew her hoof back, and brought it down in a savage blow into the guard’s jaw. Something cracked, his helmet rang against the floor, and his body went limp. The spear rolled away and came to a stop.
Fever gasped for breath. She was bleeding from a cut above her brow. The blood was invisible against her coat, but drops trickled down her muzzle to paint little flowers on the floor. She sat for a moment on the guard, then pushed herself up. Above, at the top of the stairs, Compass heard more hooves.
That got her moving. Fever staggered to her hooves and stumbled toward Compass, snagging a lantern from the table on the way. She whipped her head around and let it fly to shatter against the maps covering the far wall, and liquid fire began to roll across them. Smoke rose and filled the room as she reached his side.
“Peridot?” she asked.
He shook his head. Across the room, armored hooves appeared on the highest steps.
Fever trembled, then shook her head. “We can’t wait.” She leaned against the wall, pushing her entire weight against it, and a seam appeared in the crystal. A hidden recessed door, just barely wide and tall enough for a pony to crawl through, swung open. They squeezed through it into the tunnel beyond.
He dared a glance back. The cellar swarmed with guards, battling the flames and dragging their unconscious brother back toward the stairs. If any noticed the hidden door as it swung shut in the chaos, they didn’t attempt to follow.
Compass Call and Fever Dream fled into the darkness beneath Crystal City.
* * *
A thousand years ago, the bottle was empty again.
Compass Call held the opaque bottle upside-down and shook it. He stuck his tongue as far up the neck as he could, tasting the residue of the harsh whiskey. It was a step down from crystalberry wine but, well, whiskey had some compelling properties that made it a more suitable drink for him than wine. Mostly it was cheaper.
He heard hoofsteps on the cobblecrystal street, then a mare’s voice. She was speaking too fast for him to understand again, her words all mixed and slurred together. He let her babble for a few seconds before politely suggesting she go get him another bottle of whiskey, or if that wasn’t in the cards, then go fuck off somewhere else.
That worked. She spat at his hooves and trotted away, her nose high in the air. He snorted and set his head back down on his folded legs.
Rich bitch. He knew her type – plenty of money, but when it came to bums on the street all she had for him was insults. If he was lucky, they sometimes tossed coins in his direction, always careful to leave them a few feet shy so he had to scrabble for them. A cheap form of amusement, probably, but he didn’t care. Dignity didn’t pay for drink.
The day ground on at its usual cruel pace. In a few hours, he knew, the guards would be around these parts for their patrol, and he would have to move before they arrived or risk their hooves breaking his ribs again. It must be fun being a guard.
In fact, he should probably get moving. He grunted and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Half the dirt and trash in the street came with him, clinging to his coat in great disgusting clumps that he no longer noticed. Just as he was part of the streets, the streets were part of him.
He blinked.
There was a mare beside him, seated just a few feet away. She wasn’t yelling at him, or spitting on him, or any of the things he expected from the rich bitches in the Spinel District. Instead she just stared at him with eyes the color of the night sky. Her coat was the exquisite, sparkling blue of the highborne, but her sapphire mane was cropped short in a style he’d never seen on a mare. The rich bitches loved their flowing locks – her mane was little more than a buzz. Despite the cold colors she’d been born with, her expression was filled with zeal. A fire burned somewhere in this mare, intense enough for even a casual drunkard to see.
“Wha?” he offered.
“Hello, friend,” she said. She spoke slow and clear, just for him. No confusing, slurred words from this mare.
“I…” He squinted. “Who’re you? Do I know you?”
“Not yet, but I’d like to know you, brother. I’d like to help you.”
He snorted and spat on the crystal sidewalk. “You ain’t my sister. Look’it us.”
It was true. This highborne mare was as crystal as they came. Her coat was a million gems. Her eyes burned like diamonds. No way dross filth like him had ever come from the same cunt.
“What if I could be?” she said. “What if all ponies could be brothers and sisters? What if those old, foolish rules didn’t matter anymore?”
“Look.” He rubbed his snout. His head was starting to clear from the lack of drink, which meant it was starting to hurt. “You wanna help me? You got any whiskey?”
“You don’t need whiskey, brother. You need purpose. I can give you that.”
Purpose? He almost laughed. “Lady, you got the wrong dross.”
A wrinkle of distaste twisted her muzzle. “Don’t use that word. There are no drosses or gravels or semis or highborn, just ponies. And our Lord is working to make us all equal, like we should be.”
Something about that sounded familiar. He’d heard people whispering in the streets about some lord or other. Up to something new. Ponies in the Spinel sounded afraid when they spoke of him.
Anything that made these rich bitches and their geldings fearful had to be good. He blinked his eyes until his vision was clearer than it’d been in days, and he stared at the mare before him.
“Who are you?”
She smiled. “My name is Lazulite, and I’d like to talk to you about Lord Sombra.”
* * *
They emerged from a storm drain two blocks down from Peridot’s mansion. A small stream flowed through a culvert beneath the road, and they splashed through it, stumbling, their hooves skidding across smooth river rocks in the darkness, until they managed to find the bank and shelter beneath winter-bare bushes. None of the streetlights reached them here, and they were safe from casual observation.
Of course, being actively pursued by guards was a different matter. “We can’t stay here,” Compass whispered. He winced at the noise, quiet as it was. In the still night it was like shouting.
“Stick to the shadows,” Fever whispered back. She pressed against his side, offering a touch of warmth and comfort, then darted forward along the river bank.
Behind them, an orange glow began to fill the night. Smoke rose up into the chill air, lit from beneath by the fires of Peridot’s home. Shouts rang out in the streets, and bells joined the cacophony. Alarms. Panic. It was suitably distracting, and they reached their next stop unaccosted by guards or strangers.
The safe house was a step down from Peridot’s mansion. A ramshackle single-story apartment squeezed into a block with dozens of others. It had been a slum for drosses and poor gravels in the days of the old kings, before Lord Sombra’s coronation. After that it was repurposed into special housing for migrant workers, ponies who were deliriously happy to be offered shelter and sustenance by their lord. All were grateful to the great leader.
The key was supposed to be under a false rock in a small garden beneath the rear window. It was missing when Fever checked, and they were about to turn and flee when the back door opened. Peridot’s slender face peeked out from the crack.
“Come on!” she hissed.
They slipped inside, and Peridot eased the door shut behind them. A single lantern, its shrouds pulled almost fully down, cast a dim flickering light across the room. It was largely bare, with only a table, a few chairs, and some bedding laid out along the walls. One of the other rooms held a pantry with enough food for several days, Compass knew. Hopefully they wouldn’t need it for long.
Peridot nearly tackled him with a hug. The amphora rattled in his teeth, and he almost dropped it. A panicked catch saved it from shattering, and he carefully set it on the table before turning his attention to the mare.
Peridot wasn’t crying anymore, but the trails left by tears on her cheeks still shone in the lamplight. She shivered against his side. “I thought, I thought—”
“It’s fine,” he said. “Deep breaths, okay? We made it.”
“What about Lazulite?” Fever said. She pulled her saddlebags off and rooted through them, eventually finding the first-aid kit each of them carried. She fished out a pad of gauze and held it against the wound on her brow.
“I went to get her first. She wasn’t in her room.” Peridot took the lantern from the table and carried it over to Fever. Normally she avoided getting too near the fiery mare for fear of getting snapped at, but alone among the four of them she had some medical training, and Fever held still as she took the gauze and gently dabbed at the blood crusted around the wound.
Compass turned away. It wasn’t that he couldn’t stand the sight of blood, but somepony had to keep a watch out the window. He pressed his muzzle against the crystal panes and watched the thin trail of smoke rising in the distance.
“She may have been out,” he said. Lazulite kept odd hours, always off on some secretive errand. Working with other cells, perhaps. Other ponies who kept Lord Sombra’s flame alive in their hearts.
The other option, that she hadn’t been out, was too grim to consider. He turned away from the window and slumped against the wall. Everything they’d worked for, all their plans, lay in ruins. He felt the cold night seep into his limbs, still wet from the stream, and the terror of the past hour finally overwhelmed the fading adrenaline in his blood. He started to shake.
“Stop that,” Fever said. She sat beside him, trailed a few steps behind by Peridot. “We still have the vase, and we still have our plan. We knew this might happen, which is why we kept bags and a safehouse ready…”
Fever trailed off as a faint sound caught their ears. Stones crunching beneath hooves outside. They rose unsteadily to their hooves as the sound drew nearer. Fever reached into her saddlebag with a hoof, and something sharp flashed in her grip. She stepped toward the door just as it opened.
Lazulite stepped in. She saw Fever, froze for a moment at the sight of the knife, then carefully closed the door behind her.
“I’m glad you all made it,” she said. “You can put that away, Fever.”
Peridot bounded forward. She didn’t try to hug Lazulite – nopony tried to hug Lazulite – but she couldn’t conceal her relief. “Thank the maker, you made it! I–I thought I missed you in the house, and, and the fires, and…”
“Shh.” Lazulite gently stroked Peridot’s mane. “I appreciate your concern, sister. It speaks well of your priorities that you are so concerned for your comrades, even as your home burns.”
Peridot shook her head. “A house is nothing. Possessions mean nothing. All belong to Lord Sombra.”
“All belong to Lord Sombra,” Compass mumbled reflexively. Fever did the same, though the benediction rattled in her throat. Every word she uttered was tinted with the same simmering anger.
“You retrieved the vase?” Lazulite asked.
He nodded. “On the table. It’s fine.”
She grasped the lantern and went to check. She tilted the vase in her hooves, inspecting it for cracks, and when she was done she set it back and went over to Fever, briefly examining the cut on her head. Fever bristled at the contact, but she didn’t pull away.
They had some time, it seemed. They could relax. Compass Call cleared his throat for their attention.
“What happened back there?” he asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Fever scowled at him. “The guard must’ve gotten wind of our plan. Probably something you screwed up when you got the vase.”
“Nopony saw me,” he shot back. “The replacement was perfect. They still don’t know it’s missing. Maybe they tracked you down, huh? Only one of us has a criminal record, and—”
“Quiet, both of you,” Lazulite broke in. She took a slow breath, sounding more rattled than Compass Call could ever remember. “It’s obvious what happened. We’ve been betrayed.”
They all froze. Eyes skipped from pony to pony. Compass Call shifted his hooves, finding a more balanced stance, to fight or flee. Fever Dream casually reached up with a hoof toward her saddlebag.
“What?” Peridot broke the silence. She stared up at Lazulite, incomprehension written on her face. “What? No, that’s… that can’t be.”
“That was a full squadron of guard,” Lazulite said. She pulled off her saddlebags and took a seat on the bedding, away from the cold crystal floor. “They wouldn’t send that many after a simple thief or firebrand. They must’ve known about our plan.”
The cold fear returned. Every sound outside the silence in the apartment seemed magnified. Was that a hoofstep, drawing closer to their door? The rattle of armored guards, marching down the street? Were those sparks from the distant fire outside the window, or lanterns? He glanced toward the door, wondering how many steps it would take to reach.
“Somepony talked,” Fever said. A snarl twisted her face, peeling back her lips to expose her bared teeth. “Somepony talked, dammit! Who? Who was it?”
“We don’t know that,” Peridot said, hastily. “Maybe we just got sloppy? The guard are smart, and they could have—”
“How did you know they were coming?” Compass asked.
Silence again. Peridot shrank from their eyes.
“I, I thought I heard something outside,” she stammered. “It woke me – you know I don’t sleep well, Lazulite! – and when I looked out the window I saw them marching across the west bridge. I didn’t know for sure they were coming to the house but you said we had to be extra careful and assume every movement was a raid and and...” She ran out of breath and stopped, panting.
“Shh, shh…” Lazulite said. “I believe you, sister. Few have given as much to our lord’s cause as you. Few have made so many sacrifices, and now your home too.”
Peridot sniffed and nodded vigorously, then shot an angry look at Compass Call. “See?”
“Right.” Fever Dream frowned. “Where were you, Lazulite? Peridot said you weren’t in your room.”
“I was out meeting with contacts,” Lazulite said. The words came easily to her. “Are we so far gone that you suspect me, now? The mare who orchestrated this entire plot, who found all of you, who dragged you out of the work pits, Fever Dream, do you think it was all so I could turn around and betray us at the last moment? Just days away from our grand revenge? If you believe that you may as well kill me now and take over our little circle. If you think you can see our plan through, that is.”
Compass had no idea how Fever might respond to such a challenge, and he didn’t want to find out. He set a gentle, restraining hoof on her shoulder. “Let’s not argue,” he said. “Lazulite, nopony believes you betrayed us. I… I don’t think anypony here could do that. We’ve all given so much for our lord.”
“You mean that?” Peridot said. She glanced pointedly at Fever. “You trust everypony here?”
Fever stepped forward and snarled. “I’ll—”
Compass shoved his way between the mares. “I trust all of you,” he said. “Fever was with me last night. She was taken by surprise just as much as me.”
“With.” Peridot snorted. She muttered something else too quiet for Compass to hear. Beside him, Fever bristled and pushed forward.
“Enough!” Lazulite shouted. After holding their voices down for so long, the sudden cry pierced through the night. The crystal walls echoed the call back for seconds. “I swear, it’s like I’m dealing with foals. We all need to calm down and think.”
“Calm down?” Fever shoved past Compass and marched up to their leader. “Calm down? Now? How are we supposed to do that when one of us is a traitor? Are we supposed to just back to sleep?”
“Nothing has been lost,” Lazulite said. “We have the vase, still. The mere fact that the guard aren’t here, right now, suggests that they don’t know everything about our plan. Our secrets are still secret, and we have a weapon that nopony in the guard can match. Not even the filthy foreign princess or her slave consort can match.”
“The vase?” Compass glanced at it. It wasn’t so much a weapon as a tool of assassination, and if he were being honest, it was easily matched by a spear or a spell. The vase’s genius was in its subterfuge, not in any inherent power.
“No, the vase is just a piece of the plan. Our weapon, comrades, is each other. We four ponies are willing to die for our cause, for the glory of our lord.” Lazulite’s voice took on a fiery energy as she spoke. “How can any of them match that? The cowards we fight are afraid of death, because they are fighting on behalf of a weak and rotting carcass. Only those, those like us, who fight for a true cause can face death unafraid. That is our greatest weapons, comrades. We must have faith in each other, and pledge our lives to the glory of Lord Sombra.”
“For the glory of Lord Sombra,” they all echoed, unthinking.
But in the back of his mind, a seed of doubt slowly took root. Memories a thousand years old, piled atop each other like grains of sand, began to sift and flow.
* * *
A thousand years ago, Compass Call and Lazulite visited the Autumn Sunlight labor camp.
Compass Call had never been to the camps – his crimes never quite rose to the level that resulted in slavery. He was more of a drunk-tank-and-lashings sort of stallion.
Lately, though, the drunk tank was fading further and further into his past. It had only been a few weeks since Lazulite appeared beside him with her sermon on Lord Somba, but it felt like a different lifetime. He hadn’t touched a bottle since that day; his coat was growing out, his thin, wasted frame had filled once again with muscle and flesh. At Lazulite’s insistence he’d seen a barber who chopped off the filthy birdsnest on his head and given him a style similar to his newfound sister: short, neat, almost militant. He even had clothes now, a simple button-up, collared tunic like a laborer might wear, without any pretensions of wealth or status or power. The perfect uniform for Lord Sombra’s new movement. He saw more and more tunics like it in the streets each day.
Lazulite led the way past the guards at the entrance. They looked away, ignoring her and Compass Call both. As they reached the central yard, the discordant melody of steel hammers on stone filled his ears. Somewhere out of sight, a pony shout in pain.
The warden met them at the inner gate. He blocked their way for a moment, until Lazulite stepped up and whispered in his ear. Something passed between them – a small purse, words, understanding – and he stepped aside without a second look back. Lazulite moved past him into the prisoners’ den.
Compass Call raced to keep up. “Be careful, Lazulite. These are dangerous ponies.”
“I know. That’s why we need them.”
Time in Autumn Sunlight hadn’t been kind to its guests. Drosses, most of them, with a few gravels here and there, they worked forges and beat metal stock with hammers, or chiseled at the huge crystal blocks on their way to joining the king’s summer palace, now in its 74th year of construction. The slaves worked naked, wounded, dying. Most looked ready to collapse.
Ahead lay the gravel pits. Gangs of slaves, chained together, smashed their hammers against massive boulders in time to the drummer’s pulse. Gears in a perpetual machine, turning big rocks into small ones. The air sang with each strike.
“There,” Lazulite said. “That one.”
‘That one’ was a mare, a few years younger than Compass Call, with a brilliant blood-hued coat that stood out like a candle’s flame in a moonless night. A semi, here in the labor camps? He stared at her, disbelieving, waiting for his eyes to reject the fiction.
Nothing changed. The mare wielded her hammer with a vigor and zeal he didn’t expect from a slave. There was a touch of love in each violent swing. And Lazulite walked straight up to her, this mare serving a death sentence, who swung her hammer like it was a toy. Compass Call’s heart jumped into his throat.
The red mare noticed Lazulite, and the hammer paused at its highest point. She stared at the highborn pony, this flower in a pool of shit. Compass Call recognized the confused look on her face – it was the one he’d worn weeks ago when Lazulite appeared beside him in the gutter.
The semi lowered the hammer, finally letting it rest on the crushed scree beneath her hooves. She spent a few moments panting for breath. The stone dust had stained her coat gray, but her sweat washed it away, leaving dark trails down her barrel and face and neck. She flipped her mane out of her eyes, then spat at Lazulite’s hooves.
Compass Call started to step forward. Lazulite stopped him with a hoof.
“Well?” The semi sneered at them. “Here on tour, your ladyship? Are the zoos closed?”
“No, sister,” Lazulite said. “I’m here to free you, if you want.”
“If I want?” She laughed. “Just letting slaves out today? You ask the warden about that?”
“The warden and I have an understanding. I give him a few bits, and he lets me looks for treasure. It’s a better deal for me by far.”
That shut her up. The semi leaned back, then looked around at the other slaves. They’d stopped working now, ignoring the drummer’s beat. Further away, the guards had taken notice of this lapse, but they kept their distance.
Her tongue flicked out, cleaning the dust from her muzzle. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” Lazulite ignored the other slaves. She ignored everything, even Compass Call. All her fire was focused on this red mare. “Why are you here, sister?”
“Killed a stallion.” She said it casually, like Lazulite had asked her about the weather. “Got in a fight, got a little too excited. Not my fuckin’ fault he couldn’t take a hit.”
“Mhm.” Lazulite took her time looking the semi up and down, from mane to hooves and back. “You like fighting?”
A wide, thirsty grin was her only answer.
Compass Call leaned in to whisper to Lazulite. Weeks ago he’d never have dreamed of putting his filthy muzzle so close to a highborn’s perfect coat, but now that Sombra had opened his eyes, the old rules felt like nothing more than dusty relics in his mind. Cobwebs to be swept away with the old king when the time finally came.
“She’ll hurt somepony if you let her out,” he whispered.
“I know,” Lazulite whispered back. “Enemies are meant to be hurt.”
She took a step forward. Close enough that the semi could reach out and touch her. Another flash of fear flowed through Compass Call’s veins.
“What is your name, sister?” Lazulite asked, unafraid.
The semi stared at her. Her tongue flashed out, cleaning her muzzle again. A nervous gesture. “Fever Dream. Who’re you?”
“My name is Lazulite, and I’d like to talk to you about Lord Sombra.”
* * *
In the harsh light of morning, bereft of last night’s adrenaline rush and exhausted by too few hours of sleep, it was clear their plans needed to change.
Peridot’s cover was blown, that much was certain. Even if the usurpers didn’t suspect her role in the plot, there was no way anypony whose house was raided by the guard and burned down – even the scion of a highborn family like Peridot – could get anywhere near visiting royalty. It would take a long time, and a lot of exculpatory evidence, before anypony in the new government trusted her again.
They had two days until Twilight Sparkle arrived for the anniversary of Lord Sombra’s defeat. Even thinking about the reason for the celebration was enough to put Compass Call in a foul mood. More than anger, more than hatred, he felt disbelief whenever he walked the streets of the capital; disbelief that so many of his fellow subjects could possibly celebrate their lord’s downfall. Disbelief that so many ponies could fail to understand the greatness Lord Sombra had brought to the empire, the unifying power of his rule, the strength with which he swept away the corruption and rot of the old regime. Disbelief that bordered on incomprehension – even the dross, the dull-coated like him, had they forgotten the cruel divisions Sombra had ended?
Sometimes, in idle fantasies, Compass Call imagined that everypony around him, the shopkeepers and bankers and street sweepers and students, were all part of the same plot as he. That the entire nation was simply putting on a display of loyalty for their usurper princess, and at the decisive moment they would all throw off their masks and fall upon her with knives, and the Crystal Empire would rise anew in Lord Sombra’s name, if not under his actual leadership.
But then, whenever he thought such foolish things, Compass saw the unguarded happiness of ponies in the street, smiling and laughing whenever they talked about the new regime. The undisguised fear that tinged their voices when they spoke about Lord Sombra.
No, he was alone. The only ponies he could rely on were Fever Dream, Peridot and Lazulite. And, lately, perhaps not even them.
Somepony must’ve talked. Perhaps they’d made a mistake, or perhaps it was a real betrayal. Either way, they were in too deep now. They had to carry out the plan or die.
Across the small room, Fever Dream roused from her bedroll. They hadn’t slept together last night, in deference to the cramped quarters and lack of privacy. Her mane was a mess of orange and yellow, all tangled together, and she shook it roughly.
He tore a hunk of rye bread from the loaf and passed it over to her. She accepted it with a grumbled thanks, and they lapsed into silence. It made for a poor breakfast, compared with Peridot’s usual table.
“So, what now?” Fever mumbled around a mouthful of bread.
“We move forward,” he said. He glanced at the vase on the table beside them. It seemed so harmless, just a fancy pot with some painted images. Nopony would suspect the magic that lurked inside until it was too late. The ancient Crystal kings who’d created it must have been careful students in the arts of death.
“The guard saw you,” she said. “You were our inside stallion, the one who could get close to the ceremony. That might be ruined, now.”
He let out a long breath. “Maybe. It was dark in the cellar, remember, and you hit him pretty hard. All he saw was a dross with a vase. Even if he saw my face, maybe he won’t remember it.” Or, he added silently, it was possible the guard was dead. He’d never seen a pony strike another pony as hard as Fever hit that guard.
“What about…” Fever’s eyes flicked toward the empty bedrolls, then to the door leading to the apartment’s sole other room. From it they could hear Peridot and Lazulite quietly having their own breakfast. “What about the leak?”
“We don’t know there’s a leak,” he said. “And if there is, we can’t do anything about it. But no one can go off alone anymore. We have to stick together, watch each other. Got it?”
The clatter of hooves interrupted them. He turned to see Lazulite and Peridot walk into the room. They had their saddlebags on, and Peridot wore a thick winter cloak. She’d cut her mane into a new style, short and spiky, and if he squinted he could almost imagine she was a younger, more coltish teenage mare.
“Really? That’s your disguise?” Fever snorted.
“It’s all we have the materials for here,” Lazulite said, stepping smoothly between them before Peridot could fire back. “We’ll split up and move to the other stashes. Fever, you’ll take Peridot to the Maple Street safe house. Compass Call and I will take the vase to the Gate of Heavenly Peace. We’ll start positioning there for the ceremony.”
Fever frowned. “Why can’t I go with Compass? He needs muscle, not… leadership, or whatever.”
“Maybe we think you two’ve gotten too close,” Peridot said. “Maybe we need to be a bit more careful with who we trust.”
Those were words that started fights. Fever pushed away from the table, snarling. Peridot, for once in her life, refused to back down and even took a small step forward. She reached for something under her cloak.
“It’s not about trust,” Lazulite said. They all froze and turned to her. “It’s about being careful. Like Compass said, we have to watch each other. Suspicion will destroy us faster than the guards.”
“We’re comrades,” Compass said. “Brothers and sisters. Our love for each other is only surpassed by our love for Lord Sombra. We can’t forget that.”
No one argued against the piety. But they all watched each other carefully as they prepared for their various tasks.
* * *
A thousand years ago, Peridot was already a rich mare.
She hadn’t done anything to deserve it, of course. She was highborn, so she was rich. It was the simplest equation Compass Call knew: A, therefore B. Her parents were rich, their parents were rich, going back all the generations since the old kings had first set down the caste laws. They had taken the colors of their coats and used them to chisel divisions in their souls. For centuries the system had survived, through famine and war and pestilence, stratifying ponies like they were the layers of the earth.
Compass Call had always wondered why Lord Sombra’s most devoted servants were the ones who stood the most to lose from his rule. But there was no denying that Lazulite’s love for their lord was without equal, and now they had Peridot. The two highborn mares had pledged their very lives to destroying the system that exalted their kind.
He would have to think about that later. Right now, though, there was the matter of the long, grievous cut running down the length of his left foreleg, a gift from the royal guard’s spear. Blood flowed from it like wine from a tipped bottle. It painted a red trail on the ground all the way from the riots at Gate of Heavenly Peace to Peridot’s house.
The ponies carrying him stumbled on something, jolting him and opening the wound a fraction further. Pain like fire flowed up his leg and consumed his brain. He screamed, maybe, and blacked out again.
Inside the house. Candles lit the dark foyer, illuminating dozens of wounded ponies laid out in rows. They set him down in an empty space, and for a moment the delerium held complete dominion over his mind. It was not the floor they put him upon but a bier; this was his grave. He shouted and tried to stand, pushing away the stallions with manic strength born of terror.
“Hold him down!” A mare’s voice shouted. An emerald green blur filled his eyes, and Peridot’s voice whispered in his ear. “It’s me, Compass. Your sister, Peridot. Please stop. Stop and let us help you.”
He slumped against her. “My leg, it…” he made the mistake of looking at the wound, and saw something long and white shining beneath the red ruin. Bone. He turned and vomited on the floor.
“Hold him,” Peridot’s voice came again. Somepony held a cloth over his eyes, and the darkness became complete. He felt something touch his leg prying open the wound, and all the pain he’d felt since the first kiss of the spear came roaring back.
It was too much. He remembered nothing else from that night.
It was light outside when he woke. The dawn snuck its fingers beneath the blinds, filling the room with gray shapes. He sat up, and realized he wasn’t alone.
Fever Dream shifted beside him. She groaned and rolled over, then pushed herself up onto her haunches.
“Finally awake, huh?” she said.
He glanced at the window, then at her. “It’s just dawn.”
She snorted. “Yeah, dawn. Two days after I carried you here.”
Oh. He swallowed and looked down at his leg. It was splinted and entombed in cotton. It hurt too, which he assumed to be a good sign. Still alive.
“How many…”
She sighed. “Hundreds. They turned the guards loose on us. The city’s under martial law. Sombra’s called for a general strike. It’s… it’s bad out there.”
Bad. Bad, yes, but that was good. Sombra had told them the old order couldn’t be torn down until it tore itself apart. The crisis, the riots, even the killing were all necessary. The old ways had to die for the new one to be born.
The door opened, and Peridot came in, holding a porcelain basin in her hooves. She had towels draped over her back, and when she saw Compass Call awake and up, she gave a little gasp, sending a bit of water splashing onto the floor.
“Oh, thank Sombra,” she said. She set the basin on the bedside table and sat beside him, carefully unwrapping the bandages on his leg. “I was starting to worry about you, brother.”
“Didn’t mean to scare everypony,” he said. He opened his mouth again, ready to make some quip about his injury or the riots, something to defuse the tension in the room, but nothing came. Instead he swallowed and realized how parched he was. “Water?”
Fever offered him a cup, which he downed in a single gulp. “Thanks. Where’s Lazulite?”
They both froze. Peridot licked her lips and redoubled her attention on his wounded leg, removing the cotton one layer at a time, slowly exhuming the red layers from beneath the white. Fever Dream stared out the window.
“Well?” he asked again.
“She, uh…” Peridot’s shaking hooves nearly dropped the bandages.
“They arrested her,” Fever said. Her voice had lost all its usual anger, the rage that simmered beneath the surface like magma. “There’s talk of a trial.”
“And hanging,” Peridot said.
“They…” He paused to order his thoughts. “That’s impossible. She’s highborn.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Peridot said. She peeled away the final, wet layer of Compass’s bandage and sniffed at the wound. The stitching was fine and careful, and though the cut had swollen his leg to nearly twice its normal size, there was no stink of gangrene. She nodded and began to wrap it again.
Fever spoke while Peridot worked. “Emergency decrees are in effect. Anyone supporting Sombra is subject to arrest for treason. Doesn’t matter what strata you are.”
So fast. It was all so fast. Demonstrations a few days ago had turned to riots, then massacre, and now mass arrests and execution. It was as Sombra had said – the old order was tearing itself apart.
He gently pushed Peridot away and stood. The room swam for a moment, but soon he had his balance back. He took a careful step toward the door.
Peridot raced around him, blocking the way. “What are you doing? You’re still hurt! You’ll just open the wound back up!”
“Yeah.” He chuckled. Finally, there was something funny. They were worried about his little cut, when ponies – their brothers and sisters – were going to die. Suddenly, it didn’t hurt so much.
Fever stood. She looked at him with something in her eyes he’d never expected to see. Respect.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Out.” He limped around Peridot toward the door. “The revolution’s not done yet.”
* * *
Stepping out of the apartment, the vase carefully bundled on his back in unassuming burlap, was the most terrifying thing Compass Call had ever done in his life.
If Lazulite felt the same fear, she kept it well hidden. She strode out the door, down the steps, and stopped on the sidewalk. “Well?”
He swallowed. Though the streets were mostly empty, it felt like everypony stopped to stare at them. Which ones were guards in disguise? Had they brought in unicorns from Equestria, to scry at them with spells? Were pegasi circling overhead to watch them? He squinted up at the cloudy sky, but saw nothing.
“Compass?”
“Sorry.” He shook himself and marched quickly down the steps, joining Lazulite. He shifted the burden on his back, and they began to walk together toward the heart of the city.
“It’s fine to be fearful,” she said under her breath. They passed a vendor on the street selling bread, and held their tongues until the crowd was behind them. “I’m often terrified, you know.”
“It doesn’t show.”
“I’m older. I have more practice.” She turned her head casually as she spoke, smiling, her eyes darting from the street corners to the alleys. “And as long as you remember why we’re doing this, fear has no power over you.”
“The love of our lord conquers all fears,” he recited. “His shadow chases away all others.”
“You’ve been studying.”
He shook his head. “Just a good memory.”
“Really?” She peered up at the crystal spires of the palace in the distance. “I wish my memory was so strong. Sometimes, I… sometimes it all seems like a dream, everything from before. Do you ever feel that way?”
He swallowed. “No.”
“Hm.” She looked down at her shoes. “Perhaps it’s just me, then.”
They walked in silence again. Around them, the streets slowly filled as they drew nearer to the center of the city. The trickle of ponies turned into a steady flow, and they swam with the current like fish in the sea.
He pressed closer to Lazulite’s side. “Do you really… do you really think one of us talked? Betrayed us?”
“I don’t know.” She was careful not to look in his direction as she spoke. “It’s one possibility.”
“Who?”
“I know it’s not me, obviously,” she said. “I don’t think Peridot would have sacrificed her house simply to betray us. And Fever… Fever has blood on her hooves, Compass. It’s too late for her to go back.”
They reached Amethyst Avenue, the broad north-south street leading to the palace in the center of the city. They turned onto it, joining the surge of ponies.
“And me?” Compass was impressed with how calm he sounded.
“I don’t know about you. That’s why we’re together.”
Oh. “I trust me.”
She smirked. “That’s good, Compass. One has to start somewhere.”
It was another mile to the Gate of Heavenly Peace. Hoof traffic actually thinned out as they approached it, leaving the merchant ring of the city behind and entering the governance ring, whose offices wouldn’t open for another hour. Sleepy ponies rushed by, bobbling their breakfasts in their hooves or chasing down foals for school.
Lazulite missed a step and stumbled. He glanced over and started to move to help her.
“Keep moving,” she whispered. “Don’t look at me. We’re being followed. No! Don’t run!”
He forced his hooves to obey. His legs shook, and cold sweat chilled his coat. “What do we do?”
“Keep your head down. At the alley, turn left.”
The alley turned out to be more of a minor street, complete with storefronts just starting to open for the morning. Lazulite ducked around a small line of ponies and picked up her pace, heading for the cross-street at the end of the block. Compass hurried to catch her.
“There’s a guard following us,” Lazulite said. “At least one. Don’t look.”
That was the hardest order Compass Call had ever followed. He schooled his gaze forward. “Okay. Then what?”
Lazulite let out a shaking breath. She was trembling. Lazulite, their rock, their leader, was terrified. Her fear began to bleed into him, penetrating his bones and crawling up his spine. A wash of cold terror coated him like ice.
“Can I trust you?” she asked.
“What?” They hopped over a gutter running across the street. Behind them, he thought he heard hooves.
“Are you faithful? Really faithful?”
“What? Yes!” he hissed. What was this about? Asking about faith now, of all times?
“Okay.” She took a breath, much calmer. “Keep moving, brother. Don’t stop, don’t turn around. Carry out the mission.”
Huh? He started to turn, to demand clarification, but Lazulite was already moving. She spun, her cloak billowing out around her, and from some hidden scabbard she produced a glittering crystal blade as long as his foreleg. It shone like a star in the dim morning light.
“For Lord Sombra!” she shouted. She lashed out at the nearest pony, an unfortunate stallion holding a basket of bread in his teeth. Her blade caught his shoulder. A red spray filled the street.
Ponies began to scream. Panicked hooves stampeded away. Guards shouted, and Lazulite shouted back.
Keep moving. Keep moving. Compass ran, joining the frantic stream. The vase bounced on his back, but he’d secured it carefully. It would not fall.
He heard more shouts behind him as he rounded the corner. The last things he heard was Lazulite’s voice, filled with pain, crying out their lord’s name.
* * *
Peridot and Fever Dream were waiting at his apartment when he arrived.
His day job – his cover – was running errands around the palace for the new nobility. It didn’t give him access to the royal family, but that wasn’t needed for their plan. And, best of all in his opinion, it came with government-furnished quarters in the palace district, on the edge of the Gate of Heavenly Peace. From his bedroom window he could look across the wide square to the crystal palace rising in the center of the city.
The mares were both sitting at his kitchen table. An untouched plate of fruit sat between them. They both looked up sharply as he entered, and Fever stood.
“Where’s Lazulite?”
He shook his head. “Guards. She… she distracted them, so I could escape.”
Peridot stumbled out of her chair. “You… what?! We’re caught, then! We have to get out!”
“If we were caught they’d be here already,” Fever said. “They’d round us all up. They haven’t, so clearly they don’t know everything. We have to move forward with the plan.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious?” Peridot backed away from them both, edging toward the other room. “Compass and Lazulite go out, and only one comes back?”
Silence. Fever glanced between them.
No. “Fever, it’s me,” he said. “You know me.”
She muttered something under her breath, then spoke, louder. “It doesn’t matter. The entire plan revolves around Compass, now. We have to trust him.”
A rush of furious anger welled up from his heart. How dare this semi bitch question his— He cut the thought off before it could poison him any further. There were no semis anymore, or drosses or gravels or highborn. Lord Sombra had erased the strata. To use those words was to insult his memory.
Fever Dream stared at him. Waited for his challenge. But he swallowed his anger, and it sat in his stomach like a stone, waiting for him to vomit it out later.
* * *
He slept with Fever Dream that night, while Peridot took the couch. He didn’t even care if she heard. None of their hurt feelings would matter after tomorrow.
He was rough with her. He didn’t care if it hurt – he wanted to hurt her. He wanted to hear her scream.
But of course she didn’t. This was Fever Dream; every act of aggression, every spiteful caress, she returned twice over. In the midst of their coupling he had to stop before her hooves could batter him bloody.
“Not the face.” He spat out blood and felt his lip beginning to swell. “Need it tomorrow.”
She stared at him, panting. He could see his own murder in her eyes. He was fucking a tigress and her teeth were just inches from his throat.
She went for his shoulder instead. The pain went off like an explosion in his brain, and he screamed for her. He made her pay for it.
Later, hours later, they lay atop the sheets, too hot for any blankets despite the chill air that kissed Crystal City at night. Their hearts had slowed, and the slow, gentle rise and fall of Fever’s barrel was the only motion in the darkness. She reeked of sex and sweat and rubies.
He reached out to touch her shoulder. After a moment she shifted, sliding closer and pressing up against his chest. Her muzzle touched his, and her tongue lapped at his lip, cleaning away the blood.
It was the closest thing to an apology he’d ever gotten from her.
* * *
The final part of the plan was his alone.
He entered the palace as usual. Security was tight, and he thought his heart would explode when the guards checked him. Either they had his name and knew he was part of the plot, or they didn’t.
“Careful with that,” he said as they examined the vase. “It’s for the ceremony. Very fragile.”
A teal guard peered inside, sniffing at the opening. He motioned to another mare, a Equestrian unicorn, who trotted over. Her horn glowed, and the vase lifted into the air.
She set it back down on its padded cradle. “It’s clean,” she said. The guards waved him through.
Poison was not a common tool in either the Crystal Empire or Equestria, but it wasn’t unknown. The kitchens were carefully monitored and guards checked anything the royals ate or drank. For the ceremony, Twilight Sparkle and her filthy kin would be drinking a single cup of pure, unadulterated crystalberry wine.
The wine was perfectly clean. The vase was empty, and completely inert to any magical scans. But anything poured out of the amphora was lethally poisoned. That was its magic. He wondered what mind had devised such a thing. Not a pony, surely – this was a spider’s teatime.
The center of the square was organized chaos. It was the easiest thing in the world for him to approach the ceremony preparation, where mares were laying out wreaths of flowers. The crystalberry wine set was already laid out, guarded by a single, bored-looking butler.
The trick to most subterfuge, Compass knew, was simply to look like you knew what you were doing. The butler didn’t even object as Compass removed the decanter from the set, replaced it with the amphora, and helpfully filled it with wine.
He set it, very carefully, back on its stand. It wouldn’t do to spill a single drop.
* * *
Compass had nothing to do for the next several hours. He tucked the stolen decanter in a closet, straightened his uniform, and found an unoccupied spot on a high balcony to observe the ceremony below.
He had hours to wait. There were still things that could go wrong, of course – some fool might steal a drink from the vase, to see what it tasted like, and that would ruin the plan. But he had to assume the rigid, iron discipline instilled by Lord Sombra in his subjects would keep them from such idiocy, even if they had abandoned Lord Sombra in their hearts.
The crowds began to assemble an hour before twilight. It filled his heart with fury, seeing so many citizens come out to celebrate their lord’s downfall. Clearly, they had planned this wrong; rather than poison they should have created a bomb, something to destroy the entire square and all the traitors within. They all needed to be punished.
But perhaps it was better this way, another part of his mind reasoned. The crowds, filled with joy, would see their saviors collapse and die at the very moment of their celebration. Perhaps that was a better revenge.
Finally, it was time. Horns sounded below, and the crowd parted, forming a wide aisle. The Equestrian delegation, led by the ugly, gangly purple alicorn, approached the stand. The usurper prince and princess greeted them, and the speeches began. Only a faint drone reached Compass’s balcony, unintelligible. But they sounded happy.
He heard hoofsteps behind him. He turned, curious, and froze.
It was Fever Dream. She walked up to the balcony and took a seat beside him, staring down at the proceedings.
Everything suddenly felt far away. It wasn’t his own voice that spoke, though it emerged from his mouth, as though at a great distance. “You can’t be here. You don’t have access to the palace.”
She shrugged.
“Where… where’s Peridot?”
“In jail, I assume. The guards arrived right as I left, and she doesn’t seem like the type to put up a fight.”
Oh. “And… how did—”
“Shh.” She pointed over the railing. “They’re starting.”
He turned to follow her hoof. Indeed, the royal family and their friends all held tiny glasses with their magic. They raised them, clinked them together, and each took a sip, some longer than others. The crowd cheered.
He waited.
Nothing. He leaned forward. His heart hammered in his chest. Any moment now, it would start, they would fall over like—
“It’s not going to happen,” Fever said. “I switched the vase the first night, while you were asleep. That’s… just wine. Perfectly safe.”
He closed his eyes. “Why?”
“Because…” She sighed. “Everything from before, everything we did… it all seems so far away, when I remember it. Like it happened to another pony. And I think, maybe it was another pony, and my memories got mixed up with somepony else’s, and Lord Sombra’s spell is a chance for us to start over. To become somepony new. Somepony who didn’t make all those mistakes, somepony who didn’t hurt all those ponies. I could just forget it all, and do something good for once.”
“You’re the traitor,” he said. “You told the guard about us.”
“Yes. I couldn’t let, well...” She gestured out over the balcony at the scene below.
“We… we trusted you!” He shoved away from the balcony, rounding on her. His chest tightened, and he gasped for breath. “I trusted you! I… I lo...” his throat choked on the words. The world blurred, and he blinked away hot tears.
She nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry?! Sorry won’t bring back Lazulite! Sorry won’t avenge our lord!”
“Our lord.” Her mouth twisted as she spoke. “Is that all you care about? He’s dead.”
“We owe him everything!” he shouted, not caring who heard. “You’d still be in prison, and I’d still be a beggar if he hadn’t rescued us! He broke the old order and raised us up! No more dross or highborn, just ponies! He did that!”
“And yet, he’s still dead, and here we are.”
He slumped against the rail. “Why… Why did you let us get so far? You could’ve turned us in at the safehouse… you didn’t have to rescue me that first night.”
“Because I’m weak. Because I didn’t want Lazulite to die, or Peridot to go to jail. I didn’t want you to be caught and tried for treason. There… there always had to be another chance.”
He tried to laugh. It came out as a weak cough. “Am I out of chances, then? Are you here to arrest me? Are your guard friends out in the hallway?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. We could escape, if we wanted. Forget all this. Try to become somepony new. I think… I wonder if that was his final gift. If Lord Sombra meant for his spell to cloud our minds, so the old world would end with him. The old empire, the old kings, our old selves, even him, we can forget them all, start anew. Why can’t we do that, Compass?”
“We made an oath. We swore to serve him, and now…” He gestured helplessly at her.
She looked away. “A thousand years ago, ponies named Fever Dream and Compass Call made an oath. So why doesn’t it feel like that was me?”
He could see the path opening before him. The ceremony would last another hour. The guards wouldn’t care if they left early. They could walk out into the city, hop onto the line leading south, where nopony knew them and they would just be two more migrants from the Crystal Empire. They could find their new lives, and forget the oaths sworn by their shadow-selves, a thousand years past.
They could be happy together. He closed his eyes and remembered the warmth of her body against his. That could be his, every night, without fear, forever. All he had to do was walk away. Let the past die like it was supposed to.
“No.” He stood. “I’m sorry, Fever. I… no.”
She nodded. She stood as well, and pulled a knife out from beneath her cloak. “I thought you would say that. I can’t let you go. This needs to end.”
He fumbled beneath his cloak. There was a hidden catch under there, never used, but he managed to pry it open, and out from it he drew his own dagger. It was shorter than hers, and he’d never held it in anger. It shook in his hoof.
Fever moved first. She darted forward, the knife a flashing line. He flinched away, and she slashed again. The motion left her chest open, careless, undefended.
He charged forward. They crashed together gracelessly. The knife fell from her hoof, its crystal blade shattering on the floor with a ring like a bell. She slumped against him and coughed.
He stepped back, letting her slide to the floor. His dagger was lodged up to the hilt in her ribs. The blood was barely visible against her red coat, but it left a warm smear across his chest and pooled on the crystal floor.
Numb. Everything was numb. “Why?” he asked.
She smiled. She opened her mouth, and her lips moved, but nothing emerged. Her face relaxed, and her eyes closed.
Compass Call sat down beside Fever Dream and gathered her in his embrace. He clutched her to his chest, jealous for every last bit of warmth leaking from her body.
She had just started to cool when the guards finally pulled him away.