The Sorcerer and the Seneschal
The Empress was not a kind master.
She was kind, when she wanted to be. In a hard sort of way, always edged with a smile just verging on cruelty. Telling you, without any words at all, that even as you knelt to accept the gift from her hoof she could change her posture just slightly, and break your neck without any effort at all.
Yes, she was kind, when she wanted to be. But it was just a robe she wore sometimes, to be donned when the occasion or her own whim demanded it, ready to be cast off just as easily.
No, she was not a kind master.
The Seneschal did her best to be a good servant to her Empress. She managed timetables, schedules and appointments. She ordered the functions of the court and kept everything ticking like a well-wound clock.
She did more than this, too. She sang like a siren, she danced like an angel, and she could recite the Old Ponish epics — the Empress’ favourite — for hours on end. She could read Zebrican and Yak, Thestral and Griffish, and she could debate the ancient Roaman philosophers with the finest scholars in the land.
All this and more was expected of the Empress’ seneschal.
And, perhaps most importantly of all, the Seneschal was beautiful. Beauty was a part of the service the Empress demanded. It was necessary to her. Just as she had the costliest jewels and the richest silks, she also had the most beautiful ponies in the world to attend on her. After all, was it not her right?
So the Seneschal took great care with her appearance. Her delicate bone structure and alabaster coat, paired with the royal-purple of her mane, had secured this post for her — plucked her from the faceless masses of Hollow Shades and elevated her to the court for training when she was still just a foal. But now it was her daily care, her clothes and perfectly coiffed mane, they were what kept her there.
For she knew what had happened to her predecessor. Raven Inkwell had been efficient, intelligent and firm. She had managed the Night Court with precision and ability. But she had not been beautiful. Her ageing form had offended the eyes of the Undying Night, and so Raven Inkwell was gone, and Rarity was here.
She smiled and she looked beautiful at all times. That sweet, tender smile, the one that made it look as though she loved to do her work, that it was her greatest pleasure in life to obey — it was the product of long, long hours of practise. But it had been worth it. Of all the trainees, it was Rarity who was selected as the new Seneschal. The rest of her sisters-in-training had been relegated to mere courtesans, and there had been many tears and hateful looks as Rarity was escorted from the dormitories by the Nightguard.
They all knew exactly what being a courtesan meant.
Courtesans might dwell in the seraglio for months, years even. But eventually, the time would come, and the Empress’ favour would shine upon them like a dark and terrible beacon. And while she cared for them, they would be showered with gifts. Jewels, cloth-of-silver, velvet and silk and electrum — they would be showered upon the favourite, deluged upon her, as though there was no end to the Empress’ love. They would be summoned to her after she lowered the moon, dayfall after dayfall, and each night they would return a little weaker, a little paler. And then, after a time, the favourite would be seen no more, and the Empress would turn her great and awful kindness upon somepony else.
But the Seneschal was safe. Rarity was safe. She had studied and worked until she was the most intelligent, the most organised, the most stylish, the most beautiful, and she had secured for herself a life as long as her beauty would last her.
And she was determined that it would last.
And so she danced and sang and orchestrated the Empress’ events, smiling all the while that smile that showed how happy she was, how blessed she was, how very glad she was.
The smile that promised an open and generous heart, and concealed the terror within.
“What an honour!”
“Your parents must be thrilled. A daughter in the Arkentower!”
“Congratulations, Adept Sparkle — or should I say Sorcerer Sparkle, now?”
The congratulations echoed in Twilight’s ears as she fought her way toward her office. The friendly purple-granite corridors of the University, usually so empty and peaceful, thronged now with robes of every hue. From the deepest black of the Archmage to the pale dusk blue of the apprentices, it seemed every wizard in the city was determined to hunt her down and congratulate her in person.
“Adept Sparkle, I just wanted to say—”
Twilight Sparkle, one of the youngest wizards ever to have gained the rank of Adept in the University of Arcane Mysteries, slammed the door shut in the face of a crowd of well-wishers and collapsed against it, chest heaving.
She remained in place, hat askew, as the hubbub outside slowly began to die away. Only when it was finally quiet did she lower the foreleg that had been thrown over her eyes.
The room was lit with the comforting blue flame of magefire, crackling merrily away in glass spheres suspended from the ceiling. It was, in truth, more of a library than an office. Books lined every wall from floor to ceiling and were stacked in haphazard piles across the desk and floor — there’s a system, Twilight Sparkle would insist to anyone who dared comment.
Rising slowly to her hooves, Twilight crossed to her desk, levitating four or five books off the chair so that she could take their place. She pushed her most recent treatise on the migratory patterns of the Lunar Lace-Winged Moth onto the ground. The palace-funded research grant attached to the work was sizeable, but it held little interest for her. It had only ever been a stopgap. Something to fill the time before she found her next big project — something worthy of following on from the triumph that had been her Adept’s Thesis on Starswirl the Bearded’s unfinished spellwork.
That thesis, had, unfortunately, been a little too good. It had gotten her noticed within the University, and when circumstances had conspired against her, it had been noticed outside of the University as well. Now she was on the cusp of greatness, about to ascend from a mere mage to the hallowed ranks of sorcerers…but Twilight did not want to ascend.
The Arkentower was a luxurious home, a life appointment for all thirteen of its residents. She would be given a whole floor to herself, assistants, laboratories, restricted tomes and ancient texts. There was no grubbing for research grants in the Arkentower. The sorcerers were free to pursue whatever studies they chose, all thirteen of them on par with the Archmage, and the Chief Sorcerer outranking her by far.
And yet, Twilight Sparkle did not want the honour that had been bestowed upon her. In fact, she found that she had never wanted anything less.
A court full of spies, watching, waiting to pounce. Twelve other sorcerers, all of them surely predisposed against any newcomer. The Empress herself, Nightmare Moon, dwelling beneath the same roof! It sounded — and, even though she loved puns, Twilight did not laugh — like a nightmare.
She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from beneath her pointy hat and flattened it against the desk.
Dear Shiny, read the first side. It’s happened. Our worst fears have come true. I have been called to a higher station. I don’t know what to do. What should I do? Please, ask Cadence. I’m really — I’m scared, BBBF.
The note was unsigned.
But Twilight knew the hornwriting well, and had little interest in re-reading it. The rear side held far more interest for her. While parchment was a plentiful resource for a scholar at the University, it was less so for everyone else, and the hornwriting crossed the sheet both vertically and horizontally, densely packed in.
Twily,
I think the first thing to say is how sorry I am.
To be honest, this sort of thing is what I was afraid of when I dropped out of the University. As soon as I cracked that shield spell, all these bigwigs started sniffing around, and there was just too much chance of someone at court hearing about me. Same for Cadence, too, of course. Safer to be a failed journeyman mage who never reached the rank of master than to have the wrong person notice you.
But I know how much you wanted this. Wanted to learn. No matter how dangerous it was. You were always so much braver than me.
I know it seems dire right now, but there are bright sides. You’ve always wanted to be recognised. Now you have been. Everypony in Equestria will know how brilliant my little sister is once she’s living in the Arkentower.
And with you as our contact, things are finally beginning to get done. We’re beginning to see a little more of the truth. With the access you’ll get as a sorcerer, there’s no limit to what we might do. The salary won’t exactly hurt, either! We’ve got plenty of ponies out here who need the help, like always.
Cadence sends her love.
May the — and here the writing grew so scrawled that the word could have been anything; could have been ‘sand’, ‘moon’, ‘stars’, or just possibly, ‘sun’ — shine on you, little sis.
Your BBBF.
Twilight sat back in her chair and sighed.
She would have been happy here, in the University. Safe among her dusty scrolls and her books. Left alone to pursue her research…and, when opportunity allowed, her other, more secret research.
She turned to her bookshelves and levitated down a few volumes. The Ancient Roamans, read the first. An Historie of The Ponish Nations, read the second. The Timeless Empress, Helleneighstic Culture, The Great War, and An Eyewitnesse Account of how The Glorious Empress did Battle with the False and Treacherous Queen made up the rest of the pile.
Even in the University, even for an Adept, these were difficult texts to get hold of. Restricted books even at the highest levels of scholarship.
And none of them a copy under six or seven hundred years old.
Perhaps, Twilight mused as she turned a crumbling page, such materials might be easier to find if one were a sorcerer. Maybe Cadence was right. It might not be all bad.
Twilight Sparkle read until the night was wearing thin, and then she finally rose and crossed to the window, shuttering it tightly against all traces of the profane sun. To possess a window at all was a luxury, and the Nightguard watched for any left uncovered. Twilight bolted her shutters and pulled curtains into place in front of them — doubly secure — and then, with a quick glance over her shoulder at the locked door to her office, stepped behind the curtains.
Ensconced in that secret place between the velvet and the stone, between the dark and the light, Twilight lit her horn and wrapped her magic around a small knot of wood. It looked like any other part of the shutter, but when she tugged, it came loose, and a little thread of greyish light danced through, captured safely by the heavy curtains. With her heart in her mouth, Twilight knelt and pressed her eye to that hole. No matter how many times she did this, it never got old.
It never grew any less magical.
Enjoying her secret in safety for perhaps the last time, Adept Sparkle, Equestria’s newest sorcerer, watched the sun rise.
The sweat matting the fur of his forehead down, the Yakyakistan Ambassador to Equestria crept backwards from the throne room, bowing so deeply his muzzle almost touched the floor.
The Empress watched him go, her face impassive.
As soon as the doors sealed behind him, Rarity gestured, and Marquis Fancy Pantaloons, the Lord Cofferer to the Night Court, hastened forward with a squadron of Nightguard to gather up the chests of jewels and goods that the yaks had sent in tribute.
Rarity watched them with an eagle eye, but no mistakes were made. No loud clinking of the goods, no accidents where something was dropped. The Nightguard were efficient and swift, and their work was completed in blessed silence.
No one made a noise in the Empress’ throne room without her leave.
Her gaze going next to the courtiers ranked in neat rows on either side of the aisle that led to the throne, Rarity scanned them to make sure all was well. Lord Lilynight was very old now, and sometimes he struggled to remain standing the full eight hours that the Night Court was in session. Only last week he had wobbled as though he might fall, and Rarity had seen the Empress notice. She must have been feeling merciful that night, because she allowed Rarity to distract her with a dance prepared by some of the courtesans, and by the night’s end Lord Lilynight still breathed.
But tonight there would be no need for such drastic measures. Lord Lilynight looked shaky but fully aware, and he stood with his old soldier’s posture. There would be no collapse.
Finally, Rarity turned her eyes back to the Empress herself. With an expression of only slight boredom, the Empress flicked slitted blue eyes her way.
“Who petitions us next?”
Rarity did not have to consult the lectern and ledger behind her. Nothing frustrated the Empress faster than the constant rustling of paper. “The newest Court Sorcerer, your Dark Majesty.”
The palace had thirteen sorcerers, twelve Court Sorcerers and one Chief Court Sorcerer. Their duties included magical research, spell development, direct tasks from the Empress, and, of course, maintaining the all-important star-charts that plotted the heavens’ movements. The late Chief Court Sorcerer had chanced to disagree with the Empress once too often, and had gone prematurely to join her fellows in the burial chamber beneath the Arkentower. One of her underlings had been promoted, and so a new junior sorcerer had been selected from the promising students at the University.
“Ah.” With a heavy sigh, the Empress leaned back slightly against the support of her throne. It was not a slump or a slouch — nothing so dreadful — but Rarity, who knew her master’s every mood, could see that the Empress was weary.
Weary was not a good sign. Fatigue led to brusqueness, which led to snappishness, which led — in particularly bad cases — to the death of any transgressor whom the Empress took a particular dislike to.
Things could not be allowed to advance to that stage.
Rarity took a step forward from her position standing at attention to the throne’s left. “Shall I sing to you, your Dark Majesty?”
The Empress roused slightly, one ear flicking in Rarity’s direction. Peons had been blasted to ash where they stood for lesser crimes than speaking to the Empress without leave, but Rarity was not afraid. Her voice was low, melodic, perfectly pitched to suit the Empress’ taste, and there was nothing about her that could displease. Not today.
“Yes,” the Empress responded shortly, and Rarity let out an infinitesimal sigh of relief.
The Empress was open to being soothed, and Rarity would soothe her. No one need die today.
Rarity opened her mouth and began to sing. Her voice was subtle, quiet. Flawless and with no hint of the vibrato the Empress so hated in singers. She sang an old paean in Roaman, one of the Empress’ oldest favourites.
“The moon wakens, climbs into my sight;
The moon rises, ascending through the night.”
Rarity’s pronunciation was perfect, her posture graceful. Poised on the edge of her hooves, like she was about to begin a dance. She let the melody build slowly, gently, soaring through the throne room, the familiar acoustics an old friend.
She glanced across at the Empress, who was studying the illusory constellations of the throne room’s ceiling, her mane wafting in that constant invisible breeze. No longer leaning back against the throne’s cushions, she was once more sitting ramrod straight. A subtle sign, one that would have gone unnoticed if one had not lived the last eight years constantly straining to read her moods — but Rarity saw it, and she relaxed a little. She had chosen her song well.
“The moon shimmers, and I dance in silver light;
The stars, they watch me, shining diamond-bright.”
Building to a subtle crescendo, Rarity shifted her hooves in a slow, stately half-dance, rotating to the left as she bowed her head to the right, so that as the final notes fell from her lip she was sinking into a graceful obeisance before the throne.
“I praise, I praise, I praise the midnight.”
“Laudo, laudo, laudo mediam noctem,” said the Empress idly, echoing the Roaman back at her. “I remember when Hocktavian first sang that to me. He didn’t have half so good a voice as you do, my Seneschal.”
This was high praise indeed, and Rarity rose from her bow with a smile on her lips. She had likely just saved the life of the new Court Sorcerer, and that was a good day’s work indeed.
Aloud, all she said was, “You are too kind, your Dark Majesty.”
Then she nodded to the Nightguard, and the doors swung open to admit the next petitioner.
The two black marble doors swung ominously open before Twilight, and slowly, cautiously, she advanced. The wide sleeves and trailing hems of her new robe were so long that she was at constant risk of tripping.
“The new Court Sorcerer, Twilight Sparkle,” announced the herald standing by the door, and Twilight shuffled further down the midnight-blue carpet, eyes on her ridiculous sleeves, praying she wouldn’t faceplant in front of the entire court.
“Empress of Equestria, Ruler of the Night, Her Dark Majesty Nightmare Moon,” responded another voice, clear and ringing like that of a singer.
Curious to see the speaker, Twilight glanced up — and there beside the throne, she saw her. A mare with fur like alabaster and eyes like sapphire, wearing a midnight-black dress slit with half-hidden panels of white that appeared, like shooting stars, when she moved. She was ethereal, she was exquisite. She was the most beautiful pony Twilight had ever seen, and she was enough to distract her — just for a moment — from the being on the throne.
If the mare beside the throne was like starlight, then the alicorn on the throne was like the void between the stars. Dark and terrible, fur black as pitch clad in shining starmetal armour, with eyes that pierced you down to your very core. When Twilight met those eyes, every other thought was driven from her head. She was in the presence of a god, of a predator, and her every instinct screamed at her to supplicate, to bow and pray and beg for mercy.
She was nothing but chaff before the wind. A grain of sand facing off against the entire ocean, vast and timeless and terrible. Ready to swallow her whole, never to be seen again.
Before the Empress, Twilight Sparkle — Adept, Mage and now Sorcerer too — was nothing at all.
“The Arkentower is where you’ll be spending most of your time, of course.” Rarity led the way up the spiral staircase. The smell of parchment and obscure alchemical ingredients grew stronger, as it always did when you approached the sorcerers’ wing.
“Hm.” The pony behind her gave a vague, absent hum in answer.
She had been all but silent in the throne room, her first sight of the Empress robbing her of speech just as it had done for hundreds of others before her. But when she had looked up at the throne, before the Empress had addressed her and reduced her to the frightened mare swamped by her sorcerer’s robes — when she had met Rarity’s eyes, there had been a flash of something. Intelligence, interest. Something that made Rarity want to tease a little more out of her.
At least the Empress had been pleased. That was all that really mattered. She had looked down at her most junior sorcerer and smiled, said a few words of greeting.
It had helped, of course, that the new sorcerer was beautiful. A mane dark and rich as the night sky, shot through with a few strands of colour. A dusky coat, even a star for a cutie mark. She had all the right ingredients to become known as one of the great beauties of the court.
Not, Rarity reflected as the Sorcerer tripped over her robes for the fourteenth time, that becoming known as a great beauty was likely if she behaved like this in front of the courtiers.
“The lowest floor will be yours,” Rarity said, pulling the other mare’s attention back from her trailing hems. “There are two laboratories, a fully stocked library and storeroom, and of course, money is no object.”
“I see,” the newcomer said, the first actual words Rarity had heard her say. “And — there are no restrictions? None at all?”
“None,” Rarity said brightly. It was always a delight to watch somepony realise that here at court, mercurial concerns simply did not exist. “You are free to pursue whatever research you like, unless the Empress asks you for something specific.”
“And — who oversees my work?”
Rarity blinked. “Nopony does. But the sorcerers often collaborate, if that’s what you mean.”
“So there’s no…surveillance?”
“No, of course not.” Rarity wondered what the University was like, that all these questions were necessary. “The sorcerers — you, I mean — are the brightest minds at the Empress’ disposal. She doesn’t want you limited by petty concerns. She wants you to push the boundaries of science and magic and bring her new discoveries to improve lives for her ponies. That’s the extent of the rules.”
For the first time, Twilight Sparkle was smiling. “I think I’m going to like it here.”
Twilight’s first few days in the Arkentower passed in a pleasant blur. Some of her fellow sorcerers came to call. Their names passed through Twilight’s head like water — Lightshow, Minuette, Lyra, Moondancer, — there one moment and gone the next. No matter. She would learn them all eventually.
She busied herself in requisitioning book after book. Everything that had been reserved for the most senior mages at the University, books that the University did not even have. She tried to disguise her real requests among a deluge of more innocuous titles, but from what the Seneschal had said, she needn’t have bothered. Everything she asked for, she was given. It was like a dream come true.
She was closer now to getting real answers than she ever had been before.
Even her more serious worries proved baseless. Her brother’s messenger-bird Owlowiscious found her new room as easily as he had found her at the University. The Empress seemed to keep mostly out of the sorcerers’ way, from what the others told her. The other courtiers, too, seldom came to the Arkentower. The sorcerers had gone to considerable trouble to cultivate a dry, dull image, and were thus largely left to their studies. Only the Chief Sorcerer ventured out with any regularity — and as she was the only one in regular contact with the Empress, she was the only one at any real risk.
For despite the reassurance Twilight’s sparse conversations with her new colleagues offered, there were also plenty of dangers. The Empress was known to her court as a capricious, dangerous being. If you trod very carefully and paid rigid attention to her preferences, success and even favour was possible. If you misstepped — well, it was generally the final step you took.
“Don’t stray too far from the Arkentower,” one of the others advised. Maybe Lyra? Twilight wasn’t sure. “We generally keep to ourselves. Better that way. And especially don’t mix with the courtesans.”
“Why not?” asked Twilight, more from curiosity than because she had any real intent.
“They’re her territory,” Lyra said simply. “She doesn’t like it when anypony else gets too close.”
“Why does she need so many?”
“Gets bored easily, I guess.” The other mare shrugged. “They’re her favourite for a few weeks, spends every daytime with them, but then they’re dropped like a hot rock and retired into the countryside a few hours later.”
“Into the countryside?” Twilight imagined a huge mansion out there somewhere, stuffed with all the mares and stallions that the Empress had loved and then tossed aside.
But Lyra responded with another shrug, and then a servant arrived with another box of books, and the well of Twilight’s curiosity on that subject — never very deep to begin with — abruptly ran dry.
Once the Empress was sealed into the Midnight Spire for the day along with her current favourite, Glory Nightfall, Rarity decided that enough time had passed for her to pay a second visit to the Arkentower’s newest resident. Before Twilight, there had been no new sorcerer for ten years, and Rarity had only served as seneschal for eight. She couldn’t help it; she was curious.
She wondered if the new sorcerer was the type to stay up late. She certainly seemed very…bookish. Rarity had not known many scholars in her life, but she had the distinct impression that so long as Twilight Sparkle had a pile of books to read, she would probably forget to sleep altogether.
So when she knocked at the door to the first of the Arkentower’s suites, she was surprised to find no answer.
She waited, counted to eighty in her head, and then knocked again. If this were the Empress’ door and she had dared to knock twice, she would be fearing for her life right now. But Twilight Sparkle was not the Empress. Thank goodness.
Another eighty seconds passed, and Rarity wondered if the sorcerer were even inside. There had been plenty of talk among the courtiers about her, but she had made no appearances outside the Arkentower than her very first in the throne room.
Rarity wondered if the sorcerer had left. Or perhaps if she had died; crushed beneath a pile of falling books. She had promised there would be no surveillance, but perhaps their ought to be. Just a little. For Twilight’s own safety.
With her nose, she nudged the door open, and crept inside.
The rooms within ought to have been pitch-black. Shutters closed tight against the dangers of the daylight, candles extinguished for sleep. But the door to the rooms beyond the antechambers blazed with light, and it was not the blue of magefire or the orange of flame. It was golden, pure crystalline gold, and Rarity froze in place.
That was — that couldn’t be anything but sunlight.
Rarity wondered if she should run. This was fifteen different kinds of illegal. And life-threatening! Sunlight was dangerous. Wasn’t it her responsibility, as a citizen of the Night, not to mention as a Seneschal, to raise the alarm?
But then again, what if Twilight was still in there? What if she was trapped in there, fenced in by sunlight on every side, cowering in a steadily-shrinking patch of shadow?
Before she could think about it any further, Rarity was taking a step forward.
Twilight might be in danger. And Rarity — she saved people. That was what she spent every day trying to do. Was saving somepony from the sun any different from saving them from saving them the Empress?
Carefully, she kicked the door shut behind her. No point in endangering anyone else.
Sticking close to the walls to avoid the sunlight, Rarity crept through the hall. Shielding her eyes, praying that she would not go blind as the legends said, she checked one room after another.
It was in the second of the laboratories that she found the Sorcerer, poised on the edge of a pool of brilliant light, on the verge of stepping into it.
“Stop!” gasped Rarity, and Twilight froze.
Slowly, she turned her head. “Why are you in my room?”
Rarity flushed a hot, ugly shade of puce. How humiliating. “I saw the sunlight, and I thought—”
Understanding flashed across Twilight’s face. She was a clever pony. “I’m not in any danger.”
“I’m not here to check up on you,” Rarity said miserably, remembering too late all of those weird questions about surveillance. The reason was clear now — Twilight was some sort of seditionist, a deviant. A sun-worshipper who had somehow tricked her way into the palace.
And what would somepony like that do to an interloper? The answer seemed clear.
Rarity had never been much good at any forms of magic other than basic levitation, and the gem-finding spell that had earned her cutie mark and then never been used again once she was taken from her family and into the city. Certainly she had no hope against a mage of Twilight’s caliber.
Then again, she spent every day with an alicorn older than Equus itself, capable of snuffing out the moon and sun with a mere thought.
Rarity was used to being outmatched.
“There’s no need to kill me,” she said, forcing a note of calm into her voice.
Twilight’s eyebrows rose. “What?
“I won’t tell anypony what I saw. I’m very good at keeping secrets. And,” Rarity paused, trying hard to think of something tangible she could offer in return, “I’ll owe you a favour. I’m powerful; I have the Empress’ ear. That could come in very useful when you need it.”
Blinking in confusion, Twilight raised a hoof — perilously close again to the sunlight’s edge. “I’m not going to kill you.”
“Oh.” Rarity felt almost let down. She had made such a good pitch — and all for nothing. “Why not?”
“I’m…” and now Twilight paused, looking thoughtful. “I’m just…studying it. Yes. Just like you said. Pushing the boundaries of science, making new discoveries to improve lives for ponies. I thought that it was worth testing.”
“What was?”
“The legends about the sunlight.” Twilight waved a hoof vaguely. “We all accept the law, we all accept it as true, but what if it’s not? When was the last time you heard of anyone trying it out? Think of all the…uh…all the productive working hours we’re missing out on.”
Now that the panic was over, Rarity was able to look at that square of brightness in the wall with more calmness. It was a piercing, brilliant blue. Like someone had taken a cookie cutter and stamped a big hole into reality, revealing another universe just beyond the edge.
She moved to Twilight’s side and seated herself. “I always wondered what it would be like. To see it.”
“Me too.” The other mare nodded. “The first time I saw it, I thought I might die. Not from burning or anything like that. Just from how lovely it was.”
Rarity looked sharply across at her. “I thought this was the first time?”
Twilight flinched. “Ah. Yeah.”
Unable to resist, Rarity chuckled. How could anypony be such a bad liar? It was a good thing she had the Arkentower as a refuge; she wouldn’t last ten minutes in the court proper. “It’s alright. I won’t tell anyone. Even if you’re not threatening to kill me.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, watching the sky outside lose the last tinges of purple and lighten to periwinkle. For the first time in her life, Rarity saw night become day.
“They say the Nightguard have spells that can sense if sunlight has ever touched your fur,” Twilight said, wistfully, as they shuffled back again from the creeping square of light on the floor.
Rarity, too, had heard the rumours. “Is it true?”
“I’ve never quite been brave enough to find out.”
“I wonder if anyone ever has.”
“I know someone who—” and then Twilight cut herself off, suddenly uncertain.
“Please, tell me,” Rarity said, longing to hear the story of somepony who had walked in the sun. “I swear I won’t tell anyone. You can trust me.”
“I…I know.” Twilight paused, and pushed the hair out of her eyes. “It’s my brother.”
“Your brother?” Rarity had read the details of the new sorcerer when she was admitted to court, as she did for every new courtier, and there had been no brother mentioned.
“He…he died when I was younger,” said Twilight hurriedly. “But not from the sun. It was a sickness. But before he…died, he went out into the forest sometimes, during the day. He walked in the woods, and he saw the sunshine. It was — at least, he said it was — beautiful. Yellow, and gold, and warm. Like a hug.”
“That sounds…beautiful.” Like a hug. The words echoed in Rarity’s mind. Moonlight could be beautiful, but in a cold, steely way. Like a dagger, like a blade. Not warm and soft.
She looked at the square of sunlight on the ground before her, and she almost reached out and touched it. Almost.
But just as her hoof hovered on the edge of the light, she remembered the Nightguard. The spell. The Empress. And she pulled her hoof away again. Back into the safety of the shadows.
You will join the Empress in the private Planetarium for dinner.
The note was delivered with little fanfare by a Nightguard who did not even wait for an acknowledgement. He thrust the paper into Twilight’s hoof and then left. She had been ordered to attend, and so it was taken for granted that she would.
With trembling hooves, Twilight brushed her mane and tail and donned her robes. When she asked the second-newest sorcerer, Moondancer, if this was common, Moondancer shook her head.
“I’d been here four years before the Empress said more than two words in a row to me,” she said. “And those were ‘find me a rune that can warm my bathwater’. Once I did that, it was another three years before she even noticed me again.”
“What does she want with me, then?” Twilight asked, trying not to let the quaver in her voice show.
Moondancer examined her with a critical eye. “Honestly, it’s probably because you’re pretty. Her Dark Majesty has courtesans and concubines up to her eyeballs, but she’s always interested in more.”
Cold fear washed through Twilight. “But — but I’m a mage. I’m not—”
“—I know that.” Moondancer only shrugged. “But when you’re an Empress, everypony is whatever you want them to be.”
Bitterly regretting brushing her hair, Twilight scrambled for a solution. “How can I — how do I make myself uglier?”
Another shrug. “Have yellow or red fur, I guess. She hates that. Or a rainbow mane. I once saw her exile one of the shadowbolts on that basis alone. Poor sod came back a year later with a dyed mane, but it didn’t do her any good. I think she was executed, in the end.”
Even as the horror sank in at the comparison of that description to her own evening-hued palette, the scholar in Twilight was listening avidly to those little tidbits of information. All the statues were white marble, but the Empress hated to look at yellow ponies, red ponies, ponies with rainbow manes. Were those clues? Hints, to what the Sun Queen might have looked like?
“Good luck,” Moondancer said, not entirely without sympathy, and shut the door to her chambers.
Twilight wrapped her voluminous robe around herself, now grateful for its vast swathes of fabric, and with reluctant steps, headed for the Planetarium.
The Empress greeted her with a smile akin to how Twilight imagined a chimaera might smile at a lamb.
“Welcome, Sorcerer Sparkle.”
Twilight bowed low. Tried not to meet her eyes.
“Please, come and sit. We’re having leek and cheese tartán.”
Silently, Twilight seated herself on a blue cushion. She stared fixedly at the model of the moon suspended behind the Empress, every crater reproduced in exacting detail.
“I hear that you have been observing certain things.”
Twilight’s fork stalled halfway to her mouth, suspended in a pink aura. “I had understood the Court Sorcerers were not surveilled,” she said at last.
“That’s what I like the Court Sorcerers to think,” replied the Empress, giving her a little smile.
Twilight Sparkle set her fork down and readied herself for the end. She had known it was only a matter of time, living in the palace. It had just come a little bit sooner than she had anticipated.
“It was a matter of scientific curiosity, your Dark Majesty.” She swallowed. The food, so delicious only a moment ago, now had less taste to it than ash.
“Very sensible.” The Empress nodded equably, her eyes never leaving Twilight. Like a snake. “What were you seeking to prove?”
“As a Court Sorcerer, with more…more permissions than I had as an Adept, I wanted to see if…if the sun would burn as the stories said it would do.”
“And did it?”
“It…did not, your Dark Majesty.”
A wicked smile was playing at the edge of those lips now. “And what does that lead you to conclude?”
“That the myths and laws were laid down for…for some other reason.” Like the fact you’re a tyrant trying to hide the truth from us. I know that ponies are naturally diurnal. I know that the Sun Queen was not the villain you pretend she was. I know the truth.
She wondered if the hatred were visible on her face.
“And what reason,” the Empress lifted a forkful of leaves to her mouth and chewed with exacting slowness, “Do you think that could be?”
By this stage in the conversation, Twilight had anticipated that she would be a mere smear on the floor. That she was not was a very good sign. The Empress wanted something else from her, clearly. Wanted to play some other game.
“I would suspect that it has a more insidious effect than burning someone alive,” she lied, quite calmly. “Evil magic that warps the mind, perhaps.” Like your magic does.
The Empress burst into a peal of delighted laughter. “Ah! The young never fail to amuse. Yes, Sorcerer Sparkle, that is quite right. I would love to see a paper on the subject from you.”
And Twilight could do nothing but bow her head. “Your wish is my command, your Dark Majesty.”
“With a little editing on the subject of burning alive, we can even make it publishable,” said the Empress brightly, and Twilight understood at last the move she had made. The Empress knew that Twilight knew the truth, and she was going to make her a part of the state propaganda machine anyway.
It left a taste bitter as lemons in her mouth.
“It is pleasant,” the Empress said, “To converse with somepony intelligent for a change.”
“I would have thought your court would be full of intelligence,” replied Twilight.
The Empress waved a hoof. “Perhaps. But intelligence within the heads of a lot of silent cowards hardly makes for enjoyable discussions.”
“Still,” Twilight persisted, “I can’t believe that I’m the only pony in the palace capable of having an intelligent conversation.”
The Empress laughed, and it was white and full of sharp shining teeth. “Perhaps not. There was one other, a few years ago. She did not fear me, in the end.”
“Who was she?” Surely the Empress could not mean her — the Sun Queen?
“Ah, nopony really. A goose-girl. A little slice of insignificance in the shape of a pony. But she was…brave. She looked me in the eye. Like you do.” The Empress’ lips quirked. “It was amusing, for a time.”
The threat was barely even veiled anymore. For a time.
Twilight began to stir uncomfortably. “I think I had perhaps better be going, Majesty. I am expected back by the Chief Sorcerer. He wanted me to go over some arithmancy calculations for him.”
“I am sure he will understand, given the circumstances.” The Empress rose from her cushion, and with a sudden gesture of her horn, moved the table, plates and all, away from between them.
Left suddenly defenceless, Twilight struggled not to cower. “B-but I — I really must get back to my work—”
The Empress prowled closer, smile growing wider with every step. “What do you think of my pretty little Seneschal?”
“S-Seneschal Rarity? She’s a very skilled mare.”
“I think so. But I have found myself wondering lately whether she is well-suited to her role as Seneschal. If her skills would not perhaps be better used elsewhere.”
“She serves you very loyally, Majesty,” squeaked Twilight.
“A courtesan, perhaps? What do you think?” A hoof trailed lightly down Twilight’s cheek.
“I t-think she is a very good seneschal.” Twilight tried very hard not to cry. Tried to imagine the sun rising over the trees, deep in the forest where no Nightguard flew. Tried to imagine Shiny, and Cadence, and the little foal that was growing inside Cadence. Tried to imagine anything but the moment that was unfolding right now around her.
“Would you be willing, Twilight — may I call you Twilight, Sorcerer? — would you be willing to do something to preserve Seneschal Rarity’s current station in life? To sacrifice something for her?”
The last few words were all but breathed against her neck.
“Yes,” mumbled Twilight, utterly helpless. Rarity was a good pony. A kind pony. Twilight would spare her this, if she could. “Yes.”
And then the fangs sank into her throat, and the Empress sighed in relief, her breath burning hot and cruel against Twilight’s skin.
“How would you like to come with me on a trip?”
“A trip?” Rarity was as startled by the request as she was by Sorcerer Twilight’s unkempt hair and exhausted mien. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.
“I’m going into the woods to visit my family. Do you want to come?”
“Well, I…I don’t know.” Rarity shifted her hooves. Technically, she did have days off, but she had never known what to do with them. She had been brought to Hollow Shades at the age of eight and had never left it since. She had scarcely left the palace. Her life was here; everypony she knew.
And there was always the nagging fear that if she did it, if she took a day to herself and went somewhere, that the Empress would have a bad day. She would grow fractious and irritated, and without her Seneschal to soothe her nerves, somepony would pay the price.
Rarity had never wanted a holiday badly enough to risk someone’s life.
“It’ll be fun.”
And before Rarity knew what she was doing, her mouth was moving, forming a response without her conscious say-so. “I’d love to.”
And so, less than three nights later, she was trotting along one of the spoke roads out of Hollow Shades, saddlebags bouncing against her sides, the newest Court Sorcerer matching her pace for pace. Dusk had only just fallen. They had the whole night ahead of them.
“Where do your family live?” she asked, not for the first time.
“In the mountains,” answered Twilight vaguely. Also not for the first time.
“I’m beginning to get a little worried you’re taking me to a remote location to do away with me.” Rarity laughed as she spoke, but Twilight didn’t smile.
“I’ll explain soon. Come on.”
And the Sorcerer increased her pace, and the Seneschal had to almost canter to keep up.
The road grew smaller and thinner, paving stones giving way to gravel and then dirt, and finally to a narrow path choked with weeds.
“And this is the way to where your family live?” said Rarity plaintively; not altogether at her best after four hours walking.
“No,” said Twilight, halting suddenly. “Not at all.”
“What?”
“I just needed to get us far enough away.” Twilight swung to face Rarity, and thrust out her hoof. “Take my hoof and hold tight.”
Cautiously, Rarity did so. Maybe this wasn’t a family trip after all — maybe it was a romantic assignation, and Twilight was just really, really bad at seduction.
But then Twilight lit her horn, and a deafening crack tore the world around Rarity to shreds and rebuilt it all wrong — different trees and stones and night sky overhead — and Rarity collapsed to the floor with a gasp as all the air was torn from her lungs.
Looking anxiously down at her, Twilight brushed her mane back from her face. “Are you alright? That wasn’t your first teleport, was it? I’m sorry, Rarity. I should have warned you.”
“It was, actually.” Rarity did her best to vomit discreetly, but she feared it was still not altogether ladylike.
“I’m sorry,” Twilight said again.
“How far did we — bleh — just travel?”
“About three hundred miles, give or take.”
“Gi…give or take. Right.” Rarity was no magical expert, but she knew that ten miles was closer to the normal range.
“And we’ve got a few more jumps to take before we get there.”
“A few more?”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner. But my family…well, they live a bit remotely.”
By the time it was over, Rarity had vomited six more times, and they had made seven more jumps. She was rather proud of the fifth — that was the one where she had managed to not be sick.
There was no way of knowing where Twilight had taken them, or how far they had gone. Rarity had tried once or twice to look at the stars overhead, to see how different the constellations were from Hollow Shades — but they her head was spinning so much that the stars seemed to spin too, and she had to give up to find another discreet tree trunk.
But at long last, Twilight called a halt.
“We’re there.”
“Thank the moon,” moaned Rarity, from where she lay on the forest floor.
“Can you walk?”
With great effort — nay, with heroic effort — Rarity hauled herself to her feet. She didn’t want to meet Twilight’s family suspended in the middle of their daughter’s magical field. She would do it on her own four legs.
“I can walk. I think.”
Twilight led the way through the trees, and then suddenly they were on another path. This one was not overgrown with briars and weeds — this one was broad and well-trodden, and the grass was soft as a mattress beneath Rarity’s hooves. Twilight straightened, seemed to walk with a spring in her step, the weariness falling away from her. Rarity foundered on in her wake.
Dawn was coming, the sky growing slowly but surely lighter, and Rarity wondered if Twilight’s family would actually possess a house. Sunlight might be pretty, but she didn’t feel like taking her chances in it with only the shade of a few trees to shield her.
Halting in front of a tangle of ivy hanging from two gigantic cedars, Twilight called out. “Shiny? Shiny! I’m here!”
There was a long pause, long enough for Rarity to begin wondering anew whether Twilight was, in fact, just a very powerful and very crazy pony with no real family at all. No family and a well-hidden penchant for murdering pretty mares.
But then the bushes began to rustle, and then an enormous wave of blue magic swept them to one side altogether. It was some sort of living curtain, woven of the ivy itself — and Rarity was only half-finished in appreciating the craftsmanship before a stallion with a mane striped in the same way as Twilight’s was trotting forward, a grin on his face.
“Twily!”
“Shiny!”
The siblings — because the stallion could be nothing else, he looked so like her — fell into one another’s arms and began such a cacophony of excited conversation that Rarity began to feel even more out of place than she already did. And why, for the love of the stars, did her mouth still taste like vomit?
“Hello,” a soft voice said, and Rarity turned to see a tall, slender unicorn seemingly appear from nothing.
She was one of the most stylish, lovely unicorns Rarity had ever seen. Her fur was a pale pink, and her mane curled almost down to the ground, ringlets in three or four different colours. The Empress would have exiled her on sight.
“You must be Rarity,” smiled the stranger. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
“Cadence!” cried Twilight, like a foal again.
The two galloped toward each other, and performed a bizarre little ritualistic song about ladybugs — and — and sunshine.
“I’ve missed you two so much,” Twilight said, nuzzling them both. “We can’t go another six months without seeing each other; it’s too long.”
“You know you have an open invitation.” Cadence shook her head like an indulgent mother. “And it’s not like we’d ever have any other commitments.”
“And how is she — he — the baby?” Twilight squatted and looked much too closely at Cadence’s belly, and Rarity had to stifle a laugh. It was…it was funny, to see the Sorcerer taken out of her usual staid self in this way. Like when the clouds parted to let the moonlight shine through. A rare sight of the truth beneath.
“She is fine,” Shiny answered.
With a little squee of delight, Twilight rounded on him. “You know?”
“Zecora’s pretty sure,” said Shiny. “And she’s never been wrong before.”
“Oh, I can’t wait! What’s her name?”
“Speaking of names,” Shiny said, “Want to introduce me to your new friend?”
Twilight flushed. “Oh! Yes. Of course. Shiny, this is Rarity. Rarity, this is Shining Armour.”
Shiny — or rather, Shining Armour, Rarity mentally corrected herself — held out a hoof and she shook it.
“Right this way, you two.” Cadence led them through the curtain of ivy, into the clearing belong.
And spread out beneath the gradually lightening sky was a whole village. Houses built around the trees, through the branches, spiralling up around the trunks. Ponies and zebras and griffins trotted in every direction, along with other creatures Rarity could not name. There was even a yak, teetering precariously on a narrow wooden walkway between two treehouses.
But houses and the denizens — those were not the strangest things. No, the strangest thing of all was the…the suns.
Mouth agape, Rarity stared at them. On banners, in windows, on little flags, painted onto the side of houses — the sun was everywhere. On every surface.
This was the most illegal place Rarity had ever been.
Twilight seemed completely at her ease, walking happily at her brothers side, and for the first time, Rarity wished she had not come. An enchanting mare with a brain quicker than a sword-swing and a smile that lit up a room was all very well — until she took you on a mystery trip into the woods that ended with a town full of heretic cultists.
The suns were so distracting that it took a moment for Rarity to notice the very worst of it. There was a statue in the clearing’s centre, looking at first glance like a standard-issue statue of the Empress, wings spread — but when Rarity looked closer, she saw the differences. The flaws.
This alicorn wore no armour, and her wings were feathered instead of batlike. Her expression was all softness, instead of haughty command. And on her flank — no moon was visible. Instead, there was another sun.
This alicorn was not the Empress at all.
It was the false queen.
Little by little, Rarity’s pace slowed, until she was standing alone before the statue, ponies and suns on every side of her. Dawn was creeping closer with every minute, but no one was heading for shelter. In fact, more and more creatures were emerging — as though they rose at dawn instead of at dusk.
If the Empress caught wind of this in her dreams, or in her thoughts — she was doomed. What was she doing here?
“Hello,” said a very soft voice at Rarity’s flank. “You look a little lost.”
Rarity flinched and spun in place to see a frail-looking batpony standing just behind her. She was not the usual grey or blue, but instead a bright yellow, with a pink mane — and oddly feathery bat-wings. But her eyes were a vivid, chilling red, and long fangs arced out of her mouth down to below her chin. Rarity had never seen fangs like that on any Nightguard before.
“H-hello there,” she said, weakly. At least the stranger didn’t have a sun for a cutie mark.
“You mustn’t be frightened,” whispered the stranger. “Everypony here is so kind.”
“I’m not sure kindness is all it takes for them not to be frightening.” Rarity attempted a laugh.
“They don’t mean you any harm,” the batpony said. “All we want, all anypony here wants, is to live freely.”
“Even if living freely means…heresy?”
The batpony’s ears tilted back. “Is it heresy to doubt a monster?”
“The Empress is not a monster,” Rarity said instinctively. Sharply. And then she remembered all of the thousands of nights she had spent, calculating how to ensure the least number of ponies were harmed. She remembered all the ponies she had not been able to save.
“She’s a goddess,” she amended at last. “We’re mortals. We can’t…she’s not like us.”
The batpony pointed with a wing toward the statue. “She was a goddess, and she was like us.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Rarity had been aiming for a tone of derision, but came out more sad.
“Stories,” the other answered. “Old, old stories. And…hope.”
And now the creatures were gathering, coming to circle around the statue, wings spreading, ears pricked.
Cadence took her place below the statue’s outspread feathers and called them together. “It’s time, everypony.” Her gaze moved to the batpony beside Rarity, and her eyes softened. “It’s time you were inside, Fluttershy.”
The mare — Fluttershy — bowed her head, as though a great weight had been placed upon her back. “I know.”
“Shining is on breakfast rotation today,” Cadence said. “He’ll be over in half an hour or so.”
“Thank you,” murmured Fluttershy, very humbly. As though she were not grateful at all — as though breakfast were an ordeal she must face. Something to be suffered through.
Then she began to move away. Confused, Rarity half-followed her. “Are we going inside now? The dawn—”
“—No,” Fluttershy said, her voice softer and sadder than Rarity could have imagined a voice could be. “The only one who is in any danger from it is me. Stay out here and watch. I’m told…I’m told it’s very beautiful.”
On the final word, her voice cracked, and she hurried away from Rarity, headed for a building with security shuttered windows.
In silence, Rarity watched her go. This place was…the strangest place she had ever been.
But then Twilight was back at her side, a smile on her face, and some of the worries receded, even if only by a small distance.
“Come on,” she said. “You can stand with me over here.”
She led the way to Cadence’s side, and Rarity tried to keep her voice at a whisper.
“Twilight,” she hissed. “Are you a solar cultist? Did you bring me to a family of solar cultists?”
“Oh. Well, yes, I suppose so.” Twilight offered her a rather sheepish smile.
“Why?”
“I thought you might like to be one too,” said Twilight easily. “You seemed so pleased by the sunrise we watched together, and — well, working for the Empress; it isn’t much of a life.”
A lump formed in Rarity’s throat, but she forced the prickling in her eyes away, away, until it was gone. “That — that may be, but it’s my life. You had no right to meddle with it!”
“Just — just stay,” said Twilight. “Stay for the day, watch the dawn, and if you still feel the same by the end of the day, I promise I’ll never come near you again.”
“Oh.” Rarity was rather perturbed by her easy acquiescence.
“But the Empress — she isn’t what you think she is.” As she spoke, Twilight’s hoof rose to touch the collar of her robes, to rub at the neck beneath. It was a gesture that Rarity had seen often, among the courtesans, and as she saw it, her heart sank.
It was a pity, that the Sorcerer was so beautiful. It was a pity, that the Empress loved beautiful things.
Rarity didn’t know what to say, so she settled for pressing herself against Twilight’s side. “I’ll…I’ll stay.”
Twilight beamed, and then Cadence began to sing.
Rarity had long taken pride in her singing voice. One of her great talents, one of the things she had worked so hard to cultivate during her training.
But compared to Cadence, her voice was like a bullfrog croaking. Like the slamming of a door that needed oiling.
Cadence was a songbird. A siren. Her song climbed high and wordless through the treetops as the first fingers of dawn crept through the treetops. The sky faded from grey to orange, to pink. Hundreds of hues, putting themselves on display for Cadence and her followers below.
As the first golden rays glided over the ground towards them, Rarity remembered the rumours. Spells that could reveal if you had been polluted by the sunlight. But those little golden rays did not look evil. They did not look like they would pollute her. No. They looked…warm.
And she glanced to her left, at Twilight, hoof still tugging at her collar, and her resolve hardened. She was not going anywhere. She would take her stand, and she would defy the Empress.
The first breath of morning danced across her legs, and it did not burn. It was like a kiss from her mother, brushing across her fur. It was like a hug from a friend, before her position separated her from them, and they went one by one into the Midnight Spire, never to come out again.
It was like love.
The rest of that day was…it was peace, in a world where Rarity had known precious little. Cadence and Shining Armour showed them New Canterlot. Its groves, its squares. The statues of the Sun Queen, put back together piece by painstaking piece. The people, the ponies, who danced and sang and played in the light of the morning sky, unafraid and free.
It was like heaven.
And when the time came, Rarity almost did not want to leave. The thought of returning back to her cold, lonely room — to her unceasing watch on the Empress, her moods, her cruel whims — it was terrifying.
Shining Armour, too, did not want them to leave. “Twily, it sounds…are you sure you can go back?”
“I have to,” Twilight said, her voice unshakeably firm. “We’ve never been so close.”
And Rarity looked at Twilight’s hoof, rubbing at her neck, and stepped to her side. She would not go alone.
“I am tired,” the Empress said suddenly.
Rarity understood the code all too well. “Shall I bring Jade Dusk to you, Dark Majesty?”
To her surprise, the Empress pouted, almost playfully. “I am a little tired of my courtesans.”
“Uh…” Rarity foundered, “…All of them, Majesty?”
“Yes, all of them.”
“I could…Would you enjoy the Nightguard’s company?” Rarity seldom trod new conversational ground with the Empress. The well-known paths were the safest. And Rarity had a terrible premonition that she would not like the direction in which this new path led.
“Perhaps I will pay my newest Sorcerer a visit.”
Rarity’s sure step faltered. Twilight?
The Empress saw the stumble, and she chuckled. Actually chuckled. “Ah, my little Seneschal, don’t you like that idea?”
“It would be…difficult, to source a replacement from the University so soon.” Rarity fought to sound calm.
“You’ve managed worse tasks for me before.”
“Don’t — don’t you think you would prefer one of your courtesans, your Dark Majesty? Someone properly trained in h-how to please you?” Rarity stuttered, and the sound felt so alien as it came from her mouth. Rarity did not stutter. Her diction was perfect, her elocution even more so. She was the Seneschal. She did not stutter.
“No.” The Empress was smiling that awful, wolfish smile now. She was enjoying herself. “I think not.”
“Please,” Rarity whispered, throwing caution to the winds. The Empress clearly knew everything. There was no point in hiding anything from her. “Please, your Dark Majesty, not her!”
“Why, Seneschal, have you grown to care for my little sorcerer?” There was amusement in the Empress’ voice. “I would never have expected it from you.”
Why not? snarled some fierce little voice in the back of Rarity’s mind. Do you think we are all as cold as you are?
The Empress rose from her chaise longue and prowled closer to Rarity. Fluid and catlike, ready to strike. “What would you do, Seneschal, to spare her?”
Rarity’s ears folded back. After all her years of service, all her loyalty — was this the reward she was given?
She had never enquired too closely as to what happened to the Empress’ courtesans. She had concerned herself only with finding more, recruiting them from the best schools, the best colleges, across the nation. She had looked the other way, and now she wished she had paid closer attention.
Even after her triumph — appointed Seneschal, the only one not destined for the seraglio — even after all she had done, the same end had come for her.
“What would you do?” the Empress pressed.
Rarity thought of Twilight. Her pink eyes, alight with laughter. Her smile, always from over the top of a book. The ordered chaos of her chambers, where they watched the sun rise together for the first time. Twilight in the forest, showing her the secrets closest to her heart.
Rarity saw Twilight in the glen, her face tilted up to let the sunlight kiss her face, and her heart twisted in her chest. Saw the shadow in her eyes as she touched her neck with one careful hoof.
She bowed her head.
“Anything, your Dark Majesty.”
The afternoon sun was high in the sky when Twilight cracked the door to her chambers open. Cloaked by the best invisibility spells she could manage — Greycloak’s, of course, with Starswirl’s amendments and Timbre Sonnet’s soft-step enchantment on the top — she crept down the spiral staircase, heading for the Midnight Spire.
The palace was stuffed with Nightguards, as it always was, but batponies were always sluggish during sunlight hours. Their sight was worsened by the chinks of daylight that crept through the shutters, and their hearing — well, even batpony hearing was not a match for Timbre Sonnet’s spellcraft when cast by a mage of Twilight Sparkle’s calibre.
Access to the Midnight Spire was shockingly easy. If she weren’t so good a sorcerer, Twilight thought, she would have made an excellent assassin. Well, if her prey were not immortal.
She reached the Spire’s peak and snuck past the door to the bedchamber, sparing a single glance inward. The Empress lay in the royal-blue sheets, fast asleep, blood smeared across her face and one wing thrown over whichever unfortunate courtesan had been last night’s prey.
Twilight felt a pang of pity for whomever it was, but pressed onward. She was not here to play the hero. She was here for the greater good.
For the Sun Queen.
She reached the second door, and cautiously poked her muzzle inside.
The library.
A smile spread across Twilight’s invisible muzzle, almost feral in its intensity. If there was one thing Twilight Sparkle knew how to do, it was to exploit a library.
She entered, and the door clicked shut behind her.
Stumbling, reeling, shaking, Rarity staggered from the Empress’ bed and crawled down the steps of the Midnight Spire. She was being too loud, she risked waking the Empress, but she had to get away. She could not bear to be near that mare — that monster — for another second.
Her own room was at the foot of the Midnight Spire. Close at hoof, in case she was needed.
She could not go to her own room. It was no longer safe there.
Though her legs trembled with every step, Rarity forced herself onwards. Going to the only safe place left in all the world. The thirteenth suite in the Arkentower.
Twilight Sparkle.
She hardly knew how she did it — she lost whole chunks of time — but she crawled and she fell and she crawled again, and at last, she was lurching her way into Twilight’s library.
“Twi…Twili…” was all she managed.
“I found it!” Twilight looked up with eyes wild, hair flurried. “I found it in her chambers and I — I took it, and I’ve cracked the code!”
“Code?” Rarity asked blearily, her head thick, her knees weak.
“It’s part Roaman, part Helleneighese, part Old Ponish, all in a cipher based on the Elder Futhark Runes,” babbled Twilight. “Once I knew her favourite languages, and had all of them in my head as I was trying to read it, it was practically easy—”
“—Twilight,” Rarity said, with great weariness.
“I can’t wait to tell Shiny and Cadence—”
Stumbling again, Rarity headed for the sofa. “Please, I need…I need to sleep.”
Couldn’t she see the horror in her eyes? The blood on her neck, marring her pale white coat, scarring her?
Finally, sensing something in her voice, Twilight looked up. “Rarity,” she said, and her voice was a hushed whisper. “Rarity, what happened?”
Rarity reached the sofa’s edge, and suddenly it seemed that hauling herself up that sheer soft cliff was a herculean task. Utterly beyond her. Shakily, she reached out one hoof, only to feel the others slip out from beneath her.
The floor rose up to meet her, but before she could impact, a glow of pink magic caught her. Rarity exhaled as it lifted her up and Twilight rushed to be beside her.
“Rarity,” she murmured, almost in tears now, “Please, tell me what happened.”
“It was the Empress,” mumbled Rarity, with black crowding at the edges of her vision. “She said…she said she would…spare you…if…”
Twilight’s eyes went cold with rage, and the protective forehooves embracing Rarity became a steely cage. “If you would let her feed on you willingly?”
“…Yes,” Rarity breathed. “How…did you…know?”
“Because she said the exact same thing to me.”
The chill of this statement, delivered in such a flat tone, made Rarity’s breathing stutter all over again. “So…you…?”
“Yes,” answered Twilight grimly. “For months now.”
“…It’s…sick…” Staying conscious now seemed like another superequine ability. Rarity just wanted to sleep.
“It’s disgusting.” Twilight pressed cold, furious lips against her forehead. “She’s a monster.”
Rarity no longer had the strength to reply.
“But it doesn’t matter,” went on Twilight. “Because the first thing we’re going to do, the first thing, as soon as you’re well enough to move, is get out of here.”
It was a pleasant bedtime story, Rarity thought dimly. A sweet idea to fall asleep to. That she would no longer have to see the Empress, night after night. That she would no longer need to manage her moods, shield others from her wrath.
A pleasant fiction, but nothing more.
“She’s trapped in the sun,” Twilight whispered into Rarity’s tangled mane, and Rarity was finally tugged back from the brink.
“Wha…?”
“Celestia,” Twilight said, and Rarity pulled in a breath. “The Sun Queen’s name was Celestia.”