> Empathy is Magic, Pt. 1
>  by SisterHorseteeth
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1 - The Incident
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A ball of blue fire clung to the tip of her horn like a dewdrop on a stalk of grass.
Blistering, angry dew on spiteful, furious grass.
Her mentor taught her how to shape her spellfire, just-so – to cultivate it, to nurture it like the first  embers in a cozy campfire – but owing this much to her just fanned its heat with every resentment the unicorn charging the fireball held against that very same mare.
The bonfire blazing at hornpoint command ran sweat down her face. She would burn this entire gaudy heap of marble down if she had to.
She swore she wanted to – but she had other matters to attend to.
Instead, she had kindled this flame to blast away anypony who spotted her, all the way to the Dragonlands
That spark fizzled out in shock when Sunset Shimmer found the first body.
She skidded to a stop beside the fallen royal guard, nearly crashing into him when her cannon struck an errant, headless helmet and sent her stumbling, fumbling for traction in the socks she’d slid on to pad her hooves.
She had questions – so many questions! – and no one to ask them to except for this… not a corpse, she determined. He was still breathing.
There was no time to investigate further; she had to keep going. As of earlier that afternoon, Sunset wasn’t legally permitted to be seen within a hundred and fifty hooves of the Celestial Palace anymore, let alone hovering over an unconscious royal guard whose injury she wasn’t even responsible for.
The mystery wouldn’t matter, soon enough, anyway. She’d be leaving it all behind for something much greater.
At least, that was what she had hoped, for a few fleeting seconds, right until she found his buddy five paces down the hall – the only hall that led to her destination. So much for the faint hope that this was a random hit-and-run that wouldn’t interfere with her plan.
Then the lingering ozone hit her nostrils, just as she spotted the scorch marks on his armor and the lichtenpferd figure branching across his bare foreleg.
Sunset paused. His chest did not fall and rise like his compatriot’s. She knew she had to keep going. Heck, she had been prepared to strike him – and any other guardsponies in her way – down with a hail of firebolts, herself.
But it was one thing to rile herself, in the burning heat of fresh indignation. into thinking she was ready to kill if she had to – to convince herself she was willing to sacrifice others’ lives in the pursuit of her agenda. It was another thing entirely to be tested on that conviction.
It should have been such an easy choice, too! She didn’t zap this guy. Not her victim, not her problem!
Right?
So why was her mouth so dry?
She held a hoof to his neck, and his pulse weakly and arhythmically nuzzled her frog. He wasn’t all the way gone just yet.
It would have done Sunset good to be heartless, to be apathetic. Things like conscience and empathy held nobleponies back. She had to learn to suppress those if she wanted to get ahead. And yet…
A stubbornly-irrepressible part of her brain – one which ponies like to mislabel as the heart – antsy from lack of work, sprung to its duty: begging, kicking, and screaming at Sunset to do something for this stallion.
What, it dreaded, if this guard had friends, or closer relationships, or even foals?
Her throat tightened.
Who else, it demanded, could save him?
His life was in her hooves. To walk away would be to kill him just as much as his electrokinetic assailant had.
What, it posited, if Sunset had been lying here, wounded, and it was Celestia debating whether to move on without lifting a hoof?
That did the trick.
So.
The earth ponies had their own technique, pounding their hooves on the breathless barrel and bellowing air into their chest, and pegasi conjured a breeze from their wings instead of doing mouth-to-mouth, but Sunset Shimmer was a unicorn – and not just that, but the best of the best when it came to magic.
Where not a minute prior, her horn was alight with pyrokinetic intent, now, a cooler but no less intense rhythm resonated from her sky-blue aura, rousing the guardstallion’s heart and lungs back into action, to the tune of the Brothers Giblets’ Groove of Continued Life.
He would live.
Her conscience would go unstained.
Her work here was done, and she continued down the hall, the socks on her hooves doing little to muffle her anxious trot.
But now that her mind was free of that ethical quibble, the questions were back in full force. The most demanding of them forced itself, muttered, out of her mouth: “Just what am I going to find at the end of this hall?”
Well, for starters, two more royal guards lay jolted on the marble tile near the end. If the guard assignments hadn’t been amended, following the termination of Sunset’s tutelage earlier, then these were most likely the two guards stationed in the room she sought, and which she had known she would have to deal with head-on if she couldn’t bolt past them. Both of them were still breathing, hearts still beating, but they smelt of burnt fur and more ozone.
Sunset, on the other hand, was not breathing. Her heart stopped and her breath hitched in her throat as she entered a forbidden room.
The Mirror Room.
Sans a mirror.
Sans the Mirror.
You know, the mirror that revealed to Sunset her fate: to become an alicorn, resplendent and mighty, her copper fur glowing with the light of dusk, and the golden and scarlet tones of her fiery mane literalized into a billowing inferno, cooled only by the penetrating, commanding stare of her turquoise eyes. The flaring, swirling sun on her side marked all the banners in the hall behind her, where in reality, Celestia’s own sun had been embroidered.
You know, the mirror Celestia had instructed her – warned her – not to mess with and to banish from her mind. Doing so anyways, researching it behind her back in forbidden archives, had led Celestia to completely dispose of Sunset like a used rag.
You know, the mirror that was apparently secretly also a portal to… somewhere or other, that surely must have held the secret to Sunset’s ascension. That was the whole reason she came back to the palace at all.
That mirror.
Sunset had just about remembered to breathe again when–
When somepony crashed directly into her from behind, knocking the both of them to the floor.
The adrenaline helped a lot to scramble her back onto her hooves, her horn primed for combat.
But, instead of the intruder having come back to remove any witnesses, or a veteran guardspony having followed her with legcuffs and a nullifier ring with intent to arrest, she was instead met with a friendly face. It was a member of the Royal Guard, but he wore an approachable, kinda-dopey smile on his face as he shouted, “Whoah! Sunset!” – and he was far too green to stand a chance of taking a mage like Sunset down.
Not chromatically greener – he was decidedly tan, kinda like Sunset herself – and both his mane and eyes were blue. Rather, he was green because he had not worked for the Crown long enough for Sunset to bother learning his name. Under previously-normal circumstances, she would have called him ‘Greenhorn’ or ‘Greenie’ to get under his skin.
Well, probably not ‘Greenhorn’. He was a pegasus, not a unicorn.
In the moment, however, Sunset had some damage control to do. “Guh– Hi! You! Uh–”
Suddenly, the entire building shook, as though a small earthquake or rockslide wracked the Canterhorn, but that was impossible. The finest earth pony geotechnicians were in charge of making sure that sort of thing never happened to the mountain they built Canterlot on.
It sounded more like a boom of thunder, anyways.
Flash spoke first, refocusing on the concern at hand: “Did you see anything?”
Sunset blinked.
Interesting.
He wasn’t accusing her. He didn’t even seem to be aware she wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the palace. Instinctively, she replied with a “No…”, but then realized she might still need to explain her presence. “I heard a bunch of… lighting bursts, so I came to see what was going on,” she lied, then supported her lies with the truth: “The guards were all unconscious when I got here – I actually had to do CPR on the second one I saw. I didn’t see anypony who could have done this.”
And maybe her diversion into cardiopulmonary resuscitation had prevented her from doing so, she realized.
“Well, this room is a dead end on the floor plans, so they gotta still be in here.”
“Unless they teleported,” Sunset noted, pretending she wasn’t aware of the wards on the room which prevented just that, “or turned invisible and snuck around me.” He didn’t appear to know about the mirror, so she left out the third possibility, which admittedly wouldn’t have explained how the mirror had completely vanished as well. “You were chasing whoever did this?”
His ears flattened sheepishly. He didn’t do the stoic guard thing very well, did he? “Not exactly… but I was chasing somepony until they shook me off – an impostor in royal guard’s armor. I didn’t pick up the trail until I found Vambrace lying out in the hallway.” He shook his head. “And, anyways, they couldn’t have done any of those things to escape.”
Sunset was about to ask why not, when a third pony burst into the mirror room. An imposing young stallion, clad in armor his rank permitted him to paint in the purple hue of (as rumor had it) his little sister’s coat. His fur, an ice-cold white; his mane, imitated by streaks of azure and cerulean in the bristles on his helmet-plume.
“Flash Sentry! Repor– Oh. Sunset Shimmer.” Guard-Captain Shining Armor leveled an accusatory pair of eyes at Sunset as he unsheathed the sparkling fuchsia-and-sapphire glare of his magic. He, unlike Flash, very much knew that Sunset was equina non grata. He was the one to escort Sunset out of the palace.
He did not take those eyes off of her as he obstructed the lone exit with his bulky form and repeated himself: “Flash Sentry, report.”
“Captain! I was tailing an impostor in the guise of a royal guard after spotting them on patrol in the Photonic Hall.”
“Sunset, I’m assuming.”
Flash gave his superior officer a befuddled look, then restrained his unprofessionalism. “Fortunately not, Captain. Sunset couldn’t be the impostor,” – Flash turned to Sunset – “for the same reason the impostor couldn’t have teleported out or gone invisible or used any sort of magic to leave this room.”
“And that reason is?”, Shining asked.
“Because the impostor was an earth pony, sir. They didn’t have wing holes in their armor while I was chasing them, and I found their stolen helmet discarded on the ground, not far from Vambrace, fitted for a non-unicorn.”
“Uh-huh…”, Shining noted, oozing with skepticism, before pressing a hoof to his badge of office and speaking into it: “This is Cobalt Knight. Still no sign of Mother Phoenix but we do have a crime scene and a suspect or two over at Looking Glass 9-1-13. Requesting backup. Over.”
Sunset blinked. These codenames weren’t that hard to parse, so she had a pretty good idea who ‘Mother Phoenix’ was supposed to be.
“Whoah, whoah. Wait. What was that about the Princess?”
…

	[chime of the classic tune]


	My Little Pony, My Little Pony


	Ah-ah-ah-ah…~


	[shift into poppy synthwave]


	(My Little Pony)


	I used to ask what friends could do for me


	(My Little Pony)


	What a funny question, now that I’ve seen


	- Second chances -


	- Rockin’ out! -


	- It is what it is. -


	- For better or worse -


	- All for the Team -


	- We make it work -


	And empathy makes it like… clockwork? (That was bad.)


	You have my little ponies


	How did we all make such unlikely friends?

> Chapter 2 - No Love Lost
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And that brings us to now, Princess.” Sunset Shimmer sipped her raspberry tea, putting on a smile for an alicorn who had, by the bags in her eyes, been awake all night.
Or, rather, what should have been night. The clock said it was supposed to be five in the morning, the day after what everypony was calling ‘The Incident’ (because nopony actually knew enough to call it something better). Despite being the ‘dark’ hours of the morning, if you didn’t own a clock, it was still the late afternoon/early evening of the previous day. Celestia’s sun hung in the west, wrapping the horizon in copper and rose, as it had for the past nine hours.
See, as soon as she was let go from her official questioning (thanks to that Sentry guy’s testimony), Sunset had beelined, at full gallop, towards the Canterlot villa of Princess-in-Training Mi Amore Cadenza. She’d have teleported… if she’d ever actually been there or seen the place.
It would have been a lot more convenient if Cadance just lived full-time in the Celestial Palace like Sunset, but she had apparently wanted a place of her own when she was a teenager, and the full Princess was all too permitting.
Fine by Sunset, up until now. Sunset Shimmer was… not exactly a fan of Cadance. She had never particularly liked Celestia’s adopted niece, forced to compete with her for her mentor’s full attention – and her opinion certainly didn’t improve when Cadance had the nerve to just show up to Court one fine, sunny morning as an alicorn.
The only good thing about that day was it caught Sunset onto the idea that anypony could become an alicorn, if they met the right criteria.
Just… what were those criteria, exactly?
Cadance had them, and she was… well, Cadance. An unimpressive specimen.
Sunset’s working theory was that it had something to do with her royal legacy, since it couldn’t have been based entirely on magical prowess. Cadance was apparently the last, lost descendent of a long line of Princesses-in-Exile, from some northern “empire” that had vanished a millennium ago, back when you could still call a city-state and its satellite villages an empire.
Whether it was true or not, as with many stories Celestia told, was impossible to prove.
So, for the longest time, Sunset dreamt of learning that she was actually also the secret scion of a lineage of pony royalty herself – though the vision she saw in the mirror led her to realize such a connection might not actually be necessary.
In any case, despite Sunset’s dislike, the two of them never interacted much. If Cadance were the newer of Celestia’s two students, Sunset absolutely might have tried to sabotage her, but by the time Celestia plucked Sunset out of obscurity, Cadance had been there for years. Any attempt to dislodge her from the Princess risked damaging Sunset’s own standing even worse.
So Sunset simply didn’t bother to bother Cadance; it was easier to just never give her the time of day like she did all the other irrelevant ponies in the periphery of her life. Likewise, Cadance left Sunset alone, presumably warned away from her by Celestia herself.
When the annoying obstacle to Celestia’s attention transformed into the Princess (to-be) of Love, Sunset could do little but fume and console herself that love was an insipid thing to be the Princess of. It wasn’t the glorious Day. It wasn’t the vacant domain of mysterious Night. It wasn’t powerful, progressive, industrious, untouchable Flame, like Sunset had picked out for herself. It was just an abstract relationship that ponies had managed just fine without Cadance for millennia.
In any case, Sunset was able to swallow her disdain and pay her rival a visit. She could pretend to be nice long enough to brush her “disagreement” with Celestia under the rug, and they could go back to mostly ignoring each other. Hopefully.
The roads were remarkably… wet. Rain hadn’t been scheduled for that day, so Sunset had no idea what that was about; only an assumption that it must somehow be connected to the Incident.
Two guards were posted at the gate, and that seemed to be… it. Just those two. Maybe it was the hour, but it just seemed so sparse a detail for what her eyes insisted was seven-ish PM.
Insultingly, they didn’t take her credentials as Royal Student as permission to go right inside. Instead, they insisted the Princess-in-Training wasn’t seeing anypony, on account of being asleep, and was not to be disturbed. They stopped responding to her arguments about five minutes in, but Sunset would not allow them the pleasure of silence in turn.
Fortunately, the racket had the effect of drawing just the mare she wanted to see out of the villa, blearily plodding down the garden walk to see what was going on.
She didn’t really say anything; she just took two sluggish blinks, unlocked the gate with her magic, and gestured with her head for Sunset to follow.
The garden was well-kept, even if all the heart-shaped topiary seemed a bit on-the-nose, but the manor itself? It felt more like the occupied territories of a teenager’s expansionist bedroom, than the lavish estate of a prospective diarch. It wasn’t unclean; the dishes were washed, just not put away. Didn’t Cadance have a maid? Or was she legitimately just doing it all herself?
There were posters on the walls, for movies and stage plays and the odd travelling band. It didn’t really come as a surprise that the Princess of Love still held onto the posters which that Post-Crush duo had gifted her at the concert she dragged her aunt and a thirteen-year-old Sunset to: every album cover they put out, instrument they played, and autograph they signed was absolutely plastered with hearts.
–No, Sunset didn’t have an autograph from Kiwi Lollipop hidden in her room, too precious to get rid of and too embarrassing to display. Don’t be ridiculous. She’d never listen to such bubbly pop, regardless of how heart-thumpingly bassy their synths were or how cool Kiwi was.
Moving on.
Sunset was worried Cadance would make her sit down on one of the couches in the parlor, whose cushions housed dozens upon dozens of assorted pink, red, white, and sometimes yellow or purple plushies, but after a moment’s stop to correct the alignment of the most cuddly-looking manticore Sunset had ever seen, Cadance guided Sunset, mercifully, into the breakfast nook of the kitchen, where there was actual open seating.
Perched upon that oversized wooden chair, Sunset gave her own account of yesterday’s events, and now it was time to see where Cadance was at. Sunset grinned as pleasantly as she could, given the circumstances, and summed things up as follows:  “So, yeah. Now I’m your student, for the time being.”
Cadance blinked. “…Right now?”
“Oh, no, I just wanted to make sure you knew. I don’t mind waiting until you’ve settled in to actually resume my studies. I’m sure you’ve got a lot on your plate.” Sunset did mind waiting, but again: play nice.
“…I barely know the first thing about magic.”
Well, that was certainly true. Princess Cadance had only had about a year at that point to adjust to her new horn, which she had, demonstrably, not. As she held her teacup aloft, the power in Cadance’s cornflower aura was undeniable, but there was an unsteady wobble to it, constantly micro-adjusting to thread a needle between the strength to lift it and the gentleness not to crush it in her levitative grip.
Finishing off the cup, she set it down with a clank that made her flinch and check for chipped ceramic, before admitting, “If anything, I should be your magic student, from what I’ve heard.”
Logically, Sunset was certain this was nothing but flattery, but… banish her if she didn’t like having her ego stoked all the same. She couldn’t help but chuckle. “I bet I could teach you a thing or two, Princess–
“But, right, when it comes to my education: obviously, I don’t expect you to pick up where the Princess left off. Here’s the thing: so much of it was independent study, anyways, and the bits that weren’t… Well, I’m sure she keeps curricula around…” She waved her hoof around. “…Somewhere.” Frankly, Celestia probably didn’t write a banished thing down, but if Sunset got to keep her position as Royal Student without ever having to attend any lessons, left alone to her devices in a castle full of mystical lore… and perhaps negotiating access to the various chambers and archives forbidden to her… all the better!
Cadance was about to respond when the front door lock started fidgeting, so she switched gears to pouring herself another cup.
Trying not to sound nervous, Sunset asked, “Oh, were you expecting company?”
“You could say that.” Cadance cleared her throat and raised her voice to holler, “It’s not locked!”
After a moment’s pause, a large and familiar stallion muscled through the front door, chiding, “Well, it should be. We still don’t know if you’ll be the next targ– Shimmer. What are you doing here.”
Sunset blanched, crudely clinging to her composure. “Oh! Shining Armor! What a surprise! I could say the same!”
“I live here.”
“…At the villa of Princess Mi Amore Cadenza?”
“Yes.” His answer was immediate and entirely serious, but beneath that single word was just a subtle inflection of how-on-Equus-did-you-not-know-that.
Over a series of calculations that spanned barely a microsecond, the social arithmetic updated itself in Sunset Shimmer’s head, coming to a conclusion that slapped her across the face. “Oh. Oh! That explains how you made Guard-Captain so young!” She glanced at Cadance with a conspiratorial grin, delighted to have sussed something so scandalous out.
“If you want to believe that’s the reason why, sure,” he dismissed. “I’m asking again: what are you doing here, Shimmer?”
Cadance answered for her, her tone mediative. “Sunset was just letting me know she was happy to continue her teachings under me, to the best of my ability.” She took a sip of her tea and added, letting her exhaustion slip, “Which is fine by me. What’s one more massive responsibility suddenly thrust upon me overnight?”
“Right.” Shining strode up to Cadance and gave her a peck on the cheek, with a dash of haste and embarrassment that he hadn’t done so already. He continued, “And I’m assuming Sunset conveniently left out the part about how Princess Celestia dismissed her in disgrace, just two hours before the Princess disappeared.”
Cadance turned a judgemental eye to Sunset. “She didn’t mention anything like that at all, no.”
Sunset smiled and pointed a hoof at Shining. “That’s because I haven’t been properly dismissed!” She couldn’t let herself sound too menacingly smug, nor too indignant at Shining’s interference. “The paperwork was incomplete when the Princess vanished! She hadn’t gotten around to signing off on it.”
Shining’s eyes narrowed. “How did you learn that?”
Sunset chuckled, genuinely this time. “I figured it out all by myself when you, Raven, and Kibitz were the only ponies surprised to see me in the castle. Raven was kind enough” – or obsessively devoted enough to bureaucratic procedure – “to inform me of my unchanged status until the necessary royal signature can be acquired.”
Sunset was only 80% certain that would hold up in a court of law, but it was all she had.
“Sunset…” Cadance took on a wary tone, pressing closer to the meat-shield that was Shining. “You didn’t make Celestia disappear just to retain your prospects as a potential Princess, did you?”
It was a disarmingly naïve question. Sunset had watched the Day Court’s politics for years. You didn’t just ask your suspected conspirators if they were conspiring against you. What was Celestia teaching her?
…It also implied Cadance believed that Princesshood was part of Sunset’s life trajectory, before… all this.
So stunning was Cadance’s question that Sunset nearly fell out of her chair. Once she caught herself, she shook her head vigorously enough to mess up her hair. “What? Of course not!”
Cadance cast her eyes to Shining, raising a brow.
“It’s a possibility we can’t rule out,” he said.
Her horn lit up to thread the loose strands of crimson and gold back into her mane. “Uh, yes, you can! A scheme that idiotic would totally blow up in my face! Be–Besides being evil, of course.”
“‘Blow up?’ Care to expand on that?”, Cadance invited.
“Well, for one, you haven’t even finished your Princess training, so I can’t imagine you’ve been taught whichever mystic, sacred ritual Celestia uses to ascend ponies like you or me into alicornhood.” For all Sunset knew, Cadance didn’t even know how to move the celestial bodies, and everypony would have to deal with the wrong, lowercase kind of ‘eternal sunset’ watching over them for however long it took either to bring Celestia back, or for one of the two of them to learn cosmic manipulation on her own.
“And even if you did know how,” Sunset continued, “and you did make me the Princess I deserv–  if you did make me a Princess? What would I even be inheriting, when the crown came to me? A nation in chaos?” Of course, Sunset was pretty sure she could handle a nation in chaos – it just sounded like a pain in the flanks that she could do without.
“I mean, I would be Princess before you. I take it you don’t trust me to get things under control?” She… didn’t seem that hurt by the implication, like there was an unspoken ‘either’ at the end there.
While the answer was ‘yes’, Sunset pretended it was ‘maybe’ instead. Something, something, when you’re in a hole, dig slower. “Well, okay, maybe you do, but maybe you don’t! Just, realistically, a Princess straight-up vanishing is the scale of problem Equestria hasn’t faced in centuries, if not millennia.”
Cadance did not appear to react one way or another, which Sunset could not be confident was a good thing, so Sunset decided to recontextualize it in a way that hopefully took most of the insult off. “You haven’t exactly had a chance to prove your rulership skills one way or the other, have you?”
“Well, I’m going to have to, soon enough,” Cadance groaned, casting a glance out the bay window of the breakfast nook, to a sun in pretty much the opposite place it was supposed to be. “Anyways, Shining, dear, do you buy this?”
Shining studied Sunset with a glare that still didn’t like her or her face one bit, but which no longer bore any accusation. “While we can’t completely rule out her involvement with The Incident… it is very unlikely. Unless she was somehow able to mastermind this entire plot – abduction, artifact theft, and weather sabotage –” – so the rain definitely wasn’t an accident – “in the hoofful of hours between me showing her the door and discovering her with Flash Sentry, she’s not our prime suspect, either.” With a sigh, he added, “Things would have been so much simpler if she was.”
He sat down at the breakfast table, joining the two of them and resting his weary head on his hooves. “Instead, Sunset here is the reason Bracer Impact gets to go home to his husband and foals. He was the only guard with any coronal signatures from Miss Shimmer on him, and they matched the profile of a CPR spell. Whatever the other facts are, she did save a stallion’s life, when she could have fled the scene of somepony else’s crime instead. For all she knew at the time (as she claims) the looking glass was just down the hall, and nopony could have followed her.”
Cadance stared into her tea before downing the whole cup and taking a deep breath. “So why didn’t you, Sunset?”, she finally asked.
Sunset gulped. The truth was not compelling and it revealed her weakness, but she didn’t have anything else prepared. “I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been right.”
Shining rolled his eyes.
“Hey! I saw that. Look, listen, okay, maybe I could have moved on if I didn’t hesitate in the first place. Maybe if I was the one who put him on the floor like that, I would have been able to rationalize past it. But the moment I started thinking about what if I was in his shoes, I just… had to do something.” She shrugged.
Cadance hummed, refilling her tea for the… honestly, nopony in that room knew how many times she had done so at that point. “Well, that answers that.”
That wasn’t an acknowledgement. The tone was off. That was a dropping-of-the-subject. Either Cadance didn’t believe Sunset, or she wanted to project skepticism, or – Sunset allowed – maybe she was just so tired she didn’t really have a response.
After a few awkward moments of silence, Cadance asked, “Why did Celestia dismiss you, anyways?”
Sunset opened her mouth to answer, but Shining cut her off. “Snooping where she shouldn’t be, against Celesia’s orders, and getting rebellious when she got caught. After enough repeat offenses, she decided enough was enough. That’s what I was told.”
So he was given – or was choosing to give – a very vague picture. The latter seemed unlikely, given his responsibility for Cadance’s and the state’s security, but his thoughts on the matter were proving more conflicted than Sunset took him for. “Did you have anything more specific to add, Shimmer?”
It was unclear what Shining wanted. He could have been prompting details out of her, or he could have been evaluating her honesty and discretion. “Both of you already know it had to do with the missing mirror, so… not really. Just… that I’m still upset with the Princess and her decision.”
“I understand,” Cadance assured her, and it sounded reasonably genuine.
Then she hummed.
The next words out of her mouth were ice. “You know, I could just say no. If a Royal signature is the only thing stopping you from being dismissed from Celestia’s service, when she clearly didn’t want you as her student anymore, then I just have to sign those forms as acting Princess, and you’d be officially dismissed.”
It took every ounce of composure not to start screaming and shouting at Cadance. After all the effort she went to, making a fantastic case for herself…
“But,” the Princess-in-Training continued, “that seems kind of mean. I don’t know you very well, outside of the rumors…”
Sunset cringed. She would have to do something about her reputation. If there was anything left she could do.
“But I don’t give too much credence to rumors, and I have never heard a single unkind word about you from Celestia.”
Sunset blinked, jaw going slightly slack.
That was surprising. Sunset kinda figured Celestia groaned and nagged about her to the nearest listener the moment Sunset was out of earshot, so… was Cadance lying, or was Celestia?
“And even though it would seem you have your flaws, like any other pony – myself included – you don’t seem too bad. If nothing else, Celestia had to see something worthwhile in you if she made you her student in the first place.”
Pity. That was what she saw. A sight that evoked pity. No need to spit that out, though.
Instead, “So… what are you saying, Princess?”
“I’m saying I’m willing to give you another chance.” She smiled uncomfortably, internally debating something until she added, “Besides, no matter what else is true about you, there just aren’t a lot of mages in your generation who have your level of talent. I’m just gonna come out and say it: I might need somepony as versed in magic as you at my side. There’s… There’s a lot going on right now.”
Hope was not an emotion Sunset felt very often. She didn’t need it. She had everything she could hope for.
‘Had’ being the keyword.
Hope felt like teleporting into the stratosphere without any way of knowing if somepony was going to catch her. It was sickening. Stomach-churning. Once she became an alicorn, she would never need to hope again.
“So… that’s a yes?”, she ventured.
“Yes, Sunset, you can continue being the Royal Student.”
Shining Armor shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He looked like he was biting his tongue. He settled on saying, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson, and you won’t repeat the mistakes you made under Princess Celestia’s tutelage with Cadance. I’m going to be watching you.”
Sunset really wanted to protest against that. She’d already secured the bag, so it probably couldn’t hurt to just ask, “Why?”
“Because it’s his job,” Cadance answered for him, “and he does it very well.” Again with the mediation. “Now, I think we’ve all had a very long day… literally… so I think we should end this discussion here. We can go over the finer details later.”
Fair enough. Sunset did feel a yawn coming on. “Fine. Keep in touch; you know where to find me.” She clambered out of her chair and made for the door. She was halfway outside when she remembered to add, “And I almost forgot – Thank you!”
These words did not come to her instinctively. It would be a lot easier to manipulate ponies if they did.
With that, Sunset was gone – very gone. In a flash of aqua she was back in a palace dorm she had all but expected never to see again, twice-over.
Nothing had changed since yesterday morning. The palace staff never received any orders to pack up her things, nor had Sunset’s demand that everypony stay out of her room been infringed upon by overzealous cleaners. All her overdue books remained unreturned: stacked in any free corner, or used as coasters for the old dishes and cups she couldn’t be bothered to take back to the kitchen.
And yet, despite everything being the exact same, give or take a few specs of dust, and despite how little time it had been, Sunset couldn’t help but feel an aura of… nostalgia? alienation? both?
It was probably due for some redecoration.
After she got some sleep.
Her bedsheets still trailed off the bed where she’d awoken, groggy, from a recurring nightmare brought on by terrible sleeping posture.
–A nightmare that, in retrospect, may have pushed her to be a little reckless with her pursuit of knowledge and get herself caught.
Too tired to fuss with the blinds on her western-facing window, she instead buried her head under a pillow to blot out the sun that should be over in the east.
> Chapter 3 - The Setting of the Sun
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunset sat at the foot of the empty Diurnal Throne, watching over a throne room just as desolate.
There was an attempt to argue that she should be sitting on the throne (to allow her to command the necessary attention and totally not because she wanted to play pretend Princess) but Shining insisted and Cadance requested she did not, so she begrudgingly held down the dais and monitored this sad excuse for a Day Court.
Almost all scheduled solicitors had cancelled their appointments. They insisted they needed a Princess to render her judgement, not some jumped-up Royal Student. What pedantic, self-absorbed fops, thinking they were too good for the future Princess of Flame. Once Sunset figured out how to get her wings, she’d make sure these prissy little whiners never even got the time of day from her, no matter how much they grovelled.
The worst part was, they’d settled for an earth pony plenty of times before. That aide with the nerdy glasses and out-of-style manedo, Raven Inkwell, was the usual emergency secretary for the times in which Princess Celestia was unable to hold court herself. The Princess had all those charity fundraisers to show up to and smile at, after all. On those occasons, the gentry might lodge their complaints with Raven only begrudgingly, but they respected her enough to leave them with her at all.
Sadly, Raven was currently buried under the mountain of paperwork that a legal transition of power brought with it.
Cadance was likewise unavailable, as majordomo Kibitz was briefing her on all of the duties and schedules she would be taking over, somewhere else in the Celestial Palace. This was expected to take all day at the least.
Naturally, Shining Armor was bodyguarding Cadance. Very naturally.
What a juicy bit of trivia that was! How long had Sunset been out of the loop? She really should have been paying more attention to the gossip circulating the servants’ quarters and bureaucrats’ water-coolers. She didn’t usually listen to that garbage – not that she was by any means above rumor-mongering; rather, most of it was useless to her: lies spread about completely irrelevant noponies to adjust the social status of other completely-irrelevant noponies. They didn’t have any good dirt on anypony that mattered.
Or if they did, it was on Sunset. That might have been the bigger reason she stayed away from the gossips.
Back to the point – until such a time as a current, flesh-and-blood alicorn Princess was able to hold a “real” court instead, the only pony vaguely qualified and available was Sunset Shimmer. She had been put in the throne room both to keep the scant few appointments that weren’t cancelled (not that she was allowed to do more than say “Sorry, bud; we can’t help you with that right now”) and to ensure that she had guards watching her at all times.
They still thought she might have done it.
Said guards’ eyes were, however, occupied with the rabble immediately outside of the throne room. Nobles and peasants alike pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, none of which had an appointment but each of which burned with a thousand questions about the future of their very lives and livelihoods. The clamor, bleeding through the heavy marble doors, was so obnoxious it kept Sunset from coming up with something to compare it to.
If she weren’t stuck here, Sunset might have spent the day on independent study, or done some investigations of her own into the Incident. How do you steal an alicorn? If a being that powerful doesn’t want to be stolen, then they won’t. They shouldn’t. And yet, one did.
How did they subdue Celestia? To what extent did they incapacitate her?
She glanced at her saddlebags, tossed to the side of the throne, where a brown buckram spine, banded with gold, peeked out from under the fastened flap. She had brought several books with her (getting dragged along to Day Court was always tedious, even when she wasn’t presiding over dust) but the one trying to spill out of the bag was different from the rest. Maybe she should–
A sudden jolt in the rainbowed light streaming through the stained glass windows commanded Sunset’s notice – and the crowd’s too, managing to hush them for a solid five seconds before they started up even louder.
With a groan, Sunset melted out of the regal pose she spent the whole day putting on and laid her head on the throne, one ear mashed into the cushion and the other smothered by the royal throne-pillow. She couldn’t bring herself to care that these articles were intimately acquainted with her mentor’s butt; it was that or develop a migraine.
Anyways, from the way the sun lurched fifteen degrees counterclockwise along the horizon, still as low as ever, it must have been time for Cadance to try grappling with the big ball of fire herself – and she definitely didn’t get it in one.
To facilitate this at all, there must have been an artifact or something involved, because it was as much Celestia’s marked destiny as it was her alicornic magical prowess that enabled her to command the sun’s obedience.
Whatever tool or spell Cadance was using to make up for the fact that her talent was, like, love or something, there was a solid seventy-five percent chance Star Swirl the Bearded was behind its invention. The crazy old wizard had his hooves in a lot of pies (though Sunset suspected at least a few of them had to be misattributed).
The twenty-five percent of uncertainty represented the picture Celestia herself painted of the stallion, based on knowing him personally: he was an undeniably brilliant man… with the foresight of a river salmon. If he invented an Alicorn Obsolescence Device, it was because he could, not because he knew the Princess of Night and Custodian of the Moon well enough to predict she would try to usurp her sister the way she ended up doing nine or so centuries after his presumed death, requiring Celestia to take up both orbits.
But hey, maybe the Sole-ar Remaining Princess had to scramble to figure out how to take care of the moon once she booted Luna into it. She had to have figured something out. The moon still rose and fell, didn’t it?
–The last couple days, notwithstanding.
Sunset supposed there was a possibility her solution was just “be a supremely-powerful alicorn”, but while yeah, she was one of those, she was also a meticulous planner – quite Star Swirl’s opposite, in that respect. Celestia had to have a contingency in place for her own absence. To go two-thousand years and not come up with something was just not her flavor of stupid.
Whatever the case, Cadance seemed to finally have it figured out. When the sun, after doing a merry jig throughout the sky and taunting everypony with a brief dip below the horizon, finally set and stayed set, the world’s relief was instantaneous and palpable, like the lid was taken off a boiling pot. A portion of the crowd split away on their own, and the rest followed suit when the exhausted guards at the door announced, “Night has fallen! The Court of Day is no longer in session!”
Oh, sweet silence. Thank Cele–
…Thank Cadance?
That was gonna take some getting used to.
In the meantime, Sunset just basked in the soft, dark quiet that surrounded her head.
Then Shining Armor cleared his throat as loudly as ponily possible.
Sunset sprang away from the throne like it was a cookie jar she’d been caught with her hoof in.
Cadance, by his side, bore an amused little smile. Shining, in full armor, did not.
She had to seize control of the conversation. “Oh, hey, guys!” Cadance seemed to shy from formal address, so Sunset kept it casual. “I see you’ve got the sun under control!”
Cadance gave the soft, exhausted chuckle of a champion after a duel viciously-fought and narrowly-won, trying not to lose consciousness once the adrenaline wore off. “I’m getting the hang of it.” She idly brushed her hoof against the new amulet around her neck, depicting an eclipse of sunstone and moonstone on jet. “The moon won’t budge, though, no matter how much force I put behind my horn. For the time being, Alaghistan is just going to have to put up with having the moon overhead at all times.”
“So we can expect an extra-ornery donkey ambassador.”
“More so than the usual,” Cadance drily confirmed, her smirk holding strong. She seemed to be in a good mood, all things considered. It was that taste of true power, wasn’t it, wrestling with the sky itself?
Which is why Sunset maybe felt a smidge bad that she was about to bring her back down to earth. “So… What’s the plan for, you know, finding Celestia? You’ve got one, right?”
As predicted, Cadance’s smile died on her lips, though Shining lost his frown. Did Sunset just win points with him?
“As a matter of fact,” he announced, “we do.”
“I’m all ears.”
But Shining just turned to look at his Princess, a brow raised.
At her gentle nod, he finally, grumblingly, began: “The unfortunate fact of the matter is that there is annoyingly little to tell us who is responsible or where they took the Princess. Currently, the Royal Guard is doing everything in its power to scour the Palace for clues without disrupting palatial security.”
“Cool. Have you figured out how they got out with an entire rutting magic mirror yet?”
“Yes.” His eyes narrowed. “That information is classified.”
Sunset threw her hooves up. “Oh, come on! You can tell me! I won’t blab!”
“That’s not what I’m worried about, Miss Takes-‘Forbidden’-as-a-Challenge.”
He flinched at the hoof thrust in his face. “Hah! So you’re saying they went through somewhere forbidden!”
“I… can neither confirm nor deny that claim.”
Flashing the smuggest grin, Sunset backed off with a shrug. “Yeah, well, it’s not like it narrows it down much. I’m forbidden from the palace greenhouse,” she spat. Before anypony could inquire as to why, Sunset asked, “So what else?”
“Well, we’re keeping an eye out for ransom notes. If that’s all this is about, then we’ll pay whatever they ask and increase security so it doesn’t happen again.” And if whoever was responsible was in earshot, they’d surely up the price.
But… “That’s not what this is, though, is it? Why bother with the mirror?”
The look on Shining’s face was… surprised. One of the bad kinds. Condescending surprise, fighting off a smile, like Sunset had just innocently said the stupidest thing he’d ever heard her say. He ventured to ask, “…How much of that book did you actually read?”
Cadance tilted her head. “Which book…?”
Sunset filled her in. “Celestia caught me with one of Star Swirl’s travelogues. Observations on the Parallels of Royalty Through the Looking Glasses, if you wanna check it out.”
“I’d like to say ‘pass’, but it sounds like it might contain relevant information…”
Sunset then turned to Shining Armor. “I read enough to know that if I didn’t rush the mirror that night, it was gonna close for another two and a half years. I wasn’t gonna let that opportunity slip me by.”
Shining’s voice took on an air of confident superiority. Ugh. “Would you have changed your mind if you’d read far enough to learn that magic does not exist on the other side of that mirror?”
The parallel train of thought that had been chugging in the background of Sunset’s mind ever since opening that book came to a crashing halt against a mountain that sprang out of complete nowhere. “Guh– Huh? What?!”
“There’s no magic.” He fizzled a cantrip on purpose, poofing smoke out of his horn, as if a demonstration would make such an absurd idea click.
“Bullscat! How does that work? Is it just, what, dead on the other side? Even exclusion zones like the Everfree need a bit of magic to keep life going.”
Shining just shrugged. “Only Star Swirl knew. He decided the best thing to do with that knowledge was use Looking Glass 9-1-13 as his own personal garbage disposal. Safer than letting magical runoff into the water table.”
So maybe he… threw some artifact away that had the power to create alicorns? …Was that how Celestia and Luna…? –Eh, she didn’t have enough info to entertain that blasphemy just yet.
Though… something else was bothering Sunset, too. “Wait, where are you even getting this from? Wouldn’t you know if you read his book?”
“I did. A heavily-redacted version, issued to myself upon achieving the rank of Captain of the Royal Guard, which I burned after reading, as instructed. Performing my duties requires an understanding of the dangers lurking within the Palace.” He took a deep breath. “Frankly, Princess Celestia would have some choice words with me for telling you anything I told you just now.”
“So why’d you tell me now?”
“The point has gone moot.”
Only for thirty moons. Or, for a more accurate translation of the old Ponish to contemporary Equestrian: thirty months. “I don’t think that’s it. How do I know you aren’t lying to discourage me from the truth?”
“I’m not lying.”
Woooooooow. So convincing. “Prove it, then. Why don’t we crack that bad boy back open and let me pick up where I left off?”
“That’s out of the questio–”
Cadance circled around to rest a wing on each of their withers. “Sunset, if it would help you trust us, I might be able to authorize a” – she turned to Shining – “supervised” – back to Sunset – “reading of the original text on the mirror portal. Would that be alright?”
“…Yeah. That would.” Though, if they were willing to break Celestia’s forbiddance to prove their honesty, maybe they weren’t lying about that particular detail.
“I suppose that would not be entirely out of the question,” Shining conceded. “Thank you, Your H–”
A pinion feather gently brushed his lips. “Please. She already knows.”
Shining Armor rolled his eyes. “…Thank you, dear.”
Sunset could make fun of their romance later; she still had objections to voice. “But if you’re not lying, then again: why tell me any of this?”
“Well,” Shining answered, “you already knew too much.” A… pensive quality lapsed into his voice. “Maybe if you had a more complete picture, you’d reconsider whatever you’re planning to do with Star Swirl’s old trash can.”
“Well, I am, so thanks.” It was valuable intel. If Sunset ever got another chance, she’d need some hired muscle to cover for her lack of magic, and she’d need to keep them in the dark about what their actual goal was so they didn’t try to take her ticket to alicornhood for themselves.
They’d gotten really sidetracked, though, hadn’t they? “Sooooooooo…”, Sunset drawled, “what does the other side of the mirror being… magicless… have to do…”
Suddenly, Sunset remembered where she found Star Swirl’s book. It wasn’t on a shelf. It was just sitting out on a cart, waiting to be returned.
Oh.
“They took Celestia through the mirror,” Sunset concluded, bereft the usual heat of her voice, “where her alicorn magic… wouldn’t mean scat.”
Oh, no.
 “And… where… she’ll be stuck for the next two and a half years…”
Oh, rutt.
“– If we even find the mirror before then…”
Princess Cadance and Guard-Captain Shining Armor both dipped their heads.
“That’s the assumption we’re operating under,” Shining confirmed, raising his head again. “Which is why locating Looking Glass 9-1-13 will be the top priority of every national agency, going forward, once we get a handle on things here.”
Sunset burnt the distress of her realization into agitation. “…Why not now?”
Shining closed his eyes and took another steadying breath. “There have been about as many complications with Cadance assuming the role of Acting Princess as you might expect. Just because we saw them coming doesn’t mean we can solve them with a poof of the horn.”
“Bet I could.” Already, her horn was a-twinkle in turquoise.
He raised an eyebrow. “Do you know a spell that can bend the leadership of every national agency in Equestria to unconditionally accept the command of an uncoronated Princess?”
Sunset opened her mouth – and just as swiftly closed it, before opening it again. “…This feels like a trap.”
“Heh.”
“For your information, officer, I have never used a mind-control spell,” she lied, “because my academic studies on the subject were sanctioned by my mentor – you know, Princess Celestia – for the purposes of self-defense against it,” she half-truthed, “so I definitely don’t know anything on the level you’re asking for,” she finally truthed.
The thing about mind control was that it wasn’t actually that hard to learn how to zap somepony with an emotional charge and get them to feel what you’re feeling. Unfortunately for Sunset, that sympathetic charge was drawn from the caster’s own emotional state, so instead of making the guardspony stationed at the Royal Ice Cream Freezer pliable enough to step aside and let Sunset in, it just filled the big, armored, stiletto-headed stallion with quivering, petulant rage that found its outlet in the teenage filly in front of him.
She’d never run so fast in her life. Thankfully, he was so unfathomably mad that he forgot he could use magic.
Point is, developing her skills at mind control was kinda on the backburner for the time being.
“So you say.”
“I do say. So, what, you can’t get the ERS to hoof your taxes over?”
Shining shook his head. “More that Equestria’s various intelligence and law enforcement agencies take orders from neither the Captain of the Royal Guard nor, quote, ‘miscellaneous uncrowned alicorns’, unquote.” He ground his teeth. “They’re only going to listen to a fully-coronated Princess. At best, until we’ve thrown the proper ceremony – which we are currently researching the minimal requirements for so we can get it done as quickly as possible – we can only make recommendations as to how they should proceed with their individual investigative efforts, if they’ve even launched any to begin with.”
Sunset blinked. “…What do you mean, ‘if’? Who are these wastes of standing around that haven't even started looking? Do they not want to save the Princess?!” Some purges might be in order – if not now, then once she was in charge. Sunset would not abide a do-nothing government.
“Oh, it would be a feather in the cap for any organization. Unfortunately, the impact of Celestia’s absence has reached pretty far. There’s panic all over the Principality, wildlife agitated by the disruption of the day/night cycle, neighboring countries with a vested interest in Equestrian vulnerability, and…” – Shining Armor took a very deep sigh – “the noble estate.”
“The noble estate.” Of course.
“M-hm.”
“What’re they up to?” Probably some power play or other, but Sunset wanted specifics.
“Most of them? Not much. We did good by accepting the Royal responsibility as quickly as we did. Having Cadance as Acting Princess does a lot to plug and obscure what is, objectively, a pretty sizable vacuum of power. –Sorry, dear.”
Cadance giggled. “I’m not under any illusion that I’m a perfect substitute for Celestia, Shiny.”
“Of course not.” He put on a smirk that looked like it was supposed to be suave but mostly came off as dorky. “You’re one of a kind.”
And yet, somehow, it still made Cadance blush. If Sunset thought she was pink to begin with…
Sunset impatiently tapped a hoof on the marble tile. “Save it for later, lovebirds. I wanna hear about these problem ponies. I’m gonna guess some of them do see the vacuum for what it is?”
“You’d be right. Word from our ears in high society – who at least respect my authority over Palatial security enough to keep me informed – is that there’s a small contingent of nobleponies who see our swiftness to take control as incontrovertible evidence that…” – Sunset could just about make out steam puffing from his nostrils – “that we got rid of Celestia in our own bid for power, and so they’ve decided to rally around somepony they see as a ‘more legitimate’ claimant to the throne.”
“…Huh?” Squinting, Sunset looked at Cadance’s wings and horn for several seconds, double-checking that they hadn’t just walked off of her body while she wasn’t looking, then back to Shining. “Who on Equus could possibly be more legit than an alicorn who’s also Celestia’s niece?”
Something unexpected happened. Shining Armor not only smiled – but did so in an effort to hold in a laugh. “You haven’t seen the ‘Prince’ loitering around the Palace the last couple days, have you?”
“…Blueblood?” – Title-firstname-lastname ‘Duke Prince Blueblood’ in full. The less thought about him, the better. – “I avoid him like the plague, if I can help it. Why?”
A snort escaped the Guard-Captain’s lips, but otherwise, he just stared at her–
“Oh! No way! Oh, sweet Celestia, you’ve gotta be kidding!” Bafflement and irritation fought a war in her head, ultimately won by the insurgent third faction of hilarity. Sunset laughed, “That fop?!”
That was all it took to push Shining Armor over the edge. His hoof-stomping guffaw rattled his suit of armor like a carillon of pots and pans.
Then Cadance had to go and interject, “Come, now. If my dear ‘cousin’ wants to try his hoof at raising the sun, maybe we should let him,” with just the most serenely-Celestial poker face.
This, of course, was likely to burn out all the mere unicorn’s magic. Permanently.
Sunset doubled over, howling with laughter, thumping a hoof against the pauldron of the Guard-Captain rolling on the floor beside her, while Cadance giggled above.
A few minutes later, shaking the last dregs of mirth from her lungs, Sunset said to Cadance, “I didn’t know you had a mean side.” This was intended as a compliment of the highest order.
“Everypony does. I try not to let it out too often… but some ponies make it very difficult. –Anyways, what about the nobility we’re actually worried about?”
That almost sent everypony back to the floor, but thankfully, Shining held it together long enough to report, “Right, the actual threat right now is going to come from those laboring under the assumption that Princess Mi Amore Cadenza will be some clueless ingénue who can be flattered and groomed to favor whatever self-serving goal they’re after.”
All of a sudden, Sunset Shimmer got really nervous.
“Instead of a grown mare with years of political theory taught to her by Princess Celestia herself,” Cadance groaned.
Even more nervous! Sunset hoped her smile was convincingly innocent.
Cadance’s sure was. “Don’t worry, Sunset; I already know what you’re after, which makes you a lot safer to trust.”
Sunset took a step back, trying to hold in what was now a nervous giggle as her ears fell flat. “Do I make it that obvious?”
“Yes,” Shining flatly intoned. “If you wore clothes, you’d sew alicorn wings to your sleeves.”
That was just lame enough to diffuse the tension.
Grinding her teeth, Sunset admitted, “Okay, fine, yeah. I wanna be an alicorn and you’re my most viable route to that goal. What are you gonna do about it?”
Cadance hummed for a moment, feigning thought. “Well, I think I’ll keep you by my side as Royal Student and sometimes-advisor, where your own agenda, my sole ability to satisfy that agenda, and your misequinist disposition will lead you to spot and point out other schemers in my court that I and my trusting nature wouldn’t have noticed, in order to secure your chances at alicornhood.”
“…And you’re just going to tell me that.” Including that Sunset had a chance of getting wings under Cadance.
“Of course! I kinda prefer to be transparent with ponies. I am the heiress to the Crystal Empire, after all.”
Sunset’s ire at Cadance so confidently laying her out like that died in agony, then came back as a revenant of pun-induced anguish. Said anguish, however, left her incomprehensibly sputtering as she tried to drum up a comeback.
Cadance used the opportunity to continue. “For a more serious answer… Aunt Tia spoke at great length on the value of discretion and omission, but Honesty is a Harmonic virtue, and if I’m going to reign over the birth-empire of Harmonism one day, I should probably actually live up to the values of my little ponies. I could never quite reconcile these two styles of rule, so… I know I’m forgoing a tool that’s served my mentor well, but I have my reasons.”
That afforded Sunset some time to recover her senses. “If that means I won’t have to put up with half the dumb secrets-that-don’t-need-to-be-secrets with you as with Celestia? By all means, rule however you want.” Sunset would not hold herself to such a ridiculous standard, of course.
Cadance got down to Sunset’s level, resting her chin on her forepasterns. “So what are you going to do, Sunset Shimmer?”
“Well if you hit me with another pun that bad, I’m going to make a crystal wine glass out of your sk–” Wait, no, backtrack. Shining was giving Sunset a scary look. “I– I mean, I guess I’ll keep watching over Day Court until you’re ready to take over, and if you need somepony to do your lying for you – I can do that.”
Cadance’s smile brightened. “Well, actually, I have some good news on the Day Court front: you won’t be presiding, tomorrow.”
“I won’t?” Sunset wasn’t sure if she was disappointed to be relieved of a Princess-adjacent duty or relieved to be spared another day of utter boredom interspersed with forced displays of sympathy.
“Ms. Inkwell’s made a big enough dent in the paperwork that she’s free to watch the throne tomorrow – while we run some errands together.”
Sunset raised an eyebrow. “What kind of errands?”
“It’s kind of hard to explain. I’m trying to move forward with one of Celestia’s hanging projects, but I don’t really know where she left off.” Sunset must have let too much of a skeptical scowl slip through, because Cadance was quick to add, “Though I’m sure our trip will be worth both of our times.”
If she said so. “Alright, so – just to get this clear – I’m going to be tagging along with the two of you, while you figure out what you’re even doing?”
Cadance frowned. “Well, just me, actually, if that’s alright.”
“Fine by me!“ A bit of an understatement. “But why isn’t your ‘bodyguard’ coming along?”
Shining answered, grumbling: “Unfortunately, I’m stuck here tomorrow, coordinating some changes to palatial security procedures. You know, after you demonstrated several gaps in our routine.”
“You’re welcome.”
Captain Armor did not acknowledge her smugness beyond a snort. “Now, I say these plans can wait until I’m available, but my Princess insists it’s a matter of national security, so I’ve been overruled.”
“Hah! That’s royal fiat for you.”
He lowered his head to level with Sunset. “If my Princess comes back from your trip tomorrow with a hair out of place, you’d better have a very good explanation prepared as to why.”
He meant it. Sunset knew better than to show fear, but she also knew better than to deny to herself that she felt it. Shining Armor wasn’t exactly a slouch, as mages go.
“That’s enough, love,” Cadance chided. “Now, did anything worth noting come up during Day Court, Sunset?”
Not… really? It wasn’t like any of her petitioners had known any info worth passing on.
Though…
“Actually… If we’re going to be doing this ‘honesty’ thing… I should probably let you in on a secret that was between me and Celestia. I don’t really want to, but it might be helpful for the investigation.”
Two eyebrows raised in silence.
Levitating over her saddlebags, Sunset explained, “You said there’s no magic on the other side of the mirror, but if that’s the case, how did Star Swirl get back here to write about his journey?”
Shining didn’t have an answer for that. Just a shrug.
“So I’m thinking, some kinds of magic do still work there. They have to. And of any kind of magic, I’d expect enchantments to be the most, like, durable in a magic-free environment.”
“Why’s that?”, inquired Cadance.
“Any number of techniques, really. Internal recirculation, kelemagenic feedback harvesting, remote transmission, mechanically-focused design…”
Cadance just stared at her, expectantly.
Oh, right. Former pegasus. “…Enchantments that recycle an internal magic supply instead of taking it from ambient environmental magic; or power themselves off of the magic that the spell produced radiates; or receive a magic supply from another linked object; or use nonmagical functionality to minimize the power of enchantment the item needs to work.”
“Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “So whatever Star Swirl brought to the other side, he also brought supplies that could make sure he’d be able to travel back.”
“Yeah, something like that, but that isn’t quite what I was getting at.” At least she was quick on the uptake – that horn was not entirely wasted on her. Though, it was still abundantly clear that Sunset would be the teacher in their magic lessons, not the student as her title blatantly stated. She still wasn’t sure if that was to be a source of massive pride or irritation at the wasting of her time.
But she could worry about that another time. “See, one of these books is enchanted.”
Sunset undid the belt on her bag, then shrank down her aura to encapsulate only the thick brown book she was after. The rest of the tomes, still in her bags, hit the floor with a resounding whump.
She hesitated, staring into the perfect likeness of her own cutie mark emblazoned on the cover of her… personal journal. ‘Private’ was not an apt term.
Its heft was ever so familiar in her telekinetic grip.
The other two regarded her with silent curiosity.
“Celestia gave me this when I first started studying under her.” She held it up for them to see–
–But only the cover. They didn’t need to see what she’d written inside. What she’d been writing, about once an hour, since waking up the day before. She could not recover if they did.
As she parted the covers, the smells of decade-old, cinnamon-oil-scented paper tried, once again, to drag her back into the optimism of her preteen years. Lying awake in her new dorm in the palace for the first time, too ecstatic to sleep… that twelve-year-old filly really thought life could only get better, didn’t she?
Tentatively, her horn lit up in cyan, just to etch another word into the pages. |Hello?|
She permitted herself to be wracked by the terrible vertigo of hope, “It’s connected,” she began to explain, “to–”
And then Sunset Shimmer heard the most soul-crushing sound she’d ever heard.
The saddlebags over Shining’s armor buzzed, clank-clank-rattling the layered steel beneath.
With a sharp intake of breath, he levitated another book from the flap, almost identical to Sunset’s book, except for the mark on the front cover – Celestia’s brilliant, gentle sun. “That would…” he began, then struggled for words. “That would explain this, that we found. –Lying open, in her chambers, earlier today.”
Silence reigned.
Dry of mouth, out of breath, her heart retreating so far aft it might well fall out her backend, Sunset realized exactly what Shining Armor was implying.
That first inquiry if Princess Celestia was there; the second and third, too; the defeated theory that maybe this wasn’t reaching anypony, and the supposition that she was free to write whatever she wanted; then, every scrawled insult; every threat on the Royal life; every demand for an apology; every plea for forgiveness; every time she switched from grief to rage and back to grief; every attempt to sound calm and collected as she entertained the hope that maybe Celestia was just slow to respond, and every tear dripped onto the scented paper as she did so; every admission Sunset felt anything other than contempt for the mare who took her in–
It had been copied, by a linked enchantment, into that other book: an ink-drop slurry of motive and heartbreak.
Which had then been seen.
They had raked their eyes across the tenderest flesh of her heart. They had seen every ache she wouldn’t admit with a crossbow to her head.
They knew her.
It made her itch so bad.
Then her world went pink, and soft, and warm.
“I’m so sorry, Sunset,” Cadance confessed, through wings laced over the unicorn’s withers. “There wasn’t really any way to investigate without reading it. I’m so sorry.” That was all she said.
If the Princess of Love had tried to twist that knowledge into a statement about how it was clear Sunset really loved her mentor all along, Sunset would have incinerated Cadance and then herself.
But she didn’t.
She simply allowed Sunset to shudder and shiver in her embrace as the last rays of sunlight slunk behind the neighboring mountains. When the palace lamplighters came to the throne room, Captain Armor requested they keep out and return later.
When he came back from the door, he admitted, “I’m also sorry, Sunset,” and declared, “On my word as Guard-Captain, you’re cleared of any suspicion of perpetrating The Incident. I understand now that your involvement was purely coincidental; the motive is only there for a crime of passion, not something so clearly premeditated as The Incident. I… hope that helps you feel better.”
It really didn’t.
Could anything?
…
Sunset Shimmer woke up the next morning with no recollection of ever going to bed in the first place.
A note sat on her nightstand: |Sorry for entering your room without permission but I couldn’t just leave you on the floor! I hope you can forgive me just this once! -Cadance <3|. Every single |i| was dotted with hearts.
> Chapter 4 - Second-Best
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cadance didn’t get into what their errands actually were until she’d already put two tall cups of coffee into herself – and was working on a third – en route to their unstated destination. The citizens of Canterlot had cleaned up most of the debris left on the streets by the numerous hysterical stampedes that had marked the first day after the Incident, and at this point, most ponies on the street were just trying to pretend things had gone back to normal. The sun did rise that morning; that would just have to be enough.
Sunset… hadn’t been eager to press her on the details. Or say anything at all. Sleep had dulled the desire to cringe into a black hole of mortification, but she still had to grapple with the realization that – perhaps – she did not actually know Mi Amore Cadenza like she thought she did – and that Mi Amore Cadenza now knew Sunset more deeply than she ever wanted to be known.
Talking, she feared, would only make that disparity worse.
But it had to happen eventually.
Cadance sipped loudly from her paper cup. Calm and jitterless as can be, she asked Sunset, “Did Celestia ever tell you anything about the Elements of Harmony?”
“Not a word, but I’ve read about them, on my own time. Why?”
“They play a central role in this project.”
“What, like, as a symbol?”
Cadance blinked a few times, struggling to comprehend. “…Whatever do you mean?”
“Uh, like, a metaphor?”
“…I’m really lost now.” She scratched an itch on her forehead with the tip of her wing. “Um, how about you tell me what you know, and we can work from there.”
Ugh. That was a pretty transparent information-mining strat. Fortunately, it wasn’t mining for personal details, so Sunset had no reason to lie. “They’re a fabled set of six artifacts used by Celestia and sometimes her sister to thwart the various mega-monsters of history. Since they don’t appear outside of ancient legend, it’s pretty safe to assume they’re nothing more than a flourish to make these stories more interesting than just going ‘and then Celestia effortlessly turned the bad guy into stone with her natural alicorn power; the end’.” Sunset hazarded a cocky smirk – a guilty pleasure, but seeing through the bullscat felt so edifying. “That’s why I’m not sure how they’re going to help us. Symbols are great and all, but they need real power behind them.”
It felt good to smirk so freely again, like stretching out her legs after a long ride in a cramped carriage, but for her face. Sunset had learned to stop bothering with her smarty-pants smirks around Celestia, because the Princess always had some nullifying counterargument that made Sunset look like a total idiot, but this was a conversation about magical lore! Sunset’s turf! She could risk–
Cadance snorted, holding in a giggle. “Oh, uh, wow.”
Oh, no. “Wow, what?”, Sunset strained not to hiss. It didn’t work very well.
The alicorn flinched, the mirth draining from her face. “Oh, I’m sorry; I really shouldn’t laugh. It’s just… How do I put this…”
Oh for rutt’s sake. It was happening again! Sunset gambled on being more knowledgeable on magic than Cadance (like she obviously had to be!) and she lost. How?!
Well, Sunset had to play along, like she seemed to always do around Princesses. “I’m listening,” she squeezed out, through teeth just barely hanging onto a forced smile.
Cadance downed the last of her coffee and levitated the empty paper cup into a convenient trash can, which, judging from the scorch marks and soot, had been on fire some time in the last couple days. Clearing her throat, she began, “So… the thing is, the Elements of Harmony are not fictional, though I can see how you might come to that conclusion. Celestia brought them up in a lesson that I think was about using every tool available to you… or maybe the delegation of crisis response? It can be hard to tell sometimes what she’s really trying to teach, you know?”
“She–.” Sunset’s brain skipped a beat, since it was already so determined to act like a heart.
“Sunset?”
“She told YOU they were real and not ME?!” Sunset didn’t mean to say that aloud, but from the way Cadance leaned away from her, it was apparent she had – in a convincing imitation of the Royal Canterlot Voice. Time for damage control. “Ack! Uh– What I meant to say was, she… didn’t tell me, and I–”
“No, I get it. She probably didn’t think you were ready.”
Sunset was about to lash out with an ‘of course I am’ when she caught on to the slight twinge of disgruntlement in Cadance’s tone. “I… take it you’ve heard that one before, yourself, huh?”
Cadance bowed her head. “Not often, but she’d drop it on me every now and then when I’d ask about, well…”
She was getting cagey. How’s about a test of her vow of transparency? “Well, what?”
Cadance grimaced. “Well, for example… shortcuts I’d heard of to make governing a nation as big as ours a little easier…”
Sunset’s ears perked up. She might not have cared for statecraft, but a secret was a secret, and she wanted to know. So, she played dumb: “What do you mean by shortcuts?”
“You know, the tricks that aren’t illegal, and they get the job done, but they don’t really make you any friends and can have long-term repercussions. Like walking on the forbidden grass, if we want to talk about a literal shortcut. You and I have the authority to do so, but it wears an ugly rut” – a nearby mother reflexively covered her foal’s ears – “into the landscaping, if we make a habit of it.”
Cadance chose a particularly tame shortcut to describe, didn’t she? “In that case, I’ve seen Celestia take shortcuts all the time. And got scolded for taking them myself in my studies, I might add.” She put on a Celestia voice that didn’t sound anything like Celestia. “My most brilliant student, Sunset, you have to attend your studies at CSGU instead of spending all your time in the Royal Library. My most brilliant student, Sunset, you need to learn how to solve a puzzle without brute-forcing it through the judicious application of magical fire. My most brilliant student, Sunset, you can’t just start with the final book in the Chronicles of Narwhalnia to skip all the pointless filler I call character development and steady escalation of stakes.”
The Princess-in-training chuckled, then shrugged. “I’ve come to see it like this: you have to learn what the rules are and why they exist before you can understand when it’s time to slip around them. And she made, like, half of them, so she already knows the ‘what’ and ‘why’.”
Sunset harrumphed. She was starting to get talked into understanding some of her mentor’s glaring hypocrisies, and she couldn’t have that. “We’ve gotten off the subject. The Elements of Harmony are real?”
“That’s certainly what she implied when she brought them up. She mentioned them off-hoof, as part of a project she hoped to have ready in the next ten years. I tried asking for more details, like where they were, or with whom she was coordinating, or even just what they actually were, but…”
“Let me guess: you weren’t ready to know that yet?”
Cadance grinned and pulled Sunset close under her massive wing. “Hey! That’s exactly what she said! How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess.” She would have grinned if she wasn’t more focused on squirming out of the Princess’s grip, eventually prying herself free with a force-bubble. “So, we’re searching for the Elements, despite having no idea of anything about them.”
“Not quite. They won’t do us a whole lot of good if we don’t have anypony to use them.”
“You can, can’t you?”
Cadance grimaced. “Sure I could. Probably. But… well, if I understood her under the layers of subtext and allusion, wielding them all by herself allowed her to make some pretty big mistakes, completely unchecked.”
“Yeah, I can take a guess who she’s talking about there.”
Cadance dipped her head in solemn respect. It was kind of blatantly obvious to anypony who lived with Princess Celestia that she got just a teensy little bit more reserved whenever the subject of her sister came up. Sunset wasn’t really sure why: after that betrayal, smiting the Nightmare into the moon was self-defense.
Maybe it was something Sunset would have understood if she had siblings of her own, but she doubted it.
“So you don’t think you can handle them all by yourself,” Sunset gathered.
“I don’t want to risk it.”
“Bet I could. Simply don’t regret anything you do. Easy.”
Deep concern creased Cadance’s features. “Sunset… You and I both know–”
“If you bring up anything my journal said I’ll set this entire mountain on fire. Don’t try me.”
Several bystanders darted for the nearest door, alley, or bench to hide behind.
Cadance shook her head. “Then I won’t. I promise.” Or, rather, she had made her point clear enough. “Regardless, it’s a good thing Shiny wasn’t around to hear that. I don’t think he’d ever sleep again if we’d planted the idea in his head of you, alicornized, wielding the Elements of Harmony like a remorseless avatar of Royal wrath.”
A vision of Sunset’s billowing infernal mane in the mirror flitted through her memory. “He wouldn’t know beaut–” – Sunset suddenly remembered she was talking to one of the most objectively-attractive mares she’d ever met – “Er, magnificence, if it bit him on the flank.”
Ignoring the narrowly-avoided snub against her looks, Cadance just chuckled and moved on. “Thankfully, we’re not just giving all of the Elements to one alicorn and hoping she doesn’t go on a  power-trip.”
“Sure, sure. I getcha. You just don’t want whoever’s got them to overthrow you, so you split them between several ponies to ensure that their power can only be leveraged through cooperation.”
Giggling, Cadance countered, “Unless they all decide they don’t like me, but I’ll try not to let things get that bad.” With a smile, she nudged Sunset’s shoulder. “Are you sure you weren’t attending my Royal lessons in secret?
Sunset shook her head. “It’s just basic social dynamics. If you can’t help making a target of yourself, then you need to make sure nopony’s got it together enough to go after you.”
“Still, you might have a better head for the ugly side of politics than me,” Cadance reasserted. “I might have copied your notes if you’d joined us.”
“Believe me, Celestia wouldn’t have had me. The one time I expressed an interest in the finer points of ruling, she tried to drill a cartload of ethics lessons into my head. She wasn’t gonna teach me the good stuff until I’d read every sappy fantasy generously labeled a ‘utopian treatise’ that’s been penned in the last three millennia.” Sunset threw up a forehoof. “Who gives a scat who ponies in three-hundred and thirty-three B.A. thought should sit on their dumpy little thrones of rock and mud? They didn’t even have alicorns yet! It’s all irrelevant now!”
Cadance hummed, skeptically. “If I disappeared tomorrow–”
An eavesdropping stallion fainted at the idea.
 Hushing her voice with an awkward frown, she tried again. “If I disappeared tomorrow, leaving Equestria completely alicorn-free for at least the next two and a half years, I’d think it would be very useful to know how ponies tried to govern themselves before alicorns came along. They came up with the wheel back then, too, and you know what they say about reinventing that.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m gonna invent a wheel that goes in four directions, just to spite whoever came up with that saying.” She just had to figure out how to suborn the right physics to her will, which she spent half her free time doing, anyways.
But they were really off-track. Again. And Sunset was sharing far too many insights into her person. This mare was dangerously easy to talk to.
Clearing her throat and putting on a serious face, Sunset said, “Anyways, before you can worry about coup d’etats from your Element-wielders, you need ponies to wield them in the first place, and I’m guessing Celestia already had some picked out.”
“Some candidates, at least.”
“But you don’t know who.”
Cadance smiled. “Not the slightest clue.” It was a pained smile.
“So instead of wasting time trying to find her notes (because you know as well as I do that she keeps as much of that stuff in her head as she can fit ), we’re recruiting our own ‘Bearers’ – with blackjack and Wonderbolts.”
With a chuckle, Cadance mused, “If Aunt Tia didn’t want us to gamble and associate with strange company, she should have left us, I don’t know, some directions, and a list of contacts. Anything at all, really.”
Sunset tilted her head away from her liege-to-be. “You’re really laying it on thick that you don’t know what you’re doing, you know.”
A sharp intake of breath. “I mean, I can’t honestly say I do…”
Passing under the balcony of a cafe, Sunset could swear she saw some moustached muzzle in a fancy suit turn to study them, like a wolf stalking prey.
Not good. “Look, confident or not, you gotta cut that scat out. Save your insecurities for your coltfriend. Nopony wants to see their Princess dragging her mopey little head on the floor like a depressed catoblepas.”
“…You’re right.”
The counterargument to whatever Sunset thought Cadance was going to rebuke her with derailed against her teeth. “Of course I am – but you’re seriously just gonna give me that?”
“Let’s just say you wouldn’t be the first to tell me I can be a bit too open with my emotions. I’ll… try to keep my guard up, but please don’t hesitate to let me know if I slip.”
“Wait, what? You want me to point it out? Because I will, but…”
But it wasn’t anything Celestia wanted to hear. Any apparent slip-up always seemed to be a calculated failure to further some hidden agenda, so saying something just revealed that agenda to exactly the ponies who weren’t supposed to figure that out. So she wanted Sunset to keep her big mouth shut.
Cadance ran her pinions through her mane with a subtle whimper. “It might hurt a little… But the history books are full of egotists who didn’t appreciate the value of an ally who doesn’t let friendship or reverence get in the way of legitimate critique. So many kings and queens have fallen because they filled their courts with yes-ponies who only told them what they wanted to hear.”
“So you want me to tell you when you’re being an idiot and poke holes in all your plans. That’s what I’m hearing.”
“Celestia taught me that any plan your average teenage filly can poke holes in is no plan at all.”
Sunset snorted, ignoring the slight long enough to play off of it. “Must be why she never shared them with me. I’m anything but average. –Also, I’m not even a teenager anymore.”
“Well, you’ll just have to do for now. Next year, the filly I’ve been foalsitting turns thirteen, and she can take your place.”
“Right…” Sunset kinda wanted to ask why on Equus Cadance was sitting foals (was it a hobby? an assignment from Celestia?), but there were more pressing matters to attend to. “So, back to our Bearers. Who have you chosen?”
“That’s the thing! I… haven’t.”
Sunset stopped in the middle of the street. Cadance took three strides with her towering alicorn legs behind before she turned back to see what was holding Sunset up.
Slack-jawed bafflement gripped the brilliant mage. It was already time to make good on Cadance’s request. “WHAT?! You haven’t?! You don’t even know who’s getting the weapons Celestia used to smite chaos itself with?!”, shouted Sunset. “What are you gonna do, just hoof them out to random ponies on the street?!“
On cue, several disheveled Canterlites, the mania and dread of these uncertain times still bloodshot in their eyes, stopped in their tracks and turned to face their Princess-to-be, if they hadn’t already been watching them. They smiled, and softened their eyes, and did their best to look respectable and responsible.
With a shake of her head and a sympathetic frown, Cadance dismissed their hopes of safety and security, and they went back to hanging their heads and looking over their shoulders.
“Sorry, everypony…” Annoyance briefly creased her brow, but with a sigh she seemed to acknowledge that this is what she signed up for. “Nothing so undiscerning as that, Sunset. I do have some standards.”
“And those would be?”
“I’m looking for a group of friends who’re all extremely gifted in their own ways – the best and the brightest – but not yet deep into their careers. Or, as Princess Celestia described you on many occasions, ‘full of potential’.”
It stung to hear that. Sunset didn’t know why.
Cadance resumed walking without her. “The quickest way I can think of to find ponies like that is to consult my old school.”
Sunset trotted along to catch up. “But, wait, in that case, CSGU’s on the other side of the city.”
“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t go to Auntie’s School.” She flared those majestic, storklike wings. “I was a pegasus before I got the horn, remember?”
Yes. Sunset remembered. Very clearly. It was only the pivotal event that informed her ascension was possible in the first place.
It happened only a year into Sunset’s apprenticeship. Sunset was forced to attend, which she did so begrudgingly, assuming it was going to be nothing more than a fancy ceremony. Pegasus goes in, pegasus comes out. The rows and rows of ponies Sunset didn’t recognize and assumed were friends of Cadance’s or assorted unimportant dignitaries did little to dispel that notion.
When Cadance disappeared in a flash of light and came back with a horn all of a sudden, part of Sunset refused to believe it was anything but an illusion. Still, before the ceremony had even concluded, Sunset ‘ported to the library to do some research. When Cadance showed up to Court the next week and that horn was still there (along with an insultingly-humble demeanor)… Well. Envy was a powerful motivator.
What Sunset had no recollection of was Cadance’s education before she was undergoing Princess Training full-time. She was already out of secondary school by the time Sunset entered the picture. Even if she did go to CSGU, Sunset wouldn’t have bumped into her.
“I assumed Celestia enrolled all her students at the school with her name on it.” Sinecorns studying at CSGU was not necessarily unheard of, though they, for obvious reasons, stuck to magical theory.
“Well, technically, I guess I did participate in the concurrent enrollment program, but that was just for a few classes afterschool. For most of my education, I went– Well, here!” With that, she stopped.
Sunset slowed, too, her neck craning back to take in the size of the building in front of her.
Before them was a foreboding fortress of rose-quartzen brick, trimmed in blue sapphire and golden topaz, its dozens of spires gleaming above the city in the sun’s empty stare.
Cadance realized, in that moment, she was about an hour behind schedule with the sun, and adjusted accordingly, refracting a thousand rainbows into a waltz across the public square in the school’s shadow.
The jewelmasonry was exquisite, but also deeply antiquated. This was a campus that remembered the Crystal Diaspora – probably built by their hooves and horns. The 1776 Annexation of the Bittish Isles into Equestria was still recent news to these old gems. Until very recently, there remained only one pony on Equus who remembered a time before it stood here.
Sunset had never noticed this place in her life. Now, she was unsure how she had not. It was blinding.
But she had heard of it. “So this is Princess Amore’s.” In full, Princess Amore’s Crystal Memorial Preparatory Academy, but Sunset would rather gargle sand than waste her vocal chords on all those words. “I lost count of how many pep-rallies I had to sneak away from while I was at CSGU, but most of them were against this place. Figures that you went to the place named for your family.”
“Doesn’t it? I’m told most of my ancestors did, too. Though, please, could you just call it Crystal Prep?”
“Why?”
“Because it’s super awkward to go to a school with your own name plastered on it?”, hinted PRincess Mi Amore Cadenza. “Especially when the word ‘Memorial’ is there, too?” She shuddered in the thrall of unwanted memories. “You would not believe how many jokes they made in my freshpony year about the ghost of Princess Amore haunting the campus, and they never completely stopped for the next five.”
“Well, at least you had your Nightmare Night costume figured out.”
Cadance acknowledged the joke with a chuckle that sounded more than a little bit forced and made for the front door, pushing it open with her hoof instead of her magic. “Coming?”
As they stepped into the entry foyer, the inside was no less bright, though it was harder to tell where the light was coming from, refracted through the countless jewels. Empty, too, but the lectures of stern, emotionless teachers echoing off the flourite tiles and nephrite walls confirmed school was still in session that day.
Sunset was pretty sure it was the only school open. The others were still tentatively closed, in case a state of national emergency were to be declared.
The glare of gold and grain of wood caught Sunset’s eye; it was the only other thing here which was not made of crystal or pony. All the bevelled walls were set with displays of accolades and history, protectively encased in what Sunset could only assume was clear diamond instead of glass, given all the other crystalwrought opulence.
On an impulse, she smacked the case with her hoof. Not even a scratch.
Sunset skimmed the collection of awards, unimpressed – and not just because she didn’t care about athletics. You could win all the medals you wanted, in every subject under the sun, but you’d never be as prestigious as the school that had the reigning Princess’s name stamped on it. Crystal Prep would always be second-best – nothing more than a backup plan for any unicorn who didn’t quite turn out to be worthy of the horn on her head.
Well, Canterlot’s sinecorns probably loved this place, but there had to be better schools for them in Cloudsdale or… Where did earth ponies go? All the way out to Manehattan?
In any case, there was nothing here truly worth celebrating – until her eye caught upon a golden trophy for a multidisciplinary competition between, as Sunset vaguely recalled, all the secondary schools in the city.
What commanded her attention about this one was that this was the sole winning trophy for the magic category of these Friendship Games. You know, a category which had no right to go to any school which was not Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns: the School Where you Go if You’re Good at Magic.
“What’s this doing here?”, Sunset spat.
Cadance hummed. “That is weird. Your school usually wins that one.” She shrugged. “Unfortunately, since I graduated in ‘91,” – Sunset looked at the year on the trophy. Spring of 1998. Two years ago. – “I couldn’t tell you why. Even the freshponies I knew back then have graduated by now.”
“Unless they got held back.”
Sunset was about to board a train of thought before Cadance returned fire with, “You don’t get held back here.” She was deadly serious, and Sunset, assuming a nerve had been struck, was about to drop the subject when Cadance explained, “They won’t let you. They’re… They’re very keen on good metrics here.”
“I see.” Sunset had questions about how they enforced that, but she had a train of thought to catch before it left the station in her mind – and some idea how, anyways. Even she, in her determination to stay out of interscholastic rivalries, had heard of Crystal Prep’s notoriously strict policies.
Sunset caught her mental ride in the nick of time. See, it occurred to Sunset that she was attending CSGU in 1998 – a phase of her life she was grateful was over with. That Mayre, Sunset was unjustly denied valedictorian and graduated as just another unicorn in the Class of ‘98, on the mere technicality that she had to actually do all the time-wasting busywork she was assigned if she wanted her grades to reflect her intelligence, despite such drudgery being beneath her.
Point is, Sunset was attending school at the time of this competition.
“Why didn’t anypony tell me I could have participated in a magic competition?!”
“They probably tried, at those pep-rallies you didn’t go to.”
Sunset ignored this. “I could have taken that trophy home all by myself, even with a bad case of horndroop.”
“From what Celestia’s told me about you, that wouldn’t surprise me.” Another sting, distracting Sunset from relishing her ego being stoked. “Thanks for stepping aside and handing us the win,” she teased.
“I can assure your Highness,” a cold, third voice chided, before Sunset could bite back at the tease, “that our team for the 1998 Friendship Games needed no charity from Celestia’s School to best the competition this year.”
A middle-aged cyan unicorn, spindly and tall enough she could just about see eye-to-eye with Cadance, with a close-curled mane as dark as a sea of wine, had somehow snuck up on them, despite wearing slip-on hoof-flats on a tile floor. They were black patent faux-leather: glossy enough to blind, and leatherlike enough to command fear and attention.
Sunset liked faux-leather, even if she tried not to think about what inspired its invention. The dress she always dreamed to wear on her coronation day would be all faux-leather. With studs and chains. Lots of studs and chains.
She was pulled out of her daydream by… nothing in particular. This mare just radiated command – which is a very different thing from power, although many Canterlite unicorns conflated the two. Command was the hold one had over other ponies, and it came naturally with power, but some ponies could summon it without any power of their own.
This one cultivated her looks for professionalism, intimidation, and status, like so many untitled Canterlite civil servants and chairponies, but her meager station contributed just as much to her command as her looks. How many underlings and coworkers had she stepped on to get where she was? All to achieve her life’s ambition of… administering the second-most-important secondary school in Canterlot. Not even a college!
But there was no real power, as best as Sunset could tell, behind her command. When this mare adjusted her armless glasses upon her snout, her lavender-gray corona came out thin and weak, and she certainly didn’t have any muscle to her. Sunset wasn’t scared of her at all.
Cadance, on the other hoof, went stiff as a board – until she remembered she was an alicorn (soon-to-be) Princess instead of a schoolfilly and pulled herself back together. Only a little, though. “Headmare Cinch! Please accept my earnest apologies! The implication of what I was saying hadn’t occurred to me.”
Cinch hummed in acknowledgement, without expressly accepting those apologies. “Do pardon my interruption,” she said, “if you were busy memorizing the names of those who will soon be the Star Swirls of our lifetimes.”
Sunset held in a snort. She wanted to say something about how that wasn’t impressive – how, in Star Swirl’s day, only a hoofful of ponies even knew how to teleport, and the average CSGU student knew more about magic in their freshpony year than Star Swirl had learned in his entire lifetime – but picking a fight with the pony they came here to speak to was a bad idea.
So, Sunset did as she suggested, and looked at the dozen names engraved upon the polished plaque. Only one stood out to her, because she happened to go by a nickname that Sunset had never liked for herself: ‘Sunny’. The palace staff had learned very quickly never to call Sunset ‘Sunny’.
Sunny Flare, though. What a terrible name to be saddled with as a unicorn. It was three quarters of the way to belonging to a pegasus, and the only thing that saved it was that it followed the ever-traditional ‘Sky Light’ template that haunted every unicorn foal whose parents hoped a name alone would be enough to grant them magical talent.
The headmare spoke up again. “If I may, Your Highness?” She didn’t wait for permission. “Though I know our meeting is scheduled for eight minutes from now, classes will be letting out in four, so I would suggest we return to my office” – Cadance frowned, just a little, at that last word – “before then, lest we interrupt the flow of education.”
Suppressing a gulp, Cadance replied, “Great idea!”
And so the three descended into the crystalline depths, nopony saying a word.
…
The Headmare let the Royal entourage into her strikingly-lit office right as classes let out for the next break. Most of the room was kept in shadow, save for the Headmare’s desk, the seats accompanying it, and the display cases for further trophies along the walls. All else lay in darkness – even that cathedralesque window behind Cinch’s chair was blinded with what glistened like (and hung with the weight of) galena carved into slats.
Why the Headmare thought she was important enough to need anti-magic window decor was a mystery for another time, though Sunset wondered how much of the rest of this office was lined with crystalline lead, too.
The door, on the other hoof, was hewn from tigers-eye carved to resemble a dark and professional varnished wood, as were many of the fixtures and furnitures of the office. For being yet more crystal, the chatoyant door swung easily on its hinges and muffled more than was expected. Those crystalwrights at least knew what they were doing.
Though, Sunset could still hear – through the thin, translucent panels of azurite and malachite that argyled the window on the door – an informative amount of clicking horseshoes, shuffling cloth, and not a whole lot of talking.
Back at CSGU, she couldn’t hear herself think for all the chatter and amicable hollering that filled the transit between classes. This was… eerily silent, by comparison. Peaceful, but eerie.
The dragging of stony feet across a wine-red, low-pile rug brought Sunset’s attention back to the task at hoof. Cadance had taken her seat in a chair.
A really uncomfortable-looking amethyst chair, with no padding, narrow hoofrests, and a back that shot so straight up that you couldn’t lean back at all.
It bore the scratches and chips of age and/or hard use, too. The profile was simpler, cruder, and much more modernist, so it couldn’t date back more than a century…
But it was probably old enough to have been uncomfortable when Cadance was a teenager, discussing (or more likely, sitting quietly as Princess Celestia and Headmare Cinch discussed) the scheduling conflicts that came with attending the strictest school in Canterlot and taking private lessons in Being A Princess.
And now, fully-grown by pegasus standards and almost a decade into her alicornic growth spurt, that chair had to be downright spine-breaking.
Though, watching Cadance try to take any semblance of comfort from the unloving stone jogged Sunset’s memory – she had absolutely seen that chair before. Or, at least, its kindred.
One day, Celestia came limping to one of Sunset’s magic lessons, with purple dust mostly but not completely scrubbed out of her coat. Hard to keep white fur totally spotless, Sunset supposed.
The day after, she commissioned a crystalwright to outfit the Sunless Dungeon with a batch of chairs that looked just like this one that Cadance sat in now.
As soon as they were all delivered, Celestia then had him imprisoned in the Sunless Dungeon, with only one such chair to sit on. It was just for a day, but after that day, said earth pony crystalwright allegedly put down his tools and took a pegasus lift to a monastery in the clouds above the southern Celestial Sea, retiring where even the ice melted too fast to carve.
Thing is, this particular chair… wasn’t the only chair set up in the office. There was a nice, plushly-upholstered bench-chair, sized to fit an alicorn, waiting for, Sunset supposed, her own haunches.
Nopony made Cadance take the awful chair. She sat down first. She chose it. Therefore, this belonged to Sunset.
Though, judging from the way she seemed to tense up and strain when she noticed Sunset trotting up to the bench, Cadance… might just not have noticed the one that was clearly meant for her until her flanks were already awkwardly wedged between its hoofrests, with no quick and subtle way to extract herself. Or maybe she was back in the headspace of a teenager and assumed Celestia would be there to take the one that she deserved.
Neither obliviousness nor regression boded well. Where had the Cadance of the previous night gone? Where was the alicornic grace?
Nopony seemed to want to say anything about the seating mismatch. Cinch did raise her brow, and Sunset was ready to give up her lounge if she was asked, but neither Cadance nor the old Headmare brought it up. Instead, Cinch placed her hooves on her desk, beside the polybasite nameplate that read |Headmare Abacus Cinch|, cleared her throat, and began the appointment.
“Would that we were meeting under more opportune circumstances, Your Highness. I hope you are handling the Princess’s disappearance with the perseverance and skill I know you to possess?”
“Indeed I am. Thank you.” Kinda shaky, but still in control. Being reminded of her station probably helped.
“I am quite appreciative, Your Highness, that even with the many responsibilities under which you must find yourself, and with as many connections to which the absent Princess has surely introduced you, you still turn to Princess Amore’s Crystal Memorial Preparatory Academy for guidance.” Headmare Cinch smiled.
“It’s my pleasure. –To count you among my closest assets.” Well that didn’t come out quite right, did it?
“And it is our point of pride to have you as our alumnus, Your Highness. The decision to grant your request was not simply a matter of deference to the Crown, but one of respect and gratitude.” Headmare Cinch propped the folder up in her hooves. “Per said request, I have selected a number of recent graduates, all of whom were close acquaintances during their years at Princess Amore’s Crystal Memorial Preparatory Academy, and have assembled a dossier on each for your perusal.”
Cadance sparked up her horn in preparation to receive the folder.
The folder remained in Headmare Cinch’s hooves. “There is just one matter.”
“And what is that?”
“Your request was unclear on what, precisely, you require these alumni for.” The Headmare’s smile faded, and Cadance seemed unable to keep a fearful twitch from pulling back her lips. “I should like to know to what my former students will be committing themselves, before I send you to their doors. Of particular emphasis in your letter was the national importance of their duty, but with matters of the Solar Crown, all matters are important, wouldn’t you agree?”
They were truly not. Sitting in on one session of Day Court, even when Celestia presided, could’ve taught Cinch that much. Nevertheless, “I see what you mean,” said Cadance. “Allow me to rephrase…”
She proceeded to dwell on her words for several seconds too long, from which Cinch could plausibly conclude that Cadance had not actually prepared for this. Which, given how busy she was with learning to roll the sun across the sky, she probably genuinely hadn’t. Still, it wouldn’t help their case.
It was kinda extremely frustrating. Here sat Sunset, quietly and politely allowing Cadance – tired, frustrated, cramped in an uncomfortable chair, and apparently scared witless of this pathetic old nag – to stumble and falter at what seemed like every possible step.
Honestly, Sunset couldn’t believe she was so intimidated by Cadance earlier that morning. As mortifying as it was that Cadance had unwittingly read her private correspondence, that didn’t hold a candle to the second-hand embarrassment of watching the sovereign she’d thrown in with fumble her way through dealing with a common civil servant.
But Sunset wasn’t in the mood for a scolding, so she just watched and made sure her screams stayed internal.
The Princess finally got her scat together enough to declare, “I am… recruiting a team of retainers, in the service of Equestrian national security, to bear a set of six empowering artifacts whose strength is dependent on the strength of the bonds between their bearers. It is a project that Princess Celestia started and which I intend to finish.”
Was somepony else going to find out the Elements of Harmony were a real thing that existed?
Now it was Headmare Cinch’s turn to say, “I see.” Then she frowned. “In that case, Your Highness, I do apologize, but I simply cannot grant your request.”
Cadance just blinked, speechless.
…She didn’t have a plan for if her Headmare refused her, did she?
Headmare Cinch took her silence as a prompt to continue. “Had I known these details sooner, I would have been able to reject your request without troubling you to arrange an appointment in your no-doubt busy schedule. I simply do not have any alumni matching your criteria. Beyond the fact that I would not be able to authoritatively assess any of these students to be closer than steady acquaintances, I was only able to procure a set of five. I do, again, apologize.”
Cadance, utterly demoralized, tried to shrink into a chair which creaked and groaned and tried to shrink into her. Gulping, she squeaked, “No, no, it’s fine. I understand.” She leaned back like she expected Cinch to lunge at her. “I–”
With a sudden, sharp crack, the wretched amethyst chair gave out under her weight, in a shower of jagged shards and splintered legs and violet dust that couldn’t be good for the lungs, sending the Princess sprawling to the floor. After a minute of stunned silence, she gingerly stood up and stared at her former headmare with eyes that limply gaped like her soul had been dragged, kicking and screaming, through the pinpricks of her pupils.
Blinking, she collected herself, bowed her head towards her Headmare, and made for the door like a Wonderbolt on fire.
Welp.
That was Sunset’s cue to say, “Excuse us for one moment,” and trot after her liege.
Fortunately, she caught up before Cadance could hide herself in the mares’ room down the hall. Any later and they’d be having this conversation from opposite sides of a stall door.
“Hey!” Sunset tried not to smirk. It would have been fun to rub it in while the wound was fresh, but they were on a time limit. “How long was your appointment scheduled for?”
Cadance, redder than usual, sheepishly answered, “Until 10:30.”
“Okay, I still got plenty of time. Go preen up and meet me back at the cafe. You look like you’re ready for more coffee.”
“Is it that obvious? I suppose haven’t slept in a few days…” She blinked. Several times, her eyelids sliding out of unison. “Wait, Sunset, what do you mean? What are you going to–”
“Don’t worry about it, Your Highness,” teased Sunset, casting back a cocky smile without a care for how it was received. She slipped back through the office door before Cadance could say another word.
Cinch addressed the lone unicorn immediately. “I beg your pardon,” she begged, to a Sunset reseating herself on the delightfully-cushy bench, “but I was under the impression our appointment had concluded. I do have work of my own to attend, which I had set aside to allow for our meeting in the first place.”
“Actually, Her Royal Highness had an idea she hopes will prevent this morning from being a waste of anypony’s time,” Sunset lied.
“Can Her Highness not tell me herself, Ms. …?”
“Sunset Shimmer, Royal Student and assistant to the Acting Princess.” Sunset debated listing her future Princesshood as a qualification, but she didn’t get the feeling Cinch would believe her. “Pleased to meet you,” she also lied, and further chicaned, “The Princess was summoned back to the Palace to attend to urgent matters regarding her coronation.”
“That is unfortunate. I must insist, however, on concluding our appointment where it had, given I now must arrange for janitorial cleanup and the requisition of a replacement chair from storage.”
“I don’t need to stay in your mane for long, Headmare Cinch,” Sunset insisted, going as far as to casually levitate bits of chair into the Headmare’s wastebasket, “but the opportunity is time-sensitive. You won’t need to hunt for anypony else, either, as it would be right up your picks’ alley.”
Cinch took a steadying breath through her nose. “I suppose I am listening, if that is what it takes to send you on your way.”
Sunset clapped her hooves together. “Great!” It was a shame Cadance couldn’t be there to watch how a master manipulates her marks.
She started by spinning an appealing lie, from tidbits she’d gathered over the last few days. It was like taking the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle and putting them together ever-so-subtly wrong, just so she could hide the last piece in her hoof. “You see, like I said, Princess Cadance is preparing to officially coronate herself, which she intends to do as quickly as possible. Thing is, the usual event staff are busy with all the other changes going on in the palace.”
This was a massive exaggeration. It was true that many of the staff typically retained for public events were quite busy volunteering their skills elsewhere in the Palace… but that was on account of there being very suddenly zero scheduled public events.
But this was the part where it was probably a good thing Cadance wasn’t there, after all. She wouldn’t be able to undermine Sunset with the truth. “We happen to need about five multitalented ponies to manage the preparations for the event,” Sunset concluded. She could figure out what to do with the existing event staff later. Or, better yet, Cadance could.
Cinch hummed, then presumed, “So, I am to gather you would recruit your supervisors from my dossier?” No new mention of Sunset’s ejection from this office. Somepony was interested.
“That’s correct; you don’t even have to spare another minute of research. I can’t imagine anypony would say no. It’s an opportunity to get valuable experience and a hoof in the door working for the Crown, to make connections with ponies in close proximity to the highest levels of the Equestrian government and high society, and, most of all,” – and here the juiciest bait was put on the hook – “there’s the prestige.”
You could learn a lot about a pony by what they let their environment say for them.
“The prestige.” Cinch masked the curiosity in her tone, but the way she leaned forward in her swivel chair was as unmistakable as the click of its wheels. She was hooked.
“Yes! A coronation doesn’t exactly happen very often within our lifetimes. The ponies that made this once-in-many-lifetimes occasion possible” – and here Sunset was happy she didn’t mention her own royal ambitions – “would be instantly renowned. And…”
“And?” The frown was completely gone, and Cinch might well have been fighting a smile.
“And if it came out that, say, they all happened to have been alumni of the same institution – one which the new Princess regnant herself, whose ancestor lent it her name, also attended – then it only stands to reason that the prestige achieved by those alumni would be shared with that aforementioned institution.”
It would have been subtle to leave it at that, but when a pony’s heart’s desire gets dangled above her lap, that pony is bound to get stupid. Subtlety is wasted on stupid ponies. Lay it on thick. 
“Just imagine all of Canterlot’s unicorn parents, raising brilliant young mages like” – Sunset dropped the only name off that trophy she bothered to remember – “Sunny Flare, and deciding they would rather put them through the rigors of Princess Amore’s Crystal Memorial Preparatory Academy, to ensure as many doors are open for their foal as possible, instead of sending them to Celestia’s antiquated, hyper-specialized School.”
Sunset would feel awful about backstabbing her school if only she cared about the school at all. CSGU was nothing more than the filler Celestia put her through between actual lessons.
“I see. I see…” Oh, Sunset just about had her. “You make a very tempting offer, Ms. Shimmer. ”
That wasn’t a yes. There was something more here. “I’d be happy to answer any questions or concerns you might have,” she ventured. Let the sucker think she’s still in control.
“As a matter of fact, there is one.” Cinch cast her eyes down at the dossier and lowered her ears. The motion was too practiced; the vulnerability, artificial. But there was something unfamiliar to Sunset in the way she regarded that folder, just for a second. “Before I can provide any information, I must have your assurance that the Crown will take all steps necessary to protect our alumni, and, by extension, our Academy, from any harm to reputation or body.”
That last word was very interesting. Not wanting to lose face if the coronation turned into a flop was to be expected. Headmare Cinch, however, apparently also had an interest in protecting her former students’ well-being, which was less mercenary than Sunset anticipated from Cinch’s type. That might explain her opposition to the plan as Cadance laid it out, not wanting to bear any remote responsibility for these Bearers getting injured in the line of duty. Better than the thin excuses she gave, at least.
“You have my word, Headmare. Rest assured that all occupational safety and contractor confidentiality laws will be followed to the letter. If it keeps ponies safe, we’ll add new letters to those laws.”
Cinch smiled, with a hint of trepidation that she did not allow into her voice. “Well, Ms. Shimmer, I would be more than willing to lend Her Highness any resources Princess Amore’ Crystal Memorial Preparatory Academy has to offer towards filling those positions. Here,” she instructed, and levitated the folder into Sunset’s much-brighter aura of aquamarine. “If anypony in that folder should refuse – though I sincerely doubt even one of them would so much as consider it – I can recommend numerous other potential candidates.”
“Good to know. We appreciate it, Headmare Cinch.” Sunset got out of her seat and gave a little bow, before glancing at the tigers-eye grandfather clock in the corner. “Looks like we’ve still finished our appointment five minutes ahead of schedule. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going now; you have a nice day.”
“You as well, Ms. Shimmer.”
And with that, Sunset was out of that rube’s office and on the hunt for a Princess.
> Chapter 5 - Drag-Along
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cadance was not at the cafe.
Sunset could tell from the atmosphere alone. Ponies sipped their coffee and ate their bagels and found, in these small comforts, a distraction from what was only a general nervousness. It was not the reverent tension of interrupted diners awaiting either the grace or departure of Royalty so they could be permitted to go back to their cooling meals.
Grumbles poured out of Sunset’s mouth just as profanely as her stomach.
She tried to order lunch at the counter, hoping Cadance was just in the mares’ room or something, but the unicorn barista cut her off. “Sorry, dearie, but your friend is waiting for you.”
Sunset leaned back, dropping her hoof off the counter. ‘Dearie’? Really? This girl looked awfully young to be talking like a granny. She was about Sunset’s age – probably a college dropout or (perhaps sadder yet) a graduate with a useless degree.
There wasn’t a nametag on her apron, so if Sunset ended up having to complain to a manager, the mare was filed away as “the blue barista with the bob”.
“Why don’t I show you to her,” the barista insisted. She pointed with her unlit horn to a booth tucked away in the back corner, by the restrooms, then slipped through the swinging counter gate. “I’ll take your order there.”
The wall of the booth obscured whoever was sitting there, but there was no way an entire alicorn could hide behind it, so the identity of this ‘friend’ was a mystery.
Something odd was ahoof, but Sunset was going to play it cool. Celestia had been no stranger to discretion, disguises, and changes of plans, after all (and frankly, it was a little jarring that Cadance decided to go out that morning completely undisguised). In any case, the most likely explanation was that Cadance had genuinely been recalled to the palace and had to leave a message with somepony explaining why she couldn’t be there.
Only one part of that assumption turned out to be wrong, and it was the word ‘somepony’.
Sat in that booth was the smallest and most bored little orange dragon Sunset had ever seen. A magenta crest ran along the centerline of her head and two bull-like horns with some weird knobbly growths at the bottom sprouted out the sides. She didn’t even have wings yet. Who left their hatchling here?
The dragon sluggishly regarded Sunset as the unicorn took her seat. When she was finally comfortable, the dragon began to open her mouth–
But no, sorry, that would have to wait; Sunset was hungry. Before the barista could cut in with her spiel either, Sunset placed her order:  “Toast me one of your jalapeno-cheese bagels, melt some pepperjack on it, and go heavy on the hot sauce.”
Forcing a smile, the barista asked, “…And for your friend?”
Oh. The hatchling was her contact? Not some caretaker of hers?
Whatever; just roll with it. “What do you want, squirt?”
“One, don’t call me ‘squirt’. It’s Smolder. Two, I don’t have a hoard.” Smolder flinched at her own words. “–With me, I mean.”
“Yeah, whatever. It’s on the Crown.” – as so many of Sunset’s expenses were.
“Huh. Al’ight.” Smolder turned to the barista. “You got a menu?”
The now-waitress levitated a menu over and impatiently waited for Smolder to browse, regularly glancing behind herself to watch the line at the unattended counter as it steadily grew. After a minute, the little dragon declared, “I’ll have the…” – and then she dropped her voice real low – “The #23.” The menu was back in the waitress’s lev-grip before Sunset could take a peek at what the #23 actually was or why Smolder didn’t want anypony to hear her ordering it. Was it code? Was the #23 a passphrase for something?
Sunset spent so long weighing the likelihoods that she was dealing with a child spy that she didn’t notice when her bagel – and the #23 – came to the table.
The #23 was a breakfast cake.
Correction: the #23 was a miniature wedding cake pretending to be a breakfast cake. Dainty ribbons and piles of whipped cream traced themselves along pastel-pink icing, studded with strawberries and blueberries that glittered like jewels under a coat of sprinkled powdered sugar. The smell alone pushed Sunset halfway to a sugar crash.
It was extravagantly girly. And probably pricey, too.
Sunset had just opened her mouth to tease Smolder when the dragon shot her a glare that practically hissed, ‘If you utter a single word, I’m going to burn your mane off.’ It was a look Sunset knew well, though mostly from the perspective of the one slinging it. Where she would spark up her horn to back up the threat, smoke wisped up from Smolder’s nostrils, which, honestly, Sunset kinda wished she could do.
And so they ate in silence. Sunset’s bagel was okay. Could have been spicier, but most ponies didn’t have her capsaicin tolerance.
Business resumed after Sunset pushed her plate to the side and Smolder licked the icing off of her cheeks.
“So,” Sunset began, “what’s with… you? I was expecting somepony else.”
“Yeah, about that…” Smolder leaned back in her booth, crossing her arms behind her head. “Basically, we want the Bloodstone Scepter back.”
Sunset blinked. “…The what?”
“Yeah, your dopey princess said the same thing. Ugh. You know, the magical artifact you ponies stole from the Dragonlord’s hoard like, I dunno, four or five days ago? That thing. We want it back.”
Sunset blinked again, then kicked her head back and heaved a withering sigh. “Fantastic. As if we didn’t have enough bullscat on our plate.” Sunset had debated, for a moment, substituting ‘bullfeathers’, but there wasn’t anypony there to tell her off for cursing around a kid, was there?
She leaned forward to face Smolder again. “Okay, help me fill in some gaps here. What makes you so sure Equestria stole it?”
Smolder shrugged. “‘Cause Torch said so.”
“Who’s Torch and why does he say so?”
“…He’s the Dragonlord. You know, Lord of the Dragons?”
Sunset was unaware the dragons had a leader. “Oh, that Torch. Right,” she bluffed. Dragons took their names from such a limited stock of words that there had to be several dozen Torches between them.
“Right… Anyway, Torch says he caught a pony in his hoard on camera.”
Sunset was also unaware dragons had video cameras. That kinda technology was rare enough in Equestria. “They have those out there?”
Smolder shrugged. “I’m just telling you what my brother told me.”
Ah. Smolder didn’t actually know anything. “So you two are, what, the Dragonlord’s envoys?”
“I guess? Honestly, Garble’s just the first dragon lucky enough to bump into Torch after he got done venting his anger on the eighty-something dragons before him. Instead of stomping him flat, Torch made Garble fly all the way over here to get it back, and I’m just along for the ride.”
Sunset felt some of the tension ease up. “So you’re not even really an envoy.”
“Yeah, no, Garble left me here while he and your Princess hash it out at the castle.”
“Great.” Oh, that sounded bad. Not even fully coronated and Cadance already had to placate a draconic diplomat.
On the other hoof, Shining was there – and more importantly, Sunset was not. She supposed if she saw smoke billowing from the Celestial Palace, she should probably intervene, but until then, it was Not Her Problem.
But she did have to update Cadance on her success.
“Hey, Smolder, you know how to take dragonmail?”
“Is that what you ponies call senderbreath?”
“Probably?”
Smolder rolled her eyes. “Then yeah, duh, of course I can. How else do you think Torch collects his tributes?”
“At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if you all had a national postal service I just didn’t know about.” A blink of realization. “Wait, does he make hatchlings pay tribute?”
That got a baffled stare. “…Duh? Why wouldn’t they? Also, I’m not a hatchling; I’m–” Smolder shook her head. “Anyways, yeah, senderbreath. That’s kinda why they left me here. You got a message for your Princess?”
Sunset nodded, shuffling a napkin out of the nearby dispenser and burning a brief message into it with a concentrated beam of cyan light. The smell of smoke turned some wary heads in the cafe, but when they saw it was a unicorn’s doing and not the dragon’s, the half of them that didn’t know who Sunset Shimmer was relaxed and went back to their own business.
It was just a short message: |Got Cinch’s approval. Going to recruit the candidates while you’re busy. —Your diligent student, Sunset|
Once it was fully penned, the words still faintly glowing with embers of aural aquamarine, Sunset slid the napkin over and let Smolder do her thing, which was to crumple the napkin up, toss it in the air, and unleash a gout of cold, fuchsia flame that instantly consumed the napkin in a flash of white.
Sunset had to take Smolder on her word that she hadn’t just incinerated the message instead.
At least, until about three minutes later, whereupon Smolder scrunched up her face and expelled a fancy little twine-bound scroll onto the table. She grunted in discomfort, wiping spit from her cheeks, as Sunset untied the thread.
The scroll read, short and sweet, |Dear Sunset Shimmer: That’s great news! Sorry I couldn’t finish our errands together! You’ll have to tell me how you changed her mind later! —With gratitude, Cadance <3|
While the formality of the letter was all over the place, it still put a proud grin on Sunset’s face. She rolled the scroll back up and stuffed it into her saddlebag.
“So what now?”, Sunset asked. “Are you just gonna stay here until they get done?”
“Pretty much.” She looked bored as Tartarus.
“That’s probably gonna be a while, since we don’t even actually have your scepter.”
“Yeah…” Smolder slumped forward, resting her cheek on her hand.“ At this point, I kinda figured you ponies aren’t just playing dumb, but I’m not the one you need to convince.”
Sunset took a deep breath and forced herself to ignore the insult to her intelligence. It’s not that she wasn’t prepared to start a fireball duel with a (flame-proof) child; it’s that she had important paper documents on her that she kinda needed to stay unburnt. Also, on further consideration, the other ponies in the cafe probably wouldn’t approve of being caught in (and on) the literal crossfire.
“Well, I’m sure Princess Cadance will be able to sort it out with Garble on her own,” Sunset lied, “but since she’s busy, I’ve got some other business to deal with.” She waved a hoof for the barista to bring them their total. “I wouldn’t mind company, though.”
Well, what she wouldn’t mind was being able to mine the little dragon for any further info Garble might have given her. And – perhaps – Cadance might send another message back through Garble. But hey, company she was keeping just because they were immediately useful to her was still a type of company.
Smolder crossed her arms. “Ugh, pass. If I wanted to, I dunno, go to tea parties with fancy-pants unicorns all day, or whatever it is you do around here, I’d have ditched this boring, smelly coffee-shop and followed Garble to the castle.” It was simply adorable how she thought piling on the insulting adjectives made her sound more serious and above-it-all.
Sunset would play along. “Whatever. Suit yourself.” Sunset left a wad of bits on the receipt and got up. “See you around, Smolder. Try not to die of boredom.”
Smolder squirmed in the booth. “Yeah, yeah…”
Sunset left the cafe, then paused where the walk-up met the street to slip the dossier out of her bags and mime leafing through its pages.
Three.
Two.
One.
Zero…
This was taking a smidge longer than expected–
The bell over the cafe door chimed, and claws scrabbled on paving cobbles behind her to catch up.
Sunset turned around and raised her eyebrow at the little, scowling dragon.
“I can’t stand sitting around with nothing to do for another second,” she declared. Then she pointed a claw at Sunset. “But I’m ditching you the moment you take me to a single dress store, or tea party, or whatever.”
“Wasn’t planning on it. I’m more of a leather jacket and spiked coffee mare, myself.”
Technically, she had omitted the ‘faux’ from ‘faux-leather’ to score coolness points, and her experience with mixing alcohol and coffee began with the bifty shots she snuck behind Celestia’s back during the Hearthswarming Eve party at the palace last year, and ended with the worst hangover of her life the following morning, but Smolder didn’t need to know any of that.
The little dragon seemed willing to take her word for it, giving a nod.
Her business at the cafe now wrapped up, Sunset started looking at the dossier for real this time, making just enough space for Smolder to peek around her shoulder.
Each candidate’s file consisted of a brief cover letter explaining Abacus Cinch’s recommendation, followed by: a black-and-white photocopy of a polaroid from a two-year-obsolete yearbook; then, a page collating all the info Sunset actually needed (current address, place of employment, acceptable hours and methods to contact them, etc.); a resumé that largely rehashed the first two pages; and, lastly, a few pages of semi-redacted school records meant to prove that they were all just such great and qualified students.
The five candidates were arranged in formal alphabetical order: -Coat, Sugar; Flare, Sunny; Sweet, Sour; Zap, Indigo; and Zest, Lemon.
It was as Sunset was rearranging them in order of closest to farthest that Smolder made an observation of her own. “Hey, that picture” – she was pointing at the picture of Sunny Flare – “looks a lot like the pony in there.” Smolder thrust her thumb back at what the hanging sign called the |Common Grounds Cafe|.
“The mane looks pretty similar, sure,” – save some kind of pinwheel hair ornament that wasn’t on the barista – “but I’m pretty sure bobs and bangs are just kinda in right now.”
Smolder tossed her head back and groaned, “Ugh, you ponies look all the same on purpose. It’s like they cast you out of molds.” Sunset added metallurgy to her mental list of things dragons had knowledge of. Probably a prerequisite of the cameras, unless those were imported.
But Smolder wasn’t out of ideas. “Uh, what about the painting on her butt? Don’t all you ponies come with a unique one of those?”
The standard pose in secondary-school yearbook photos across Canterlot (and probably Equestria as a whole) was a head-turned profile shot that showed off your cutie mark as much as your face. If the photographer was on the lenient side, you could tell which ponies didn’t like their marks (or somehow didn’t have one yet) because they’d be facing the camera completely dead-on.
Thankfully, every single one of these candidates had their marks already, which was probably going to be the most helpful identifier in these photos. Sunny’s mark looked… a bit like a bigger version of her hair ornament? It was kinda fuzzy in grayscale.
Not that knowing Sunny’s mark helped. “I didn’t get a good look at Coffee Girl’s, on account of the uniform. Since it’s not really normal to go around ripping ponies’ pants off, that’s a dead end.”
Smolder shrugged. “Just rip ‘em off anyways. It’ll save us a walk.”
Sunset snorted. “As funny as that would be, I kinda need her on my side, instead of filing a lawsuit against me.”
“What’s a lawsuit?” And there was something for the list of things dragons don’t know.
“Imagine if an argument was boring.”
Smolder looked devastated. “You ponies live sad lives.”
“Most ponies, maybe, but not me. When I get back to the palace tonight, I’m gonna eat an entire ice-cream cake and blow up a bunch of bottles with my mind.” She had to keep her aim sharp, after all.
Smolder mumbled something under her breath about how that actually sounded kinda fun. Then she stomped her foot and waved a claw in the air, sharply glinting in the sun. “If you won’t check, maybe I will! I bet you ponies let your drakes get away with all kinds of trouble.”
It was Sunset’s turn to ask. Just because everybody on Equus spoke the same language didn’t mean they all knew each other’s slang and species-specific terminology. “What’s a drake?”
Smolder’s brows dropped like weights. Sunset could almost hear any respect the dragon had for her flop onto the ground. “You’re looking at one, genius. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the word before. What do you call pegasus ponies who haven’t grown their wings yet?”
“…Nothing, because pegasi have wings from birth?”
“What?!” Smolder kicked a rock. “Not fair!”
“Them’s the breaks, kid. Anyways, look, I got a better idea. Let’s see what this says Miss Flare’s got for a job.” Sunset flipped to the contact info. “Here we go: |Primary Occupation: owner and operator of the Heliotrope Home and Garden Decorating Company|.” Sunset had never heard of them, but she’d never needed a decorator, either. “I don’t see anything about slinging coffee for minimum wage, so I don’t think that’s our mare.”
Again, Smolder crossed her arms. “I still think she is.”
“Fine then. Wanna bet?”
Smolder narrowed her eyes at Sunset. “Maybe I do. What do I get when I’m right and we just wasted all that time looking for her?”
Sunset baited the bet with the most tempting reward she could imagine a dragon craving. “I’ll take you to a gem shop on the Crown’s money, for an all-you-can-eat buffet.” It probably wasn’t Smolder’s innermost heart’s desire, but everypony knew that the baser desires dominated what passed for dragon society.
Smolder’s eyes dilated like a kitten’s. “Al’ight, I’m listening…”
“But when it turns out that that’s not her…” It wasn’t remotely difficult to come up with something that played on the childish insecurities Smolder wore on what should have been a poofy juliet sleeve. “Then I’ll take you to the fanciest dressmaker in Canterlot.” Who exactly that title belonged to was information she’d have to get from Cadance.
She flinched, but recovered quickly. “That… could be worse… Fine, I’ll–”
“Ahp, ahp, ahp! I wasn’t finished. After you’re fitted in your brand new ballroom gown, we’re gonna show you off to your brother and see what he thinks.”
Another dragon fact was learned just then: they can blanche beneath those scales. “You wouldn’t…”
Sunset smiled a serpent’s smile. “I would – but only if you lose the bet. So, what do you say?”
Smolder looked back and forth between Sunset Shimmer and the Common Grounds Cafe for several seconds, before crossing her arms and staring at the ground. She refused to look the pony in the eye as she said, “Fine. I’m still in. This gem shop better have chrysoprase.“
“Sure thing.” With that, Sunset began her walk. “Let’s go.”
> Chapter 6 - Terms & Conditions May Apply
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Rosegold Academy of Accounting had a classy campus. The hedges of yellow and pink roses were neatly trimmed and green with life, the paths were paved in rosy quartz and white marble, and the buildings glittered in their gilded ornaments: fluted pilasters, spiralling columns, grand reliefs on the pediments; all cast and hammered from the same gaudy stuff.
In Canterlot, the only place you could cast your eyes and not catch the glint of gold as it reflected the sun’s overbearing rays was the behind the curtains of your own eyelids, but here at RAA, where they taught the ponies who would mete that metal, it was so omnipresently blinding that it shone clear through those thin flaps of skin like they were glass.
At the center of the campus was a solid-gold statue of the mare for whom this college was named: Rosegold, a Royal Student of Celestia’s from the 1700s, as the plaque explained. A student in what, Sunset couldn’t entirely be sure: Rosegold was clearly an earth pony, so it certainly couldn’t have been magic.
Her academy also didn’t seem to have Candidate Number One anywhere in it, so Sunset’s trip over there was a complete waste of time.
Once Sunset successfully extracted the apparently-hypnotized Smolder from the statue’s plinth (through no small application of forceful telekinesis and on-the-spot heat resistance enchantments that left the solid gold statue only slightly melted), it was time to visit the other university at which this candidate was taking summer classes.
The D. F. Foundation School of Law was a pillar of legal education in Equestria. In stark contrast to Rosegold’s, the DFFSL was mostly plain white marble. All the lamps lighting the walkway – because this place taught night classes, too – were cast in ink-black iron. The only gold was kept to the words on the signs in front of the halls. It was a lot less offensive on the eyes, but also a lot more… boring.
Even if these places taught magic, Sunset couldn’t really imagine herself studying at either college. College was for suckers who didn’t have access to the royal archives whenever they wanted and a sense of self-motivation.
In any case, despite the fact that the mare sought by Sunset Shimmer took night classes here, there she sat, on a bench in the quad, shaded from the early-afternoon sun by the boughs of a broad old willow tree.
She colored in the polaroid in the dossier perfectly: a periwinkle earth pony with an arctic-white mane, tied into a bizarrely-complicated ponytail-into-bun-into-twintails setup that must have taken all morning to get right. Marking her flanks was a heavy, crimson-bound tome, almost as thick as it was wide, opened wide for anypony to read. A pair of lacquered orange glasses rested on her muzzle, behind which bright magenta eyes were engrossed in… whatever it was she wrote with the pen in her fetlock.
“There she is,” Sunset said, tucking the folder back into her bags.
“Finally,” Smolder groaned, before claiming a different bench on the walk to lie down on and catch some sun. A lazy thumb wobbled in the air. “You got this.”
“Of course I do.”
When Sunset reached the blue mare’s bench, the candidate briefly looked at her… and turned back to her work.
“Hiya, –” Sunset began.
She didn’t get to continue. “You’re blocking my light,” the mare drily noted, without so much as a glance her way.
“Excuse me?”
“Celestia’s sun emits this thing called ‘light’.” The mare turned to stare at Sunset. “You’re standing in it. I need you to move two steps to the left.”
Rude. Still, Sunset held her tongue and complied with the request, because she couldn’t go picking fights with the first candidate on the list. At least get to the fourth or fifth one, first. “That enough?”
“Yeah.”
The blue mare proceeded to drop the conversation there, getting back to writing what appeared to be an essay or something.
After letting a minute slip by without a word between either of them, Sunset shook her head and began her spiel again. “Hiya, I’m Sunset Shimmer, Royal Student and assistant to the acting Princess.” Neither her name nor her title sparked any light of recognition, frustratingly enough. “You’re Sugarcoat, right?”
“That’s my name,” Sugarcoat answered, without looking up. She swatted her tail at an unseen fly.
“Great! I’ve been looking for you, on behalf of Princess Cadance.”
“She hasn’t been crowned yet, so legally, she’s not really a Princess, is she? Just an alicorn assuming the duties of an acting Princess.”
Was everypony gonna point that out? “Well, I’m glad you brought that up, actually! We’re trying to fix that.”
“Good to know. That should make her responsibilities easier.” No other response was given.
Sunset took a deep breath. She was starting to get the idea that a subtle approach wouldn’t work. “Sugarcoat, I’m here to offer you a job coordinating the coronation. You interested?”
Sugarcoat finally set down her pen. Removing her glasses, she cleaned the lenses with a cloth before replacing them on her snout and looking Sunset dead in the eye for the first time in the entire conversation. The moment their eyes met, a torrent of words bolted from Sugarcoat’s mouth:
“I’m going to need some details. What’s the pay? This sounds like gig work, but is there a chance of future employment? What permits are required? Am I going to be managing staff? Is there a union? When is the coronation scheduled?”
Sunset blinked. “Er… Negotiable; absolutely; depends; probably; in a manner of speaking; and we’re still discussing that. In that order.
“I see. You don’t know anything. You’re just the messenger-mare.”
Before Sunset could object (and she certainly had some choice opinions about being talked down-to and compared to a common errand-filly), Sugarcoat shrugged and said, “Alright, sure. Tell Cadance, or whoever is available and can actually discuss the terms of my prospective employment, that I’m interested to hear more. You clearly know where to find me.” And with that, she got back to her work.
It was for the best that Sunset didn’t inform Sugarcoat that she was, in fact, the highest-ranking and most-informed pony attached to her plan, on account of Cadance having no clue about it at all. Sugarcoat wanted more info? Fine; Sunset would go over her plan with Cadance tomorrow, and Cadance would be able to tell Sunset what to tell Sugarcoat.
The important thing right now was, Sugarcoat was a tentative ‘yes’. There was really no need to throw all that away. No matter how much indignant rage Sunset was quaking with.
“…Yeah. Will do,” she tried not to growl. “Bye, then.”
“M-hm.”
Sunset turned and walked away, shaking her head and thinking about explosions. “We’re done here, Smolder.”
The little dragon jerked upright with an interrupted snore. She’d probably missed the entire exchange.
As they left the DFFSL Campus and began the walk to the next candidate’s location, Sunset popped the dossier back out of her bags. She already knew where her next candidate could be found; she just wanted to see what Abacus Cinch had said about Miss -Coat here in that cover letter Sunset ignored.
For Smolder’s sake, she read aloud: “|As the valedictorian of the class of 1998, Sugarcoat is not only an exceptionally-intelligent mare, but an exemplar of all the virtues that earth ponies contribute to Equestrian society: work ethic, integrity, pragmatism, and a nurturing nature.|”
“…You wanna run that last one by me again?”
“Yeah, I don’t see it. Let’s find out how Cinch explains her reasoning.”
“|Miss -Coat’s uncommon excellence and academic drive brought her across several county lines to attend Princess Amore’s Crystal Memorial Preparatory Academy. Upon graduation, she wasted no time pursuing further education at two separate collegiate institutions.|”
“Does it say why?”
“Nope. I can only assume her life’s ambition is to become a lawyerccountant and assume the title of Ultimate Nag.”
“…She wants to be a really old ponyess?”
Oh, right. Slang issues. “No, uh… What do dragons call a super-annoying dragon that you just want to kick right in the face?”
“…A dragon.”
“No, I mean – one that goes out of their way to make themself your problem?”
“You’re still just describing a dragon.”
“Yeesh, aren’t you a misdracope?”
“What’s a misdracope?”
“Someone who doesn’t like dragons.”
“Oh.” Smolder shrugged. “You ponies sure have a lot of words for ‘dragon’.”
This might be harder than it was worth. “Forget it. Let’s just get back to the assigned reading.
“|Her commitment to responsibility is paralleled by exceedingly few. Seldom do I ever meet a pony as willing to hold herself and her peers accountable. Not only does Miss -Coat have a spotless disciplinary record; our faculty has been able to rely on her to discover and report any potential issues before discipline is required.| So she’s a snitch.
“|But in addition to personal excellence, Miss -Coat is always willing to share her knowledge and expertise with others.|” Sunset fought through a snort to keep going. “|The services she offered to the peer tutor program were a boon to teachers and struggling students alike.|”
Sunset tried to imagine how those tutoring sessions actually went. A stressed-out prep worked on sheet after sheet of math equations or whatever in such thick silence you could hear the hum of the magic lights, while Sugarcoat ignored him completely to work on her own schoolwork – until suddenly, the quiet was cut by her snippy, nasal reprimand: “You rounded up to the millionths instead of the billionths. Start over.”
Even Celestia wasn’t that fussy.
“|I have no doubt Sugarcoat’s academic excellence will translate perfectly into occupational success, and she will have more-than earned it.|
“Yeah, sure. We’ll see.”
“It sounds like this Cinch pony really likes that ‘nag’.”
Sunset snickered. It was just so precious when children swore. “Wouldn’t surprise me. They’re both natural-born desk-jockeys. Put Sugarcoat through a teacher’s college and she could replace Cinch when the old bag kicks the bucket. The Headmare doesn’t really seem like the ‘retiring’ type.”
Sunset tossed a smirk Smolder’s way, but the drake return a tilted stare and an uncomprehending smile. It occurred to Sunset then that Smolder had absolutely no context for anything the pony just said.
Well, it was gonna be a walk to the next place. Might as well bring Smolder a bit up to speed on the kind of loser Cinch was.
> Chapter 7 - Noise Compliant
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunset heard the noise well before she rounded the right downtown street-corner to bring the tower from which it emanated into view.
It was a spire built in a Canterlite take on the glass-and-steel boxes that scraped the skies along the Celestial Coast. As absurdly-powerful as Canterlot’s Historical Preservation Society was, it could only resist the pressures of modern urbanization for so long. Height restrictions and cladding limitations were the best compromise they could muster. If it was covered in marble and gold and shorter than the Celestial Palace, there was nothing else they could do. The Crown’s legions of paper-pushers had to live somewhere, and real estate was at a premium on the side of a mountain.
This apartment tower was one of many that had popped up in the last couple decades. It was a whole deal between various gentry and some rich Cloudsdale jerk. Technically, each tower and its rent belonged to a different landowner, but the Cloudsdaler took a cut for managing the places and plastered his brand on everything. Thus, the Zephyr Heights “Community” of properties was born.
Sunset wished she didn’t reserve space in her memory for any of this, when it could have stored magical lore instead, but when you got dragged along to enough Courts of Day, your brain got clogged with all sorts of useless trivia about the Canterlite elite. Zephyr Heights was a frequent subject of tedious debates between nobleponies over whether it infringed on their exclusive aristocratic right to landlordship within Canterhorn Province and blah blah blah blah–
Sunset focused on the faint, harsh music drifting down from the twelfth-story penthouse of what was helpfully signposted as |Citrine Tower|. Each growling riff and screeching chord scraped the clutter off of her thoughts and gradually cleared her head.
Smolder seemed to like it, if the bobbing of her head was anything to go by.
Stepping into the lobby did little to shut out the sound, only dulling it. Somepony cheaped out on soundproofing. Every now and then, a particularly-violent strum would shake the dust off the ceiling.
Sunset walked past the receptionist, who, between the plugs in her ears and the magazine in her corona, failed to notice them enter. Nor did she seem to notice the writhing crowd of tenants and neighbors surrounding her desk and insisting she do something about the noise. As angry mobs go, though, they were pretty… listless? As though they were here out of obligation and ritual more than any hope that their demands would be met. Defeat was already in their eyes.
This must have been a regular occurrence.
Fortunately, Sunset didn’t need the receptionist’s help. Cinch had provided the apartment number, which… just so happened to be the same penthouse that insisted on sharing its music with the entire city block.
Sunset and Smolder packed into the rickety, gilded cage of an elevator, attended by an elderly unicorn tasked with telemanipulating the elevator up and down its track. He responded with nothing more than a grunt when Sunset told him to take them to the top floor, and moved his tip jar out of Smolder’s reach when he caught the dragon staring.
The music piped through the tinny speakers fought a losing battle against the penthouse noise and the grinding of the ratchets and pulleys as the elevator rose, foot by foot. Seeing as she had a couple minutes, Sunset popped the next candidate’s file out of her bag and gave it a look-over.
Cinch did not have a lot to say about Lemon. Her cover letter read as follows: |Lemon Zest is the first of the venerable and esteemed House Lemon of Canterlot to attend Princess Amore’s Crystal Memorial Preparatory Academy.| This sentence alone was packed with surprises.
Sunset double-checked Miss Zest’s photo. The wings were still there, and the horn still wasn’t. The Lemons were unicorns, not pegasi.
The Lemon family were also longtime supporters, financial backers, and famous alumni of Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. Biomagic didn’t really interest Sunset, but she’d heard of their contributions to the field – and Sunset was pretty sure one of those CSGU students Celestia was trying to get her to befriend (right before the Incident) was a Lemon. That they’d send one of their daughters (even if she was a pegasus) to Crystal Prep, instead – was peculiar. Most likely, she didn’t have a head for magical theory.
There was more, but not much. |She is an undeniably-gifted musician| – further evidence she was the noisemaker – |and possessed of a very sociable demeanor.|
That was it.
There was definitely something weird – perhaps even fishy – going on here. A pegasus from a noble unicorn family went to the top rival of the school her family pledged their loyalty to, after which her headmare had so little to say about her it was a wonder that she was even included in the dossier at all. She lived in the penthouse suite of an apartment whose management somehow tolerated a level of noise pollution from her that would have suffocated a siren.
Before Sunset could drum up any hypotheses, the elevator operator rang his bell. They had arrived.
As they stepped onto the 12th floor landing, Smolder turned around and blew a raspberry at the attendant. “I could’ve taken it if I really wanted to,” she insisted. The elevator operator just grunted and slammed the door shut behind them.
“Are you trying to get us banned from the premises over a hoofful of bits?”
Whatever Smolder mumbled in response was lost beneath the wave of sound that beat forth from the door. So close to its epicenter, the noise had cohered into the distorted wailing of an electrified guitar.
After it was clear Sunset wasn’t going to respond to her mutterings, Smolder leaned against the wall by the door, thumping her foot to the undrummed beat. “I had no idea ponies knew how to make real music.  This is awes– This isn’t half bad,” she hastily corrected. “Garble told me all you guys do is sing about being happy and making friends and stuff.”
“Yeah, well, what sucks is – lots of ponies do sing that sappy garbage. I don’t, but you’d better hope nopony feels a heartsong coming on in front of you.”
“What’s a heartsong?”
“It’s what happens when a pony gets so emotional that she comes up with an entire song to sing on the spot. The lyrics just appear in her head, right then and there.”
“Okay,” Smolder acknowledged, with a hint of nervousness to her voice.
“What’s really scary is when the heartsong comes on so strong everypony around her starts harmonizing in tune. Word of advice: if it does happen in front of you, just try to ignore it. If you try to say anything, you might just end up joining in.”
Smolder’s foot locked up mid-tap, and she got this look like a pony finding out a smidge too late that the abandoned train tunnel she was exploring was actually still in use. “Ah…”
Sunset snickered. “Yeah, harmonic magic’s crazy-powerful, and it doesn’t really care what any one pony thinks. Or one dragon.”
Smolder swivelled her head slowly towards the door. “…Is this going to turn into a heartsong?”
Sunset cocked her ear to what sounded like somepony banging two guitars together to find out what that sounds like, or just for the hay of it. “Doubt it. You’ll know if you start hearing, like, an entire band’s worth of music coming out of nowhere.” Sunset gestured to the door. “This girl’s profile said she’s a musician, so this is probably just a practice session that she’s decided to inflict on the rest of us.”
Though, as Sunset approached the door, she was stopped in her tracks. The smell of ozone, seeping from the seams around the door, brought Sunset back to the night of the incident, for just a fleeting second.
She shook that out of her head rather quickly, however. Pegasi worked with lightning and stormclouds all the time. Though, usually, that was something they did outdoors, away from any flammable buildings.
As Sunset raised a hoof to knock on the door, Smolder protested, “Aw, come on, let her finish.”
“Honestly? That could take ages, and I don’t think anypony’s even gonna hear me anyways.” Still, Sunset hammered the door with as much strength as she figured wouldn’t leave a dent in the wood.
No response came, other than a momentary synchronization between the guitar and the rhythm of her hoofbeats. The waves of raw sound continued to lap at their ears after she stopped.
Sunset didn’t have time for this. Already, the spiralling grooves of her horn spun up their cyan magic, but before the keyhole could begin to glow, Sunset tested the door handle and found it, unexpectedly, unlocked.
“Somepony isn’t protecting their hoard…”, Smolder observed, as they let themselves into the penthouse apartment.
Before Sunset could request Smolder not steal anything while they were there, the screech of the guitar pounded all the thoughts from her skull. The sonic blast had a battering force to it, like if it were only a little bit louder it would strip the flesh from her bones. Smolder, for her part, banged her head to it.
Summoning two aural (in both the magic and audio senses of the word) plugs and jamming them deep into her ear canals, Sunset took in the penthouse foyer… and its smell. There was more than just ozone.
It was a clothes-on-the-floor sty. A pig would demand cleaner lodgings. Interspersed with the knee-ripped jeans and flaking band tees were a number of Crystal Prep uniforms that Sunset sincerely hoped hadn’t been lying there ever since Lemon graduated.
There was a conversation pit in the middle. Besides being a tripping hazard for anypony who couldn’t fly, the piled takeout boxes on the coffee table promised infinite rewards to those brave ants who, marching in trains, carried unnoticed grains of rice and uneaten veggies off to their hidden home beneath the floorboards.
Planters of all shapes and sizes were nailed into the walls and strung from hooks drilled into the ceiling – presumably by the tenant. From these baskets of wet dirt spilled leafy ferns, the occasional flower, and viridian vines of all girths and curlinesses down the grimy wood-panel façade and onto the green-stained, dirt-flecked shag carpet. There was even a jury-rigged sprinkler system, currently misting the plants with water from an unseen reservoir and driving the humidity up to sauna levels in the summer heat.
This… kinda tracked with Miss Zest being a Lemon? The Lemons were Equestria’s pre-eminent lemon cultivators – an exception to the earth pony norm – so an interest in botany was predictable. Sunset didn’t see any lemon trees here, though. Just fruitless vines.
On the opposite side of the foyer was, apparently, a recording booth built into the apartment. The soundproof foam was doing nothing to dull the racket… mostly because the door to the booth hung wide open.
Through its window, Sunset saw the pegasus she needed, laying atop a dark, gray cloud. She strummed her junglefowl wings across the metal strings of a sorta-Z-shaped guitar, which was plugged into that cloud by a winding, black cord. A pair of pink headphones dangled limply around her neck, its own wire flopping around just as uselessly, dislodged from wherever it might have been plugged into the storm.
Her grapefruit coat and lime-green mane were not colors often sported by the Lemon family, whose family colors tended strongly towards the yellow (duh) and favored splashes of pink and blue. “She doesn’t look like a Lemon,” Sunset observed.
Smolder broke from her blasé delivery to shoot Sunset a what-are-you-even-talking-about look. “Yeah, she looks more like a pegasus than a fruit.”
“That’s not what I meant.” A pause. “Okay, that’s sorta-kinda what I meant, but–” Sunset shook her head. “Nevermind, I can tell from the cutie mark that this is who we’re here for.” The strummer’s haunch was marked by a halved citrus fruit, green of rind but yellow of flesh. “I’m just trying to figure out why she’s not yellow.”
Lemon hadn’t noticed her visitors yet. Her eyes were tightly shut in the bliss of creation. Sunset would have to get her attention up close.
But before Sunset could cross the room and get the guitarista’s attention, the unicorn was mauled by an enormous, bloodthirsty timberwolf.
Without thinking, she lobbed as big of a fireball as she could muster in the split second between noticing the beast and it tackling her to the ground, but the shot went wide, and set a nearby patch of carpet alight in brilliant blue flames.
The wooden wolf’s claws dug into her pelt, its mouth scratching her throat with a tongue as raspy as sandpaper. It was the most her forelegs could do to hold its jaws a mere inch away from her jugular.
Smolder’s fuchsia fire soon joined the conflagration, but none of it seemed interested in licking the bark of Sunset’s assailant. The dragon seemed to just be lighting things on fire for the hay of it.
Everything stopped (except for the rock, which did not let up for a moment at any point) when a bank of thick fog rolled into the apartment, smothering the flames, while somepony hollered (her voice straining from exertion), “Bonsai! Get. Your. Butt. Off! Of! Her!”
To Sunset’s bafflement, the timberwolf obeyed, scampering over to the new pony’s side, where, without the slightest hint of fear or hesitation, she gave it a pat on the head.
“Good boy.”
She was a pegasus – though not the pegasus they had come for – and yet, somehow, by some Celestial provenance, she was another of the candidates on Sunset’s list. If the gamboge goggles and steeled fierceness in her equally-orange eyes didn’t give it away, then the deep, purple cloud (or perhaps an indigo flower) on her side, with a violet center and a bolt of blue lightning for a stem, was all Sunset needed to identify this new mare as Indigo Zap.
Not taking her eyes off the intruders, the new pegasus dispelled the fog with several flaps of her kingfisher wings. Taking a moment to slick back a mane of electric cerulean with a peach-colored hoof, Indigo then strutted into the recording booth, bucked the captive cloud into its constituent vapors (dropping its flailing percher to the ground), and shouted, “Hey! Lemon! You got guests!”
The guitarist rose to her hooves, calmly opened her citrine eyes (so there was some yellow, but not enough to convince Sunset of any relation), and waved at the duo of intruders.
“Hey, what’s up?”, she asked, trotting over to flop into the couch ringing the conversation pit. She didn’t seem to notice the scorch marks all over the room. “Is this another noise complaint? ‘Cause like I keep telling everypony, if I play my music any quieter, it won’t be mine anymore.”
Sunset shook her head. “Nope! We don’t even live here.”
“Eh. Wouldn’t be the first time somepony down the block got their barding in a bunch about it.”
Smolder hopped onto the opposite side of the couch, though while Sunset did follow her into the pit… she took one look at her seating options and decided to remain standing.
“Nah,” Smolder said, shaking her head, “keep rocking, pony. That was almost dragon-level hardcore. Almost.”
“Sick, thanks!” Lemon pumped her hoof in the air, recognizing the compliment beneath the draconic superiority complex. Or just failing to notice the latter. “But, so, wait a minute, what’s this actually about?”
“Yeah!”, agreed Indigo, circling around the pit like a seabird hunting for fish, “I also wanna know why you two thought you could barge in here and start shooting fireballs at Bonsai.”
Lemon shot up in her seat, bearing an expression of shock and betrayal. “You tried to set my dog on fire?! Why?!”
“Your dog? That bloodthirsty hound?!”, Sunset exclaimed. “Look, I don’t know how you ‘tamed’ that thing, but you need to keep it on a leash! It nearly” – Sunset turned to look at this ‘Bonsai’ – “ripped my… throat out…!”
What she distinctly recalled as a hulking, long-fanged caniculus of hateful bracken and callous natural magic, twice as long and four times as heavy as the bulkiest stock of earth ponies – turned out, in fact, to be a panting runt of a mutt about the size of Smolder, its barken tongue lolling out of its mouth and its sapling tail wagging as it followed the circling kingfisher.
“Nah, are you kidding? Bonsai was just playing with you!” Lemon turned to Bonsai and stamped her hooves on the couch. “C’mere, boy. You hurt?” The stunted timberwolf slipped away from Indigo and into her forelegs, licking her face. “No? No… You’re fine. That’s right, you’re A-O-Good.”
Without warning or explanation, Lemon Zest let out her best canid howl, which Bonsai eagerly joined in. It was a sound that curdled Sunset’s blood on a base, instinctual level, but nopony (nor anygon) else seemed all that bothered.
When the howling (and the broom handle thumping against the ceiling of the floor below) stopped, Lemon turned to Sunset and said, “Well, no harm, no foul.”
The way Bonsai turned to Sunset and let out the briefest snarl seemed to indicate it thought otherwise.
“And that explains all the burnt carpet,” Lemon continued, with a chuckle.
“Yeah… Sorry about that.” She wasn’t sorry, but they needed to smooth things over. Sunset gave Smolder a ‘your turn’ look.
Smolder just cocked a brow at Sunset, then rolled her eyes when comprehension dawned on her a second later. “Look, this is my first time in your pony land, so I don’t know how you do things, but setting things on fire is a cherished dragon past-time. I just thought we were making ourselves at home.”
Lemon guffawed so hard she fell off the couch. “That’s bananas, little dudette! All good, though!”
“Still,” Sunset noted, prepared to break out the Crown’s checkbook, “I can’t imagine you’re gonna get your security deposit back.” You know, if all the other stuff Lemon did to this place didn’t already. 
Lemon waved it off. “Ahhhh, deposit, schmeposit! My folks own the place! Real old money, you know?”
They’d have to be, to own property in the city like this. House Lemon fit the bill… and now that she thought about it, Citrine Tower was named after a yellow gem.
Things were starting to make just enough sense to annoy Sunset. All evidence pointed towards it being true that Miss Zest was a Lemon. So why didn’t she look like one?
At the mention of vast wealth in combination with financial apathy, Smolder instantly started looking around the room for something Lemon Zest would apparently not worry about losing, but Indigo’s glare stopped that train of thought on the tracks.
“Besides,” Lemon continued, “me and Indigo set my pad on fire all the time.”
Indigo shrugged. “It happens. Now, let’s get back to the point: who are you and why are you here?”
“Right, hi, I’m Sunset Shimmer, Royal Student (and assistant to the acting Princess).”
The hostility evaporated from Indigo’s body the moment Sunset uttered her titles. She took a seat beside Lemon and started fishing for something under the coffee table.
“And this” – she gestured towards Smolder – “is Smolder, envoy of the Dragonlands.”
Smolder waved.
Indigo popped back up with a business card between her flight feathers, blinking. “That. Is a hatchling,” she observed.
“I’m nine!”, the hatchling protested. “That makes me a drake!”
“Alright, she’s family of the envoy,” Sunset explained, trying to move along. “Anyways, I’m here on behalf of Princess Cadance with job offers for both of you. I wasn’t expecting to bump into you here, Indigo, but it saves me the trouble of figuring out how I’m gonna get up to Cloudsdale.”
“Hold up, you were looking for me, too? Cool. Great! Good.” She set the card back under the table like she was trying to hide it. “And yeah, that’s some sweet timing, ‘cause you wouldn’t have found me there, anyways.”
Weird. The dossier had indicated that Indigo Zap was currently employed as a flight-camp counselor for the summer, helping teach young pegasi how to fly – and that she commuted to work from her family’s cloud mansion, also in Cloudsdale.
“Really? What happened?”
“I’m on leave.” Indigo smirked, but her expression went sour. “You know that freak storm we had? ”
“What freak storm?”
“The one that hit the entire Province when the sun stopped moving?”
She was probably talking about whatever unscheduled rainfall had drenched the streets of Canterlot while Sunset was making her move for the mirror portal. “I was, uh… indoors, the entire time. I might have heard thunder at one point” – though thunder didn’t really explain why that rumble that interrupted her encounter with Flash Sentry shook the entire palace – “but that was it. What’d I miss?”
“Ugh. Lots. The long and short of it is: we don’t know where it came from, but this storm showed up all at once, completely out of nowhere, from the Everfree Forest.”
“I thought unpredictable weather was the norm in the Everfree.”
“Well, yeah, but not this unpredictable. We got ponies watching the woods for that sc– that stuff,” she self-censored, remembering there was a child present, “so they can deal with it when it leaves the exclusion zone. That’s why the pros willing to put up with nowheresvilles like Hoofington and Ponyville make the big bucks.”
Indigo went to kick her hindhooves onto the table, but, spotting some kind of beverage stain, she opted to sling a throw pillow down, first.
“So, like, this really came out of nowhere. Clear skies over the forest one minute; then the next, boom: enormous rainstorm all over Canterhorn Province, already crackling with lightning.
“And nopony could bust it, either. Believe me; anypony with an ounce of civic pride gave it their best shot. We’re talking everypony from rickety old retirees to Sunshine Scouts, Celestia bless them.” She beamed with pride. “My dad’s leashed to an oxygen tank and he was out there.” Her smile fell. “It didn’t do squat. Cloudsdale had to spark up the extreme weather sirens and issue a shelter-in-place order. They haven’t done that since before I was even born.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah, now imagine actually being in the middle of it. See, some of the foals at camp snuck off and actually tried flying in the stuff, so guess who had to go save them.” Indigo’s wings curled to point her pinions right at her chest. “And I do that, and bring them back safe and sound, and it’s fine. Or it should be.
“But now, one of the brats? Her fam’s totally ungrateful. They think I endangered the fillies, just because they went behind my back in the middle of an emergency.” Indigo sighed, with just enough of a groan to suggest there was a lot more to the story than she was telling. “They want an investigation into my conduct, even after I hoof their kid back to them without a hair out of place on her little rainbowed head.
“So while the camp owners figure out if I did something wrong when I saved a little filly from getting electrocuted, I’m on a little crash-vacation here at Lemon’s. Get to visit all my besties.” She tried to smile, again, but couldn’t really work it up.
Sunset could relate. “Feels like even if you do everything perfectly, you can’t win, huh?”
“You know it.” That got an actual smile on her face. “Just goes to show that ponies with more than one mane-color are nothing but trouble.”
Squinting at Indigo (and the streaks of cyan in her mane, the little hypocrite), Sunset flicked her red-and-gold forelock to the other side of her horn. “Excuse me?” 
Indigo flinched. “Ehhhh– Excuse you for what?” She turned to her friend. “Lemon, did you say something?”
“Nope!”
“What. A. Mystery. Well, hey, why don’t you get Sunset Shimmer here something to drink?”
Oh! An apology bribe? Sunset wouldn’t say no.
“Great idea!” Lemon leapt out of the pit and strutted around the corner, lost in some groove only she could hear. Her voice echoing from an unseen fridge, she called out, “I’ve got lemonade and limoncello!”
An alcoholic apology bribe? Even better.
But before Sunset could voice her preference, Indigo scolded her pal. “She’s on-duty, L. What do you think?”
“Gotcha!” After a few seconds, a shuddering groan of disgust wafted over to the living room. “…Don’t gotcha!”, Lemon wheezed. “Woulda gotted ‘cha a week ago, though! So, uh, we got limoncello!”
“Look, just…!” Indigo glanced at Sunset, inquisitively raising her brows.
“Well, I was interested in the limoncello, but I gotta admit, I’m kinda scared of it now, too.”
Indigo nodded and hollered, “Just give her one of my rainbeers, L! It’s fine!”
Eventually, Lemon came back, and even though it was she who did all the footwork, Indigo took the credit. “Here you are, Sunset Shimmer.”
“Nice.” Immediately, Sunset just popped the tab on her can of what the barely-legible graffiti-style label called |Electric Cockatrice Lager|, and took a sip.
Predictably, for a beverage brewed by and for pegasi, it was a bit weaker than regular beer. Pegasi were literal lightweights by nature: hard to fly with dense bones, hard to hold onto fat when you fly everywhere. Sunset might start feeling a little tingly, but just one can wouldn’t be enough to flush Sunset every color of the rainbow like rainbeer was supposed to.
It was also way too hoppy, but that was more the fault of the ‘craft’ label on the brew than the ‘rain-’ part.
Smolder crossed her arms. “Don’t I get one?”
Very carefully, Sunset avoided spitting her drink directly into Indigo’s face. Forcing the foam down her throat, she gasped, between coughs, “Aren’t you nine? I think Cadance would kill me if I just let you have one, squirt. Envoy or not.” Sunset wiped her lips on her fetlock. “You’re gonna have to figure out how to sneak these on your own.”
Drinking ages were all over the place in Equestria, since they were set on the levels of counties and airspaces.
Earth ponies didn’t believe in drinking ages, on account of their average body sizes and (comparative) harmlessness. They were strong, sure, but they couldn’t lift houses off of their foundations with their minds alone, or go careening into a mountainside at sixty miles per hour. Thus, airspaces like Cloudsdale stuck to twenty-one, while unicorn-dominated counties veered closer to eighteen. It seemed a little backwards when Sunset thought about it, but she wasn’t complaining.
Canterlot’s Chevalon County bumped it up to twenty, because Celestia wanted to be everypony’s nanny and also because it had the nation’s premier schools of magic in it.
The point was, Smolder was eleven years below the local drinking age.
Smolder crossed her arms and pouted. “Ugh, and I nearly thought you were cool.”
That almost made Sunset feel bad enough to ask for another beer. Almost. Sunset was not lying that she feared for her life if Cadance were to find out.
When she did not, Indigo clapped her hooves and said, “So this job. It’s what Cinch was checking in on us about, isn’t it?”
“Sure is. We need coordinators for Princess Cadance’s coronation ceremony, and Headmare Cinch referred Cadance to you two. Any ques–”
“I’m in,” Indigo declared.
“Just like that?”
“I’m out of a job ‘til the investigation’s done, and ‘coronation coordinator’ sounds pretty boss on a resumé, so. Yeah.” Indigo turned to her fellow pegasus. “You should sign on, too, L.”
Lemon looked up, having distracted herself scritching Bonsai’s belly. “What? I don’t know…”
“It’s not like you’re doing anything,” Indigo asserted.
So that’s what |Self-Employed Musician| meant as Lemon’s occupation.
“Still, like, hosting some super-formal dress-and-tie kind of event… It just sounds like kind of a drag. –No offense,” Lemon hastily assured Smolder.
“Pff. None taken. Trust me, it all sounds super boring to me, too, but, I dunno, maybe you could make it less boring? Show these ponies how to rock.”
Lemon thumped her hoof on the table. “Aw, you know what? I got some bangers in the wings. Sure, tag me in, so long as I get to call dibs on music!”
“Granted!” That, of course, meant the other pegasus would probably be stuck with weather, but Indigo had already demonstrated she knew her way around it. Sunset gave Smolder a grateful nod for the assist, and sighed with relief. She was more than halfway done. “Then I think we’re done here. We’ll get back in touch once we’ve worked out more of the details.
The pegasi acknowledged her with a “Sick!”, and a “Baller. Thanks again!”
As Sunset climbed out of the pit, she checked for ants on her hooves. “Time to go, Smolder.”
Indigo waved a wing. “Peace.”
“Byeeeee!”, Lemon called after them. “Say goodbye, Bonsai!”
The timberwolf howled again, putting a fearful start to Sunset’s step until the door was shut behind her.
The elevator attendant’s change bucket was conspicuously already hidden before they even entered.
Since she’d been blindsided by Indigo’s arrival, Sunset hadn’t had a chance to read what Abacus Cinch had to say about the unexpected pegasus. Pulling Miss Zap’s file from the back of the folder, Sunset took a look at her longer-than-Lemon’s cover letter.
|At Princess Amore’s Crystal Memorial Preparatory Academy, athleticism is held to be of equal importance to intellectualism.| Sunset snorted. |By cultivating soundness in both mind and body, we create students equipped to handle any and all situations thrust upon them.
|Indigo Zap is the definition of adaptability, versatility, and reliability. In addition to captaining our swim team, Miss Zap volunteered her talent and expertise towards any vacancy which arose in our athletics program, whether filling in for an absentee athlete or assisting our hard-working coaches. She has fully internalized the Shadowbolt philosophy: “Loyalty through Discipline and Success through Sacrifice”.|
Of course, a pony who achieved success without sacrifice kept more to her name, in the end.
|Miss Zap’s entrance examinations were quite the demonstration of her commitment to these beliefs, even before our coaches and instructors consciously instilled them within her. As the first of her recently-established family to aspire to such a prestigious academy as Princess Amore’s, there was nopony on which she could rely to prepare herself for her entrance examinations, save for herself. Despite an unfortunate flight accident which left her wing sprained, the day prior to testing, Indigo reported to the testing grounds with neither delay nor any petition for excuse. Not only did she insist on completing all tests despite her injured wing, she passed with all flying colors.|
And she probably delayed her full recovery by another two weeks in the process.
|It is my firm belief that there is no duty in Equestria for which Miss Zap is not perfectly-suited. She is among the pinnacle of pegasus-kind.|
As compared to Lemon, who certainly didn’t get that kind of compliment.
As they left the building behind, the rumbling of the guitar sparked up above once more.
Unprompted, Smolder said. “You know, for ponies, those two were alright.”
Sunset grunted her vague agreement. One of them had to be at least slightly useful. She wasn’t sure if it was the obnoxious slob with the important family connections or the social climber with an eagerness to please her superiors, but it had to be at least one of them.
Tossing her empty beer can in the vague, general direction of what was probably a trash can, Sunset led Smolder onwards to the next pony on the list, her burdens eased by the gentle buzzing in her sinuses and horn.
> Chapter 8 - A Bitter Taste
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Smolder threw up her arms as she gestured to the unremarkable building Sunset had stopped in front of, in order to hunt her bags for the dossier. “What are we doing here? Your grocery shopping?”
To be fair, they were standing outside of a large corner store.
But, “No,” – though she did need to pick up more tortilla chips – “this is where the next candidate works.”
Smolder crossed her arms and huffed. “Lame.”
“We won’t be here too long.”
The dragon just grumbled, still displeased.
The thing about stores, of course, is that they were deeply boring places for children, on account of having no money and thus no investment in the intended purpose of the store. It never took long before they started making their own fun, which was another way of saying ‘causing trouble’. Sunset had been there. Her parents (and then her aunt, and then, early on, Celestia) had had to smooth things over with upset managers plenty of times before.
So, she would try to mollify Smolder. “Look, if it keeps you out of trouble, I’ll let you pick out something to buy.”
Smolder clapped, rubbing her hands together. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”
Before Sunset could even lift a hoof, Smolder had already started pushing her forward. The cover letter would have to come after. Sunset was going in blind, once again.
The very moment the bell chimed to signal their entrance, the two of them were greeted by a smiling earth pony cashier with pale yellow fur and a pink mane, neatly bunned. “Hi there! Welcome to Cran Convenience!”
Nearby, another yellow earth pony, with another reddish mane, stocked the shelves with cans of cranberry sauce. Forcefully. “Yeah. Hi.” She barely turned to look at the customers before getting back to work.
Glancing from one earth pony to another, it was immediately apparent that they were identical twins – or nearly-identical, at least.
The biggest difference between the two of them was that the stocker had a streak of mint-green running through the center of both her mane and her tail, the former of which she had tied into a ponytail with a red-beaded scrunchie to look exactly like the real one. On closer inspection, her cheeks were freckled, and her eyes were a dull lavender instead of her sister’s bright aqua. She also wore eye shadow the same color as the streak in her mane.
Now, the problem was, Sunset didn’t have a photo of this candidate. She could swear she did, but she hadn’t given it more than a passing glance before apparently losing it. It must have slipped out while reading one of Cinch’s gas-ups.
So, one of these two mares was the pony she needed. She just wasn’t sure which.
Sunset would have remembered the green streak… if the photo hadn’t been in black and white, and she couldn’t remember if it had freckles or not.
She’d have to look for other clues to go off of.
Sunset tried to see if either of the orange-brown-and-red plaid aprons they wore bore a name tag, but they didn’t seem to be wearing any.
Their cutie marks gave no hints, either. The cashier’s appeared to be a pair of crossed batons. Or barber poles. It was hard to tell, since she was behind a counter.
The stocker, meanwhile, had a horizontal diamond of four red berries, with as many leaves; each minty as the streak in her hair and emerging from between each pair of berries.
The stocker cleared her throat.
“Uh, heya,” Sunset finally responded.
“Anything we can help you with?”, the cashier asked, smiling even wider and fluttering her eyelids.
She was kinda laying it on thick, wasn’t she? Smolder mimed gagging at the sweetness, before scampering off down some aisle or other.
“Actually, I’m here to–”
“Buy some cranberries?”, the stocker interjected, shifting into a resentful growl. “Why else would you come here? Produce section’s on the right.”
…Okay, then. Sunset wasn’t frankly sure if the stocker wanted her to buy cranberries, or anything but cranberries.
But it was Neighvember, after all. Maybe she should. And maybe she’d order cinnamon carrots and spice cake for dinner, once she… got back to the… palace…
Wait.
Wait.
Sunset blinked.
It wasn’t Neighvember at all!
It was the middle of Equust! The hottest days of summer!
What on Equus had convinced Sunset otherwise?
It took just one sniff to be tempted back into delusion. Out-of-season autumn spices hung in the air, wafting over from the little bakery in one corner of the store. All the windows were tinted blue, making the sunny afternoon they had just walked in from look like an overcast early evening. Prismaplastic leaves, colored like the pegasi had already painted them in chlorokill and shaken them from the trees months ahead of schedule, decorated the sills. The chalkboard above the front checkout counted down the days until both the Hocktober Harvestfest in the north and the Neighvember Harvestfest in the south.
Why?
“Come on,” responded the cashier to her sister, with unflagging cheer, “you can make a better sales pitch than that! I know you can!”
Ah. There it was. This store made its money in the fall, and that was why so much effort went into convincing her that fall had come.
With a disgruntled hiss, the stocker kicked the pallet of sauce cans aside and turned to face Sunset with a smile that did not reach her eyes. She said, “Just because it’s still the middle of summer doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the complex, sophisticated notes of Cran Convenience’s signature cranberries and cranberry products. We’ve got craisins, cranberry juice, cranberry tarts, cranberry pies, cranberry sauce, and, obviously, fresh cranberries, delivered fresh, daily, from the Cranberry family bogs of Maresachusetts County. If you’re not a fruit churl, you’ll be sure to buy some! Happy, now?”
The cashier beamed. “That’s much better!” Turning to Sunset, she added, “But, if you’re still not convinced–” She reached below the counter and pulled out a cranberry scone, balanced on her forehoof. “Try a free sample!~”
Sunset wasn’t big on cranberries, but free pastry was free pastry. She levved it into her mouth and took a bite and wow, okay, that was actually pretty good. Tart, but not overpoweringly so, in part because they must have been glazed two or three times more than strictly necessary. What nuance the icing took away from the flavor profile, the undertones of orange zest brought back.
“No, yeah, that’s not bad,” she finally reported, through a mouth full of crumbs.
“D’aw, thanks! I baked them this morning!” The cashier then made a show of hugging herself, which Sunset calculated was only because Sunset wasn’t quite in range to be the victim of that hug, herself.
“But are you going to buy some?”, demanded the stocker. “I’d be delighted to show you where they are!”
“Actually, I’m here–”
The stocker’s eye twitched.
“–Okay, okay, I’m not saying I won’t pick something up while I’m here–”
The twitching stopped.
“–but I’m actually here to meet with…” She’d have to bite the bullet. “Which one of you is Sour Sweet?”
‘Please don’t be the nag,’ prayed Sunset. ‘Please don’t be the nag. Please don’t be the nag.’
“Oh! You came all this way to see me, specifically? You could have said so before I wasted a sales pitch on you!”
Nominative determinism struck again.
Before Sunset could respond, Sour Sweet stepped rigidly over to a glass-faced icebox by the front checkout and flung the door open forcefully enough to teeter the entire refrigerator on its feet. From inside, she lifted out a can of cran-lemon-lime soda, the tab flexing as she pinched it between her teeth.
In one violent motion, she kicked her head back, popping the tab and guzzling the entire thing in ten seconds flat.
She spat the can over the counter, past her sister, where it ricocheted off the rim of the wastebasket, bounced off a locked case of trading cards sitting on the back counter, arced elegantly through the air, flipping six or seven times, and landed squarely in that same wastebasket.
“Syrupy, I’m going on break,” she grumbled, beckoning Sunset to follow her to the back of the store.
It occurred to Sunset that she could stop this now. She wasn’t obligated to recruit all five of these candidates. Cinch hadn’t made her sign anything. If one of them seemed blatantly unfit for the job, Cadance would almost certainly understand if Sunset made an executive decision to put her hoof down and find somepony else.
It would be as easy as turning around and walk out of the store. Or offering the job to Syrupy, since she seemed much more normal by comparison.
And yet, Sunset’s hooves carried her forward, following Sour into their meeting.
Because, beneath the mare’s aggression, Sunset detected, in her choice of words, a tangible… she wasn’t sure if it went as far as sadness, but there was definitely some slurry of resentment and dissatisfaction swirling in her brain. Sour was not happy with her lot in life.
And Sunset had the power to possibly change that.
Just as… Princess Celestia… had changed hers.
Or maybe the alcohol still in her system was just making her sentimental and stupid. Still, she followed.
Apparently, Sour Sweet took her breaks in the store’s little warehouse. It was dead silent, except for the cart-door that rattled in the breeze through the back-alley like a dozen rusty trash cans rolling down a hill, the moment it seemed like the silence was there to stay.
Sour took a seat on one of the many crates, and crowbarred open another with her hoof. The nails came with the lid. There was that earth pony strength in action.
Inside was… Sunset shouldn’t have been surprised. The box was packed full of bright, juicy, glistening, ruby-red cranberries. Sour filled the frog of her hoof with berries and shoveled them into her mouth, their gleaming viscera shining on her teeth beneath the glaring white magelight hanging oppressively overhead.
“Have some! They’ll just rot on the shelves if you don’t,” she urged, all but confirming that their staple fruit didn’t sell in the off-season.
If asked, Sunset would say she was being polite, but in truth, the reason she levitated a cluster of cranberries into her mouth was because Sunset started to get this sinking feeling that she might not leave the store alive if she did not. She was already 0 for 1 on magical self-defense that day.
The first wave was the bitterness, far exceeding any latent sweetness to the berries – and then the astringency hit her. For all the juices bursting from their ruptured skins, they only stole the water from her mouth and left her parched. It was all deeply unpleasant.
Still, it seemed to placate Sour. “So! Whatever could you want from little old me?~”
Too late to back out, now. Sunset grit her teeth and said, “I’ve got a job offer for you.”
“So this is what my dear former headmare checked in on me for! Without buying anything.” She rolled her eyes. Sunset guessed it was the first time Cinch so much as said hello to Sour Sweet since she graduated. “I was told it would be good, so it had really better be. I’m busy enough with our humble little branch of the family store and our zero employees.”
Ah, family. The chains of birth. If nothing else, it was liberating to be without such obligations.
Perhaps Sour’s loyalty to the Principality of Equestria would be greater than to her family? “She didn’t happen to tell you it was a job with the Crown, did she?”
Sour Sweet blinked. Slowly. Several times. Finally, she spoke: “…No.” Another blink. “If you could just give me a minute.”
Sunset cocked her brow. “Uh, sure?”
“Thank you.”
And then Sour Sweet erupted into a cacophony of manic laughter, horrid and horrified in equal measure. As wide as she stretched her smile (if you could call it that), Sunset could swear she saw Sour’s lips crack and bleed, but that could have just been a stray cranberry skin. She wrapped her mane in her hooves and tugged hard enough that her displaced eyelids revealed the red bits they were supposed to cover, her unfocused eyes cast up in the purest terror and regret.
Sunset’s entire face ached just looking at it, and it lasted for the entire – deeply perturbing – minute she requested.
And when that minute was up, she just as abruptly spooled herself back down into just a few nervous giggles.
“Oh, I’ve been such a meanie to you, haven’t I?” She placed a hoof over her heart. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know who you were!” More than a few strands of hair had snapped or slipped out of Sour’s hair tie, which she casually swept aside. “So, tell me more about this job!”
“Uh…” Sunset shook her head and tried to forget what she just saw, because if nothing else, this candidate was now interested. “Okay, lemme introduce myself first. Hi, I’m Sunset Shimmer, Royal Student and assistant to the acting Princess. Princess Cadance is having me recruit coordinators for her coronation ceremony.”
Sour put her forehooves to her cheeks and fluttered her eyelashes. Now that she knew how important Sunset was, she was pulling the Syrupy act, except twice as insincerely. “You don’t mean there’s a catering position open, do you?”
Ah, shoot. On the one hoof, yes, they needed a caterer, and yes, this was a responsibility Sour was clearly interested in and volunteering to take on. Sunset hadn’t marked anypony down as caterer material yet. Maybe Lemon, if Sunset had any evidence she knew how to wash her hooves.
On the other hoof, Sunset would be giving control over the entire menu to a member of one of Equestria’s many, many zealously-monocultural farming families. And Sour’s single-minded passion was for rutting cranberries, no less.
On the other, other hoof, her sister made a pretty darn good scone. Maybe they could make this work?
“Well,” Sunset answered, putting on a smile, “all I need to know right now is if you wanna be part of the project as a whole. But, to answer your question, yeah, we need a caterer. I’ll make a note that you’re interested in doing that and we’ll get back to you once we’ve got everypony we need.”
“That’s just wonderful!~” She clapped her hooves and rested them beneath her chin. “Now, were there any other monumental, life-changing opportunities you came here to dump into my lap, or was it just that one?”
“Yeah, that was it.”
“Good! Good. Then why don’t you head back out and finish your shopping? Don’t you have an unsupervised salamander to check on?”
Oh. Right. Sunset had told Smolder to go shopping, hadn’t she. She’d probably picked out the priciest (cranberry-flavored) rock candy they had on their shelves.
Well, explaining why that expense was being charged to the Royal Treasury couldn’t be any more uncomfortable than spending another second in this warehouse with Sour Sweet. “Right, I’ll go… do that. Bye.”
Sunset hastened back into the safety-in-numbers of the store.
“Toodles!~”, Sour bid, waving her off.
The first thing she heard when she got back to the front checkout was, “That’ll be ฿153.78! Would you like that bagged?”, out of Syrupy’s mouth.
That was a few more bits than Sunset was expecting.
Then she saw the heap of what she could only describe as random junk piled onto the counter. Holiday decor for every season, bags of raw flour and sugar and other baking supplies, candy that would go bad before the holidays printed on its wrappers, and just a bunch of loose cranberries sprinkled throughout.
“I. uh,” Smolder began, “couldn’t decide on just one thing.”
Sunset was pretty sure dragons didn’t even do Arbor Day, and yet, as the cranberry on top, a lonely pine-tree air freshener stood at the summit of Mt. Miscellany.
“What do you need all that for?”
Smolder shrugged. “I wanted it.”
Well. She couldn’t be accused of being an atypical dragon.
Sunset took a deep breath, vowed to hoof-fight the royal treasurer if she had to, and declared, “Yes. I do want that bagged,” as she forked over the cash.
As they left the store, all the bags were stacked, precariously, in Smolder’s arms, because even if Sunset wanted to carry the dragon’s groceries for her – and she did not – Smolder looked at the other ponies passing on the street with a suspicion that bordered on the venomous. Sunset didn’t want to lose a leg.
A few minutes down the road, Smolder did ask, head craned around her hoard, “So how did that one go?”
Solemnly, Sunset declared, “I think I made a mistake.”
Smolder didn’t press her for details, which was fine, because her mind was elsewhere.
Just how on Equus did Cinch try to sell this basket-case? Sunset had to know.
The cover letter, which she read as she walked, had this to say on her: |Sour Sweet is a mare of many talents. Though her prowess in archery, a skill ever so uncommon to her tribe, brought her to the attention of our headhunters outside of Canterlot,| – this, Sunset chose to interpret as ‘we were desperate for literally anypony to fill a slot on our archery team because nopony even does archery anymore’ – |Miss Sweet has proven, time and time again, to be a quick learner and swifter master. Such mental flexibility, coupled with her natural kinesthetic grace, has enabled her to rise to the top of each and every team she was encouraged to join, no matter how obscure or challenging to teach.|
Or, as it seemed to say, Sour was pressured into being their wildcard, picking up the slack in whatever obscure, pointless sports teams nopony actually cared to a part of, but which Crystal Prep insisted they simply had to remain competitive in. The mare could probably weave a mean underwater basket.
|No matter the assignment, Miss Sweet will rise to the occasion. Put her to whatever task you need, and it will be done.|
Predictably, there was nothing about Sour being a semi-feral orthrus in a pony’s skin.
Whatever. Hopefully, Cadance would take one look at Sour Sweet and disqualify her from the runnings. They’d be short two bearers instead of one, but there were plenty of competent, capable, and sane ponies in Canterlot. Somewhere. They’d find somepony.
In the meantime, there was a tour of Canterlot to finish. Already, the afternoon sun was shifting into its yellower hours. One more stop, and a bet to settle.
> Chapter 9 - Shadows and Shade
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Last stop,” Sunset announced, as she and Smolder neared the suburban residence of the final candidate. Enough hours had passed since they left Cran Convenience (assuming Cadance had left the sun where it was scheduled to be) that the sky was bronzed with Sunset’s namesake, and all the houses cast long shadows. “Are you sure you don’t want to, I don’t know, sender-breathe your stuff somewhere safe before we pay our visit?”
Smolder glowered, her eyes level with Sunset’s. Had the drake always been so tall? “I’m not letting it out of my sight and you can’t make me.”
Admittedly, the hoard-pile was a lot smaller now. Children of any species, it seemed, all possessed the same terrifying power to remove sugary treats from existence. At this point, it was mostly just the miscellaneous holiday decor that had been spared the dragon’s fangs.
In any case, remote delivery was out of the question.
It would also have been very time-consuming to walk back to the palace and hide it somewhere there, since this location was the furthest away that their mission had taken them. These terraced suburbs, put up in the last century or so, were built outside Canterlot’s ancient walls, a little ways down the Canterhorn, for those Canterlites who wanted a taste of what it was like to live on a country estate.
Without actually being in the countryside. Or having to afford a country estate.
Some would call it aspirational. Sunset called it phony.
The final candidate’s home looked like all the others in the neighborhood: two stories, a garage for a cart, and the expected purple-and-white cladding with gilded trim that was on everything else in Canterlot.
It had the honor of being the most nondescript house in the neighborhood. Other houses along the drive left prismaplastic foals’ toys out in their front yards to fade in the sun, or they mounted flags of Equestria/Canterhorn Province/Chevalon County on poles, all of which hung limp in the breezeless heat of summer.
But at this particular house, there was nothing at all to betray anypony’s individuality.
Well, next-to-nothing. Under a second-floor bedroom(?) window was a sill-mounted planter growing heliotropes, whose violet flowers blended unobtrusively into the rest of the purple.
It looked like nopony lived in it – not in the sense of abandonment, but in the sense that it was so impersonally clean, as though it were built only a week ago, still on the market, and the realtor was sending somepony by every day to keep the front lawn meticulously trimmed and presentable. The only thing missing was a ‘for sale’ sign, and Sunset wouldn’t have been surprised if the only reason one was absent was because some bratty neighborhood foal had made off with it.
But the address was right. 6555 Meadowbrook Way. Sunset vaguely recalled reading something or other about a Meadowbrook before, as part of her studies. Some sinecorn who dabbled in trying to understand real magic from the tribal sidelines. This street was probably named after her.
Sunset observed the house for a few seconds. Not a single sound, nor any internal light, escaped.
Well, Sunset probably had a minute to read the mare’s cover letter and keep an ear cocked for any sounds of life. After Sour, she wanted to be prepared for whatever insanity might lay ahead of her.
As she unsheathed the file from its folder, the attached photo slipped its paperclip prison and fluttered to the ground. Smolder was quick to snatch it up and add it to her pile. She had a bet to lose, after all.
|There is no mare possessed of quite as diverse an array of talents as Sunny Flare,| wrote Cinch. Sunset remembered the name from the sole magic competition trophy at Crystal Prep. |Not only has Miss Flare lent her skills to every pursuit, academic and extra-curricular, available to her; she has proven herself well-capable in every avenue to which she has applied herself.|
Sunset was picking up on wildcard notes like Sour’s sheet, which wasn’t a great sign.
|Of particular note is her involvement with the theatre department, where she has, so-to-speak, played every role, from actress, to set builder, to costume designer, to stage technician, obtaining a wide range of social and technical experience and expertise.
|One cannot neglect, either, her prodigious magical talent. As a unicorn quarter-marked in the image of the sun itself,| – is that what it was supposed to be? – |Miss Flare is destined to stand proud alongside such sorcerers as Corona Glamor, Parhelion Halo, and the current Royal Student, Sunset Shimmer.|
Ignoring that this would have read really badly if Sunset had been successfully dismissed, Sunset purred, “Okay, Cinch, flattery will get you places…”
Then she read, |Perhaps, if Her Royal Highness Princess Celestia had elected in her grace to visit a different school on that afternoon, she might have chosen our Sunny Flare to be her pupil, instead.|
“Nevermind! You can say goodbye to that goodwill.”
Smolder cocked a brow at Sunset’s outburst with a confusion that was too bored to seek resolution.
|Yet despite all of these qualities which elevate Miss Flare above her peers, she remains courteous and humble, bearing every trial with quiet dignity and respect.|
Okay, so she probably wasn’t flagrantly insane, but you know what they said about the quiet ones.
|For all of these qualities, Miss Flare will make an excellent addition to any team. If any prospect in this dossier catches the reader’s eye most sharply, one should hope it is her.|
So Sunny had Cinch’s fullest backing. Sunset wondered why.
For the entire length of the reading, still no sounds emerged. Maybe nopony was home? That would be just her luck, wouldn’t it? Getting all but one of her recruits in the same day and having to make another expedition into suburbia tomorrow.
Only one (legal) way to find out. Sunset approached and rapped her hoof on the door with enough force to scuff the paint.
Immediately, a mare within answered, urgency straining her voice. “I’ll be right there!”
And she was, her hoofbeats echoing through the building until, only a couple seconds later, a dainty ripple of wisteria enveloped the door knob. With a click, the door swung inward to reveal a unicorn – the only unicorn candidate – and, in fact, a unicorn whom Sunset had already seen that day, her face scrunched into a confused squint.
“Oh, hey,” observed Smolder, “It’s the coffee bartender. I was right.”
“The term is ‘barista’, dearie,” the barista corrected. “…Why did you follow me home?”
Well, scat. –But there was still a chance this was the wrong mare. “We were hoping to speak to a Sunny Flare. Does she live here?”
“Why yes, she does! Allow me to fetch her.” She closed the door.
Sunset didn’t even get a second to sigh relief, nor Smolder to groan in disappointment. Just inside, they could hear somepony walking in a circle before the door opened again.
It was the same unicorn. Same coat as blue as a robin’s egg. Same orchid mane and tail, the former cut into an inverted bob, whose bangs were parted by her horn, and the latter cropped short to match the bob. The only difference was, without her apron and uniform, Sunset got a good look at her cutie mark: a very stylized sun (apparently) in copper and gold, whose eight flaring spokes met with arcing curves that reminded Sunset of more of a spinning pinwheel than her mentor’s emblem.
Regardless, the bet was officially lost. “Hah!”, shouted Smolder. “I win!”
Sunny Flare regarded the dragon with subdued disdain for only a moment before returning her attention to Sunset. Coyly, she coyly brushed a bang with her hoof. Some sort of hair product gave her mane and tail a metallic lustre that complimented the dark purple eyeshadow above her magic-matched lilac eyes. She clearly put quite a bit of care and attention into her appearance.
“Somepony wanted to see me? Somepony who followed me home to see me?”
Sunset redirected her annoyance at losing the bet into annoyance that she could very well have avoided coming all the way out here in the first place. “We didn’t follow you home! We did other errands and then came here.” This failed to please Miss Flare in the slightest, but Sunset barreled forward anyways. “–And if I’d known I was looking for you earlier, I wouldn’t have had to find out where you live in the first place, but somepony didn’t wear her nametag!”
“You never asked.”
“I’m sorry! I thought it was good customer service to give me your name unprompted!” If Sunset was sitting down, she would have pinched the bridge of her snout between her hooves. “Look, let’s just pretend we haven’t met and that you’re the complete stranger I was expecting on the other side of this door.”
“As you wish.” She shifted into a neutral expression. “Can I help you, Ms. …?”
“Sunset Shimmer, Royal Student, Assistant to Princess Cadance, and all that jazz.”
Instantly, her demeanor fell back into annoyance. “Oh. I know why you’re here. –Listen, dearie, I don’t care what Abacus put you up to, but I’m not… interested…” As her words wandered, so did her gaze, which Sunset followed to where it fell on Smolder. “Actually, I can’t ignore it any longer: what’s with the festive dragon? Are you going to drape my house in hideous holiday kitsch if I don’t hear you out?”
Well, there was an idea. Sunset shot a roll-eyed glare at Smolder that she hoped communicated ‘just play along’ before the dragon could object. “We sure will.”
“Good. It’ll peeve my mother off. Have a nice day.”
And then, horn dimly glowing, she slammed the door – or would have, if it weren’t effortless for Sunset to contest her with her own magic. So much for |prodigious magical talent|. It was like hoof-wrestling a weanling, and Sunset didn’t believe in going easy. The door stayed open.
Sunny Flare soon gave up, the strain of what was objectively not a lot of magical exertion plain in the sweat beading on her face and the quickness of her breath. “Ugh! Fine! Come in and make your little pitch so you can get out of here before Mother comes back with the groceries.”
“Thank you.” Sunset followed Sunny into the living room, which was, at least, not empty. It had furniture. And wall decorations, even. Paintings. Photos. It was still rather minimalist, but it couldn’t be called bare.
“Right,” Sunset began, into a simplified pitch, “I’m here on behalf of Princess Cadence to recruit you as a coordinator for her coronation ceremony. Are you really not interested?”
“I’m not.”
“…Why?”
Sunny just turned her head away, refusing to look at Sunset as she answered, “I already have a job. Besides, don’t you have staff to handle that sort of thing?” But Sunset caught the little, darting glance back in her direction as she said that.
“They’re busy,” Sunset countered. “But I’m sure you can ask for some time off from slinging bean-juice at some bit-a-bundle Canterlot cafe that your Headmare didn’t even bother to list on the employment section of your file.”
“Of course she wouldn’t.”
“Look, let’s just say that we want some fresh talent,” Sunset lied, “which is why we’ve brought on four other coordinators for the job.”
Sunny’s eyes narrowed when Sunset spoke the number. “Well I’m sure those four” – she just about spat the word ‘four’ – “have it all handled. After all, dearie, too many cooks spoil the grand, once-in-a-millennium, far-more-important-than-they’ll-ever-be soup.”
Sunset tried not to roll her eyes. Assuming all went well, Sunset’s coronation wouldn’t be more than a couple years off, but Sunny had no way of knowing that.
But what she had said did give Sunset a little material with which to deduce her motivations. She was probably (accurately) assuming the other four were her Crystal Prep acquaintances, and learning that they were involved seemed to only put Sunny off from the job offer even more. But that wasn’t where her aversion started…
As Sunset considered which words she could say to coax out Sunny’s interest, she idly scanned the room. The arrangement of decor was honestly quite pleasant, smoothly guiding her eyes from one accent to another. They followed a gentle trail from a well-stocked bookshelf, to the dust-free white porcelain vase sitting on top, to the painting of a sunrise over the opposite side of the Canterhorn nearby, to a family… photo…
There were three figures in the photo, descending, tallest to shortest, from left to right. They all had matching black turtleneck sweaters.
In the center, of course, was Sunny, looking stiff and uncomfortable in what was not, by any means, a formal photo.
To the right was a small, hairless cat, in an adorable cat-sized turtleneck. He seemed happy, or at least empty-headed.
And to her left was a mare that Sunset almost didn’t recognize without the glasses or the stern glare.
Everything clicked at the same time the lock in the front door did.
A dim, gray corona coiled its bony fingers around the handle and the mare in the photo let herself in before any of them could get up and grab the door.
“Ah, Ms. Shimmer! What a pleasant surprise,” intoned the coldly cordial voice of Abacus Cinch, levitating her deep-fuchsia saddlebags into an adjoining room that was probably the kitchen. “While I scarcely anticipated such an expedient pursuit of your recruitment drive, that’s most certainly not a complaint. Though, do pardon my interruption: Sunny, would you be a dear and bring the groceries in from the cart?”
Sunny’s compliance was immediate, instinctive. Any irritation she had been showing earlier had been buried beneath a neutral mien of solid stone as she got to her hooves. She didn’t even talk the same – she answered in a posh Transcelestial accent, just like Cinch’s, to say, “Yes, Mother.” Then, she left, without sparing a second glance back Sunset’s way.
Cinch cleared her throat, redirecting Sunset’s attention to her. “I’m afraid I must ask about the young dragon sitting in my chair.” She gestured to Smolder, who sat on a faux-leather armchair in front of her holiday hoard, guarding it with her body.
Something told Sunset that the ‘visiting envoy’ line would invite more questions that she did not care to answer. “Oh, that’s just Smolder. She’s my dragonmail assistant for the day, since I was initially going to be Cadance’s assistant before she got recalled to the palace. I’m sure you can understand how busy she is.”
Cinch hummed her acknowledgement.
“I can have her wait outside, if you’d prefer?”, Sunset offered.
Before Abacus could answer, Smolder herself piped up: “Yeah, I don’t think I need to be here for this.” She scooped up her things and made her way out. “Chair’s yours.”
Cinch gave a perfunctory “Thank you” and settled down with only a mild twitch of discomfort at its warmth. Likewise, Sunset finally decided to take a seat on the opposite couch. With the coffee table between them, it was almost like sitting in the headmare’s office again, with the only difference being that none of the guest seating was designed to be as uncomfortable as equinely possible.
They waited together, in awkward semi-silence, as cans and jars and tubs clanged around in the kitchen, until finally, Sunny emerged.
“So,” Cinch began, the moment she was present, “I presume you were filling my Sunny in on the details of her new employment?”
Uh-oh. Cinch was under the impression Sunny had already agreed.
What’s more, Sunny wasn’t exactly volunteering that she hadn’t. She just stood there, determinedly staring directly at nothing in particular, with that same expressionless pseudo-smile. She played a perfect background pony. Not a single hint of interiority slipped through the façade. She was as mindless as her cat; an empty vessel in the shape of a pony; a piece of furniture for her mother’s guests to appreciate.
Sunset… really wasn’t sure how she wanted to proceed. Cinch’s arrival complicated things massively, and Sunny’s abdication of her own ponyhood in her presence didn’t help.
It was hoped that Sunny would be the fifth candidate. That much was true. But it wasn’t like she absolutely needed Sunny. The backup plan for anypony’s disinterest was to just find somepony else to take the Bearer job and leave them out of the coronation planning part.
Still, Sunset had intended to try – or at least, to get to the bottom of why Sunny didn’t want the job. There was something she was on the verge of letting slip before Cinch’s presence clammed her up.
Discretion would be necessary from Sunset. Strictly speaking, she was tentatively prepared to divulge the real reason they needed Sunny Flare and her acquaintances, if need be, but the whole reason Sunset even got the dossier in the first place was the assurance that they would not be endangering Abacus’s former students’ lives with matters of national defense. The fact that her daughter was among their number finally explained that unexpected concern.
It was also – by the way – a bombshell that forced Sunset to reknit the entire social web she’d spent all day spinning. Sunny’s mother was the headmare of her prestigious school. Did she actually get in on her own merit, or did a bit of the old nepotism play into it? Judging just from Sunny’s pathetic aura, Sunset had a suspicion that it was the latter. It was the only way she could have made her school’s magic team – that, or they were really just that bad.
Just how many of Cinch’s claims in Sunny’s cover letter were exaggerations or even lies?
But, back to the idea of mentioning the true plan – technically, Sunset already had what they needed from Cinch, so perhaps she could mention the Bearers of Harmony thing. It’s not like the headmare had any authority over the other four Crystal Prep graduates… though she clearly held quite a bit of sway over her daughter.
Of course, that being the case, Sunset could always just go along with Cinch. Let her believe that her daughter had enthusiastically accepted the offer. Then, find a way to get Sunny on her own and level with her.
All this thinking nearly made Sunset forget to answer Cinch’s question. A terse “Ahem” snapped her back out of her analytical stupor.
Sunset put on her best smile and made her decision: the one that didn’t require her to waste her time finding somepony else. “We were! Not that we have too many of the fine details locked down quite yet; we’re still” – Sunset decided to shift into a more businesslike register – “adapting to unforeseen complications with the transition. When these things only happen once every few millennia, there are bound to be some hiccups here and there that need to be smoothed over.”
“Of course,” Cinch acknowledged.
The statue of Sunny still had nothing to say. Her gaze bored holes into the wall.
“But other than that,” Sunset continued, “I’d say it went pretty well. We’re happy to have your daughter on the team.”
“Excellent.” Cinch visibly relaxed into her chair. As she did so, she cast a quick, seemingly-approving smile in her daughter’s direction. “Please do keep us informed as you ‘lock those details in’, so-to-speak.”
“Will do!”
“Do you happen to have met with any of the other alumni yet?”
Well, if Sunny hadn’t already deduced the identities of the other four, she almost certainly could, now.
“All of them, actually.” Wait, Cinch might take it as an insult that Sunny came last. “–Going in order of travel time, of course. Everypony else was within the city walls.”
“Even Miss Zap? I had believed she was currently employed in Cloudsdale.”
“You and I both. Turns out, she just happened to be at Lemon Zest’s place when I stopped by. Good thing, too, because I would’ve needed a refresher on my cloudwalking spell if she wasn’t.”
“There’s a spell for that?”, blurted Sunny Flare, startling both Sunset and Abacus. Her eyes were wide with… curiosity?
Abacus’s were narrowed with disappointed impatience.
“There’s a spell for pretty much anything,” Sunset answered, which there was. Sunset knew it was rude to say it out loud, but unicorns could do pretty much anything sinecorns could if they put their minds and talents to it. It wasn’t tribalist if it was true. Still, Sunset chose to keep that truth implicit: “Growing plants, bonding with animals, moving clouds around–”
And just like that, Sunny Flare was a statue again. The moment Sunset mentioned weatherwrightery, she picked a patch of carpet to be interested in and locked her jaw tightly shut.
“Right, well,” Cinch began, “that’s all very interesting, but back to the point: how did your other meetings go?”
“They’re all onboard. Some of them needed some nudging, but an opportunity to work for the Crown isn’t really something you just pass up.”
“Indeed not.” A subtle smile crept onto Cinch’s lips. “I am quite pleased to hear that, and thoroughly satisfied with what you have achieved in such a short time. You are an exceedingly efficient mare. If Princess Celestia did not play favorites with the school her magically-gifted students must attend for their regular coursework, I would have been delighted to have you as a student of the Princess Amore Memorial Preparatory Academy, Ms. Shimmer.” 
All Sunset could think was how grateful she hadn’t been. “Thank you, Mrs. Cinch,” she still said, through a smile on the verge of a cringe. “But I’m done with what I came here to do, so if that’s all, I should probably be getting out of your mane.”
“Understandable. I have no further questions for you.”
Sunset made a show of rubbing the back of her head with a hoof as she got up from the couch. “But, real quick, is there a coach stop around here that’ll take me back to the palace? We’ve been walking all day.”
Abacus nodded. “The coach service should still be running, this late.”
“Great! And do you mind if I borrow Sunny so she can show me where it is?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, but ultimately, Cinch nodded again. “Very well, if you must. Sunny, do be a dear and come right back home once you’ve shown Ms. Shimmer the way.”
“Yes, Mother.” With that, rigidly as an automaton, Sunny moved towards the door and held it open. “After you, Ms. Shimmer.”
“Uh, thanks.”
Smolder, thankfully, hadn’t run off. Sunset updated her on their plan for the trip back to the palace as they cleared the front lawn.
They then walked in silence until, the moment they were out of Cinch’s earshot, Sunny hissed to Sunset, slipping back into her normal accent, “You couldn’t just take no for an answer, could you?”
“Yeah, about that, look–”
“No, you look!” Her voice had raised to a speaking volume. “When this coronation turns into a catastrophe, you’ll be the one who’s really to blame, but it shall be my name credited on all the little brochures. I’m the one whose reputation is actually at stake.”
Sunset felt her blood temperature rising. “What makes you so sure it’s going to go that badly? And why are you blaming me?”
“Because you signed off on this! Duh! You dealt with Sugarcoat and figured she’d treat this momentous occasion with the respect it deserves, but she didn’t even blink when you told her who you were, did she? You spoke with Lemon Zest – and probably lost some of your hearing range in the process! You looked at Sour Sweet for more than five seconds and decided she was fit for anything more civilized than bog-wallowing in Bumrutt Nowhere, Maresachusetts!” Sunny was just shy of shrieking now.
A terrible, indignant heat burned in Sunset’s brow, and the only reason it didn’t spill out of her mouth or her horn to shut Sunny up was because the drama-hound in her desperately wanted to hear what Sunny had to say about her one omission. “What about Indigo?”
Sunny exhaled, dropping to a low grumble. “She’s fine. She didn’t stop talking to me the moment we all graduated–” She flinched. She did not mean to say that much. “I mean– Understand, dearie, that a single halfway-competent pony like Indigo does not, a successful celebration, make. And that’s including you in that count.”
A perfect opportunity to trip Miss Flare up again presented itself to Sunset. “And yourself, too, huh?”
But Sunny didn’t miss a beat. She just smiled real wide and hissed, “Yes! Like I’ve been trying to hint at for the past hour! Looks like it finally got through your thick skull, well beyond the point when it would have done either of us any good!”
“Wait, what?” Sunset’s anger was overridden with confusion.
“I don’t know how my mother chose to embellish my resumé to you, but it was all complete hogwash, I assure you. I do not remotely have the skills to do justice to the coronation of a rutting Princess, but what I do have – or, now, did have – is the good sense to know my inadequacies, mind my own business, and stay in my lane!
“But now,” she growled, “you’ve doomed me. From this day forward, I march into the open grave of what little potential I had left. If I could barely show my face in public before, I certainly won’t be able to after embarrassing myself on the national stage.”
Sunset rubbed her hoof on her temple. These histrionics were giving her a headache, and if this pity-party came with waterworks, Sunset was prepared to cut her losses and teleport back to the palace. It would be up to Smolder (who had been watching Sunny’s meltdown with some kind of amusement) to console her, if she wanted.
When it sounded like Sunny was catching her breath, Sunset just tiredly declared, “Look, if you really don’t want the job that bad, it’s not like you actually have to take it. We’ll find somepony else.” Somepony who doesn’t apparently loathe most of the ponies she’s supposed to be friends with.
“No, dearie! I do have to take this job now. I very much do. I do not have a choice in the matter.”
“Really? You’re a grown mare. Don’t you have a spine? Just tell your mom ‘no’.”
The look Sunny gave Sunset was… well, it was smug, but it was smug because it was pitying. It made Sunset’s pelt crawl. “I bet lashing out like that gets you everything you’d ever want, Little Miss Student-of-Celestia. It’s not like the Princess of Patience would ever disown you.”
Sunset… didn’t have a retort for that. Of course she didn’t. What, was she gonna tell Sunny Flare, ‘Actually, you’re wrong: I managed to peeve Celestia off so badly that even she, in all her patience, finally gave me the boot, and the only reason I’m not banned from the palace is that Celestia suspiciously disappeared before she could make it official’?
Rage boiled up. It was the only answer left to her. So did… something else. Something like sandpaper to her eyes, beading hot tears precariously onto the precipices of her lower eyelids.
But before Sunset could decide whether to ram her horn through Sunny’s throat or burn her to ashes or stomp her to pulp or drown her in a torrent of tears, the other unicorn announced, “Here’s the coach stop. Have a good night,” and she turned around and walked back home.
Sunset knew she needed to have the last word. Otherwise, this verbal joust would be a total, crushing defeat. Except that last word hitched in her throat with a sickening crack, and she didn’t know what it was, anyways.
In a flash of cyan, Sunset was back at her quarters in the palace, her face speared into a pillow, screaming in fury, anguish, despair, and all the other tenderest emotions which her recent employment had done a marvelous job of distracting her from.
She didn’t cry.
She definitely didn’t cry.
That’s not at all what she did.
> Chapter 10 - On Immortality
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Princess and her brilliant student were breakfasting in a quiet, empty banquet hall, whose privacy was gained by Guard-Captain Armor’s standing orders that nopony enter the room.
Sunset didn’t really remember anything from after she came back to the palace last night, but the tears she definitely didn’t shed had left her with a splitting headache called ‘dehydration’. She was on her third glass of ice-cold water, though she’d barely touched the strawberry pancakes Cadance had insisted on making herself (instead of letting the palace cooks do their job). Was she afraid they’d poison her or something?
It was hard not to take notice of the marks on Princess Cadance’s appearance. After yesterday’s confirmation that she hadn’t had a night of sleep since Celestia was foalnapped, it looked like she’d kept that waking streak going through one more – fifth – night. The bags under her eyes were a darker purple than her irises, and all the stray tricolor hairs undercut any youthful energy suggested by the blue bows tied around her dock and disheveled ponytail – a thread of carnation askew here, a slanting buttercup there, and a violet filament curling crooked underneath.
She looked like butt. Or like one of those prismaplastic dolls they made of her after spending half a decade buried in some filly’s backyard, only to be rediscovered when the parents excavated the old playsite to plant some roses.
Shining Armor was there, too, reviewing guard postings and patrol routes and schedules while picking at his meal every now and then. He was… frankly very deeply absorbed into it. The papers and scrolls covered a mattress-sized span of the banquet table. It was, perhaps, a point in his favor against the idea that he only got his position because he was smooching the Princess-in-Training.
But it was just the three of them. Smolder was not present, though she had taken the coach back to the palace, checked in with her brother, and been given a guest room of her own to stay in.
It was probably for the best. So far, Sunset had successfully avoided her (and the subjects of their little bet and the whole “being abandoned in a Canterlot suburb” thing), but she imagined it was a matter of time before the bored little drake crossed her path again.
In any case, Cadance had been relieved to hear that Sunset successfully recruited all five Harmony-Bearer candidates – though Sunset did not go into any deeper detail about them than the dossier provided. The Princess didn’t need to know how deeply underwhelming those candidates were. Hopefully, Harmony would sort them out in the end.
The Princess’s relief turned to displeasure when Sunset explained just how she’d played Headmare Cinch into levving her the dossier.
“Sunset.”
“Cadance?”
“What, exactly, am I going to tell the event crew managers when five new mares who aren’t even out of college yet show up to take over their jobs?”
Sunset shrugged. “Assign your crew to something else. It’ll make me more honest, retroactively.”
“I don’t think that’s how honesty works.”
Sunset scoffed. “If I was lying at the time, but the lie becomes the truth by the time anypony who heard the lie can find out, what’s the actual harm?”
“You’re making a lot of ponies scramble to prop you up, for one. Me, included.”
“Huh?”
“I’d hoped to keep my temporary coronation rather… low-key.”
Sunset looked at Cadance like she’d just announced plans to revert back into a pegasus. “Why on Equus would you want that?”
“So that when Celestia gets back, she can crown me for real, once she decides it’s time. Then we can go all out and spare no expense.”
Waving a dismissive hoof, Sunset looked down to actually consider eating her breakfast. “Eh, that just means we’ll have to find a way to one-up your first when that time comes. If it comes.”
“Sunset! Don’t say that!”
“What?” Sunset looked up, legitimately confused, to see shock and offence on Princess Cadance’s face. The student almost jumped out of her seat.
“We cannot give up hope that Celestia will return to us soon,” implored Cadance.
“Oh!” Backhoof time! “Wait, hold on! That’s not what I was trying to say at all. I just meant, once we do find her, she just might… keep you in training forever. Like she was planning with me.”
The apparent disgust faded into mere frustration. “That was not what she was planning for you.”
Sunset pointed her magehoofed fork at Cadance (causing Shining to tense up protectively). “How can you be so sure of that?”
Cadance sighed. “Because it’s what she always wants from her students. An equal. A peer. A companion. A friend. I know you’ve probably heard this plenty of times throughout your school years, but Equestria’s a Principality instead of a Queendom for a reason. No single pony was ever meant to rule the entire nation alone.”
“Well, you’re right that I’ve heard it before. And every time I did, I clocked it as the bullscat it was.” Sunset artfully refused to acknowledge the amount of time she spent ardently believing that bullscat as it pertained to her own possible ascension. “Do you seriously expect me to believe she wanted somepony to be her equal, despite ruling Equestria on her own for an entire millennium after giving her sister the boot?” Sunset stuffed a wad of pancake in her mouth and continued speaking through it. “Frankly, I think she found out she likes being an absolute monarch, but she won’t admit it because it goes against her image.”
Cadance heaved another, wearier sigh and leaned back in her chair, seeming to drop the subject in order to stare at the spot where she’d most recently parked the sun. After half a minute of quiet contemplation, she muttered, “She’s gonna kill me when she gets back,” and before Sunset could ask what she meant, the Princess explained:
“Okay, so, this is kind of a super big secret. It’s one that Celestia deemed necessary to let me in on, but… she really doesn’t want this to become common knowledge.” Cadance looked over her shoulder, as though Princess Celestia might have decided to make her return at the most dramatically-inconvenient time, even though there wasn’t anything there but the morning sunlight streaming in from the balcony.
 Still, she insisted on lowering her voice to say, “She had a plan for when Luna… comes back.”
Setting down her fork, Sunset asked, “What do you mean, ‘comes back’? Wasn’t she banished forever?” The sinking feeling in Sunset’s stomach gave her the answer before Cadance would.
Cadance winced and tapped her hooves together. “Not… exactly. That’s just what the history books say.” She took a couple moments to think. “You know how all the myths about how the Mare in the Moon got there came about, right?”
“Vaguely. The only people who actually knew why there was a horse’s face on the moon all of a sudden were the Equestrians who were there for the Ecliptic Crisis. Everybody else had to guess.”
“Right, which is why the variations from way outside of Equestria’s borders often get the species and nationality of the Mare in the Moon completely wrong. In a lot of Donkasian countries, she’s the Jenny in the Moon, for example, who hailed from whichever neighbor they had a rivalry with at the time.”
“You’re stalling,” Sunset pointed out.
“I am…” Cadance shut her eyes and took a steadying breath. “Look, some of those myths (particularly the ones that developed in territories that would later be incorporated into Equestria: places like New Yoke, Califoalnia, the Bittish Isles) – They got… something right that they shouldn’t have been able to get right. Maybe Nightmare Moon’s final cry of vengeance carried on the wind, or maybe they just got lucky assigning numbers. I mean, a thousand is a pretty even number for a storyteller to come up with on the spot.”
“She’s only stuck up there for a thousand years. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes. At the end of which, supposedly, the stars themselves will somehow play a role in her escape.” Cadance scanned the room (again) for eavesdroppers. “…I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.”
Sunset didn’t either, but that wasn’t where her mind was. Instead, she did some very quick math. The Ecliptic Crisis happened in 1010 SE, and the current year was, of course, Y2K.
“Nightmare Moon’s gonna be back in ten years?!”, Sunset shouted.
The Princess flinched, and urged Sunset, “Please don’t say it so loud! But… yes, Sunset, she will, and we don’t expect her to have cooled off in all that time. Auntie knew her little ponies wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, knowing that Luna’s banishment was temporary (even if old age would take them long before it came to pass), so she kinda… well, lied,” – she said the word with a conflicted frown, and (once again) scanned the room for eavesdroppers – “and assured everypony that Nightmare Moon would never, ever return.”
Sunset was about to snark about another of Celestia’s bad habits coming back to bite everypony, but she found her mouth unbearably dry. The moment to sass passed silently in the sipping of her water.
The implications demanded questions, but all her spiralling extrapolations could wait just another second. There was a precaution which apparently neither other pony in the room thought to take. It was odd that Shining hadn’t done it first, but he seemed pretty engrossed in his work. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed the sensitive nature of the conversation.
A sound-proof dome of shining aquamarine bubbled out of Sunset’s horn, surrounding herself, Cadance, and Shining Armor – the last of whom at first shot up from his seat with his own horn halfway-charged to shoot, before reassessing the situation, giving Sunset an ‘I’m watching you but go ahead’ glare-nod, and returning to his schedules.
Her voice recovered, Sunset asked, “So, lemme get this straight: Celestia wanted to keep the eventuality of her sister’s return hush-hush, dooming everypony to be completely blindsided when it happens a decade from now.”
As Cadance nodded, Sunset rubbed her temples.
“I can only assume she had a plan, because she has those out the butt. She didn’t happen to let you in on it, did she?”
Cadance smiled. “It’s the same one I trusted you with, if I understood all her hints correctly. She intended to find some virtuous Element-Bearers, so that Equestria would be ready for her return.”
Right. Virtuous. Well, they probably had enough time to find some more virtuous ponies than the candidates they had, and, worst case scenario, they still had an alicorn who could wield the Elements herself if need be – but banish her if a ten-year deadline didn’t feel as nigh as ten days when an alicorn’s vengeance was on the line.
Sunset cleared the ticking clock from her head with a vigorous shake. She’d have plenty of time to dwell on it later that night. “Okay, so, these ponies I recruited yesterday – if they get the job, they’re going to be the Bearers that come together with the Elements and kick her flanks back to the moon?”
“Well, we’re hoping she’s learned her lesson after all that time…–”
–“Yeah, fat chance.”–
“–But if it comes to violence, then… they’ll have to be prepared for that, too.” The words came out like a bandage, peeled off slow.
And the wound beneath was ugly. Sunset wouldn’t trust those bozos to successfully band together and take down a mildly-corrupt bureaucrat, by carrot or by stick – let alone a lunatic alicorn ex-Princess. It would take lifetimes for them to get over their heaping piles of issues, and they had one decade to prepare for what would pretty much be the apocalypse if they couldn’t bring back Celestia or alicornify Sunset in that time.
Like, okay, Sunset was good, but even she had to admit, she’d probably need the alicorn power-up to go hoof-to-hoof with somepony as ancient as Luna.
Sunset took a deep, heavy breath. “I almost wish you hadn’t told me.”
“Hence the secrecy.”
In that case, Sunset was slightly gladder to know. She’d make herself be gladder just to keep Celestia from being right about one more thing.
But besides that… “I just don’t get why that’s her plan. Not that it helps us now (unless we manage to restore Celestia before her sister’s parole hearing), but couldn’t she just… use the Elements herself like she did last time? She doesn’t like endangering her subjects’ lives, so why does she need six mortal Bearers to do the blasting for her?”
Cadance bit her lips, hesitating to answer.. “If I had to guess… She doesn’t think she has it in her.”	
“Huh? Like, she can only use the Elements so many times? Or do they drain your strength every time you use them?” –In which case, Sunset’s desire not to be on that team was increasing.
“No, nothing like that.” As the Princess softly shook her head, mixed emotions took over her face. Frustration with Sunset and/or Celestia was a given, but there was just as much sympathy and just as much despair. “It’s… She just… She misses Luna, and she regrets what happened. I’m sure you’ve picked up on that.”
“I have. Still, you’d think the Perfect Princess,” Sunset spat, “would choke it down and do what’s right for her ponies.”
“You and I both know she isn’t perfect.”
“Yeah, yeah. I just wanted to hear somepony else say it.”
When Cadance didn’t dignify that with more than a frown, Sunset took a minute, ruminating on a cold pancake, to contemplate the ever-spreading cracks in Celestia’s image.
She wanted to launder her guilt. To make other ponies do the dirty work so she didn’t have to stain her conscience with another act of pseudo-sororicide. Fine. That made sense to Sunset. She was satisfied with that motive.
She didn’t speak it aloud, though. Sunset got the sense that she’d pushed the envelope enough with her Celestia-bashing. Her position on Cadance’s court was very nice and she did not want to jeopardize it.	
Still, the answer wasn’t complete. Gulping down the fruity mush (and casting a quick food-heating spell), she instead doubled back to earlier. “You never answered my first question, though. Let’s pretend I’m completely convinced Celestia’s lonely at the top and wants somepony to replace Luna.”
Cadance winced. “She’s not trying to replace her sister, Sunset. That’s not how grief works.”
“Fine. Phrase it how you want. Regardless, she’s had almost a thousand years to do that. Why start now, with you and (supposedly) me?”
When Princess Cadance did not respond for several seconds, Sunset began to worry she’d crossed the line.
When the Princess then wordlessly rose from her seat with her brows knit, that worry transformed into certainty.
But instead of marching up to Sunset and kicking her rear, or having her Shining Armor do it for her, she just bowed her head, turned once more to the streaming light through the balcony window, and started pacing – not a lecturer paces, but as an anxious and many-times-burned conspiracy nut struts about after successfully suckering you into asking about their theory.
Except, there was no smile on her face. What she knew, or thought she knew, was a burden.
“Two things: one, yes, you are correct that there was a time when she wasn’t taking students. There’s a reason historians call the eleventh century the Despondency Period.
“–But two: we aren’t the first. Before Luna turned on her, they both tried to teach Equestria’s future Princesses together; and once the… the loneliness got to Celestia, and she started taking students again, she was only that much more desperate to have somepony ruling by her side.”
“What, are you gonna tell me those students of hers who gave their names to the universities I hit up when I went to meet Sugarcoat– that they were on the track to Princesshood, too?”
“Yes, actually!” Cadance did her best to smile in warming praise, but it was a cold light in her eyes. “Those two, and dozens of others. Who do we have here, again…?” The pacing stopped as the dossier flew from the table to Cadance, jerking to a stop before her eyes in her powerful yet artless cornflower-blue magegrip. Brushing aside her bang, she opened the folder to the relevant entry. “De Facto and Rosegold.”
“Neither of whom actually became alicorns,” Sunset noted.
“No, they did not…”
In the corner of her eye, Sunset spotted movement. It was Shining Armor, shaking his head and waving his forehoof in front of his throat. He seemed to be signalling her to shut up, or at least change the subject.
But Sunset carried on, despite Shining’s intensifying glare. “But I haven’t heard about anypony else making it to the end of the track, either, even though the Princesses had tons of students. What’s your explanation for that?”
There was a silence. It spanned what felt like many minutes. Both sets of eyes were on Cadance as she took several deep breaths… and started pacing about the bubble again, circling the table.
Halfway through her first rotation, she began, softly, “Quite a few of my lessons revolved around the beautiful lives of these students – my predecessors – and the lessons they taught their mentor in turn. She remembers ever so much. For each and every student she taught, Aunt Tia was bursting with charming little anecdotes she never really got to share with anypony else.
“Those were some of my favorite lessons. They didn’t even feel like lessons – more like Storytime with Auntie Tia. These moments where she opened up about herself were the ones where she felt most like she was genuinely my aunt, and not just the imposing monolith that was The Princess who’d adopted me as her ward for entirely political reasons.”
“She never opened up with me,” Sunset grumbled. Admittedly, Sunset had made it clear that her interest was in magic and nothing else, but that didn’t make her feel any less shorted.
Cadance dipped her head in what felt like sympathy. “She’s a very guarded mare.” Then, her tone took a turn for the… haunted. “Even the vulnerability she allowed me to see had its limits.”
Sunset spotted Shining packing up his charts and rosters, clearing a space for his marefriend to sit by his side… but she just continued her slow, steady pace around the table, even as he gestured for her to sit down.
She didn’t seem to notice.
Cadance just continued. “She never actually told me she meant to make these apprentices into fellow Princesses. That was something I figured out on my own, much later. At the time… I simply thought they were the lucky mares and stallions of their generations who got to study under her. 
“She had so many things to say about them as students – enough to get Mr. Kibitz on her case about losing track of her schedule – but… she never really had anything to say about their post-academic lives. 
“Not for lack of asking on my part. When I noticed this pattern in my teens, I tried to take a more active role in these particular lessons, but the answers she gave were brief, if I got one at all. Most of the time, she’d realize we’d gone over our time on the lesson and ask me to table it, or get sidetracked in another little story, causing us both to forget my question. On the occasions I did remember, afterwards, it was just never the right time or place to ask. She was always busy contemplating some matter of state, or we’d be shoulders-deep in a new lesson.
“I… eventually was able to take the hint that she didn’t want to talk about it, and assumed it was grief, or just the mundane fact that she stopped being such a big part of their lives once they graduated, but… it still nagged at me.”
Sunset could relate.
“Enough to go looking for other sources. Sometimes, I could track down a biography, but nowhere near as often as you’d think, and with nowhere near as many details as you’d hope. Too many of these texts cut off at the same point as our lessons, with maybe a passing reference to an unstated cause of early death.
“It just didn’t make sense. Surely, if not all the equinal students of Princess Celestia herself, then at least most of them, would go on to do great things and have a lot of books written about them, wouldn’t they? So why wasn’t that the case?”
At that moment, Cadance chose to look Sunset in the eye. “You might, um… One might say we’re both… a bit inquisitive for our own good, Sunset.”
The narrowly-unbanished mage raised a doubtful brow. “Really?”
The Princess fidgeted with her ponytail as she worked up either the words or the nerve to reply.
And when she did, it was a hay of a thing to drop: “You’re not the only one who went researching things behind Princess Celestia’s back.”
That had the mage’s full attention. “Wait, what?”
“If Aunt Tia and the public record wouldn’t tell me what I wanted to know, I’d just have to find out on my own.”
Well.
Well!
Here was some juicy lore to digest. Sunset wasn’t prepared for anything like that. “That’s… kinda cool, actually. I can’t believe there was a little bit of a rebel under that perfect pink Princess shell this whole time! –But how’d you get away with breaking into the forbidden archives?”
Cadance shook her head. “This knowledge wasn’t forbidden; just… not very easy to find, and I think it was encouraged to be that way. References in obsolete history books to incompletely-archived newspaper articles, citing footnotes in out-of-print biographies that weren’t even about the pony I was researching, quoting interviews that hadn’t survived the passage of time. It was in these scant excerpts I found the occasional reference to their future Princesshood that didn’t come to pass.
“I spent a lot of nights I should have spent sleeping, and a lot of silent reading sessions with Shining’s sister that I could have spent on something more pleasant to discuss with her afterwards, instead following these trails of ancient paper. It’d all be worth it in the end, I thought. It would bring me closure.”
“…But it sounds like it didn’t. More dead ends?”
A dry chuckle rattled from the Princess’s lips. “If only. So often, I wish that their fates were expressly forbidden for me to learn.”
Before Sunset could ask what that was supposed to mean, Cadance held up the dossier again. The spectre haunting her diction took on a hard, objective edge as she began to recite. “Rosegold… She was a diligent young mare, honest to a fault – but by her own admission, a little bit greedy, too. Her tutelage was cut tragically short when the freshly-discovered trove of the Celestial Sea pirate In-for-a-Penny was erroneously placed in the palace treasury, instead of the cursed artifact vault. To this day, they are still finding ‘counterfeit’ bits with Rosegold’s anguished face stamped on them.”
Sunset winced, but was afforded no opportunity to follow up. Cadance continued, “De Facto actually got off a little easier. You know, her university was founded in spite of her, not because of her.”
Sunset tilted her head.
“After Celestia found out she was using her station as Royal Student to make a mockery of thirteenth-century Equestria’s legal codes, exploiting every loophole and gap in regulation to get away with whatever petty whims she wanted, De Facto was reassigned to Tartarus for two-hundred years. Legally, it couldn’t be called imprisonment, or else De Facto would be entitled to total amnesty for her many, many not-quite-crimes.”
“So she died in prison? Or not-prison?”
“Oh, no, you don’t age in Tartarus. When her assignment was up, she emerged into a world she barely recognized, where the only living pony who knew her equinally was the mare who put her in Tartarus in the first place. When she saw that they’d dedicated an entire school of legal philosophy to preventing anypony like her from ever wreaking legal havoc again, she decided to quietly step down as Royal Student. She then disappeared on a retirement journey out west, which is where my research into her hit a dead end.”
“Okay…? I’m guessing these aren’t the only stories that don’t end well?”
Cadance’s pacing quickened, and she stopped looking at Sunset as she spoke. “Disappearances, betrayals, eternal slumbers, memory losses, experiments gone wrong… It’s like Celestia’s favor marks you for obscene, horrific misfortune.”
“She is Equestria’s first and strongest line of defense,” Shining acknowledged, speaking for the first time in the entire meal. “It puts everypony in Equestria in danger, especially those closest to her. We’re really hoping Operation Bearer changes that.”
“You’re right, my love. And it will.” Princess Cadance turned to smile almost expectantly at Sunset. “And you’re going to make that happen, for which I can’t find the words to express how grateful I am.”
If Sunset didn’t want to admit her progress on this ‘Operation Bearer’ was a bust before, she really didn’t want to, now. “Uh, yeah, you’re welcome! I’ll make it work.”
Cadance beamed even wider, but Sunset could not discern whether the reason it didn’t make it to her eyes was because Cadance didn’t believe her, or because Cadance didn’t believe herself. “Great! Great… Forgive me; I’m just getting worked up over my worst fears again. It’ll pass.”
Shining spoke first, in warning tone: “Don’t–”
But he was too slow. “What are those?”
“–ask.” His eyes practically bulged out of his head. “Really?!”
Shining tried to put a muzzle spell on Sunset, and it might have even stuck if Sunset hadn’t counterspelled it before it could lock shut around her snout.
Cadance, for her part, didn’t seem to notice. Her voice grew quiet as she answered Sunset’s prying question with a song:

—


“It’s happening again,


As it has always gone before:


A being without end


Meets an end she can’t ignore.”

That’s where the… marimba(?) started plinking its somber accompaniment. Some something-phone or other, whose notes resonated not from the crispness of wood or peal of metal, but the haunted vibrations of glass.
Whatever it was, Sunset was entirely confident it didn’t physically exist, which could only mean one thing:
They had a heartsong on their hooves.

“It’s happening again


As it will forever more.


This is what happens when


Fate comes back to settle scores…”

Sunset settled in, as did Shining Armor. They knew they were along for the ride.

—

The half-filled drinking glasses on the table chimed in with stringlike harpistry. There were more of them than Sunset remembered, and far more than were necessary for the three of them.
Cadance’s horn sparked up in cornflower blue to illustrate a scene, above the table, in shards of solidified magic like stained glass. The artistry was foalishly simple, but the power she had was undeniable, to operate so many moving parts at once.
All of it was formed from that same pale blue, but Sunset had seen Celestia paint her magic in all the color of the rainbow before. That was yet another alicorn ability she envied – the way an alicorn can just reattune her coronal chroma whenever she wants. Cyan was a piercing, powerful color for eyes, but if she had a choice, Sunset’s magic would burn with the hottest reds and oranges.
The diorama was of the throne room – usually a stronghold of solar warmth and the carefully-cultivated image of joy; but here, reconstructed entirely in cold blue, it felt more like a place of hostile, wintry isolation. There, a little effigy of Celestia (her paper-cutout mane waving in the still air just like the real deal) slowly traversed the runner-rug up to her throne, while scattered courtiers silently watched from the sidelines.
A little pegasus foal was there, too, her eyes glowing like no other’s, as she closely tailed the Princess. This scene must have been set before Celestia took Sunset in.

“One day, when I was small,


At Auntie Tia’s side,


I learned a lesson, accidentally:”

Just then, a chandelier plummeted from the ceiling. The art style was simplistic and monotone enough that none of the gory details came across, but it was patently obvious that Princess Celestia was impaled clear through the barrel and her neck was broken.
Shining frowned, deeply uncomfortable, and Sunset… couldn’t summon up the schadenfreude to enjoy it, herself. It mostly just made her feel ill.

“That a Princess Triune cannot die.”

On shaking legs, Celestia got up, her neck snapping back into place, her magic pulling the broken shaft of the chandelier from her heart like a sword from stone and setting it gently aside.
This, on the other hoof, was two parts amazing, one part terrifying – ‘awesome’ would be apt at any point in the history of the Equestrian language. Among so many other powers, this deathlessness was what Sunset longed for. All her limitless brilliance wouldn’t amount to much if her life and work were cut short by one stray explosion, one toxic fume, one invisible miscalculation.

—

Celestia’s image exchanged silent words of comfort to the figure of her quaking niece, who would have been crushed to death if the light fixture had fallen even a second later. Here began some kind of bell-instrument, played like a piano, accompanied by cymbals, softly clattering with gentle reverence. Finally, instruments that weren’t made of glass.

“That we, where our cards fall,


Take mortal blows in stride.”

It was then that Sunset noticed another figure, the likes of which she seldom gave any notice to: a palace servant, standing by a winch, her eyes bugging out of her head in fright. Couldn’t blame her; Sunset would freak out, too, if she accidentally committed an act of regicide that didn’t even work.

“She’d pass this gift on, incidentally,


After my Ascension, coming nigh.“


—


“And she would mete out mercy,


Where mercy she saw fit.”

The diorama cut away to a circle cut into sixths, each featuring Celestia in a different scene:

“For poison, knives, or burning,”

Choking on a cup of tea. The glint of a hooded figure’s blade in her sleeping chambers. Dragonfire on the castle walls. Not mentioned were decapitation (a guillotine and an angry mob), strangulation (dragged over Canterlite cobbles by the noose around her neck), and explosion (opening a present with a fuse and a splash radius).
Sunset was very grateful for the lack of realism at this point.

“So much would she forgive.”

Piecing back together the shards off the floor. Passing the dagger back to him, bloodied blade between her teeth. A bandage-mummy signing a treaty. Her head, nestled on a pillow, while she broke bread with the revolution’s representative and her body stood guard. Comforting a weeping behemoth of a stallion, rope still fastened around his barrel, beneath her broken wings. Wobbling like gelatin while she shopped for a safer thank-you gift.

“But when ponies, in their course,


Were harmed in the attempt,”

The scene cut back to the throne room, where a wardrobe, which had seemed out of place, popped open on its own, dumping out two (hopefully) unconscious ponies – one garbed in a maid’s dress and one naked. Cadance was probably taking some narrative license, abridging an entire plot of intrigue and investigation that would eventually prove that the chandelier accident was actually an assassination plot.

“They would learn, she hoped, remorse,


Through jail or banishment.”

The failed infiltrator was unceremoniously scene-transitioned into the castle dungeon.

—

Though the next scene also took place in the throne room, time had passed, and Cadance was now a full-grown pegasus, her eyes no longer so bright. Celestia was there too, of course, sat upon her throne, but the room was no less icy for the smile on her face.
That probably had most to do with the orderly rows of stonefaced ponies on either side of the approach, each wearing a uniform that clicked into place as soon as Sunset saw the familiar stick-bug figure of Headmare Abacus Cinch.
Cadance had sculpted her effigy taller than Celestia’s.
Nevertheless, the musical glasses began on the path to a swelling, triumphant crescendo that sent ripples through the drinks inside.

“When my eighteenth came, at last,”

– In a great periwinkle flash, Cadance and Celestia disappeared. Nopony reacted…
Except for a young teenage filly Sunset hadn’t even noticed, sitting beside the throne where Celestia’s size had obscured her. Sunset barely recognized her past self, who seemed – well, no, not seemed; Sunset remembered.
The then-student of Celestia, who had mentally checked-out the moment the Princess had told her it was a celebration for Cadance, was startled out of her book and her disinterest by her mentor’s disappearance. She was, at that moment, starting to get the idea that this wasn’t a typical throneside achievement ceremony.

“So too did I Ascend.”

When they both reappeared, Cadance sported a new horn on her head. Her classmates politely stomped their applause without so much as turning to face her, and only at Cinch’s nodded approval.
Likewise, at that moment, after picking her jaw up off the ground, little Sunset herself blinked away to the royal library.
That was where Sunset’s recollection of this scene ended… but they were only two lines into the stanza.
What did she miss?

“And before I let my hour pass,


New magic, I’d extend.“

Her horn lit up.
The glasses were at their peak.

“All I wanted was to wink,


to check reality.”

Oh no. Sunset didn’t have to have seen this to know where it was going. And from the way Shining turned away, his muzzle going green… he had personally borne witness.

“Not a second did I think”

The glass harp trilled a shrill, sour note, and several of its constituent vessels shattered, soddening the tablecloth.

“I’d taste mortality.”

Half of Cadance teleported to the other end of the throne room. The other half did not.
To their credit, the statues of Crystal Prep reacted, that time.

—

The gruesome diorama flickered out as Cadance repeated her chorus, accompanied only by the crystal marimba and the surviving water-glasses, whose tone hummed lower than their broken kin:

“It’s happening again,


As it has always gone before:


A being without end


Meets an end she can’t ignore.


It’s happening again


As it will forever more.


This is what happens when


Fate comes back to settle scores…”

A cold sweat beaded on her brow, and several more hairs had slid loose from her pearlescent mane. Sunset and Shining exchanged glances, silently asking each other if they should try to intervene, or if the heartsong would make them join in if they dared.
Before either of them could settle on a course of action, however, it was time for the next section of the song.

—

This one was not accompanied by any coronal puppetshow: just Cadance’s plaintive, weary face.

“An alicorn can’t die,


So what must our foes do?


Listen to me, please, on our history,


And you’ll learn to cherish ev’ry breath.”

And she took a deep one, but instead of powering the next verse, it just crept back out as a sigh.

—


“Forever is no lie,


But not exactly true.


Read between the lines, past the sophistry:


There are fates on Equus worse than death.“

Cadance’s horn began to glow again.

—

A full, blue moon hung over the dining table, above the spires of… some blocky stone castle looming over its crude city, all of which lay nestled between tight-packed pines on all sides. It all had a certain stylization to it, lacking perspective, scale, or any successfully-straight lines; like it was cobbled together from half-remembered illustrations found moldering in medieval manuscripts.
This couldn’t be Canterlot, yet all the statues and pillars and domes screamed ‘capital’, and it resembled no city that Sunset had ever heard of. She assumed the Diurnal Throne had always been on the Canterhorn, but apparently not. Where was this, then?
Regardless, two alicorn Princesses stood atop the highest battlement of the unfamiliar castle, at opposite ends, facing each other.
One’s face was twisted in rage. The other’s straddled a very familiar threshold, where concern gives way to frustration. Celestia looked upon her sister the same way she looked down at Sunset, right before banishing her.
The bell-piano was back, tolling a distant alarm, while the cymbals tapped out an impatient argument against the lowest notes of a harp (stringy harp, not glass harp), and the stomping of a big, bassy war-drum.

“We all know of Luna’s fate,


her sentence ending soon.


Resentments boil’d into hate,


voiced through Nightmare Moon.”

If the harp was growling before, now it roared, as the Luna doll slipped into plated boots and donned her helmet with her hooves.
This was absolutely not how Sunset was taught the Ecliptic Crisis, nor how the myth of the Mare in the Moon told it. If they were to be believed, the Mare was corrupted by some power she tampered with, hidden on the dark side of what ironically became her prison, that clad her in the armor of darkness before Celestia’s sun and the Elements of Harmony did her in.
Cadance’s rendition of events (learned from Celestia herself, whether that made them more or less trustworthy) seemed to suggest that Nightmare Moon was a persona, and there was no corruption at all: just a grown mare taking her future into her own hooves.

“But in spite of all her scorn,”

The sisters’ pitched instruments dropped off – leaving just the cymbals Sunset couldn’t help imagine in gleaming brass, and the white-faced drum – as they took to the skies, in a dogfight litigated as much by the kicking of hooves and slashing of wing-blades as by the beams of solar and umbral energies they exchanged. Both sisters casually shrugged off injuries that would have killed a mortal pony.

“And all her wicked might,”

Celestia was always on the defensive, always fleeing, but wherever she flew, Luna followed, smashing and shearing chunks off the masonry with every stray attack.

“She was but an alicorn,”

Ducking behind their castle, Celestia emerged back into view surrounded by six orbs that orbited around her barrel, spinning faster and faster, glowing brighter and brighter. The bell-piano returned, not to gloat in victory, but to deliver a sentence.

“As fragile as the night.”

Six swirling beams shot out from what Sunset was forced to conclude were the Elements of Harmony. The scouring light ripped Luna (and her unseen harpist and drummer) apart, into inky flecks of darkness that splattered across the moon like so many drops of black paint, leaving craters that weren’t there before in the pattern of a mare’s head. A single equine and her consciousness, thinly spread across miles and miles of moonrock like a skin on a griffin tanner’s rack.
And not for too much longer, in the grand scheme of things. Sunset was never going to be able to look at the moon the same again, was she?
Celestia’s instruments faded out as the now-monarch collapsed on the castle’s roof.

—

The aquamarine moon exploded into countless flakes of magic snow that smothered and buried the old city-in-the-wood. The blizzard did not abate, even well after the last shaving of magic should have fluttered down.
It wasn’t until the jagged spires started rising from beneath the blanket that Sunset realized this wasn’t an explanation of how that ancient settlement fell, but a transition to a scene much further north.
The craft took a massive step up, here. Cadance, of course, knew well the points and facets of Crystal-Imperial architecture. The city-state that was grown – not built – in this wasteland of ice… was probably anachronistic, but that could be excused. No artistic depiction survived of the place, and very little of Imperial culture made it into the history books; Cadance based her model on the works of the foals and grandfoals of crystal ponies who found themselves stranded in Canterlot with no home to go back to.

“And what about Amore?”

To a fanfare of glassy chimes, a towering, royal unicorn mare emerged from the hollow beneath a mountainous central palace, so massive and steep as to rival the Canterhorn’s peers in the Michicanter branch of the Gallopallachians. Admittedly, most of them were just jumped-up hills, but still: Canterlot could have been built on the Crystal Citadel’s side. 
But in any case: what about Amore? She wasn’t even an alicorn.

“Though yet to reach Ascent,”

A dark mist had crept into the flurrying snow, which Sunset only now noticed at the same time as the deep rumblings of a lithophone carved from columnar basalt. Though the shade could not pass through the invisible dome over the city-state that kept it dry and warm, that didn’t stop the smog from blotting out Sunset’s view of the place and, presumably, the sun’s as well.
This must have been the self-titled King Sombra.

“Her tale echoed all the way


down her line of descent.”

Yeah, yeah. This one was equinal. Still not an alicorn. Still shouldn’t count.
Suddenly, Celestia and Luna dove, from out-of-scene, into the inky fog. Beams of light broke through the clouds, and glows like hidden lightning cast silhouettes of the alicorns pursuing the long, distorted shadows of a wraithly unicorn stallion.
Then, just as abruptly, six twirling beams of light punctuated Cadance’s story and punctured the clouds. If there had been any sound other than Cadance’s singing and the various sovereigns’ motif percussions, Sunset was sure she would have heard the dark king howl in pain as his lithophone and corporeal form broke, seeping into the permafrost below as so much inky dew.

“She thought Sombra nullified,


But vanishing, he cursed”

The brume did not fade with its master. Instead, it imploded into the heart of the onyx-wracked city. Sombra’s fate already sealed, he had no more need of a throne or subjects. Before his strength left him, the sore loser would use what remained to burst the victor’ bubble. Sunset had scorched enough earth in school to recognize it from somepony else.
And her history lessons had taught her how the Empire’s story ended. Princess Cadance’s birthright was stolen into the void of time that exists between two nights of a winter so far north the sun cannot reach. It took the entire royal family with it… or so it was believed at the time.

“Her hale body petrified,


Shattered, and dispersed.”

The crystal chimes were cut from their cords. Splinters of Cadance’s grand ancestor volleyed the world in all directions. Sunset instinctively shut her eyes, but the gouging never came; her fragments evaporated into ambient magic as they crossed the threshold of the dining table.
The smoke was still clearing as she opened her eyes. When it was all gone, there remained only a field of snow, a whistling gale, and two alicorns who refused to look each other in the eye.
They had failed their ally. Amore would never be put back together again. Only the sisters survived to take the blame.
And blame they did.

—

Another chorus, another exchange of uncomfortable Looks between Sunset and Shining Armor. Sunset was resigned to wait until Cadance was done, but Shining…
He looked so helpless. He clearly wanted to do anything at all to comfort his marefriend, but the only option afforded to him was to let the heartsong run its course. You did not interfere with Harmony unless you wanted to get swept up in its inscrutable design.

“It’s happening again,


As it has always gone before:


A being without end


Meets an end she can’t ignore.


It’s happening again


As it will forever more.


This is what happens when


Fate comes back to settle scores…”


—

The snow melted into a sea of blue grass (though the music thankfully didn’t change genres to reflect that). It was just the marimboid now, playing a simplified version of the verses’ melody.
In the middle of a great prairie, hemmed in by azure mountains, was a lonely farm. It was the least blurry object in the diorama, or perhaps the most clearly-remembered. It dwarfed the markless pegasus filly that fluttered above the shifting alfalfa fields, but so did the two adult earth ponies doing… some kind of farm work or other. What kind, Sunset didn’t know, nor really care.
Cadance hadn’t placed any recognizable landmarks on the horizon, but Sunset knew where it was supposed to be: far to the west, in rural Bittish Coltlumbia County, somewhere among the foothills outside of Vanhoover.
Of all places, these sticks are where they just happened to find the last living descendant of the Amore bloodline – maybe two or three years after Sunset was born, with plenty of time left to prepare her to sit on her ancestral throne – being raised by nopony farmers who adopted her as a foundling.
How ridiculously fortunate.
Contrived, even.
Sunset didn’t have any proof, but she certainly suspected that Celestia had planned things to happen this way. Something, something, she set it all up to make sure the heiress was raised with humility, instead of any expectations of the birthright she was owed.

“I was nothing special;


A filly with no fate.


Then my whole life changed, irrevocably,


When the Solar Princess sought me out.“

The Celestia effigy touched down on the one road to little Cadance’s homestead and began wading through the grain to meet her soon-to-be niece. Whatever she said made the little pegasus drop out of the sky mid-wingbeat and into the windswept grain.

—

The fields gave way to a familiar hall of the Celestia Palace, where Celestia led a teenaged Cadance, still a blank-flanked pegasus, to a certain fateful chamber.
The mirror room.
The scene zoomed in until it was just that accursed mirror, framing an older, taller Cadance – the alicorn she would become. A simple and unfamiliar crown sat upon Cadance’s head, complimenting the contented smile on her slender face.

“I would be the vessel


For all love, incarnate;”

She was not alone. The Princess of Love was flanked by her coltfriend, whose plated laminar was far more regally-decorated here than even that of a Royal guard-captain’s.
And, upon his back, a foal slumbered. Her front half was hidden by her apparent father’s thick neck, but the tips of wings peeked out, tucked against her body.

“By my Beloved, inseparably,


I beheld our future without doubt.“

The view peeled back to show the effigy of Cadance, grappling with awe and joy.

—

All the instruments went mute at once. Sunset had a sinking feeling she knew where this was going, and her fears were confirmed when the bell-piano took over the crystallophones’ melody.

“What I saw in the mirror


Should put my heart at peace,


But I felt even clearer


A cause for deep unease.”

In a library dimly lit, the stacked books built a prison of knowledge for a Princess whose curiosity burnt her almost as bad as Sunset’s own had singed herself.

“My Aunt shall live forever;


This, I am still certain.


But all her grace, however,


Could not–”

The diorama flickered out. The bell-piano cut off in the middle of the line, and her voice hitched, but she – or the spirit of Harmony possessing her vocal chords – powered through it. The bells did not.

“–Could not stay the curtain.


—

When the illusion came back, it was just the likeness of Cadance herself, hovering above the table, her expression as distraught as the one on her real face. Likewise, the only instruments still playing were those musical glasses.

“Only I remain unharmed,


But who can say how long?


Tutorless, I am unarmed


For when it all goes wrong.”

A shadowy mass formed on the periphery, looking kinda like an amalgam of Sombra and Nightmare Moon, but which crackled with electricity like whoever was involved in Celestia’s disappearance.

“I fret for myself little,


Instead, for my belov’d.”

Effigies of ponies popped into existence – plural; not just her Shining Armor – orbiting around Cadance. The earth ponies who raised her, throneside aides like Kibitz and Raven, and several assorted ponies Sunset just did not recognize. It made a certain sense that the Princess of Love considered anypony even slightly close to her to be among her beloved.
That still didn’t take away the shock of Sunset herself being there, too.

“Whose lives are oh-so brittle,


And shatter with a shove.”

That dark figure darted from doll to doll, dusting each along its path into thousands of glasslike shards as it worked its way closer and closer to Cadance at the center. Sunset winced as she saw her own figurine obliterated, the azurified flame that was her mane winking out last, like a ghostly candle.
When the assailant, done destroying all her loved ones, finally reached Cadance, the projection and instrumentation ceased at once.

—

Once last chorus, whose second meanings crept into Sunset’s understanding.

“It’s happening again,


As it has always gone before:


A being without end


Meets an end she can’t ignore.


It’s happening again


As it will forever more.


This is what happens when


Fate comes back to settle scores…”

And then the heartsong was over. No more music, no more lyrics, no more dancing visions of despair.

—

Cadance needed a minute to catch her breath, during which Shining Armor practically ejected from his seat (the chair’s feet scraping against the tile with a groan) to trot to the side of his marefriend and… fish for words for a few seconds before settling on a silent nuzzle, swiftly reciprocated.
It looked like Sunset would be the first one to speak. She had a very pressing question. “You consider me… close to you?”
A smile returned to the Princess’s muzzle. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I?”
“We only really started talking like four days ago.”
“But you’ve done so much for me in those four days! Plenty of ponies have stepped up to help me through this catastrophe, but your aid has been as much of a blessing as it’s been a surprise. I am so, so unbelievably thankful to you. I… know you have your own, self-interested reasons, but that doesn’t change the material good you’ve done by my side. I’d like to consider us friends – if not now, if you think it’s too soon; then someday soon, once all this foalnapping, and coronation, and dragon business is behind us.”
Oh. That actually kind of touched Sunset’s heart a little, which was annoying because it totally disarmed her. “Uh, yeah, I guess I’d like that, too.”
“For what it’s worth,” Shining interjected, as he threw a foreleg around his lover’s back, “if we’re going to keep working this closely as courtiers in the future, I’d rather you and I were on good terms, too. Even if you do make that really difficult sometimes.”
Well, fine. She could apologize – and kind of mean it, too. “Sorry. To both of you. I didn’t intend to make you pour out your heart in song like that, Cadance.”
Cadance shook her head. “No, it’s fine; I needed to let that out here. If I didn’t, I’d just have that breakdown in front of somebody whom I can’t trust not to use it against me.” She took an unsteady breath. “Best to get it over with in the last moment I’ll have sorta to myself that I’ll have before nightfall. Did you know Cetus has taken it on himself to pay our court a personal visit?”
“…Who?”
“…Prince Cetus, Sultan of Zanzebra? One of the three zebra Princes?” Not immortal, just ageless, from what Sunset recalled from her very brief reading about them, since there were four until they had to put down Abraxas – and not all that impressive on the power front, either. “Despite the name, Cetus is a zin zebra, not a whale – but he’s here on behalf of them. Every cetacean in the Leviathan Ocean would really like to know why the tides have stopped.”
“So how are you gonna tell him that the moon won’t listen to you?”
“I have no idea.” Cadance set about retying her mane to try and make herself look a bit more presentable. Her alar dexterity was a lot better than her coronal. “I can’t imagine he’d be too happy to hear he’s going to have to make the waves himself if he wants to help his neighbors, but I don’t see any other solution.”
Sunset didn’t really have any better ideas. “It seems like there aren’t very many of those right now.”
“Nope. Not with Cetus, not with the Dragonlord. I hope I can keep Garble from blowing his lid at me again.”
“Oh, yeah, Smolder blabbed about that to me. I take it Garble doesn’t believe us when we tell him we don’t have the scepter?”
Another shake of the head, with a frown. “Oh, I got him to believe me about that around yesterday afternoon, but that doesn’t really change anything. He says he can’t really go back to the Dragonlord empty-clawed, and the way he talks about Dragonlord Torch, I’m inclined to believe him.”
Smolder’s descriptions of dragons being ‘smashed flat’ sprung to mind. “So what do we do? Give him a fake to take to Torch and tell him to fly like Tartartus the moment it’s out of his hands?”
Cadance looked thoughtful. “…I’ll note that as a possible backup plan, but I’d really rather we just found the Sceptre. Somehow. The thief was a pony seen to be travelling into Equestria, so… hopefully it’s still here?”
“Is anypony even looking for it?”
Captain Shining fielded this one. “As soon as the dragons told us why they were here, I had the Royal aides write to and telegraph all of Equestria’s major police and guard offices. That’s about the best we can do without any more specific info on where it went or who stole it.”
“Okay…” That sure didn’t inspire confidence, given these were the same agencies that wouldn’t take orders from Cadance until she was crowned.
But that was only one of many crises Sunset wanted an update on. “What about Celestia’s abduction? Any news there?”
Shining opened his mouth – then hesitated for a moment with a wary scowl – but ultimately decided to tell Sunset, anyways. “Some reports have come in from Everfree County that we’d normally let the locals handle–”
“–But?”
“Patience! You’re as bad as my sister.”
“Twilight’s not that bad,” protested Cadance. Then she sighed, either mournfully or wistfully. The two could be hard to distinguish sometimes.
“Anyways,” Shining continued, reasserting control over the conversation, “these reports listed a scattering of occurrences that took place in the Everfree Forest around the morning of the Incident. Normally, this wouldn’t mean anything, since there’s never a time when Ponyville doesn’t have some trouble to report, but given the Everfree Forest has been pretty well-behaved all summer until the storm that enveloped the entire Provincial airspace that afternoon rose from it…”
Sunset kicked herself for not prying a little deeper into Indigo Zap’s account of that day.
“Many ponies heard thunder coming out of the forest while the skies were still completely clear. There was also a fire between the hours of four and five, which the storm thankfully doused before it got out of hoof, but the cause is still unknown.”
“Seems pretty obvious to me. Somepony was playing with lightning.”
“That’s our suspicion, and I think it might just have been our electric earth pony.”
“Really? Seems like kind of a stretch. It’s not like it’s that hard for any teenage unicorn to zap a tree for the hay of it.”
“The Everfree Forest has its ways of making sure that teenagers don’t make it that deep, if the deer don’t escort them out, first.” Shining projected several figurines onto his laid-out plans, like pawns on a war map: a cluster of deer, of course, but also manticores, basilisks, puck-wudgies, flories, and all sorts of other little monsters. “While I can’t say you’re not wrong that it might be a false lead, it’s the only one we have. As such, I’m sending Flash Sentry down to check it out.”
“Why him?”
“He’s seen the perp and their work. Maybe he’ll recognize something familiar about the situation.”
“I also saw them, and I can actually trust myself to tell the difference between cloud lightning and electromancy. You should’ve asked me if I wanted to go on a vacation to the woods. Princess knows I could handle anything it throws at me.”
“Right,” Shining deadpanned. “Rest assured that Sentry has not been sent alone. He’ll be accompanied by two of his fellow guardsponies, whom I’ve seen him work well with: one unicorn and one earth pony. Between the three of them, and their guides from the local deer enclave, I trust there to be a safe and thorough investigation.”
Hm. Sunset hadn’t seen that one sleazebag unicorn on her way to breakfast this morning, and he was usually stationed between her quarters and here. “I’m guessing, what’s-his-name – Dingo?”, she ventured, “And that big guy he’s always hanging out with. Brawly Something-or-Other.”
“Ringo and Brawly Beats,” Shining grumblingly corrected. “But that’s beside the point. Don’t you have your own project to get back to?”
“Huh? I already did my part. I’m waiting on you and Cadance to tell me when this coronation’s gonna be so I can drag these girls to the palace.”
Cadance flinched. “Oh, I suppose I got sidetracked before I could tell you…”
Ah, shoot. More bad news. “Tell me what?”
“Well, the thing is… The other reason what you promised the Headmare and these girls really throws a wrench in the works is, well… I do kinda need to get coronated soon if I’m going to give Equestria’s law-enforcement and intelligence agencies orders to focus their efforts on the search for Celestia, instead of just suggestions.”
“…How soon are we talking?”
“It’s already on the schedule for the 26th.”
A week from then.
Sunset burst from her chair, its heavy gold feet scraping the polished marble terribly, and announced, “I’ve got some letters to write. Where’s Smolder?” Then, not waiting for an answer and eschewing any sort of table manners, she rolled up her remaining pancakes like a stack of rugs, stuffed them in her mouth, and bolted horn-first through the shell of her soundproof bubble, popping it instantly.
> Chapter 11 - The Start of Something Terrible
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Break of Dawn was a wide, sorf-of-octagonal courtyard in the eastern side of the Celestial Palace’s floorplan, built specifically for public events like this. It had space enough to set up a big-top circus-tent and still have room for all the funnel cake vendors and fortune tellers and band stages one’s heart desired – though, of course, no festivities so lowbrow as a circus ever touched the space.
The central plaza was paved in jasper and red granite in a fitting replica of Celestia’s swirling solar cutie mark, from which winding paths snaked like solar flares through the rest of the yard. Most of the spaces between were turfed over in grass trimmed thrice-daily, but here and there were ornamental ponds and naturalistic shrubs that kept the place looking pleasant even when nothing was going on.
It was walled on all sides with airy pillars and rainbows of stained glass, except for two ramps on the northeast and southeastern walls, that tunneled underneath the castle to connect to the streets of Canterlot, so that the public might attend the events held here.
The Break of Dawn was the traditional grounds on which Canterlot held its Summer Sun Celebration (continuing to be held annually even after Princess Celestia started touring to raise it in a different town or city each year; the locals weren’t just gonna stop raking in the tourism bits) – as the Astral Eyrie proudly towered above, rising from the palace’s center. This, Canterlot’s oldest observatory, was the structure from whose balconic platform the missing Princess would, every dusk and every dawn, lower and raise her sun and her moon. (Cadance, on the other hoof, was so busy that she just guesstimated where these celestial bodies were supposed to be on the spot, wherever she was at a given time.)
It seemed only fitting that Sunset and her recruits (and Smolder, who had invited herself so as to remind Sunset of the bet she lost) commandeered the Break of Dawn for the Coronation of Princess Cadance.
None of those recruits seemed thrilled to be here.
It was a little past two, and Lemon Zest was asleep on her hooves.
Sunset asked, “I take it she’s used to sleeping in?”
“Yes. But no,” Indigo Zap answered, in Lemon’s stead (and smacked the edge of her wing on the back of her head, very briefly rousing her). “She’s just been up all night. Again.”
“Present!”, Lemon announced, raising a wing to the sky. When she noticed she wasn’t sleeping in class and had, in fact, graduated a few years ago, that wing fluttered back down to her side and the night owl (night fowl?) drifted back to sleep.
Meanwhile, Sugarcoat was decidedly still in class. As soon as she had arrived at the Break of Dawn, she found herself a nice patch of plaza to spread her books and papers out on so she could chip away at her accounting coursework. Several paperweights (that frankly just looked like rocks) held her paperwork down so the gentle breeze coming from the tunnels didn’t carry it off. Everypony else had to awkwardly clump around her workspace while she ignored them.
Sour Sweet was probably the only pony gathered there with a smile on her face, and Sunset knew better than to trust it. “Oh, give her a break, Go-Go!”, she sweetly cooed, and Sunset counted the seconds before the other horseshoe dropped. “It’s not like any of us were told we needed to be ready today.”
One and a half seconds, by the way.
“I saw it coming,” commented Sugarcoat, finally deigning to address her company. She did not look up from her homework. “Royal authority is specifically vested in the ceremony of coronation, not the state of alicornity, so Mi Amore Cadenza needed Sunset to throw together this rush-job of an inauguration as soon as possible. She’s got a Princess to look for and/or a throne to usurp.” She cleared her throat. “I cleared my absences with my professors as soon as Sunset was out of sight.”
“Wait. What was that about usurpation?”, asked Indigo. “Princess Cadance wouldn’t do that. Would she?”
“She’s not a usurper,” insisted Sunset, with a mocking laugh. “She doesn’t have it in her.”
But Indigo still looked to her lawyer friend for an answer.
“I wouldn’t know,” Sugarcoat told Indigo, then to Sunset: “I don’t trust you to be honest about that, but I particularly care, either, as long as she dots all her I’s, crosses all her T’s, and uses her power to deal with the dragon problem.”
Before Sunset could probe into what she meant by that, Lemon awoke with a start. “Whazzat? Dragons?” Then, laughing, she nudged the shoulders of the nearest ponies (Indigo and Sour) and rambled, “Man, you guys should listen to Ragecrater. Immolator bucking shreds. It’s awesome.” Thankfully, her friends were content to let that tangent of hers die unanswered as Lemon slowly drifted off again.
Smolder joined the conversation at that point, scrambling up from where she’d been lying in the grass to point her clawed finger at Sugarcoat. “You got a problem with dragons, blue pony?” She was trying really hard to be intimidating. Even knowing she could back herself up with firebreath if it came to it, Sunset found the little drake’s challenge to this pudgy horse who was more than twice her size adorable.
Snickering, Sour slid over to Smolder’s side. “Yeah, Sugarpie!~ Since when were you an antisaurist?” It was plain from the scat-eating grin on her face that she didn’t believe a word she was saying and just wanted to help instigate.
Sugarcoat did not flinch at these accusations of bigotry, her response coming confidently and collected: “I didn’t mean it like that. –”
– Smolder tried to retort, “Sure you didn’t,” (or something to that effect) –
But Sugarcoat motor-mouthed right past her without even a moment’s interruption. “I’m assuming you’re related to the envoy sent by the Dragonlands that my professors have been gossiping about. It would go a long way to explain why the Royal Student is drakesitting you. But even if you aren’t, that does not change the fact that there is an envoy. The Dragonlands don’t do envoys unless they’re mad at us but aren’t quite ready to destroy both of our nations in a bloody, fiery war. There is a problem, and it involves dragons; ergo, there is a dragon problem. I was not factually incorrect to label it as a dragon problem; only unclear in my wording. You are owed nothing more than a brief apology, so here it is: sorry.” She said all that without even taking a breath. “I rest my case.”
Smolder shrugged, instantly bored the moment she lost her potential casus belli. “Yeah, fine, whatever.” She flopped back down into the grass.
And without a casus foederis, Sour Sweet lost her interest in antagonizing Sugar, too. She remarked, “Well, at least one of us had the foresight to plan for a complete scatshow. Isn’t that right, Sunny?” Sour Sweet turned to Sunny Flare with the kind of grin a mewling right-hoof mare showed to the leader of her clique because she wanted approval – and the others turned to her as well. The gang hadn’t been back together for more than five minutes, and already, the old social routines that lay dormant in the muscle memory shook off the dust and reasserted themselves.
–Or they tried to, but Sunny Flare wouldn’t let them. She gave no acknowledgement of Sour’s snark whatsoever: no comment, no expression, not even a glance her way.
It was weird that this quiet, self-loathing shrimp was so seemingly coded as the leader of the bunch. She sure wasn’t acting like it, physically and silently standing apart from all her supposed friends. Even the dragon with no reason to give a crap about any of this had found something to say.
Sour’s smile deflated into a pout. “What’s your problem?”
“I’m just here to do my job.” Wasting no breath, Sunny Flare asked Sunset, “Which is…?”
Ah, right.
“Okay, now that everypony’s here, we can begin.” Scanning the disgruntled crowd again, Sunset decided to inject some extra mollification into the briefing. “Again, sorry for the short notice. Even I was blindsided,” she added, absolving herself of guilt – then, crucially, continuing before anypony could challenge her on that: “But, now that we know we have a week until the big day, we should get started right away.”
Sunset grinned, and it was not entirely insincere. She was proud of herself, having already figured out the perfect role for each and every one of them. Especially Sunny Flare. Oh, she had something special in mind for her…
But Sunset would let her squirm in anticipation, first.
“Sour Sweet, since you volunteered for it, you’re overseeing catering. Remember; we need both a meal for the post-coronal feast and, like, festival fare for all the booths that are gonna be set up around this court, so please make sure there’s some variety in your meal plan, alright?”
“You’d be surprised just how many different ways there are to prep cranberries,” Sour assured her, undaunted.
Sunny Flare gagged. Indigo winced. Lemon stirred uncomfortably in her sleep.
“I’ll bring my own dinner,” declared Sugarcoat.
“I’m sure you know at least one meal that doesn’t involve cranberries.” Sunset moved on, before Sour could protest the sacrilege. “Lemon Zest, you’re on music–”
No sooner had the word left Sunset’s mouth did Lemon take to the air, wings splayed and forelegs piercing the sky, shouting her “WOOHOO!” to the heavens. Then, she paused, hanging in the air like a Cloudsdale scarecrow as her drowsy brain stumbled for the words to ask, “Wait… how loud am I allowed to get?”
Sunset looked around the Break of Dawn. “It’s a pretty big court. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“RADICAL!” Lemon shot another three yards higher with a looping twirl, and then came back down to Equus like she was trying to buck the pavers out of the ground. Her two back hooves skated along on horseshoes which kicked up way more sparks than they had any right to, while her wings and forehooves whipped out an air guitar, which, through some weird trick of pegasus magic, actually resonated as a wild and sloppy guitar solo (though, since the skies were clear that day, it was acoustic).
Lemon met Indigo’s waiting wing with a pinions-high as she skidded to a stop. More weird pegasus magic intervened with the natural qualities of air and sound, so that when their wings slapped together, there was an actual clap instead of a dull, feather-muffled thud.
Seemingly subconsciously, Sugarcoat whistled an echo of Lemon’s melody as she slid around the beads on an abacus. It was a very uninspired cover: more technically competent, perhaps, but without the zest of Lemon’s performance.
Other receptions were less enthusiastic. Acoustic or not, it was still loud enough that Sunny begrudged herself to sit on the lawn just so she could clasp her ears under her hooves. She didn’t even notice the green stains it left on her hindquarters until she caught Sour Sweet snickering at her. With a turn and a scowl, the unicorn conjured some kind of ethereal lavender rag and wiped the mess away.
Sunset allowed herself to join in on the laughter, but only briefly. They had a schedule to keep. “Indigo Zap, as the only other pegasus on the crew, you’re in charge of weather.”
An ambitious grin split Indigo’s muzzle. “Baller! Can do.”
It looked like that was all that needed to be said, until Sugarcoat volunteered another comment. “Looks like I’ll be bringing an umbrella, too.”
Okay, that was probably a bad sign. Sunset should probably establish at least one ground rule there. “Do what you want as long as nopony gets rained on.”
“Ah, you’re no fun.” Indigo shook her head disapprovingly, though the smile hadn’t completely left her. “But fine, whatever you say, boss.” Sunset felt a rush of satisfaction at those words. “Rain or no rain, this coronation’s still gonna be. Un! For! Gettable!”
Sunset tried to ignore what she could swear sounded like a distant, dramatic thunderclap. “That’s what I like to hear!”
Sunset was saving Miss Flare for last, of course (no matter how much she tapped her hoof or insistently glanced at the clock looming over the courtyard), so that left one other pony.
“Sugarcoat, I’m putting you in charge of activities and scheduling, since you seem to have a good head for time management. We’ve got an entire courtyard to fill with entertainment until the main event, which we’ve gotta make sure as many ponies can attend as possible.”
“Okay,” was all she said, and got back to her homework.
“And that leaves Sunny Flare–”
Lemon Zest interjected, “Uh-oh! I just realized: isn’t it gonna get confusing, both of you being Sunny?”
The two unicorns probably would have exchanged looks – if Lemon’s phrasing hadn’t set Sunset Shimmer completely off.
“Don’t you dare call me ‘Sunny’ ever again, or I’ll–!” She caught herself before she threatened to teleport anypony into a burning oven (which she totally wouldn’t do! –but it doesn’t help to shy from the hyperbolic when making threats). She needed these losers to work with her, at least until the Coronation was over and they’d found a sixth bearer for the group.
Every minute she spent with them, she was more and more grateful she never volunteered herself to fill the gap. As much as power was power – whether it came from alicornity, wielding the weapons of Harmony, or the social status of being a national hero – Sunset would sooner self-immolate than call any of these insufferable headcases her coworkers.
Anyways, she had a fire on her tongue to put out. “Don’t call me ‘Sunny’. Please.”
Lemon backed away, ears flattened. “Okay, but, like, still, Sunset and Sunny still sound wicked similar if you’re yelling them across a field…”
“You’re not wrong,” Sunset conceded, “but I’m gonna have to pull rank and insist on staying ‘Sunset’. You’ll have to come up with something else for Miss Flare.”
“We could call her Sunstroke,” Sugarcoat offered, matter-of-factly.
Sunstroke visibly fumed.
“What a great idea!~”, Sour chimed in.
Sunstroke fumed harder.
Interesting. Sunset asked, “What, is that what Sunny’s short for?
“It’s not short for anything!”, blurted Sunny.
But then Sugarcoat had to go and correct her. “Though it used to be.” To her credit, the little snitch did flinch when Sunny’s scornful glare fell upon her, and busied herself with her homework again… but the cat was out of the bag.
“So… it’s not Sunstroke.”
“No,” explained Sour Sweet, a playful mirth upon her countenance, “that’s just what we tease her with when she’s being a grouch who needs to lighten up already. If we told you what it was really short for…” – She paused, that smirk melting into a wild-eyed, mortal terror. – “Why, she’d string us all up by our gaskins and leave us for the crows.” She’d come uncomfortably close to Sunset to deliver her warning, her breath hot and bitter as she stressed the sibilants.
Sunset grimaced (at both the mental image and the smell of Sour’s breath) and was about to ask Sour to get back in her own personal space before she moved her herself–
And then a hearty, snorting guffaw bubbled up from Sour’s throat, which Indigo and Lemon joined in on as she trotted away. Even uptight Miss Flare seemed to allow herself a slight chortle. After all, Sour was making Sunny’s own case for Sunset to drop the subject of her full first name.
Still… if Sunset learned what ‘Sunny’ was really short for, that was something she could bother Sunny with the rest of her life if she wanted. Hope you weren’t too attached to “Sunny”, Miss Flare.
She had to play it cool, though. “Really?” Sunset cocked her brow and turned to Sugarcoat, hoping to see just how tightly she could squeeze the snitch. “Is that so?”
Sugarcoat gulped, as if to keep the unruly answer down, but it burbled nauseously from her mouth regardless of her best efforts. “She’d… definitely try.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t sound very scary at all,” Sunset assured her. She almost added that, if Sunny tried anything, she was fired, but Sunny might take that as a way to weasel out of this job she apparently didn’t even want to be on, and that just wouldn’t do. “You know what it is, don’t you?”
Sweat visibly beaded on Sugarcoat’s brow. “I do…”
Glancing Sunny’s way, it appeared she’d turned into a statue again. Indigo poked her with the azure tip of her two-tone wing, and she just didn’t budge at all.
Sunset felt feathers tapping her on her own back. It was Lemon, eying her with a nervous smile and downturned eyes. “Hey, uh, I think you’re wigging Sunny out…”
Playing dumb, Sunset matching Lemon at her level. “It’s just a nickname. Literally just a word.” Stepping out from under Lemon’s wing, she addressed Sugarcoat again. “So! You wanna tell me what it is?”
“I don’t particularly want to, no…”, Sugar said, very technically. Her knees were wobbling. The fink was fighting for her life not to spill it.
An idea came to Sunset. “You know, Cinch’s dossier didn’t mention any other names she went by. Maybe I want to run a background check,” she bluffed. “You could really help me out with that.”
Instead of answering that, Sugarcoat’s violet eyes shot to the side, meeting the same color in Sour Sweet’s stare. Her fellow earth pony was… chomping her teeth for some reason. 
Suddenly, Sugarcoat crammed one of her rock paperweights in her mouth and started chewing. Loudly.
Even though earth pony magic ensured it was the stone that shattered instead of Sugarcoat’s teeth, it still made Sunset’s jaws ache, just hearing it.
“What–?”, she began to demand–
–But Sour Sweet cut her off. “For Celestia’s sake, Sunset, haven’t you heard it’s rude to talk with food in your mouth? Unlike some ponies, our dear, sweet Sugarcoat has manners.”
Everypony was glaring at Sunset.
Ugh. They wouldn’t spare Sunny Flare’s dignity if they knew what the sharp-tongued little rat had said about them. Sunset would have to see what she could do to knock her down a peg in their eyes. Maybe she could borrow Raven Inkwell’s dictaphone, hide it somewhere, and coax out a another one of Sunny’s petulant outbursts, one-on-one.
But right now, if she didn’t back off ASAP, she was going to turn them all against her, if she hadn’t already. “You know what? Forget I asked.”
For now.
While Sugarcoat was busy swallowing her gravel with a pained tear in her eye, an errant breeze lifted a freshly-unmoored paper into the air. Though she reached out a sluggish hoof for it, it was too late, fluttering well above her reach.
Indigo spread her wings to intercept, but she never did take flight. Instead, an amethyst aura shimmered across the sheet and tucked it safely beneath an uneaten paperweight. A delicate filament of magic connected it, of course, to Sunny Flare’s horn.
So, sometimes, Sunny was able to recognize when somepony was trying to do her a favor.
A new emotion was painted across the weaker mage’s face: shocked gratitude, and not just at Sugarcoat. Sunny must have expected somepony to spill the beans. She quickly shook it off, however. Couldn’t go changing her mind about her ex-friends, now, could she?
Finally, she spoke up, the fizzle of indignation in the back of her throat dying down. “Right, well, I’ll tell you what, dearies: if it’s that much of a problem to just call me Sunny, I’m fine with Flare. Is that alright?”
Was it? That was Sunset’s aunt’s name – Fire Flare.
Luckily, Sunset cared for her aunt as little as she cared for Sunny. Maybe being named ‘Flare’ just made you an awful hag automatically.
“Fine by me, Flare,” Sunset acknowledged, before putting on her best plausibly-deniable sinister smile. “As to your assignment…”
The hunt for Sunny’s secret name wasn’t the end of Sunset’s retaliation; just a spur-of-the-moment appetizer. It was time for the main course. Sunset drew on everything Sunny had revealed about why she didn’t want in on this project to craft her role and the blurb she was about to give.
“You’re on decor. You wanted to give this ceremony the respect it deserves? You want it to be something you and your mother can be proud to have your name attached to? Well, like ninety percent of public reception’s in the first impression, and ninety percent of a first impression is in appearances.”
Already, Flare was freezing up again, the hairs on her turquoise hide standing up straight.
“It’s all balanced on your pretty little head. Don’t make it a Sunny Failure. Good luck!”
“Thanks,”she hollowly replied.
Sneering, Sour Sweet asked Sunset, “And what are you going to do? Sneak off back to the palace until it’s party time?”
Sunset shook her head. “Nope; this is as much my project as yours.” That is to say, she needed to make sure these maladapted mares didn’t screw it all up for her. “I’ll be sticking around to sign off on purchases and make sure everything goes smoothly. Don’t mind me.”
“Great! We’re not even the managers; you are, and we’re your supervisors.”
“Contractors in supervisory roles,” Sugarcoat corrected. “The applicable labor and tax laws are very different.”
“Whatever.”
Before any further bickering could break out, Sunset launched a magic firework into the sky, which popped and sizzled with sparkles in all the shades of greenish blue. It probably wasn’t that visible against the clear sky, but it got all her supervisors’ attention. She announced, “Alright, that’s your briefing. Get to work, everypony, and let’s make Princess Cadance proud!”
> Chapter 12 - What Did You Expect
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was bad.
Very bad.
It was the day before the Coronation, and Princess Cadance wanted to check in on things.
Any hope of not disappointing the Princess had long been lost. It was all about damage control now.
Cadance walked forwards. Sunset walked backwards – in front of her, trying to obscure Cadance’s vision with her body – but, even as early into the alicorn growth spurt as she was, Cadance still had a foot over Sunset.
“Are you really sure you want to spoil yourself? You can just wait for tomorrow, can’t you?”, Sunset pleaded.
“If my Coronation even has to be a spectacle in the first place, I’d want it to be something my little ponies can take inspiration from.”
“And it will be!”, scoffed Sunset.
“I’m sure you’re doing your best, Sunset, but…” She sighed. “It’s just, we’ve heard things. The event staff have been talking, and we just need to see for ourselves. We can’t afford to demoralize the public at a time like this. If I have to, this is the last possible minute to pull the plug and go back to the original low-key plan.”
Sunset feigned an indignation her heart just couldn’t drum up. “Don’t you trust me with this?”
Shining fielded that for his marefriend, saving her the choice between truth and kindness. “Honestly? Less and less, the more you try to send us away.”
But that played into a trap Sunset had set. “And here I thought you wanted to bury any hatchet that was between us and start over.”
Unfortunately, the trap did nothing to catch him at all. “Stop giving me a reason to make another hatchet, then.”
Ugh, this was hopeless.
Just like the whole Coronation.
“Fine, fine, fine,” Sunset grumbled. “If you wanna see so bad, come and see.”
The three of them emerged into the Break of Dawn not long after, whereupon both the Princess’s and her bodyguard’s jaws dropped.
It was not a good jaw-drop.
“I thought there would be decorations,” Shining remarked.
“I thought there would be weather control,” Cadance added.
The courtyard was completely undecorated. Sunny Flare stared in silence at a pile of undraped draperies.
As to the weather, Indigo Zap had complied with Sunset’s “nopony gets rained on” order. Very technically complied. The blanketing raincloud overhead parted for the exact dimensions of the courtyard, while it hammered the roofs around it with driving, icy rain.
Sunset has also, she supposed, neglected to ever say anything about not letting dust devils roam free throughout the courtyard.
“Yeah, I thought so too,” agreed Sunset. “So, fine. I’ll admit, it’s not going great, but I swear, I just need one more day to turn this around–”
Cadance and Shining started making their way towards Miss Flare. That could not be permitted. Sunset was already losing ground with the Crown, and…
Well, they didn’t need to hear from Flare.
It was as Sunset was figuring out how she could possibly check in with Flare last when an idea sprang into Sunset’s head: if the Princess wanted to know just how bad things were, why not present such a bleak picture of the preparations that she didn’t even bother to finish the tour? Pin as much of the blame as possible on these abysmal candidates, the rest of it on only having a week to throw something together, and hopefully make it out of this catastrophe in okay standing.
And Sunset knew just who to throw under the bus to help her make the worst of first impressions.
“Hey, are either of you hungry? Let’s go see what Sour Sweet’s cooked up!”
A dozen or so wooden booths had been set up across the courtyard by Sour Sweet’s family. The Cranberries had mobilized with shocking alacrity, catching trains from all across Maresachusetts County to Canterlot, each bearing their own distinct recipe for making cranberries somewhat tolerable.
Of course, most of them were out on the town, seeing the city, because they wouldn’t really be needed until tomorrow. Likewise, all of the food that would be served tomorrow still lay locked away in crates and iceboxes: baking supplies, a single type of produce, and… other ingredients.
However, catering, of course, did also entail feeding the event crew while they worked so hard to set the Coronation up, for which a kitchen tent was posted near the center of the court. The fare which the event crew were foddered with was no less cranberried than that which was planned for the feast. Sunset was getting so, so sick of scones.
Picnic tables (covered in baskets upon baskets of cranberry pastries) ringed the tent, at which three ponies hung around: there was Indigo Zap, looking sick to her stomach on one of the benches; and the Sweet Twins’ parents. Bearberry – their aptly-named father, a fat and towering brown stallion with a bushy, carmine beard – peeked into the kitchen tent like his scavenging namesake. Meanwhile, Bitter Sweet (who looked just like if, twenty years down the line, Sour dyed her mane and tail completely mint-green, and tied them up in braids) comforted Indigo on the other side of the table, hooves in hooves.
“You’ll be alright, kid,” Bitter urged, a trace of Sirish ancestry in her lilt. “The Princess may be here, but it is not too late.”
“That’s. Not. Why I’m trying not to hurl.” A greenish tint overtook her before she could elaborate, however, and her fight to keep it in took her full attention.
Vomiting was one of those disgusting pegasus things that Sunset was thankful was not in her blood. Unicorns simply neutralized any ingested toxins with their magic or a potion, and earth ponies… ate charcoal or something, but pegasi (and, often, those of other tribes with immediate pegasus heritage) just puked it right back up in a display as painful-looking as it was hideous.
Sunset hoped alicorns didn’t inherit the ability from their wings.
Cadance opened her mouth to say something, but a sudden uproar of sizzling from inside the tent cut her off, and the smell of peanuts and grease slithered out between the tent flaps where Bear held them open.
“What on Equus are they cooking in there?”, asked Shining Armor.
Bracing herself, Sunset cheerfully answered (in an imitation as disingenuous as Sour’s saccharinity), “Why don’t we find out?”
Bearberry made way for the Royal retinue to enter the tent, offering a short warning: “Careful, Highness – fryer’s bubbly.”
Cadance gasped in horror and disgust as she took in the scene. Even Shining, despite his composure, looked uneasy.
In the center of the tent was a steel vat of boiling oil, from which steam billowed like from a witch’s cauldron. The witch in question stood on a stepladder and was clad, shoulder to tail, in a suit of foil, and instead of a pointy, wide-brimmed hat, she wore what looked like a welder’s mask to protect her face, and fit her bunned-up mane under a hairnet.
She was in the process of lowering a large, maimed bird carcass into the vat by the hook on its skewer. Behind her, many more butchered birds, of all shapes and sizes, hung out to thaw on wicked, hooked racks. None of these bodies, thankfully, belonged to a pegasus, but could you blame Sunset for checking that herself, the first time she saw this gruesome collection?
The wisps of steam made it impossible to tell if she had Sour’s mint streak or not, but Sunset was confident that the Cranberries had put their most depraved daughter in charge of this unnatural task.
“Hey, Sour! How’s it going?”
The pony at the frying vat turned to Sunset.
–And then the pony off in the corner, which Sunset had not noticed, removed her two front hooves from the birds they were buried in (with a clatter of semi-frozen offal spilling out). She wiped them on her blood-smeared apron, and split her face with a smile just like the stripe of mint splitting her mane.
“For what do I owe the pleasure of having a Princess and her entourage barge into my kitchen unannounced?”
Removing her mask and climbing down from her stepladder, Syrupy corrected, “Our kitchen. Hi there, Your Highness!”
Cadance and Shining were still too stunned to speak, so Sunset picked up the slack. “Princess Cadance wanted to see how the preparations are coming along.”
“We’re trucking along just fine, if nopony else is. Thank you for asking. Now, if you’re after dinner, I’m afraid you’re two whole hours early. There are snacks outside.”
“I baked a fresh batch of scones, just for you, Sunset!”, added Syrupy.
“Uh, thanks. But what gives? I thought you were saving all the birds for tomorrow?” Sunset had, in fact, tried to veto the poultry outright, wielding her authority over which expenses the Crown would cover, but Sour Sweet responded by declaring that the Cranberries would shoulder that expense. Apparently hens past their laying prime were dirt cheap if you knew the right farmer.
And when a shipment of a couple hundred dead, frozen birds gets dropped on your doorstep, it’s hard to say whether it’s better to refuse to cook them and let them rot, or to cook them and then watch them rot because nopony in their right mind wants to eat a bird.
And there were all kinds of birds. Turkey, chicken, duck, pheasant, quail, rock dove… That’s what the manifest listed. Sour had certainly taken Sunset seriously when she stressed variety.
Sour gestured her snout towards her sister. “Ask her. It was her idea.”
Syrupy smiled and trot-marched a chipper little circle around the pot of boiling bird. “I thought we’d treat the event crew to a nice little mini-feast, since so many of us are going to be busy working the booths and stuff during the actual feast.”
“I’d invite you three to join us,” Sour said, “but something tells me none of you have the required taste.”
“Appreciated,” Cadance replied, very politely, “but… indeed, I think it’s time we moved on.”
As the three of them ducked out of the tent, they passed by a snippet of an argument between Bearberry and Indigo. Bear was asking, “But you eat fish, don’t you?”
To which Indigo, throwing her hooves in the air, shouted, “That’s different!”
The trio did not stick around to hear why. They just quietly moved toward the stage built beneath the Astral Eyrie.
Still trying to process what atrocities she had seen in that tent, Cadance ask, “She knows, doesn’t she?”
“Knows what? That nopony in Canterlot eats meat? I definitely told her.”
“No, that’s not it…”
Cadance seemed to tuck her wings in closer to her body, like she was trying to hide them.
Oh. “Oh! You think it’s a big joke at your expense about how you used to be a pegasus, don’t you? Is that what it is?” Sunset smothered the chuckle she could not afford to let out right now.
“I don’t want to assume it is, but…”
“Nah, Sour’s just… creepy and weird. I don’t think she or any other member of her carnivore coven thought about the implications or… anything, for a single second.”
Cadance sighed. “But those attending the feast certainly will.”
“I’ll see if I can convince her to keep the menu vegetarian,” Sunset lied. That ship had long sailed. “C’mon, let’s check in with Lemon Zest.”
The musician was found – where else but – lazily reclined atop a massive speaker box, taller than most single-story houses, cradling her electric guitar between her many limbs. Sunset recalled seeing a few different guitars hanging on the wall of her pad, but this was the one she had that day: the shape of the body was actually kinda like an hourglass drawn at a slant, but it was much easier to parse it as Z-shaped due to the big, hot-pink ‘Z’ emblazoned right on top of the lime-green body and the lemon-yellow pickguard.
Kind of eye-searing, if Sunset was being honest. The only part that wasn’t was the neck, which was the same dark plum as everything else associated with Crystal Prep.
Lemon was the first to speak, giving a broad wave. “Heya, dudettes! –and dude! You’re just in time!”
“In time for what?”, Cadance asked, while Sunset packed conjured cotton into her ears.
“I just got everything hooked up! Check this out!”
She raised a wing to the heavens, the little yellow pick between her pinions glinting in the sunlight. Then she brought it down across the strings, and all was sound. To call it a gale would do disservice to its bone-stripping ferocity and to call it a hurricane would fall short of its flattening breadth. Windows shattered up to a block away. Those speakers would never speak again.
Sunset, embarrassingly, got tossed back a good three yards, landing flat on her back. Shining tried to fight it, but he staggered back for a few feet before unceremoniously stumbling onto his hindquarters. Cadance stood her ground, inasfar as she remained standing, but her hooves dug divots an inch deep into the grass where the unrelenting sound-waves pushed her back undeterred.
After the sound came a ringing. While Cadance and Shining jumped through the hoops of establishing that nopony could hear a single thing anymore, Sunset knew from a week’s worth of experience by that point that it wouldn’t go away too soon, so she composed a message to Lemon in glowing aqua letters: |You know how I said volume wasn’t an issue? It’s an issue now.|
Lemon shrugged and tried to bow her head demurely, but the joy and satisfaction she had taken in making noise crept through into a smile that completely undermined her earnest effort to frown.
Hearing came back a few minutes later: for the alicorn Princess, first; then, Lemon, conditioned to the volume; Sunset, whose cotton earplugs barely did anything, third; and, lagging along in last place, Shining Armor.
As such, Sunset missed the start of the discussion between the Princess and her music coordinator. The words stopped being vague rumbles about partway through Lemon saying, “–just figured I’d shred out some epic covers once I ran out of my own stuff.”
Cadance’s eyes narrowed, skeptically. “Uh-huh…”
“And if I gotta go do something else off-stage, I got these!” She reached a wing behind a nearby table of audio doodads and pulled out a trio of vinyl records in their protective envelopes. Sunset couldn’t even read two of the names on the album covers, and the third one was Equine Anthrax, which just didn’t sound like the kind of band that plays at a traditional Royal celebration.
“I’m assuming you’ve licensed those, at least?”
“What’s that?”
Hesitantly, Cadance clarified. “We’re not going to run into any copyright issues with the record labels, are we?”
“Oh, haha. Yeah, nah, I don’t believe in copyright. It’s like the tooth breezie.”
Cadance mouthed the words, “It’s like the tooth breezie,” back to herself, and stared up in wonderment, like she was witnessing the last member of an endangered species give birth.
Shining was less amazed. He said what Sunset was thinking: “How did P.A.C.M.P.A. even let you in?” Was ‘Crystal Prep’ too vulgar for Captain Armor, or did he just have terminal officer-brain and the love of acronyms that was symptomatic of it?
Lemon giggled. “It’s not hard when your parents are wicked rich!” Utterly shameless.
“Maybe I should take my degree off the wall,” Shining muttered. So he was indeed an alumnus, too. That tracked with the rumor that he and Cadance started dating in school. “Can we move on?”
Still somewhat dazed, Cadance nodded. “I’ve heard enough.”
Now that they were between check-ins, it was probably time to nudge Cadance toward calling things off. “So, 0 for 2, huh?”
Cadance shook her head. “I’m not happy with what I’ve seen so far, no.”
“Well, it doesn’t get any better from here.”
“I’m excited to find out,” Cadance deadpanned.
Drat. She ignored the off-ramp. “Then let’s move on to the next disaster, shall we?”
However, that disaster came to them.
Sunset only had the time to process the words, “Get! Back! Here!”, hollered by Indigo, when she found herself thrown for the second time in the last half hour (though in a more vertical direction, this time) – by an errant whirlwind, far larger than its brethren wandering the field, bowling into the trio.
She was not alone, either, though Shining was too heavy to get lifted more than a couple feet.
Before either could crash back to Equus, however, each found themselves on somepony’s back. Indigo, flying low to the ground, had apparently collided with Shining as she dashed the whirlwind apart, flipping him onto his back and her back like some kind of large, white, helpless turtle. That meant Sunset now lay on top of Cadance, whose broad wings let her bob on the breeze.
She was very soft.
Softer than Celestia, though not as uncomfortably-warm.
“That didn’t go how I wanted,” Indigo grunted, as she dropped onto her hooves.
Cadance followed suit, allowing Sunset to scramble off of her and shake her windblown mane back into shape.
Cleared her throat, Cadance addressed Indigo: “Thank you for the warning,” (Though it was kind of a stretch to call that a warning). “Now, would you mind letting go of my beloved?”
If there was any jealous animosity behind the request, Cadance was very good at hiding it. Not a single feather ruffled, not a single muscle tensed. The only thing unusual about her request was the cold matter-of-factness of its delivery, and that could be attributed to the tour of misery Sunset and her crew were taking her on.
But even still, face flushing with the rosy hues of embarrassment and the greenish gills of dread, Indigo very carefully flipped Shining back onto his hooves and took a very large and deliberate step away from him, smiling up at the Princess.
“Thank you.” Cadance strode up to her disoriented coltfriend and nuzzled him back to reality before turning back to Indigo. “You’re the weather coordinator, right?”
“Right! You! Are! Your Highness. I’m Indigo Zap;” – at that moment, a bolt of lightning chose to strike a weathervane – “pleasure to meetcha.” She stuck a wing into her saddlebag and handed a slip of sand-colored paper to Cadance. “Here’s my business card. Happy to be working for a fellow PAPA grad.” PAPA, of course, was Indigo’s way of eliding the ‘Crystal Memorial’ part out of Crystal Prep’s full acronym so she could just say it as a word instead of saying each letter individually, like Shining did earlier.
Sunset couldn’t fault the climber for shooting her shot, but she could for laying it on so thick.
“Uh, thank you…” Cadance very politely tucked Indigo’s card in her mane, to be disintegrated in her next shower. “Now, I appreciate that you’re trying to deal with the dust devil situation, but I have to know how it got so bad.”
“Bad? I don’t do anything bad. These are some of my best work.”
“You made them on purpose? Why?”
Indigo slacked her jaw, squinted one eye, and flicked her wing back in apparent bafflement. “Because they’re fun? Foals love dust devils. My baby sister, she couldn’t get enough of them. Back when she was little little, she had me spin them up for her all the time, so she could ride them up and figure out how to fly on the way down. Took her fifty-something tries, but she got there in the end.”
Cadance smiled for the first time since stepping into the Break of Dawn. It was public knowledge that the “Foalsitter Princess” was highly susceptible to the “wouldn’t you rather talk about this cute kid” distraction. They might be on this subject for a while. “You have a sister?”, she asked, eyes wide. “How old is she? What’s her name?”
“Lightning Dust!” From her bag, she plucked a photograph and passed it to Cadance. The filly looked just like a tiny Indigo, if you swapped her mane and fur colors around. “Just turned ten. She’s the top flyer in her age bracket; placed first three years in a row at the Best Young Flyer Competition. Kinda had a hiccup this year and wound up second, behind that Rainbow kid, but this spring, I’m telling you, she’s gonna Take! It! Back!”
What Indigo left out of her glowing praise for Lightning Dust was the fact that her little sister was apparently very much involved in the incident (lowercase-i) for which Indigo was under investigation as to whether her actions on the day of the Incident (capital-I) constituted negligence and foal endangerment or not. Sunset knew this, because Indigo would start griping about the incident (and that gremlin she was related to) to anypony that would listen – and then realize she was sharing too much before she got to the juicy bits.
Shining was the one to wrestle the conversation back on track. “I’m sure pegasus foals love playing in whirlwinds, but they’re a danger to everypony else. As the Captain of the Royal Guard and Palace Chief of Security, I’m gonna have to ask you to get rid of them.”
Indigo looked to Sunset, skepticism on her brow. “Do I have to, boss?”
While it felt nice for somepony to rank her opinion higher than Shining’s, he had a point. And also authority in the matter. “Yeah, whatever gets him off our backs.”
Snatching the photo back from Cadance’s aura, Indigo grumbled out an “Ugh, yes ma’am,” and darted off to do just that. She couldn’t be accused of not following orders.
“I believe you were showing us to the ‘next disaster’, Sunset?”, reminded Cadance. There went another opportunity to get the Princess to cancel.
“Let’s go see how Sugarcoat’s coming along with the entertainment,” Sunset muttered.
“I’d been meaning to ask where the entertainers were. I would have thought they’d be using this time for setup, or practice, or dress rehearsal.”
“You’ll see.”
To get to the earth mare in question, they had to go back inside the palace. Dust devils weren’t conducive to paperwork. They found her in a sitting room overlooking the Break of Dawn, sweeping the shards of glass that used to be the windows into a corner for the palace servants to deal with. One of her pigtails lay on the floor, and a very large glass plate was embedded in the wall.
She greeted the trio with an unprompted “I’d like to claim hazard pay. I’m risking life and limb just being in the same building as my coworkers,” instead of an actual greeting.
“Well, with all the bits you’ve saved us on entertainment, I’m sure there’s room in the budget,” Sunset snarked.
Cadance grew concerned, a flicker of suspicion in the way her eyes darted between Sunset and Sugarcoat. “What do you mean by that?”
“It’s simple,” Sugarcoat confidently answered, in that rapid clip that she still somehow perfectly enunciated. She must have had a vocal tutor or something. “Expecting my former classmates to go grossly over budget, between excessive expenditures and incurred damages, I decided to be the responsible one and optimize my use of the allotted budget.”
“Which meant doing absolutely nothing with it,” revealed Sunset. “No entertainers. No performers. No festival games. Nada. Everypony would just stand around doing nothing, bored out of their rutting minds until it was time to put on the crown.” Cadance frowned at her foul language, but who gave a scat? Sunset was stressed out of her rutting mind and Sugarcoat, of all of these ponies, was so easy to get mad at.
“‘Nothing’ is free,” Sugarcoat insisted. “In fact, ‘nothing’ would even turn a profit if we were to charge an entrance fee, which would also mitigate crowding. You’re going to cause a crush incident if you just let anypony in.”
Shining hummed, thoughtfully, evidently taking Sugarcoat’s ridiculous safety concerns seriously.
Apparently Sunset needed to spell out why that wasn’t a problem, for both Shining and Sugarcoat. She yelled, “We aren’t going to have crowds if there’s nothing to keep ponies there!”
Sugarcoat didn’t flinch. She just took off her glasses, wiped them on her coat, and slid them back on. “You need to work on your spit control,” she admonished, before continuing without so much as a pause for Sunset to respond, “But there will be some activities, because you ordered a mandatory minimum budgetary use requirement the last time we talked about this.”
“Oh yeah? What’d you do with it?”
The earth mare reached under a table and pulled out a folded sheet, dotted in a grid of colors and wrapped up in clear prismaplastic. It was a game of Hadsis-brand Coiler™, suitable for up to six players.
“You went to a toy store and bought a game of Coiler,” Sunset deduced.
“No, I went to a party wholesaler and bought one-hundred games of Coiler. That didn’t quite bring me above the budget minimum, so I also purchased fifty sets of Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Sun-Princess that were on heavy markdown. They’re all in a cart in the south tunnel.”
Cadance and Shining winced, because they and apparently everypony except for Sugarcoat understood why those games were on markdown, and also because their ability to wince in the first place so somehow hadn’t been squeezed dry from overexertion yet. Sunset just growled, “You managed to do something even worse than literally doing nothing. You couldn’t just buy foalish birthday party games for a Royal Coronation; you bought distasteful birthday party games! You might as well have robbed a speciesism museum for the original Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey! I don’t know if I should be impressed or furious!”
“I kept the receipt. I can just return them.”
“No. I really need to set something on fire.”
“Burning prismaplastic emits toxic fumes. You really shouldn’t do that.”
“You shouldn’t have wasted our time and budget!”
“Look, what do you even want me to do. They don’t throw parties in Rockville so I genuinely don’t know what you want.”
“I would’ve thought it’d be obvious to anypony, no matter what backwater hicktown you come from!”
“Sunset…”, interjected Cadance, sounding deeply… concerned?
No, that wasn’t it. Sunset remembered that tone of voice now, right as the Princess summoned the words to confirm it.
“Is this how you’ve been treating everypony on your crew?”
It was the Celestial tone of gentle admonishment. How Sunset loathed it.
It was never just going to stop at the question. If Sunset lied, she’d inevitably be caught in her lie (usually after Celestia had played along just long enough to give Sunset plenty of opportunities to back out). If Sunset told the truth, it would spiral into a tiresome lecture about being nice to ponies.
Sunset was nice to ponies! When they deserved it! And sometimes, even when they didn’t but they had something she wanted! That had to count for something, didn’t it?
Sure, this was Cadance, not Celestia. But why would it be any different with Celestia’s favorite student? Why did Sunset ever think it would be any different?
Whatever. If this was going to blow up in Sunset’s face, it could at least blow up extravagantly.
“I’m sure you already know the answer to that one, Your Highness.”
Of course, Sugarcoat went ahead and volunteered, “The answer is ‘yes’,” anyways.
Sunset turned towards the doorway, mentally flicking every self-destruct switch on the control panel. “You think that’s shocking? Just wait until you hear what Sunny Flare has to say about me.”
Was Sunset throwing away her last chance to end the tour early? No. She threw that away when she decided to show them around in the first place. She was lashed to this burning, runaway carriage, and the only thing left to do was enjoy the ride as it rolled into the canyon.
The Princess and her Bodyguard followed Sunset in silence back to the center of the Break of Dawn.
To Indigo’s credit, there weren’t any dust devils anymore. However, they’d been replaced with a thick, low blanket of fog that went over everypony’s heads, so the weathermare wasn’t scoring any points there.
For Cadance, being one-third pegasus, it was like walking face-first into a twelve-foot-tall heap of snow, but, admittedly, she was doing so as the pony equivalent of a snowplow. Using her wings as snowshoes, she clambered up to the top of the fog layer, where her hooves did what pegasus (and therefore alicorn) hooves do so effortlessly in contact with clouds: she walked.
Sunset had to remember how the cloudwalking spell went to get herself on the same level, her hooves shimmering in fire-blue as she sprang to the top like oil under water.
As a convenient courtesy, she cast the same spell on Captain Shining, who, as soon as he met the others above the fog, almost immediately turned green.
“Amazing. You aren’t five yards off the ground and you’re airsick,” Sunset commented. The key to avoiding airsickness as a non-pegasus was to avoid looking at the ground, and different ponies had different tolerances, but Shining Armor’s seemed to be so low that Sunset had to wonder if he couldn’t look out a second-story window without getting ill.
“I’m not,” he argued, in between fights with his own body not to fruitlessly retch. “But let’s just make this quick, anyways.”
They did not have to look hard for Miss Flare. For some reason, the patch of the courtyard where she stood, still staring at that same pile of unworked fabric, was completely fog-free in a five-yard radius around her.
As the trio hopped into the circle, Sunset caught Shining, out the corner of her eye, kissing the solid ground.
“Flare!”, hollered Sunset, “You’re up! Tell the nice Princess why you haven’t put up a single rutting decoration the entire week!”
Flare didn’t so much as turn her head away from the cloth, so when she muttered something, it was utterly unintelligible.
“I’m sorry,” Cadance said, “I didn’t catch that, Miss Flare.”
“Yeah, speak up, Misfire!”, egged Sunset. That got her a cold look from both Cadance and Shining, but Sunset didn’t expect anything kinder from them ever again, so what did she care?
Another mumble.
“Here, let me get closer.” Cadance strode over to Sunny’s side and lowered her head to the unicorn’s level. “I’m listening.”
Sunset crept up behind. She wasn’t just gonna miss this conversation, even though she knew exactly how it’d go.
“…Not good enough…” The words oozed like tar out of Flare’s mouth.
“The decorations?”
“…No, Your Highness. Yes, but no.”
It didn’t need to be said. Cadance figured it out right away, and so had Sunset, the first time Flare got like this, though that hadn’t stopped Sunset from needling the confession out of her that the thing which was not good enough was Sunny Flare. She left for home early that day.
A wing was draped around the mopey unicorn’s back, seeming to rouse her from her spiral, just a little. “I’m sure you did what you could with what you were given.”
“It wasn’t good enough,” Sunny repeated. “The wreck is strewn in the Shroud of Dusk. I can show you. Then you will know.”
Flare didn’t wait for a response before she started ambling west. A gentle lilac glow enveloped her horn, projecting a twirling eight-spoked fanblade ahead of her that actually dispelled the fog in front of it.
Sunset blinked. Other tribes’ latent magics were a bit harder to emulate than they had any reason to be, for reasons that the scholars still couldn’t agree upon, and Sunny Flare wasn’t even breaking a sweat with her janky unicorn weather-magic.
She led them to the Shroud of Dusk, through the castle’s gilded halls, past scurrying servants and beleaguered bureaucrats.
The Shroud of Dusk was the sister courtyard to the Break of Dawn, situated to the west of the Astral Eyrie. It was almost an exact copy, except that the paving stones were moonstone and black marble, arranged to resemble a crescent moon surrounded by erratic splotches of a starless night sky.
Since there wasn’t a lunar equivalent to the Summer Sun Celebration, it didn’t really see too many big events. Sunny Flare tossing all her discarded decorations into it was probably the most use anypony got out of it since the Celestial Palace was built.
And it was a hoarder’s nest because of it. Miss Flare had exhausted and exceeded all of her allocated budget, with nothing to show for it but a tangle of junk. Banners that came out lopsided, garlands of braided silken rope with frayed ends and nicked middles, streams of pennants with the patterned flags in the wrong order, tables and chairs that rocked on uneven legs, braziers and sconces with bubbling welds un-grounded-down, painted signposts and stage backdrops marred where the paint dribbled and drooled… There was more, but describing all of it was like trying to sort a bathtub full of soil into clay, silt, and sand by telekinesis alone.
“Here, dearies, rest my follies. May they soon be forgotten.”
You couldn’t pretend that they were salvageable. Sunset hadn’t bothered. Cadance clearly wanted to, but the assurance never left her mouth. Instead, she fell into concerted contemplation.
She was thinking of something to say. Celestia wouldn’t have needed a moment. The moment Miss Flare had said her piece, Celestia would know just what to say to lead Sunny Flare on, to get her believing the lie she wasn’t hopeless.
“I understand what you mean, now. Please believe me, however, when I tell you that you have not disappointed me, Sunny Flare.”
Sunset raised a brow, but the Princess still had more to say.
The wing went back around Sunny’s withers. “The expectations placed on your shoulders were impossible to fulfill. You had one week, and yet you gave it your best effort all the same. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”
The magically-stunted unicorn at first did not seem to respond. Then she started shaking. Then she threw herself against Cadance, bawling her eyes out. Pathetic.
The payoff for a week’s hard bullying. It was almost worth it.
There was a silent command relayed from the eyes of Princess to Bodyguard and Student, causing both Sunset and Shining to step back and give the two of them a moment. Shining took a post by the nearest entrance from which to watch for any intrusion or threat, while Sunset found a nice, soft pile of cast-aside fabric to lie on, far enough away from her underling’s disgusting sobs that she could relax.
Well, she could try, at least. Hard to relax when you know you’ve blown your second chance, and lost any hope you had of achieving your true potential, and you’re going to get kicked out of the lavish lifestyle you’ve been living, to move back in with your horrible aunt.
She wasn’t gonna cry about it, though. Sunset was stronger than that.
But, in the quiet and distance, Sunset did heave a slow, steady, heavy sigh, and then a few more. And maybe a few stomps into the fabric. And some screaming, growling, snarling screams, muffled into the cloth to save face.
But really, she was so much better at handling failure than Flare, she thought.
The cue to rejoin the Princess came when Cadance told Sunny, “I’m afraid we have to have a meeting with everypony, including Sunset Shimmer. Is that going to be a problem?” Sunset must have missed some of the conversation.
Sunny’s answer was too quiet to make out.
“Is there anypony else you’d like to have present, for emotional support?”
“…I don’t know,” Sunny confided. She wasn’t weeping anymore, but her voice still quaked and scratched.
“Any friends?”
“There’s… Indigo Zap, I suppose. And the others… we used to be… almost friends. They seem to still have… something there.”
That was another thing Sunset somehow rutted up. How do you try to single out somepony who’s already burnt all her bridges and determine to remain isolated, and instead only manage to get her started on rebuilding those bridges, instead?
They made getting revenge on Sunny a lot harder than it needed to be. If they’d just minded her business instead of stepping in whenever Sunset really started to lay into Miss Flare…
Sunny continued to mumble, “Maybe…”, but that’s all she got out before clamming up again.
Cadance waited for Sunny to finish her thought, but when no more was forthcoming, she said, “They’ll be there, too. Let’s head back to the Break of Dawn.”
The four departed in silence, though as Sunset left the Shroud, she could swear she smelled… smoke. She looked over her shoulder, but none of Flare’s garbage had spontaneously ignited like it ought to, so she had no idea where it was coming from.
Maybe Smolder or that ‘Garble’ brother of hers were receiving dragonmail. It had a certain acrid tinge to it.
> Chapter 13 - Melt Down
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The quartet detoured to fetch Sugarcoat from her little “office” on the way back from the Shroud of Dusk. No words were exchanged besides a “Please follow me, Sugarcoat,” from Cadance, and an “Okay,” from the activity coordinator – though Cadance did cast a mane-regrowth spell on her (after a very concerning few seconds of pointing her horn at the back of Sugarcoat’s unwitting head, apparently trying to remember the process). It was Chop Shop’s Little Less Off the Top, if Sunset remembered her beauty magic elective correctly.
This earned her no thanks from Sugarcoat beyond a grunt of vague acknowledgement.
Anyways, the first thing that Sunset noticed was different about the Break of Dawn as they returned was that it smelled disgusting. Cooked bird wafted on the breeze that Indigo was bellowing around with her wings to clear the fog.
Now that the fog had thinned out a bit, it quickly became apparent why it was there in the first place: while they were talking to Sugarcoat, there had been a fire, and apparently she did such a good job at being a dense rockhead that nopony looked out the banished window to notice it.
–Or, Sunset should say, there had been another fire, because the lingering motes of smoke in the air didn’t smell like whatever she caught a whiff of at the Shroud. This was more greasy and organic, like burnt hay, and much less chemical.
This one was also way less controlled.
It started at the kitchen, by the looks of it. Scorched grass radiated from the kitchen-tent’s doorflaps. The picnic tables were consumed, their charcoaled boards crumbling in on themselves. Countless dishes spilled onto the grass, their cranberry-based treats completely carbonized to the ceramic.
Sunset scanned for the parties she’d pin the responsibility on. Of the four Cranberries present that day, she spotted three of them gathered by the stage, disinterestedly picking at a blackened husk of a turkey. Separately, Bearberry was prodding the grass with his hooves, fruitlessly trying to work that earth pony magic into its revival.
Well, they seemed to have gotten out safe and sound. With a clean conscience, Sunset snarked, “So much for ‘coming along fine’,” and ignored the dirty look Sour Sweet shot her anyways.
It seemed she was the twin wearing the soot-darkened fireproof suit now. If she was the one at the fryer, that made Sour the accidental(?) arsonist.
Swirling spirals of ash and char criss-crossed the entire court, where it seemed Indigo’s whirlwinds had picked up the radiating flames and spread them even further to patches of grass they couldn’t have jumped to naturally. If it weren’t for the timely fire-blanket of fog, there wouldn’t be any living grass left in the entire courtyard.
Well, except for one spot. As it was, the only section completely untouched by flame was the circle where Sunny had been standing when the Royal cohort fetched her. Either Indigo avoided blinding her in the fog on purpose, or Sunny cleared it away herself.
That just left Lemon unaccounted-for, and Sunset spotted her ruddy coat belly-flopped onto the stage.
Since so many of the ponies were gathered on the stage-side of the Break, that’s where the Princess decided to bring her retinue. She called out to Indigo and Bearberry as she passed, asking them to join her there. Indigo’s cleanup wasn’t exactly done, so a dewy mist hung over the field in weird, angular patches, like the chalk on a blackboard that dodged the lecturer’s eraser. It was ugly as Tartarus to just leave the job unfinished, but sooner or later, the pegasus magic keeping it together would wear off and the four-in-the-afternoon sun would disperse the rest, if a pegasus palace-gardener didn’t get around to it first.
Cadance flew up to the platform. Shining teleported. Sunset… honestly couldn’t trust herself not to teleport to the train station and buy a one-way ticket to a new life in New Horseleans if she sparked up her horn at all, so she detoured up the stairs at the side, where she proceeded to bang her cannon bone on the first step. She finished cursing under her breath right as she positioned herself beside Cadance, opposite Shining.
Sunny Flare and Sugarcoat did not follow the trio up the stage.
Instead, Sunny huddled among the crowd of her former(?) friends, from which she cast soemthing between a grimace and a sneer up at Sunset Shimmer – for just a fraction of a second, before shifting into that vacant smile she put on around her mother.
Meanwhile, Sugarcoat sat down and set about retying her hair the way it was, by hoof and by mouth. Admittedly, it didn’t take her nearly as long as Sunset would have thought. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a single ponytail would be more professional. Definitely couldn’t imagine her keeping the tri-tail ‘do in court.
Of course, a certain pegasus also seemed to miss the memo that the Princess was using the stage. Lemon Zest didn’t even seem to notice she wasn’t alone anymore – not until Shining cleared his throat and telekinetically nudged her into crawling off, at least. She tried to land on her hooves, but they buckled and sent her to the ground with a soft thud and a groan, where she seemed content to remain.
Peering over at the heap of horse limbs below, Sunset noticed that her feathers were singed, and her barrel rose and fell like she’d just flown a marathon. She probably helped – or, more likely, was coerced into helping – with the firefighting, probably by the herding dog Indigo Zap made herself into for the layabout pegasus.
Ms. Zap herself, drenched head to hoof, dripping from every feather, and still wild-eyed with adrenaline, was clearly the MVP in extinguishing it… But of course, she was also the LVP for enabling it to spread so far in the first place.
She gave Lemon a soft kick in the ribs and pulled her back onto her hooves, whether Ms. Zest wanted to stand or not (and she did not, but she didn’t have the energy to fight Indigo about it).
Sour Sweet, reeking of fryer-oil and smoke, gave up on the charcoal bird she dispassionately nibbled at. With one kick, she sent it hurtling a dozen yards away, where it shattered into a million flakes of ash and grit against a pillar. The sound of ripping velcro returned Sunset’s attention to the mare as she stepped out of her suit and rejoined her coworkers.
Nopony had the energy to ask why they’d all been called together. They already knew what it was about. It was time to give up the farce.
Cadance took a deep and reluctant breath before addressing the gathered crowd. “May I please have your attention, everypony? Or, I guess I should say, my little ponies? I have some announcements to make.”
All eyes were on her.
“I don’t have a speech prepared,” the fledgling Princess admitted, “so please forgive me for being brief.
“You’ve all done so much in the single week of lead time you’ve been given to arrange my Coronation ceremony. For that, I am truly grateful.”
“There’s going to be a ‘but’,” Sour predicted.
“But–”
“Of course.”
Shining Armor thumped his hoof on the stage floor, and she quieted down.
“–we will be going back to the original plan for a quiet, private coronation. Your services as event coordination contractors are no longer necessary. I wish I could just give you all more time, but the political situation is… Well, Equestria needs a Princess, and I cannot properly act as one until I’ve been properly crowned. I’m sorry.”
Heads hung low. Ears flattened. Shoulders slumped. Eyes wandered to the floor.
“I think it’s clear that one week was just… not enough time at all,” she continued. The crowd murmured their general agreement. “There was a lack of communication on my part that led to this, and I am sorry for causing you all so much heartache and stress as a result.”
Hold on.
Was she really taking the blame?
…Did anypony actually believe her?
Or – as Sunset considered, her blood temperature rising a few degrees Pferdenheit – was this one of those Celestial “opportunities to come clean”?
Yeah, to Tartarus with that.
“Look, cut the crap,” interrupted Sunset, drawing hisses and gasps from the crowd. “You wanna talk about blame, point your pinions at these five.” Just in case it wasn’t clear, Sunset projected bright, blue, blinking arrows over the heads of each of her subordinates. “And Cinch, too. We asked for six good, smart ponies, and instead we got five drooling clowns who couldn’t brush their own manes without burning their houses down. She ripped us off!”
Everypony went so silent you could hear them blink. The silence hung for what felt like minutes before–
Before that hideous, awful laughter filled the air and split her ears. Porcine snorts, hacking cackles, and dying gasps, almost proudly obnoxious, erupted from Sour Sweet’s mouth like so much gunk out of a backflowing shower-drain.
“What’s so funny?!”, Sunset demanded. “You ruined Princess Cadance’s coronation!”
Sour tried to answer for herself, but she lacked the breath. Instead, she dropped to the ground with a heavy whump, convulsing in horrid glee.
So, Sugarcoat volunteered to answer for her. “You made yourself the manager, but you didn’t really do that much actual management. You mostly just stayed inside and avoided us until the end of the day, whereupon you came out to yell at us, scat on all our work, and then yell at us some more, without actually telling me how to actually do the job you put me in as an afterthought.” She always sounded annoyed, but for a moment, she lapsed into outright-peeved. “We’d have gotten more done if you weren’t even on the committee at all.”
Sunset snapped back without hesitation. “You wouldn’t have gotten this job in the first place if it wasn’t for me! I ignored so many red flags to give you ungrateful throwbacks this job!” It only occurred to Sunset how culpable that made her sound after she’d already said it.
But Indigo butted in before Sunset could walk it back. “You call this a job? ‘Cause yeah, what Sugar said – you sure haven’t been putting in any work for somepony with a Princess to please. The only thing you seem to care about is badgering Sunny for some moon-banished reason. I’m tryna figure out whose Team you’re even on,” she says, with an odd punch to the ‘t’ in ‘team, “‘cause it sure ain’t our Team, and it sure ain’t Cadance’s Team, so that just leaves you on a Team. Of. Your. Own.” Indigo snorted and turned away. “Whatever your Team is, you let ‘em down. I ain’t working for you ever again, ‘boss’, no matter what kind of opportunity you dangle in front of me.”
“Good! You’re never gonna get another, anyways! You don’t deserve it.” ‘Same as me,’ whispered the back of her mind.
Lemon stumbled in-between Sunset and Indigo before the latter could snap back. “Sunset, dudette, you gotta relax–”
“Relax?!”, Sunset shrieked. For some reason, that peeved her off more than anything. Maybe because it didn’t give her anything new to work with. Though, it was probably for the best. Sure, she could go off on a rant of her own – and she sure wanted to – but her self-preservation instincts were starting to punch through the wall of rage in her brain.
But then she saw Sunny Flare, with a scowl on her face and her lips poised to speak, and the fire within hungered for the fuel she would speak.
When Miss Flare locked eyes with Sunset, however, she froze. Her pupils shrank to pinpricks and her mouth just hung silently, stupidly, sheepishly open.
“Go on, Flare,” Sunset spat, steam practically boiling from her nose and ears, “Might as well finish the set. Aren’t you dying to rip into me, too?”
But all Sunny did was shut her mouth with a frown and step back into the crowd, weirdly glancing around as though trying to remember where she was.
Whatever she wanted to say, she’d clearly decided against it. Not that it really helped Sunset’s case, seeing as Sunny’d already had a private tattle-session with the Princess herself.
And honestly? That was just insulting.
“Don’t you try and spare my rutting dignity, you little snake!”, Sunset screamed. “What were you gonna say?! Lemme hear it!”
Whatever confusion afflicted her, Sunset’s volume snapped her out of it, at least enough to mumble something about hearing more mean-spirited corruptions of her name in one week than she heard in six years at Crystal Prep.
It was at that point that Lemon tried to plead again, “I’m telling you, Sunset, you gotta chill out.”
“‘Chill out.’ Ha! You idiots murdered my last chance to save my destiny and make Cadance happy, and you want me to take it in stride?!” She stomped her hoof. 
Sunny’s frown curdled into that rictus of discomfort again. “‘Save your destiny’? What on Equus are you talking about?”
“Might as well tell you; it’s not like it’ll make a difference, soon enough!” Without warning, Sunset leapt off the stage, marched up, and mashed her hoof against Sunny Flare’s chest. “You’re wrong, you know?”
Sunny backed up. Or maybe the thump was just that forceful. “…About?”
Every step Sunny Flare retreated, Sunset Shimmer advanced. “About how the ‘Princess of Patience’ would never disown me! Guess what!” Another shove. “She did!” Another shove. “And when she went missing before she could make good on it, I thought my life was saved! Cadance was willing to give me a second chance!” Another shove. “Whole lotta good that did me! Now she’s going to kick me out, too.”
Then, like a candle in a draught, the fire animating Sunset snuffed itself out before her hoof could connect one last time. Her leg fell passively to the ground. “Is this what you wanted? Are you happy?”
Sunny gave no reply; just an awkward, uncomfortable stare, like that cat of hers was trying to gift her a dead songbird.
And then a wing was around Sunset’s back, soft and merely warm. Sunset didn’t resist, but she didn’t lean into it, either. She just turned to look up and shuddered at what she saw.
There, the eyes of Celestia (set in pink instead of white for some reason) flickered between the Sun Princess’s favorite three emotions with which to regard her student: disappointment, sorrow, and pity.
Well, come on then. Where was the Royal rage? Where was that fury, enkindled and stoked by Sunset’s self-determination, her deviation from the railroaded path? Where was the wrath Celestia brought to bear, in order to banish Sunset from her heart?
“Do it already,” Sunset spat, trying to coax her m– her mentor’s bile out.
But instead, the illusion broke. Celestia’s eyes – no, Cadance’s eyes – hid themselves behind scrunched-up lids as the Princess put herself through a breathing exercise. “Please, Sunset,” she began, but then shivered like she was trying not to cry.
The Princess. Crying. In front of everypony.
She didn’t, but everypony saw how close she got. Cadance couldn’t save face about that. Enough weakness had been shown, and these climbers and lunatics, these dogs-in-the-shape-of-ponies – they couldn’t be trusted not to sink their teeth into that vulnerability.
To be honest? There was a rabid part of Sunset that wanted to bite into Cadance as well – to get one last petulant lash-out in, before she was forced to say goodbye to the Palace forever. This mutt was kept in check by the same part that wanted to protect Cadance, to cover up her weaknesses and spare her dignity. Subconsciously, her hooves tried to put her own body between Cadance and those horrible mares, and it was only the earthly strength within her alicorn frame that held Sunset in place.
Why, though? The odds of Cadance giving Sunset a third chance seemed pretty rutting slim. What would Sunset stand to gain from shielding the Princess? What would she stand to lose by leaving her to the dogs? Nothing!
So why did she feel bad for even having the idea?
Before Sunset could put name to a reason, the time for introspection was rudely interrupted.
From a door to the south thundered the hooves of a guardspony aide, desperately trying not to show the panic beneath the rigid muscles in his face.
At the same time, from a balcony to the north, a short, garnet-red dragon (no more than a foot and a half over Smolder) unsteadily flapped and glided his way over to the stage as well, carrying some gray slab of stone. Smolder herself hobbled after him, wide-eyed.
Sunset had to assume this second dragon was Garble, whom she’d managed to avoid this entire time. The dragons’ chosen ‘diplomat’ appeared to be a young teenager, which really shouldn’t have surprised Sunset, given what else she’d gathered about the dragons’ improvisationalist approach to all aspects of government that did not immediately concern the collection of tithes.
The aide reached the stage – and Shining’s side – only a few seconds before the dragons, where he whispered something in his ear that made every muscle in the captain’s body tense up. Immediately, he shored up Princess Cadance’s other, unoccupied flank, his horn bluing at the ready.
He landed, shouting to get the attention of the “big pink pony lady”. His crooked, snaggle-toothed, kickable-looking snout suggested a lot about how he got his name – yet his actual voice, thankfully, did not. How he spoke so clearly with a mug like that was anypony’s guess.
His hollering was interrupted when Shining got between him and Cadance with an arcane shield-wall like a block of solid sapphire-and-tourmaline, treating Garble as though he were a pillaging raider instead of an official envoy.
Garble, for his part, raised his hands, furled his wings, and slowly backed away.
Wide-eyed, Cadance begged to know, “What’s going on? Why are you…?”
Garble, Smolder, and Shining answered in unison.
From Shining, “The dragons are coming.”
From Garble, “The big guy got tired of waiting for his sceptre.”
From Smolder, “Torch is leading a warflight here!”
Ah, scat.