Prince Blueblood and Trixie travel to Saddle Arabia for a relaxing, diplomatic vacation. Overthrowing the local government was an unintentional side effect.
"In The Precocious Princeling's Guide to Diplomatic Relations, there are three rules for how a royal ought to conduct himself abroad.
A diplomat of Equestria must obey all local laws of the nation they are assigned to.
A diplomat of Equestria should advocate for the interests of Equestria to the best of their abilities.
Under no circumstance should a diplomat of Equestria get involved in the following: Political parties, popular uprisings, peasant revolutions, class solidarity movements, coups d'etat, or other attempts at regime change, violent or otherwise.
By the time I had finished my tenure in Saddle Arabia, I had broken all three." -Prince Blueblood, First of His Name
"No nation should ever be without an Equestrian diplomat. The Diplomatic Corps are the eyes and ears of Celestia and Luna; as such, a nation without a diplomat is a dark spot. Should a diplomat be unwilling or unable to fulfill this role, they should be recalled immediately and a replacement dispatched with haste. For darkness breeds corruption that only the light of the Corps can expunge!" —The Precocious Princeling's Guide to Diplomatic Relations
Chapter 1: Dispatched with Haste
Solar Court meetings were always a dreadful affair. The old council chamber was beautiful, no doubt—marble floors, high ceilings, and an entire wall of stained glass windows—but there was no mistaking the fact that it was old. The room was always too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter, and the glare from the windows made everypony squint as slashes of red, yellow, and orange shifted across their eyes. That particular morning, the chamber was hot, stuffy, and steaming with tantalizing breakfast scents from the kitchen below that they were being kept from. It all would be easy to ignore if the company was good.
Unfortunately for Prince Blueblood, he hated everypony in the room.
The Court met at the crack of dawn, and the prince was anything but a morning person. He yawned and cupped his cheek in his hoof as he leaned forward in his chair. A glance around the table showed he wasn’t the only one who would have preferred to be in bed. The Minister of Agriculture, Petalbreeze, had her straw hat over her face as she leaned back in her chair. Still, she was doing better than the Minister of Education, Glitter Glow, who was face down on the table snoring loudly.
“There’s one final piece of business to address before this meeting is over.” Lord Hardscrabble, the wizened and greying earthpony, croaked out the words as he tapped his hooves on the table. Everypony who wasn’t fast asleep audibly groaned at the idea of spending more time stuck in the stuffy chamber, to which Hardscrabble rolled his rheumy eyes. “You haven’t even heard what it is yet!”
“Really, Councilman,” Blueblood shifted uncomfortably and tugged at his collar. Celestia’s mane, was he sweating already? “If this doesn’t concern Foreign Affairs, then I’ll just see myself out.” He rose with a practiced huff of indifference and kicked his chair back into place. “Not that this hasn’t been a deeply enlightening session, but if I stay any longer, my mane will wilt. And believe me, I certainly don’t want to bill the council for my stylist! Cutthroat doesn’t even begin to describe her!”
“Actually, it does concern Foreign Affairs.” Hardscrabble exhaled and rubbed his temples. “So, if you would please sit down.”
Huffing, Blueblood sank back into the chair. “Go on then, let’s get this over with.”
“Her Royal Highness Princess Celestia has requested that we replace our current ambassador to Saddle Arabia.” The earthpony brushed a lock of his black mane out of his eyes and adjusted his spectacles. “She’s noted that there’s been a lack of reports coming from—” He frowned and squinted at the page. “What was his name again?”
“His Sarabic name or his Equestrian one?” Blueblood arched an eyebrow.
“Equestrian, please.”
“‘Rough Cut’.”
“Yes, there’ve been no reports from Ambassador Cut in four months. I presume you noticed?”
Blueblood sighed and folded his forelegs across his chest. “Of course, I’ve noticed. Are you implying I can’t do my job, Minister?”
“Nothing of the sort. I’m sure you’re very busy.” Hardscrabble tapped his papers. Petalbreeze snickered from her seat, only for Blueblood to silence her with a deathly glare. “Regardless, Her Majesty has requested a change, and a change she will get.”
“I’m sure you’ve all noticed we’re extremely short on available diplomats,” Blueblood replied with a wave of his hoof. “Auntie dearest will understand-”
“She certainly has understood, my prince.” Hardscrabble’s wrinkled face held the slightest twinkle of a smile. “She’s suggested you for the role.”
Blueblood narrowed his eyes. His ears flattened against his head. “I’m sorry, Minister, I must’ve misheard you. Surely you’re not suggesting that-”
Hardscrabble slid his note across the table with a flick of his hoof. Blueblood unfurled it to see for himself. It was a mistake. An old-timer like Hardscrabble was certainly misreading. Perhaps his spectacles needed correcting or-
Celestia's deliberate, curving calligraphy stared back at him from the page.
“My dearest nephew,” His eyes drifted across the page like he was reading a death sentence. “Ambassador Rough Cut has failed to report back for some time, as you've certainly noticed. As Saddle Arabia is one of our closest allies, this post requires immediate filling. I have chosen to dispatch you, my esteemed prince, to take up the position. This is a delicate situation and requires only our brightest diplomatic minds. As High Diplomat of the Solar Court, I can think of nopony more qualified for the task! With my seal and signature below, I officially charge you as Ambassador to Saddle Arabia. I leave this manner in your more-than-capable hooves.”
Her swooping signature was below, along with an imprint of the royal seal in red wax. A demand couched in flattery was so like Celestia that it hurt. Blueblood exhaled a breath that he’d held in since the start of the letter. He swallowed hard and managed to form the words, “But why?”
Not waiting to hear the minister’s reply—Interior never had anything worthwhile to contribute anyway—Blueblood sprang from his chair and headed for the doors at a brisk clip. He needed to speak with the princess herself. Surely, her letter had been a mistake. She’d been misled, clearly. An errant advisor with some spiteful agenda must have suggested that they assign him. After all, it came at the crux of his negotiations with Zebrica. Their ambassadors were on the way, drawing closer with every hoofbeat of his that echoed through the opulent marble of Canterlot. Somepony wanted him out of the country. Somepony wanted to handle negotiations themselves. Somepony wanted the credit for the heavy lifting he had invested.
A pair of guards parted as Blueblood clip-clopped past them, looking at him with sidelong glances as he ascended a bifurcated staircase coated with ruby-red carpeting. He turned on one of the soldiers. “You, there! Where is the princess?”
“Which one, my liege?” The pegasus rumbled.
“Celestia. Princess Celestia. My Aunt.”
“Taking tea in the observatory.” The guard’s ear flicked behind his crested helmet. “She’s requested that she not be disturbed.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of disturbing her.” Blueblood smiled around his lie. “Thank you.”
Up the stairs, round the corner, and into another stairwell, narrow and spiraling. The distinct age of Canterlot was reflected around him. Fresh coats of paint had been laid atop ancient, scarred stone. Slender slanted arrow slits sliced into the wall allowed light and warmth, relics of a time when Canterlot had been Equestria’s impregnable bastion rather than an opulent capital. He rarely went to the observatory. In fact, Blueblood rarely spent time outside the diplomatic wing of the palace. The palace felt liminal to him—home, yet unfamiliar.
By the time he reached the top of the steps, he was sweating through his suit jacket. He loosened his tie and half knelt as he took deep breaths of air. The stairs plateaued in a small, empty space, shrouded with dust with a single ladder leading to a trapdoor. It looked like nopony had been there for centuries. He scrambled up the ladder and threw open the door.
The sound of smashing china and clattering flatware preceded him as he clambered up into the observatory. He brushed the dust and cobwebs from his shoulders, fixed his mane, and prepared to face Celestia.
The old guard tower had been retrofitted by the princess into a sort of quiet retreat. Plush velvet cushions lined what had once been stark stone benches. Pillars of unadorned wood were festooned with carefully cultivated ivy and aromatic clematis. A round table had been set for tea. Had previously been set, as it then was knocked to the floor, contents scattered. Celestia was seated on a soft bench, wings spread and luxuriating in the rising sunlight. Across from her was—
Oh no.
The princess Twilight Sparkle sat frozen, hoof outstretched for a teacup that was no longer there, mouth agape. Blueblood inhaled and turned his face from her.
“Princess.” His eyes landed on Celestia, who was as unperturbed as a statue. He kept his tone formal and clipped. It was a time for seriousness. “I believe you’ve made a grave error.”
“Blueblood! Nephew!” Celestia’s lips curled in a smile. His formality bounced right off her armor and melted against her cheer. “Come, have a seat! Twilight and I were just about to have some tea. It’s chamomile. Your favorite!”
Blueblood sniffed. The spilled tea smelled deliciously floral. He was tempted to sit down and have a cup, but he steeled himself.
“Hi, Blueblood!” Twilight waved as her horn glowed a glittery violet. The tea table began to right itself, the shattered cups snapped back into place, and the spilled silverware reset itself in its proper places. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here! I feel like we haven’t really gotten to know each other yet, even though we work in the same palace.”
Just looking at her made Blueblood feel incomplete. The space on his back where a set of wings ought to be ached. Phantom limbs longing for existence. So he didn’t look at her. “Auntie, I’ve just come from the council meeting. You wouldn’t believe the audacity of some ponies. I was presented with a falsified royal seal and forged signature that authorized my transfer to Saddle Arabia.”
“Oh!” Celestia’s eyes sparkled in the rising sun. Her mane shimmered like a solar flare in a nonexistent breeze. “There was no forgery there! You’re the perfect candidate for the job! Plus, you’re always itching to get out of Canterlot! Consider it a long-term vacation with a little work attached.”
Twilight rolled her eyes and sighed. She blew on her tea and took a sip, glowering at Blueblood over the rim of her cup.
“I want to leave Canterlot, Auntie, when nothing is happening here!” Blueblood prodded at the table with a manicured hoof. “Not when I’m only days away from securing a trade deal with Zebrica! A trade deal that, might I add, you yourself requested of me!”
“Oh, of course! The Zebrica deal!” Princess Celestia brushed off the pleading edge of his voice with a wave of her wing. “Don’t worry, the last leg of negotiations is in good hooves.”
“Whose?”
“Hi, Blueblood.” Twilight waved again, a knowing grin teasing her lips. The second time, he couldn’t ignore her. He wheeled on her and exhaled sharply. She slurped her tea in reply.
“But—” The prince’s voice faltered. Something choked his throat as he tried to speak. So that was her game: steal his accomplishment from him and pin it on her prize-winning student. Another medal pinned to her chest, another feather stuck in her cap. Blueblood wanted to scream. He had to bite his tongue hard enough that he tasted blood. “My dearest Aunt. While I don’t doubt your student is capable,” Student. Never Princess. “I regret to inform you that she is not a qualified diplomat. This really ought to be handled by—”
“By who, exactly, Blueblood?” Celestia cocked her head. Her voice took on a measured hardness as she went on. “Do you have qualified diplomats at the ready? If I recall correctly, you told me that you were distinctly strapped for help. But if you have somepony on call, I’d be glad to give them the assignment.”
Twilight snickered subtly through a mouthful of tea. Blueblood’s tail whipped sharply against his flank and his ears drooped. He hated when other ponies learned to play the games he was good at. What good was a diplomatic talent when your own aunt outflanked you?
“Nephew,” Celestia reached out a hoof to cup his cheek. He recoiled like he’d brushed a branding iron. A flicker of forlorn sorrow flickered through her expression quicker than a blink. “You are the best diplomat Equestria has at her disposal.”
He didn’t argue with that. Blueblood met her gaze, his sharp, gunmetal eyes level with the warmth of her own periwinkle. Her lips curled in a fragile smile.
“I’m sending you for a reason, Blueblood. You’re good at your job. Always have been. And right now, I need my absolute best in Saddle Arabia. Equestria needs its best.” She touched his hoof, giving it a loving pat.
Blueblood wanted to believe her. He truly did. He wanted to melt back into a world where his regal auntie was somepony whose word he could trust. But as his eyes left Celestia they flitted to Twilight. Twilight, who sat where he had dreamed of sitting. Twilight who, with one simple spell, had enraptured his princess. Twilight whose wings were spread wide to shield her from the heat of the sun like a feathery parasol. His spine twitched with jealous pangs.
No. Everything was political. Everything was calculated. Blinking, he averted his eyes from Celestia and abruptly cleared his throat.
“As always, my princess, I go where I am needed.” Blueblood effortlessly slipped back into his full regal register and bowed. His glare fell on Twilight as his coat bristled. “It’s clear Canterlot is not where I am wanted. I’ll return to my room to pack.”
“Oh! Let me help you!” Twilight set down her cup with a clink. “I’ll save you the trouble of taking the stairs again!”
“If you’re going to offer to fly me to my quarters, I’ll have to—” Before he could finish his rejection, Twilight’s horn flashed like a phosphorus flare. When he blinked the sparks from his vision, he found himself standing directly outside his bedroom.
“Oh, I hate her.” He muttered as he threw open the door.
*****
“And for her final trick,” Trixie narrowed her eyes as she slid a hoof across the brim of her peaked hat. “The Great and Powerful Trixie will require a volunteer. A brave and noble one! One with an indomitable spirit and a will of starforged steel!”
Trixie surveyed her crowd. Modest by her standards, but times were tough. She'd have played to pigeons if she thought they might drop a bit or two in her donation box. Most eyes were watching with dispassionate boredom—never a good sign. As she scanned the front row, however, she spied a school-age filly with a dappled blonde coat and a pretty little pink dress. Trixie smiled. Well-dressed fillies meant wealthy parents willing to splurge for their special little girl.
“You there!” Trixie thrust a hoof towards the child. “Trixie senses mighty forces at work within you! Step forward, if you dare!”
The filly glanced about to make sure she'd really been chosen and approached the stage with a nervous swallow.
“Your name, mighty one! Speak loud, so the Great and Powerful Trixie may hear you!”
“My name is Clotted Cweam!” The filly squeaked, standing at the foot of the stage. She stiffened and put on a brave smile. “Um… The Gweat and Powewful Clotted Cweam!”
“Careful, kid, that's copyrighted,” Trixie whispered as she helped Cream onto the stage with an outstretched hoof. “Clotted Cream! A noble name! Surely a pony as mighty as you has never known fear. Have you?”
Cream vigorously shook her head.
“Then steel yourself for Trixie's final act!” She removed her hat and flipped it upside down as her horn began to glow. “A surly old dragon has taken up residence within my hat, and despite Trixie's most fiendish spells, she has been unable to remove him! But now, with the help of Clotted Cream, the bravest warrior of Equestria, I shall draw him forth! Hero of Equestria, reach within and face destiny!”
Trixie's pyrotechnics display was supposed to have gone off to punctuate that. She grunted and stomped a hoof on the stage twice before the fireworks roared to life and set off streams of blue-green sparks on either side of her.
Clotted Cream looked like she was about to cry as she reached a hoof into the hat. She closed her eyes so tight that Trixie worried the kid would pop a blood vessel. The last thing she needed was somepony's medical bills on her back.
“I got it!” Cream yelped. “I- I feel the dwagon!”
“Now tug! Tug with all of your might!” Trixie reached with her magic and kicked a fog machine, shrouding the stage in greying gloom. Cream pulled something from the hat and squealed loudly. “Ah ha! You dare show your ugly snout at Trixie's show? Take this!” A flare of blue light burst behind the smog. “And this!” Two sparks of green followed the first.
That was enough theatrics for the time being. Trixie threw out another spell and dispersed the fog with a poof. Clotted Cream stood clutching a very safe plush dragon with its tongue sticking out. Sure, it wasn't exactly mind-bending magic as advertised, but the kid seemed happy enough. The applause from the audience was less than inspired. Trixie tried not to cringe at that. Hopefully, the kid's parents made up for it.
“And just like that! The dragon has been transmogrified into a safe plush toy! Truly, the Great and Powerful Trixie knows no weakness!” She bowed to modest claps. “And, of course, her generosity is boundless as well. Clotted Cream, you may keep Trixie's mortal foe, if you so please.”
The filly beamed and hugged her new stuffy, which squeaked in her forelegs as she leapt down from the stage.
“And that's the end for tonight! The Great and Powerful Trixie is spent after such feats of wizardry!” She clutched a hoof to her brow and tried to look faint. Straddling the edge of her stage, she tapped an iron lock box. “And of course, the donation box is right here! Now, away!”
Trixie billowed violet smoke from her cape as she vanished from the sight of the crowd. She stumbled over her own hooves and tripped over one of her stage lights as she ducked into the dressing room of her wagon. She peered out through a crack in the brightly painted door and watched as the crowd dispersed. One or two dropped a bit into the lockbox with a shrug. Trixie cursed silently. Backwater yokels were supposed to be easy to please. They were supposed to be wowed by a few firecrackers and card tricks! Yet now they seemed disappointed that she hadn't pulled a real, living, fire-and-scales dragon from her hat!
“Ingrates!” Trixie huffed as she slouched down into an overstuffed beanbag chair she had picked up two towns back. “Plagues! Pestilence! Fire and wrath upon their stupid town!”
She kicked her hooves and sighed, flopping back and staring up at the peaked ceiling of her wagon. Posters from Las Pegasus magic acts stared back down at her. She wondered if one of the casinos might have an opening for a fresh act. As if her act was fresh. With a pout, she discarded the thought. Trixie rolled from her seat and crossed to the “kitchen”—really just a stove and pantry set into the opposite wall—and rummaged through her options. A bottle of cheap wine, a few wilting greens, a pair of bananas that were rapidly becoming mush, and half of a cold hayburger were all that remained. Her coin purse was as dismal as the pantry. Enough to maybe afford some rice or beans at the market, if they weren't closed.
Things looked bleak, but Trixie assured herself that it was nothing she hadn't seen before. Did all great artists not suffer for their craft? The knowledge didn't fill the grumbling of her stomach. She settled on what was left of her hayburger and the remnants of her wine. Lifting the bottle to her lips, she drank first, silently toasting to better prospects in the next town.
A knock at the door nearly made her spew white wine all over her coat. Covering her mouth with her hoof, she choked it down and exhaled harshly. “The Great and Powerful Trixie needs her rest! If it's an autograph you're looking for, then perhaps she can pencil you in for a signing tomorrow! At a reasonable cost, of course!”
“Open the door, Trixie.” A familiar voice replied through the wood. She pressed her eye to the crevice that served as her peephole and took another swig of wine. When she saw the Prince of Equestria standing outside her door she nearly spat it again. “I know you're in there.”
“Trixie refuses! Absolutely not!” She yelled back, her voice dampened by the plush acoustics of her wagon. “Whatever it is, Trixie isn't interested!”
“Please, don't make me invoke my auntie.” Blueblood winced. “Just open the—”
“Not interested!”
“You haven't even heard the offer yet!”
“The last time you made an offer to Trixie, she was dragged to Manehattan for a month and forced to perform for bratty Gryphon hatchlings every other night!”
Blueblood rolled his eyes and flicked his tail sharply. “Which was in your contract, and you were paid quite well for.”
“One of those little pests grabbed a candle and set Trixie's tail on fire!”
“And I reminded you that your contract covered personal injury under section thirty-two, which stated, and I quote-” The door flew open before the prince could finish. “So you've reconsidered?”
Trixie scratched at her mane and blew through her nostrils. “Let's walk and talk, then. Trixie has dealt with you enough to know you don't take no for an answer.” She held out the wine bottle in his direction. “Care for a drink?”
“What is that?” He sniffed at the mouth of the bottle. “Ugh… Moscato? Really? And is that- Oh, Celestia and Luna both, are you drinking Appleoosan Vineyards? That stuff is gutter swill!”
“It's cheap.” Trixie took another pull. “We can't all be drinking Canterlot Reserves every night, like somepony.”
“Now, now, I hardly drink Reserve every night.” He held up his hooves defensively and smirked. “Some nights I drink imports.”
Trixie rolled her eyes. The two followed the winding curve of a dirt road—Blueblood taking great care to walk on the grass—and found a seat at a metal bench beside a marble fountain. A pair of Seaponies spit arcs of cool water that seemed to glow golden under the street lamps that were just flickering to life.
“In case you couldn't tell, Trixie is at her limit. And if you’ve left Canterlot, you must be too.”
Blueblood wiped down the metal with a handkerchief before sitting. He exhaled long and slow as he folded his hooves in his lap. “I’m very much at my limit right now. Guess I’m worse at hiding it than I thought.”
“You were never really good at hiding it.” Trixie chuckled softly as she took another pull of Moscoto. “You’re sure you don’t want some?”
“It’s tempting, but, unfortunately, I have standards.”
“Suit yourself.”
They were quiet for some time. Trixie took a deep breath of the rapidly encroaching nightfall. The summer breeze was redolent of fresh-cut grass, blooming honeysuckle, and the coppery smell of old pipes in the fountain. She stared down at the nearly empty wine bottle and rubbed her cheek.
“So, why are you here?” Trixie eyed the prince lazily.
“The project I’ve spent the past eight months devoting my every waking hour to has been pried from my hooves at the last second,” he said bitterly. “Celestia saw fit to give it to her Princess of Friendship.”
Trixie slugged another drink of wine at the mention of her name. “Trixie sympathizes with your plight.” She gestured towards her wagon with its frequently empty donation box. “It’s why the Great and Powerful Trixie has been reduced to playing provincial backwaters when she ought to be performing for Canterlot Nobility.” Her expression brightened briefly. “Have you come to offer Trixie a show? Have you scheduled her to perform at the Grand Galloping Gala or the Lunar Masquerade?”
Blueblood shook his head and she crossed her arms with a huff.
“I’ve been reassigned. Away from Canterlot and Equestria entirely, in fact.”
“Where to?”
“Saddle Arabia.” He rapped a hoof on the metal bench. “That’s why I’m here. I was hoping you’d accompany me.”
Trixie narrowed her eyes. “And what’s in it for Trixie?”
“A place to stay and free meals, for one thing.”
“As if the Great and Powerful Trixie could be bribed with the bare necessities!” She harrumphed and turned up her snout.
“Plus a thousand bits up front.” Blueblood shrugged. “If that makes a difference.”
“Up front, you say?” Trixie’s violet eyes sparkled under the glow of the gas lamps. “And Trixie presumes there will be bonuses along the way?”
“There’s a daily stipend, plus extra if you can justify the expense as work-related.”
“And, of course, there’s a payment upon her return?”
“Payment upon successful return, presuming we meet all of our diplomatic goals, is two thousand bits. Average diplomatic payment.”
“Make it three thousand up front and Trixie might consider it.” She flashed a toothy smile.
“Two thousand,” Blueblood replied without expression.
“Twenty-five hundred.”
“Five bits.”
“Oh, be serious!”
“Fine, two thousand.”
“Trixie will settle for four thousand.”
“You know I don’t need to take you right?” Blueblood cocked his head. “I have wizards lined up back in Canterlot who would do this for free if asked. Interns who need to bump up their resumes tend to be willing to do a lot of unpaid labor for a good review from royalty…”
Trixie replied with a catlike grin. “If you wanted a Canterlot-trained wizard, you wouldn’t have come to me. Besides, how could any of those pathetic mages compare with the raw arcane potency of the Great and Powerful Trixie?!”
She puffed out her chest with pride, inadvertently spilling wine on her coat.
“Twenty-five hundred bits,” Blueblood said coolly. “And I’ll treat you to dinner and drinks tonight.”
“You’d do that for Trixie?” She narrowed her eyes a bit. There had to be a catch. “Really?”
“Nopony should have to drink Appleoosan Vineyard.” He stifled a gag at the name. “Come, let’s get you some proper wine.”
“If you’re paying for the drinks, Trixie will be drinking something much stronger.”
“Cocktails then.” Blueblood rose and stretched, extending a hoof towards Trixie. “Welcome aboard.”
She shook his hoof and kicked off the bench. “A pleasure doing business.”
Her grip held firm as he tried to pull away.
“Trixie will take her upfront payment now.”
Blueblood’s magic levitated a jingling purse from within his jacket and dropped it into her outstretched hoof. Trixie shook it and raised an eyebrow. Without another word, he sighed and removed his coinpurse, and silently counted another five hundred bits.
"Look to the desert, her dust, sand, and bone. Inhale her hot scent, And know you are home." —Saddle Arabian Poem attributed to "Verbena"
Chapter 2: State of Affairs
Three days later, they were packed into a train car bound for Saddle Arabia. The caboose of the train was as luxurious as Trixie had expected from a prince—done up in red velvet, gold filigree, and sumptuous cedar wood that smelled of sap and life. It was a step up from her usual lodgings, for sure. The meals were definitely a highlight for her. She’d gotten used to plain rice and beans or cheap takeout for so long that she’d forgotten how much flavor there was in the world. She’d slurped creamy, cheesy onion soups, munched on strawberry and dandelion salads glazed with sweet lemon sauce, devoured a full plate of finely roasted filhay mignon, and downed it all with gulps of a fresh apple brandy cocktail.
For her, it was the lap of luxury, yet Blueblood seemed to chafe at his confinement. He paced, stared out of the windows, picked at his dinner, and kept trying to settle in before starting the routine over again. Trixie swallowed the last of her cocktail and breathed out hot vapor. She could still taste the sweet and sour of the drink on her tongue as she leafed through the train’s room service menu.
“Trixie is thinking she’d like dessert.” She peered over the crisp pages as Blueblood continued to glower at the rapidly passing countryside. “Would you prefer the crème brûlée or the mango rainbow cake?”
Blueblood’s only response was to sigh heavily and sink into the heavy cushions beside the window. “Créme brûlée sounds lovely.”
Trixie rang the buzzer for service and passed their order along to an attendant. Blueblood folded his arms over his chest and sighed once more. Trixie frowned.
“You’re just doing that for attention, now.”
“I’m doing it because I’m thinking.” The prince pursed his lips. “Everything is political. There’s somepony’s hoof in this reassignment, and I’m trying to determine whose.”
“So you think somepony wanted you out of the palace?”
“Or in Saddle Arabia.” He bounced his leg nervously. “So, who? Celestia? Her princess brat? One of the Courtiers?”
“Well,” Trixie swiveled in her seat. “which of the Courtiers has a problem with you?”
“It would be shorter to list the ones who don’t,” Blueblood smirked. “Inter-department arguments are frequent. Foreign Affairs tends to get shafted unless I get creative with my budgetary requests, so I’ve got plenty of ponies who’d like to see me out of the country.” He leaned forward, propping his head up with a hoof under his chin. “I’ve got my doubts about them. Sure, they wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore, but it’s not as if they gain much. Budgets are stretched tight as is, even without my meddling. Plus, it was Celestia’s signet on the assignment. The only one with the sway to get that without months of effort—"
“Would be you.” Trixie finished his thought. The door swung open and a mustachioed grey stallion dropped off a piping hot créme brûlée. She thanked him curtly and cracked the surface with a thwack of her spoon. “So, you think Celestia is behind things, then?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged and slouched over to the dining table, picking up a spoon and taking a bite of the steaming dessert. “All I know is that I’ve got a bad feeling about all of this. Too many ponies have it out for me, and this is a perfect opportunity for some political screwing.”
“Have you considered pissing off fewer ponies?” Trixie slushed around a mouthful.
Both of them stared in silence for a moment before bursting into peals of laughter.
“I can’t help my special talent.” Blueblood chuckled to himself as he crunched a crispy piece of the créme brûlée. “Regardless of who’s behind all of this, we have a pretty simple assignment once we get to Saddle Arabia. We relieve Rough Cut, we approve and deny expatriation requests, and then do the usual diplomatic stuff.”
Trixie swallowed a spoonful and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “While Trixie has, of course, been on numerous diplomatic missions across the globe, she could use a small refresher on what ‘the usual diplomatic stuff’ entails.”
“We attend parties, we talk to ministers and such, and generally advocate for Equestria’s interests where we can.” Blueblood rang for service and ordered himself a Black Walnut Manehattan. “Saddle Arabia is one of our premier trade partners, so keeping relations good is a top priority. All we really need to do is walk around, look pretty, and occasionally attend meetings to shift things around as needed. Easy stuff. Practically a vacation.”
“Trixie certainly needed a vacation.” She looked at her empty glass and swirled around the mixture of melted ice and leftover brandy at the bottom. Levitating it with her magic, she held it out across the table as Blueblood received his Manehattan.
“To rest and relaxation.” Blueblood clinked his glass against hers. He took a sip of his drink and grimaced. “Celestia’s sake, what kind of whiskey did they put in this?” He pounded the service button so rapidly Trixie thought it might snap under the pressure. “Somepony’s head is going to roll for this. Serving bottom-shelf dreck to a prince of all ponies? Of all the underhanded…”
As he ranted, Trixie floated his glass across the table to herself and took a long swig of it. It tasted fine to her, not that she’d ever tell him that.
*****
And so the days passed. Trixie and Blueblood bickered and argued over five-star meals and top-shelf drinks while the train glided through the painted landscape. They spent the time drinking, reading, arguing, and listening to the radio. Trixie received a crash course in Sarabic, but her tongue was hardly suited to it. Blueblood drilled her laboriously in manners and etiquette, trying to flash cast her as a diplomat in a week when he knew it took years. Still, he did a passable job. She knew how to bow, knew which fork to use at dinner, and how to avoid stepping on her partner's hooves during a royal waltz. Better than most, but immersed in the culture she was not. Thankfully, Blueblood had gotten by with fluent Equine and broken Sarabic on his first trip, and unless things had changed drastically, she wouldn’t need to be fluent. Besides, he could always translate.
Slowly, the world outside their window began to change. The forests and fields of Equestria began to give way to stark, stony mountains. They passed through a tunnel that seemed to stretch forever and emerged on the other side in a vast and scabbed scrubland. Thin reedy grasses replaced the rich greens and trees became rare things that dotted the horizon with dry, clawed branches. The air was arid and stifling, and Blueblood could feel himself sweating even with the air conditioning cranked to maximum.
Eventually, even the minimal greenery was blotted out as they drifted from sparse savannah to deep desert. Canyons of red rock yawned and gaped between wide expanses of shifting dunes. Blueblood had to pull the windows closed when the wind shifted and coated the inside of their cabin with dusty grit. The monotony of the desert was occasionally broken up by camps of nomadic camels, their brightly colored tents standing sharp against the unending yellow-orange of sand. At night, the desert came alive with the eyeshine of jackals roaming through the darkness, trailing wagons of scavenged junk behind them.
The tracks rose along the edge of a dark stone plateau that separated them from their final destination. As they crested the rim, they passed once more into a lush space of dense green. The air smelled of life as the tracks wove through soggy rice paddies and copses of lemon trees. Richly scented sagegrass blossomed along the edge of the train tracks, filling the air with a tantalizing aroma. Blueblood guzzled a glass of water to ease the dryness of his throat as they drifted along through a dreamlike haze. Tall horses dressed in loose sarongs waded through fields of rice and carried bundles of herbs at their sides, returning to small villas of richly colored stone houses that dotted the horizon. Ahead, however, Blueblood could already see the spires of the capital.
Sutaf was a city unlike any in Equestria. Wide walls of bleached sandstone kept out the desert, studded all over with deep gouges from wars innumerable. It had been here that Saddle Arabia was born in a crucible of cannonfire and blood, and the capital city still bore the scars of her painful gestation. Yet, even at a distance, Blueblood could see the old wounds had been used as the centerpiece for new art. Carvings of curling Sarabic script ran the length of the walls, incorporating the slashes and cuts of ancient battle into blessings of peace and promises of prosperity—written wards against the cruel indifference of the desert. Even at a distance, the palace complex was visible as a silhouette against the sun. Blueblood could already see the onion-shaped domes and slender minarets he’d spied nearly a decade ago.
As they drew nearer, the air was filled with the familiar scents of Saddle Arabia. Fresh, clean linen, ripe lemons, spices, and herbs, cool brown river water, and freshly broken earth. Camel caravans parked outside the city with baskets full of goods for trade, shifty jackals in loose attire pawed at curved knives in their belts, and horses of every color haggled with exaggerated bows and carefully crafted promises. A group of children splashed in the spray from an irrigation ditch, kicking up spray that turned prismatic under the hot sun. Blueblood breathed a sigh as he pressed a hoof against the window. Saddle Arabia was exactly as he remembered.
Settling into a seat, Blueblood took another drink of water. He’d asked the attendant to leave them with a full pitcher, and already they were draining it. Trixie sprawled on her back, lazily fanning her face with her hoof.
“Trixie was under the impression,” she panted, “that the heat would be more bearable.”
“You get used to it.” Blueblood tried to shrug nonchalantly, though he slugged down another full glass of water and dabbed at his brow with a kerchief. “Before we arrive in Sutaf, there’s still one more thing to discuss.”
“Trixie is not practicing her slow dance in this heat.” Her voice was as dry as the dunes.
“Celestia, no. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near you when you’re sweating like a nervous pig.” He shuddered and repressed a gag. “Disgusting.”
Blueblood conveniently ignored his sweat as he shed his stuffy suit jacket. Trixie smirked when she saw the telltale dark spots along his back.
“I meant your name.”
“What’s wrong with Trixie?”
“What’s wrong is it’s your real name.” He folded his hooves on the table. “Are you familiar with the Djinn?”
She shook her head.
“Djinn are desert spirits in Saddle Arabian myth and religion. Formless, shapeless, wicked things that want nothing more than to possess innocent horses in their moment of weakness. They take the myth very seriously here.”
“But the names-”
“I’m getting to that.” He held up a hoof and scoffed. “Since they possess horses, anypony could be a djinn in disguise. And the thing a djinn uses to control their host? Their name.”
“So Trixie shouldn’t speak in third person then?”
“If Trixie can help it.”
“Fine.” She huffed childishly, puffing her cheeks out in a pitiful pout. “I’ll drop the act until we’re home.”
“Thank you.” Blueblood went on, ignoring her plight. “Everypony has their real name, of course, but they also have what they refer to as a ‘use-name’, a name they use in place of their own to throw off any enterprising djinn.”
“And do you have one?”
“Indigo.” He brushed his hair from his face. “Plants, concepts, objects… anything can be a use-name.”
Trixie grinned, rubbing her hooves together. “The Great and Powerful Trixie will have to come up with something suitably ostentatious for the occasion.”
“Please don’t.”
“Silence, Indigo!” She held up a hoof. “The Great and Powerful Lily of the Valley is speaking!”
“I’m strongly considering throwing The Great and Powerful Dung Beetle from the train.”
“Oh, you’re no fun at all!”
“On the contrary, it would be the most fun I’ve had all week.”
The train at last passed into the city proper. It twisted through a dense housing project of cramped and squalid little hovels for a moment, where the air was heavy with the stink of unwashed skin and uncollected offal. The only buildings worth noting were the few large factories that belched out plumes of sun-blotting smog. Dirty, bedraggled-looking horses wandered drunkenly through the labyrinthine corridors between the ramshackle houses, occasionally catching a glimpse of the train in their wild eyes.
They put the squalor behind them quickly as the train swiveled around a bend and crossed a sort of demarcation. The air grew cleaner, the homes more respectable, and the horses upright and brightly dressed. Blueblood immediately felt more at ease when he spied that the station was situated in the new, ideal neighborhood rather than the previous. The station itself was born of a modern Sarabic style—squat, cubical buildings with sharp lancet windows embedded in a nest of low, gracefully curved stone walls topped with brilliantly colored awnings. Blueblood had once heard that the design was inspired by spiderwort flowers, though he couldn’t say he saw the resemblance. The interior of the station was a pleasant surprise. Both because it was covered in beautifully ornate mosaic patterns and because it had ample air conditioning.
“Get your things together,” Blueblood said as he hefted himself to his hooves and slung his saddlebags over his back. “And once you have them, be a dear and carry a few of mine.”
“Trixie packed light,” she said, biting her tongue. “Sorry, force of habit. I packed light. Just one bag with clothes, soap, shampoo, toothbrush, and some snacks.” Her magic reached beneath the seat and pulled out a periwinkle suitcase covered in peeling star stickers.
“Thankfully, I, too, packed light.” He opened a closet at the back of their car and lugged out a massive black leather satchel that scraped the floor with its weight.
“That’s light?” Trixie snorted as she watched him struggle with it. Her laughter was silenced as Blueblood dropped it on her back, crushing her and knocking the wind from her lungs.
“As light as I can manage with.”
She huffed and gasped, rising from the floor with noodle-legs as she tried to balance the massive pack on her shoulders. Her heart sank when she saw Blueblood dragging two more equally hefty suitcases from the same closet. “Blueblood, you can’t be serious.”
“That’s Indigo,” he said with a smirk, slamming another suitcase onto her overburdened shoulders. “And like I said, this is as light as I can manage.”
“What’s in these things?! Canterlot Palace?”
“Very funny. If you must know, the two you’re carrying are just my accessories and grooming supplies.” He sashayed past her with his last suitcase tucked under his foreleg. “This one is all formal wear. I’ll buy casual wear as we go.”
Trixie huffed and puffed as she followed him off of the train and into the station.
Even with the air conditioning at full blast, it was still bone dry and boiling inside. Blueblood could only imagine what it was like outside. He checked his pocket watch just to be sure they were on schedule. They were two minutes late. He made a mental note to send a message back to Equestria deriding their transit system. With his hooves clacking on the polished tiles, he made his way to a nearby stone bench and had a seat. Trixie followed behind, her mane wilted and her breath ragged. She trailed a string of expletives that would have drawn looks of horror if she said them only a hair louder.
“Ah! Salaam, friends!” A trio approached out of the crowd, two jackals dressed in loose sirwals and a horse standing tall and regal in sumptuous embroidered silk. The horse at the center gave a bow, keeping his eyes fixated on the prince. “You’re very lucky! We only received word you were arriving a few hours ago! The Caliph, whose mercy is unceasing, briefed us that you were to be our new ambassador. How lucky we must be that Equestria sends her prince to us!”
He stepped forward, extending his hoof. Blueblood reached out and clasped the greeter by the elbow and nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, prince. I am Aster, diplomatic liaison in training.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Blueblood smiled as warmly as he could. “I am Indigo, and I look forward to working with you.”
Trixie was on the verge of collapse as she trudged her way to the group, who seemed perfectly fine meeting without her. Dripping with sweat and half-sick with exhaustion, she stood knock-kneed as Aster regarded her with a casual, dismissive glance. “And I presume this is your…” He searched his mind before finishing with a Sarabic word that got a laugh out of Blueblood.
“No, no! Nothing like that!” He dismissed with a wave of his hoof. “In fact, she’s my court wizard. At least for this trip.”
“Ah! My apologies! Salaam, mighty Magus.” Aster bowed to her as well, before clapping his hooves and issuing a command to the two Jackals. They stepped forward, silent and resolute, as they took the bags from her and slung them over their shoulders. Trixie exhaled a sigh of relief and swooned, resting against Blueblood’s flank. He shook her off with a shudder of disgust when he felt the sweat on her coat.
“‘Mighty’?” Trixie smirked slightly as she slicked her damp mane to one side. “I like the sound of that…”
“And your name?” Aster extended a hoof to her. Trixie followed Blueblood’s lead and held on at the elbow. It was at that moment that she realized she hadn’t actually decided on a name. Her eyes drifted around the station, tracing across the mosaics. The mouldings near the ceiling were wrapped in delicate strands of thorny vines. That was good enough for her.
“Briar. The Mighty Magus Briar.” Trixie replied with a nod. She turned the phrase over in her mouth. It didn’t quite have the same ring to it, but she’d get used to it eventually.
“And it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Aster smiled and motioned for Blueblood and Trixie to follow. “Now come, come. Let’s get you settled in your rooms at the palace. The Caliph, whose rule is just, will endow you with official diplomatic responsibility at tomorrow's welcoming banquet. Until then, however, we should-”
“Before that,” Blueblood interrupted, “I’d like to meet with my predecessor. I understand he’s been shirking his responsibilities, and I’d like to personally chew him out before delivering his formal dismissal.”
“Ah, my prince! There will be time for that later! For now, you must be worn out after such a journey and-”
“I’m hardly tired. I’d very much like to meet with him before I settle in.”
Aster swallowed hard. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Trixie nudged Blueblood and glared at him, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I would very much prefer to go to the palace and settle into her room.”
“And you can do that after I dismiss Rough Cut as brutally as possible.”
“You haven’t been carrying backbreaking luggage in this heat!” Trixie brushed her damp mane out of her eyes, scowling.
Blueblood exhaled low and slow, rubbing his temple with the tip of his hoof. “If we go and dismiss him now we won’t need to go back out to do it later. And I’d rather not need to go out during the hottest part of the day.”
Trixie’s eyes shrank to pinpricks. “It gets hotter?”
“In a few hours, yes. Right around midday. So the sooner we dismiss our shiftless ambassador, the better.” Blueblood trotted on, and Aster sprinted ahead to lead him. Trixie fell glumly into line behind him. Thankfully, Aster wasn’t going to make them walk. They were herded into an alabaster carriage brushed with sparkling gold. The pair of jackals clambered up into the driver's seat while Aster took a seat inside with them. The interior was covered in densely embroidered rugs in a dizzying array of colors and kept cool with a spinning fan set into the ceiling. Trixie slouched into her seat, still in disbelief that the heat could rise.
They trundled down the street, leaving the station in the dust and getting their first glimpse of the city proper. Vibrant market stalls lined the pavement, their owners barking out deals in Sarabic as they showed off carpets, fruits, bottles of wine, hoof-woven baskets, and jewelry. The air was filled with the greasy smells of oil flames and street food. Blueblood watched as a chef grilled thick slabs of flatbread on one burner and a mix of peppers and onions on another. He piled the steaming veggies onto the bread, folded it over, and handed it off to an impatiently bouncing colt. Another enterprising restaurateur served up a sweeter fair, selling large paper cones of candied almonds, pecans, and pistachios. Trixie’s stomach growled and her mouth watered.
Turning off the market street, the hustle and bustle hardly ceased. They passed by a statue garden that was packed with horses, camels, and jackals alike. As they drew near, it became clear why. Every statue was a fountain that spit streams of cool, clear water or gave off plumes of chill mists.
“Lineage Park.” Aster gestured out the window. “Every Caliph commissions a statue to commemorate their reign and has it placed in the park as a marker of their rule. We started adding the water features to increase attendance, and it worked like a charm.”
“I wouldn’t say no to splashing in cold water right about now,” Trixie said longingly as they passed it by.
Coffee and Tea Cafes were a dime a dozen in Saddle Arabia, it seemed. Trixie counted at least eight just on the one street alone. Most had large outdoor seating areas with low tables surrounded by cushions where horses sat and chatted over mugs of fragrant, faintly spicy-smelling teas or coffee so strong the scent made her wince. Their carriage paused at an intersection as a procession of horses in black robes with high, cubical caps crossed in a solemn procession. They spoke rhythmically, occasionally breaking out in shrill ululations that Trixie couldn’t understand.
“What are they saying?” She whispered to Blueblood, whose ear perked at the sound.
“It’s a prayer.” He replied. “‘Bless the moon which gives life, and bless the sun which takes it’.”
“Your Sarabic is impressive, Indigo.” Aster inclined his head. “Alabaster, your predecessor, never bothered to learn it.”
“A shame. It’s a lovely tongue, once you get the hang of it.”
The carriage started up again, and Aster did his best to give them a flying tour of the city. He pointed out the notable architecture, like the large arches constructed in antiquity or the smokestacks of modern factories. He took special pride in pointing to the piercing minarets that called twice daily for prayer, and the black and white temples of the cosmos that dominated their districts. Blueblood had seen much of it on his last visit, and although he loved Sutaf, something he glimpsed out of the window stuck out to him more than any of its architecture.
There were a surprising number of ponies around. Some were clearly tourists, leering at street art or fumbling their way through basic Sarabic, but others were a much different breed. They walked in orderly rows, bore muskets over their shoulders, and dressed in Equestrian guard uniforms decades out of date. Mercenaries, Blueblood assumed. But what did Saddle Arabia need with Equestrian soldiery? He supposed he’d find out when he met with Rough Cut.
One of the jackals leaned down to tell them they were taking a slight detour, as the road ahead was blocked off for a demonstration. Blueblood peered down the street and could see a crowd of horses, jackals, and camels dressed in indescribably filthy attire waving black ribbons and chanting. It was difficult to make out from a distance,, but he was positive he heard the Caliph mentioned in their slogan—and not positively, either.
At last, they arrived in a wide plaza centered by a pond with mirror-smooth water studded with regal lilies. The cobblestone paving underhoof was bone white and polished until it shone. The horses who sat in the few cafes or walked the streets did so with distinct purposes, some bearing obvious marks of rank or carrying bundles of books beneath their chins. A mage in a hurry was levitating a book in front of his face and munching on baklava with his hooves, the charm of his necklace glittering with magic. Another was performing on the edge of the lily pond, weaving streams of conjured flame in spiral strands to an enraptured audience. Aster pushed open the door and stepped out into the square, taking a deep breath.
“Welcome to University Square,” Aster said as he helped the pair down from the wagon. “Come. We’ll take you to Alabaster.”
The three were led into one of the buildings, part of the Health Ministry, according to the sign out front. The interior smelled heavily of industrial cleaner and freshly waxed floors. Blueblood hated the hospital scent. They passed by clusters of medical students, some standing around sick horses and taking notes, some going over charts, others who were speaking in hushed tones about a diagnosis. Trixie’s heart leapt into her throat when she peered through the curtains of a room and caught a glimpse of a practice surgery in progress.
Aster was silent as he led them down two flights of stairs. The temperature dropped steeply as they pressed through a pair of heavily insulated metal doors. Trixie went from boiling to shivering as her sweat froze on her coat. Blueblood could see his breath in wispy clouds as they trotted down the hall. The reek of antiseptic grew so thick that he nearly choked on it. An ominous dread was starting to roil in his stomach. Aster knocked at a door and was allowed in by a mare dressed from head to toe in bright white scrubs. She looked at the two ponies and visibly frowned through her mask.
Blueblood’s heart sank as he stepped into the room. Polished metal tables stretched from wall to wall, with equine forms of various sizes concealed by white sheets. It was the morgue.
Aster stood beside one of the tables, his eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, Indigo and Briar. I was hoping to break the news to you another day, but you were so insistent. I figured it was best to show you plainly.”
The doctor rolled down the sheet just enough to see the face beneath it. Rough Cut lay on the table, staring at the ceiling with blind, cloudy eyes.
“Celestia and Luna both…” Blueblood breathed. Trixie looked up at him, eyes wide with horror. “How long has he-”
“Four months.” The doctor said with a cold, clinical voice. “Found dead in his chamber early in the morning.”
“We intended to have him shipped back to Equestria for a proper funeral,” Aster said solemnly. “But without an ambassador to handle the request, things were complicated. Everything has been complicated as of late.” He breathed out a forlorn sigh.
Trixie clung to Blueblood’s shoulder to steady herself. “We should go.”
Blueblood found himself unable to look away from Rough Cut’s gaze. He couldn’t help but feel it was somehow his fault. It was his signature on the dispatch, wasn’t it? He swallowed hard and forced himself to look away.
A thought drifted into Blueblood’s mind. Everything was political. An Equestrian diplomat dead in a foreign country, leaving their eyes blinded for four months? Who in Saddle Arabia stood to benefit from the lack of a diplomat? Who had Rough Cut aligned himself with? Had he angered someone powerful enough to kill with impunity? If so, whom? What had his agenda been, and who did it threaten?
A thousand questions buzzed in Blueblood’s brain. He bit his lip and exhaled sharply through his nose. Fine. Diplomacy was his special talent. They wanted to play politics? Then he would play their game right back. “I expect a full autopsy report to be sent to my chambers. Understood?”
“Of course.” The doctor inclined her head.
“And, Aster, I expect a full breakdown of Alabaster’s time as diplomat.” He leveled his gaze on the horse. “Saddle Arabia has changed since my last visit. I want to know who’s who. Political groups, dissidents, the Caliph—whose rule is eternal—and his family, the economy, the industry, the military, the… Have I forgotten anything, Briar?”
Trixie took a moment to remember that was her name. “Oh! Well, uh… The universities, I’d assume.”
“Yes, the universities, too.” He nodded. “A full report on all of that, and I’d like it by tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“Ah, my prince.” Aster shuffled nervously. “That’s a lot of information to gather in one night. I could perhaps have it by—”
“By tomorrow morning, as I said.” Blueblood practically growled the words. “You had four months to act and didn’t. I don’t know how Alabaster treated you, but I am not him. You work for me now. Understood?”
“Yes, Indigo.” Aster bowed at the waist and swallowed hard. “I understand. I’ll have a report for you in the morning.”
“Good.” Blueblood huffed, turning on his heel. “Now, our chambers await.”
He took Trixie arm in arm, as she was still weak at the knees from her brush with the dead.
“I thought you said this would be like a vacation?” She muttered as they exited the morgue and stepped into the sunlight once more.
“I thought it would be.” Blueblood ran a hoof through his mane while they waited for Aster. “I understand this isn’t what you signed up for, and if you want to return to Equestria after—”
“Go back now?” Trixie shook her head. “No way.”
“I’m just saying you don’t have to—”
She held up a hoof. “Blue— Indigo, if you keep offering, I’m going to take you up on it. I’m not letting you do this alone.”
Blueblood leaned against the carriage and took a deep breath. “And how much of that bravado is because there’s twenty-five hundred bits at stake here?”
“Oh, all of it,” Trixie replied, fanning herself with her hat. “That’s enough for me to live on for months, and I’m not passing on it. I’ll be here until the end, or at least until my contract is up.”
Blueblood rolled his eyes and managed a faint smile. “Thank you, Briar, for your selfless dedication to the cause.”
“Now, c’mon,” Trixie clambered up into the cab as Aster emerged from the Medical Center. “It's hot out, and I’m due for an ice bath and a bottle of chilled wine at the palace.”
"Remember! A good diplomat keeps his head down. Stirring up strife abroad is cause for immediate recall. A diplomat of Equestria advocates for their homeland safely and politely!" —The Precocious Princeling's Guide to Diplomatic Relations
Chapter 3
The Royal Palace was nearly as wide as Canterlot was tall. While its central complex was puny by comparison, it more than made up for it with the sprawling estate it covered. Even in Equestria Trixie wasn’t sure she had ever seen so much greenery. Pristine manicured lawns gave way to dense hedgerows that concealed bungalows festooned with creeping waterfalls of violet wisteria. Imported willow trees shaded hoof-dug ponds stocked with shimmering koi. Bright rows of flowers lined crunchy paths of sun-bleached gravel, and hidden fountains arced streams of water over their heads as they walked.
The line between the palace interior and exterior was blurry. Much of the building was open and airy, with huge doors and windows that let in cool, scented air that flowed through the halls. Blueblood could almost immediately sense the politics of the place through its architecture. Canterlot was old—a bulwark of an older era meant to defend the mountains it had been built in—but the Saddle Arabian place was new. The walls were unblemished by fire or siege, unlike the battle-scarred walls of the city, and the floors were crisp and fresh beneath his hooves. Here was a place for pleasure, not for protection. And yet, he could still see that defense was a concern.
It seemed that every third horse—Blueblood noted that there were only horses here—they passed was a guard, easily distinguished by their pointed helmets, black robes, and long-barreled jezails slung across their backs. They stood watch at intersections, flanked doorways, glared from high alcoves, and marched in packs of three through the wide, sunlit corridors. And those were just the ones Blueblood could see. He was sure plenty were just out of view watching his every move.
Aster led them on a long, circuitous path to their rooms in the diplomatic wing. Here, Blueblood felt more at home. There were great libraries, intimate dining rooms for discussing business, directional signs in at least seven languages, and tapestries of flags from around the world lining the hall. They passed a balcony where a pair of gryphons were chatting in low tones over fragrant cigars, brushed by a yak whose snout was stuffed in a basic Sarabic phrasebook, and caught a glimpse through an open doorway of a Zebra furrowing his brow over an unfurled map. The Equestrian quarters were at the very end of the hall, under a woven version of Celestia and Luna’s cutie marks. Aster presented them with a key, bowed low, and allowed his jackals to lay down their luggage.
The room itself was big. Too big, Blueblood felt. A bed wide enough for him and Trixie to share with miles between them was pressed into one corner. Beside the bed was a minute altar—a water basin with an unlit floating lantern bobbing about inside. A massive table large enough for Canterlot’s Council to hold court dominated the center, laden with maps and piles of unopened letters to the former diplomat. There was a fully stocked kitchen, an equally stocked bar, a balcony with a lustrous view of the gardens below, and a bathroom with a swimming pool-sized bathtub.
“If you have need for me, I will come when called,” Aster said as he lingered on the lintel. “Your personal servant will be by shortly to take care of any other needs. As you’ve requested much of me by morning, I must leave you for now. I trust you find your accommodations suitable?”
“More than suitable, Aster.” Blueblood nodded. “Thank you for your service.”
“Please enjoy your stay. I shall return in the morning with the information you requested. Your presence will be required at the welcoming ceremonies tomorrow evening in the Grand Hall. Until then, I bid you salaam.”
“Wa’alaykumu s’salaam.” Blueblood bowed his head as Aster closed the door. The carpet was soft and spongy under his hooves as he strode to the bed and sat on the edge. He nearly sank into it.
Trixie promptly tossed her bag on the floor and trotted towards the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and found exactly what she was looking for. Slinging a bag of ice over her shoulder, she glanced to Blueblood and grinned. “When that servant arrives, ask them to bring up more ice.”
“And what do you need an entire bag of ice for?” Blueblood quirked an eyebrow.
“A very, very cold bath.” With that, she stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.
*****
An hour and a half later, Trixie was still in the bath. Blueblood had spent the hour digging through the mail and rattling off responses where needed. Most was the usual affair: expatriation requests, long expired invitations to dances and soirees, requests from local businesses for an official Equestrian endorsement, correspondence from various political groups clamoring for a bit of clout, and other such yammerings. Very little of it seemed to imply an impending death, aside from one particularly incensed fruit vendor whose florid threats became a highlight of Blueblood’s reading.
There was only one message that stood out in the whole pile; a formal-looking notice sealed with a sigil of crossed muskets and three stars. It struck Blueblood as particularly imperial, yet he didn’t recognize it. The letter itself was simple and to the point.
“Ambassador Rough Cut,
I’m terribly sorry that you’ve decided not to follow through with the deal we’ve presented. While your opposition is understandable, I’m still disappointed. I will return to the drawing board with my staff and come up with a new proposition that I’m sure you’ll find more enticing. There is room for Equestria to benefit greatly in Saddle Arabia and I believe we can be a helpful partner in your endeavors.
Blessings,
Duke Fairweather”
The contents themselves weren’t abnormal. Hundreds in the slush pile followed the same format. What struck Blueblood was that the letter used Equestrian names. The paper and ink were subtly different as well. Different in a way that Blueblood found starkly familiar. It felt and smelled like Canterlot stationary, or at least a meticulous copy.
Blueblood privately admitted the lead was tenuous at best, but a tenuous lead was better than none at all. Setting up a meeting with Duke Fairweather would be his first priority after he was properly settled in. Slouching out of his comfy chair, he crossed the all-too-wide room and thudded a hoof against the bathroom door.
“Still soaking!”
“Briar, get out of the bath,” Blueblood replied with an exasperated sigh. “You can’t stay in there forever.”
“Have they brought more ice yet?”
“No.”
“Then I will continue to soak until I get my second dose of ice!”
“We need to talk.”
“Later.”
“I’m coming in.” The Prince’s horn glowed and his magic gripped the doorknob.
On the other side, he heard the slosh of water and Trixie’s yelp. “You can’t! I’m not decent!”
“Then you have three seconds to become decent.” Blueblood turned the knob and counted rapidly under his breath before he threw open the door.
Trixie screamed and covered her body as he stepped inside, trying to shield herself with soapy suds as she splashed in the slippery tub. “How dare you! I’m… I’m…”
“Not wearing a hat and cape,” Blueblood said casually as he took a seat on the edge of the massive bath.
Trixie glanced down at her body and pouted. “It’s still very rude to barge in on a lady while she’s bathing.”
“You’ve bathed enough for one day. Even I don’t take that long in the tub, and I have a twenty-step coatcare routine! And Celestia, don’t get me started on the hoofcare regimen!” He smirked as he tossed a towel in her direction. “Now come. I want you to try something with me.”
Drying herself off and wrapping the fluffy towel around her head, Trixie followed him back into the room. He stood in the small entry hall and stared out into their quarters. He gestured for her to stand beside him, and she fell into place with an annoyed groan.
“You wanted me to see the room? I did that when I stepped in an hour ago!”
“Not see the room. I want you to examine it.” Blueblood motioned with his hoof. “What does this room tell you? Why do you think we’re here?”
“Well, I’m here because you’re paying me.” Her lips curled in a smile that the prince met with a withering glare.
“Just do it, okay?”
“Fine, fine.” Trixie huffed and rolled her eyes. She scanned the scene briefly. “Whoever owns this room is incredibly wealthy.”
“Good start.” Blueblood nodded sagely. “Go on.”
“And…” She chewed her lip as she stepped into the room, the floorboards squeaking under her hooves. Her eyes drifted to their balcony. “They gave us a room that looks over the garden.”
“Why?” He pressed, shadowing her.
“I don’t know. It’s a beautiful view?”
“Think deeper.”
Trixie pushed a frustrated sigh through her nostrils. “Why don’t you just tell me? Save us both the trouble!”
“Because I’m trying to make you think!” Blueblood kept his voice low. “Everything is political. Nothing is by mistake. They gave us this room and everything in it for a reason, Briar. Why?”
“Indigo,” She rubbed her temple with the tip of her hoof, gritting her teeth. His Sarabic name came surprisingly easily to her tongue. “You think there’s a secret reason behind what room they gave us?”
“No, not a secret reason. But people reveal their politics in everything. Usually without noticing.” He gently nudged her shoulder, turning her to face the balcony again. “You were on to something with the balcony. Start there. Why a garden view? I know thinking doesn’t come naturally to you—” She hip-checked him hard at that, but he coughed out the rest. “—but why?”
“Okay, a view of the garden.” Trixie furrowed her brow in thought. What was Blueblood seeing that she wasn’t? Taking a stroll to the wide open doorway to the terrace, she leaned against the square pillars that flanked it. What was she missing here?
That was it.
What was missing?
“If we have a view of the garden, we don’t have a view of the city.” Trixie cast a sidelong glance over her shoulder. “That’s what you meant, isn’t it?”
Blueblood’s eyes sparkled. “Now you’re thinking like a diplomat! What else! What does that imply about us?”
Trixie licked her lips. “It means… It means that the city isn’t part of our business. We don’t need to see what we’re not going to deal with.”
“Exactly!” The prince grinned wildly, brushing a stray hair from his face. “It's an implication. We’re foreigners, disconnected from their city and their culture. Remember how Aster tried to bustle us right to the palace when we arrived? Why would we want to look at the markets and streets and universities and restaurants? That’s none of our business. They expect us to sit pretty and attend dinners and balls and spend the rest of our spare time holed up in our room.”
“And!” Trixie beamed. Blueblood’s excitement was rare but infectious. “If that’s what they expect us to do, where do you think they got the idea from?”
“Our dearly departed ambassador Alabaster of course!” Blueblood slapped a hoof against the stone. “Now you’re getting it.”
He crossed back into the room and checked the fridge. There was plenty of chilled wine, but Blueblood was in no mood to dull his wits even slightly now. A fresh bottle of tamarind juice would suffice. He filled two frosted glasses and slid one across the countertop to Trixie, who caught it with her magic and raised it to her lips for a deep gulp. Blueblood took a sip for himself, exhaling cool vapor over the lip of the cup.
“There’s another thing about this room I noticed.” Blueblood mused quietly as he wiped his lip. Trixie pouted faintly, but he dismissed it with a wave. “Don’t worry, it’s not something I expected you to notice. You’d need to be familiar with Saddle Arabia to have noticed.” He jerked his head at the basin beside the bed. “They gave us a Flame Altar.”
“A what?” Trixie turned to see it. “Oh, yeah. I was wondering what that was for. Some sorta religious thing?”
“It is. But it's not exactly a common one.” The prince took another drink of his juice. “Fire Worship is an old faith. Used to be more popular in the ancient days, back before Saddle Arabia was a country. A religion of the sun and moon always existed alongside it, but after contact with Equestrian traders, it gained ground rapidly.
“These days Fire Worship is mostly practiced in rural communities, or poor ones in cities like these.” Blueblood crossed to stand alongside the altar and gently prodded the lantern with his hoof. “I’m damn sure that this wasn’t a part of Alabaster’s room. Someone put it here for us to find.”
Trixie smirked slightly. “Now it’s my turn. Why?”
“That’s what I’m still trying to figure out. Is it a test? Some way to gauge our theological leanings? An attempt at promoting sympathy for a cause? A statement about Alabaster’s personal faith?” He shrugged. “Who knows.”
“Who knows?” Trixie fumed. “Who knows?! You badger me about the view from the window that much, and when you’ve gotta do it in return all you’ve got is who knows?”
“I can’t analyze everything.” Blueblood rolled his eyes.
“I despise you,” Trixie muttered as she finished the last of her juice.
“Consider the feeling mutual!” Blueblood raised his glass in a mock toast and downed his drink with a gulp.
A knock at the door interrupted the pair. It opened a second later to reveal a grey and white pinto mare with a silvery mane and a serious face. She had ramrod rigid posture and eyes that bespoke a spirit unfit for a servant. She stepped inside without a word, knelt, and bowed until her lips touched the carpet. A religious gesture, Blueblood noted.
“Salaam your grace.” She spoke without looking up from the floor. Blueblood could see every muscle in her body taut as a drumskin. “I am Chicory, your humble servant. How may I assist you?”
“You can stand, for one thing.” Blueblood gestured for her to rise as he took a seat at the table. Chicory followed his instruction but didn’t move otherwise. “Did you serve Alabaster as well as myself?”
“Yes, your grace.”
The prince let her answer hang in an awkward pause. He hoped that Chicory might attempt to fill the void and give him some information without request, but she did not. Her eyes, however, flicked momentarily towards the Fire Altar beside the bed. Blueblood followed her gaze until his own eyes rested upon it.
“Chicory,” He said as he trotted beside the altar. “Can you explain what this is? I assumed it was a washbasin when I entered, but the soap in that little dispenser there smelled ghastly. I hope that’s not what all you horses wash with! I understood Sarabia was barbarous, but this is patently ridiculous!”
“It’s a Fire Altar! You would profane such—” Her cool facade snapped for a split second. Chicory inhaled slowly and steadied herself before returning to her icy, blank expression. “Apologies, your grace. A Fire Altar is a sacred artifact from the history of this city.”
“Do you know how it works?” Trixie didn’t move from her seat in the kitchen but raised an eyebrow. “Indigo and I were just discussing what we were supposed to do with it. He suggested drinking the water, but I figured we should ask someone first.”
Blueblood shot her a glare that she returned with a mocking smile.
“I can demonstrate the workings of the Altar for you. If that’s what your grace demands of me.” Chicory glanced between the two ponies, who nodded their approval. Beneath the loose wraps of cloth Chicory wore, something began to glow. Blueblood could tell it was a necklace charm, a not uncommon arcane focus of Sarabian magic. The lantern was plucked from the water and gently dried with one of Trixie’s discarded towels. “Once the light is lit, the lamp will bob through the water in circles. The temples say it’s symbolic; light and warmth surrounded by water that can snuff it out in an instant.”
“And then we just let it run its course until it goes out?” Blueblood chimed in.
“No,” Chicory said firmly. “The fire must be fed. Never let it go out. It’s a reminder to care for something other than oneself.” Chicory lit the wick with a spell and gently placed the lamp back into the basin. “Is there anything else you require of me, your grace?”
“Lunch.” Blueblood turned from the flame to more practical matters. “I presume it will be delivered to our room shortly?”
“Do you have an order, your grace? Our chefs are very skilled at crafting the delicacies you would have enjoyed back in Canterlot.” Chicory’s eyes never left the altar, watching as the glass bubble turned slow circles in the water. “Alabaster was particularly fond of our lemon and strawberry greens mix with a side of seasoned fries.”
“Surprise us.” Blueblood sank into a chair and shrugged nonchalantly. “Something local would be preferred. Something we can only eat here in Saddle Arabia. I wouldn’t want to have come all this way for nothing!”
“Then I’ll return with your meals shortly.” She bowed again, that same distinctly religious bow that touched the carpet, stood to her full height, and exited the room.
“I think we found our Fire Worshiper,” Blueblood said with a grin. “So now we know who set this up in our room. All that remains is to determine why.”
“So here’s what we know so far,” Trixie took a seat across from him. She’d refilled her glass full of tamarind juice and was slurping noisily at the rim. “They don’t think we need to know about the goings on in the city. Someone, probably Chicory, wanted us to have a Fire Altar in our room. Alabaster didn’t like to engage with Saddle Arabia beyond the palace, and they expect us to do the same.”
“And we have somepony to look into.” Blueblood passed her the letter he had been reading while she was in the bath. “He was in contact with somepony named Duke Fairweather. It’s not much to go on, but it’s a start.”
“Better than nothing, I suppose.” Trixie scanned the letter and tossed it aside. Her face grew serious as she watched Blueblood nervously tap his hooves on the table. “Do you think Alabaster was—"
“It had to be murder,” Blueblood muttered gravely. “Everything is pointing to him being a deeply unambitious and unassuming middle manager who barely left the palace. Either he was horrifically boring and died by accident, or someone stood to benefit from him being out of the picture.”
The prince huffed and sulked darkly as he continued.
“Until we’re officially confirmed by the Caliph tomorrow, all we can do is bide our time and wait. And if there’s one thing I hate, it’s waiting.”
“And our first move after that?” Trixie cocked her head as she traced patterns in the condensation of her glass.
“Be Alabaster’s opposite. If they don’t want us involved in the city, then the city holds something they don’t want us to see.”
“But—” Trixie’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean we’ll be out in the heat all day, do you?”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“I will not get used to this!”
“Give it a week.”
*****
The sun fell behind the palace walls and painted the world bloody. Blueblood sat on the balcony overlooking the garden picking at the remains of his dinner. Chicory had brought him a crispy pastry stuffed with clotted cream and pistachios as dessert. While it was delicious, he was finding it hard to focus on his meal. A crescent moon appeared in the darkening, violet sky, heralded by the ringing of bells and the hoarse cry of the muezzin calling for the evening prayer.
“We bless the moon and her cool night,” Blueblood muttered a translation of the Sarabic that lilted on a whispering wind. “May her light be everlasting and her love undimmed by the sun.”
The pieces of the puzzle were assembling themselves in front of him. A mysterious reassignment from Celestia herself, a dead ambassador, the implication that he was to play nice like his predecessor and remain in his room all day, a Fire Worshiper servant with a religious posture... There was something rotten here, but he couldn't put his hoof on it. His mind was turning at a million miles a minute. He needed to do something. But until he was properly ordained, all he could do was continue to bother Chicory or Aster for information, and neither seemed particularly forthcoming.
Trixie’s hooves tramped across the stone floor and settled into a seat beside Blueblood. She tilted her hat to shade her eyes as she sipped on her second glass of champagne. Aster had sent them a welcome basket of flowers and wine, and Trixie had wasted no time enjoying both. “Still thinking?”
“Still thinking.” Blueblood cradled his chin in his hoof with a slow, breathy sigh. “I loathe this waiting.”
“I know, you’ve been repeating that on and off all day.” Trixie shook her head and clucked her tongue. She held out her half-empty champagne flute. “Here, drink a little.”
The prince stared at the glass with an expression somewhere between contempt and desire. “I’m not particularly in the mood to—”
Before he could protest further, Trixie thrust the glass into his open mouth and tilted it back. Blueblood choked and spluttered, dribbling wine down his chin as he gagged. Trixie’s magic held the glass firm until he had downed it.
“Are you trying to kill me?!” Blueblood spat, frantically pawing at his coat. “Oh, this is going to take hours to scrub out! I hope you’re happy with yourself you ungrateful—”
Before he could finish, Trixie had slid the half-empty bottle across the table to him. “Indigo, Celestia help me, drink the wine and shut your mouth.”
Blueblood held the bottle with his magic and brought it to his nose to sniff. Trixie set a clean flute at his side and he measured out a steady pour for himself.
“I get it. I hate waiting too.” Trixie went on, kicking her hooves idly. “But it’s like the old saying. ‘Never do today what you can put off ‘till tomorrow’.”
The champagne froze inches from Blueblood’s lips as he cocked his head at her. “I don’t think that’s how it goes.”
“Whatever. It’s the creed I live by.” Trixie lashed her tail dismissively. “You’ve done all you can today, so all we can do is enjoy our time until tomorrow.”
“That’s just it.” Blueblood sipped his champagne morosely. “I’m a Prince of Equestria. There’s always something that I should be doing.”
“And right now, you should be doing nothing.” Trixie managed a casual grin.
Blueblood tried to return it, but his faint smile failed to reach his eyes.
“You know what?” Trixie rose and grabbed Blueblood by the hoof. “I think you’re just crabby after the trip.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“You haven’t even taken a bath! You’re still all disgusting and sweaty and smelly from earlier!”
“I am not—”
Trixie jerked him along behind her as she led him back into their shared room. “You are. Even if you don’t think you are, you are.”
“I’m—” Blueblood protested futilely as he was shoved into the bathroom. He tried the door but found Trixie had heaved her full weight against it to keep him inside.
“Just soak for an hour or so! You’ll feel better! Trust me!” Her voice was muffled through the heavy oak.
“Can I at least have my champagne while I soak then?” Blueblood rubbed his forehead, slowly resigning himself to his fate.
The door opened a crack and Trixie shoved his drink through. “Drink up!”
BANG! She slammed it shut again. Not seeing any other option, Blueblood sat on the tub's edge and ran himself a warm bath.
He’d have Alabaster’s autopsy in the morning. That would clear things up.
