Sell Me A Lemon

Chapters

A Fruit Salad, Full of Nuts
Bittersweet Truth
Breaking and Entering for Family-Friendly Life Lessons
Port? I Don't Mind If I Do
The More You Travel, The Less You Change
Bedside Manners

A Fruit Salad, Full of Nuts

Lemon Hearts took in the golden tassels of the drapes, the opalescent opulence of the main hall, and the stately columns and paintings standing to attention on either side, and said… “Eh.”

“Isn’t this exciting?” breathed Twinkleshine beside her. “Ah, to be back in the old alma mater! The celestial grail of scholarship and sophistication! Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns!”

“S’all right,” Lemon muttered with a shrug.

Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns did not see many ponies at its reunions, she noticed. Once she counted her own little clique, she was left with maybe two dozen or so ponies. Enrolling at the school hadn’t been easy. In fact, the place had been harder to break into than a bank, and Lemon Hearts – having enjoyed an interesting childhood – knew that from experience.

Over by the salads, she recognized Princess Twilight and her dragon assistant Spike. Princess Twilight: it always paid to be nice to a princess, in case said royal liked to give out favours. She and Spike were deep in conversation with Moondancer, who from the look on her face had been dragged here.

Somewhere in the crowd would be Lemon’s own closer allies – Minuette and Lyra, both traceable by dint of having the loudest voices in the room – but Lemon’s apathy kicked in around this point and she didn’t bother searching for them.

“I can’t wait to see how everyone I knew has gotten on since we last met!” said Twinkleshine, whose face shone at events like this, both from pleasure and from sweat.

“What, all six of us?” said Lemon tersely.

Twinkleshine rounded on her, curls flailing. “Oh my gosh, look at them all! What if I say something without thinking? Look! That’s the Royal Astronomer’s assistant! Her actual assistant!” She breathed so hard and so fast that she became a sneezing bunch of squeaks. “What do I say? How do I say it? Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Maybe we should come back tomorrow.”

To this unseemly display, Lemon did not respond. She was all too familiar with Twinkleshine’s freak-outs; the mare tended to regard astronomers as most ponies regarded, say, Princess Celestia.

“Come on,” Lemon said, not unkindly given how tempting it would be to clip her friend round the ear. “Let’s get a drink. It’ll give you fake courage.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly talk to…” Twinkleshine started gibbering.

“And if the talk goes belly-up, at least you’ll get something tasty out of it.”

Annoyingly, the drinks table was unattended. Not even one of them fancy waiter thingies hanging around to serve the quality stuff from a tray. That was the Canterlot style, wasn’t it? To treat everything like a wedding?

“Ah,” she groaned. “Figures. Where’s the barmaid, or whatever?”

Twinkleshine stopped gibbering. “Sorry?”

Cursing, Lemon Hearts patted her dress, wondering which secret pocket she’d stashed the purse into. “To pay for the drinks, you ninny. I said I’d get the drinks this time, didn’t I?”

“Oh.” Blushing, Twinkleshine said, “Um. They’re free.”

“Don’t be daft. That’s fermented grape juice. You don’t pass that around for free. Someone might drink too much.” Lemon picked up a glass with one hoof, despite being a unicorn. She didn’t mind magic, but she’d prefer not to mix it up with her juices right before pouring them down her throat. “I’d best see to it they don’t get the chance.”

Inside her head, however, she slapped herself. Pay for the drinks? You idiot. That’s not how it’s done. Way to look clueless again, you lemon.

Beside her, Twinkleshine swiped a glass and gulped, gulped, gulped until it was empty. She slammed it down onto the table.

“OK,” she breathed. “I… do feel a bit better. Thanks for the suggestion. OK… OK… Wish me luck.”

“You’re welcome,” muttered Lemon to her retreating back.

As soon as she was alone, Lemon downed her own drink and picked up another. She hated Canterlot get-togethers. Everything was so stifling. The room looked like it was trying too hard. And the ponies were worse – well, not Twinkleshine and Twilight and all of them; they were all right – but the usual Canterlot audience had this way of peering over their noses at her. More than once in a long and not-so-prosperous career, she’d been given glances and stares more suitable for stains on the carpet.

Ha, she thought. To a long and not-so-prosperous career. All right, Lemon. Remember the story: you’re an organizer at the Canterlot palace. You do state dinners. Royal photographer, too. Oh, and obviously you’ve got a coltfriend. Make him a big stallion. Simple country soul with muscles like oak and eyes that’d bathe your heart in milk. Likes weddings. That’ll knock ‘em dead.

Then she sighed.

No. They’d see through it right away. Scale it down a bit. Maybe just make him a nice poet, or something.

She downed her next drink and picked up a third. There must be someone in this room she could trust…

Her gaze landed briefly upon Minuette, who was deep in conversation with some gloomy-looking unicorn of the Goth persuasion. Too perky.

She singled out Twilight – Nope. No. Definitely not. Too royal. A princess needed to be impressed, not confided in. True, Twilight was no ordinary princess, but that didn’t change the fact that she was the most senior pony in the room right now. If she thought Lemon was full of it, everyone else would suddenly and by sheer coincidence start thinking the same thing.

Too risky.

Finally, Lemon picked out Lyra Heartstrings. She was usually pretty chill. Lemon went over –

– the moment Lyra turned around and beamed at the sight of someone nearby. “Saffron Masala!? Whoa, I never expected to see you here!”

Lemon stopped barely a few feet from them. Saffron? What?

“And I never expected to see you here,” said Saffron genially. “Still like everything with extra spice, do you, Miss Ponyville Pony?”

“Knock it off. You know what I mean.”

“I do. But long before I moved here, Mother and Father saved for me to go to Canterlot. They wanted the best education money could buy!”

“No way! That’s what my Mom and Dad said!”

“Then of course you know how it goes. Oh, the majesty of the place! The culture! The famous Canterlot cuisine! I knew as soon as I saw it that Canterlot was the place for me.”

“So you saved for a return journey!” Cheerfully, Lyra extended a hoof. “Well, it’s a bit late, but here’s my congratulations! The Tasty Treat is the best restaurant in Canterlot!”

“Many thanks!” Even more cheerfully, Saffron seized it and shook. “I’ve loved every second of it.”

Lemon’s mouth fell open. True, she’d been to The Tasty Treat often enough, but Saffron had just been a friendly face at the other end of a load of soups and rice dishes. And it kind of made sense that Canterlot would attract ponies from all over, yes, but…

Nevertheless, the conversation ploughed on. Lyra said, “How come I never saw you in any classes? Were you studying enchanted cooking?”

“Yes, and a few other courses. Only I dropped out after the first semester.”

Lemon closed her mouth at once and strained her ears to hear more.

“No way,” said Lyra. “I dropped out after the first year! Who knew we had so much in common?” She tilted her head, as though partly sheepish about her next confession. “Of course, I was studying magical music. Say what you will about the other subjects, but Canterlot’s music syllabus was pure gold.”

“I know! I was on it!”

Lyra choked with delight. “No way! Did you get Professor B. Sharp?”

“Yes!”

“You play, by any chance?”

“I used to, back in my homeland. I was even in a band. Sadly, not anymore.”

“I’d love to hear you play. Um… you’re from Indrabhumi, right?”

“It’s the pointy ears, isn’t it?”

“Yeah!” Without shame or political correctness, Lyra continued, “So could you teach me about Indrabhumi music? It’s not something you hear about, not in this city. Anyway, I’ve been dying to find someone with a fresh perspective for my upcoming concert.”

“Oh, uh… yes. I’d be more than honoured! Yes!”

At which point, the sheer flood of enthusiasm drove Lemon to back off, in case she drowned in it.

Two drop-outs, she thought grimly, and guess what? One owns a restaurant and the other owns music. Why don’t they just wave their hard-earned money around, while they’re at it?

She sidestepped around Twinkleshine, who clearly hadn’t drunk enough fake courage; faced with the assistant to the Royal Astronomer, her main conversational gambit seemed to involve embarrassed staring and tongue-tied giggling. Not so absent-mindedly, Lemon knocked her rump on the way past and left her suddenly gabbling with newfound speech.

“You know what’s so fascinating about the Leonid meteor shower every fall!?” squeaked Twinkleshine in desperate terror. “It always intensifies every thirty three years! I’ve seen sketches of the streaks! Of the meteors! Across the sky! Um! Technically they’re meteoroids, but, uh, uh, uh, the parent comet, uh, uh, uh, it, uh, it was two centuries ago! Lovely sketch! By Cool Muesli! Of the meteors! Leonid meteor shower! From the parent comet! That’s what, that’s what’s so fascinating! About! The Leonids! The comet! Sorry, I mean the meteor shower! Meteoroid shower! Aheheheheheheh…”

Lemon wrinkled her muzzle in disgust. There was no helping some ponies.

Now sitting up to one of the round tables, Minuette had persuaded Twilight and Moondancer to sit opposite each other, a pack of cards between them. Lemon paused to watch as Minuette levitated the pack and started to shuffle.

“Wait,” said Lemon. “You’re playing my game?”

“Moondancer’s a little nervous,” said Minuette. “I think this is a great way to break the ice. One for the album…” She turned, smiled, nudged Twilight into a hasty smile, and levitated a camera so fast that even the subsequent flash of light was no match for its speed. “Caption: Minuette and Twilight about to make Moondancer feel better.”

“Snappy,” muttered Lemon.

“I changed my mind…” Moondancer’s chair scraped back.

“Don’t worry! The rules are easy to follow!” said Minuette. Blurs darted from the pack to spaces before each of the two seated unicorns. “I deal four cards in the middle of the table, face-up. See? Then I deal – for each of you two – six sets of four cards each, all face down. See? Now, the aim of the game is to make all of your six sets of cards have a matching four of a kind. Easy, huh?”

“Uh…” said Moondancer, looking hopefully at Twilight.

“Don’t worry.” Twilight levitated one of her sets. “This can be just a practice game. It’s only until the awards ceremony.”

Which I’ll be ducking out of, Lemon thought hastily. Aloud, she said, “So it is my game, then! I invented this one!” She peeked at Moondancer’s levitated set, and rudely reached over and slapped the lot down, face-up. “If you’ve already got four of a kind, you put them face-up, all right? Nab any head start you can get.”

For a little longer than Lemon felt was entirely necessary, Moondancer glared at her. Then, tight-lipped, she levitated another set of cards.

“I’m surprised you showed up,” murmured Moondancer. “I remember you said you hated this place.”

I did. Bunch of uptight sourpusses. Give the tutors here a cushy job, and they act like every class is a funeral. And what’s with the “safety codes” anyway? I broke half of them, and nothing happened to me. “Stuffy codes”, more like.

“What? Me? What a load of garbage.” Lemon barked a laugh. “Thanks to this place, I went on to become head of state dinners. At the palace.”

“Very impressive.” Twilight nodded, beaming at her. “However unpleasant something might be at the time…”

Oh darn it. A heartwarming lesson already. We haven’t been here more than ten minutes!

“…if you just hold on and believe in yourself, you’ll –”

“Only I looked up the records of Canterlot staff,” said Moondancer, ice in her voice, “and I don’t remember seeing ‘Lemon Hearts’ anywhere on the list of names.”

Lemon laughed. “Oh, they do that all the time, and even I don’t know why! Administrative error? Beats me. I don’t do pencil-pushing. My love is elsewhere.”

“Anyway, you need a full qualification to be accepted at the palace. They only take the cream of the crop.”

Lemon laughed again, but the “disarmingly enthusiastic” approach clearly wasn’t working. It usually worked against the likes of Twinkleshine and Minuette, who were far too polite to challenge any of the codswallop she said. Even Lyra gave up in the face of Lemon’s brutal cheeriness. But Moondancer didn’t like being pushed, and she certainly didn’t like too much cheer. Lemon had long since marked her down as an aspiring bureaucrat.

In which case, Lemon’s face shut down. “If you say so, then,” she said, indicating in her tone that the sentence continued, “then oh deary me, it must be Celestia’s given truth, because Moondancer said so. Oh, well, that’s me told.”

Not that she wasn’t happy with saying things like that. Only… Princess Twilight was sitting right there, and she probably liked to receive speech with a little less salt than Lemon was used to dishing up, or indeed used to dishing out.

Opposite from Lemon, she saw Twinkleshine and Lyra take their seats, the latter dragging a third one for her new friend Saffron. Twinkleshine’s face was somewhat red, but had the laid-back look of one who’d just had a dream like a mouth full of sublime chocolates and the finest wines.

“Talk went well, did it?” Lemon said, contriving to sound less impolite than usual.

Twinkleshine spoke, but joy and exhaustion had reduced her speech to a series of giggly sighs.

“I think she’s made a new friend,” said Lyra, surfacing briefly before diving back into her own conversation.

“Oh? Did you show him your astronomy certificate?” Lemon said with spit in her mouth. “Or did you tell him you were friends with a qualified historian?”

“Did you mention me?” Drawing up another chair, Minuette sat down heavily and put a forelimb around Twinkleshine’s shoulders. “I hope so! How wonderful to think we could still be friends with the good and the great!”

A round of applause and scraping chairs: Princess Celestia had just stepped in through the main entrance. Twinkleshine and Lyra shot to their hooves at once, whereas everyone else rose slowly and stamped more moderately.

Twilight coughed and grinned. “Uh… well, it is nice to see how well our old school friends are doing, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” Lemon hummed. On the stage at the far end of the hall, she could see Princess Celestia ascending the steps to the microphone.

Silence descended, as did the standing ponies.

In one movement, Lemon grabbed a nearby chair, spun it round, threw herself on it, and kicked her rear hooves up to rest on the table. Since someone had been about to sit down on said chair, the resulting groan and thud gave her a spark of amusement while she contrived to look innocent.

But Celestia’s booming speech rushed clean over that spark. Already, she was talking about “fine young mares” and “remarkable talent” and “inspiring successes”. Bah!

All gazes were focused on Her Royal Highness. Suited her fine: Lemon swiped a drink from a nearby table and resigned herself to a semi-comfortable slump. She was going to need that drink. Well, she always needed a drink, but this time the desire was far more urgent.

Bittersweet Truth

So she wasn’t exactly in the best of moods late that night, while she paced up and down in her living room.

Unlike the opal-of-a-building that was Celestia’s School, this place was a basalt block. What had once been whiteness and shine simply corroded under the dust and the dank and the stink of fermented drink. Hers was a simple life; if it needed cleaning, she left the job to her tomorrow self, who never came. Magazines and chewed hay sticks littered the floor, crunching underfoot.

Not only was the room a shrine to procrastination, but also a tomb of hopes. The trophies she’d won and the medals she’d cheated her way to: they had all tarnished, and none of them were dated to any day after she’d left school.

Whenever she looked at them, Lemon Hearts – gum-chewing, loud-mouthing, spit-shooting, snotty little school filly Lemon Hearts, who’d bossed her way into the prefects’ club and immediately gotten thrown out for being a sore winner – wondered when it had all gone wrong.

No, that wasn’t the question. The question was when it had ever gone right.

Instead of staying to watch any of the other ponies claim their trophies last night, she’d slinked out. Home beckoned. She’d almost torn herself in half to do it; Lemon loved the warmth of ponies surrounding her like a blanket, especially when she could then whistle and dance on tables and get them crowding around and, if she was giddy enough, leave them either laughing their heads off or muttering that her head had come undone. To actually step away from all that…

Ah, but she had to. Who was Lemon Hearts now?

All the same, she couldn’t resist. Someone had to share in her misery. Lemon Hearts only liked being alone when there was someone to be alone at. What was the point if no one was there to see her on her own?

Three letters through three mail slots. One for Twinkleshine. One for Minuette. One for Lyra. Practically no one else could be trusted.

And…

Someone knocked. A swift rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat: so Lyra was there at least. She always knocked as though the occupants were deaf.

Between her and the door, the space was too far and not far enough.

Then she remembered. “It’s open!”

Lyra pushed the door open so hard it smacked the wall and shuddered. “I got your message! Lemon, what’s up? What’s wrong? What’s down? What’s right? What’s going on? What’s coming up? What’s –?”

“One at a time, Lyra,” said Minuette, throwing in a giggle so she didn’t sound too bossy. “It is nice to come over to the lion’s den once in a while, Lemon!”

“Lemon Hearts.” This was Twinkleshine, craning to see over the other two: a tricky business with Lyra bending and un-bending her legs on the spot. “Whatever is the matter? Your note just said to come over as soon as we could.”

Her friends shuffled into the room, casting cringing looks and raised eyebrows at the floor.

Don’t focus on that! Hastily, she tapped the coffee table between the two sofas. “Come on in, girls. Sit down, sit down. Make yourselves comfortable – sorry about the mess – Relax, relax. I’ve prepared drinks. Does anyone want drinks? I mean, cookies – Does anyone drink cookies – er, want cookies?”

Hoofsteps followed the three of them in. “I came as soon as I could.”

Lemon heard the swish of wings folding and groaned. They hadn’t, had they? Why did they think she only sent out three?

“Twilight?”

She spun round, and sure enough, el Princesso de Friendshippio came in with her dragon friend and shut the door behind her. With a telekinetic spell, of course.

Coldly, Lemon added, “Who the hay invited you?”

“When I noticed you’d left early, I suspected something might be bugging you, but I wasn’t sure until I learned about those letters you sent out.”

“Who told you?” Lemon scanned each of the other unicorns’ faces for the slightest – ah, you! Lyra was suddenly doing a round of ceiling inspection.

“Please, Lemon,” said Twilight. “Don’t push me away. Maybe I can help you out? I am one of your friends too, right?”

Reluctantly, Lemon’s ire drained away. Why bother? she thought. Really, why the heck should I kick up a fuss? Like it matters at this stage.

“Sit next to Twinkles, then. Sure no one wants any drinks? Cookies? No? They are in date, you know!”

Nervous glances and surreptitious shuffling did not convey much confidence in the contents of Lemon’s kitchen.

“Pfft, if that’s the way you want it,” she said, and stood at the head of the table, insofar as a round table had a head.

So that’s… two crazies on the right. Lyra, who’s an overexcited puppy on a sugar rush, and Minuette, who’d get thrown out of a customer service post for being too creepily cheerful. And we have the two swots on the left, and if I were Celestia right now, they’d suffer from heart attacks and two cases of acute toadyism. And one dragon. Sheesh, we got everything under one roof here.

“What’s this about?” said Twinkleshine.

Now how do I begin…? Darn it, I should have written a speech or made cue cards.

“Well!” she burst out, and covered her mouth and coughed. “Well. Everyone. We’re all here. Look at us. Look at shiny, superior us. Has it really been however long it’s been since we’ve been to school, has it?”

A few “huh’s?” and “wha’s?” told her she was losing her audience. Her smile got stuck.

“Uh… Lyra! Lyrical little Lyra! Congratulations… on… music, and stuff. Shoot, now all you have to do is learn how to sing, and you’ll be made for life, ahaha, aha… ah…”

Narrowed eyes met this remark. Lemon looked for a new target.

“And you! Twinkles! How about them stars, eh? Always looking at them stars through a telescope. If I tried that, I’d get locked up. Hahaha! Haha. Ha?”

Twinkleshine’s brow stretched against the horrified incomprehension.

“No? OK. Minuette –”

“Pass,” said Minuette hurriedly.

“Twilight?”

“Is this some sort of experimental comedy routine?”

“…Spike?”

“Same question as Twilight.”

“Good hickory-dickory gosh-darn dock it sock it dagnabbit, ponies!” Lemon made to thump the table, but teeth-gritting alarm caught her in time, and she shook under the strain of holding her hoof against the wood for a second. “Quit interrupting me! This is hard enough as it is!”

Under the shock of silence, Lemon breathed as though at the end of a marathon. She prided herself on her smoothness, but their voices met her emotions coming the other way with the grace of rakes on an ice rink.

“OK… OK…” She looked around for a glass of water – AHA! Swipe it, gulp it…

“Is this about the school?” said Twilight.

…choke on it.

Spluttering, Lemon lowered the glass and didn’t mind when Lyra thumped her on the back.

“Yes.” Her throat was crushed with pain; she coughed to loosen its hold. “Yes. It is. You know how I… See, back then… The thing you gotta remember is…”

She picked the two least likely to annoy her.

“Unlike Minuette and Twinkles, I never made it all the way through school. I flunked it.”

“Oh, Lemon,” said Twinkleshine, “don’t say that –”

“I flunked it! There’s no point tiptoeing around this sack of garbage, OK? And Lyra, I see you opening your mouth. I know you’re gonna point out you flunked it too, and I love you for saying that, or for at least trying to say it even though I stopped you because you know I like – Lyra – to be clear on this, BUT – Lyra, shut mouth, sit down, let finish – but it’s not the same thing at all! You’re good at music! Fantastic, even!”

Twilight patted her own lips, looking up at her invisible thoughts. Upon spotting a good catch, she lowered the hoof.

“Lemon,” she said gently, “the only reason you flun – didn’t finish at Celestia’s School… had nothing to do with your skills or talents or anything like that. Just getting in there is proof of your potential. You can do anything you want if you set your mind to –”

“I never said anything like that.” Lemon spoke fast, hoping to smother the problem.

Trouble was: this was like smothering the room’s omnipresent stink with a dead lilac. The only reason she’d flunked the school at all had everything to do with her skills and talents, namely her skills and talents in slipping through forbidden doors and treating health-and-safety codes as double-dares.

She couldn’t help it, which was odd as it was, since she’d liked telling ponies what to do. She’d practised in front of a mirror, smirking at how many more perks her prefect badge had gotten her. Yet faced with those same rules and anyone else with those same perks, her soul rebelled. Her heart shouted “no”, or rather – since this was Lemon’s heart – “who’s gonna make me?” The result being: her head had been much surprised when she’d found out who was gonna make her, because they made her hand over her badge and walk out.

At the time, Twinkleshine had told her she – Lemon – was deliberately anti-authoritarian. Lemon had said no; she just didn’t like being told what to do. She liked authority, and felt it was best kept where she could easily see it, i.e. in a mirror.

Here and now, she hoped that snotty little prefect was getting the worst of the pain.

“I’m a lemon,” she said.

“Well, of course you are!” said Minuette happily. “Lemon. Hearts. That’s a better name than Minuette, anyway. At least your parents knew when to stop spelling your name.”

“No, you dummy,” Lemon snapped. “I meant my family handed the universe a lemon.”

Not a pony among them said anything. Wasn’t hard to guess why. At a Canterlot-level establishment like Celestia’s School, the fifth most common way of introducing freshers was via family ties, right after names, ranks, the weather, and where the nearest privy was. Lemon had dealt with the issue the same way she’d dealt with exams; sneer at the sheer stupidity of the question while hoping like hell she didn’t lose too many marks for it.

“Metaphorically speaking,” said Twilight, brightening up, “lemons have a long history and pedigree. Citrus limon from the eastern countries inspired awe and respect among those who cultivated it. The fruit may have a tart flavour, but it’s rich in healthy citric acids and Vitamin C, has a delightful colour named after it, and has its place in fine cuisine. The lemon has nothing to be ashamed of, even if it’s not everyone’s idea of the perfect fruit.”

She added, “We’re talking metaphorically, right?”

“Only you know what you’re talking about,” said Lemon bitterly.

All the same, it had a certain appeal, and would have tasted quite fine to her if Lyra hadn’t added: “Isn’t a lemon something useless? I swear there’s a saying, like ‘sell a lemon’. Or am I thinking of bananas?”

“Lyra!” Twinkleshine threw a glare across the table.

“Sorry! I was thinking aloud. I didn’t really mean –”

“No, forget it,” said Lemon. She raised a hoof to make the point, not looking up from the table. “She’s right. I can hand the world a Lemon with a capital-L, but who am I kidding? I’m handing them a lemon. Just a plain lemon. All right, I’m sorry I dragged you away from your beds. Come on, up and out.”

“Oh, Lemon,” said Minuette, giggling.

“I’m serious. Get up. Go back. What is the freaking point when you get down to it? Come on, up, up, up!” She tugged at Lyra’s resting forelimb.

Only Minuette got up, and she moseyed around the room looking at random things.

“No,” said Twinkleshine, before Lyra pulled her forelimb out of reach. “Something’s bothering you, and you need us. We’re not leaving.”

“I don’t need you,” said Lemon Hearts. Thank you thank you thank you I won’t forget you said that.

“Are these yours?” Minuette tapped the display of trophies and medals.

“Yes! And stop trying to wipe off the grime! They’re nothing but grime at this point!”

“Well, you’re proud of these, aren’t you?”

“Yes. No. Sometimes. At the time I was, but that was a long time ago.”

“So what’s the problem?” Minuette beamed as though she’d played her checkmate, and somehow helped both players to win.

“Not forgetting,” said Twilight, “that you organize all those state dinners at the palace –”

“Just listen, will you!” No one seemed to be in the right frame of mind, i.e. miserable. Lemon Hearts reared up, the better to point both hooves at her chest as if to say “take your best shot”. “I do not work at the palace! I don’t organize state dinners! I mean, look at me! Look at me! I can’t organize my life! I can’t organize my thoughts! I can’t even organize my room! The best I ever did was private photography for a Gala with the Wonderbolts, and I got chucked out of that ‘cause I tried to sell the pics to fans!”

To her consternation, there were no shocked gapes or mind-blowing gasps. Put out by the expectant stares instead, she added, “What?”

“Oh, we sort of suspected,” said Lyra.

“We know you,” said Twinkleshine.

“I wasn’t sure at the time,” said Twilight. “I just wanted something to make Moondancer open up.”

“But the coltfriend bit is true,” Lemon added hastily. She was sizzling with irritation; when a mare goes out of her way to reveal a lie, other ponies should at least have the decency to look outraged. After all, she’d gone through a lot of effort.

Twinkleshine folded her forelimbs and furrowed her brow and mouth in the classic “deposit not accepted” stance. Lemon sighed. She’d have to up the payment.

“OK, the coltfriend bit was a lie too. If I had one, they wouldn’t be the sort to write poetry. Except limericks.”

Smiles and smooth skin were her reward. She breathed out with relief and watched as the forelimbs relaxed again.

“I don’t even belong in Canterlot.”

“Of course you do!” said Lyra happily. “You belong in Canterlot more than I do! I live in Ponyville, remember?”

“So does Her Highness Twilight over there.”

“Yeah, but she has parents in Canterlot. I just visit.”

Lemon frowned. “I could’ve sworn you had relatives here. Didn’t your uncle –?”

“What about you?” said Twilight. “Don’t you have relatives here?”

Ice picked at her chest. “No! I don’t! I up and moved as soon as I was old enough to know what ‘rent’ means! I don’t even remember my parents’ real names!” Sullenly she added, “They probably tore their names out of the registry or something, in case I tried to go back.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Twilight and Spike turn to each other. Did they just wink?

“I don’t understand,” said Twinkleshine.

“We think we do,” said Twilight, nudging Spike, who hopped off his seat and toddled over to Lemon’s side. “Lemon Hearts, there’s no point whatsoever in wrapping yourself up against a problem that’s attacking you from within. You’re thinking too hard about external sources of validation. What you need is a reminder of the inner values you already have. Wipe the grime from your eye, and you’ll see the shine again.”

“YYYeeeaaahhh…” said Lemon, “I’m going with what Twinkles said. I’ve tried wiping the grime off my medals, but they’re past their best.”

“No, no, no,” said Twilight.

“No?” said Lemon.

“No!” said Spike, patting her on the flank. “Twilight just means you need to think about your good qualities.”

“But I don’t have any!” wailed Lemon. “Haven’t you been listening?”

“Yep. And the way I see it is this; I had a similar issue a long time ago. I didn’t know who I was, or where I came from, or what I was supposed to be. Was I a dragon or a pony, or something completely different?”

Not sure if she saw light at the end of the tunnel or just an oncoming train, Lemon said, “RRRiiight…”

“So what I did was: go to the dragon lands and find out for myself. I thought if I spent time among other dragons, I’d better understand what made me… me.”

“And… what? You embraced your dragony nature, or something?”

“Actually, I leaned more towards pony. The other dragons were terrible.”

“Oh.”

“Although I heard it’s a lot better now.”

“This is sweet and everything, but what’s your point? At least it’s obvious for you where to start looking. You just have to go find dragons. I don’t know a single lemon in this city.”

“Well, there you go!” Twilight stood up immediately. “If you want us to assist you, we can find out where you came from. Even if you don’t find what you expect, you can still find something worth the while.”

“In Equestrian, please?”

Lyra stood up so fast it was practically a bounce. “We find out who you are! Brilliant!”

“I know who I am! That’s the problem!”

“No, Lemon…” Slinking off her chair, Twinkleshine joined the standing squad. “They mean you might feel better if we find out who your parents were, and what your ancestors did. Even if you reject what you find, you might learn something from that too.”

Lemon chewed her lip. This did seem like a promising response, especially the latter part. And there was always the opportunity of coasting on pedigree. If she couldn’t earn her self-respect, perhaps she could pinch it off someone else. Best part was: go far enough back, and the other party wouldn’t be in a position to complain.

“I… guess we could try that…” she said, because she’d be darned if she ever became as artlessly cheerful as the likes of Lyra and Minuette. “So what do we do first?”

“First, we go to the Canterlot Archives,” said Twilight.

“What, at this hour?”

“I can get us in. Surprised me too. Turns out the guards have an open-door policy.”

“Huh. Oh. OK. And then, what, find my family tree?”

“It’s a start!”

Lemon turned to Spike. “Did you do that too?”

“Well, no. I didn’t think.” He frowned. “Although now you mention it –”

“All right. Let’s give it a shot. Can’t hurt to try,” she said, wondering how accurate that phrase actually was.

Something cracked. They looked up.

“Oh, sorry!” Minuette drew back from the shards of blackened medal on the floor. “I can pay for a new one!”

Breaking and Entering for Family-Friendly Life Lessons

Getting into the Canterlot Archives – at night – felt too close to breaking and entering. Too many guards around, too much darkness, too many butterflies flitting through Lemon Hearts’ stomach.

The “breaking and entering” part wasn’t the problem. Lemon remembered quite a few exciting nights with fondness, or at least she remembered the ones where she didn’t get caught. But usually she’d been ducking and dodging the law without a bunch of giggly girls in tow. This wasn’t even proper sneaking; she’d passed through the statue garden one statue at a time before Twilight simply sauntered up to the main gate and flashed her pass.

“Have fun in there, Miss Twilight!” said the guard. He waved after them.

“You come here a lot, don’t you?” said Lemon sourly.

Twilight blushed even through the darkness. “Believe me, I didn’t even realize I could do this until recently.”

“The universe just keeps handing you surprises, I expect.”

Twinkleshine nudged her sharply. She hissed, “Don’t talk like that in front of the princess!”

“Oh my gosh, this is so exciting!” Around them, the blurring green that was Lyra struck a whirlwind of poses. “We’re staying up late! We’re prowling at night! We’re doing whatever we want! Can we do this every night? Betcha we could sneak into more places. Think of the fun we’d have!”

A flash: Minuette lowered her camera. “I’m calling this one: Six Schoolgirls’ Secret Subterfuge.”

“It’s not going to be secret if you take photos of everything,” said Lemon. “And we’re not six schoolgirls! Spike sure as heck isn’t!”

“All right. Six Schoolgirls and Spike’s Secret Subterfuge.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Spike, flexing his muscles. “Did you get my good side?”

Flash! Whirlwind. Blush. Lemon felt like the teacher to a bunch of kindergarten geeks.

“So where are we going?” she said while they walked down the midnight corridor to a larger hall of tapestries. “Look, those guards aren’t even looking at us. What’s the point of breaking into a place if no one cares you’ve broken in?”

“I can’t think of a better way of doing it,” said Twilight, giving her a sidelong look.

“Well?”

“OK. If we’re going to research family history, the best section for that is the modern archive section. What we need is the Library of Information, Minor and Essential.”

“Hey!” Lyra phased out of her whirlwind for a moment to skip alongside them. “That’s L.I.M.E.! What a coincidence, eh!?” She vanished again.

“Fascinating,” said Lemon.

“It certainly is!” said Twilight, and for a moment Lemon wondered if Lyra was infectious. “L.I.M.E. was actually a recent experiment in open-source bookkeeping. Volunteers and members alike can collaborate and contribute to the collection at any time and with any material they think would improve the service, and in this case it includes a series of nodes connected by lines to represent familial –”

“Do you understand sarcasm?” Lemon looked at Spike. “Does she understand sarcasm?”

Spike shrugged. “Eventually. You have to lay it on thick when she’s excited, though.”

The hallway and its tapestries fell far behind. Shuddering, Lemon listened to the clop of hooves and tried to breathe through air much too musty and dusty to feel natural. Between the grey walls and suffocating gravitas of the stone interior, this was a place where enthusiasm came to die.

“So,” she said, “we really can trace my roots all the way back?”

“Of course!” said Minuette. “The archives know everything.” Flash!

“Uh huh. Did I mention my parents don’t live in Canterlot?”

“They were unicorns, weren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“Then they’ll be in the archives. Everyone who’s nobility can find their family tree here. Maybe even their true selves.” Minuette winked.

Not for the first time that night, Lemon sighed. True, she doubted the very idea of visiting the archives would have popped into her head without their prodding, but still she wished she hadn’t dropped those letters off. What she needed now was an old and reliable friend i.e. a bottle. Preferably full.

“You don’t have to come with me, you know,” she said wearily. “Except for you, Twilight, but you’re my accessory, so you don’t count. Haven’t you got beds to go to?”

Lyra materialized on her other side. “And leave you alone when you’re in this mood? Bed can wait. Besides, any excuse to stay up late.”

“I concur,” said Twinkleshine. “Anyway, we both know you prefer having us here.” In an undertone, she added, “For someone to gloat at.”

Minuette simply took another picture. Flash!

“It’s not even the first time we’ve broken in here,” said Spike cheerfully.

“Aha,” said Lemon. “A dragon after my own heart, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“So… jewels, prank, or double dare?”

“Nothing like that. We were looking for a spell to stop time before a disaster struck – well, Twilight was, anyway – but it turned out tomorrow was going to be fine after all, then Twilight made a time paradox and we disaster-proofed the town and Twilight slowly turned into a stealth ninja one-eyed warrior and Celestia said hi. Oh, and I got stomach-ache.” He took a breath and grinned. “It was the best!”

After a pause, Twinkleshine said, “Whoa.”

Hooves clopped along the next corridor, which showed iron gates on either side, each leading to bookshelves and scrolls beyond.

“That’s a heck of a prank,” Lemon added. “Anyone got pen and paper? I wanna take some notes.”

“Shh!” said Twilight. “We’re here.”

It looked like she’d picked an iron gate at random. Her horn glowed. Hinges creaked before the iron swung away, and they traipsed down the short passage to the heart of the room.

Dominating the centre, the hourglass towered over them. Not a grain moved. Shelves radiated from the heart of the room like spokes on a wheel; Lemon, turning on the spot, saw that the distant walls too were made of shelves.

At an unspoken signal, all six of them spread out. Scrolls unfurled; Lyra was a manic ferret leaping and digging into random shelves, clearly hoping to snatch something lucky. Twinkleshine and Minuette both took an aisle and prowled along it, each scanning her side for clues. Meanwhile, Spike hopped onto Twilight’s back and, while she took to the air, scratched his chin with a claw. He didn’t seem to do anything for a good long while, and then…

As Lemon gave up and started taking the Lyra approach, she heard him cry out, “Found it!”

“Blimey, that was fast,” said Lemon. All hooves scurried over; Twilight lowered herself to the ground and thumped on all four feet.

“Didn’t I tell you?” He smirked and hopped down. “Libraries are my specialty.”

“We found something too!” Twinkleshine gestured to Minuette, who levitated a scroll and gave her a hoof-bump.

Spike unfurled his first and raised it up to Twilight’s face. It seemed to Lemon that those eyes barely skimmed the page before –

“Aha,” muttered Twilight. “Listen to this. ‘The Citrus lineage dates back to the tropical reaches of Indrabhumi, where the earliest records of the Limon House’ –”

“Ah, no,” said Minuette sadly. “It says ‘Limon’. We must’ve got the wrong one.”

An awkward pause silenced the more intellectual side of the gathering, which was to say all of it that wasn’t Minuette.

“Er,” said Lyra, “isn’t that just one of those old-fashioned ways of spelling ‘Lemon’? What else is it going to be?”

“Oh. Right. Carry on.”

Twilight cleared her throat. “‘Where the earliest records of the Limon House – now sadly lost through carelessness’ –”

“Sounds like my family, all right,” muttered Lemon.

Twilight shot her a look. “‘Were established, starting with the purchase of the Spice Lands when the family separated from the larger Citrus lineage’.”

“So we were rebels even then,” Lemon added.

The scroll ducked out of Twilight’s way. “Do you mind not interrupting, please?”

“All right. All right. You won’t hear a peep out of me.”

“Right…” The scroll checked the coast was clear and then rose entirely. “‘The founders being’ –”

“Maybe they were interrupters too,” muttered Twinkleshine. Catching Twilight’s glare, she added, “Sorry! Sorry! I won’t do it again, I promise!”

“Anyone else?” Twilight glared at them in turn. “No? OK. Let’s get on with this. ‘The founders being Citron and Bitter Orange, who were responsible for the bitterness growing among the families of the Citrus lineage, they took their own contrarian path; to whit, they refused to stay and quash the local rebellions over the price of rice products, and instead travelled to the Ancient Pegasus Empire, and once the Empire fell into conflict with the earth pony and unicorn tribes, thence to Saddle Arabia, the Ammonian Temples of the Sphinx, and the Persian Cat Civilization, thus establishing a trend of fleeing mighty civilizations as soon as disaster threatened.’”

They looked at Lemon, who didn’t understand why. After all, those sounded like sensible moves to her. Whenever a Royal Guard had chased her from whatever building she’d robbed, graffitied, or in severe cases strayed too close towards after laughing at its “private property” sign, she hadn’t bothered standing and fighting for the pride of Celestia, Equestria, and Apple Family apple pie. That was what gullible chumps were for.

“What did they do?” Lyra craned her neck to read over Spike’s shoulder. “‘Ornamental garden trees’.”

“Does it say anything about these Spice Lands?” Lemon licked her lips. “Big lands, were they?”

“Only,” said Twilight sharply, “that the Citrus lineages claimed them back. After Citron and Bitter Orange ran away.”

“Ah. So no large inheritance waiting around, by any chance?”

“I thought you wanted to know about your own identity? Find out who you really are, and all that?”

“I’m fine with being a large property owner.”

“Oh, Lemon,” said Minuette kindly. “You’re not that large.”

“Anyway,” said Twilight over Lemon’s spluttering, “it says they created the first lemon trees solely as garden ornaments, and no, they didn’t make a lot of money off it.”

“What makes you think I’m large?” Then Lemon switched tracks smoothly. “Yes, but that was ages ago. I expect they hadn’t invented ‘eating’ yet.”

“Hold on!” Twinkleshine nudged Minuette, and the second scroll unfurled. “That’s where we come in! Listen to this. ‘Although the original founders of the Limon House did not fare well financially, their descendants – whose spelling was so bad that they ended up officially as the Lemon Hose – founded new markets across the growing Equestrian territory after the foundation of the country itself. During the Classical Era in particular, when unicorns adopted and reinvented many Ancient Pegasus Empire cultural trappings, their lemon plantations spread across the continent, introduced by explorers seeking to negotiate with the native buffalo tribes, who immediately co-opted it as a medicine.’”

“I always knew I was good for you,” said Lemon happily.

“Lemon! Interrupting! You’ve been told!” yipped Twinkleshine; it was like being savaged by a lamb.

“I was told not to interrupt Twilight. Technically, you’re fair game –”

“Shh!” hissed Lyra. “Didn’t you hear that? Your family must have grown rich with all those lemon medicines! Maybe there’s still a fortune left!”

Thoughtfully, Lemon clamped her lips shut. Of course, Twilight was right and she was meant to reflect on her true self and so she shouldn’t be distracted by the possibility of being so rich she could freely do anything that occurred to her without worrying about ending up in the street, or the chance to get hold of all the drinks she could buy – that’d show those snooty toff-noses up at the castle – and not forgetting, NEVER forgetting, the stallions always looking for a single mare in possession of a good fortune…

“Hm?” she said, vaguely aware of someone talking. “Sorry. Mind wandered off. What did you say?”

Twinkleshine puffed her cheeks up at her, a sure sign of a mare trying not to say anything horrifically rude, like ‘meanie’. “If you’d been listening, you’d have heard me say that there are lemon plantations all over the world –”

“All over the world!?” Why, she could hold an auction for stallions with that kind of money…

“– because the family lost control of the lemon plantations. Most of them were destitute.”

Lemon’s fantasies had just gotten to the bit with the lucky stallion embracing her tenderly in his strong, muscular –

They popped like a soap bubble. “WHAT!?”

The others actually jumped a few inches.

“Destitute!?”

“Yes,” said Twinkleshine in her best high-and-mighty voice – and Lemon had thought Twilight could sound patronizing – “The record says they made more than a few errors while running the family business. Does that sound familiar to you too?”

“Are you saying I can’t run a business?”

“No. Personal experience and family history are saying you can’t run a business.”

“Twinkleshine, don’t be catty,” said Minuette. “It’s not nice.”

Ignoring Twinkleshine’s indignant stammer, Lemon lunged forwards and snatched the scroll off them. Nope: there it was, in black and white, or at least in browning ink and yellowing paper.

“So I’ve got nothing?” she said. “A bunch of cowards and a bunch of idiots left me with nothing?”

Spike stepped forwards smartly. “That doesn’t have to mean anything. Take it from someone who knows; you can choose who you want to be.”

“Yes, but it would’ve been nice to know I had a decent starting point! And those things! I’ve done all those things!”

“What things?” Lyra frowned. “Run away from a war?”

“War. Royal Guards. What’s the difference?”

Twilight coughed, and among the shelves the cough was a thunderclap.

“And, and, and,” said Spike, casting about desperately. Under the shadow of the hourglass, he seemed much too small to be a dragon at all.

Unlike his species, in fact…

No. Lemon shook her head. That wasn’t how it really worked. Spike had been brought up pony, and it had stuck. Lemon had been brought up… to become better than she was? And it definitely hadn’t stuck. Part of her hadn’t allowed it to. She could go to the shiniest city in the world, and within minutes the city itself would tarnish.

“Darn,” she said. “It has to be them, doesn’t it?”

“Who?” said Lyra.

“My parents. If there’s any hope left, it’s with my parents.”

Slowly, Twinkleshine said, “What do you mean, Lemon Hearts?”

“Uh… Twilight! How recent are these records, exactly?”

“Right up to the present day, in fact.” Twilight and Spike cocked their heads in unison. “Lemon, what –?”

But Lemon had realized there was no point in delaying; this wasn’t a police interrogation. “That explains so much. Why my parents lived in Indrabhumi. Why they never talked about the rest of the family. Why they had to live in that little house.”

Under the silence, Twinkleshine stepped forwards and then froze, one forelimb raised, as though unsure whether to comfort or come away. “Lemon Hearts?”

“Hm? Oh, right. Look. I think we’re on the right track, but I don’t think it helps to go all the way back hundreds of years or whatever. Everything we’ve found down here… Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? It all comes together, doesn’t it?”

“What does?” Lyra’s eyes shone.

“Well…”

Minuette beamed at her. Both Twilight and Spike leaned towards her, mouths agog with anticipation.

Lemon said, “It’s all my parents’ fault.”

The cheerfulness of camaraderie fell flat on its face.

“What!?” shouted Spike.

“Those devils mucked me up, did Mum and Dad. Oh, they probably didn’t mean to, but now I know why.”

Twinkleshine’s lips stretched around clenched teeth. “YYYYYeah… uh… LLLLLemon?”

“I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick,” said Twilight carefully.

“It’s… not what I was expecting,” said Minuette.

“So obviously,” said Lemon, ignoring them, “this starts and ends with them. Something went wrong between us, something big. If I’m a washout, it’s because of them.”

She caught their glances.

“Us. Because of us,” she added. Feeling this wasn’t going over well, she drew herself up. “I know what to do now. If I’m ever going to figure this rubbish out, I’ve got to go back to where it all began. I will head back to Indrabhumi and right the wrongs that led to me making this cock-up excuse of a life I’ve led.”

The general consensus was still gaping and gawping.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” she ventured.

Lyra finally broke the silence. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Hey! Says the girl who believes aliens raid her fridge at night!”

“I’ve seen them doing it! They were eating my cheese!”

“That’s mice, you moron! And quite frankly, I dread to think of half the things you’ve seen after eating mouldy cheese, Miss Too Cheap To Buy A Fresh Cheddar!”

“At least I can choose to be cheap, Miss Can’t Even Be Bothered To Clean Her Room!”

Twilight raised a hoof. Equal though she clearly wanted to think herself as, from time to time the princess shone through the pony. Both unicorns closed their mouths at once.

“Who were your parents?” said Twilight calmly.

Blinking and smelling a trap, Lemon bit her tongue. Unfortunately, once she’d thrown the stone and heard the smash, it was too late to stop and wonder if there were better ways of breaking into a candy store.

All the same, she wrestled with her lungs for several seconds before the words leaped for freedom: “Lord and Lady d’Agrume.”

“Why would you think they did anything wrong?” said Spike.

Lemon mumbled. She didn’t quite meet anyone’s face, except for Lyra’s, which was red with embarrassment in the first place. At least it was nice to know misery had company.

“Sorry?” said Twinkleshine.

Squirming around each word, Lemon said, “Well, see, the thing is, looked at one way, one thing and another, truth is, honestly, I kinda sorta maybe a little teensy bit probably ran away from home in a hissy fit. Probably.”

“Probably?” snapped Lyra. Yet anger was not a familiar emotion in her puppy-dog world, and before long her brow went from blade to feather. “Oh my goodness. You… wanna talk about it?”

“Heck, no!”

Lyra’s ears fell as though struck. She whimpered, and even sounded like a puppy.

With less spit in her voice, Lemon added, “Not right now. Sorry.”

“Oh, do let us help.” On one side of her, Twinkleshine stood ready. “We want to help.”

“Sure. It’d be a grand adventure for the sake of our best friend.” On the other side of her, Minuette patted her shoulder.

“Whatever happened,” said Spike, “I’m sure we could work together to fix it. After all, we helped Moondancer come out of her shell, right Twilight?”

“Well, I’d have to check the schedule,” said Twilight, rubbing the back of her neck. “However, if this means that much to you, Lemon, I’ll do my best for one of my old friends.”

They all looked at Lyra.

Lyra beamed. “I’ll bring Saffron! She used to live in Indrabhumi once. We could do with an expert.”

Thankful for something non-sappy to mutter at, Lemon relaxed. “Oh sure. Everyone knows one pony from one country is automatically an expert. And while we’re at it, let’s bring lots of curry, wear nothing but saris, and paint spots on our foreheads. They’ll practically mob us for our cultural sensitivity.”

“Cool!” said Lyra. “Sounds like a plan! Let’s do it!”

Port? I Don't Mind If I Do

Of course, they had to disillusion Lyra on the way over. Or rather, they didn’t. It was impossible to disillusion the mare; the best anyone could hope to do was replace one illusion with another.

“So, you see,” said Lemon over the roar of the propellers and the whipping of the wind, “instead of doing everything they do, we show them all the cool things we do. And then they show us all the cool things they do. And then a miracle happens. And then we’re friends.”

“I’m not stupid, you know,” said Lyra bitingly.

“Never said you was.” Lemon’s hooves came together as though in prayer. She almost sang with innocence.

Yet Lyra had a thoughtful look about her. They’d at least managed to get the sari off her at the port, and the curry out of her luggage at customs, but the dot on her forehead turned out to be permanent ink.

“Oh, come on,” said Lemon, patting her towards the door. “Let’s go back inside. I’m sick of looking at the sea.”

“So’s Minuette,” said Lyra. “She hasn’t come out of the little filly’s room yet.”

They slid the door shut behind them and passed the bar, Lyra threading between the tables, Lemon simply knocking legs and kicking chairs out of the way. Around them, the windows of the cabin glowed with the blaze of yellow and purple fighting for sunset. The two of them stopped to stare again, and then walked among the white circles of table to their own.

Saffron Masala watched the others playing cards. Sighing, Lemon noticed the four cards in the middle and the six sets on either side.

“You’re playing my blasted game again,” she muttered. After a while of watching, she added, “Badly, I notice. You could win with that set, Spike.”

“Hey! Stop looking over my shoulder.”

Twinkleshine slammed her chosen set of four down, then noticed they were face-up and hastily flipped them over. “We’re just so tense, Lemon. I for one positively welcome a distraction.”

On the sidelines, Twilight scraped her chair across to give Lyra some room. Unlike Saffron, whose face pointed at the game as a tensed arrow, Twilight had the slumped air of a heap of logs.

“Fascinating,” said Saffron after a few cards shifted. “Yes, I think you could adopt this to three players. So, if you gave each one four sets of four cards instead of six sets, but kept the other rules the same… Curious, though: sometimes, you trade one card from a set, sometimes two or more. Isn’t there a fixed rule?”

“No,” snapped Lemon. “So long as you discard first before picking up, it’s legal.”

“It reminds me of Rummy. Or Go Fish. Maybe…”

“Yes, thank you for that insight, Saffron.”

Saffron looked at her as though she’d uttered a rude word. “Well, excuse me, Lemon-By-Name, Lemon-By-Nature, for taking an interest.”

“All right, all right. Don’t mind me. Take as many interests as you like.” To keep her hoof in, Lemon swiped another chair from nearby. There was a thump of someone about to sit down on it.

They’d been in the air for hours, which was at least an improvement over the port, where the dead weight of queues, chairs, and hay burgers slightly less tasty than the cardboard they’d come in had all bitten at their minds with mosquito patience. Twinkleshine had insisted on lugging a tower of suitcases everywhere, even to the bathroom; Lyra and Saffron had wandered off twice, which no one minded and everyone envied; Minuette had taken so many pictures of the airship that she’d run out of film; and Twilight and Spike had made the mistake of attempting small talk, which in particular was the equivalent of standing in the jungle, removing the safety net, and shouting, “Come and get me, flying bloodsuckers!”

So far, Lemon had dealt with the situation by not dealing with it. Instead, she’d gone to the bar. The result was that her bladder was rumbling for an ambush, and in any case she had no intention of venturing near the bathrooms so long as Minuette was being airsick in them.

“Saffron,” said Lyra, who’d chosen a seat next to her new friend, “what’s Indrabhumi like?”

“Well…” Saffron’s tones rubbed their hooves together for a tale –

“I mean, I’ve heard it’s a very spiritual place, and that sounds wonderful, but will we get to see all the temples? And I heard there were snake charmers too, and ponies walking on hot coals!”

Not for the first time during the trip, Saffron gave Lyra a look. It was a look Lyra often attracted: from someone who wasn’t sure if their head was being wound up, or if Lyra’s own was unravelling at the seams.

“Let’s see,” Saffron said, pursing her lips. “I suppose I could teach you about the music I grew up with.”

“Like sitars? I’ve always wanted to play one of them, but they’re hard to come by in Canterlot. Hypnosis by string instrument: what a neat idea!”

There it was again. Lemon marvelled at how Lyra managed to get away with talking like that. But then, she was hopping on her chair – hopping while sitting down, at that – under the ever-present spell of childhood, and whether hypnotized by her innocence or her joyful stupidity, Saffron could only manage a small smile. Eventually.

It was uncanny. Even Lemon had started squabbles using more tact than that.

“No,” said Saffron gently. “My mother taught me that there were lots of different genres all over Indrabhumi, but the best one was the classical music of the northern mountains. They have no concept of harmony –”

Twilight’s ears twitched.

“– but they do have their own melodies and rhythms, passed down from ancient rituals and kept alive by modern artists. You use your voice to create music just as much as you use your instruments.”

Twilight’s ears drooped again.

“Tell me more, tell me more,” mumbled Lyra, elbows on the tabletop. She sighed and sagged.

While Saffron droned on, Lemon looked around for someone less specialist to eavesdrop on. Briefly, she took in the game; Spike was leading five sets to two. Presumably, if she slowed her perception of time and surgically removed what remained of her sanity, this would be a tense one-on-one between champions instead of a pretty sad reminder that Twinkleshine didn’t have Twilight as a teacher.

“What do I do when I get there?” said Lemon suddenly.

All five of them shot a collective glance at her. Worry, blankness, irritation, pity: all flashed like a rainbow of emotions from them to her.

Under all the staring, Lemon fidgeted. “Not that I’m worried or anything. It’s more a tactical sort of thing.”

She found herself drawn to Twilight’s eyes in particular. The pupils were so engulfing they swelled with concern. Lemon’s stomach gave a threatening heave.

“You don’t have to say anything,” said Twinkleshine somewhere nearby. “And as for ‘tactical’, hmph! So long as you mean well and speak nicely, you’ll be welcome anywhere – er, most places, at least.”

“Ha!” She heard Spike slap the last set of cards down. “I win!” Twinkleshine groaned.

“Just tell them,” said Lyra breezily, “how much they mean to you and what you want to do. No harm in being sincere, Lemon. I’m sure they won’t think any less of you for it.”

Lemon’s heart almost exploded at the thought. Thank goodness no one can see what I’m thinking. Although Twilight sure looks like she’s giving it a go. Wait. Princesses aren’t psychic too, are they?

Hoping it’d work, Lemon forced a smile onto her face. She even heard the sickly sliming of lips over teeth.

“Of course,” she said, and her voice hardly trembled at all. “No harm in being sincere. Mean well. I can do that. Second nature to me.”

Oho, she saw the looks Lyra and Twinkleshine exchanged at those words. They foretold a couple of mares who’d be keeping a really close eye on her sincere well-meaningness, if only to see how long it lasted under the friction.

Twilight still bore into her soul…

And then the ship lurched. There wasn’t a violent throw or anything, only the sudden attempt for the stomach to jump up and grab the heart, and for the brain to jump out via the horn.

Twilight blinked first. “We’re descending. That means we must be near!”

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Saffron’s chair scraped back. “Let’s go and watch. I haven’t seen the homeland in so many years. Father told me the view was spectacular.”

“You’re on!” Lyra leaped out of her seat, and the two of them cantered among the tables to the doors.

Thankful for small mercies, Lemon hopped to her hooves. “All right. Who wants to stare at a load of continent before it starts causing tourist trouble?”

“Will they be waiting for us, do you think?” Twinkleshine cast a blinking look at the blazing war of colour beyond the windows.

Like they’d miss the opportunity, Lemon thought with a scowl.

Out among the roar of the propellers and the wind flailing at their manes – Twinkleshine howled and covered her precious curls – they joined the line of crowds peering beyond the main deck’s partition. They found room because Twilight was a princess and Lemon was a devil with a sharp elbow.

All of them leaned over the rail, Spike to the point that he’d easily flip over and fall.

Reflecting the sky, the golden velvet of the sea cushioned the slip of the land rising to meet them. A lone border guard of a mountain lurked to the left, capped by a cloud like a bearskin helmet. To the right, a crowd of hills and scattered deltas jostled for space as though aggressively fascinated by the arrivals. And in between them lay the flat land, patiently and serenely ready to serve, stretching its welcome to and from the distant misty haze of the horizon. Even the propellers softened and the wind eased as though nervous of the expanses.

“Look at those plains!” murmured Lyra, and Lemon saw her tilt back. “So much wide open space…”

“Look at that town,” said Twinkleshine. “So picturesque… Don’t you think it looks like Ponyville?”

No, Lemon thought. Her insides squirmed for a way out. Canterlot is more like it. Half the buildings look like temples! I’ve never seen so many different spires in one place. Heck, even Canterlot only settled for white towers with trimmings.

“Look!” Spike pointed. “There’s the dock!”

“Spike!” Twilight summoned him back onto the deck. “Careful! You’ll fall!”

Finally, Saffron put hoof to mouth. “Oh my. Father was right. Indrabhumi is so beautiful…”

Now the propellers had slowed down, the individual swipes of the blades swung across their ears. Even their docks looked like stone steps to immediate temples, as though the town couldn’t wait to usher them into a congregation. Ponies crowded along the one pier.

On the opposite pier…

A member of the crew tapped her on the shoulder. “Lord and Lady d’Agrume will receive you from the port side, Miss Hearts.”

“I know,” she said. “I can see the blasted thing!”

He gave her a wan smile. “You misunderstand, Miss Hearts. ‘Port side’ is the left side of the ship. Starboard is the right side, and only for the common passenger, Miss Hearts.”

“Oh. Right.” Common passenger, eh? “Good.”

As soon as he was gone, she rounded on Twilight. “How much did you pay for this trip?”

“We all chipped in,” said Spike, standing defensively between them.

“You do know, for the record, I'd have been just as happy to pay for all of you?” said Lemon.

Unwisely, Twilight opened her mouth and then promptly slammed it shut again, thus managing to say everything without a single word.

All the same, Lemon decided to let this one go. She knew exactly how much money she had in her vaults. No point getting silly about it.

“Also, I’d have been just as happy with the regular fare,” Lemon lied. But it was a lie that needed to be said; she’d take the cushy beds and the high-quality grape juice. Those were perks. Nothing about the arrangement meant she had to agree there were two classes of pony. Sure as sugar not!

The airship lowered, hummed, slopped onto the water, and finally stopped with a stumbling surge. Twinkleshine lost her balance and bumped into Saffron, setting off a frenzy of apologies on both sides, one burbling, the other bursting.

While the crowds surged to the exits on the starboard side, they ambled over to the port side of the ship. Dreading what she might see, Lemon peered over the rail.

“Oh snap…” she muttered.

There was the carriage. That was all Lemon would concede. So she wouldn’t call it e.g. a horse-drawn omnibus with more curls and fiddly bits than a temple crossed with a crown and hammered into a decorative box. At least she knew the gold along the chassis must be gold leaf only, else the thing would hardly move even on those millstone wheels.

And they had a coachmare. And a carriage dog which looked like it hadn’t been fed in a month. And three outrider ponies hanging around looking bored. And four servant ponies yoked to the thing, because if the family wasn’t as opulent as it used to be, it sure as heck could scrounge something up so no one would notice.

Lemon’s teeth clenched tightly.

Two figures were waiting next to the gangplank, or at least about ten yards from it, which was probably about as close as they ever wanted to get to something so workpony-like. Both of them wore suits that were nibbles for moths, albeit moths with good taste. Cravats of gravestone cotton bulged on their chests.

Lemon and all of her accomplices descended the gangplank, Lemon leading the way on the basis that she’d rather the others fled at the first sign of trouble, and if nothing else she always had her elbow.

Despite herself, she couldn’t stop a warm ache rushing through her chest. Probably heartburn, she thought in desperation.

The coachmare clambered off the seat and hurried to chaperone the two parties with butlery haste. “Presenting: Lord and Lady d’Agrume. Miss Lemon Hearts, formerly Lady d’Agrume the Second and her…” The coachmare barely paused, but Lemon heard it all the same. “Select company.”

Neither of her parents smiled. Both bore lemon coats all right, though age and general solemnity had faded them on their way to greyness. Both, however, bowed their heads, and Lemon was put in mind of two lawyers deciding that, yes, this token of goodwill was permissible under international statute.

Their eyes flowed with life, however. Irises rushed under the cardinal red of intense blood. It was as if they saved up their life force and focused and shot everything through pinprick pupils.

“Which of you is Her Highness the Princess Twilight Sparkle?” rumbled the tones of Lord d’Agrume.

Lemon felt the weight of Twilight pressing in on her flank – not literally, but as a sudden heated awareness of where all that life force was pooling.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lord and Lady d’Agrume.” The duck and rise of Twilight’s voice suggested a bow. Both parents bowed back.

“We are truly honoured,” spoke the shrill warble of Lady d’Agrume, which nevertheless had the hint of plush cushions in its lower, lingering harmonics. “To be graced with a visit by one such as yourself. We hope you find Indrabhumi to your liking.”

“Er, actually, I’m here to accompany Lemon Hearts. Uh, Lord and Lady d’Agrume.”

Cardinal stares focused – somewhat less full of life – upon Lemon’s face.

“Uh,” said Lemon. “I brought gifts.”

When no one moved, she shot a back leg out to kick Lyra into gear. Some embarrassed scuffling later, Lyra hopped forwards and opened up Lemon’s suitcase. It snapped shut without warning; the tricky lock was playing up.

“Didn’t know what to get you, of course,” said Lemon hastily, “so I went for something, uh, traditional.” Traditional on a budget, at least.

Lyra reared up, said “Ta da!” and levitated the moulting bouquet of yellow and purple carnations.

The price tag dangled from it, and it still had “NOSEGAY” printed on the one side. Yellow and purple petals snowed onto the stone.

There was also a battered box of chocolates, because customs had insisted on searching and Lemon had been in a bad mood.

Both parents eyed the gifts, apparently expecting the lot to explode.

“Yes,” said Lord d’Agrume. “Most thoughtful.”

“Well, I didn’t know what to get, I said.”

Both parents cast their energetic gaze across the gathering. Lemon fancied, for a moment, that they lingered a little too long on Saffron, who coughed under all the attention.

“Ahem,” said Lady d’Agrume. “I see you brought quite a sizeable gathering of Canterlot… citizenry, Your Highness. We apologize for the lack of pomp, Your Highness –”

“Please, call me Twilight Sparkle,” said Twilight.

“But of course, Your Highness Twilight Sparkle. One fears one’s lineage has not quite obtained one’s former glory, though one endeavours to retain some of the legacy.”

“Uh… does one?” said Spike.

“Indeed, Mister the Dragon,” said Lord d’Agrume. “Under normal circumstances, of course, we would have dispatched the servants alone, but of course, a mare of Your Highness’ station and breeding requires the personal welcome from those of our own humbler station and breeding.”

“We are indeed truly humbled,” said Lady d’Agrume. “We trust you had a pleasant flight?”

“Well, er –” Twilight began.

Lemon stuck out a foreleg as a bar. This was her goshdarned visit. She’d be blowed if she’d be upstaged by a swotty classmate who’d stumbled her way into princesshood.

“It was a sweet ride,” she said, and caught the wince in their eyes. “Mom. Dad. Hi. Good to see you again, and all that. Shoot, it’s been so long. Gimme a hug, you two.”

They stepped back, but Lemon was a locomotive in this mood. She seized their stiff necks and squeezed. She’d hugged statues warmer than these two, though usually not in a clear frame of mind.

“Yes,” they managed to say.

The three of them backed off, watching each other.

Lemon tried a smile. She really did. Only afterwards, it occurred to her that, amid all the grins and smirks and knowing looks and cherubic simpers and downright evil gapes of glee she’d pulled off over the years, her facial choreography wasn’t prepared for a genuine smile yet.

After a painful few seconds, she added, “Wow. Stiff. Fair enough, fair enough, it’s been donkey’s years –” they winced “– and heck –” they winced again “– have I got a lot of tongue-wagging to do.” Wince. “Betcha –” wince “– a lot of stories been waiting to be told on your end, eh?” Wince.

Lord d’Agrume hummed his assent. He sounded as though it had been dragged out of him.

“We have a lot of ‘catching-up’ to do, it seems,” said Lady d’Agrume’s shrill voice, now with undertones of silk dagger.

“Not that that’ll be hard, what with us being related and having the same pedigree and everything,” said Lemon, trying to think ladylike.

Sadly, the very air was crystallizing all around her. “Catching-up” was going to be an Equestria Games marathon. She almost sparked with the static charge of unseen emotions building up…

“Yes,” said Lord d’Agrume gruffly. “Well, let us not ‘lollygag’, as it were.” He gestured. “Our carriage. If you’d kindly step this way, Your Highness Twilight Sparkle and Mister the Dragon, we shall commence with the evening dinner which we hope shall prove satisfactory to you. We have reserved enough seats for… I say, are we one short?”

A thud on the gangplank: they all turned and looked up.

“Aw… dear…” gurgled a green-faced Minuette. “Did I… miss… the landing?” Her cheeks bulged.

The More You Travel, The Less You Change

“Lemon Hearts!” rumbled Lord d’Agrume across the silverware. “Elbows off the table!”

The assembled company froze, some in mid-chew, some with forks halfway to their mouths. All eyes turned to Lemon.

Who gave her parents a solid five seconds of glare, and then continued eating as though nothing had happened.

The seating arrangements for the evening dinner were odd. For one thing, both Lord and Lady d’Agrume had insisted, as protocol decreed, that Princess Twilight Sparkle sit at the head of the table, being the most senior pony there. Spike, or “Mister the Dragon”, sat by her right hoof. The d’Agrumes, being lesser hosts, sat by her left hoof. This left Lemon to sit next to Spike, officially as daughter of the hosts and thus next in seniority, but mostly because she’d picked the spot before anyone objected, and she knew her sloppy eating was making their eyelids twitch.

Twinkleshine had the unenviable spot next to his lordship, though she ate so daintily with knife and fork – and had even remembered to put her napkin on her lap – that no one was about to object. By contrast, Minuette, Lyra, and Saffron were stranded at the other end, as though the d’Agrumes were holding them at bay on the end of a pair of tongs.

So far, the atmosphere of the country manor had been exactly as it would have been at Canterlot. Silver candelabra, an overhanging chandelier, portraits looming up the walls to allow noble ancestry to sneer down at them… There was nothing to suggest another country even existed outside these walls.

Lemon munched her vegetables. Not even any spices in the food.

She heard the voices of her friends not speaking at all. The air echoed with unspoken words.

Ha. They’re expecting some teary reunion, I’ll bet.

Opposite, Lady d’Agrume cleared her throat. “Dear. I expect you have made something of yourself in fair Canterlot?”

Lemon shovelled some more peas and carrots into her mouth.

“Limonada!”

At the sound of her full name, Lemon swallowed and winced. “Oh, yes,” she spat. “I’m unempl –”

Ever so subtly, Twilight coughed.

Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to blow up. Just yet. Lemon said, “I’m a lady of means now, rest assured on that front.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Lord d’Agrume. “At least some levels of ignominy have been spared.”

Clink of cutlery. Slurp of forks.

“Don’t eat in that slovenly manner, please,” said Lady d’Agrume.

Through a mouthful, Lemon said, “Or what?”

“Limonada Hearts, attend to your manners! We have guests.”

“Really? Cor, I didn’t know.” She swallowed. “Fancy me coming here all on my own, and all this time we had guests. You could knock me down with a feather.”

Another subtle Twilight cough tapped her warningly on the ear.

Further down the table, Lyra and Saffron were chatting away happily, alone in their little world. Neither levitated their knives and forks. In fact, they seemed to have forgotten the plates in front of them.

“So what else is there?” she heard Lyra say breathlessly.

“Well,” said Saffron, “there are the Carnival Musics of the south. Father knew those ones best. He told me that the music wasn’t as important; it was the singing that gave Carnival Music its soul.”

“Oh.” Lyra sank a little. “But there are instruments, aren’t there?”

“Yes, of course.”

Lyra’s ears shot up. “A sitar?”

“No. Enough with the sitars, Lyra. Indrabhumi music is much richer than sitar this and sitar that. Especially in the Carnival Musics, all you need to focus on are the melody and the rhythm.”

“No harmony? Again? Isn’t that like listening to someone droning on?”

“You mean is it monotonous? I suppose, but –”

“Ooh, ooh!” Lyra almost threw back her chair in her effort to straighten up. “I think I got it! It’s supposed to be one-tone, because that’s how they hypnotize you! Of course! Now it makes sense!”

Saffron shook her head sadly. “Sure, sure. Let’s go with that. Father told me he used to take part all the time in festivals with his friends from –”

“Ahem,” said Lady d’Agrume.

Caught by surprise, Lemon blinked her way back to her seat. Hearing the only two voices alive with enthusiasm, she’d almost forgiven the world for putting her here, in this house.

“Yes?” she hissed.

“You appear to have finished your main course, dear.”

A frown flickered on Lemon’s face. She glanced down.

“So I have,” she said.

“In which case, would you mind desisting from scraping your fork across your plate?”

Once again, a soft cough from the direction of the princess, which suggested that tactical thinking would serve her, Lemon, extraordinarily well at this juncture. Wisely, Lemon put the fork down. Unwisely, she did so by dropping it with a clatter.

At once, the waiting unicorn mare hurried over to her. Sympathy stirred in Lemon’s heart.

She levitated the plate up to the servant. “Thanks,” she said. “Tell the chef they could rival the best of Equestria with cooking like that.”

To her surprise, this earned a regal nod from her mother. The waiter bent at the knees briefly before vanishing into the kitchens.

Perhaps it would have gone fine from there, if her father hadn’t added, “I see you’ve learned some manners in Canterlot, then.”

“No,” snapped Lemon. “As it happens, I figured that one out by myself. You know, it’s funny: everywhere I go, ponies will insist on teaching me manners, even though I never asked. Anyone would think I’d signed up for a course on how to be a humourless –”

“So!” said Twilight. “Lord and Lady d’Agrume! Uh! T-Tell us about, uh…”

“About life!” said Spike.

“In, uh, life in uh…”

“The country. Nice digs you’ve got here.”

Lady d’Agrume allowed them a peep of her smile. “Such freedom of expression. Of course, one understands the nobility are much more relaxed in fair Canterlot. Alas, we have so little association with the wonderful city.”

“Oh,” said Twilight innocently, or at least with what passed for her as innocence, “you don’t have any relatives there, by any chance? Besides the obvious, I mean, heh.”

Lord d’Agrume swallowed his mouthful. “Only my poor elder brother, Your Highness Twilight Sparkle. I rather fear we lost contact some time ago. He used to be one of the Royal Guard – an officer of considerable standing, as it happens – and was part of a garrison here several decades ago during a few… troubles.”

“Sounds fascinating,” said Twilight, placing her front hooves together as though to rub them. “My brother serves as the Captain of the Royal Guard.”

“Yes,” said Lady d’Agrume, “it is nice when one’s relatives make something of themselves.”

“Other than a spectacle,” muttered Lord d’Agrume to his bread roll.

Lemon wished she had dessert. Dratted thing was that no one was allowed to move onto the next course until everyone had finished the current one, and Twinkleshine alone was the sort to nibble at her food.

“Well,” she said brightly, leaning back and putting rear hooves on the tabletop, “it’s nice to think Miss Sparkle’s big brother worked his way to the top instead of getting an invite to the Country Club from school chums.”

“Limonada! Please! Hooves off the table!” Lady d’Agrume snapped.

“Why? Someone’s gonna wipe it down anyway.”

“Your Highness?” Lord d’Agrume turned to the head of the table.

Out of the corner of her mouth, Twilight hissed, “What are you doing!? You’re supposed to be setting things right.”

“I am,” hissed Lemon back.

“Doesn’t look like it to me,” whispered Spike, sitting between them.

A pause. Even Lyra and Saffron had stopped talking.

Then Lemon withdrew her feet and huffed theatrically on the tabletop, giving it a quick wipe with the back of her hock. “So sorry,” she said. “Pardon me, Ai’m sure. Ai hope no offence was taken, Lay-dee and Lor-dee of the Mar-nor.”

Soon enough, the cutlery clinked and mouths munched and the threatening sea monsters rolled back under the waves of the conversation.

“Um,” said Twinkleshine. Given that the mare’d put down her knife and fork to speak, Lemon could have strangled her. Gateau and cream were just around the corner, for pity’s sake.

“Ah,” said Lord d’Agrume turning in his chair, and Twinkleshine flinched. “You must be one of Lemon’s friends, I take it? Fine Canterlot posture and bearing, if I do say so myself. Always welcome to meet a purebred.” His eyes narrowed. “You are a purebred, yes?”

Twinkleshine reddened, but managed to say, “My parents were both Canterlot ponies. Um.”

“But of course. There must always be a bastion against the grinding forces of modernity. I believe my brother spoke of a certain Twinklestar from the outer regions of the citadel. A relative, I take it?”

Not so much as a squeak. Twinkleshine nodded, and even then only just.

“Auntie,” she whispered.

And now he was turning to Minuette, almost certainly to ask the same question. Lemon groaned. They really didn’t change, did they? Jade statues looked ephemeral as sandcastles by comparison.

“Excellent. And you, Miss –”

“When you’re done measuring family trees,” Lemon snapped. “It would be nice to know you’ve learned to treat ponies as ponies, not as prize pigs.”

“Limonada,” said Lady d’Agrume wearily, “for shame.”

“Quit calling me Limonada!”

She shot out of her chair. The clatter echoed off the walls.

“What is wrong with you?” Lemon thumped the table and the plates shuddered and Twinkleshine yelped. “One minute, it’s all ‘Oh Lemon’s writing to us again, let’s invite her over to make amends and stuff’, the next you’re acting like nothing ever happened!”

Lord d’Agrume rose out of his chair with the fiery inevitability of a space shuttle. “We were under the impression, dear Lemon, that you had come to your senses. Sit down at once.”

“I’d come to my senses!? What about you!? ‘Elbows off the table’, ‘don’t eat with your mouth open’, ‘swallow before you speak’. Good grief, why the heck do you think I ran off to begin with!? And now you’re doing it all over again. Dredging up all that – let’s face it – garbage.”

“Young lady,” said Lady d’Agrume, “a proper unicorn does not use the g-word, especially not when there are guests present.”

“You have no understanding,” said Lord d’Agrume coldly. “Manners maketh the pony.”

Lemon cast about for help, but the only one daring to watch was Twilight. “What does that mean?”

“It means, Lemon, that so long as you are under our roof, and so long as you wish to consider yourself our daughter again, you will abide by the terms of our generosity. Good manners. Respect and honour. Etiquette, hallowed by tradition.”

“Dead pony’s rules, you mean.”

“Sit down, Lemon. I shan’t ask again.”

Lemon drew herself up as tall as she could without lifting her hooves off the carpet. “A cat can look at a king. I can randomly stand in the middle of dinner.”

“The trouble with you, Limonada,” said Lady d’Agrume, patting her husband until he sat down again; a waiter scurried across to lift his chair for him, “is that you lack, and always have lacked, self-control. Celestia knows why, for we’ve always sought to teach you discipline and thoughtfulness. Surely, you don’t expect us to believe you customarily behave this way near your friends.”

Embarrassed throat-clearing ensued up and down the table.

Lemon was trembling. She wished she didn’t; the moment called for a smooth carelessness, but her chest rebelled and her muscles insisted. The fact was that they’d travelled all the way across the ocean just to end up in the same sort of place she’d left behind. Her parents had imported Canterlot.

She could storm out. She could forget the whole thing.

She couldn’t skip gateau with cream, though.

Oh, and Twilight was giving her a funny look. She slowly raised her own chair up and eased herself back down onto it.

“That’s better,” said Lady d’Agrume. Sighs broke out.

The imp of the perverse broke into Lemon’s chest. Under its prompting, she leaned back and threw her rear hooves up onto the table. Adding to this was the steady creak as she gently rocked herself back and forth.

Both parents froze.

Twilight began, “She doesn’t mean anything by it –”

“I confess,” said Lady d’Agrume, “we’re unsure how to take this.”

Lemon met her gaze and projected as much insouciance as she could without popping. “Take it and don’t bring it back.”

Both of her parents gasped. Faces solidified from seething magma to pitiless rock.

“You will insist on being a disgrace!” barked Lord d’Agrume. “Butler: fetch me walking stick! I’ll prod her out of the house if I have to!”

“Very good, sir.” The butler – previously the coachmare – bustled out of the room.

Lemon threw a single chuckle. “Fine. I wasn’t planning on staying anyway. I’m off to bed, and then in the morning I’m outta here. I don’t know why I bothered coming in the first place.”

“Come back here, young lady! Dinner has not finished!”

“Yah boo sucks!” she yelled on her way to the door.

“Limonada, attend to us,” called Lady d’Agrume. “Cease this scandalous display and behave like a proper daughter.”

She hung back at the grand oak portal. “Bark, bark! Yip, yip! Talk to the tail, ‘cause this lapdog ain’t lapping a thing.”

“Lemon!” called Twilight.

“Allow us, Your Highness,” said Lord d’Agrume. “Young lady, it is clear to me that you have not changed. You stubbornly refuse to be less than our equal, a propos of nothing but your own youthful arrogance. The disownment will not be lifted, until you have learned to behave like a true lady.”

This stopped her dead. Her rising leg ground to a halt. The words echoed around her head, cutting off the supply to the rest of her body with their full import…

Then she grinned. “I knew there was something about me I liked,” she said brightly.

She walked out. If all went well, she could wait a few hours and then nick some gateau from the larder.

As she paused outside the door to cock an ear, she heard bustling hooves come back in. “Your walking stick, sir.”

“What on earth for?” said Lord d’Agrume with evident puzzlement.

“You requested it earlier, my lord,” said the butler-cum-coachmare patiently.

“Return it, then. I clearly don’t need it.”

Bustling hooves faded away.

“Um…” said Twilight.

“Well…” said Twinkleshine.

“We apologize, Your Highness,” said Lady d’Agrume smoothly. “Rest assured we tried to bring her up properly, but one rather suspects the Dickens got into that poor child, as they say.”

An awkward pause hung over everything. Surely, someone would say something at some point…

“I know a good… card game we could play,” said Minuette hopefully.

Lemon stomped up the stairs, ignoring the ugly portraits glaring down at her as she passed.

Bedside Manners

She passed a happy forty five minutes in her room before two ponies came in.

Presumably, she was supposed to feel warm and fuzzy, or dull and melancholy, upon seeing the old room again. But no. It might as well have been a random hotel.

She hadn’t spent much time in there, anyway. Hardly any time to grow attached to the place, even if she hadn’t spent most of her childhood dreaming of castles in the sky, a long way away.

For a moment when the door opened, she almost had her heart in her mouth; surely her parents weren’t such martyrs that they’d seek her company again? Anyway, once she’d gotten into her old bedroom, she’d felt oddly at peace, and didn’t want it disturbed by the likes of them.

It was Twilight who came in first. Big shock there. Lemon grinned at her and lounged back on the bed.

“Here,” she said cheerfully, “watch me pot his lordship right on the mozzie.”

She threw the dart. It hit the painting of some old grandfather – right on the muzzle – and stopped quivering.

“Ha.” She chuckled. “That’ll leave a mark. Got any drink?”

Twilight’s mouth was a thin line. Behind her, peeking over the royal shoulder, was Twinkleshine. A friendly face, if one a bit creased with concern.

“Lemon,” said Twilight warningly.

“I used to do this when I was a filly.” Lemon tossed another dart and cursed when it bounced off. “I said they could do whatever they liked with the rest of the manor, but my room was my room. Lost a few toys that day. Surely, everyone knows the floor is extra storage space?”

“I can’t believe how you were acting at dinner,” said Twilight in full scold. “You may be a rogue, Lemon, but that was extreme even for you.”

“Like you’d notice,” muttered Lemon, aiming her next dart. “I didn’t say anything at the time, but I notice it took you long enough to reunite with old friends in Canterlot, eh? Bit of a cheek for you to tell me how I normally behave all of a sudden.”

She heard Twilight draw breath for the next barrage.

So it was a relief when Twinkleshine said in a sigh, “I do think that could’ve gone better.”

Lowering the dart, Lemon puckered her lips as though to kiss a passing thought. “Yes, Ai think it’s safe to say we rather failed to jolly well hit it orf, what?”

“Stop it, please. You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do,” said Lemon calmly, “and I ain’t saying sorry. They haven’t changed a bit.”

“But –”

“What are you doing here, Twinkles?”

No answer. Lemon tossed the dart and hit his lordship between the eyes.

“They let you come back,” said Twilight – not in a friendly way, but her tone suggested a ceasefire for the moment. “They could have refused. I think you ought to give them both a chance. Your behaviour at dinner wasn’t exemplary, either.”

Humming thoughtfully, Lemon stared up and across at the ceiling. Surprising, actually: no cobwebs or dust, no crumbling plaster. Her parents had kept the room clean, at least. A more sentimental bunch might have locked it and left it to go mouldy, as though the sheer disgrace would bring her back determined to dust and wash the place for them.

“Why did you run away?” said Twilight.

“Aw, now, Miss Sparkles,” said Lemon, clothing her voice with as much wounded innocence as would puzzle a copper. “Have a heart. You want me opening up old wounds just like that? Anyway, can’t you guess?”

“You do remember why we’re here, don’t you?” Genuine hurt seeped in. “No one should feel unwelcome in their own parents’ home. Family is one of the most important –”

“Yes, well, I’m sure it is for them who has a decent family.”

Beneath the painting, the dresser bristled with silver cups and stands and other useless shinies. She’d pulled them down once and used them as dollies out of sheer desperation, only for her mother to make her put them back. What was the point? They didn’t do anything but sit there.

“Don’t you remember why we’re here?” said Twilight.

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” moaned Lemon to the top of her four-poster bed. “This isn’t a house. This is a prison. And having been to a few of them, I can compare and contrast! At least in prison, they give you interesting stuff to do, like gardening or picking up litter. None of this etiquette rubbish: they didn’t care what you did so long as you didn’t make trouble, and I mean real trouble, not bogus trouble about elbows on tables.”

Twilight sighed. “Lemon Hearts, you are a negativist.”

Instantly, she sat up. “No, I’m not! I’m as positive a thinker as you can find. Except maybe Lyra.”

Shuffling forwards without overtaking the princess, Twinkleshine coughed into her hoof. “‘Negativism’ doesn’t mean that. What she meant was that you refuse to do as you’re told, or you deliberately do the exact opposite.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Lemon!” said Twilight warningly.

“What it comes down to, Your Highness,” said Lemon, and she reached for the curtains, “is that you don’t know my parents. Tell me what you see.”

As dramatically as she could, she threw the curtain aside and let the light blaze into the room.

Both unicorns politely inspected the view. Then Twinkleshine said, “The sunset is lovely, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” Lemon checked. Dark plain below: sky on fire above. So much for natural lighting effects.

“Oh, and I can see the evenstar. That one’s always been my favourite from the constellation –”

“My point is,” insisted Lemon, “that this is farmland. Most of the country is farmland. If it wasn’t night time, you’d be looking at what two-thirds of Indrabhumi knows. They grow croploads of crops here, because there are croploads of ponies to feed. They even had their own earth pony revolution to grow more food on less land, and still there are croploads of ponies to feed. And some of them go hungry still. A fair few, actually. If us six unicorns stood in for this country, one of us would be starving.”

“Who?” Twinkleshine gulped.

Lemon waved a hoof airily. “I dunno. Minuette, probably.”

She dropped the curtain, and once more plunged them into a cave.

“Are you saying,” said Twilight slowly, “that your parents… uh… are well-fed? Is that what this is about?”

“No!” Lemon returned to lounging on the bed. “Even the elite suffer a bit. Don’t you remember? Us Lemons were at the back of the queue when they handed out the nobility. Why do you think Dad married Mom in the first place?”

“Because they love each other,” said Twinkleshine with a dreamy sigh. “This is one of the most romantic –”

“HA! The heck they did! Dad had a title and nothing else by the time he got to be a proper Lord. So this loving little family, Twinkles, got started because one half needed a quick buck from the other half. It was either marry the money or be forced onto the street. And they think they’re better than a bunch of nobodies mucking in the mud? At least farmers do something for society.”

“Lemon –” said Twinkleshine.

“I used to muck in the mud! It was fun! Oh, but apparently ‘fun’ doesn’t exist in their perfect little world.”

“Lemon Hearts,” said Twilight, stepping in her line of sight like an unwelcome moon. “I appreciate they’re not the most… open-minded of ponies, but their bad behaviour doesn’t excuse yours. If this trip is so important to you, then you can’t wait for them to change their minds all of a sudden. You have to reach out to them. Meet them halfway.”

Lemon screwed up her lips. Not only was she running out of catty remarks, but the creeping heat was taking over her chest again. The mere memory of dinner was making her sick. Still, she’d be blowed if she’d crack first.

Twilight continued, “There was nothing exemplary about the way you behaved at dinner. It was being provocative, and I think you know that. Please, I thought you were committed.”

“I am!” she snapped. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember ordering a roasting for dinner! And I sure as sugar didn’t order one for bed!”

She threw the last dart. It knocked the painting off the wall and smashed onto the dresser, knocking ornaments onto the carpet.

Delivered of that parting shot, she rolled over and silently hated herself. The dark wall was not so dark as to hide their silhouettes. She saw Twilight throw her head back and heard her growl in frustration. Well, she could take it. Twilight was an amateur when it came to heart-stabbing rants.

She saw Twinkleshine place a hoof on the royal shoulder. “Twilight? May I?”

“Oh. Fine. I’m at my wit’s end, I really am.” Twilight’s shadow smoothed its mane down. “I’ll talk to her parents and see if I can smooth things over with them.”

Twinkleshine patted her gently, and her shadow turned to watch as the other ducked down and vanished from view. A flash of magic, and Twilight’s hoofsteps vanished.

Whereupon, Lemon let out a breath.

“She’s not eavesdropping, is she?” were her first real words.

Hoofsteps, the creak of a door, the tingle of magic in the air… “No, it’s all clear. Just the two of us.”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

Lemon rolled onto her back again and spread her limbs like a melting ice block over a volcano. Although the white horn and pink curls of Twinkleshine were peeking into her field of view, she didn’t bring herself to actually meet her friend’s eye.

“You know something, Twinkleshine?”

“Yes, Lemon?” said Twinkleshine calmly.

“I had a look on a map before I came here.”

“Uh huh?”

“I saw something I thought you might like.”

“Oh? That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“There’s an observatory here.”

Silence lurked in ambush. It was that moment when a harmless patch of grassland suddenly resolved into a crouching cheetah, poised to strike.

Lemon could hear her thinking. When it came to earthy problems, Twinkleshine was as meek and unassuming as a butterfly with albinism. When it came to anything further away than the moon, however, she was… well, it’d be hard to imagine an insect that could do her justice. Some monstrous hybrid of mantis, wasp, and black widow spider would probably come close, if it was also as quick as lightning and impossible to kill.

“Really close to here?” Twinkleshine said, and her voice crept with claws, pincers, and fangs rising.

“A way into the mountains. It’s a bit of a walk, but you could spend a good long night there and make it back for breakfast.”

“That’d be the Supreme Mania Observatory.”

“Oh, you know it?”

“Lemon Hearts, I know everything about every observatory that ever existed.”

“Yes, well, I thought you might like to visit.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“In fact.”

“Yes?”

“They have an omnibus service up that way. You’d still have to walk, but it’d shave some time off your journey –”

“No, thank you. One takes the wheel when one has ordinary work to do, but for this… but for a pilgrimage… for a place of such sacrosanct… such wonder… such scope… such a tribute to cosmic beauty and the lights of the void… No, thank you. I shall gladly walk.”

“Er… won’t your hooves get scuffed?”

“I shall wear such scuffs with pride.”

Lemon flinched. For the moment, she was glad she couldn’t see Twinkleshine’s face. Her own heart was jumpy enough as it was.

“So… now Twilight’s gone,” Lemon said.

The meek little butterfly flitted out again, and the coast was clear. “Lemon, please see reason. Twilight – all of us – are here to help you.”

Lemon bit her lip before speaking. “You I can trust. Her? If she’s here to help, she could start by not taking my parents’ side against me.”

“She’s not taking their side. She can’t take sides. She’s a princess. Princesses don’t take sides. Anyway, she didn’t choose to be a princess.”

Now Lemon choked and sat up at the enormity of this claim. “Didn’t choose to be a princess? Please, Twinkles, think. She was going to be princess from the get-go. I’ll bet the moment she set foot in the school, she was groomed by Celestia!”

There was a pause. Disbelieving strains stretched Twinkleshine’s lips.

“Groomed?” she said. “What, like monkeys?”

“Groomed to become a princess, I was going to say.”

“Oh.”

“‘What, like monkeys’… Do they look like bloomin’ monkeys to you?”

“N-No.”

Lemon fell back with a bounce. She liked this bed. It was a crime, having to come here just to enjoy a bed as nice as this.

“Twinkleshine?” she said to the air over her.

“Yes?” said Twinkleshine, more softly than before. Lemon fancied she felt the mare’s breath tickle her fringe.

“You know I want to get along with them, right?”

“You were very convincing the other way.”

“I know, I know. Every time I have to put up with their uptight, out-of-date, narrow-minded, stupid –” She took a breath. The room was so cold. Maybe it had always been.

A bright idea struck her.

“Say,” she said, “d’you reckon this is it? I could be the one who changes them.”

“Er, isn’t that a bit… presumptuous?”

Lemon’s forelimbs waved as though painting the scenes before her. “Yeah, yeah, I could help them to relax. Show them the Ponyville way, not the Canterlot way. Maybe I could even make something of them! That must be it! That must be why I never turned out so well.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Look, look, look: it’s simple. I’m a washout, right? And they’re washouts. All I have to do is get them to think from a different angle, right, and then I get them to open up a bit, we dance, we smile, heartwarming ensues, and then I go back home with a share of the profit – I mean, with a newfound appreciation of who I am, and I could do something with that, maybe start up a new business, or take up poetry or go back to school as an adult learner –”

“Lemon?”

Her thoughts – no more stable than a card tower on a train – jolted and crumbled. Happy families smiled on their way down. It was a relief; ponies like her parents and Twilight made her hiss and swipe like a cornered cat, but a pony like Twinkleshine only had to speak like a purr, and she’d be a perfect little tabby again. Or some kind of street cat, anyway, with a little more pampering.

“Yeah?” she said, covering her stomach as though expecting a belly rub.

Whatever it was, Twinkleshine didn’t want to say it immediately; she hummed.

“You knew all this from the beginning, didn’t you?” she said.

The words were not a challenge. They held her down, yes, but it was up to her whether she struggled. Lemon felt heavy in the limbs, which thumped onto the bed again.

“Yes,” she said.

“Something happened, and I don’t think it was just another tiff.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But we never talk about your family. Even when we were at school, you never talked about it. Don’t you trust us?”

“If you must know, I stayed with an uncle in Canterlot.”

“Oh. Well, that seems harmless enough. So how come you never –”

“He thought he was dead.”

In the silence, another silver ornament rolled off the dresser and thumped on the carpet. Darkness rocked her as though to sleep. It really was too late for this, and she wasn’t thinking clearly.

“Um…” She could hear Twinkleshine blush. Tinkling squeaks entered her voice. “Thought he was… dead?”

“Yeah. Corsage Delusion, or something. Apparently, he came back from the garrison with his brains muddled up. So, since he was dead –”

“But, but surely a pony would notice they’re not dead? Breathing, blood, and so on.”

“We tried it. He just said it was ghostly breathing. The really embarrassing bit was when he tried walking through walls.”

“Oh my goodness.”

“He said he was haunting me, see.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“So, since he was dead, he tried leaving his fortune to me, only the lawyers wouldn’t accept it, so he just gave me an allowance and pretended he was alive to hoodwink anyone who asked. Don’t ask.”

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

On the bed, Lemon dug into the quilt with her shrug. “I didn’t tell you. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

“I wish you’d told me. It must have been awful.”

She screwed up her face, picturing a scraggly beard and a broad mouth booming with laughter. “Ah, no. He wasn’t so bad. Left me be, for the most part. Said the dead shouldn’t bother the living too much. Got me my official Canterlot citizenship before the loony bin caught up with him, and since no one could prove he’d been mad when he’d got it for me, they let me keep it.”

Her syllables stretching with thought, Twinkleshine added, “Sooooo… hooooow exaaaaactly did you get there?”

“Get where?” Sweat crept along Lemon’s skin.

“To Canterlot. Your uncle couldn’t have taken you there, and I don’t think your parents did. How did you get from Indrabhumi to Equestria?”

Lemon felt as though sealed in a tomb with cobras slithering all over her. The air pressed down too hard, the quilt was stone, the cold rushed along her, and she expected any minute the stab of venom…

But Twinkleshine won a prize that night. She settled for a gentle nudge along Lemon’s cheek, and held her warmth there, sharing the light of a candle for Lemon’s own dead wick. The tomb and the cobras faded; she was safe in her bed again.

After a whole night and yet too soon, Twinkleshine’s candle warmth drew away. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Lemon shook her head, scraping the curls along the frayed silk. Already, the dreams were taking over her mind, and her tongue was done for the day.

The hinges didn’t even creak; that’s how clean the room was. Yet she knew Twinkleshine had slipped out. The mare floated away like the glowing edge of a wandering flame.

Left to her memories, Lemon allowed them to seep in. Of a cold road, fading to mist. Of brick walls on either side, flecked with moss and lichen. Of the rain, plastering her mane to her head.

Jabbing aches ran up her spine, but she was too stunned by her own exhaustion to move. Her spine wasn’t used to a comfortable bed.

Perhaps she’d tell them. Just… not right now. For the moment, she was gliding on the pretence that this was all getting somewhere.