Chapter 11: Gift of the Conjurer

In the history of Equestria, and in the much longer history of Panbios itself, there had only ever been one instance of night. The sun and moon had burned together in the sky as long as anypony could remember. Yet, some years, their eternal light was blotted from the sky by extensive, ominous clouds.

Beneath these storms, the Citadelic City was cast in almost complete darkness. What little light came from above was filtered through the gray above, and rendered gray below, washing away what little color there was amongst the stone and brick buildings.

A carriage passed through the streets. Because of the rain, they were mostly empty, aside from a few earth ponies bundled tightly against the cold north wind that walked slowly along the sides of the streets. The carriage, pulled by a single pony, could move quickly, and in the darkness, it was nearly obscured. Even the sound of it trundling through the cobblestone streets was dampened by the rain, as though it were not even there.

The carriage slowly wormed its way through the narrow streets, and finally came to a stop before an ancient but sturdy stone building, a deep-set brownstone linked on both sides to other structures. What few windows it had were darkened and shuttered, perhaps against the storm, or perhaps against something else entirely.

The driver of the carriage, his mane soaked with sweat and rainwater beneath his coat, took a moment to regain his breath. He then walked back to the carriage, and pulled open the door. Fyr’mond stepped out into the rain.

“Please, mistress,” begged Upkeep. “I understand that this is important to you, but this area of the city is not safe. Not for you.”

“I will not reconsider,” she said, smiling up at him. “But thank you for your concern, Upkeep.”

“Mistress…at least let me accompany you. There is no telling what you might find inside.”

Fyr’mond shook her head. “No,” she said. “This is…this is something I chose to do. And I will do it myself. Would it be too much to ask you to stay behind, to guard the carriage?”

“It would be the least I can do, mistress,” said Upkeep, bowing.

Fyr’mond nodded, and then began her walk up the crooked stone path toward the building before her. She looked up at the high, wet walls, and felt herself shiver. Her response might have been from the cold, or from the dampness- -but there was something about the building itself that she did not like. It was too large, too tall, and too dark, as if it did not quite match the buildings that had been built near it. She did not dislike it because it was the house of a commoner, but because it seemed to have been designed with the intention of sealing out the world.

Still, she knew that it was the correct location. She trusted Amddiffynnwr absolutely, and his information had been gleaned from the best spies and informants that Equestria had to offer. This was the house of a pony who did not want to be found- -but nothing escaped the sight of Third Horn.

Fyr’mond climbed the decaying stone staircase that led to the wooden door. She lifted her hoof to knock, and then paused. This was her last chance to turn back. She knew what she was doing was wrong. She had not asked her husband for permission to leave their home, or to come here. He had not explicitly forbid her to do so, but she knew that she was going against his will. What she was doing was dishonest, and if Dee found out, he would be hurt by her betrayal.

At the same time, it felt strangely exhilarating, a sensation that left Fyr’mond feeling ashamed of herself. This was the first time in her life that she had made a choice for herself. By her will, this plan had come together. She had created it, and chosen her own destiny as if she had been born a real mare instead of a princess. The freedom that came with that idea alone pulled her forward, and drove her to tap her hoof several times against the door.

At first, nothing happened. Fyr’mond began to suspect that nopony was home. The windows were, after all, dark. The building could easily have been abandoned.

Then the door was slowly pulled open. A face appeared from the poorly lit darkness, that of a yellow earth pony mare dressed in a nun’s habit. Though her eyes were covered by a black, silken cloth, she still seemed to stare into Fyr’mond, as if contemplating why a unicorn had appeared on her doorstep.

“Your…your name is Nyar,” said Fyr’mond awkwardly. “I am…my name is Fyr’mond. I am here to see…to see Ward Kelley, if he is not currently disposed.”

The blind yellow pony stared at Fyr’mond a bit longer, and the air seemed to accumulate tension. Then she stepped back, gesturing for Fyr’mond to enter.

“Please, come in,” she said in a perfectly measured voice that was neither charming nor repellant.

Fyr’mond hesitated, and then entered. The door was closed behind her, and she was momentarily plunged into darkness. Then, slowly, her eyes became accustomed to the dim light of the long hall she found herself in. Though dark, the walls were lit by a number of small candles placed on sconces or recesses in the material of the walls.

“And you are correct,” said the nun pony, entering the areas of darkness that Fyr’mond’s eyes had still not become accustomed to.

“About…about what?”

“My name. I am, in fact, called Nyar.”

“That’s…that’s an interesting name for a pony,” said Fyr’mond, intending it as a compliment.

Nyar paused. “I suppose it is,” she said. They continued down the hallway. Eventually, Nyar spoke again. “Not many ponies are able to find this place,” she said. “It is purposely well hidden, so that the he might practice his craft in peace.”

“I am truly sorry if I shall be disturbing him,” said Fyr’mond.

“No,” said Nyar. “If you are hear, it is an indication that you and he are destined to meet.”

Silence once again fell upon the pair. As they continued to walk, Fyr’mond noticed a strange smell in the air. The building itself smelled like old stone, but the air around Nyar was thick with the scent of carnations. The spicy, sweet smell was so strong that it was almost sickening, and Fyr’mond wondered simultaneously why a nun would wear such a seductive perfume and where she had smelled it before. After a few moments, her heart dropped when she recalled the last time she had smelled that scent: it was the same smell as of the flowers at her mother’s funeral.

“You want to ask me,” said Nyar, suddenly.

“I, what?” said Fyr’mond, blushing and stepping back, wondering if Nyar had caught her continually edging closer in an attempt to smell her to confirm the source of the floral odor.

“There are two questions ponies always ask me. Which one will you choose to ask first?”

Fyr’mond thought for a moment, and then decided that she would ask the most burning question on her mind.

“How did you meet Ward Kelly?”

Nyar paused, and looked up at Fyr’mond. “Interesting,” she said. “That is neither of them. Ponies usually ask if I am truly blind, or if I am truly a nun. As if my appearance is nothing more than a lie.”

“Are you?”

“A nun? Yes. Blind? That would answer your question.”

“I don’t understand.”

Nyar held her hoof to the silken cloth that covered her eyes. “In my youth, I was blinded by a magical accident. Without my sight, I was considered a burden upon my family and ineligible for marriage. So I joined the convent and swore myself to the gods.”

“But you move so well.”

Nyar nodded. “Because of Master Kelley. He found me when I was lost. With his power, he gave me a new sight. Though my eyes are still blind, through his power I can see. Of course…his skill is still in progress. Though I can see, he could not repair the disfigurement to my face. Hence the veil.”

“I’m sorry…”

“You have no need to be. As trite as it may sound, it is again destiny. Were it not for my blindness and all that pain, I would never have met Master Kelley. I would never have known the miracles he can perform, what he can offer this world in service to our gods. I have sworn my life to his service that I might see his dream to fruition.”

“You love him.”

“I do…but…”

“But he does not love you.”

Nyar shook her head. “He values me, as an assistant, but…to him I am still a nun. He is the only pony for whom I would consider breaking my vows, but he shows no interest in doing so. I think…no, I know. He could have me, but he refuses to protect my honor. Because he is that kind of pony.”

“That’s a beautiful sentiment.”

“I suppose it is.” Nyar reached behind her and opened a door. With a gesture, Fyr’mond was led in. She almost gasped when she entered. The contents were by no means fancy, especially compared to what she was accustomed to, but they were unexpected. In this stone building, she had been expecting a kind of dungeon. Instead, she was greeted by a large, high-ceilinged room with comfortable carpet and wood-paneled walls. The room contained furniture that, though consisting of immensely old, worn, and mismatched heirlooms, was all of high quality. A fire was burning in the fireplace, dispelling the draft and chill of the damp stone that lined the bottom edges of the room. The remainder was lit by lamps hung from above.

“You may have a seat anywhere, milady,” said Nyar. “I shall fetch Master Kelley, and he will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you for your help, miss Nyar,” said Fyr’mond, curtseying instinctively and picking a chair upholstered in course but well-stuffed red cloth. As she sat down, she noticed that Nyar had not left.

“Forgive me,” said Nyar. “It is just that…you remind me a great deal of my own mother.”

“I…I do?”

“Yes. I have few memories of her…but I remember that she was beautiful, and kind, even when others were not. Your children are very fortunate to have a mother like you.”

“I…I don’t have any children,” said Fyr’mond, feeling her heart sink.

The corners of Nyar’s mouth moved slightly. “Is that so?”

“My husband…is not terribly interested in foals.”

“Well…I am sure that you will produce excellent children when the time comes.” She bowed, and then closed the door gently behind her as she stepped past the room.

Fyr’mond watched her go, and then proceeded to wait. Waiting quietly was something she excelled at, but this room made it easy. The fire was warm, and along with the dangling lanterns cast a pleasant orange glow throughout the room. Part of Nylar’s semi-unpleasant smell remained in the room, but the slight smell of the burning logs combined with the strange scent of pleasant, unusual spices. Fyr’mond wondered if Kelley- -or even Nyar- -cooked, or if the smells were used in Kelley’s spells.

As she sat and wondered, a turned her attention toward a shadowy corner of the room. She stared at the base of a sparsely populated bookshelf, and saw that a small creature seemed to have appeared. At first, she thought that it was perhaps a small dog, but on closer inspection she realized that she had no idea what it was at all.

“Hello there,” she said. The creature recoiled slightly, returning to the shadows. Fyr’mond extended her hoof. “You have no need to fear me. I will not hurt you. I don’t even think I could hurt an animal if I tried.”

The creature, oddly, seemed to understand. It pulled its way out of the bookshelf and began to cross the rug. Fyr’mond watched it in awe, because it was no creature that she recognized. The closest her mind could think of was a moth. It certainly had the appropriate wings, as well as fuzzy, jointed antenna that felt the floor before it like the front legs of a spider. Its body was covered in thick but soft looking gray hair, save for its rear, which consisted of a number of interlocking hard segments that led to a long forked tail.

The creature moved across the floor slowly, propelled by numerous unseen legs. Then, when it reached the edge of Fyr’mond’s chair, it jumped upward, fluttering its wings softly and releasing a small plume of soft dust. It landed on the chair leg, and Fyr’mond saw that it indeed had a number of tiny, greenish, chitinous legs beneath its fur. The creature looked up at her with four black, glossy eyes, and its fangs twitched slightly.

“My, what a strange creature you are,” said Fyr’mond, picking up the fuzzy animal and putting it on her lap. As she stroked it, it released a clicking, hissing sound and curled against her. “Aww…see, you don’t need to be scared.” She stroked the creature’s back. “I wonder what kind of creature you are.”

“It is called a varnaq,” said voice behind her.

Fyr’mond jumped, but only slightly, not even enough to disturb the varnaq on her lap. She turned her head to see a gray-blue pony standing in the door, dressed in a shirt and vest.

“Mister Kelley,” said Fyr’mond, trying to stand.

“Don’t get up, please,” he said, raising his tattooed right foreleg. He crossed the room and took a seat on a gray colored couch across from Fyr’mond. Fyr’mond had not realized that he was so young, or so impressive looking. He was certainly older than her, but he was also fit, and seemed far wiser than his years. He wore on his face a kindly smile, like that of an old man, but seemed to have the eyes of a child.

He pointed to the animal on Fyr’mond’s lap. “That creature, in its native realm, is considered a pest. There is no need for you to be alarmed, of course. In the wild, they are a dangerous parasite, but under my power…” he help up his hoof again. Fyr’mond now saw that the marks were neither tattoos nor scars; rather, they were more like burns, blackened into his skin by some unknown means. “…it is as gentle as a kitten.”

“I am honored that you would speak to me, mister Kelley.”

“Oh, no,” said Kelley, “it is I who am honored to be in the presence of the youngest of the princesses of Equestria. And, if it is not too bold, I would invite you to simply call me ‘Ward’. As you can tell,” he brushed his hoof through his hair, revealing that he had no horn, “I am not of noble birth.”

“How did you know I was a princess?”

“Princess Fyr’mond o’Horn, the eight thousand seven hundred and ninety sixth daughter of Third Horn. How could I not recognize one such as yourself?” He sighed. “No…I’m afraid I cannot keep up the charade. I would indeed not recognize you, had I not seen you in the crowd that day. I was immediately taken by your beuty…but no. Beuty is not the correct word. You are indeed beautiful, but it was more than that. Innocence, perhaps? Or the hope you looked to me with? By the angels, I cannot forget that expression.”

Fyr’mond blushed. She was used to compliments- -they were essentially a valueless commodity traded through the clenched teeth of nobles- -but when he said them, they actually surrounded sincere. No pony beside her father and Amddiffynnwr had ever called her beautiful and meant it before. “I really must apologize on behalf of my husband that day,” she said. “He interrupted your show.”

“Husband?” said Ward, leaning back, his eyes widening. “Forgive me, but he seemed a bit…old for a young mare such as yourself.”

“He is the magus of Equestria,” said Fyr’mond, suppressing her desire to be defensive even though Ward had clearly not meant to produce an insult. “His age does not matter to me. His work is exemplary, and I love him.”

“Because you choose to, or because you are mandated to?”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind,” said Ward, waving away his aside and smiling. “But tell me, princess. Why have you come to find me?”

Fyr’mond took a deep breath. “Your magic,” she said.

“You want to know if it is real, do you?”

“Oh,” said Fyr’mond. “No. I already know it is real. I saw it.”

Ward stared at her for a moment, and then laughed. “There is again! That face I saw in the crowd! Do you really look to me without an ounce of doubt in your eyes?”

“I do,” said Fyr’mond, this time unable to suppress her defensiveness. The varnaq seemed to sense it, and a series of spines on its pack perked up.

“Oh, princess, you misunderstand. I do not mean to insult you.” He sighed. “But when a unicorn encounters me, they always doubt my power. It is in their nature.”

The door to the room opened again, and Nyar appeared, bearing a tray with several cups and a kettle.

“Ah, the tea!” said Ward, reaching up to take the tray from his assistant. He set it on the table.

“What is ‘tea’?” asked Fyr’mond, watching as Ward poured a brown liquid into a cup.

“A drink, made from leaves. It comes from a land far beyond this one, at the edge of Equestria, beyond even my own homeland. Would you like some?”

“Please.”

“And Nyar? Would you care for some as well? You are welcome to sit with us.”

“Thank you, Master Kelley,” replied Nyar, “but I have some business to attend to concerning the ingredients.”

“You’re so hard working,” said Ward. “But do be careful in the rain. I would be lost without you.”

“Yes, Master Kelley. Thank you for your concern.”

Nyar backed away, and before closing the door, she smiled to Fyr’mond.

“She seems to like you,” said Ward, his voice shifting just slightly. He passed a cup to Fyr’mond, and she accepted it in her hooves. She looked down into the warm, steaming brown fluid and took a sip.

“It tastes like maple leaves smell,” she said. “When they are dry, in the fall.” She recalled the smell well. When the dwarf maples turned red and shed their leaves was one of her favorite times of year in the gardens, even though it always made her sad.

“I suppose it does,” said Ward, sipping his own tea. “But tell me, princess. You say that your husband is Magus of our land, and yet you come to speak to me of magic?”

Fyr’mond set her cup and saucer back on the table. “He is indeed powerful. It was him who raised and lowered the sun and moon.”

“I remember that,” said Ward.

“But I have seen his magic, and I have grown to know him. It is…” She tried to find a way to phrase the word so that she would not be speaking ill of her beloved husband. “Well…he cannot heal the sick, as you do, or heal injuries.”

“Most unicorns cannot,” said Ward. “Their magic is simply not suited for it. They are indeed powerful, your kind, but those who are most skillful tend to be the most limited in vision.”

“But you are not a unicorn,” noted Fyr’mond.

“Indeed I am not.”

“And yet you use magic.” Fyr’mond gestured to the mark on Ward’s forleg. “Is it because of that?”

“Perceptive,” he said, extending his foreleg. “Indeed, it is. Do you know how I received this mark?”

“How?”

Ward smiled. “It was given to me by an angel.”

“An angel?” said Fyr’mond, her eyes wide.

Ward nodded. “Yes. She came to me one night. She gave me this mark, and gave me the power to make my dreams come true.”

“Did it…did it hurt?”

“It always hurts. Every second of every day.” He his other hoof over the marks, and revealed that they were in fact not healed. “But it is worth that price, worth that price times one hundred thousand.”

“For your dream.”

“For my dream.”

“And…may I ask…what is that dream?”

Ward leaned back in his chair, and raised his marked leg, as if he were reaching for something. The marks glowed, and a tiny pentagram of light appeared above his hoof, and a book dropped out into his grasp. He passed it to Fyr’mond, and she took it with great care.

“This mark is a bridge,” he explained. “It connects me to another realm, one filled with marvelous and wonderful creatures of every shape and nature.”

Fyr’mond opened the book, and flipped through the pages. She quickly saw that it was Ward’s own notebook, and every page was inscribed with ink drawings of symbols and of various creatures. Many of them were frightening, and some horrible- -but every one of them was strange and alien. Text seemed to describe them, although much of it was in a language that even Fyr’mond did not recognize.

“These creatures,” continued Ward, “each have unique natures, unique abilities. And I can control them all.”

“All of these?”

“And more. I have only scratched the surface of what that realm holds.”

“But what do you want to use them for?”

“Simple. To benefit the ponies of Equestria.” The varnaq on Fyr’mond’s lab picked itself up, and fluttered to Ward’s shoulder. He stroked the base of its head, and several large, toothy mouths opened on the bottom. “An example,” he said. “This creature, this varnaq, feeds on the blood of ponies. Enough of them together could suck a pony dry, leaving naught but a husk.”

“That’s terrible!”

“It is,” said Ward. “I agree. But...given the right commands, the varnaq can be told to draw out only the poison from the blood. Septic infections, envenomation, poisoning- -this creature can treat them all.”

“Like that creature you summoned healed that boy.”

Ward nodded. “The Hound can repair the signals between the body, the nerves themselves. I also used it to repair your husband’s blind eye.”

“His eye?” Fyr’mond had suspected that Dee had difficulty seeing, but she had no idea that he had been blind in one eye. She wished that he had told her; reading all that fine print on artifacts must have been terribly difficult for him, and she could have helped.

“Indeed. But they can do so much more.” He smiled, and then stood, pacing in front of the fire. “With this power, this angelic might- -I can do anything! The limitations of natural law do not bind me! Nothing is out of my reach. Sickness, disease, war, famine, I can end them all, if Equestria will only give me the chance.” He looked at Fyr’mond, his body lit from behind by the fire. “Perhaps I can even help treat you.”

“But I am not ill,” said Fyr’mond, taking another sip of her tea.

Ward pointed. “And yet you use your hooves to drink tea.”

Fyr’mond looked down, and understood. The tea had been a test, and he had seen right through her to the one condition she tried so hard to keep hidden.

“A unicorn would never be seen using their hooves like that,” said Ward. “Is it safe to assume that your horn has been injured?”

Fyr’mond shook her head. “It is not. Please, on your word, do not relay this information to anypony. Not even Nyar.”

“But of course.”

“Your word!”

Ward bowed. “I swear upon my name, and upon the gift given to me by the angels and the gods, that I shall not betray your trust.”

Fyr’mond accepted his promise. “I have not been injured, no, but this curse has plagued my family for millennia. I am the first Horn since Single Horn herself that can use magic…and I would fail if I even tried to lift one of these cups. I am too weak.”

“So even Third Horn himself cannot use magic?”

Fyr’mond, ashamed, shook her head. “Which might be why my husband doesn’t see it. To him, unicorns are so much better than earth ponies, but to me…to us…we are the same.”

Ward dropped to his knees before Fyr’mond, and took her hoof in his. “Princess,” he said, “if only every unicorn could be as noble and kind-minded as you are. But my offer still stands. It would be my pleasure, and my honor, to assist a unicorn such as yourself in regaining your birthright.”

“You mean…you could give me my magic back?”

“I can. I can tell from your eyes that you share my dream, that we were meant to find each other this day. For a pony like you, I would gladly give so much more, were I able.”

Fyr’mond looked into his large, brown-irises eyes. She felt herself smile, but did not know why she was crying. No pony had ever looked at her like that.

“Yes,” she said. “Please, Ward Kelley. Help me, if you can, so I can help Equestria like you do.”

Fyr’mond lay on her back on the large bed. The room was dim, lit only by candles. The cloth beneath her felt soft, but cold. She did not know why her heart was beating so fast.

Ward stood above her, beyond the edge of the bed.

“You are going to need to remove your dress,” he said.

“My dress?”

Ward nodded. “For the procedure to work, we will both need to be unclothed.”

“Both of us?”

Ward smiled gently. “Do not worry, my princess. It is not my intent to commit any improprieties against you. I only want to help you.”

Fyr’mond took a deep breath, and reassured herself that he was right. He was going to restore her magic, to make her whole. With magic of her own, she would be able to be like him. So, putting absolute trust in him, she pulled away her dress. She felt the cold air against her coat, and shivered. Ashamed, she crossed her legs to hide the more unseemly parts of herself.

Ward began to remove his own clothing. “You do not need to be ashamed of your body,” he said. “You are a beautiful pony. And we are both ponies. Our bodies are of the same type, the same breed.”

With his vest removed, he climbed onto the bed. Fyr’mond momentarily glimpsed his cutie mark, a red pentagram. She also knew that he would be able to see hers: a delicate wisp of smoke. Slowly, he put his wait on her, covering her with his body. She felt her heart accelerate, and she tried to calm it but found she was unable to. She had never been this exposed or this close to any pony in her life. Her husband had not even yet taken her virginity, and she trusted that Ward would leave her intact as well- -but on some level, she wished that he would not.

She felt the warmth of him against her, and she held onto his body. Ward kissed her chest, and then raised his tattooed arm. The marks glowed, and a pentagram appeared on his hoof. Something came through.

Fyr’mond gasped in horror when she saw what it was. On his hoof sat a long, translucent grub, its segmented body covered in razor-sharp blades and pulsing setae, its teeth gnashing and extending hungrily.

“What is that?” she asked, backing away.

“It is a worm,” said Ward. “It is called a spornak. I am going to insert it into your horn. It will burrow into the core, and once there, its own magic will mix with your own. I will use it to cause your latent magical systems to reactivate.”

“You are going to put that in my horn?”

“Do you trust me, Fyr’mond?”

Fyr’mond looked up into his eyes, and felt her naked body quiver beneath his. She nodded. “Will it…will it hurt?”

“It will. For a moment. But just a moment.”

Fyr’mond braced herself, and took the stallion in her grasp. “Do it,” she said. “Put it into me.”

He nooded, and leaned forward. His face and hooves went out of Fyr’mond’s sight for a moment, and she felt him touching her horn. She moaned, both in fear and because, even though her horn was tiny and inefficient, it was still exquisitely sensitive.

Something wet dropped onto her forhead, and Fyr’mond squeaked as she felt the worm crawling across her skin. Then there was a sudden, distant pain that rose into one much sharper.

“Hold on,” said Ward, holding her tightly. “It will be okay.”

Fyr’mond held him back and grimaced against the pain into one of her most sensitive organs. The pain did indeed only last for a moment, but then she felt something far more unnerving. The worm was moving inside her, in the core of her horn, a place where she before had felt nothing save for the most distant tingle of magic.

“Ohhh…it feels strange,” she said, on the verge of panic.

“It is almost in,” said Ward.

The sensation in her horn shifted. The worm was now less apparent, but now Fyr’mond felt something else. It was a pulse moving through her body, traveling up her spine and from all her body, leading into her horn. At first she found it unpleasant, but as the waves washed over her, she felt herself growing to enjoy them.

She squeaked with the sensation, and held her legs against her body. She knew she was blushing, and she felt so ashamed feeling such impure sensations beneath a pony who was only trying to help her. The pulses were growing in strength and frequency, though. Trying to suppress them only made them stronger.

Fyr’mond groaned and twisted, trying to hold back what she felt was growing in her horn. For a few moments, she was able to, to force herself not to feel what was rising into her horn. Then, the pulses seemed to grow faster and faster, and she no longer could. A hot sensation filled the center of her horn, and all at once she lost control.

She cried out in pleasure and surprise as muscles and organs she did not even know that she had convulsed and squeezed within her, forcing energy into her horn. Unable to control it, a massive surge of pure white magic poured out of the tip of her horn. The entire room shook from the sudden explosive surge. Furniture was lifted in her magic and over turned, and the candles that lit the room burned white and went out.

Fyr’mond opened her eyes, but saw far beyond what they could see. Through them, she saw Ward above her, looking down into her eyes. Through her horn, however, she saw so much more. The entirely of his home, in exquisite detail, as if it had been lit by the brightest of days, as well as most of the neighborhood. She saw the rain, and Upkeep standing outside. She saw the ponies in the nearby houses, the adults sleeping peacefully in their beds but the children whispering to each other in the dark. Everything became apparent to her: their bodies, their thoughts, even the mice that lived in their walls.
Unable to control her magic, numerous items within a half-mile radius of her were suddenly engulfed in white energy. Some were far heavier than any pony, even a unicorn, should have been able to lift- -but Fyr’mond moved them effortlessly. They lifted, twisted in the air, and suddenly dropped back down as the spasms of magic finished pouring out of her horn.

Her magical burst finished, she collapsed into the bed, breathing hard.

“I’ve…I’ve never felt like that before,” she gasped.

Ward smiled at her, and then leaned forward. She felt his tongue over the tip of her now much longer horn, licking away some congealed residual magic that she knew to be tinged with blood. Then he pulled back, preparing to stand, but Fyr’mond stopped him.

“Don’t leave,” she said, pulling his head against her rapidly rising and falling chest. “Not yet. Please stay.”

“Of course, my princess,” he said, wrapping his gently hooves around her, his weight making her feel so secure.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

He did not answer, because he did not need to. Together, they lay naked in the bed, each slowly drifting to sleep.