Thicker Than Water

… and then the dream ends. I wake in a cold sweat, the vile taste of sleep in my mouth. Every night, it’s always the same. Ever since we began camping under the trees. I’m sure the others are experiencing strange things too, but I don’t dare ask them what they see in their dreams. They might ask me the same.

Cranberry let the quill rest and rubbed her temples, exhausted. Writing it down hadn’t proved the expiation she’d desired.

A sharp whistle broke the air, drawing her gaze up from the pages of her journal. Castor had returned from the roadblock, accompanied by his senior staff and his brother. All of them were covered with spots of sticky sap and sawdust, looking exhausted—except for Pollux, who still had his easygoing smile.

Castor looped a hoof in the air, drawing the members of Katabasis Company from around the caravan into a circle. Once everyone had gathered, he cleared his throat. “Good news and bad news,” he said, making a face and spitting out a small twig. “We’ve cleared the blockage, but we’re running out of daylight.”

Indeed, the light filtering through the aspen leaves was already tinged with orange and pink. The thought of the coming dark beneath the trees sent a shiver down Cranberry’s spine.

With a grunt, Castor nodded toward Pwyll. “According to our guide, the river is about a kilometer ahead. By the time we’d reach it today, night will have fallen. So instead, we’ll camp here and ford the river in the morning.”

Pwyll rubbed his antlers with evident anxiety. “I still think we should cross tonight. The other side of the river is… better. Safer.”

Castor rolled his eyes. “Fording a river with twelve fully-loaded carts in the dark isn’t my idea of safe.” He stamped a hoof, clearly annoyed at the delay. It was the first time since leaving Canterlot that they’d fallen this far behind schedule. “I’d like to get started before sunrise tomorrow, so let’s get the campsite set up now and turn in early. Circle those carts and start staking out tents. Get to it, people.”

Kaduat barked a repetition of the orders in Dromedarian for her camel companions, and the caravan instantly became a bustling hub of motion. Cranberry stuffed her journal back into a bag in the back of one of the carts, looking around for Inger and Apricot. She hadn’t seen the two of them since the caravan had come to a stop, she realized.

She spotted her son first. He was standing at the rear of the line of carts, horn aglow as he moved small pebbles through the air with magic. They looped around in a circle, then criss-crossed in an endless infinity symbol. I ought to ask what he learned today, she thought. That always brightened his mood.

As she approached, he heard her hoofsteps and turned around. His eyes were bright and alert. “Hi, Mom.”

“You’re making that look easy,” she said, nodding toward the pebble with a smile. “And making us proud.”

“Thanks.” Apricot turned back to the stone. His brow knit with concentration and a small rosy sphere of light surrounded it. Apricot tapped the sphere and it flashed, before he let it fade away. “And… thanks for letting me come along. I know you just wanted to keep me safe,” he said, strangely downcast. “I’m sorry I stowed away.”

“It’s okay, Apricot…” Cranberry’s gaze drifted from the stone to her son’s face. Blinking with mild concern, she realized that he had a new cut across his snout. “What’s that about?” she asked, gently touching it with a hoof.

“Oh.” Apricot let the pebble clatter to the ground. “Nothing. I just messed up while practicing shields and got a rock on the nose.”

“Pollux is throwing stones at you?” she asked, frowning.

“Uh—”

Just then, she heard hooves trotting up and a familiar voice, slightly out of breath. “Hey, Junior, I got the—oh. Hello, honey.” Inger swallowed.

Cranberry’s concern rapidly transitioned from Apricot to her husband. He looked awful. When was the last time you preened your wings? Or slept? She bit her tongue, though. Two camels were pushing the nearest cart into the growing camp circle, well within earshot, and she wasn’t sure if they spoke more Equestrian than they let on. The last thing she needed to do was embarrass Inger in front of the mercenaries.

He had an unfamiliar flask hanging from a strap around his neck. Held in one hoof was a tiny vial. Inger yanked out the cork, and tipped Apricot’s chin up as he poured out a dab of foul-smelling ointment onto the cut. “Zaeneas had just the thing,” he muttered absently. “She says it’ll heal up in a day or two.”

“Apricot, you’re not training too hard, I hope…” she said. Her husband and son both seemed curiously subdued. A sudden idea to cheer them both up popped into her head. “Hey, honey, maybe you should sit in on his next lesson. It might be fun for both of you.”

Inger straightened. “Oh… um, sure.” Apricot said nothing.

Before she could ask what was wrong, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning, she found Beatriz with a towel thrown over her shoulder. “Hey, you three,” she said, “I could use some help getting a firepit dug and dinner going.”

“Of course,” said Cranberry. “Apricot, can you get our tent set up? I’m sure you can get it yourself with magic.” Her son’s ears perked up. He nodded and trotted off toward the cart with their supplies. “Come on, honey,” she said to Inger, giving Beatriz a little lead on gesture with her hoof.

As they headed for the center of the camp circle, she searched for some excuse to get Inger alone in the tent tonight without Apricot. Her earlier conversation with Tybalt still lingered like a weight in her stomach. She realized she’d been avoiding Inger for days, and now she desperately wanted to air things out. Maybe even tell him about the dreams.

Well. Maybe.

Aiding Beatriz turned out to be a much-needed distraction. While Inger helped two of the camels dig a small pit and line it with stones, Cranberry gave her antelope friend a hoof in carrying the large cauldron that would soon hold the night’s meal. She was getting a bit tired of having soup for dinner, but it was hard to argue with the efficiency of feeding dozens from a single pot.

After the camels finished circling the carts, tents began springing up like spring flowers all around them. The sun had fully vanished when Pollux lit the fire with a flash of magic, and by the time Beatriz got the water boiling even the last vestiges of twilight had been eaten by the darkness. The mercenaries pulled the sawed remains of the fallen trees around the campfire like benches. While they waited for dinner, Cranberry sat with Inger and Apricot on one of them, watching the stars with the rest of the company. Familiar constellations twinkled above in the obsidian reaches.

“The sky is so strange this far north,” said Virgil, looking upward from his seat across the fire. “Back home, you’d never see the Mantis and the Antlers out at the same time of year.”

“A bad omen.” Kaduat shifted, sipping from another bottle. Cranberry wasn’t sure where the camel kept getting them from. After her drink, Kaduat cracked a smile. “If you believe in that sort of thing like a good Dromedarian.”

A good Dromedarian? Cranberry couldn’t help but shake her head wistfully as she realized the extent of her ignorance about camel culture. I could spend a thousand lifetimes studying other civilizations, and I’ll never learn about them all. “What do you mean?”

“My people read everything in the stars. They say your whole life can be predicted from the signs over your birth.” Kaduat pointed southward to another glittering constellation. “For instance, I was born under the sign of the Bull, the warrior’s stars. Same with my brother. Maybe that’s why we ended up in the military together.” She shrugged. “The court astrologers are paid handsomely by the pharaohs to keep them appraised of future events. Whether the year’s crop will be good, whether the noble families are fomenting rebellion, whether an invasion of the zebra isles will be successful…”

With a snort, Kaduat shook her head. “They got that one so wrong it ended a dynasty. They’re wrong half the time, and lucky the other half. You can read anything you want out of the stars. Here.” She set her bottle down and stood. Stabbing her toe into the dirt, she traced a few symbols in the soil.

Virgil perked up with interest. “Oh, you haven’t done this in a while…”

Beatriz looked up from the soup she was stirring. “Careful, now. Last time, you said I’d soon suffer a great loss, and I haven’t been able to find my favorite cutting board since.”

Kaduat chuckled, giving a shrug. She finished drawing the arcane symbols and lifted her foot. Quietly, she whispered a short prayer in Dromedarian. “There. Now it’s an official star-reading. Alright, look above us.” Her toe moved to point directly overhead. “The Porpoise means a long journey is coming. We’ll travel the waves to a distant land. Bit late on that one, huh?” She traced the arc of the dolphin’s back over to the next constellation. “Let’s see… the Squirrel’s looking clear tonight. You can see the nebula forming a little acorn in his paws. That means a great awakening is imminent for someone among our number. And the Heron’s beak is pointing west at this hour, which means a deep darkness will soon shadow our path.”

“Literal darkness, or figurative?” Cranberry asked, smiling despite herself. Like Kaduat, she didn’t really believe their fates lay in the heavens, but the ritual itself was fascinating.

“What’s the difference, eh?” Kaduat’s foot moved again. “The Mantis. Either we’ll find ourselves hunted by a great predator, or we’ll find conflict amongst ourselves.” She glanced over at a nearby camel and grinned. “If I catch Alevai cheating at cards again, that one’ll be true.” The camel gestured dismissively and gave some retort in Dromedarian.

“The Antlers, with the star Ishvi at its right tip looking redder than usual. Death, followed by a rebirth.” Kaduat snorted. “Well, at least whoever dies gets a do-over.” Her eyes scanned the sky. “Beside it, the Twins… with Julian’s comet between them.”

The humor drained from her voice. For a moment, no one spoke, the night filled only by the sounds of the crackling fire and the bubbling soup. Kaduat stared upward, suddenly serious. “That one really is bad.”

Zaeneas broke her usual silence. “The end of a long kinship. Bonds of family, shattered forever.” She watched Kaduat with rapt attention. Cranberry was vaguely aware that some zebra tribes had strong astrological traditions of their own. At her side, Apricot unconsciously pressed closer, his eyes wide.

Less steadily than before, Kaduat traced to another constellation. “Ouroborous, encircling two planets tonight… both aligned with the central star inside the ring.” She considered it for a moment, stroking her chin. “That’s very unusual. We face three betrayals, each worse than the last, yet in the end we’ll be right where we started.” With a sweep of her foot, she pointed to another. “And finally, the Spectacles, clear and shining as can be. No transients to be seen. Long-sought knowledge, of ourselves and the world, awaits us. Whether we want it or not.” Kaduat cleared her throat, stepping back and swiping a hoof through the symbols she’d drawn, scattering the dirt and bringing the reading to a close.

Zaeneas bowed her head. “So sayeth the stars,” she whispered reverently. Kaduat gave her a disquieted look.

“Well,” said Pollux dryly, “that was cheerful.” He glanced over at his twin brother. “I guess we’d best watch out for comets, Castor.”

“Like I said,” Kaduat replied uneasily, sitting back down beside her bottle, “it’s all bunk. The readings are so vague you can match them to anything that happens. Like Bea’s cutting board. I may know the words, but I don’t put much stock in star predictions.” She brought the rum to her lips and paused. “Not after believing them got my brother killed.” She shook her head and tipped the bottle back.

The awkward silence that followed was broken by the banging of metal, as Beatriz rapped the edge of the cauldron with her spoon. “Dinner’s ready.”

Everyone lined up, the camels first. Given that they were the ones pulling the carts, they’d earned the choicest servings of the meal. The Sugar family settled in toward the end of the line. They’d only been waiting a few minutes when Apricot tugged on Cranberry’s foreleg. “Mom, can you get mine? I want to show Kaduat my new spell.”

“Okay. We’ll bring yours over.” Cranberry sent him off with a wave and a smile. “Let the poor camel finish her food first, though.”

Apricot nodded brightly, trotting off toward Kaduat, who had retired to the outskirts of the circle with a couple of her camel compatriots. “Hey, Kaduat! Check this out! You got any little rocks over there?”

Cranberry watched him go, breathing the forest air in deeply. The wind was strong tonight, carrying the scent of sap and sawdust from the cleared blockage across the glade. The smell of the trees and the sound of the flickering fire brought her back to happier times. She remembered camping in the Cottontail Woods south of Canterlot with Inkpot and the Strudel family. She and her sister would stay up in their tent late at night, playing games and whispering secrets to each other in the dark.

A voice interrupted her line of thought. “He’s only been doing that for a day, and you’d think he mastered it months ago.”

She turned her head back to find Inger watching their son with an unreadable expression. Following his gaze, she watched Apricot’s horn glow as Kaduat gamely tossed a pebble at him. Rosy light flashed, and the pebble scattered away. Kaduat and the other camels looked suitably impressed, while Apricot urged them to go again.

Inger’s brow creased. “Pollux is a good teacher. Apricot’s been thriving under his lessons. Just like he did with Mr. Strudel.” He mostly sounded tired, but she caught the faint regret in his voice.

Cranberry lowered her voice to a private volume, resting a comforting hoof on her husband’s shoulder. “And like Strawberry does with you.”

“I…” Inger slowly looked away. “I’ve never been there for Apricot the same way.”

“You’re not a unicorn,” she said gently. “You can’t blame yourself for not being the one to teach him magic.”

His wing jerked under her hoof as if stung. “I know I shouldn’t. But he looks up to me, and… I can’t be what he wants me to be. What he deserves.”

“All he wants is for you to be here with him.” Cranberry smiled, watching as her son’s magic demonstration degenerated into a war of pebble tossing between him and Kaduat. Soon the two were rolling in the dirt, laughing and kicking dust at each other. Cranberry sighed, smiling.

“At least he’s outside,” said Inger dryly, watching the show. He exhaled. “I know you’re right. I tell myself the same things. But… you don’t see the disappointment in his eyes when he realizes I won’t understand something he’s learned. Unicorn stuff, he says. It’s like there’s this distance between us, getting wider with every new spell he picks up. I don’t know how to cross it.”

Kaduat and Apricot appeared to have called a truce. Laughing, the two dusted themselves off and let the pebbles lie. After returning to her soup and taking a few spoonfuls, she beckoned him close, whispering something in the young colt’s ear and pointing toward one of the circled carts. With a mischievous grin, Apricot nodded, and set off toward it at a trot.

Inger took a swig from the little flask around his neck. Cranberry’s brow furrowed in concern. “That’s not some of Kaduat’s rum, is it?”

“Huh?” He blinked. “Oh. No, it’s ginkgo tonic. Zaeneas fixed some for me. It’s like tea, but five times stronger.” He smiled wearily. “And it tastes ten times worse.”

So he hasn’t been sleeping well, either. Cranberry hesitated. It was the perfect opening to talk about her own nightmares, but they weren’t exactly alone here. The whole camp didn’t need to hear about it if voices got raised.

“Ow!” came a yelp from the far side of the camp. Cranberry’s head jerked sharply toward the noise, maternal instincts alert, before she spotted Pollux striding toward them with Apricot in tow. The older unicorn’s horn glowed a soft red, accompanied by a soft crimson aura around one of his charge’s ears.

She lifted her eyebrow as the two reached them. Pollux cleared his throat. “Lord and Lady Vallen,” he said, dipping his head gracefully.

“Pollux,” she returned the greeting with a curious look at her son.

“It seems certain bad influences have convinced my student to go rifling through my private reserves,” said Pollux, favoring Kaduat with a momentary glare. The camel, overhearing, blew him a raspberry.

“Private reserves?” said Virgil, from his spot in the line ahead. “Pollux! Did I just hear that you brought a bag of your famous cookies along?”

“Really?” Beatriz leaned away from the cauldron. “Those lemon snaps? Pollux, seriously, you’ve got to give me the recipe for those.”

Behind them, even Zaeneas perked up. “I was not aware that you made more,” she murmured, with interest.

“I see no one remembers what private means,” said Pollux, witheringly dry. “There aren’t enough for everyone, so unless you vultures want to fight each other for them…” He shooed the hungry mercenaries away with a hoof. Virgil gave a disappointed grumble as he slunk back to the cauldron.

Pollux returned to Cranberry with a wry frown, giving the colt beside him a gentle cuff with his hoof. Apricot ducked his head for a moment with a wholly unrepentant grin. “Since my apprentice has such a bounty of free time, I thought we might put him to work. Our water supplies could use a top-off. Pwyll tells us the river is just a short walk north, so I thought Apricot and I might go fill a barrel.”

Apricot’s eyes lit up. “We could practice more wards, too, right?”

“Of course. Though I don’t know a wardsong against cookie thieves.” Pollux’s mouth twitched, but he restrained a smile.

Cranberry had a momentary pang of worry, but realized this was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. “All right. Have fun. And try not to scrape your nose again.”

Apricot shared a quick look with his father. “I’ll be careful,” he said.

As the two trotted away, Cranberry and Inger finally reached the front of the line. Beatriz ladled them both out bowls of soup, which they took with a quick thanks, and then headed to the nearest free seat amongst the log-benches.

Per usual, the soup was hearty and filling. Cranberry sipped from her bowl, looking back up at the stars. After Kaduat’s reading, the twinkling felt a little threatening, as if the stars were watching them. She frowned. Knowledge, whether we want it or not…

Her foreleg was jostled, and she was quickly forced to focus on not spilling her soup. “Sorry,” said Inger, setting his own, empty bowl down.

“It’s fine. You were hungry, huh?”

“Felt like I hadn’t eaten all day. Maybe it’s the tonic.” He took a slow drink from his little flask, grimacing at the taste. His eyes were focused across the camp, where Apricot and Pollux were retrieving a small, empty barrel from one of the carts. Apricot hoisted it above his back with a glowing horn, and the two set off for the edge of the woods. Cranberry watched the unicorns melt into the shadows.

Now’s my chance, she thought with trepidation. “I’m thinking about turning in early tonight. Join me?”

“Mm.” Inger regarded the flask in his hoof for a moment. Suddenly he gave a firm nod, capping the flask and letting it drop back around his neck. “Sure. I could use the rest. Long day.”

Her thoughts raced as they made their way through the campsite. She’d tossed her journal into their tent earlier, but now it felt like a time bomb waiting for them. I have to tell him, she thought, swallowing. If I don’t get this out in the open, Tybalt’s going to make him think something even worse.

Inger pulled up the tent flap, gesturing for her to go first. She slipped inside, stepping over Apricot’s empty bedroll. The small bag holding her journal lurked in the nearest corner. With a weary grunt, Inger slumped down into his own bedroll. His wings fluttered.

Cranberry sat down beside him. “Inger, there’s something I should… tell you.”

Blearily, he turned over to meet her eyes. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Sorry. I’m just tired, and nervous. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I don’t think anyone has,” he said darkly. Inger sat up, glancing at the walls of the tent as though they were sinking in on them. “It’s this place.” He considered something for a moment. “I… I’ve been having these dreams, Cranberry.”

“Dreams…?” she echoed.

“About my mother. And… about you.” He shook his head, as if to clear it. “Memories, only, not quite. And they’re not good ones. The last one was about what happened after I proposed. I ran into Rye at the pub that night.” Inger’s eyes creased. “He was wrecked. I didn’t want to see it at the time. I’d forgotten all about it until yesterday.”

She hunched with guilt. “He told me he was happy for us.”

“Cranberry…” Inger rubbed the back of his neck. “I think he loved you.”

Neither she nor Inger had ever spoken the thought aloud. They might have gone their whole lives without saying it, but now it could not be unsaid. The words lay between them like a dead thing. Cranberry’s mouth had gone very dry. “Once, maybe,” she confessed. “But that was a long time ago.”

“I know,” said Inger, almost desperate, as though trying to convince himself. “But sometimes I can’t stop myself from wondering…” He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Was it always one-sided? Did you ever feel the same way?”

She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the journal. “Not the way I feel about you, Inger.”

Slowly, painfully slowly, he nodded his head. “Okay.” Sighing, he slumped. “I’m sorry. It shouldn’t matter, anyway. That was all so long ago.” Finally, he looked at her again. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”

At that moment, her courage failed her. To her shame, it seemed she wasn’t strong enough. Cranberry placed a hoof on his and leaned in to kiss him. “Just that I love you,” she murmured, “And that I always have.”

She grabbed his shoulders and kissed him again. Inger jolted in surprise as she pressed her lips against his, almost painfully hard. Cranberry’s hoof traced down his chest, slipping between his legs. Her husband’s breath caught as she touched him.

Inger began to return the forceful kiss. His hoof stroked through her mane, brushing her golden curls. Electric tingles carried across her skin beneath his hooftip. Cranberry planted a hoof on his chest and gently pushed him onto his back. For a moment, he looked up at her with hesitation in his tired, sunken eyes, but then he smiled. Slinking over him, she leaned down to deliver a gentle nibble to his neck.

“Nnh,” he grunted softly. “So this is why you wanted to be alone…”

No need to correct him. “Shh.” She placed a hoof on his lips, and kissed the spot she’d just bitten.

Inger groaned as her other hoof stroked upward. He was starting to relax, to her relief. She pressed herself against him, slowly rubbing her chest against his. I need this, she thought. We both do. Both of them had been arguing because of pent-up frustration from the journey, and the forest, and from not being together in a while, that was all. They hadn’t gotten a chance like this since Apricot’s surprise arrival. Some much-needed physical touch would ease the tension. An apology with words would only ruin the moment.

She kissed him again, slowly rolling her hips against him. His firm muscles supported her easily, strong and smooth as always beneath her touch. She arched her back, pressing both hooves down on his chest as she ground into him. Heat pulsed between her legs as he rubbed against her sensitive skin. “I think I’m ready,” she whispered.

Inger lifted her hindquarters with his hooves as he lined up, and then gave her cutie marks a light tug. Cranberry sank down onto him, and they both gasped as he slid inside. She pressed her forehead against his, exhaling. “Mnh,” she managed. Inger stroked her cheek, sending a little pleasant shiver down her spine. With a deep breath, she started to move, drawing a soft groan from his lips.

This was good. Familiar. As she settled into a rhythm, her eyes closed and she let her mind go fuzzy and blank. The pleasure building between them was the only thing in the world. Their breathing filled the tent, soft and heavy.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, sweeping a strand of her mane out of her face. “I don’t say it enough.”

“Ah,” she panted. “Inger…” It was working. As she rocked up and down, Cranberry let a soft moan escape her lips.

Inger leaned up and kissed her chest. “I love you.”

Something caught in her throat. Cranberry felt suddenly drawn to the corner of the tent, against her will. Struggling against the inexorable pull, she turned to eye the bag with her journal once more. Her rhythm atop him faltered. “Mmh,” she said, before diving down to kiss him again with desperate intensity.

Maybe, if she loved him hard enough, if she made him feel good enough, it would all blow over and things could go back to the way they were before Tybalt had forced his way into their lives. Back before Apricot Strudel had died and her world's foundations had gone crooked.

“Hey,” said Inger, confused. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t pause, kissing him harder as she sped up her hips. Don’t stop, she thought, don’t stop, or you’ll lose him.

“Nngh,” he grunted, blinking, but he didn’t close his eyes and sink back the way she was hoping for. Gently, he broke the kiss by pushing up on her chest. “Cranberry, wait. Hold on.”

“No,” she muttered, shaking her head. “We can’t stop.”

“But you’re crying.” The worry in his voice pierced the fog in her head.

A wet, warm tear dripped from her cheek to land on his nose. Cranberry faltered, coming to a halt. “I… we have to—we can’t stop,” she begged.

“What?” Inger sat up, bringing her with him. “Why?”

“Because…” Cranberry’s shoulders heaved as more tears burst forth. “Because if we can’t even get this right, what chance have we got?” She fell into his chest, pressing into his warm fur as her voice cracked into sobs.

Gods. Now she’d ruined everything. Instead of distracting him, making him forget, she’d made sure he knew there was something wrong. But she found that she was too tired to fight it any more. He hugged her tight, just like he had on that rainy, miserable night weeks ago. Just like he had in Sleipnord, the first time they’d ever kissed.

Cranberry rested her cheek on his chest, closing her eyes as he wrapped a foreleg around her. “Inger, I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” she confessed. “I’m so tired. All the time. Taking care of Strawberry and Apricot, teaching classes at the university, dealing with the department politics and my own research and somehow finding time for just the two of us—it’s too much.” She bent her head. “It’s too much. I’ve been giving so much of myself for so long that I’m worried there isn’t anything left.”

Sensing she wasn’t finished, he said nothing. After a moment, she swallowed and continued. “The only thing that’s gotten me through it all is you, Inger. You’re the one I can always count on. You’re my pillar. The one holding me up, more than anyone. More than Rye, more than Windstreak or Apricot. More than Inkpot. It’s you, Inger. It always has been. With you behind me I can face it all, I can keep going.” She took a shaky breath. “But now, with all that’s been happening, for the first time, it feels like… like I could lose you. And if I do, it all comes crashing in. I’ll be buried.” She kissed him, more pain than pleasure. “I can’t bear the thought of it,” she whispered. “I’ve already lost so much of my family. If I lose more now, I’ll fracture like glass.”

“You won’t lose me,” he promised, returning her kiss. “I love you. It would take a lot more than a few arguments to change that.”

The icy pit in her stomach was back. “Like what?”

He blinked. “That’s not what I meant. Nothing would change that.”

She searched his eyes. In them, she found something she rarely saw in her husband. Something that not even griffons or dragons could create.

Fear.

“You’re the only stallion I’ve ever loved,” she said. Suddenly exhausted, she lay down at his side, tugging on his foreleg for him to follow. “That’s always been enough for me. And it always will be.”

She felt utterly weary. Cranberry’s eyes sank closed as she nestled her head against him. She held on to Inger’s comforting warmth as long as she could, her breathing easing as his downy wing wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her close. Maybe he could keep the dreams away, like Nightmare Moon had before the Moonfall. Her legs slackened as consciousness fled.

* * *

Even with spellsong, keeping the empty barrel’s dead weight lifted for so long was taxing. A bead of sweat rolled down Apricot’s neck as he concentrated on the melody, trying to divide his attention between the spell and following Pollux through the trees without tripping over any roots. The older unicorn’s horn led the way, glowing a soft crimson beneath the darkened trees.

They’d been walking for at least twenty minutes. Pollux stopped more than once, tapping his chin and checking a magical compass he summoned intermittently. When he cast the spell, a tiny, glowing red needle whirled to life on his upturned hoof and pointed straight north. “Apparently when Pwyll said the river wasn’t far,” he murmured, “he meant as the pegasus flies.”

“We’re not lost, are we?”

“No, but we certainly haven’t been taking the most direct route north.” Pollux squinted around at the trees. “This forest feels like a maze. I don’t appreciate being shepherded.” He shook his head with a wry chuckle, dismissing the compass spell with a shake of his hoof. “Ah. I’m letting our young guide’s superstitions get to me. Come on. We’re almost there. I can hear the water.”

Apricot listened for a moment, and caught the faint but unmistakable sound of a rushing stream. Feeling a little vigor return to his step at the thought of setting the barrel down, he trotted after Pollux again. “We’re not heading back to camp right away, are we?”

“No. The riverbank will be a good place for your next lesson.”

Relieved, Apricot threaded between two trees, pausing when he heard the barrel get stuck as it tried to follow. With a sigh, he poured a little more into his spellsong, lifting the barrel up to a wider gap and squeezing it through. “Wait… am I going to have to carry this back after we fill it?”

Pollux lifted an eyebrow. “Of course. A pegasus has to exercise his wings to get faster. An earth pony’s muscles need stress to grow. Why should a unicorn’s magic be any different?” His mouth twitched. “Now, I might be willing to take a turn…”

Apricot had made enough deals with Strawberry to recognize one. “If…?”

“If you help me get back at Kaduat,” said Pollux, grinning.

Snickering, Apricot nodded. “How?”

“I haven’t decided, yet. Maybe we’ll fill one of her bottles with that disgusting medicinal tonic Zaeneas makes. Steal my lemon snaps, will she…” Pollux muttered to himself. He looked back to make sure he Apricot was still keeping pace. “Speaking of medicine, how’s that nose?”

Apricot’s smile faded. “It’s fine.” He wished the adults would stop asking him about it.

“That’s good.” Pollux blinked, turning back ahead. “I was afraid I might be pushing you too fast.”

“What? No!” Apricot cantered up to him, the barrel bobbing behind. “It’s been great! I just messed up with the shield once, that’s all. It won’t happen again.”

“Yes, it will.” Pollux’s horn flashed, and some particularly thick foliage in their path bent out of their way. “Nopony does magic perfectly every time. Even with spellsinging. You’ll get tired, or forget a note, or let your beat slip, and make a mistake. We all do it.” His mouth thinned. “And if I give you too much to handle, those mistakes might be dangerous.”

“I can handle it,” protested Apricot. “I’ve learned all of your lessons so far.”

Pollux’s pace suddenly came to a halt as they passed another group of tightly packed trees. Ahead, in their combined hornlight, a wide gap stretched forward. The river, about five meters across, flowed gently and surely before them. The dark waters reflected the glowing beacons of their horns, lighting the trees around with a wide glow. The banks sloped smoothly down into the water, vanishing into the surprising depths without a trace.

Apricot sighed with relief. “Finally.” He set the barrel down and sat heavily. He puffed, finding himself out of breath. Leaning back on his forehooves, he looked up at the stars, visible through the gap in the canopy over the river. Pollux sat beside him with a small smile, letting him take a break before the lesson. Apricot looked at him curiously. “Why are you so worried all of a sudden?”

“Because our next lesson is fire warding.” Pollux fiddled with the clasp of his robes.

Apricot’s eyes widened. “You’re going to teach me to make fire?”

“I’m going to teach you to shield yourself from it,” Pollux said, with a measured look, “But in the process… yes. You’ll learn how to make fire.”

“I’ve, uh,” Apricot began, wondering if he should admit this. Well, he’d told his dad before, and hadn’t gotten in trouble. “I’ve actually made fire before. A couple of times. I figured it out myself.”

Pollux lifted an eyebrow. “How’d it go?”

“Um…” Apricot nibbled his hoof for a moment. “Last time, I caught my mane on fire,” he confessed, wincing.

“Mhm.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because,” said Pollux dryly, looking down into the river, “I did the same thing when I was your age.” He trailed a hoof in the water. “Never forget: fire has a will of its own. If you aren’t careful, if you lose control of it, it will spread and spread until it consumes everything around you. And you.”

Apricot fidgeted. “How’d you do it the first time?” he asked. “I figured it out by watching Mr. Strudel.”

“It’s… not a pleasant story.” Pollux grew suddenly reserved, withdrawing his hoof into his robes. “I don’t want to frighten you.”

“I like scary stories.” Apricot grinned, still panting from the trek.

Pollux smiled privately. “All right, I’ll tell you later. But for now, you need to focus.”

“Okay.” Apricot puffed out another breath. He wasn’t quite recovered from hauling that barrel. “Did you have a teacher when you were a colt?”

“No… I had to figure most of it out by myself, at first.” Pollux smiled, but his eyes were suddenly far away. “That was a long, long time ago. Back when Castor and I still lived in Alastria.”

“Where’s that?” Apricot knew all the Equestrian provinces, and that wasn’t one of them. It sounded familiar, though. Maybe Mr. Strudel or his mother had mentioned it in one of their history lessons.

“What do you know about the protectorates?”

“Uh…” Apricot had heard the word before, but couldn’t for the life of him remember what they were. If his mother were here she’d be tut-tutting him right now, he could feel it.

“Nothing, then,” surmised Pollux, looking a little crestfallen. “Forgotten in just one generation…” He fell quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat. “After the war with Grypha; meaning the first one, centuries ago, where the ponies pushed the griffons south and claimed Equestria’s modern borders, the princesses—for there were still two, then—and the council of lords decided to prevent another war with the griffons from ever happening.”

“Ummm…”

“Quite,” said Pollux, flashing an ironic grin despite himself. “Still, they were determined to try. They created a number of small satellite polities occupying the liminal scrubland between Equestria and the Saladi desert.”

Apricot had only understood about six of those words, but he didn’t want Pollux to think he wasn’t following along, so he gave his most knowing nod.

“Officially, they were there to facilitate exchanges between the two great powers. In reality, they only existed to absorb the first shock of a griffon invasion, giving Equestria time to rally her defenses. The unspoken bargain was that, short of an all-out invasion, Equestria would protect them. Keep them safe from griffon raids, supply them with food… the scrubland wasn’t good for farming. The protectorates were dry and dusty. Oftentimes we’d get sandstorms rolling north out of the desert.” Pollux stared into the dark forest, his thoughts far away. “The largest of the protectorates was Alastria. It’s where Castor and I were born.”

“Do you ever go back to visit?”

“Alastria is gone,” said Pollux quietly. “There’s nothing to go back to.”

Well, Apricot understood those words; he just wasn’t sure he could comprehend them. Losing a house, sure, but losing your whole homeland? What would it be like if Canterlot just stopped existing? He rubbed a hoof uneasily. “What happened?”

“For a long time, the princesses kept their bargain. But after Celestia’s sister was banished into darkness, the protectorates were all but abandoned.” Pollux closed his eyes. “Crops failed. Griffon raids went from frequent to constant. In the name of keeping peace, the Equestrians did nothing to uphold their promised protection against Grypha. The government was too corrupt to function, and indeed fell apart completely long before my time. Alastria became a lawless, miserable land.”

He let out a heavy breath. “By the time Castor and I were born, all the other protectorates had already been annexed by Grypha. They were artificial states, to be blunt; propped up by Equestria to serve a purpose, without history or culture to bind them to their land. No one had lived there before, and after all the ponies had been either pushed north into Equestria or taken as slaves by the griffons, the territory was left empty once more. It was just a means to invade the lush fields of Whitetail, over the river.” Pollux shook his head, frustrated. “But it could have been more. If only anyone had tried.”

Apricot remained silent, unsettled. He’d never seen Pollux get so agitated. How could something like this have happened so close to Equestria? And why did no one ever talk about it? Surely he’d have remembered if his mother had said even this much about the protectorates.

“It was an awful place, full of violence, fear, and constant hunger.” Pollux clenched his teeth for a moment. “But it was the only home my brother and I had ever known.” He sighed, and suddenly all the anger seemed to pass out of him. “Our parents died when we were very young. A griffon raid, I think, or maybe just a band of looters. Whoever they were, they burned our village to the ground while Castor and I were out foraging.” He paused for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” said Apricot, dry-mouthed.

“It’s all right.” Pollux took a deep breath. “The two of us wandered the country for a time, moving from town to town, getting food and shelter wherever we could find it. Castor always made sure I got the first bite of anything we took—uh, found.” He smiled.

“So that’s when he gave you that spellbook,” said Apricot. “The one from that merchant.”

“Mhm.” Pollux looked back fondly in the direction of the camp. “Neither of us knew anything about magic, of course. For a while I had to figure it out all on my own, even though I could barely read.” At last he turned his head back to Apricot. “I guess that’s why I want to help you learn. If I can spare you from years of fumbling in the dark like I did, then I’ll have done as much good as any rescue mission.”

“Thanks,” said Apricot, sitting forward. “Without you and Mr. Strudel…” He remembered his first lesson at the bakery, where he’d learned to light his horn, and felt a sudden ache in his chest. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Pollux’s mouth twisted. “Especially to Castor. He’d never let me hear the end of it.”

“Okay,” said Apricot, laughing as the mood lightened. “As long as you promise not to tell anyone that I still get winded just from carrying a barrel…”

“My word as a mage,” said Pollux, pressing a hoof to his chest and bowing. “Now, are you ready for the next lesson?”

“Yes,” said Apricot, his eyes glinting. “I’m ready. Show me how to make fire.”

“Then close your eyes, and listen to the song…”

* * *

Warm light from the campfire flickered on the steepled walls of the tent. Inger wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there, staring at the fabric, with Cranberry fast asleep beside him. Her familiar snoring grated on his ears like the mercenaries’ hacksaws, but that wasn’t why he was still awake.

Some of it was surely the ginkgo tonic. Though its burning, acrid aftertaste was long gone, he still felt like he could go for another hour or two without sleep. But there was something else, too.

A tiny, familiar voice whispered, Go on. Just a peek.

The dragon was lively tonight, gorged on regret, sexual frustration and ever-rising guilt. Inger kept replaying the day in his mind on repeat. The way Apricot had whimpered as he curled into a ball, cringing back from the stone his father had hurled at him. The happiness on his son’s face as he got the chance to spend more time with Pollux, learning what his father could never teach him. The shame of asking Cranberry questions he’d never felt the need to before.

You want to find out.

Annoyed, he closed his eyes, willing the dragon to be silent. He didn’t need to succumb to its foolish urging.

But how else will you know for sure?

His wife’s journal was private. The guard-captain of Her Majesty’s Royal Firewings did not make a habit of snooping through other ponies’ personal belongings on a whim. If he caught any of his soldiers doing something like that, he’d assign them to night watch duty in the castle catacombs for two months. Besides, those journals were for academic logs. There probably wasn’t even anything about him in there.

Oh, come now. Then why did she keep looking at it? The dragon crooned softly in his ear. Just a few pages!

“I don’t need to,” he muttered to himself. “I trust her.”

And look where that’s gotten you.

Things between them were starting to get better. At least she wasn’t avoiding him anymore. Why risk that fragile progress by intruding on her private thoughts? Just for curiosity? He was better than that.

Yes, yes, you’re very noble. So either go to sleep already, or READ IT READ IT READ IT—

Inger sat up, exhaling. He carefully disentangled himself from Cranberry’s forelegs, letting his hoof linger on her side for a moment. “I’m just getting a drink before I go back to bed,” he said quietly.

Of course! The dragon purred. Very reasonable.

He left the tent, stepping out into the fresh forest air. With everybody in their tents, the glade felt deserted. Well, everybody save one. Kaduat, on watch duty beside the fire, looked up at his intrusion on the tranquil night. She smiled. “Hey.”

“Evening.” He wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Inger forced his weary hooves to move, approaching the cart with their water stores. Not bothering with a vessel, he pulled the nearest barrel to the edge of the back, sticking his head under the spigot and twisting the valve. Cool water drizzled into his mouth. When he’d had his fill, he shut the valve and shoved the barrel back in.

He avoided Kaduat’s gaze as he returned to the tent. Time to go back in there, curl up beside his wife, and get some much-needed rest.

You think you’ll get any rest with all these dreams?

Inger paused. The thought of another memory tainted by those white aspen trunks was almost too much to bear. Maybe sleep could wait for a little longer.

And you know just how to pass the time…

Inger bit his lip so hard that he drew blood. “Damn it,” he muttered, disgusted with himself. Wiping his lip, he dragged the bag toward him and pulled out the book within. He flipped it open, sparing a wary look to make sure Cranberry was still asleep. Enough firelight was filtering through the tent fabric that he could read his wife’s familiar script. Keeping as quiet as possible, he flipped through, searching for the most recent entry. Hungrily, his eyes devoured the words.

I had the dream again last night. Same as the last one. It’s so vivid that it feels real. More real than my actual memories. I thought maybe writing it down might reveal something, some pattern I’ve been missing while I’m experiencing it, but I don’t know. I’ve never told Inger about what happened. Honestly, it’s never seemed important. But with how tense things have been, I guess… it seems important now.

It always begins the same way.

I’m climbing the stairs.

* * *

“Hey, Cranberry, you coming?”

She blinks, lowering her head. The rough stone steps stretch upward, snaking up the mountainside. High above, the remains of the castle still glitter in the bright moonlight. Thankfully, they aren’t making the full trek up there tonight.

A dozen steps ahead of her, Rye hefts the large sack lying across his shoulders. He fluffs his wings and puffs out a heavy breath. “You know I don’t know where we’re going, right? I’ve just been following you.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She resumes her course, trotting up the steps and passing him to take the lead back. “Just needed a breather. I can’t believe you climb these every day.”

“You get used to it pretty quickly,” he says, following her up. “The old lunar chapel was the only place left big enough to hold the Princess, her guards, the council, and Eberhardt’s entourage all at the same time, so it wasn’t like we had much choice. It’s a miracle it didn’t burn down with the rest of the castle.” He sighs. “I haven’t been coming up here as much since the Nordponies returned home, though.”

Cranberry wipes sweat away with a hoof. “You must be in better shape than I am by now. At least the walk to the university isn’t up the side of a mountain.”

Rye snorts. “First time not being able to fly has been good for my health, I guess.” There’s a twinkle in his eye as he grins. “Most of the regular castle staff take a pegasus-drawn carriage up from the city each morning. I like the exercise, though. The mountain air really clears your head.”

Above, Cranberry spots white tree trunks to the side of the stairs. Beneath the aspens is the memorable boulder that resembles a grumpy mule, marking the hidden trail. “There! Hang a right off the steps at that rock.”

They follow the narrow dirt path away from the stone stairway, rising into the rocky mountainside. They pass bushes and flower patches, as the white trees thicken around them. Rye grunts as he yanks the bag through a stubborn shrub. “How did you even find this place?”

“It’s a lot easier to spot from the air, supposedly,” she says, smiling. “Inger brought me here.”

“You know, sometimes I wonder whether I’d rather have working wings or a horn. Right now, the wings are winning handily.” A low branch smacks him in the face. “Gah!”

Cranberry snickers as she reaches the end of the trees. “Of course, then you’d have had to fly me and the bag up with you.”

“Good point. Oh!” Rye’s eyes light up as he steps forward after her, into the clearing at the cliff-edge.

The two stand on a small, grassy outcrop of rock. It juts from the forested mountainside, open to the world beyond and below. From here, one can see the entire city, laid out like a map and dotted with glimmering candlelights. Beyond lies the verdant Equestrian countryside, stretching out to the nearby Cottontail Woods and off to the endless horizon. It’s as close to flying as an earth pony can get.

“Wow…” Rye inhales, setting the bag down and walking up to the edge. “I admit, I was skeptical, but this… this is worth the hike.”

“Don’t get too caught up in the view before we eat,” she says, nudging the bag. “I’m starving!”

“Right, right.” He undoes the knot of the fabric, revealing its nature as a tied-up blanket. Cranberry helps unroll it, covering the rocks and grass with the comfortable fabric. Rye centers the basket that was held within, before popping the lid open and pulling out the bread to start on their sandwiches. “Shame Inger couldn’t be here to help celebrate.”

“He’s doing important work.” It’s a reminder that she’s given herself many times over the past few months. Cranberry sighs, trying not to show how much she misses her fiancé. “His last letter said the recruitment drive in Weatherforge is going well. And more importantly, they’ve nearly pushed Warlord Lionsclaw out of Southlund entirely. There’s only two fortresses left, and the griffon surrender seems inevitable.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Rye piles his bread slice high with lettuce, onions, and tomatoes, before completing the sandwich with another slice. “The Firewings survived the war, after all. My mother doesn’t have to see the end of her order.” He eyes the sandwich for a moment, frowning. “Inger hasn’t gotten injured again, has he?”

“Not since that scrape from a griffon a month ago. The medic told him it’ll be totally healed up in another few weeks.” Her heart was in her mouth every time she opened one of his letters, but the news she dreaded most had yet to come.

“Good. I guess after you kill a dragon, griffons don’t really stand a chance, do they?”

“I guess not,” she says, smiling. Reaching into the basket, she withdraws the wine bottle. Rubbing the neck with a hoof, she points it away from herself and braces. Tapping the bottom with a wince, she feels it buck in her hooves as the cork shoots out, vanishing over the edge of the cliff. “Whoops!”

Foam drizzles from the bottle for a moment before she pulls it back upright. “Well, we’re not finding that cork.”

“I guess we’ll have to finish it all right here,” says Rye, as he offers her the second sandwich. “That’s a good vintage. Real Silverglen sparkling wine, right from the Rose Valley, 212. It seems almost criminal to drink it straight from the bottle, but I didn’t want to risk bringing any of Dad’s good glassware up the mountain.”

Cranberry takes a sip, feeling the fizzy liquid spill over her tongue. She savors the bright, crisp taste. “Mm. This is good.”

Rye lifts an eyebrow. “I hope I’m not going to have to carry you back down the steps.”

She blushes a deep crimson. “It’s just wine! That nordpony feast you keep making fun of me for had hard liquor.”

“Uh huh. If you start singing viking shanties again, I’m cutting you off.” Rye snickered. “At least there’s no tables for you to stand on up here.”

Harrumphing, she shoves the bottle at him. He takes a drink, nodding his head as he sets the wine down. “Mm. Mmm!” He holds his sandwich up in a toast. “To Canterlot University’s newest professor!”

“Easy, there.” Rolling her eyes, she touches her sandwich to his, before taking a bite. “I’m not a professor yet.” Below them, she can pick out the university with ease. The rounded dome of the College of Historical Studies was where she’d spent almost every weekday and uncountable weekends since returning home from their journey to Sleipnord.

“Okay, fine. But after publishing this paper, it’s only a matter of time.”

“It’s just one paper, and I had a lot of help from Dr. Locke. I technically won’t even have my degree until after next week’s dissertation defense.”

Rye shakes his head, looking down at the university. “With the things you’ve done, they’ll be falling over themselves to give you a position. I’ll bet you’re teaching classes before winter of next year.”

Cranberry takes another bite of her sandwich and smiles. “Thanksh f’r the vote of conf’dence. I hope y’re right.”

“Even if it’s not that easy, you can’t quit.” Rye gives the city a slow, firm nod. “The only thing harder than pursuing what you want is not pursuing it.”

“Hm.” She considers this thoughtfully. “Isn’t that what got me in trouble back in Sleipnord?”

“True. But if you hadn’t taken that book, you would have regretted it forever.”

“I recall you weren’t very happy with me at the time.”

“Well…” Rye shrugs, admitting the point, but waves a hoof to dismiss it. “Things worked out. And in hindsight, if you hadn’t done it, I think it’d still be eating you up inside. I ought to have realized it back then. I still wouldn’t have agreed to it, but… I’d have understood.”

She gives him a look of consternation. “When did you get so annoyingly sagacious?”

Now it’s his turn to blush. “If you spend all day with the princess for months on end, you pick up a few things.”

As the moon drifts slowly across the sky, the sandwiches vanish and the wine bottle drains. By the time the meal is done, Cranberry feels thoroughly happy. Somehow, Rye manages to make even cold sandwiches taste delicious, and the wine has left her bubbly and warm. With a wide yawn, she lies down on her back, watching the moon above. “Gorgeous night out.”

Rye sips the last of the wine respectfully. “It always is, up here. The clouds usually settle on the other side of the mountains. There’s nothing above but the stars.” He gently tosses the empty bottle back at the basket, just missing. It rolls onto the blanket. “Drat.”

“Mhm.” Cranberry lifts a tipsy hooftip to trace circles around the constellations. “So, Rye. You know what my plans are, but I’ve been wondering about yours. What are you going to do now that Eberhardt and his retinue have gone back north?” She glances over at him. “Were you thinking of looking for another job at the castle?”

“I don’t know,” he says, lying down beside her, but on his chest. Propping his head up on his hooves, he kicks his hind legs idly. “I’ve been so busy with the nordpony negotiations that ‘after’ barely crossed my mind.”

“You’re good at it, you know.” Cranberry’s eyes track a shooting star as it crosses the Bull. “Better than you would have been at being a soldier, that’s for sure.”

“Heh. That’s not a high bar.” He shrugs. “But really, I haven’t had time to think about the future until now.”

“I guess we’ve all been busy.” Cranberry shakes her head. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? This time last year, you were still preparing for those officer’s exams, and I was helping Inkpot with the library and scrounging up every book I could on Sleipnord. Dreaming about seeing it someday…” She giggles, lightheaded from the wine. “We’ve come a long way.”

“That we have.” Rye dangles his forehooves off the edge of the outcropping and the bottomless drop below. Cranberry watches nervously, unwilling to get quite so close to the drop, but he is half-pegasus, after all. Neither he nor Inger have ever shown the faintest fear of heights. Rye looks down at the city, musing. “My mother’s retired, the princess knows my name, and my best friends are getting married in a month. It’s a different world. And we’re different ponies.”

“At least some things don’t change,” she says, reseting her forelegs on her breast. “Whenever I visit the bakery, I feel like I’m stepping back in time to be a little filly again. As long as Papa’s baking bread there, we’ll always have a piece of the past to hold on to.”

“You’re right.” Rye smiles, scanning the city. “There it is. Home, sweet home.” He points, but Cranberry can’t spot the tiny building down in the mass of homes and businesses. He sighs. “But I think it’s time for me to move out. Once I have a new job, anyway.”

“Oh.” Cranberry feels bizarrely hurt by this, as if he ought to have asked her permission first. It feels like another little chunk of her past crumbling away. Everything really is changing. Sometimes she wonders if she even recognizes herself anymore.

“Yeah. Now that my mother’s retired, she’s starting to drive me crazy. She keeps hinting that I should get started on grandfoals.” He shakes his head. “Which reminds me… are you nervous?”

She blinks. “About the university?”

“No, the wedding.”

“Oh.” Of course. The wedding. The thing that’s been keeping her up at night for months. “Terrified, actually. The princess told us she wants to turn it into An Event. She says we’ll have hundreds of ponies attending. Nobles and commoners from across the country and half the city turning out to be part of it.” The thought of it makes her stomach swim. Or maybe that’s the wine.

“I don’t envy you,” says Rye, sitting up with a stretch. He nudges a pebble off the edge and watches it bounce away. “When she told me about it, it sounded like she planned on serving you and Inger up on a platter to boost the city’s morale.” He fights to suppress a smile and fails. “You have to admit, though. It’s a good ending to your story. The Dragonslayer and the Professor, saving Equestria and living happily ever after.”

“I’ve never understood why stories end with marriage,” she complains. “Is this really the last interesting thing we’ll ever do? Is it all downhill from here?”

“It’s the start of a new story, rather.” Rye leans back beside her. Together, the two old friends watch the stars. “I think yours will be a happy one. Inger’s a good stallion.”

Cranberry glances sideways at him. Hesitantly, she debates asking. “And what about your story? Meet any nice mares up at the castle?” Pausing for a moment, and emboldened by the drink, she can’t help but voice another longstanding curiosity. “Or… stallions?” It might explain a lot.

Rye just snickers. “I admit, some of those nordponies were impressively built.” His grin fades as he shakes his head. “But no. No mares, no stallions. When you’re a… when you’re like me, you don’t have a lot of options. I’ve never had a…” He falls quiet for a moment. “No one’s ever looked at me the way you and Inger look at each other.”

Twisting over, she puts a hoof on his shoulder. Through the fuzzy warmth in her head, she gives him a serious look. “You will someday, Rye.”

“Maybe.” He stares straight up. “I used to wonder if…” Suddenly he laughs uncomfortably, sitting up. “I suppose time will tell.”

“You will,” Cranberry repeats, her tone turning teasing. “You’ll meet some mare who’s smart, fierce, and head-over-hooves for you. She’s out there waiting. Probably miserable because she hasn’t met you yet.”

Rye can’t resist a reluctant smile. “Let’s hope she doesn’t have to wait long, then.”

“I think someone needs a hug.”

Rolling his eyes, he swats her away. “Cranberry…”

“Come on. Hug.” She sits up and spreads her forelegs.

Sighing, he acquiesces, leaning in to let her hug him. “Thanks.”

Cranberry gives him a squeeze. She hasn’t been this close to another pony in months, she suddenly realizes. The pang of Inger’s long absence hits her again. “Listen, Rye, if you ever need anything, I’m here for you.”

“I know. But I’m fine, really.” He smiles sincerely. “I mean it, this time. After everything that happened in Sleipnord, I’m okay with who I am. As for the rest, what will be, will be.” He gently pushes her back, extricating himself from the hug.

A little put out, she folds her hooves. “What, are you allergic to hugs all of a sudden?”

“No,” he says, giving her a patient yet chiding look, “But it’s different, now.”

“Why?” she asks, already suspecting his answer, and refusing to accept it.

“You’re engaged, Cranberry.”

“Does that mean I can’t hug my friends anymore?” she asks, defiant. “Inger hasn’t annexed me, you know. You’re not going to start a war by showing a little affection.”

Rye doesn’t meet her eyes. “Probably not.”

“He’s been away for ages,” she says, the fire in her belly suddenly going out. “He sends letters all the time, but I… I miss him.” Her voice fades to barely a whisper. “I miss him so much.” She realizes that her eyes are wet, and angrily wipes them. “Sometimes I guess I just—I just want to remember what it feels like to touch someone else.”

This is the alcohol talking. If she keeps going, she knows she’s going to wind up in trouble. Shutting her lips tightly, she stares up into the Mare in the Moon’s black eye. Trying to suppress the rising tide of emotion, she can sense the exact moment she loses her battle. As if controlled by somepony else, her lips move. “I’m not blind, you know. I never was.”

Rye doesn’t answer right away. Nearby, a cricket chirps. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding very small. That he doesn’t ask her for clarification speaks volumes. He scrapes his hoof on the stones, searching for words. “I… I never wanted to get in the way. It wouldn’t have been fair to you, or Inger.”

“What about before?” Dismayed, she realizes the wetness in her eyes is back. “You’ve known me since we were both foals. Is it really so hard to talk to me?”

“About this? Yes.” He slumps. “I guess I always thought there would be more time. For what, I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter now. It hasn’t mattered since the mountain.”

“It does matter.” Cranberry folds her forelegs in her lap, hunching forward. “If you’d asked me a year ago, or a year before that, I would have—”

“Stop!” His voice is suddenly harsh. “Stop. I don’t want to know.”

“So why did you stay so quiet? I might have asked you myself if you ever seemed interested.”

“Because—” His abrupt laugh is weak. “You’re one of the only friends I’ve ever had, Cranberry. I didn’t want to risk losing that.”

She doesn’t bother wiping her eyes again. “Even if I said no, we could still have been friends.”

“But it would have been different.” He looks sick to his stomach.

Cranberry wishes now that she hadn’t let the alcohol push her, hadn’t brought this up. But they might as well get it all out in the open now. “I always thought you were braver than that, Rye.”

“I’m not,” he mutters hollowly. “Besides, I was never sure if it was… real.” For the first time since they’d started talking about this, he looked at her. “I like you, Cranberry. A lot. But more than that? I was never certain if I really felt that way, or if…” Looking up, he shakes his head, as if the words are bitter on his tongue. “Or if I just thought I’d never have another choice. Staying friends was safer. And then I missed my chance to find out.”

“I guess we’ll never know if it could have worked,” she says, looking down at the city, but not really seeing it. Inger’s absence aches like a hole in her chest. She wants him here, to hug her, to kiss her, to make her feel loved again. She was hoping that dinner with a friend could banish the loneliness, but it seems like Rye’s drowning in it too. “You do wonder sometimes, don’t you?”

“Too often.” The words are a ghostly whisper.

She leans closer to him, meeting his eyes. “Remember when we used to play Firewings and Monsters?” she asks, her lip trembling.

“Yes,” he breathes, as his eyes narrow and dart in confusion.

Cranberry closes her eyes and kisses him.

Her head is already warm from the wine, but the feel of his lips on hers sends new warmth flushing through her from top to bottom. It’s like kissing Inger, but just different enough to send a tingle of curiosity down her spine. It’s been so long since she’s felt another pony’s lips against her own.

A rough hoof shoves her away, shattering the moment. Cranberry blinks, tipping off-balance, and fails to catch herself with a drunken hoof as she hits the ground.

“What the hell, Cranberry?”

“I—I—” she blinks again, looking up helplessly at the stars as a bolt of terror shoots through her. “I’m sorr—” The word catches on her lip as her throat seems to seize.

Rye stares at her like a cornered beast, his chest heaving, his face frozen in livid shock. Turning abruptly, he storms away, hurling leftover food into the basket. He pauses on the empty wine bottle, before shoving it into the basket with a grim frown.

Cranberry sits upright, watching him as her legs tremble. All around, the aspen trees hiss with laughter. “Rye, I… that was a mistake. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s time to go home for the night,” he says curtly, pulling the knot tight and hoisting the pack back over his shoulders. “I’ll walk you to bottom of the steps. You should be sobered up by then.”

“Rye, I’m sorry. Please, I… please, don’t…”

“Go home, Cranberry,” he says sharply. “Sleep it off.”

Nodding a little too quickly, she falls in behind him as they set off back into the trees toward the stairs. The leaves around are so noisy that she can barely think. Her mind whirls with the sick gravity of what she’s done, of what she might have done if Rye had kissed her back. As the two reach the mountain steps, Rye pauses at the trail’s edge.

Tentatively, she approaches him. She expects his face to be full of anger, but instead she finds a withdrawn anguish in his eyes. She’s seen that look once before: the time he’d nearly leaped from a cliff just like this one, in despair over his broken body. That time, she saved him. This time, it’s her fault.

He notices her, and his expression goes carefully blank. “I won’t tell Inger,” he says quietly. “Like you said, this was just a mistake. But please promise me we won’t talk about this—any of it—ever again.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, hanging her head. “We won’t.”

* * *

The slamming of a book jolted her awake. After so many nights of seeing that cliff, of tasting that wine, of feeling that shame and guilt boiling up in her gut, she had yet to build up even the slightest immunity. Cranberry felt just as sick and shaky as always.

“You lied to me,” said Inger, his voice dangerously low.

Cranberry blinked in the darkness, seeing only her husband’s silhouette against the dim firelit side of the tent. “What?” she mumbled, still disoriented.

He threw something at her hooves, where it landed with a faint thump. She reached out with a hoof, fumbling in the dark until she felt the familiar cover of her journal. What? she thought blearily. Had he been reading her—

Oh. Oh, no.

“Inger, what did…” She put a hoof to her head, still feeling ill. “How much did you read?”

“Enough to know what you did. Enough to know that you lied to my face.”

Part of her wanted to deny it, to say it was just a bad dream, but her own damning words lay at her hooves. “I… I…” Cringing with shame, she shook her head in despair. “You’d been gone for months, Inger. I was lonely, and drunk, and, and—” Her voice cracked. “And the excuses weren’t good enough then, either. I knew the moment I did it that it was the most terrible thing I’ve ever done to either of you. I’m so sorry, Inger.”

“So you really did it. You took him up on the mountain, got drunk on his wine, and kissed him.” His voice trembled, suddenly hushed. “That was our spot. I—I proposed to you there.”

She could feel the brokenhearted anger cascading off him like mist from a waterfall. Her own guilt, fresh and thick, sat around her shoulders like a mantle. “Inger,” she said, “I didn’t—I didn’t lie to you.”

“Not an hour ago, you told me I was the only stallion you’d ever loved,” he said. “And if you were lying about that, what else have you been lying about?”

“What you read, that wasn’t love,” she said, tears welling. “It was—I don’t know. He and I… we’d known each other for so long. We grew up together. I’d just always wondered if…” She buried her head in her hooves. “Goddess. I screwed up, Inger. I hated myself for it then, just as much as you hate me right now. I swore to myself it would never happen again, and it didn’t. I never spoke about it to him after that, and he never brought it up. I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since then, either.”

She fought a small hiccup. “You want to know the stupidest part?” He didn’t answer. “Rye was right. It wasn’t real. Maybe it was wedding jitters, or loneliness, or hell, maybe I was just scared because everything I used to know and be was changing all at once. Maybe I nearly blew my life up because I was afraid.” Cranberry nearly choked on that miserable truth. “But after I married you, I never wondered again about what might have been. I’ve been happy, Inger. Loving you is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“How can I trust that?” The question was filled with more desperation than anger. “After you hid this from me for—Sisters, six years!”

“Because you know me, Inger!”

He turned away. “I thought I did.” A moment passed, and then he threw open the tent flap to leave.

Cranberry scrambled after him, hearing the familiar rush of air under his wings as he took flight. Stumbling outside, she held up a foreleg to shield her dark-adjusted eyes from the fire. She whirled around, looking for him, but all she saw was a lone red feather drifting gently down through the air. “Inger!” she called.

The rustling leaves were her only reply.

She staggered over to the campfire, collapsing beside it. She stared into the crackling flames, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to,” she mumbled. Turning her tear-streaked face upward, she realized—far, far too late—that she wasn’t alone. Across the fire sat Kaduat, frozen in evident embarrassment.

Cranberry cringed, bending her head in shame. Well, if the mercenaries didn’t know we were having trouble before, they do now… At least it wasn’t Tybalt.

After a few moments, she heard a rustle, and a gentle pressure rested on her shoulder. Kaduat cleared her throat from behind her. “Uh… you okay?”

With a shuddering sob, Cranberry threw her hooves up and buried her head in them again. “Goddess, I’m such an idiot. I had a chance to fix this, but instead I tried to—why didn’t I—” Self-recriminations dissolved into wordless tears.

“Er…” Kaduat shifted anxiously. “Do you know where he went? I’m sure he can take care of himself, but he might get lost if he’s wandering around in the woods alone at night…”

Cranberry shook her head, her shoulders still shaking as she tried to catch her breath between hiccups. Kaduat sighed. “All right, look… Bea’s better than me at the whole sympathizing thing, but… here.” She pressed her bottle of rum into Cranberry’s hooves. “Have a couple sips of that, you’ll feel better. Stay by the fire while I go look for him, okay?”

Taking the bottle automatically, Cranberry could only manage a nod. Kaduat gave her another pat on the shoulder and jogged off into the trees after Inger. Cranberry sat by herself at the fireside, gently rocking back and forth. She clung to the cold bottle as though it might keep her afloat in the storm of guilt and regret. There she drowned alone, with no company but her thoughts and the hissing laughter of the trees.