Murder at the Rarity Boutique

Chapters

Chapter 1: A Royal Invitation.
Chapter 2: Tea and Cake.
Chapter 3: An Introspective Carriage Ride.
Chapter 4: A Second Meeting.
Chapter 5: Questions.
Chapter 6: A Reluctant Dinner.
Chapter 8: Rituals and Oaths.
Chapter 9: Laws and Revelations.
Chapter 10: Blueblood's Confession.
Chapter 11: Partners in Law.
Chapter 12: Minor Revelations.
Chapter 13: You Have: No Tea.
Chapter 14: Nocturnal Matters and Crystal Dreams.
Chapter 15: The Morning After.
Chapter 16: Taking Flight.
Chapter 17: Fugue, Subject, and Answer.
Chapter 18: The Pivotal Question.
Chapter 19: A Matter of Memory, Silver, and Dust.
Chapter 20: A Fireside Chat.
Chapter 21: Confrontations.
Chapter 23: Endings Are Also Beginnings.
Introduction.
Chapter 7: Strategies of Brilliance.
Chapter 22.

Chapter 1: A Royal Invitation.

It was one of Blueblood’s favorite dining rooms, and where he usually liked to break his fast. Cozy, perhaps ten by twelve, lined in black oak and with a thick, comfortable dark blue rug spanning nearly the length of the floor. There were no windows, but a friendly fire crackled in the fireplace as he dined. Above, ornate beams complimented one another with engravings of various creatures to be found throughout the realms.

It was also one of the few rooms in his apartments with no mirror. While he enjoyed admiring himself, and could even cheer himself up from the deepest funk simply by looking at his own reflection, he drew the line at watching himself chew.

There was a knock at the room’s only door.

“Yes?”

The young mare who had brought him his breakfast re-entered. “Are you done with your meal, Your Grace?”

He nodded, pouring himself another coffee. “I am, thank you.”

As she approached the table, the yellow mare proffered a small silver tray she had brought, the small fold of parchment on its center sealed with an ornate wax stamp.

“Oh, look, your Aunt Celestia’s written you a letter,” the maid cooed. “How sweet.”

Intrigued, Blueblood put down his coffee and reached for the letter.

“She must want something,” she hissed.

After the briefest of hesitations, Blueblood reached over and accepted the missive. He wasn’t completely certain exactly when he’d lost control over his household’s alleged ‘staffing,’ but he suspected it was around when his so-called ‘servants’ had first started to outnumber him.

So, that would be…

He smiled to himself. Yes, almost immediately.

At first, it had been just Hepzibah and himself. He’d have married her in a heartbeat if she’d wished it, but the lady’d had no interest in matrimony. Which, while curious, was something he had certainly been willing to honour. Instead, Hepzibah had enjoyed playing the servant, at least up to a point. And while that was also curious, if it pleased her, then it pleased him as well.

Then, he and Akane Apple had fallen head over heels for one another, and so he had introduced her to Hepzibah. And, much to his surprise and delight, they’d fallen for one another, as well. Shortly after that, following some negotiations he had not been privy to, somehow both mares had ended up wearing frilly aprons and keeping house.

Each of the trio, for a time, had enjoyed having two significant others. And while that had been unexpected, none of them saw fit to question the treasure they had discovered together. So, for a time, life was filled with love and romance, and remained relatively simple for all three of them.

Then, Akane had gained a new coltfriend in Spaghetti Squash. Spaggi loved to cook, and after some more negotiations – which Blueblood had also not been privy to – the young prince had awakened one fine afternoon to find an amazing breakfast being served to him by his new chef.

That had been six years ago. Now, the royal polyfamily had quietly expanded to contain something over a dozen various stallions and mares, and quite a few more foals. Some of the adults were in single relationships, some were in multiple, some as switches and some as hubs… all of them, regardless of the details, family.

Publicly, of course, Blueblood was just spoiled. The ultimate over-privileged upper class unicorn, keeping a host of incredibly well-paid servants to indulge his over-privileged whims.

Meanwhile, according to rumor, Prince Blueblood was keeping his specially-picked servants to serve as his own private herd. A rumor which, while unconfirmed, simply added another layer to his semi-scandalous popularity.

Privately, Blueblood suspected that what had started as a game between the two mares he adored had simply swelled into an out-of-control running joke that no one involved wanted to bring to an end.

The irony, of course, was that he was the one pony in the household who was seeing exactly no one, his relationship with Akane and Hepzibah having mellowed into an intimate friendship around three years ago.

The maid before him now – Sour Sweet – was the latest member of the family, being in a relationship with…

(Actually, now that Blueblood thought of it, he wasn’t completely certain just who she was with.)

But regardless, she’d joined the family while they’d all been in the Crystal Empire on business a few weeks ago. And he had to admit, the days were certainly brighter with her there, for all that conversing with her contained a certain element of perpetual whiplash.

So, ultimately, Blueblood had been enjoying his increasingly complicated and improvisational life for some time, quietly riding the waves from one private adventure to another. The days were pleasant, the nights were long, and rare, indeed, was the occasion that demanded his attention on serious matters.

Now, examining his aunt’s missive, Blueblood frowned somewhat.

Nephew,

While I am of course looking forward to our monthly dinner together, something urgent has come up which I would discuss with you. Would you be available sooner? Time is a factor.

Your loving aunt,

--Celestia.

Sour Sweet’s voice and eyes were uncertain. “Um, Blueblood? You know I didn’t mean it like that, right? I mean, okay, I sorta did, but…”

The mare sighed and looked away, adding, “I can kinda be a bitch sometimes.”

Absently, still studying the letter, Blueblood shook his perfect golden mane.

“No, it’s quite alright, my dear,” he said. “It’s just that Auntie seems distressed about something. She never likes to show such things, of course. But if you know what to look for, you can tell. And with her phrasing, doubtless something’s worrying her. And that’s…”

He gave the note a sour look as he unfolded its last crease.

“…troubling...”

At a glance, it looked as though his aunt had added a postscript on the bottom of the letter. Which was preposterous, of course. He’d never known his aunt to put quill to parchment without already knowing precisely what she was about to write.

But then he recognized the small, neat letters, black ink in contrast to Celestia’s blue:

Please hurry.

-R.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Then, as an afterthought, she added a rather sarcastic, “My Lord.”

Blueblood stood, dabbing his mouth daintily as he did.

“I don’t know, but it’s serious,” he said. “I think I’ll have her over for an early tea. As soon as she can get here, in fact. After all, if Celestia has a problem of some kind, the very least I can do is solve it for her.

“Now, don’t look at me like that,” he admonished gently at her suddenly wide eyes. “I know what you’ve heard about the kinds of missions my aunt sends ponies on. But magical adventures and saving the day are what Princess Twilight and her friends are for.”

As he crossed the room majestically, he continued, “I, on the other hand, am a fabulously brilliant stallion with far more money than brains – which is saying something, by the way – but no great sorcerous talent, who happens to be on call whenever his dear old auntie needs him. It’s probably just some diplomatic upset or other, or some puzzle she can’t quite put her hoof on. I’ll smooth the waters over and be back before you can say Silverlock.”

As he reached for the chamber door, Sour Sweet jumped forward involuntarily, blurting out, “Silverlock!”

Blueblood’s smile grew fonder.

“Well, perhaps not quite that fast. But I’ll have everything sorted out in no time,” he promised. “And then we can all go back to our various happily ever afters. But now, do forgive me, my dear. Must dash.”

She watched the door close after him, then sighed, turning and sitting with her back against it.

“Sure,” she sighed. “Life’s just full of happy endings.”

Then, falling forward into a more prone position, she rested her chin on her hooves, snarling, “After all, that’s why I came all the way to fucking Canterlot.”

For his part, Blueblood fairly galloped down the large hall and burst into the kitchen.

Spaghetti Squash looked up from his gravies with alarm. “Your Grace--?”

“Tea,” Blueblood said. “With all the trimmings. In the main tea room. How soon?”

“I, uh, well…. five minutes?” the chef managed.

The prince nodded. “Perfect. Send the ladies to my chambers immediately.”

“Of course…” But the unicorn was gone again, leaving Spaghetti to expertly clear a large board and begin chopping with professional speed. Behind him, a tea kettle began to boil, having been filled and put on by his elder daughter. The kitchen’s other exit had already opened and closed, the younger Squash daughter running down a different hall, calling for Hepzibah and Akane to attend His Grace at once.

They arrived at his chambers shortly after he did. This time, there was no knock. The two mares simply entered, their faces anxious.

In their experience, Blue asked, never told.

He answered their unasked questions immediately.

“Something’s wrong and Celestia’s upset and needs help. I need to be about to sit down to afternoon tea when I happen to reply that she can come immediately…”

There were no further words. The two worked like clockwork, attiring him perfectly in appropriate shirt and waist coat. Casual, but not too casual. The collar, just a touch old-fashioned for style’s sake. Mane combed. Cologne applied. A pocket watch, neatly wound. Cuff links chosen for the time and season.

There was no detail too small. No triviality ignored. The Lady of Day, alas, was a highly observant pony.

Neither mare could claim the familial bond with Princess Celestia that Blueblood did, of course. None of the polyfamily could. But just the same, she was their princess. And whatever was the matter, whatever had disturbed her so, their princess was by all the powers going to enter a realm of calm happenstance in which no, in fact, nopony had gone to any trouble at all but of course you are absolutely welcome and I was just having a nice calming cup of tea and couldn’t I tempt you?

In the kitchen, the kettle screamed. Water into the pot. Now, the tea. One spoonful for each cup to be poured, and one for the pot itself.

Silver gleamed. Cucumber sandwiches were cut and perfectly arranged. Biscuits and scones on their serving trays, with butter, cream and jam nearby and ready. Meanwhile, foals arranged flowers on the table, giggling in their haste.

With a swiftness that surprised him, Blueblood found himself fully and properly attired, carried bodily into the tea room and firmly planted in one of its comfy chairs, the very image of nonchalance. Candles were lit, and extraneous family members exited, shooing their foals with them.

And then, there was only himself, Akane, and Hepzibah.

Blueblood took out the missive he had written while being dressed.

Aunt Celestia,

As it happens, I was just sitting down for some tea.

I don’t suppose you could join me?

--B.

With deliberate casualness, he applied the note to the candle’s fire. It burned green for an instant, then vanished.

A few seconds later, there was a flash of silver light.

“You know,” Celestia smiled, “tea does sound lovely right about now.”

Blueblood rose, returning her smile, even as the mares to his either side curtseyed.

“I’m so very glad,” he said.

Chapter 2: Tea and Cake.

“Honey?” Hepzibah asked with a smile.

“A drop,” Blueblood smiled back.

“Lemon?”

“A squeeze.”

“Milk?”

“A dribble.”

Dutifully, the black unicorn mixed the flavorings into the tea cup.

“Tea?” she offered at last.

Still smiling, Blueblood gave a dismissive wave. “Never touch it.”

While Celestia laughed, Hepzibah made herself comfy on a nearby table, contentedly sipping her tea. Akane, meanwhile, had already made tea for the princess, and was happily heaping confections onto the diarch’s plate.

Blueblood, of course, began pouring his own tea. Why an otherwise sensible pony like Hepzibah would ever want lemon and milk in the same cup, he’d never know.

The tearoom was beautifully decorated, as were all the rooms in Blueblood’s palace apartments. The amber hue of the antique furniture’s scrollwork nicely complimented the crimson rug covering most of the floor, the windows open just a crack to allow the fireplace opposite to continue burning merrily. Above the flames, hippogriffs rampant faced one another, surrounded by bas relief waves and foam. Outside, Celestia’s sun shone merrily, a breeze gently rustling through the gardens several stories below.

Like his breakfast room, the tearoom also lacked a mirror. Tea was for company, ideally. And Equestria’s prince was of the distinct opinion that, when entertaining company, one should be prepared to give them one’s complete and undivided attention.

Especially when that company was Aunt Celestia.

And most especially when something might be troubling the old girl.

Celestia was an expert at hiding her feelings, of course. The old saying about politicians having six faces and twelve hearts might have been coined specifically about her… at least, by ponies who didn’t know her. Some even whispered that she had learned her arts of subterfuge through being Luna’s sister. After all, they whispered further, if she could hide her heart from the Lady of Dream, she could hide anything from anypony.

Blueblood, for his part, had his own theory. It involved ponies who whispered such things being idiots.

And there was something about just how welcome that laugh had been that raised his concerns even more than they had been before. Something about how carefully she moved, as though unusually aware of just how delicate everything around her was. How easily she might crush something if she weren’t especially careful.

Raven had been quite right, he thought. This was not something that should wait. And whatever it was, it wasn’t just some diplomatic fuss-up. This was something deeply personal. Even a cursory glance told him that much.

Still, the three of them were helping the old girl to laugh. And hopefully, that would count for something.

As her laughter subsided, the Princess of Day shook her effervescent mane with a contented sigh.

“Why do I always wait so long before coming here? Oh, thank you, Akane,” she added, accepting her teacup with a grateful smile.

“I have no way of knowing, Auntie,” Blueblood replied easily. “It’s almost as if you were running a kingdom or something.”

“Mmm,” Celestia acknowledged, sipping her tea. “You know, occasionally one hears rumors about you, nephew. You’d be amazed some of the speculations you and your family have engendered.”

Blueblood smiled. “I very much doubt that I would. Why? Are any close to the mark?”

“Oh, none in spirit. I think the courtiers still underestimate your devotion to iconoclasm.”

“Those frescoes were an accident,” he objected, casually waving a scone for emphasis. “I have witnesses.”

“Of course they were. Just like the chaos you left in your wake that year I appointed you Inspector General.”

Celestia gave her nephew a fond look, adding, “Even as a colt, you never could keep from kicking at support pillars when you saw them.”

Adding butter to his scone, Blueblood shrugged, “Well, what are pillars for, if not for kicking? If anything, ponies should be thanking me. If their precious pillars survive, they’re just going to get stronger. Society benefits.”

Looking up, he concluded, “And if not, well, you’re better off without them, aren’t you?”

Amused, Celestia asked, “I see. And the little dance you do in their scattered fragments when they crumble?”

An innocent look. “Well, what are scattered fragments for, if not for dancing?”

She chuckled, downing another muffin.

“You do have a talent for disruption,” she said.

Blueblood poured them both some more tea. “I do indeed.”

“How fortunate for us all that you use your powers solely for good,” Celestia teased, eyes shining. “If it weren’t for your own sense of obligation, you would make a formidable anarchist. Some say you still do.”

Blueblood grinned. “Hello, Pot. My name is Kettle. Lovely to meet you.”

The princess chuckled. “Fair enough. Certainly, neither Luna nor I exactly volunteered. And the one time we tried to distance ourselves…”

He nodded. “Instead of noble houses, we nearly had a caste of priests. I remember reading about the Graven Age, years ago. Frankly, I think you made the right call.”

“Mmm.”

“You know, it does occur to me,” Blueblood contemplated, “that there have been several would-be rebellions across the ages. You could have just stepped aside.”

Celestia nodded. “Yes. And if any one of them had been out for something besides personal power, we would have.”

Then she sighed, adding, “And anyway, the last revolt was well before my sister’s exile. The ponies still want a ruler, be she monarch or diarch, even with all the problems that come with that. And I’ll admit, there are parts of rulership I do enjoy, but…”

Then, the princess broke off with a delighted gasp, focusing upon her nephew again.

“I know!” she declared. “I’ll abdicate in your favor! You can rule Equestria!”

Blueblood’s eyebrows rose. “I beg your pardon?”

“Prince Blueblood, sole ruler of Equestria,” Celestia sang happily, helping herself to another scone. “All problems solved forever!”

Her nephew gave her a mock scowl. “Don’t you come in here and threaten me like that, young lady.”

His aunt gave a snort of laughter, helping herself to ample servings of butter and jam while the ladies giggled.

“Besides, I couldn’t possibly accept the kingdom as a gift,” Blueblood went on. “I’d need to stage a proper revolt, plunge the realm into a civil war for at least a year, or I wouldn’t feel I’d earned it.”

“But of course,” Celestia agreed with dignity, holding up her teacup in a toast. “Power to the ponies.”

“Burn weanling burn,” her nephew agreed, clinking his cup against hers.

“Fight the mare.”

“Up against the ceiling.”

She paused, looking at him quizzically. “I thought it was the wall?”

“Oh, good heavens, no, that’s not nearly radical enough.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “My mistake.”

“Think nothing of it. After all, we have nothing to lose but our reins.”

Celestia chuckled, then looked down into her teacup.

“Maybe someday,” she said.

“Look at it this way,” Blueblood suggested. “Nopony is trying to worship you anymore, they haven’t for centuries…”

“Only because I finally made it illegal,” Celestia pointed out. “Consider the irony of that.”

“I am, I’m basking in the irony of it right now,” Blueblood replied, leaning back as if enjoying a relaxing soak in a hot tub. “Ahhhhhhhh…”

The four ponies shared a comfortable laughter again, which ultimately trailed into silence.

Eventually, Blueblood gave his aunt a calculating smile. “Speaking of obligations…”

“Eyuuggghhhh.”

“Yes, yes, I quite agree,” the prince said with a dismissive wave. “But just the same, the sooner we address the woolly mammoth in the tearoom, the sooner we can get back to enjoying ourselves.”

The door quietly clicked shut behind the ladies as they made their discreet exit.

“You’d said you wanted to meet with me sooner than usual,” Blueblood went on, “and I got the impression there was something wrong. How can I help?”

Celestia took in a long breath, then let it out.

“I have a friend in trouble,” she said. “I need you to help her.”

“Of course. Who is it?”

“Rarity.”

Blueblood froze.

“Yes, I know, I know,” Celestia said.

“Auntie, surely there’s somepony else—”

“There is,” Celestia interrupted. “But there’s nopony better.”

He made a sour face. “Well, you may have a point there, of course,” he conceded. Then, after a moment longer, he looked at her, puzzled.

She blinked. “What?”

Blueblood shook his head slightly.

“Nothing much, just trying to connect the dots,” he said. “On the one hoof, this is exactly the kind of match-up that would suit your sense of mischief. And I think there are some vestiges of that. Yet at the same time, I’m worried. This is plainly weighing heavily on you...”

“It is,” the diarch acknowledged. “I will confess, there were certain symmetries in seeing you as her rescuer that did amuse me at first.”

Then, her eyes serious again, she regarded him fully, saying, “But that was when I had been thinking that there had to have been been some mistake, that there had been no real death involved.”

“Wait! Death?”

She nodded. “Rarity is accused of murder.”

While Blueblood stared, she continued, “Then, I found out more about the case itself. And while some details are still confidential, it remains: there is most assuredly a body. There is most certainly a weapon. And all the available evidence apparently points to her. The first personal and deliberate murder in Ponyville or Canterlot in more than a generation, and Rarity is trapped at the heart of it.”

It took a moment, but Blueblood found his voice again.

“Very well, then,” he managed. “What can you tell me?”

As concisely as possible, Celestia outlined to her nephew the difficulties Rarity faced. Admittedly, with so little known about the case itself, it didn’t take long.

But in the short time she spoke, Blueblood’s frown only became more grim. As soon as she was finished, he stood, shaking his head.

“You should find someone else,” he said, “And as quickly as possible. I can make some recommendations. I hate to say this – stars, you know I hate to refuse you anything – but I can’t help you.”

“Blue,” she said softly, “I haven’t told you who died.”

He stared. “It… it wasn’t one of her friends, was it?” Nightmarish images of the white unicorn he’d met but briefly, standing in anguish over the corpse of another of the Mane Six, swam before his mind’s eye.

“Yes,” his aunt said grimly, “Although not in the way you mean. It was the entrepreneur, Filthy Rich.”

Silent, brow furrowed in thought, Blueblood sat down again.

“Can you still make recommendations?” she asked.

Ever so slightly, Blueblood shook his head, no.

With great and deliberate care, Celestia put her teacup down.

“As I said, at first I’d thought this would be a simple missing pony search,” she said. “But as things stand, you’re honestly the best hope Rarity has to get her life back. Without you, she has no hope at all.”

“Damn it all,” Blueblood muttered.

Rising, he began to pace. “Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn damn!”

The Lady of Day tilted her head, genuinely perplexed.

“There must be somepony else!” he fumed, still pacing. “What about Twilight—no, never mind, I can see where that wouldn’t work… Raven? No… bloody hell…”

“I seem to have missed something,” his aunt observed. “Why are you so dead set against this?”

Frustration made the stallion’s voice louder than he’d intended. “Because, damn it all, I’m not qualified!”

She allowed herself a slight smile. “You underestimate yourself.”

“When!?!” he demanded, whirling to face her. “When do I underestimate myself?!? When does that ever happen?!?”

“You’ll have the assistance of a perfectly competent barrister, who’s already familiar with the case,” Celestia went on contentedly, pouring herself another cup. She took a sip, then inwardly sighed. It always got cold so quickly.

But out loud, she added, “Legally, you’ll be her assistant, of course. But I trust you to manage the situation.”

Blueblood pinched the bridge of his muzzle in an expression of pain.

“Oh, come now. It’s not as though you’re a stranger to law,” she pointed out. “Not to mention you’ll have your own talents to add to theirs…”

“Auntie, regardless of how much I may love conversing on the subject, my devastating intellect isn’t the point.”

Celestia sighed, putting the cup down again.

“No, I suppose it’s not,” she acknowledged. “Blue, I realize you have any number of excellent arguments as to why you shouldn’t be the one to render aid. And I’m sure they’re all very well thought out. And I know you could present them all with extreme grace and bearing, and be devastatingly convincing. But I’ve looked the patterns over thoroughly, and you genuinely are Rarity’s best chance.”

The prince sighed.

“I know you have, Auntie. You wouldn’t be asking otherwise,” he said. “But you also have a bias. A powerful one, in this case. And that can interfere with any perception, even yours.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to argue further. Then, instead, she closed her mouth and looked down.

“Yes,” Celestia said. “Yes, I do. Rarity is a beloved friend, and she’s in terrible trouble. And I want to help her.”

Looking away, she went on, “It would be so easy, you know. There are a thousand ways I could just wrap this up in a neat little bow and be done with it. I could grant her a royal pardon. I could insist on ruling in the judge’s stead. I could bar the courts from bringing her to trial…”

“…but you won’t,” he finished.

“No,” she affirmed sadly. “I won’t. I recently finished explaining to Twilight why neither of us will, ironically enough.”

She rose, walked over to the window nearby.

“Sometimes I wonder if she realizes how often, when I speak to her about such things, I’m also speaking to myself.”

“I’m sure she does.”

For a moment, she watched the golden sunlight play across the perfect green leaves of the trees, the ivy clinging to the castle’s alabaster walls. The view brought back memories of Blue as a colt, of course. These were still his chambers, though with rooms added through tesseracts here and there as he’d grown into young stallionhood… and then in recent years even more added as his family had increased. She’d looked out these same windows multiple times during her nephew’s young life, though admittedly not often.

But by default, that same view also faced the gardens below, bringing back far more memories of Twilight’s and Cadence’s foalhoods. So many more recollections of the rambunctious violet foal and dragon hatchling, and the pink filly who had later joined them, than of the quiet white colt who’d kept to himself, thrust into all their lives against his will.

Blueblood’s voice broke into her reverie. “You’re doing it again,” he said.

“Doing what?”

“Regretting.”

Celestia looked down, saying nothing.

“You know that I was happy, growing up here,” he pointed out. “That I never begrudged you the time you spent with your other charges.”

There was a long silence.

Sensing her nephew’s magic, Celestia turned to find a new cup of tea floating in Blueblood’s almost-steady aura of gold. As she accepted it in her own magic with a sad smile, another of his spells heated its contents to the near-boiling temperature she preferred.

“Just for the record,” Blueblood said, “I still think this is a terrible idea.”

Then, he made a dismissive gesture, adding, “But that being said, I have no more arguments. If it’s important to you, of course I’ll do everything I can for the lady.”

Her smile turned to one of both sadness and relief. “I know you will, Nephew. Thank you.”

Crossing the room to her, he shrugged, adding, “Besides which, it’s an opportunity to make right an error of mine. One which I’ll admit has been vexing me of late.

“And who knows?” he winked. “The trial might even be easy. After all, it’s not as though the lady is guilty.”

Celestia smiled a little more as she sipped her tea. “Well, I’m glad we can at least agree on that much,” she teased.

“Oh, but of course,” he grinned. “You know I’m never wrong about these things.”

Even as the phrase fell from his tongue, Blueblood inwardly winced, his grin vanishing.

Celestia took another sip. Then, her eyes again drifted towards the golden window, and the memories beyond it.

“No,” she sighed. “You never are.”

Blueblood sighed as well, silently cursing himself as he did.

“Celestia,” he said softly, “I know it’s asking a great deal. But you’re asking a very great deal of me, so I feel somewhat justified.”

He moved forward, and put a gentle hoof on her shoulder. She looked back to him with uncertain violet eyes.

“Just for today, just until you set the sun… don’t look back in remorse. Will you try?”

There was a quiet rustling of wings, and the two of them embraced. After another moment, she stroked his mane, prompting him to look up at her again.

“I’ll try,” she said.

Chapter 3: An Introspective Carriage Ride.

“I tell you, mon ami,” the black unicorn tisked. “I tell you even then, that you ‘ave stuck your ‘oof in it.”

“She ain’t lyin’, Yer Grace. There’s burnin’ bridges, an’ then there’s tossin’ fireballs around.”

“All true,” Blueblood acknowledged. “But there’s hardly any help for it now.”

Falling silent, both mares exchanged rueful glances. Then, they went back to helping Blueblood ready himself for the day ahead.

The prince had always been somewhat careless with his reputation, more or less by design. But the debacle of his first meeting with Rarity had been unique. Never before had he gathered about himself the reputation of a cad. Nor had he ever felt, afterwards, that he had deserved it. And while his actions had certainly been readily and easily explained, that had hardly justified them.

Seeing Blueblood’s features fall somewhat, the ladies shared another glance. After a few moments, Akane cleared her throat.

“So, um,” she said quietly, “Maybe I could come along, put in a good word or somethin’? Me an’ Applejack’re cousins…”

But Blueblood only sighed, putting a grateful hoof on her shoulder.

“No, my dear,” he said sadly. “I thank you for the offer. But I dug myself into this yawning pit. And I shall clamber out of it again, or not, on my own.”

Blueblood glanced out his window as his private carriage ascended. The skies were blue and sported occasional fluffy white clouds, as was traditional after most celebrations. The occasional pegasus could be seen flitting about here and there, maintaining the winds: calm, continual and cooling against the summer sun.

Meanwhile, below, the grounds keepers were sleepily sweeping up the leftover detritus from the fireworks the previous night. While the formal holiday remained the Summer Sun Celebration, Midsummer Night had become a celebration of Luna’s return, with the inevitable late nights and late mornings that followed.

In fact, Midsummer Night was quickly evolving into its own holiday, one of reconciliation, forgiveness, and new beginnings... ranging from foals apologizing to parents for errors made (and vice versa) to engagements being declared. And this year there had been a special Tremblepike in the Park performance of Midsummer Night’s Dream, deliberately emphasizing the script’s coverage of dreams, reconciliation and love.

Aunt Luna, of course, had been both delighted and deeply touched.

When she had first returned from exile, Blueblood recalled how the Night Princess had been rather skittish. True, there had been an aloofness about her, but it had been an uncertain aloofness. Which was understandable: after all, the world she’d left had been far more suspicious of her than it was today.

Yet, for all that, Aunt Luna had dared the crowds of Nightmare Night her first year back. In fact, from what he’d heard she had decidedly dived in hooves first. And while it might have started off with every hallmark of a train wreck, Twilight had been there to save the day.

And all because, despite every possible hesitation, somehow Luna had ventured out that fateful Nightmare Night. And whatever had somehow persuaded her to take that risk and try to connect with the ponies of Ponyville, Aunt Celestia had certainly been grateful.

Blueblood smiled to himself. Yes, somehow. The young mare would never admit it, of course, but Raven Inkwell continued to be his prime suspect. It would have been completely in character for her to have privately reached out to the formerly exiled princess, emphasizing her genuine welcome in the strange land that her nation had become.

After all, Raven had done the same for him when he’d first arrived at Canterlot Palace, years ago.

So it was much to his personal irritation that it had not occurred to him to do the exact same thing as soon as Aunt Luna had returned, freed from her Nightmare Moon persona. A ridiculous oversight, he knew, and one he had no excuse for.

Granted, self-absorption had been a risk throughout his life. But it remained that any failure to overcome that risk was a source of severe annoyance. It showed a lack of awareness, a lack of thought. Such failings were unworthy of him. And, more to the point, they allowed opportunities of kindness to pass him by.

On the other hoof, he thought with a smile, this morning’s ambush went quite well.

It had not been a true ambush per se, of course. There was an old saying in Equestria that the sun and moon had both once been warriors, and a true surprise might have endangered not only himself but also his league of small soldiers.

Ah, but the look on Aunt Luna’s face! Even as she flipped on her room’s lights and saw the array of eager children from his house, all armed with pillows and looks of gleeful determination, just before he raised his own weapon and gave the command as fierce as any general in the field:

“Get ‘er!”

He smiled at the memory. Many pillows’ lives had been lost that day, most of them too young to have seen their own stuffing before. But in the course of pony events, sometimes such sacrifices had to be made. And in the end, of course, the foals had prevailed, Aunt Luna and himself falling in helpless laughter beneath their merciless barrage until the two finally cried ‘hold, enough.’

Apparently it had never occurred to Luna that, as he and she were kin, she therefore had any number of great–nieces and –nephews to play with whenever her schedule allowed. It had been his pleasure to correct that oversight.

So, yes. That had gone very well indeed.

Blueblood shook himself. Focus, he thought. Then, a new thought occurring to him, he tapped on the front of the carriage.

“Yes, Your Grace?” one of the team mares called back.

“Once we’re clear of the mountain’s crowds, would you be willing to do the rest of the trip on the ground?” he asked.

There was a pause, then, “It’ll take much longer, Your Grace.”

“I know, and I appreciate that. But I’d like to have my arrival a little less of a media event.”

He could hear the grin in the pegasus’ voice as she called back, “Well, I don’t think that’s terribly likely with Your Grace arriving much of anywhere, but we’ll do our best.”

“Thank you.”

A moment later, the carriage began a tight descending circle. A few moments after that there was a gentle touchdown on some nearby grass, and the prince’s carriage quickly moved onto the road. Even starting at the mountain’s base, traveling by ground had transformed the journey’s duration from minutes to hours. But the extra time would also give Blueblood time to reflect on what little he knew of the matter thus far. And, he admitted to himself, to dwell a bit on the loss of an old friend.

Even in Canterlot, the Rich family had been known of for generations, with a tradition of entrepreneurship passed down almost since the founding of Ponyville. But it had been Filthy who had built his family’s small fortune onto a large one, Filthy who had raised his house’s name from simple commerce into high society. And, ironically, anypony who had not met him would likely remember him for that alone.

But while that had partly been Filthy’s own business acumen, it had also been the simple fact that, well… everyone who had ever met the stallion had liked him.

When a newly-graduated Filthy Rich had needed a loan to expand his family’s business, naturally Blueblood had offered. But Filthy had politely declined, wanting to make or break his fortune on his own terms. And he had done just that, negotiating a loan at one of the best rates in recent history, the bank president herself later stating how it had been a real pleasure to deal with the young stallion.

And then there was his generosity. As the Rich family’s fortune had increased, so had Filthy’s activity in charity work. Most ponies were unaware of just how much; he tended to keep his involvement as anonymous as possible.

But it remained that many times, when towns needed extra funds to repair after magical battles in recent years, or when individual ponies needed aid after some disaster or other, Filthy had been there… often before the Two Sisters even knew there was need. Somehow, no matter how far-removed the matter might have been, inevitably someone there knew Filthy Rich, had dealt with him, and knew they could ask for help.

And while Blueblood may have proposed making acts of charity tax-deductible throughout Equestria, it had been Filthy’s idea. And, true to form, he’d refused to be mentioned in its proposal, or its signing into law. Between that and their shared love of travel, Blueblood had once jested to his friend that if he wasn’t careful, he would end up with a position as a royal diplomat himself. Filthy had laughed and asked him to kindly never threaten him with a paid position again. He vastly preferred, as he’d explained, to be his own diplomat.

So, while Filthy Rich might have had the occasional rival, he’d certainly had no enemies. At least, none that Blueblood knew about. Granted, the two of them hadn’t spoken in years, so possibly that had changed. But that particular lapse was only thanks to Filthy’s wife, Spoiled.

The memories assailed him then. Filthy, in his wedding best, nervously taking Blueblood aside, looking only at the polished floor as he spoke.

Blue, I’m so sorry… I don’t even… I’m so…

For my dear aunt’s sake, old bean, what is it?

Well, it’s Spoiled. It’s…

Filthy closing his eyes in shame, forcing the words out: I mean, it means so much to her, what ponies think…

In the present, Blueblood sat in his carriage, his own eyes closed in pain for several minutes. Filthy’s wedding had been the first and only time in his life he’d ever regretted his reputation. It had always been a joke until then. But that night, against all reason or logic, it had suddenly come between himself and one of his oldest friends.

It had taken an uncomfortably long time for both of them, for Blueblood to decipher what his friend’s uncertain stammering had been about. And for a moment after that, the young prince had only been able to stare, dumbfounded. But in the end, he had managed to put a hoof on Filthy’s shoulder, eliciting silence from him at last.

It’s alright, Blueblood had said. You just do what you need to do.

The other stallion had begun stammering again, but Blueblood had managed a convincing smile.

You worry too much, old boy, he’d whispered with a wink. I’m indestructible. Now, go on. Your lady’s waiting.

Still looking down, Filthy had nodded. He’d turned to go, and then suddenly spun back and grabbed Blueblood in an embrace that had knocked the wind out of the unicorn completely.

And then, Filthy had been gone. The music had begun playing for the new couple to dance for the first time as married mare and stallion, and Blueblood had quietly made his exit while they’d danced.

Blueblood shook his head. He’d never understood it. Any of it. In the end, all he’d been able to feel towards Spoiled Rich had been pity; and towards Filthy, a kind of puzzled sadness.

Of course, most ponies of the upper crust didn’t share his point of view. When the two earth ponies had first married, there had been a few jokes quietly circling around the couple, mostly centering on Filthy marrying beneath himself. It must be true love, one courtier had quipped, she certainly doesn’t have anything else going for her.

Which could have been lived down in fairly short order. Should have been, honestly. There had been so many opportunities for Spoiled to shine over the years. But her own strange obsessions kept tearing her back down.

And time and again, Filthy had been there for her. Gently guiding his wife through the labyrinths of high society as best he could, giving continual quiet cues to her and those around her of how to keep the waters calm. Yielding always to her strange fears about how they would be perceived by high society, all without her ever understanding how much she was harming her own cause.

Blueblood snorted. As if the opinions of the court harpies truly mattered to anyone with an ounce of sense.

Suddenly, his head snapped up. They’d had a daughter, he recalled. Diamond Tiara. Heavens, what a name to live up to.

Still, young Diamond should be around her mid-teens by now, he considered. And knowing Filthy, no doubt he’d doted on her endlessly.

The prince smiled briefly at the thought.

But the smile faded almost immediately. After all, he could guess what she was going through. And far from being a source of stability in the foal’s life, Spoiled Rich would be lost herself. Cast adrift without her husband, drowning in her own desperation and fear.

Frowning, Blueblood shook himself. There would be ample time to help Filthy’s family if they needed it. Likewise, there would be time later to properly mourn. And, perhaps, to figure out why anypony would murder a stallion who’d never made anything in his life but friends.

But right now, there was the matter of Miss Rarity herself.

Looking out the carriage window, he saw that they were entering Ponyville proper. The boutique would be only a short distance further. And then, he could begin dealing with this disaster as best he could.

Chapter 4: A Second Meeting.

The Carousel Boutique was exactly as Blueblood had envisioned it. Small, neat, efficient, and absolutely perfect. Meanwhile, the sky was still blue, the breeze still balmy, and the birds still singing.

Exiting his carriage, he looked up at the sky again with a frown. As he thought of it, shouldn't it have been raining? A pony had died, after all. One with many friends, and well before his time. But he put the thought aside with an internal shrug. Probably the weather bureau hadn’t found out about Filthy’s death in time. No doubt they’d arrange for rain tomorrow.

Meanwhile, the Canterlot newspapers were well ahead of the curve, with their ridiculous headlines. Murder at the Rarity Boutique! they screamed. Celebrated Hero Accused of Murder!

Blueblood snorted, re-folding his paper as he did. What rubbish. Filthy hadn’t even been found anywhere near the boutique, but in a public museum that he and the lady Rarity had been assembling together for months. But only those in certain circles knew the Carousel Boutique by name, and almost nopony had known about the museum. Meanwhile, everypony knew about Rarity, fashion designer and Element of Generosity. So of course they went with the most recognizable names and places possible.

How absolutely typical, he thought. Wrong name, wrong location… all to catch the eye and sell a damned paper.

Still, they’d managed to keep the funeral confidential. Sensationalism might have ruled the day, but at least the newsponies had remembered to not be cruel.

Stepping out of his carriage, he dropped the paper in a nearby rubbish bin and looked over the building he had reached all too soon. The weather, the building, his own presence… almost nothing was missing from the bitter irony of the day as it unfolded.

As he approached the door, a white filly – a young mare, really – happened to glance out the window at him. Then, scowling, she vanished from sight again.

Blueblood sighed. Perfect.

As he rapped on the door, he could hear Twilight’s voice from within, saying, “No, I’m just saying, let’s not jump to any conclusions…”

Then the door was flung open, and Blueblood found himself face to face with a glowering Applejack.

“Wadda you want?” she demanded.

“…right, like that,” Twilight’s voice sighed from within. “That’s exactly what I was talking about.”

Blueblood, meanwhile, took in the resentful green eyes of the Element before him, her considerable power poised and ready to defend her friend from him at any cost.

Ah, yes, he thought. Of course. That’s what was missing. The day is now complete.

Just the same, he met her gaze with perfect poise, asking, “May I enter?”

Looking the interloper up and down suspiciously, Applejack never took her eyes off him.

“Rarity?” she asked.

“May as well let him in, darling,” Rarity sighed from within. “He can hardly make things worse.”

“Yeah,” Applejack muttered. “Never say that.”

Begrudgingly, the earth mare stepped aside, allowing his entrance. Blueblood took in the scene as she closed the door behind him, and found it to be about as he’d anticipated. All the so-called Mane Six were there, of course, along with Spike. And even as they gathered at her home to offer aid and comfort, Rarity was serving her friends tea and sandwiches. Treating her comforters as beloved guests, using her hostess’ tasks to keep herself calm.

Naturally, Rarity was being assisted in her chosen duties by her sister and Spike. But also helping to pass out refreshments was a young mare who could only have been Filthy Rich’s daughter, Diamond Tiara.

Interesting, he thought. Interesting, and unexpected.

Every pair of adult eyes appraised him with suspicion, save for Twilight. She was looking at the scenario overall with concern, trying to gauge how Blueblood might aid or harm the situation overall.

Ignoring that for now, he addressed the room, saying, “Please, all of you, forgive the intrusion. I know I started off on the wrong hoof with most of you, but I do come as a friend. Aunt Celestia asked me to help Miss Rarity however I can, and I intend to do just that.”

Rainbow Dash swallowed her sandwich, chasing it down with most of her tea in one swallow.

“Yeah? So, what, you gonna be her lawyer now?” she asked.

“Now, Rainbow Dash,” Rarity chided gently, as she refilled her friend’s cup, “His Grace was sent by Princess Celestia. I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.”

“Blue does have a degree in law, among other subjects,” Twilight added dubiously. “Though I don’t think that’s what he has in mind.”

“It isn’t,” he affirmed. “I’ll admit I’m not certain how best I can help just yet, though to start with I will be assisting Miss Rarity’s attorney. But however things turn out, wherever this particular problem leads me, I’m going to need something from you. From all of you. And it may well be the hardest thing you’ve ever been asked.”

“Name it,” Applejack said.

“Anything to help Rarity,” Fluttershy added softly.

“What can we do?” Rainbow asked.

Blueblood nodded. “Nothing.”

The room went silent.

“The more you are involved in the case, the more problematic it becomes,” he explained. “All of you are her friends, magically powerful through your Elements, and connected intimately to the princesses.

“And yes,” he added as several of them opened their own mouths, “I am well aware that I am related to my aunts. However, I have neither your public influence in Equestria, nor your magical ability to falsify evidence.”

“What??!?” Applejack stepped towards him angrily. “How can you say that? Why, we would never—”

“Never?” Blueblood interrupted coldly, his own ire rising at last as he locked her eyes with his own, biting off the words as he spoke. “Even to save your friend? Are you actually going to tell me that all of you would allow Miss Rarity to be wrongfully convicted and imprisoned, with all that implies, rather than tell. A single. Lie.”

Again, there was silence. Blueblood allowed it to coil around the room for a moment before impaling it upon his voice, low and calm once more.

“There will be times that I will need information, I’m sure,” he said, addressing the room once more. “And I’ll be counting on all of you during those times. But if you truly wish to help Miss Rarity’s case, the best thing is for you all to distance yourselves from the proceedings. Spike, are you still willing to act as Twilight’s greenfire?”

The young drake nodded. “Of course.”

“Then I will count upon you for that. Thank you, sir.” Then, addressing the rest of the room again, the prince continued, “This is not to say she should be isolated, of course. Please, by all means, be there to support the lady as you are now. But I cannot stress enough: allow me to handle what I must handle. Only in this way will both ponies and history itself judge her as innocent without a reasonable doubt.”

“And only then can the real killer be found,” a young voice said.

Everyone stopped as Diamond Tiara looked around at them all, her face contorted in misery.

“It… this still doesn’t seem real,” she managed. “Any of it. I…”

Then her voice failed her, and she fled up the stairs in tears.

Sweetie Belle cried, “Diamond, wait!” and ran after her.

Once again, the room was quiet.

Blueblood looked sadly at the stairs where the young mares had gone.

Damn me, he thought.

Rarity cleared her throat.

“Your Grace,” she said faintly, “perhaps I could offer you some tea? I was just about to put on another pot…”

Blueblood shook his head.

“No, thank you,” he replied quietly, still looking at the stairs. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve disrupted your home quite enough already.”

Turning to face the white mare, he continued, “That being said, I… do need to speak with you, if I may.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. First and foremost, of course, I owe you an apology. And while I don’t mind offering my apologies publicly – and I do apologize for my behavior when we last met, completely and unequivocally – I also owe you an explanation. Between that and a few questions I have regarding the case itself, I was wondering if you might be free for dinner later tonight?”

“I…” Rarity glanced around at her equally startled friends, then back at the prince before her, “…suppose?”

Blueblood nodded. “Thank you. If I picked you up around eight, would that be too early?”

“I… no. No, that would be fine.”

“Thank you again. I appreciate your courtesy, and your consideration.” He gave another nod to them all as he opened the door. “Ladies, Spike… good afternoon.”

The door closed quietly behind him, and the room was quiet again.

After a moment, Rarity lifted her own cup in her magic, then put it down again.

“You know, girls, I’m suddenly just exhausted. Would it offend anypony if I just…?”

“Aw, hay no,” Applejack assured her. “You just go on an’ rest. We’ll take care a’things. That’s kinda why we’re here, y’know?”

Rarity gave them all a grateful smile.

“Thank you, my dears,” she said. “For everything.”

Then, she, too, ascended the stairs. There was the sound of a gentle knock and a few muffled words between Rarity and Sweetie Belle, and then the closing of Rarity’s own door.

Applejack paused then, looking at the boutique’s outer door.

“So, that’s what His Nibs is like on a good day,” she nodded to herself. “Yeah. Still not a fan.”

“I know, right?” Rainbow Dash chimed in. “And he’s all, ‘oh, so you’d neeeeever lie for a friend!’ Just who the hay does he think he is?”

Pinkie Pie considered this. “He wasn’t wrong, though. I mean, if it meant saving any of you…”

“That ain’t the point,” Applejack retorted. “Point is, y’don’t walk into somepony else’s place an’ start tellin’ folks what’s what! ‘Specially now.”

“But, um, maybe he didn’t mean to be rude?” Fluttershy suggested. “Maybe he was just nervous? After all,” she added, looking at the floor, “I know I would be.”

“Nah, he just thinks he’s better than anypony else,” Rainbow said with a dismissive wave. “Trust me, I’ve seen it before.”

“Girls, I know you don’t like him,” Twilight said to them all quietly. “And I’ll admit I never got to know him super well, even though we both lived at the palace.”

As the other ponies turned to face her, she went on, “But in his own way, Blue was also Celestia’s pupil. She trusts him with Equestria when he travels, and with her seal to make treaties in her name. And now, she trusts him with Rarity.

“I think we should trust him, too.”

For a heartbeat or two, nopony spoke. Then, Applejack sighed ruefully, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”

“He’s still a jerk, though,” Rainbow Dash added.

“Oh, but what about Diamond Tiara?” Fluttershy asked. “Shouldn’t somepony make sure she’s okay?”

“Well, now, she’s already got Sweetie Belle with ‘er,” Applejack pointed out. “This ain’t been easy on either a’those two, figger the least we can do is give ‘em some time. I know when my folks died, I didn’t care much for bein’ crowded. An’ Rarity just checked in on ‘em.”

“Agreed,” Twilight nodded. “Let’s give them their space for now, and see how they’re doing later.”

“Yeah,” Pinkie sighed miserably, looking down. “I just wish I could help them smile again.”

“Ain’t nothin’ for that but time, sugarcube,” Applejack said gently. Putting an arm around her kin’s withers, she gave her a squeeze, adding, “Now, c’mon. Let’s get things cleaned up a lil ‘round here.”

There really wasn’t anything else to say. Wordlessly, the friends began gathering up dishes and tidying up the room, settling in to give the younger mares and Rarity whatever aid they might need.

Chapter 5: Questions.

The sun was nearing its horizon when Blueblood returned to the boutique. And the press, of course, had the building surrounded and under siege. All curtains had been drawn tightly against intrusive cameras and seeking eyes, and doubtless the doorbell, if there was one, had been disconnected.

Additionally, the occasional telltale shimmer of purple energy across the building’s surfaces betrayed Twilight’s influence. She wouldn’t go so far as to actively dispel the press, of course, but she could protect her friend’s home against their intrusion… quietly reminding them of her own power in the process.

In actuality, of course, Blueblood was certain that the entire gathering of Elements and their families had retreated through that selfsame power to somewhere safe without ever having to brave the door and the swarm of press ponies that waited outside. Twilight’s castle, perhaps, or Sweet Apple Acres. She would have brought Miss Rarity back for him to pick up, but only to keep attention diverted here. The true sanctuary would have been elsewhere.

The press ponies didn’t know any of that. At least some of them suspected, of course. But to leave the Carousel Boutique and stake out another location, just on a hunch, would have been to risk being scooped on the story of a generation.

And in any event, the moment that the royal carriage had been spotted in the Ponyville sky, all their concerns had been forgotten. And after a moment of bunching together beneath the vehicle, the press scattered, giving it space to land. After all, it would hardly be feasible to bombard the prince with questions while he was in the air.

Even before he opened the carriage door, the barrage began.

“Your Grace! Your Grace!”

“Is there any truth to the rumor that you and the accused…?”

“How does it feel to know you might have been…?”

“Were you and the deceased close, Your Grace?”

“Your Grace, some ponies are saying…”

By sheer reflex, he paused as he exited with his trademark smile, posing for the multitude of flashes strobing across his countenance. He was hardly listening to whatever the press ponies were asking. He simply waited for a moment, then began moving again, gently pressing through the crowd even as they struggled to simultaneously part for him, advance upon him, and keep their competitors from getting closer to him than they were.

When he reached the door, he turned to face them again, and they obligingly fell into silence, save for the continuing foof, foof, foof of their flash bulbs.

“Ladies and gentlecolts,” he said with a winning smile, “I am here tonight as a friend to the deceased, Filthy Rich.”

The crowd exploded with questions, each trying to out-shout the rest. He gave them a moment to make fools of themselves, then held up a hoof for quiet.

“I am also here as a friend to Miss Rarity.”

Another explosion, even louder and more insistent than before.

He gave them more time than he had before, then held up another hoof. Very reluctantly, they quieted once more.

“Obviously, if I had any doubts as to the lady’s innocence, I would not be here. And as she has committed no crime, I will ask in the name of decency that you allow her to exit her domicile without besieging her with questions.”

“Aw, c’mon, Your Grace,” one reporter objected. “let us do our jobs, can’t ya? Ponies got a right t’know!”

“And you will,” Blueblood assured him. “All of you. And so, I will make you this promise. Each of you, before you leave, please give me your card. I will make certain that you have full access to the hearings and the trial, to the best of my ability. I will also invite you to a press conference after the ordeal is over, where I will answer any and all reasonable questions you may have, for as long as you wish.

“Any of you who do not do this, or who disturb the lady before the trial begins, I assure you I shall do the opposite.”

There was a quiet pause. For obvious reasons, none of the press ponies had ever covered a murder trial before. And while usually the press was allowed into court regardless, this might be an exception. Having Equestria’s Prince insist they be allowed in could go a long way.

And then, an unlimited-length press conference with royalty…

A voice sounded out from the murmuring crowd, “Just questions about the trial, though, right?”

He smiled. “No.”

That settled it. One by one, the ponies gave him their business cards and began to walk away. Some silently, others thanking him. Still others giving their whispered assurance that they, too, knew that Rarity was innocent.

Finally, when the last of the reporters were on their way, Blueblood turned and gently knocked on the magically reinforced door.

“They’re gone,” he said.

There was a heartbeat’s pause, and the violet glow vanished, the door opening.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Rarity breathed. “I’m somewhat used to attention from the press, but nothing like this…!”

“My pleasure,” he smiled as he entered. “I’ve found that media attention is an acquired taste at best. In the meantime, should any of them disturb you further, please let me know.”

“I will, thank you,” she said gratefully.

“Blue, um, can I talk to you for a minute?” Twilight broke in.

Looking at her curiously, Blueblood replied, “Of course.”

The two of them adjourned to Rarity’s kitchen. In the corner, Opalescence stirred from where she had been napping, looked at the two of them with feline irritation, and stalked out of the room.

Once she was gone, Twilight sighed. “Blue, I wanted to let you know that I really appreciate your helping Rarity like this.”

He frowned, puzzled. “And you’re welcome, of course…”

Looking away, she said, “But also, I know this may sound weird, but I have to ask. Why are you helping her?”

Blueblood considered her carefully for a moment, then replied, “Because Aunt Celestia asked.”

Still looking away, she nodded. “I figured that. But, you know how sometimes you know the answer to a question, but you still have to ask anyway, because you really need to hear the answer for yourself?”

More cautiously, “Yessss…?”

“Right. So.” Blowing out a breath, she made herself ask, “You don’t have… any other reasons, do you?”

Closing his eyes for a moment, the prince allowed himself a small, bitter smile.

“No, Twilight. Though I will acknowledge that pony events tend to be multicausal, I can safely assure you that I have no ulterior motives regarding the lady.”

Still looking down, she said, “Yeah, and I knew that. It’s just…”

“…It’s just that she’s your friend, she’s in a very vulnerable position, you know me more by reputation than personally, especially in recent years, and you had an obligation to be certain,” he finished for her in his kindest voice.

“And I’m sorry I had to ask.”

“But you had to ask.”

She sighed again.

He thought for a moment, then said, “You know, it occurs to me that for all that we first met years ago, we’ve never really gotten to know one another. When this is all over, could you be persuaded to amend that oversight?”

It was truly wonderful, watching her suddenly brighten as she did.

“Yes!” she cried. “Yes, I would love that! And once we’re friends, maybe you can become friends with the rest of the girls, too!”

“Well, one thing at a time, I’m sure,” he said cautiously, images of a wrathful Applejack glowering before his mind’s eye. Still, he was smiling when he added, “That said, I can think of nothing that would please me more.”

Then, his smile becoming teasing, he winked, “And no ulterior motives there, either. I promise.”

She laughed a little. “Yeah, I got that.”

“Of course, now that I think of it, you could always introduce me to Rainbow Dash first…”

“Oh, my sweet Celestia, will you get out of here?” she laughed, pushing him towards the kitchen door.

“Those blue wings, rowr…”

“Out!”

Despite the terrible circumstances that hung over them all, Rarity had to smile as the kitchen door burst open, the two other ponies practically spilling out into the main room as they laughed.

“Get! Get!”

“I’m getting! I’m getting!”

Fetching her scarf in her magic, Rarity wrapped it around herself stylishly as she said, “Oh, and Twilight? There’s probably a great deal we’ll need to discuss, darling, so I’m not certain when I’ll be back.”

“No problem,” a still-grinning Twilight answered, levitating a small purple crystal towards her. “Just break this when you’re ready to be picked up.”

Blueblood raised his eyebrows. “A homing beacon?”

Twilight gave Blueblood a look of renewed interest. “You’re familiar with them?”

“I’ve read about the concept. I didn’t know you made them, though.”

“Yes, and you’ve no idea how welcome that particular innovation was,” Rarity said, slipping the gem into a pocket in her scarf. “So many times various creatures or circumstances separated us all, causing any number of additional difficulties. Once Twilight worked how Starswirl had made these lovely little devices, between them and her own teleportation abilities our adventures became so much easier!

“Still,” she added with a regretful shake of her mane, “I could wish you’d devised a way to activate them that didn’t involve breaking them, darling. It does seem such a waste.”

“And on that note, fair lady, shall we away?” Blueblood asked, opening the outer door. “As the saying goes, your carriage awaits.”

Rarity exchanged a final hug with Twilight, and then accompanied Blueblood into his royal carriage, and the adventure that it promised.

As opulent as the exterior of the carriage was, the inside was even more so. Cerulean velvet and silk, elegantly engraved silver with sapphires perfectly chosen to match Blueblood’s eyes. And above all, the luxurious comfort of the cushions themselves, driving the stress from her withers with a speed that was almost comparable with magic.

As they ascended into the sky, Blueblood offered her a drink of wine, which she politely declined. Pouring one for himself, he asked, “So, if you’ll forgive me cutting straight to it, what can you tell me about the matter?”

“I don’t really know very much, I’m afraid,” the fashionista said. “The police and the palace guard were all very kind, but also not terribly forthcoming.”

He took a sip, then nodded. “I imagine. What did they ask you about?”

“Oh, my schedule, our work on the museum… and for some reason my telekinesis.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

“Yes. Which struck me as a bit curious, really. It’s no secret that my horn is far more a tool of precision than power. Even the most basic spells were always a challenge for me. In fact, my classmates often thought I would go into medicine, become a surgeon.”

She smiled slightly, adding, “Which was very kind of them, but hardly my true calling.”

Then, she started. “Oh! They also asked about Diamond Tiara’s being over, for some reason.”

“What about it?”

“Oh, how often she’d had dinner with us, how many sleep-overs there had been… which, I confess I’m not completely sure. She’d been over quite a bit in recent months, granted, and she was going to spend the night again last night, but that was before…”

She lapsed into silence again.

Blueblood nodded. “What happened when they arrested you?”

“Well, it was early in the morning, we were only just having breakfast. That was when I first found out about this terrible affair, of course. Mayor Mare and a few police ponies came to place me under arrest. Apparently poor Filthy’s body was found at the Ponyville Museum of Fine Arts we were creating together, in the music section. Mercifully, Diamond Tiara had already left. A filly should be with her mother at a time like this.

“Poor Sweetie Belle was just beside herself, and I’ll admit I wasn’t much better. But as I said, the guard ponies were very kind. And Twilight and Applejack were there for Sweetie, thank heavens.”

“I’m glad they were,” he said. “Did they tell you anything else about the murder?”

She shook her head. “Only that he was found at the museum.” She sighed, adding, “Poor Filthy. It had been so long. It was so wonderful working with him again. And now…”

“Forgive me, but you worked together before? Was it on other charities?”

Rarity smiled sadly. “Alas, no. We went to school together, and we worked on a few projects while we were students. We dated briefly, but, well… not all friends should be partners.”

“Of course.”

“We’d drifted apart after graduation. Then, about six months ago he contacted me about the museum. He wanted to help fund it, and even had some ideas on how it could be…”

Her voice trailed off, and she sighed.

He gave her a moment, the asked, “Did you happen to see him outside of the museum project?”

She gave a sad chuckle. “Good heavens, when would I have? We both had work, and I have Sweetie Belle while he has a family. Had,” she added mournfully. “He had a family.

“He would come by the site when he could, to help out,” she went on. “We would brainstorm, or go over acquisitions and storage, personnel, and so forth. And we’d talk, of course. But he could never come by terribly early, and often he would remain there long after I had left.”

She smiled, though it was still sad. “He loved examining the statues and the antique furniture, the garments, but he especially loved the gadgets we were gathering together. He was like a foal, sometimes, turning them on and off, seeing how they worked. Half the antiques in the music section, he’d managed to aquire.”

“When did you last see him?”

“Last week, I don’t recall the exact day. We’d been going to meet at the museum late last night, but Sweetie was ill and I’d stayed home to care for her. I’d had the same thing just the day before, and I was completely exhausted by the time... well, mercifully, Diamond Tiara came by and offered to help.”

She sighed. “I should have gone by the museum, if only as a courtesy. But I was so completely drained I just went upstairs and slept.”

Nodding, Blueblood said, “I know this is a ridiculous question, and please forgive my asking it. But did Filthy have any enemies that you know of?”

Eyes closed, she could only shake her head.

“Very well,” Blueblood said. “If you don’t mind then, perhaps we’ll change the subject, at least for now.”

She gave him a quizzical glance.

“But, Your Grace, don’t you have any other questions?”

“Not really. Right now, I’m essentially just getting a feel for the case itself. Whatever else I need, at least at the moment, I imagine your attorney will have it. I’ll be assisting them anyway, and they’ll have inspectors and the like, I’m sure.”

Looking thoughtful, he continued, “And besides, the more I think about this, the more I think that if this were just going to be a simple matter of presentation I wouldn’t really be needed. Frankly, I’m far more interested in the killer’s activities than your own…”

His voice trailed off as she looked away, wiping away tears.

“Miss Rarity?”

“I’m sorry,” she said miserably. “It’s not you. It’s just…”

She took in a ragged breath, and then continued, “Spoiled Rich insisted on an immediate funeral, and of course as the accused I could hardly have attended.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. “I know it sounds like a strange thing to be bothering me just now, with everything else that’s happening…”

“No, it doesn’t in the slightest,” Blueblood said firmly. He considered for a moment longer, then faced forward again, rapping on the carriage’s front.

“Your Grace?” one of the pegasi answered.

“Might we visit the cemetery first?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Rarity looked down, relief and apprehension warring across her exhausted features.

“Nothing is required of you in this, not by anypony,” Blueblood said. “You can stay as long or short as you like, and I’ll be in the carriage whenever you’re ready. For that matter, we can do this or not, whatever you deem best. You can change your mind at any time. But please, allow me to at least give you the option.”

“Thank you,” she said at last.

Blueblood continued looking out his window at the picturesque view around him, as though the mare next to him were not struggling against herself. Giving her what small amount of privacy the carriage might allow.

“Lady,” he said quietly, “you are most welcome.”

Chapter 6: A Reluctant Dinner.

After visiting Filthy’s grave, Rarity hadn’t expected to feel up to dinner. She had returned to the carriage completely wrung-out, wishing desperately that she’d thought to ask if one of her friends could have accompanied them. Even as she sat down on the crushed silk cushions she was considering asking if perhaps they could speak further on the morrow, when she dozed off. She woke next to the sensation of the carriage touching down again, and realized that she was completely ravenous.

The sun had set and the moon was out, betraying that her host had quietly extended the carriage’s flight to give her extra rest. Additionally, a cursory glance at their surroundings confirmed that they were in Canterlot proper. A rain check would hardly have been appropriate, even if her stomach hadn’t started growling.

And then… well, then she saw where they were dining.

The Blue Coi Paloi was one of the finest restaurants in all of Canterlot, some said in all of Equestria. The waiting list to get in was months long, and it employed the finest and most dedicated chefs of several species from around the world. Ambassadors, nobleponies, visiting dignitaries and royalty had all graced its main room. Only the most wealthy or well-connected ponies could be found within its walls, dining upon its finest and most exotic cuisine.

The wealthiest, the best connected… and her.

Not long ago, the very thought of being taken to such an establishment would have made her half-swoon, heart aflutter and eyes full of stars. And certainly, she was excited at the prospect of being here. But it had been two years since she had been to her first Grand Galloping Gala. During that time she had been on a variety of adventures, and had helped save Equestria more than once. She was not the mare she had once been.

And so, she noticed how the maître d' smiled as he bowed when His Grace entered, giving the silent welcome a serving host might give to a familiar and well-liked guest. And while the cloak check pony took her scarf and Blueblood’s frock coat, she noticed how the lovely waitress glanced around the room for a table, finding the two of them a nice cozy corner table in a back.

The last of which wouldn’t have been necessary had a reservation has been made in such a place, of course. But after all, why would Equestria’s only prince, nephew to the diarchy, ever need to call ahead to make a reservation?

It was just a place he liked to eat, and he apparently had no real understanding what dining here meant to almost any other pony in Equestria, or even how much it cost. For as they were seated and presented with their menus (Blueblood having pulled out her chair for her, of course), Rarity saw that neither menu had listed prices. It was as if they knew that for the prince the price didn’t matter, couldn’t matter, and so why should he ever be bothered with it?

And somehow, Rarity felt herself relaxing, despite the ridiculously posh surroundings. Blueblood was obviously well known here, almost certainly a regular. And while with anypony else, the choice of such a venue might be a grand effort meant to impress, from His Grace it was simply dinner at an establishment he enjoyed, where the staff knew and welcomed him.

He honestly has no idea what other ponies’ lives are like, she realized. We’re as foreign to him, in a way, as any creature he’s ever brokered treaties with.

Uncertain what to do with this new information, Rarity quietly filed it away. Blueblood had invited her to dinner and was doing his best to be a gracious host. He had, in a sense, welcomed her into his world, however temporarily. The very least she could do was to accept this gift with good grace.

They ordered appetizers (Rarity ordering a wheat kabsa with gahwah, while Blueblood ordered some dolmathakia), and then fell into the inevitable small talk. Then, once their food had arrived and the servers had departed, their conversation turned to more serious matters.

“So, have you heard anything about how the rest of his family is doing?”

Rarity sipped her coffee as she shook her head.

“Not exactly,” she replied. “Diamond is keeping up a tough outer shell, poor dear, aside from the occasional break like what you saw earlier. Mercifully, Sweetie’s been there for her, and she can talk to the other Crusaders as well.

“But I gather she and her mother aren’t very close. She’s been spending more time at my house than hers since Filthy died. And though of course she’s perfectly welcome, I do wish she could confide in her family.”

Blueblood nodded. “I take it she and your sister are close?”

“Well, they’ve been friends for a while now. Something about a class election, I think? I’m not certain exactly what happened, but she and the rest of the CMC have been friends ever since, and she and Sweetie have been almost inseparable.”

“And Spoiled?”

Rarity shook her head.

“No idea, I’m afraid. I haven’t seen her since the last Gala.” She sighed, adding, “And I’m sure you remember that little fiasco.”

“Actually, I don’t,” he replied. “I was abroad at the time. Though, I understand Discord was in top form.”

“Ah. Well,” Rarity said uncomfortably. “Let’s just say Spoiled was being herself.”

Blueblood winced. “Made a scene, did she?”

“She’d gotten herself lost in the palace,” Rarity confirmed. “Which, had she simply laughed the matter off like Filthy had encouraged her to do, would have been less than meaningless…”

“…but, instead, she became defensive and hysterical, and lost face over the matter,” Blueblood finished with a nod. “I can well imagine.”

Rarity cocked her head. “You know the Rich family, Your Grace?”

“Blueblood, please,” the prince smiled.

Then, his smile fading, he continued, “And, yes, I… did know them, once. Filthy better than Spoiled. We… drifted apart.”

Rarity gave a quiet nod of her own. “I believe I know what you mean. I’ve had a few friends drift myself, over the years. I do hope you’ll forgive my bringing up painful memories.”

He shook his elegant mane. “Not at all. If anything, it is I who should be apologizing. I’ll be re-opening any number of half-healed wounds before this is done, I suspect. And besides, I still owe you an explanation for my behavior when we met last.”

“Oh, come now, Your—Blueblood,” She corrected gracefully. “You’ve determined to keep me out from the dungeons, and you already apologized earlier today. I hardly think you owe me anything at this point.”

“With respect, lovely lady, I must disagree. I did you a grievous injustice when we first met, and publicly, at that. There’s no way that didn’t affect your reputation at the time, and likely delayed your being able to expand your own business. Please, will you hear me out?”

Rarity opened her mouth, then closed it. Then, nodding, said, “Very well, if means so much to you, of course I will.”

He smiled again, and she had to admit despite herself that he did have a beautiful smile.

“Thank you,” he said.

The main course arrived just then, and so their conversation paused while dishes were exchanged, new wine was poured into both their glasses, and pleasantries were passed with the servers. Then, a few minutes later, they had privacy again, and Blueblood began his narrative.

“First of all, please understand that I offer you this as an explanation, not an excuse. Excuses are for those who beg to be excused, and my behavior that night should not and cannot reasonably be so. But there are things I feel you deserve to know, so that there might be clearer waters between us. And one of these – the principle matter, point of fact – pertains in a sense to my cutie mark. Or, at least, what it represents.”

Rarity nodded, puzzled and genuinely intrigued.

“My cutie mark, like most, has multiple meanings… some more public than others,” he said. “Its most obvious, as well as the most relevant to this discussion, is that of a compass rose. So, that is the meaning I shall focus upon for the moment.

“A compass can mean many things, of course,” Blueblood went on. “And I do love to travel, so most ponies – most creatures in general, come to that – assume that’s what it means in my case. But ironically, that is a fallacious assumption.”

The unicorn opposite him cocked an eyebrow. “I see. Well, then, what does it mean? If that’s not prying?”

He smiled. “In navigation, beautiful lady, there are two norths: true, and magnetic.”

While Rarity sipped her wine, he continued, “True north, of course, is the geographic direction towards the precise center of the Northern Realms. It’s used for longer voyages, being more reliable. Meanwhile, magnetic north indicates where magnetic forces converge most powerfully within those same realms… a location which can, depending upon events both natural and magical, be something of a variable from year to year.

“And while star navigation yields the direction of true north, magnetic compasses show where, relatively, magnetic north lies. Which, for shorter excursions, is both easier to determine and perfectly adequate. One need only use a compass, such as my mark represents, and follow as the needle points.”

“But your compass is more like a star itself,” Rarity pointed out. “It hasn’t got a needle.”

“Indeed, beautiful lady,” he smiled. “And that is because it needs none.”

Taking a small sip from his own glass, he explained, “My great talent, you see, is detecting the magnetic north of the hearts of others. What guides them, situationally and ethically, however variable that might be. Thus, just as your friend Applejack is a speaker of truths, I am a seer of truths.”

He paused, then added, “Well, in a sense, anyway. I can’t read thoughts, or detect illusions. At least, I don’t think I could detect illusions. But I can know what kind of pony someone is when I see them, and what motivates them. And I can tell when they’re speaking the truth as they know it, and when they’re not.

“The problem is, you see, it isn’t a spell. It’s only a sense. So sometimes, I can see things clear as a bell. Other times, I only get only slight glimpses. It can sometimes be hard to tell which is which. And it can be a bit of a challenge to tell momentary motive from overall morality. But just the same, that’s why Auntie sends me on the occasional diplomatic excursion.”

Then, with a smile, “Well, that and she knows I love to travel.”

It was an infectious smile, and Rarity found it hard not to return it. But the moment fled quickly, with Blueblood sighing into his plate again.

“But there is a vast difference, unfortunately, between knowing what is accurate and knowing what is right,” Blueblood continued. “And regardless of my own intentions, my treatment of you when we met last… it wasn’t right. Not in the slightest.”

He took another sip of the fine wine before facing her again, adding, “And so, while I do solemnly swear all my faculties to the service of your vindication, I also apologize for their past misuse, including and especially my own poor behavior. As well as however that night might have affected you or your ventures. Sincerely and unreservedly.”

Rarity nodded again, then smiled gratefully at the waiter as he arrived. More dishes were set before them both, glasses refilled, and then they were once again alone.

“And I accept your apology, of course,” she said. “Incidentally, would you forgive my presuming on our acquaintanceship somewhat?”

He blinked. “Oh? Well, I suppose. Please, presume away.”

The lady smiled. “Thank you. You see, I’ve been thinking on that night, and on your reputation within certain circles. And it occurs to me that your mark might not merely be a compass, darling. It might also be a star.

“After all, every compass rose has eight arrows, does it not?”

Blueblood stared for a moment, startled, then began to laugh. It was a pure sound, filled with sunshine, and Rarity had to admit there was something about it that warmed the heart. She took another sip of wine to hide her own smile as he finished laughing.

“You know,” he said fondly, “you’re one of the very few ponies I’ve ever met who saw that, just right off the bat.”

“Well, it’s not as if you go out of your way to hide yourself,” she demurred, cutting contentedly into her haysteak. “And besides, I’ve had ample time to consider the matter, even before tonight. Plus, of course, there’s my dear sister’s influence. One does not live with a Cutie Mark Crusader without picking up a few things.”

“No, I suppose not,” Blueblood agreed. “Even in Canterlot, occasional news of the CMC has circulated about now and then.”

Rarity chuckled, chasing down her bite of steak with more wine. “Oh, please, don’t tell her that. She’s hard enough to live with as it is.”

“Well, I’m sure her relationship with you helps boost her fame somewhat. But just the same, mum’s the word.”

For several minutes, they dined together in contented silence. Finally, Rarity cleared her throat.

“You know,” she said, “It occurs to me that I owe you an apology, as well.”

“Categorically accepted,” Blueblood replied. “Especially after our first meeting.”

“Yes, well, that’s just it,” Rarity said uncomfortably. “It involves our first meeting.”

She sighed, looking down at her half-empty plate.

“I won’t claim to know what you saw that night, and you were good enough to leave that part out of your explanation… but I can guess. And, yes, I wasn’t looking at you as a stallion that night, or as a pony. I just saw you as a prince… a status symbol, an icon. A title. I didn’t treat you as an individual, but as some kind of… of prize to be won. And the harder you tried to shake me off, the harder I stuck on, determined to win that prize.”

“Such behavior is inexcusable,” she sighed again, looking away. “And I am truly sorry.”

Blueblood shook his head.

“I forgave you long ago any slight you might have offered me,” he said softly. “But there wasn’t much to forgive, really. Pedestals are the eternal price of silver spoons. I could have said something. Heavens, I should have said something. But I didn’t.”

“I still deponified you,” she insisted, shaking her head again. “And that was wrong of me. And now, to find out that you could just see right through me…”

“But of course I did,” he replied easily. “I’m never wrong about these things, you know.”

In that instant the moment between them shattered, its shards falling to the floor. Rarity’s eyes were narrow diamonds as her glass immediately snapped up and forward in a light blue arc, throwing its burgundy contents into the stallion’s face.

By the time he had blinked the wine away she was halfway to the door, head and tail high, the dining room’s gentle background murmur having suddenly dropped into silence. The maître d' bowing slightly as she passed, Rarity accepted her scarf from the cloak check pony, draping around herself as elegantly as ever. And then she was gone.

Blueblood remained where he was, the wine gently staining the white of his face and neck as it ran down to soak into his waistcoat. His eyes were faraway, as if contemplating some abstract problem, his demeanor completely undisturbed.

At length, he gently lifted up his own glass. Took another sip. Carefully replaced it precisely where it had been before. When he finally spoke, nodding as he did, his voice was clear and quiet, unheard by anypony in the restaurant that was now buzzing with new excitement.

“I deserved that.”

Author's Note

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Kabsa is a Saddle Arabian appetizer of mixed rice and textured wheat, while dolmathakia is a Hippogriff dish consisting of rice and pine nuts with various herbs, wrapped in grape leaves. Unlike kabsa, dolmathakia is considered suitable for snacking while enjoying an alchoholic drink. Gahwah is also Saddle Arabian, and is arguably one of the best coffees ever.

...and for the record, in their own ways both duckmagee and FanOfMostEverything totally called it. :raritywink:

Chapter 8: Rituals and Oaths.

Courtrooms always made Blueblood suspect that this was what religion would have looked like, if his aunts had allowed themselves to be worshipped. He also suspected that he wasn’t the only one.

At the front of the room was the judge’s bench. High and imposing, made from dark wood and darker stone. Its front was engraved with ornamental pillars that by tradition perfectly matched the design of the first altars in ancient Equestria, ages ago.

On the wall behind it hung the banner of Equestria, showing its princesses of sun and moon in their endless dance. To the right hung a massive embroidery of Celestia’s cutie mark; to the left hung one of Luna’s.

In front and to the right of the judge’s bench, lower than the judge’s seat, was the witness stand. There was no seat in the witness stand per se, though there was a low padded shelf for a witness to place their forelegs upon as they sat upon the floor. It thus encouraged a kneeling position; a suitable posture for a supplicant.

On the bench’s left side, the court scribe’s seat was tucked, easily forgotten. Surrounded by an intricate wooden mesh, few indeed would recognize the design of the scribe’s post as a holdover from the confessionals of the Graven Age.

In front of it all was the section of open floor simply called the well, monitored closely by humorless guard ponies who would tackle or worse anypony who sought to approach the bench, stand, or seat uninvited. Blueblood noted that, unlike Canterlot’s uniform black marble design, Ponyville had opted for a cheerful rosewood for the well’s floor.

At one time, of course, having the well made from a dark, stain proof material had been a necessity. But that had been aeons ago. Personally, Blueblood preferred Ponyville’s choice of décor.

Bordering the well were the wood-and-stone tables of the defense and the prosecution, also made in the same traditional design as the bench. To the right was the jury box, empty. Today was a hearing, after all, not a trial.

Behind the barristers as they faced the judge was an ornate wooden fence of the same rosewood as the floor. And beyond that, even as within the jury box, were the hardwood pews of the spectators. But while the jury box was empty, the spectator pews were full, their rosewood seats crammed to capacity with ponies of every color and tribe.

Almost all of them were from Ponyville, including Filthy’s widow and daughter, each with their own struggles etched across face and heart. But there were a few exceptions. A hoofful of Filthy’s business associates were in attendance, for example, as were a few of Canterlot’s high society ponies.

Also present were the press ponies who, good as Blueblood’s word, filled the second pews. Scribbling frantically, occasionally taking a photo with their magical cameras, capturing fleeting moments in images of light. Meanwhile, the ponies of Ponyville, every one of them, had made it abundantly clear that they supported the accused with all their hearts.

Until recently, much of the courtroom’s right wall had been taken up by a replica of the stained glass window in Canterlot Palace which showed Luna’s defeat at her sister’s hooves. After Luna’s first Nightmare Night, however, it had been quietly replaced with a stained glass mural of Luna’s emancipation from Nightmare Moon, and her joyful return to her proper place as Princess of Night. Not due to any royal mandate, it seemed, but simply because the Ponyville ponies loved her and didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

Taking all this into careful consideration, Blueblood had come to a decision. He’d decided that he liked Ponyville. Very much.

Unfortunately, at the moment it was all he could do to maintain any degree of neutrality in his countenance. Normally he would at least have smiled and nodded at the press as their cameras went off again and again at his emerging from the judge’s chambers, and at least acknowledged the flood of questions they’d greeted him with as soon as he’d opened the courtroom door.

But not today. Not now.

He didn’t need to look to the prosecution’s table to know that Janus Serpentine was smirking contentedly as he prepared his briefs. If his own carefully controlled expression hadn’t given the game away, the court defender’s stricken look as the poor git shuffled hastily through unprepared briefs certainly had.

Damn it all to Tartarus, he thought.

He’d been so certain. They both had. And, to her credit, the judge had listened patiently to every argument and every cited reference and example that he and Sour Sweet had assembled the previous night.

And then, she’d just sat back and shaken her ancient head, and cast all their hopes into the waters.

I appreciate the time and effort that you’ve obviously put into your preparations, Her Ladyship had said, especially in light of the limited time you’ve had.

Then, with a slight smile, she added, I also appreciate the courtesy you’ve shown in having your manes styled into the proper peruke for your anticipated roles in court. Well done.

Then, she’d sighed.

Unfortunately, it remains that you have no legal experience in a court of criminal law, she’d said, and the gravity of this case is such that we have not seen for many years, and hopefully shall never see again.

As they both opened their mouths, the judge had raised a hoof, saying, I do appreciate your position, and I am truly sorry. But I simply cannot allow you, with no training or experience in criminal law, to defend a pony in a murder trial. Or, by extension, its pre-trial hearing. Even if you happen to have a law student to assist you. Nor are you qualified to assist in her defense, outside of the most rudimentary aid. It would be a violation of every legal standard there is.

Giving Blueblood a stern look over her glasses, she had continued, In recognition of your standing within pony society, and the unusual circumstances of this particular hearing, for today only I’m going to allow you to sit with counsel for the defense. And, for today’s hearing only, I’ll allow you to grant them access to whatever written preparations you have made. However, please be advised that should you attempt to take undue advantage of this courtesy, I will have little choice but to hold you in full contempt.

And then, just as they’d turned to go, Oh, and one more thing.

Looking at the object Sour Sweet wore at her waist, she’d added, You should probably be aware, young lady: bullwhips are not allowed in the courtroom.

Miraculously, Sour Sweet had been able to hold her tongue until they were in an outer hallway before fully venting her spleen. Which, as Blueblood thought of it, was probably what had actually tipped the ponies in the courtroom off in the first place. She hadn’t exactly been quiet.

But now, he simply sat in his designated place, his mane returned to its normal perfection. Sat, fumed, and tried to think while waiting for the hearing to begin. Next to him, Miss Rarity’s designated barrister was fumbling frantically through a variety of files, trying to prepare for the hearing in the short time remaining. And on the lawyer’s far side, Rarity simply sat, her head in her hooves.

And through it all, Blueblood struggled to find the calm he needed.

So many other ponies had come forward in different ways, to help Miss Rarity however they could. Her friends were there, supporting her and her sister with their presence. A pair of musicians had managed to raise nearly a thousand bits for her bail in a single day (Miss Rarity had asked it be donated to charity). Even Diamond Tiara – the daughter of the bloody deceased – was offering her support!

Auntie sent me here for a reason, he thought, again and again. I’ve only to figure it out. There’s a way I can help. There has to be. Think, damn you – think!

But in his heart, he knew that there didn’t have to be. After all, his aunt had certainly been wrong before. And even the most predictable-looking pattern could be undone by free will. Such as the free will of Judge Knotwork in refusing his request. Or that of Fallacy Brief, the pony next to him, in neglecting his duty as a defender so completely.

Idiot.

Blueblood snorted, his eyes drifting back towards his Aunt Luna’s mural. This was accomplishing nothing. There was a solution, whether it was something Auntie had sensed or not. And if anypony could find it, he could. There was always a way.

Ignoring the sounds of fumbling papers next to him, the prince closed his eyes and again attempted to clear his mind, still without success.

Sitting contentedly at the other table, his peruke-styled mane and tail silver with age, Janus Serpentine was quietly conversing with his assistant, doubtless going over a few last minute details. Blueblood sighed. At least the old devil had the decency to refrain from openly gloating.

At that moment, the door behind the judge’s bench opened, and the judge quietly entered the room.

“The court will now rise for Her Ladyship, the Right Honourable Judge Knotwork.”

At the bailiff’s words, there was a simultaneous hushing of the crowd and series of creaking wooden sounds as the crowd rose to their hooves.

“In this, the hearing to determine possible cause for trial in the case of the Crown vs. Rarity of Ponyville,” he recited, “in this Court of Ponyville, under the eternal protection of the princesses Celestia and Luna, let all assembled herein remember that speech is prohibited save when asked for by the court. That when speech is asked for, only truth is sought. And that when truth is sought in the names of Night and Day, any who seek to hinder their eternal gaze do so at their peril.”

Taking her own seat, the elderly pegasus nodded to the assembly, her judicial mane falling in ornate curls to either side of her face.

“You may be seated,” she said.

There was another chorus of creaking and shuffling sounds as everypony sat again. The judge looked over some papers for a moment. Then, taking a breath, she began the ancient ritual of law, addressing the defense’s table.

“Who here shall speak for the accused?”

Fallacy Brief stood a little too quickly and gave a nervous bow.

“I have that honour, My Lady,” he said.

“And is the accused here this day?”

“Yea, by my fay, she is, My Lady,” Fallacy intoned. Motioning for Rarity to rise, he continued, “She stands before you now.”

The judge nodded. “Very well. Let the accused please state their rightful name.”

The unicorn mare bowed. “Rarity, My Lady.”

“And do you swear upon the sanctity of your soul that you are the pony who stands accused this day?”

Rarity lowered her head. “Yea, by my fay, My Lady, I do.”

“Very well.” As Rarity and Fallacy sat, the judge turned to the prosecution’s table. “And who here shall speak for the Crowns?”

Janus Serpentine stood with an easy grace.

“I have that honour, My Lady,” he said.

“And do you swear upon the sanctity of your soul that you believe there to be just cause for this pony to face trial?”

“Yea, by my fay, My Lady, I do.”

“And are you prepared to present this cause?”

“Yea, by my fay, My Lady, I am.”

“Very well.” Adjusting her glasses, Judge Knotwork said, “Speaker for the Crowns, you may approach and present your argument.”

Janus bowed. “Thank you, My Lady.” Then, moving into the well, he began his address.

“My Lady, today the Crowns will demonstrate that probable cause exists for the trial of Miss Rarity for the murder of Mister Filthy Rich,” he said. “We will show that the motive for the alleged murder was rejected love. And that the rejected mare, the murderer, was Miss Rarity of Ponyville.

“The Crowns will produce evidence that Miss Rarity and Mister Rich had dated after graduation, years ago. But while he had put the past behind him, she never did. Recently, they had been seeing a great deal of each other late at night, initially as part of planning the Ponyville Museum of Fine Arts. And we will show that, as time went on, it became something more. And when Mister Rich determined to call it off before it went any further, being rejected for a second time was more than she could bear.

“Pursuant to this, the Crowns will show spectral evidence demonstrating that Mister Rich was killed, by a mare, in a wing of that very museum. A mare he held in high esteem, showing that old flames were being rekindled. ”

“The court reminds counsel that spectral evidence will not be admissible during trial,” Judge Knotwork interrupted.

“I am aware, My Lady, thank you,” Janus replied with a slight bow. “The Crowns are also in possession of physical evidence, but seek to use the art of optography to demonstrate the need for trial, being mindful of the court’s time.”

The old pegasus nodded. “Very well, you may proceed.”

“Thank you, My Lady. To continue, past events have shown that, in periods of extreme emotion, the accused is capable of powerful magical acts, empowered by her passions. And on the night of the murder, she did so again.

“Furious and hurt at his breaking off their affair, Miss Rarity killed the stallion she had been carrying a torch for throughout her life. Her overpowering love and rage and pain all combined, boosting her normally minor telekinetic ability into a force capable of ending a pony’s life. With the power of her horn and her broken heart, she magically thrust a sewing weight into his barrel with the force of an arrow fired from a composite bow.

“Miss Rarity has no knowledge of law, My Lady, and no previous experience in crime. Thus, she didn’t understand how easily the crime might be traced to her. All she knew was that she had killed him. And so, realizing what she had done… she panicked. She fled the scene, disposing of the rest of the sewing weight set to hide the evidence as best she could.

“In short, My Lady, the Crowns acknowledge that this was not a crime of cold premeditation, but of passion. However, the means of the crime was magic. And, as we all know, magic is ultimately a matter of symbolism, will, and intent… strengthened in this case through emotional power.

“The Crowns therefore hold that, at least at that moment, the killing of Filthy Rich was undeniably the intent. And, because of that criminal intent – no matter how fleeting it may have been – the only possible charge is murder. A murder charge which the Crowns will demonstrate within reason to be worthy of trial.”

Giving a small bow to the bench, he finished with, “Thank you, My Lady.” And, turning, walked with victorious dignity back to the prosecution’s table.

Judge Knotwork glanced again to the defense’s table. “Speaker for the Accused, do you have just cause that this matter should not go to trial?”

“Yea, by my fay, My Lady, I do.” the defense pony replied.

“And are you prepared to present this cause?”

“Yea, by my—” as he spoke, a cascade of loose papers fell from the folder Fallacy Brief held. Fumbling, he gave a vain attempt to catch them, succeeding only in scattering them further as they fell.

The crowd gasped.

The judge frowned.

Janus Serpentine winced.

Blueblood looked upwards to the invisible stars in a silent plea for patience.

“Young stallion,” a still-frowning judge said, breaking from ritual, “Would you like a moment more to prepare?”

“Yea—I mean, yes, please, My Lady,” he managed.

“I trust the Crowns have no objection?”

Janus stood. “The Crowns have no objection, My Lady.”

“Very well.” Then, leaning forward slightly, the judge added, “I will give you five minutes to get your affairs in order, Mister Brief, and you may approach the bench enough to gather your things. I will also remind you of the enormity of these proceedings, and urge you to better remember your obligations to your client.”

His orange face turning greenish as he gathered the papers from the floor, the young barrister nodded. “Yes, My Lady. Thank you, My Lady.”

“Recess for five minutes.”

Returning quickly with his shuffled notes, Fallacy began quickly trying to sort through them when a dark grey hoof slammed a paper he’d missed onto the table before him. Looking up, he saw the visage of Janus Serpentine, seething.

“Tha—”

“Don’t you dare thank me!” the older barrister hissed through gritted teeth. “This is the hearing for the trial of the century, and you’re turning it into a farce! Now, get it together!”

The rest of the hearing, though more dignified, hadn’t fared much better.

Once proceedings had started again, Fallacy’s nerves had been so shattered that he could hardly find his way through his own notes. Rolling his eyes, Blueblood had held out to him the opening arguments that he and Sour Sweet had prepared together. The young stallion had managed to get through it, but he’d read it with presence of a limp dishrag caught in the act of shoplifting. Hardly a persuasive performance.

Then, there had been the evidence itself.

First, there had been a guard from the Canterlot palace, swearing under oath that during preparations for the Princess Summit, he had seen Rarity produce frost from her horn to save the life of Spike the Dragon, extinguishing a large blaze of magical fire almost instantly. It would have been even more devastating if Janus had called one of Miss Rarity’s fellow Elements, of course; even Princess Twilight herself. But that would also have been cruel, and begrudgingly, Blueblood had to admit that the old boy at least had class.

Then, the Crowns had presented a note that Filthy had written to Miss Rarity, allegedly proving both the affair and its abrupt end at Filthy’s insistence. It had been passed directly to the judge, and Blueblood hadn’t been allowed to approach and see it himself. But psychometry had apparently confirmed that Filthy had written it shortly before his death. It was found in his pocket, undelivered.

Psychometry had also confirmed, according to the Crown’s experts, that the only magical activity in the museum for at least a week had been Rarity’s.

And as for the sewing weight, being the murder weapon had of course overridden all impressions upon it aside from his moment of death. Thus, a simple object read couldn’t prove Rarity’s association with the sewing weight per se. But with the only telekinesis in the place being hers, there had seemed little doubt. And the singes left upon the silver object had left little doubt as to the depth of passion that had propelled it so.

Then had come the spectral evidence.

Optography had always been a vague art, and thus never admissible in and of itself in court. An image pulled from the eye of a dead creature offered no colors for identification, and was subject to the perceptions of the deceased rather than any objective standard. But, it could be enough to show just cause for a trial.

The image that had been shown before the court (amidst many gasps of shock from onlookers) was, quite simply, the most magnificent mare that Blueblood had ever seen. The image had been head-on, though obscured as though she were standing in a thin cloud. But there could be no doubt that a mare of great beauty, one who Filthy had plainly adored, had been the last thing he had seen before death.

And now, just when Blueblood thought it couldn’t get any worse:

“And for the final witness, the Crowns call… Miss Rarity of Ponyville.”

Object, Blueblood thought furiously. Object, object, object…

But Speaker for the Accused was silent as Rarity took the stand, swearing upon the sanctity of her soul that she would speak only the truth, and omit nothing to the best of her ability.

Mercifully, old Janus kept it short. He had her confirm what she had already mentioned to both Blueblood and the arresting officers: that she and Filthy had dated after high school. And that in recent months, they had been spending long hours alone together in the fledgling museum, late at night.

When it was his turn to question her, Fallacy also kept it short.

“Miss Rarity, did you kill Filthy Rich?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Did you hate him?”

“No!”

“Did you love him?”

Rarity shook her head. “No more than anypony else did who met him. He was a dear friend. Nothing more.”

“Is there any oath you would not be prepared to take, magical or otherwise, that you did not kill him?”

“No.”

Judge Knotwork frowned. “The court reminds Speaker for the Accused that magical oaths are not allowed in court.”

“Thank you, My Lady, I am aware.” Turning to Rarity, he asked, “Were you aware of that when you answered my question?”

“No.”

Her barrister nodded. “No further questions, My Lady.”

The judge nodded. “Thank you, Speaker. Miss Rarity, you may step down.”

Yet, Rarity remained in her kneeling position, her head bowed, eyes closed.

“Miss Rarity, I said you may step down.”

The mare swallowed. She opened her eyes, still looking down, then turned her gaze outward to the ponies assembled there.

“No,” she said.

Judge Knotwork glared at her through slitted eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

Rarity swallowed again. “With respect, My Lady, I said no.”

“Miss Rarity, the court warns you—”

But Rarity ignored her. She stood, raising her trembling voice to be heard across the murmurs of the courtroom.

“There is someone else on trial today,” she said as the crowd’s voices quieted. “Someone who cannot defend himself. Someone whose name should be remembered with the respect that he deserves.

“Filthy Rich was a good stallion, and a beloved friend. But more than that, he was a stallion of morality and honor. He loved his family, and he was devoted to them.”

Skewering the Speaker for the Crowns with her glare, she went on, “The very idea that he would have involved himself in anything so sordid as has been intimated within these walls is so outrageous as to be practically obscene. And to utter such obvious lies in the presence of his family is to cross the line into true obscenity.”

She swallowed then, and looked at the judge again.

“That’s all I had to say, My Lady.”

As the judge nodded and gestured for the young mare to exit the witness stand, Blueblood could only stare.

“I’m a fool,” he heard himself whisper.

As Rarity walked back to her seat at the defense table, Blueblood again stood to address the bench.

“My Lady!”

Judge Knotwork barely bothered to wave the unicorn’s concerns away. “Court has already heard you, Your Grace. Your motion has been denied. Whatever else you may have can wait until its appropriate time.”

“But—”

“Let the record show that Miss Rarity shall be later admonished for her contempt of court. Has the defense anything to add?”

Standing, the defense council barely gave Rarity a glance as she sat. “Not at this time, My Lady,”

“Very well,” the ancient pegasus nodded. “Upon examination of the evidence presented, I hereby decree that circumstances reasonably demand that the accused shall be brought to trial. Until that time, the accused is to remain on her own recognizance under the bond of Princess Twilight Sparkle, who shall herself answer for any misdeeds by the accused between now and the conclusion of the aforementioned trial… including but not limited to flight to avoid prosecution.”

Blueblood’s eyes widened, his voice a hoarse whisper. “No…”

“This hearing is hereby concluded,” the judge intoned with a sharp rap of her gavel. “Jury selection to begin in a week’s time at 10am.”

Judge Knotwork rose.

“All rise,” the bailiff called.

The judge began slowly making her way to the room’s rear exit.

All around him, Blueblood could see the murmuring crowd of ponies rising, dispersing, meandering through the court’s various exits. The lawyers still sitting, organizing their briefs. On her attorney’s other side he could make out Rarity’s azure mane, bowing under the weight of her fate as her friends rushed to her side, her hope already surrendered to the inevitable.

And really, who could blame her? What evidence there was, was fatally against her. In everyone else’s mind, the trial would only be a formality. A tragic ending to a unicorn’s life spent reaching too far, too greedily. Nopony but her friends believed her innocence now.

Her friends… and him.

Soon, the room would be emptied. And he, himself, would be locked out from any chance to render aid.

It was one of those rare moments when everything around him snapped into perfect focus. Blueblood could see the judge’s deliberate, systematic indifference. Normally, she was genuinely motivated by a desire to see justice done. At the same time, she was also driven by a reverence for the law.

But it would be ritual that would guide her now, not compassion. She admired the Mane Six. She desperately wanted Rarity to be innocent, and she knew that desire would bias her. So, she would count upon the rites of court to insulate her from any errors of the heart. She would be so desperately cold in her rulings as to be reptilian.

Looking away from the judge, Blueblood could see the defense attorney’s resignation. His guiding star was the justice system, and that system had caught a hero who had fallen from glory. Oh, he’d be better prepared for the trial itself, make no mistake. But to him, the trial would just be a matter of going through the necessary motions. It was as good as done.

And, Blueblood saw Janus’ unconscious dismissal of Rarity as really being a pony, or even a living being. For all that Janus considered himself to be a pony of high ethics and morality, in the end only the game mattered. The strategies to be played out, the moves to be made. And Rarity’s defense was simply an obstacle between Janus and another perfect game played within the courtroom.

The crowd of ponies behind him were numb, for the moment. But Blueblood could see their adoration of the hero before them poised, ready to turn to resentment, even hate. Guided by their faith in their betters, they would lash out as, across the trial’s duration, Rarity’s pedestal inevitably crumbled into ruin.

Desperately, Blueblood looked from the prosecuting pony to the judge and back again. Janus would insist on the ultimate punishment as a matter of course. And, for Rarity’s perceived betrayal of the common faith, he would get it.

Blueblood stood.

There was no other option, and no time.

“Min blód sy hire blód!”

The crowd began to quiet into a puzzled buzz as both lawyers and magistrate stopped, the judge whipping around to stare at the prince.

“Min blód sy hire blód!” Blueblood cried, again and again. “Min blód sy hire blód!”

Seizing her gavel again, Knotwork struck the bench itself, plunging the room into near silence. The legal ponies continued to stare in shock, while the rest of the crowd, Rarity and Twilight included, could only look from one face to another in frank bewilderment.

The judge looked at Prince Blueblood with hard eyes. “Young stallion, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

But Blueblood stepped forward. “My Lady, in accordance to the laws of the First Realm, I claim the right of blódsihtan.”

At that, the prosecutor found his voice. “Objection!”

Blueblood whirled to face him. “On what ground?” he demanded.

“My Lady already concluded these hearings. The time for any fancy ideas before trial starts is past. If His Grace wants to—”

“According to the law, blódsihtan may be invoked at any time,” Blueblood replied.

“My Lady, this is preposterous!” Janus sputtered. “His Grace has a rudimentary understanding of law at best, and he’s showing his ignorance now!”

“My knowledge of law, or lack thereof, is irrelevant.”

“I disagree!” Turning to again face the bench, the older stallion went on, “My Lady, the tradition of blódsihtan is just a holdover from magistrate law. It hasn’t been invoked in over two hundred years. And even then it was antiquated, and summarily denied!”

“My Lady, blódsihtan is still law,” Blueblood pointed out. “It has never been stricken from the books,”

“Only as an oversight, because it’s so outdated!” Janus insisted. “And on that basis, precedent has been made for its immediate refusal. In the interest of the sanctity of this court, I therefore must insist that precedent be upheld today!”

Judge Knotwork narrowed her eyes dangerously at the prosecuting attorney. “You… insist?”

That cold anger was Blueblood’s opportunity, and he focused completely upon the ancient pegasus before him.

“My Lady,” he said urgently. “I acknowledge that, technically, everything that my learned colleague said is true. But I must ask the court: do you remember why the previous claim on blódsihtan was dismissed two centuries ago?”

“My Lady, that’s hardly relevant—!” the grey unicorn started.

“It’s because the claimant could not demonstrate a legal right of invocation,” Blueblood said over him. “A right which, during the First Realm…”

The wrinkled pegasus nodded slowly. “…was determined either by familial kinship, or by the claimant’s membership in a noble house which possessed rulership over the accused,” she finished for him.

The court prosecutor stared from Knotwork to Blueblood, and back again, becoming more aghast by the moment.

“My Lady, you can’t possibly be considering this!”

For his part, Blueblood kept his face as neutral as he could. He could see the war waging behind Judge Knotwork’s eyes. How, within her mind, would she resolve this new conflict?

The answer seemed obvious. Even inevitable. But he didn’t dare be certain until she spoke.

“Your Grace, you will please approach the bench.”

As the crowd murmured in confusion, Blueblood strode past the defense’s table and towards the judiciary seat, relief flooding through him.

The judge glowered down at him as he stood before her, waiting. From a drawer to her left, she pulled a small black square of cloth and placed it upon her mane. In response, Blueblood lowered his head, even as Janus’ expression became more and more stricken.

“As ye have blood in thy body, do ye hereby take on the mantle of blódgeótendes?” She intoned.

“Yea, by my fay,” Blueblood replied in the same solemn tone. “I do.”

“As ye have breath in thy body, shall ye be assuaged from this task?”

“Nay, by my fay, I shall not.”

“And, as ye have soul in thy heart, shall ye accept all burdens which are thy due?”

“Yea, by my fay, I shall.”

“Even to the last?”

“Yea, by my fay, I must,” Blueblood intoned. “Even had I a thousand souls, still would I swear them all to this task.”

“Very well.”

Raising her voice somewhat to address the court as a whole, the judge announced, “Let it be known this day that Blueblood, Prince of the Realm of Equestria and Nephew to the Thrones of Night and Day, hath laid claim to his right of blódsihtan in regard to this trial.

“Let it be further known,” she continued over the confused whispers of the crowd, “that as such, he hath full legal right to all witnesses, evidence, notes and records possessed by anyone involved with this court and its upcoming trial. Further, he hath the power of this court to interrogate, investigate, and bring all matters to bear dealing with the subject of this court, and the fate of its accused, Rarity. Only in punishment shall his hoof be stayed. By authority of sun, by authority of moon, and by authority of blood. So be it.”

As she brought down her gavel once more with grave finality, Blueblood smiled at the disbelieving unicorn next to him. “I trust that won’t be any problem?”

The prosecutor could only stare. “You can’t be serious! This is… My Lady, this is highly irregular—”

But the elderly pegasus shook her head, her expression grim.

“The law is clear. Prince Blueblood has laid claim to his rights, and we shall give him his due.”

Then, looking at the prince over her glasses, she added, “Even to the last.”

Prince Blueblood bowed. “Yes, My Lady. And thank you.”

The judge all but ripped the cloth from her mane and stuffed it back where it belonged, gratefully abandoning the rites the noblepony had invoked.

“Don’t thank me, Your Grace,” she said. “Believe me, I would spare you this mistake if I could.”

Then, looking out at the murmuring crowd, she pronounced in a louder voice, “These proceedings are adjourned.”

The judge rapped her gavel smartly, then turned and left the courtroom to erupt into pandemonium.

Meanwhile, Rarity turned back to her friends in pure bewilderment.

“Twilight, darling… what just happened?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight answered.

Craning her neck, she saw that Blueblood was already pushing his way through the throngs to a side exit, a young pink-and-blue maned mare close behind him. The legal ponies were also fleeing the newsponies who were calling their names, ignoring everything but their own escape.

“But from what I gather,” Twilight concluded, “Blue just invoked a very old and rare law. And I just happen to have an extensive library. Come on.”

Chapter 9: Laws and Revelations.

“Thanks for the help, Rainbow Dash,” Spike said as he descended the stairs.

“No problem,” Rainbow grinned as she glided down above him. “You want all the windows closed tight tonight. A sudden rain with this little notice, iiiiit’s not gonna be gentle.”

Meanwhile, among the shelves of tomes and scrolls in Twilight’s reference library, another discussion was going on.

“You sure y’oughtta be here for this, sugar cube?” Applejack asked Diamond Tiara. “I mean, I get it, but…”

The young mare nodded as the Cutie Mark Crusaders surrounded her in support.

“Dad was the kind of stallion who would laugh at funerals,” she sighed. “It always drove Mom nuts. But it wasn’t out of disrespect, that’s what she never got. He was remembering the good times, celebrating the life of the pony being buried. And now…”

She shook her head, her voice brittle. “I can’t cry any more. I ran out. But I know he wouldn’t have wanted any of this. The trial, the funeral, all of this is so wrong, and… and I need to see something being done right by him. I need to be here.

“And anyway,” she added with a sigh, “I don’t have anyplace else to go but home.”

“Which reminds me,” she said, turning to Pinkie with huge eyes. “Miss Pie? When this is all over, my dad needs a wake. A real one. A fun one. I don’t care if my mom hates it, it needs to happen. I… I know you didn’t know him super well, but…”

In an instant, Pinkie was hugging her, along with the three friends who had also suddenly embraced her.

“I promise,” she said.

Moments later, as Spike and Rainbow were rejoining their friends, Twilight paused her search to poke her head from around the corner of a stack of books. There, keeping company with his pony friends, was Discord. Humming to himself, happily attaching and detaching his lion’s paw and eagle claw from his elbows.

“You know, Discord, you’re welcome to help out,” she said. “Any time would be fine.”

Discord cocked an eyebrow at her. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” she said, waving a hoof for emphasis. “Every time you’re involved with a problem – unless you caused the problem, of course – you end up doing something that supplies some secret or hint that just happens to help us find what we need. And we never get to piece it together until later!”

“Do I, indeed,” the draconequus said, looking more amused by the second.

“Yes,” she nodded emphatically. “You do. So, this time, with all that’s at stake, I’m asking you to just put the Fool card stuff aside. Just tell us, this once, what we’re looking for. Or where it is. Or whatever. No games, no tricks, just answers.”

Discord sighed, giving her a sour look.

“I think you may be disappointed, Twilight,” he said. “I’m not some rogue member of a nigh-omniscient race that transcends time or anything. I just play one on TV.”

“What’s teevee?” Sweetie asked, looking up at him. “Is it like a stage?”

“Kind of,” Discord shrugged. “But it’s one you never outgrow.”

“See?” Twilight accused. “That! That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about! That may have sounded like some offhoof word salad, but I know an inside joke when I hear one! You have access to insights the rest of us don’t, however random! Knowledge of worlds undreamed of! Universes unexplored!”

Darting forward to press her muzzle against Discord’s, eyes locked, she vowed in a low voice, “And one day, your knowledge will be harnessed!”

For a moment, she continued to stare into his startled eyes with the determination of an angry sphinx, thunder rolling low in the distance. Then, as suddenly as she had arisen, she veered away on violet wings.

“In the meantime,” she concluded as she began searching the shelves, “If you’re not going to help, please try not to be a distraction. I have a book to find.”

Discord rolled his eyes. “Oh, goo-dee.”

Unfortunately, while he was rolling his eyes they happened to bounce and spin under a nearby book shelf, prompting Twilight to shudder slightly and move her search to a different set of stacks across the room. And while Discord was conjuring a broom to fish them out again and Pinkie and the younger mares were giving a chorus of Eeeeewwwww!, he was left vulnerable to more questions.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Rainbow Dash said, hovering over the Lord of Chaos. “Discord, you know whole a bunch of stuff, right?”

Discord continued blindly knocking his broomstick around under the shelf. “That is what nigh-omniscient means, Rainbow Dash, and I believe we just covered that. Oh, more dust bunnies. Excuse me, little ones…”

“Well, okay, why not just cut to the chase?” the blue pegasus said.

Meanwhile, small, long-eared balls of dust hopped out from where Discord searched and scattered across the room, eliciting some giggles from the foals, Pinkie Pie, and Fluttershy.

“Do you know what happened?” Rainbow demanded. “I mean, if you do, just tell us who did it!”

Fluttershy looked upwards with a gentle, “Oh, dear.” Behind her, Spike suddenly belched a small burst of greenfire, deftly catching the scroll case it produced.

As for Discord, the draconequus had turned to consider Rainbow with his empty sockets as she shuddered away, tapping his chin slightly while he contact juggled his newfound eyes.

“Well,” he grinned, “I guess that depends on which who-did-it you’re talking about.”

“What? What’s that supposed to—”

“Don’t.”

This last was from Twilight, turning to face them again with an ancient and massive tome held in her violet aura.

“Just… don’t. Trust me on this one, Rainbow,” she said as she settled the book on a reading podium. “Just let it go.”

“But…”

“Just let it go.”

Rainbow Dash started to object further, then caught the look of absurd innocence that Discord was giving her, his eyes suddenly restored.

“Yyyyyeah, okay,” she said slowly, eyeing the draconequus suspiciously.

As if to dispel all doubt, a golden halo suddenly appeared above Discord’s head.

Rainbow Dash flew away from him, perching on top of one of the far bookcases, not catching the wink that Discord gave Fluttershy. Then, while Fluttershy giggled some more and Pinkie Pie and the fillies exchanged whispers, Twilight held up a small, charred object.

“Okay. So, anyway. This is the murder weapon,” Twilight said quietly. “Not to be too morose, but it was found in Filthy’s body.”

All giggling and whispering stopped. Rarity winced as if in pain. Diamond Tiara paled, and Sweetie squeezed her hoof tighter.

“Yeah, I know. And I’m sorry,” Twilight said in the same soft voice. “But Blueblood just sent it over with a note, asking if anyone here could identify what it was. The prosecution says it’s a sewing weight. Does anypony have any other ideas?”

Reluctantly, Rarity examined the offensive thing more closely.

“Well, I imagine you could use it as one,” she said at last. “Smaller than I would prefer, though its being silver gives it enough weight, I suppose. Its shape would be an odd choice, however. Something this oblong would tip and roll far too easily.”

“May I see?” Discord asked.

Rarity looked at the draconequus with surprise. “Oh! Well, of course.”

Taking it in his eagle claw, Discord studied the blackened silver object, turning it this way and that.

“Hm. About the size and shape of a large thimble, actually. Only it’s solid, not hollowed out. Interesting.”

Pinkie Pie cocked her head. “What’s a thimble?”

“It’s um…” The draconequus studied the ceiling, suddenly uncomfortable, then tossed the object back to Twilight. “It’s what you give a girl when you really like her. Like, say, when she’s helped you find your shadow.”

Applejack considered this, then whispered to Fluttershy, “So, Discord ever give ya a thimble?”

Looking down, Fluttershy blushed happily.

Applejack smiled. “Attagirl.”

“Okay, so we know that it might be a sewing weight, but probably isn’t, due to its impracticality,” Twilight nodded, leafing through her tome as she spoke. “Does anypony know what it is?”

Silence.

“Great,” Twilight sighed. “Well, I think I found that ancient law that Blue invoked. Uh,” she looked again at Sweetie Belle and Diamond Tiara. “Are you sure you want to be here for this?”

Diamond nodded.

“He was my father,” she said. “I need to be part of this.”

Twilight sighed. “Okay, if you’re sure.” Then, she turned her attention fully to the situation at hoof.

“Blódsihtan is a law that’s held over from the First Realm,” Twilight explained. “First Realm is a little bit of a misnomer, it actually lasted lots longer than the Graven Age, which isn’t saying much. Time was still pretty soft, but the Graven Age is usually estimated to have lasted an equivalent of between two and ten years, relatively speaking.

“Of course,” she mused, “technically it would be more accurate if they were both called periods, even though they were both significant as major points of history separated by dramatic change. After all, there was a consistent calendar by the time the First Realm started. In fact, Star Swirl the Bearded and Stygian once co-authored a paper suggesting...”

Applejack cleared her throat slightly. “Um, Twilight?”

“Oh! Right! Anyway, the point is that during the First Realm, much like the Graven Age, it was just assumed that all ponies, everywhere, were the subjects of Luna and Celestia. Whether they, um, wanted to be or not.”

Clearing her throat, she continued, “H-Hmm! Anyway. It was right after the Graven Age, so the Sisters had just abolished the priest class. But they were still keeping mostly hooves-off regarding laws, only ruling over the most major of problems. Meanwhile, the former priests had founded the first noble houses, and were still trying to rule Equestria themselves as much as possible.

“It was a pretty barbaric time,” she went on. “And magistrate law was just one example. The magistrates were mostly from the nobility. So you can imagine the power they wielded in the Two Sisters’ name, and how hard it could be to get justice if you were a common pony.”

Applejack rolled her eyes. “Well, that figgers.”

“The magistrates were like a combination of town mayor, judge, and jury,” Twilight went on. “Ponies could be whipped on the spot for contempt of court, or in some circumstances even tortured. Plus, short of direct puppeteering, there were almost no limits on what magic could be used on accused ponies to make a magistrate’s case. And you had to confess to be found guilty, but if they accused someone and couldn’t get a confession, the magistrate suffered whatever penalty the accused would have. So, they had incentive to get you to confess. By, um, any means.”

All her friends stared.

“That’s… messed up,” Rainbow Dash said at last.

“Yeah, well,” Twilight shrugged. “There were some checks and balances to it, but long story short, the First Realm ended when Luna found out how the courts actually worked, and what nobleponies were doing in her and Celestia’s names.”

She grinned, adding, “No records have survived on exactly what she said or did, but I think we can all imagine.”

While the rest of the ponies chuckled, she went on, “Then she and Celestia started overhauling the legal system and getting more involved with things, which in turn led to the First Enlightened Age.”

Looking back to her tome, the alicorn continued, “There are a few holdover laws here and there, but for the most part the laws from the First Realm were either softened or completely purged. Blódsihtan is one of the exceptions. From what I can tell, it was originally intended as one of those checks against the magistrate’s power, so… I guess that might be why they kept it at the time?

“But once the court swears them in, the blódgeótendes has full, unfettered access to everything that the court knows, which in modern court means files from both defense and prosecution. They can also conduct their own investigations however they see fit with a full magistrate’s authority, which nowadays I guess means Blue has a lawyer’s access with a police commissioner’s…? Hm.”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I’m not done with my legal studies yet. Anyway, blódsihtan translates from Old Ponish to ‘the flowing of blood,’ obviously, and blódgeótendes to ‘the shedder of blood.’ So, his initial declaration translates roughly to ‘my blood is her blood,’ or ‘we are of the same blood,’ depending on context.”

Seeing her friends’ puzzlement, she clarified, “The feminine form used to also be both neutral gender and plural, except for ships. Old Ponish had some funny rules.”

She shook her mane again, diving deeper into the book.

“So, let’s see,” she muttered to herself. “…can be invoked at any time… only by family or by those who rule and protect by right of birth… full cooperation… nothing new… nothing new… oh, the defendant can’t be tortured into confessing once it’s invoked, that’s nice…”

Twilight turned the page, then paled, wide eyes staring at what she had found.

“Twi?” Applejack asked uncertainly. “Honey, what is it?”

“Oh, dear,” Fluttershy whispered. “This can’t be good.”

Reluctantly, Twilight looked up again.

“The obligations of the blódgeótendes are… really strict,” she said. “And there are a lot of them. Mostly dealing with loyalty to law and crowns, no lying, no falsifying evidence, that kind of thing.

“But in invoking blódsihtan, it looks like Blue took onto himself the magistrate’s burden of proof. And, I think he’s expected to take on all investigations and present all arguments without aid.

“But his last obligation is in the event of his failure to prove the accused’s innocence. If he can’t prove that Rarity didn’t do it, then he’s vowed to share her sentence.”

Rarity took an astonished step towards Twilight. “What?!? But… but I’ve been accused of sapientcide! Why, he’d spend years in the palace dungeons, perhaps decades!”

For a moment, the room was silent. Then, Applejack stepped forward, putting a hoof on her friend’s withers.

“Sugarcube,” she said softly, “Y’all ain’t accused of sapientcide. You’re accused a’murder. An’ while I ain’t sure what the difference is, exactly…”

“The difference is that murder is deliberate, or at least involving actions showing a degree of premeditation,” Twilight said. “It’s a matter of criminal intent. That’s why it’s so rare today. The sentence for murder used to be death, but in the First Enlightened Age they abolished all executions.”

“So what is it now?” Rainbow demanded.

Twilight took a deep breath.

“The penalty for murder is imprisonment in Tartarus,” she said.

Eyes down, she closed the book, her voice faded to a whisper.

“Forever.”

For an instant, Rarity simply stared at Twilight. Then, she looked around herself at her friends in mutually growing horror.

Suddenly, all four foals rushed to her as one, hugging her fiercely. The sobs broke loose from her then, choking, refusing to be contained, as her friends and family came together around her, holding her in a tight embrace until all their tears had run their course.

Author's Note

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“Just… don’t. Trust me on this one, Rainbow. Just let it go.”

When reading the interactions betwixt Twilight and Discord, please remember that in this verse, Twilight never went to Gaia / the human world. Sunset had fled through a different mirror, and her shenanigans led to a very different adventure for Twilight, indeed.

That being said, Stygian’s Lament exists in both of the Sister Timelines, and thus Star Swirl the Bearded is historically more known to have been associated with Stygian here than in the main canon.

(The chapter linked to above for Stygian’s Lament takes place in a different timeline. But the story of Stygian and the Pillars, and the tradition that has followed since, are identical in both worlds.)

Chapter 10: Blueblood's Confession.

“It-means-WHAT?!?”

Blueblood had preferred to answer no questions on the ride home, his mind deeply preoccupied. And Sour Sweet, bless her, had respected his wishes. But once they had arrived safely home, he had of course been asked again just exactly what the deuce had happened in the courtroom between himself and the judge.

His phrasing, of course. Not hers.

Sour Sweet’s exact choice of both phraseology and tone had naturally intrigued the ladies as well. And after a brief explanation, Sour Sweet had taken exception to his impromptu solution to the problem at hoof. And, she had felt it necessary to express herself accordingly. Quite understandable, really.

Still, Blueblood had some concerns for the lady. After all, her normally yellow face was beginning to change colour, more and more approaching the orange tint of her freckles. Although, as he thought of it, her coat was normally more of a pale gold.

And they were positively adorable freckles, he had to privately admit. Like a dusting of cinnamon on sweet lemon, just inviting one to taste.

Of more immediate concern, however, was that that his accuser seemed to only be getting started. With some effort, Blueblood focused himself back upon her own philosophical retort to his handling of the matter.

“…self-righteous, arrogant, conceited, egotistical ass!” Sour Sweet was raging on. “Just exactly, what, in the name of anything and everything sacred, were you even fucking thinking?!?”

Akane raised an eyebrow to her lover. “Think we aughtta get involved?”

Hepzibah shook her dainty head. “Non. Miz Sour Sweet, she has ze way of zis sing, I think.”

Slowly, the green mare nodded. “Yeah. I’m… thinkin’ she does, actually. In fact, ain’t we gotta… thing… t’be gettin’ to ourselves?”

“Mes oui, we do indeed.”

But as the two departed, silently closing the door behind them, Sour Sweet seemed to only be gaining momentum.

“No, really, I’m genuinely curious!” she ranted, tears beginning to form. “Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you happen to be the head of an entire household! A fucking huge one! With foals! So, what do you think will happen to the ponies who live here, and their families, if something happens to you?!? Have you honestly no idea how many lives are reliant on your well-being, right now? Much less what it’s going to mean to us, losing you? You, you idiot! You self-righteous, conceited, egotistical, self-absorbed, short-sighted—!”

“Handsome,” Blueblood interjected.

Sour Sweet stared at him, seething, her contorted face deepening further from orange towards crimson.

“Well,” the prince offered, “I like to think that counts for something.”

“Will you at least try to take this seriously, you great bloody upper class twit?!?” she demanded. “You’re going to fucking TARTARUS!”

Blueblood gave a good-natured sigh.

“Would it help if I told you that I know who the murderer is?” he asked.

Sour Sweet froze, mouth open, hoof upraised. Her face gradually fading towards its normal lemony color, she slowly lowered her hoof. Closed her mouth.

“You… know who the murderer is?”

“Of course. I’m never wrong about these things, you know.”

Shaking, her face compressing into an expression of pain, Sour Sweet fell into a sitting position on the fine carpet. She sat for several seconds, her face buried in her hooves.

“Blue, I’m just curious,” she said at last, her voice slightly muffled. “Are you familiar with the term, ‘narcissist?’ Like, I don’t know, maybe you heard it go by once or twice? Even just in passing?”

Blue turned to a nearby mirror, contentedly adjusting his tie and mane. “Well, now. I’ll admit I do possess a few narcissistic traits. It’s difficult not to, with my abilities. But I will ask you to bear in mind certain mitigating circumstances.”

“Such as?”

“On me, they look good.”

Face still covered, Sour Sweet moaned.

“And I do know who our would-be elusive killer is,” Blueblood went on as he faced her again. “Truly. Which is rather crucial. Because as things stand now, the only way to gain an acquittal for Miss Rarity is to prove who really did it. Preferably, by getting them to confess. So, all I need now is to figure out how they killed him, and why.”

Still prone, Sour Sweet jerked her head up from her hooves and stared.

“Wat.”

“And to find that out, of course, I have to know everything the court knows. After that…”

“Wait,” Sour Sweet said, clutching her mane, “Wait. Wait. Waitwaitwaitwaitwait. Aren’t you doing this backwards? Shouldn’t you get the facts first? You know, that little thing that lawyers like to call evidence?”

Blueblood gave a dismissive wave. “Hardly necessary, my dear. After all, you know I’m never—”

“Aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!”

The stallion paused, genuinely concerned. “Why, Sour Sweet, whatever is the matter?”

For her part, Sour Sweet seemed to be choking on something, contorting from one shaking position to another as she struggled with whatever inner demons had possessed her. It took her several minutes to recover properly, during which Blueblood patiently waited, ready to offer whatever assistance he could.

Eventually, her personal storm had passed, and she was able to speak again.

“Are… you even… feathering… serious…?”

He blinked, one ear going sideways.

“No, really,” Sour Sweet managed. “You endanger yourself, put your entire family on the line, and, and you don’t… even…?”

Shaking her head to clear it, she tried again, her voice faint. “I mean, is this some weird ego thing? Invoking some millennia-old kill-crazy bylaw on yourself? ‘Cause, if it is, this is stupid. And you’re not stupid – unless maybe I’m suddenly a total idiot, which I am not ruling out, by the way – so, why would you do this? Just… just why?”

Silence. The summer wind could be heard outside the castle walls, a harbinger for the storm to come.

Finally, Blueblood spoke.

“I was perhaps ten when I discovered my power of perception,” he said. “In my younger days, I used it to help Aunt Celestia in court.”

Then, he sighed, looking down. “I was twelve when I turned it against her.”

Rising, Sour Sweet took an uncertain step forward, concerned by this sudden change. “Um, Blue, you don’t have to…”

But he waved her objection away. “No, no, you were quite right. I have put others at risk. Moreover, you’re involved in this more directly than almost anypony else, and quite publically. You have a right to truly understand why. So, please, hear me out.

“Anyway, I was twelve. We were quarreling, she and I, I forget about what. Nothing consequential, I’m sure. But I was angry. And, and so I…”

Ashamed, he turned away.

“I told her what I saw of her, in the cruelest way I possibly could,” he said. “Her guilt, and how it spurred her forward. How she’d plainly lashed out against someone she’d loved once, and was still punishing herself for it. The burdens of the years, before and behind her, and her fear of them. And more.

“Technically, everything I said was factual. But really, none of it was true. Rather, I twisted what I saw of her heart and what guided it, forging it into a weapon for my juvenile rage. I spared her nothing. I spoke in poniards, as the saying goes, and every word stabbed.

“Yet, throughout my disgraceful display, she simply stood there, and took it. And when I was done, she simply nodded and left. She didn’t even wipe away her tears. She just… left.”

He took in a ragged breath, then let it go, staring upwards.

“I immediately ran after her, of course. Calling her name, horrified by what I had done. But she had already taken to the sky in a streak of light.

“I was beside myself. I didn’t know what else to do, so I went to Cadence, begging for her help. Of course, I had to explain why Celestia had left in the first place…”

He gave a rueful chuckle.

“To say that Cadence was furious was an understatement. But she agreed to help, and the two of us scoured the skies, looking for our aunt.

“We never found her. No surprise, really. This is Celestia we’re talking about. She could have been literally anywhere. The sun set and the moon rose while we searched, but otherwise there was no sign of her. Even to this day, I have no idea where she went.

“But the next morning, there she was. Laughing at the courtiers’ jokes as always, planning out her calendar, hearing the concerns of her ponies, making her appearances. Perfectly poised, as though nothing had happened.

“So, at the end of court, I asked for an audience with her. Certainly, I’d forfeited any right to approach her otherwise through my own shameful behavior. But it was at day’s end, so there was only myself, Aunt Celestia, and Raven, who was still in training to become Auntie’s next major domo. I don’t know where Abacus was, but he was an old stallion by then and might have retired to bed early.

“I walked the long distance from entryway to throne, eyes on the carpet, my heart hammering the whole time. My things were packed. I couldn’t look at her, but I made myself speak.”

Head lowered by the burden of memory, Blueblood continued, “I… I told her that I didn’t deserve her forgiveness, but that I truly wanted her to know how sorry I was. I promised that I would go as far away as she wanted, anywhere she wished, if only she would try to forget the terrible things I’d said.

“And do you know what she did?”

Sour Sweet shook her head, no.

“She said, and I quote: ‘Oh, my poor child. After the years of neglect I’ve offered you? It’s myself I can’t forgive.’ And then she helped me stand up, gave me a hug, and told me that she loved me.”

Blueblood’s voice was unsteady as he went on, “She took me in after the rest of my family died, to keep me from being used as a pawn in someone else’s political games. She offered me her home and her family name, respected my privacy, and genuinely did her best by me. Even while her own heart was being re-broken every evening, every time she rose her sister’s moon into the sky.

“And then, when I stung her like a scorpion, she just embraced me more.”

He turned to face Sour Sweet again. And for all that his voice cracked, his eyes were quite dry, piercing as a fencer’s blade.

“Even if Miss Rarity were not who she was, I would be doing exactly as I am now!” he declared. “Even if she were not a friend of Celestia’s and Twilight’s both. Even if she were just some stranger, or even an avowed enemy, I would still do everything that was in my power to save her, no matter the cost!

“Because, at the end of the day, that magnificent lady who is my aunt asked me to.

“And I. Said. Yes.

“Yet, Miss Rarity is not an enemy,” he went on, pacing slightly as he spoke. “Nor is she even a stranger. Granted, she is not a mare who will ever call me friend. And for that, I have no one to blame but myself.

“But even with her only hope being the mercy of the court, even with having seen the one form of aid her princess could lend her discarded into complete irrelevancy, still she faced certain doom with her head and tail held high. Openly defying all before her so that she might defend the name of the dead…

“…all so that a mourning filly on the cusp of marehood would never need doubt her father’s integrity.”

Blueblood drew himself up, meeting Sour Sweet’s gaze with eyes like blue diamonds.

“I steadfastly refuse to fail them,” he pronounced. “Either of them. I shall not; such failure is not to be borne. Not my aunt, who did all she could for me, even in the face of my own cruelty. Nor Miss Rarity, who spoke this day with the dignity of a princess and the soul of a goddess. Indeed, I do not permit failure!

“Not because I imagine being in some kind of debt for having been a child in need, nor even due to the injustices I have inflicted upon them both in the past.

“Rather, I shall do this simply because it is the very least that hearts so noble truly deserve. To do anything less would be to betray both them and myself. And by whatever powers there may be, I shall. Not. Fail.”

In the distance, thunder gently rolled.

With gritted teeth, Sour Sweet looked at the window, the floor, anyplace but at Blueblood.

“Damn it,” she finally said to the ceiling. “Damn it.”

Then, wiping at her eyes, “Fine. Fine. Fine. You’re doing this. I get it. It was the right thing to do, and you’re doing it. You did it. It’s done. And that’s fine. It’s fine. It’s FINE! It’s…”

She swallowed. “…fine.”

She sighed again, looking down in slumped surrender. “Damn it.”

Then, she suddenly rounded on him, their muzzles almost touching as he took a startled step back.

“But you’re not doing this alone!” she snarled, eyes narrowed, teeth bared. “Legal or not, I’m helping you!”

Striding to the door, she violently flung it open. She paused in the doorway just long enough to add over her shoulder, “If only to keep your stupid, noble, fool self from being damned to Tartarus…!”

Then she slammed the door behind her with a force that knocked a nearby portrait to the floor. Sour Sweet’s voice echoing on the door’s other side as she stomped down the hall, “…and you’re still an ass, by the way!”

For his part, Blueblood could only stare at the closed door. His expression one of pure bewilderment, his voice uncertain.

“…Yay?”

Chapter 11: Partners in Law.

Luna stared at her sister, her sleepiness forgotten, her voice a whisper.

“He… he did what?”

“He invoked blódsihtan,” Celestia confirmed softly, refusing to meet her eyes. “I wanted to tell you as soon as you were awake, so you wouldn’t learn it from dreams.”

Luna took a step forward. “But… that means they could both…!”

“Yes.”

For a moment, neither spoke. Behind the Sun Princess, the palace guards quietly closed the door to Luna’s chambers, granting the diarchs privacy.

“I never foresaw this,” Celestia said at last.

Luna frowned. “Of course not! Whoever thought you did?”

Celestia sighed again, but said nothing, sitting where she was. After a moment, Luna joined her.

“I am also concerned. But should the worst happen, it is not your fault,” Luna said.

“Who else?” Celestia demanded. “I sent him into this! Why, I even suggested we keep blódsihtan on the books, so long ago…!”

“Which I agreed to,” Luna pointed out, “Just as I would have agreed to your asking Blue to help. Just as he has made his own decisions, every step of the way.”

Then, frowning anew, she asked, “Wait. Do you expect him to fail?”

Celestia blinked.

Tilting her head slightly, Luna studied her sister as she waited for a response.

“I… I don’t know,” Celestia admitted. “I’m so torn right now, I don’t know what I expect. Bad enough when Rarity stood accused of murder; now, both their futures rely on Blue proving a negative! And that…”

She lapsed into silence.

Luna nodded. “I think you underestimate him, but very well. Not knowing what to expect, what is it that you fear?”

Even as she sighed again, a begrudging smile crept onto Celestia’s features. It was an obvious question, especially from Luna. But it was also a worthy one. Despite her exhaustion she stood again, pacing as she spoke.

“I fear losing two dear friends, far too soon,” she said. “More than that, I fear losing them both through my own shortcomings. And more than even that, above all, I fear passing sentence over them to a fate so terrible. I know it sounds selfish, and really it is, but… what greater betrayal is there than that?”

Luna arched an eyebrow.

Celestia winced and looked away, saying nothing.

As she rose, Luna spoke gently, saying, “I sometimes wonder if, across the centuries, you have not become accustomed to blaming yourself.”

When Celestia did not reply, she continued, “In any case, this situation has led us to a new problem. Not our primary concern at the moment, I grant you. But it is far more within our current control. So, for now, perhaps we should focus our attention upon that instead.”

Reluctantly, Celestia nodded. “Alright.”

“Very well. Lacking confirmation of his failure, let us assume Blue’s success, as seems most likely,” Luna continued. “Thus, mayhap we should review the sentence of Tartarus itself. Long has it gone uninvoked, I grant you. But if even now, innocent ponies risk its domain, it comes into play too often.”

“I agree.” Celestia nodded again, forcing herself to focus upon this new train of thought. “Reviewing this now… I think we should never have allowed Tartarus to remain as a punishment for any crime, no matter how horrific that crime might have been. We should have made it a place of last resort, used only when it’s been shown that nothing else will work. A place only for the deadliest and most powerful of enemies. Never mandated by law, but only by the rarest of circumstances.”

“Yes.” Luna considered a moment longer before adding, “Indeed, upon reflection I would say that so dire a sentence should require a unanimous royal decision, not just between you and I…”

“…but among all Equestrian princesses,” Celestia finished for her. “Agreed.”

After a few heartbeats, Celestia shook her head in disbelief. “It all seems so obvious, in retrospect,” she said. “Why didn’t we just do that in the first place?”

“All things seem obvious in retrospect. We were changing unjust laws into something more just. We knew far less then than we do now.”

“Yet, obviously we failed to take the concept far enough, regardless of our own ignorance at the time.”

“Hmm,” Luna pondered. “It is strange, now that you mention it. Almost as if we were flawed beings, somehow.”

Then, turning to her sister with a deliberate frown, she posited, “Tia, could it be that we are… not perfect?”

Celestia rolled her eyes as she flopped onto Luna’s bed. “Uuuuugh! Fine, point taken. But just the same…”

“Just the same, your concerns are valid,” Luna agreed. “And we are once again faced with our failings. Yet, I submit that all we can do is learn from our errors, even as others do across the generations, and hope that the innocent will not pay for our mistakes.”

“And yet they do.”

“Yes,” Luna acknowledged. “Sometimes, they do. They sometimes did when we were young and our first castle was not yet even built. They sometimes did during times of war, and sometimes even during peace. And still, they sometimes do even today. Such is the nature of rulership, my dearest. And for all that we did not wish to rule, in the end the choice was still ours.”

Celestia sighed, staring again into the distance. “I know.”

Lying next to Celestia for a moment, Luna embraced her with her forelegs and wings.

“Yet, it is also worth remembering the lives we aid,” Luna pointed out. “The happiness we can bring to others, the lives we can uplift, just by making a law more fair or encouraging the young. They, too, are part of what we have chosen. We are reminded of them less often, I grant thee. But they are there just the same.”

With a loving smile, she placed a gentle kiss on her sister’s cheek. Then, she rose, moving some of Celestia’s mane away from her eyes as she did.

“In any event, I must away,” she said. “The dreamers dream, and I must guide them. Wilt thou stay here tonight? I’ll see that thy sleep is peaceful.”

Celestia gave a tired smile. “Thank you.”

“And come the morrow we can discuss alternatives, in the unlikely event of their conviction. For it is always better to seek solutions than to mourn our mistakes, is it not?”

Celestia’s voice was muzzy as she drifted off, the knots beneath her coat already coming undone at last.

“Mm-hmm. Thank you again, dear one…”

And then she was asleep, a blue glow enveloping the covers as they tucked themselves around her.

“Any time and always, heart of my soul,” Luna replied, still smiling. Then she dissolved into her midnight-shadowed mist, and was gone.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the palace, Blueblood’s largest study had become a veritable maze of boxes. Boxes which, to Blueblood, all looked just the same. Granted, the ticky-tacky containers were of different colours – green, blue, orange, and yellow – but whatever color coding system they used, if any, was a mystery to him.

Within each box was an assortment of files, colored light tan, green, brown, or (rarely) red or blue. Sometimes they were in groups, bound together with ribbons. Mostly, they were alone, sometimes with ribbons holding them shut and sometimes not. Most of them had pages of official-looking gibberish pinned to their fronts, but not all.

Each box had one or more official-looking stickers on its front, each with its own number. Each file also had a number. And the numbers on the folders and the numbers on the stickers had nothing to do with one another, so far as Blueblood could tell. Just as the box colors seemingly had nothing to do with the folder colors.

Yet somehow, Sour Sweet was able to not only navigate their bureaucratic wilderness but make it look both easy and obvious. It had taken, for example, just a few seconds for her to find the note allegedly proving Rarity’s and Filthy’s museum-based trysts:

My Dear Rarity,

I’m so sorry to have missed you, I would rather have said this in person. Unfortunately, it can’t wait.

I’m going to be spending more time with my family from now on. That of course means we will be seeing one another less, if at all. Believe me, it isn’t for lack of interest. But I think this whole affair has been putting a strain on Spoiled, and I need to distance myself, at least for a while.

Please don’t take this the wrong way. It’s been wonderful rekindling our old friendship. But the more I think on it, the more I think my involvement with the museum will have to be strictly hooves-off from now on. I know you’ll understand.

Always your friend,

--Filthy Rich.

Sour Sweet gave the note a look of irritation. “That doesn’t sound like a love affair. Or the ending of one.”

Blueblood shrugged. “It does if you want it to. What did forensics get from it?”

“Oh, um…” Sour Sweet opened and rummaged through another box of files, pulling out a manila folder. “Yeah, here it is. Despite the death imprint, investigators were able to establish that the note was definitely written by Filthy Rich, shortly before he was killed.”

“That’s impressive. Chance of error?”

“About none. Psychometry results were confirmed by independent hoofwriting analysis and alchemical testing of the ink, which matched a bottle of ink in the room where the body was found. Do you want the specific tests they used?”

“Not now, thank you. Time of death?”

“Eight-twenty p.m.”

“Mmm. Any other records on Filthy’s activities, before his death?”

Sour Sweet nodded, deftly pulling an orange file from yet another box.

“Mister Rich had made reservations for two at the Chez Magnifique the night he died. The reservations were for the following night, presumably to talk things out with his wife regarding his alleged affair.”

Frowning, she pulled another document. “Meanwhile, according to testimony, their daughter would be spending the night at Rarity’s that night. Which… if he’s mending bridges with his wife does sort of fit the prosecution’s theory, except…”

“Except the Crowns’ entire theory hinges on the idea that Filthy was sleeping with Miss Rarity, with their precious note showing Spoiled’s disapproval of her,” Blueblood finished, waving a dismissive hoof. “Disapproval to such an extent that he was cutting all ties, apparently. In which case, why have their daughter stay at Miss Rarity’s house? To rub Spoiled’s nose in it? While talking things out with her over dinner?”

Sour Sweet flipped through a few more pages. “Apparently, Spoiled didn’t know about the sleepover arrangement yet.”

“Well, that’s even more absurd. What, are we to believe that Filthy was saving it for some kind of surprise?

“No,” he said, beginning to pace. “No. The whole situation is ridiculous as it’s presented now. Even a hidebound fossil like Janus should be able to see that it doesn’t add up.”

“Then why doesn’t he?”

“Because, dear lady, he has already made up his mind. Now, facts exist merely to fit around his own conclusions.”

She rolled her eyes. “Gee, I wonder what that looks like.”

“No idea. Now, what about the Missus?”

Sour Sweet nodded, opening yet another box and flipping expertly through the files within it before pulling out the one she sought.

“According to Mrs. Rich and corroborating witnesses, the Rich family had spent the day together at various Summer Sun Celebration events. There’s a detailed list of what and when if you want it.”

Still pacing, Blueblood gave another impatient wave. “Maybe later.”

Nodding, Sour Sweet continued, “So, later that night, while the Riches were busy with different night events, their daughter went to Rarity’s house. And during that time period, of course, Mister Rich went to the museum.”

Blueblood stopped. “Now, that’s interesting. Miss Rarity had also mentioned her having been at her home that night. Do we know why?”

More rummaging.

“Okay, apparently Diamond Tiara – the daughter – has been friends with Rarity’s younger sister for a while now,” Sour Sweet said. “Anyway, according to Rarity, sleepovers are pretty common.”

“And yet, I sense this is heading somewhere.”

She nodded happily. “Uh-huh. Rarity was supposed to be at the museum that night. She normally spent hours on the place after finishing with her day job, but that night she stayed home. Her sister, Sweetie Belle, had been sick all day. Rarity was taking care of her.”

Blueblood politely took the file from her. “I already know that much. Miss Rarity had just gotten over the bug herself. What interests me is that Diamond Tiara spent the night there anyway,” he said.

Sour Sweet’s face contorted into a snarl. “A detail, by the way, which ‘Mommy Dearest’ didn’t even know about until the investigation!”

Then, smiling again, “Also, Filthy Rich usually worked late at his office until around nine, and would only occasionally work on the museum with Rarity afterwards. But since it was a holiday, he closed his businesses and took the day off. And after family time, he went to the museum early.”

“Dying at eight-twenty.”

“Right. Meanwhile, the prosecution has the time of Rarity’s retiring for the night being around six. They argue that he was at the museum early to break up with her, and that she had ample time to sneak out a window, meet Filthy Rich, kill him in a fit of rage, and return.”

Blueblood nodded. “Well, now. The sleepover’s certainly worth looking into, I think.”

Sour Sweet scoffed, frowning. “Psh. They’re still minors. Good luck calling them as witnesses.”

“I don’t intend to. Any other loose ends?”

Sour Sweet nodded contentedly as her hooves deftly ran through multicolored files in several boxes. “Plenty, but not the kind you mean. Nothing that points to an uninvestigated avenue yet… no… no… oh, hello,”

Blueblood’s ears perked up. “Hello?”

Looking at the paper pinned to the pack of folders she held, she shook her head. “No, never mind. One of the displays in the room was an old wax phonograph, and it was apparently recording during the murder.”

Blueblood extended a hoof. “May I?”

Sour Sweet passed him the trio of green folders bound together, and Blueblood flipped through them quickly.

“Hm. The recording time apparently overlaps the murder, and the recording was completely ruined by the fireworks outside,” he nodded at last. “Perfect.”

She gave him an uncertain glance. “Perfect? Um, you do know that recordings are inadmissible as evidence, right?”

Still reading, the noblepony waved away her concerns.

“Of course,” he said. “Any object that records reality can also record illusion, and reliably discerning the two from a recording is considered legally impossible. That was on the primer you wrote up for me. For which I thank you again, by the way. But remember that we’re not looking for evidence at this point. Only for information that’s been ignored or dismissed.”

“Sure, if the information’s worth anything,” she rejoined with another eye roll. “But the recording’s useless, remember? Remember, the fireworks? Kaboom?”

He looked up from the files and grinned. “Perhaps not so useless, my dear. Recent years have seen monumental leaps forward in sound manipulation and recording, especially in music. And if her efforts towards raising Miss Rarity’s bond are any indication, I’m certain the young lady largely responsible for those advances will be more than happy to help.”

Author's Note

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The use of the phrase “legally impossible” in this chapter may have been a bit confusing to some readers, so I will expand upon it here. The important take-away is that it does not refer to the common law phrase in England, the US, etc., but rather a specific recognition by Equestrian law regarding the changing nature of magical research.

Now, for those of you who would like more detail...

Equestria, while it does use technology after a fashion, is not (at least in this timeline) a society which utilizes or values mass production. Simultaneously, while sorcery and enchantment do advance over time, magic is not something that is blindly reproducible to all beings in a lab in the way that matters of science are.

For example: if Sunburst stood in a circle and perfectly recited an incantation from Starswirl’s more advanced research, he probably wouldn’t get the same result as Twilight would. However, Earth college chemistry courses yield consistent results among their students regardless of students’ personal ability. Mostly.

(Likewise, Rarity is not likely to be able to casually nap on a cloud any time soon. But legal impossibility in Equestria focuses primarily upon spell casting and the making and/or use of magical objects.)

This results in the advancement of pony magic being not only slower than human technology’s progress, but also far more uneven. During Starswirl’s lifetime, great strides were made in the fields he was interested in. And in modern times, Twilight is behind many of the more sweeping advances. Magic in such a society does not progress in a geometrically increasing rate like Earth’s (or Gaia’s) technological knowledge does. It advances in sudden, uneven spurts, referred to by scholars in history and thaumatology as “jumps.”

These jumps, in turn, result in an even greater lag between magical advancement and the laws dealing with them than between technological advancement and the legal system in our world.

Therefore, over time the concept of “legal impossibility” came into being. In this chapter’s example, shortly after recording devices first began to be made, it was recognized that it was not only possible they could be fooled by illusion, but potentially impossible to be certain whether they had been after the fact.

This came up in a criminal trial, with the defendants producing a sound recording of the two of them talking idly with a policepony at the time that the crime took place. However, the judge, upon hearing testimony on the matter, ruled that separating fact from fiction on a recording device was to be considered legally impossible. The recorded evidence was therefore inadmissible. This decision was then ratified by a judge in a higher court, independent of the trial’s verdict. At that point, determining fact from fiction from any recording became legally impossible throughout Equestria.

(For those who are curious, the case in question was The Crowns vs. Rumpelteazer and Mungojerrie, involving the theft of three chocolate bars and a strawberry malted. However, the pair were minors at the time, and at the behest of their representative Old Possum they were therefore sentenced to six months community service, paying for the malted, and giving back the chocolate bars. The pair did go on to become accomplished burglars, however, stealing pearls, waistcoats, and even Hearth’s Warming Eve dinners. But those were simpler times.)

While declaring something as legally impossible is a relatively simple matter, the process of challenging and overturning such a ruling involves a special type of tribunal hearing. In this hearing, ponies must demonstrate that the act in question is possible not merely for an individual being, but a wide strata of individuals in the field the act pertains to.

Afterwards, should the tribunal agree, they bring the petition to one of the princesses. The princess examines the evidence and discusses the matter with the three judges. Should the princess also be satisfied, she moves the act from “legally impossible” to “legally unlikely.”

It is not necessary for an act to have been legally impossible to be declared legally unlikely. Rather, a legally unlikely act is one which requires proof of a pony’s expertise in the specific relevant field for the results to be admissible. Gaining detailed and accurate information from a murder scene using psychometry, for example, is considered legally unlikely. If Twilight wanted to present evidence she had uncovered using psychometry at Rarity’s trial, she would have to prove to the judge’s satisfaction that she possessed, not the power or the training, but the expertise in psychometric investigation necessary to give such testimony.

Moving an act from “legally unlikely” to the default classification of “legally possible” is similar to making an act “legally impossible.” A judge rules during court that the act has become sufficiently commonplace within the Equestrian population as a whole, and a higher judge, if they concur, ratifies the ruling in a separate hearing.

I now return you to your lives, already in progress. :twilightsmile:

Chapter 12: Minor Revelations.

Lightning flashed quietly in the distance, as unperturbed by the morning sunshine as the continuing golden rain.

Sour Sweet frowned slightly as she and Blueblood crested the hill, side by side. Why would a pair of musicians want to meet him here, in a park near the Ponyville schoolhouse? Were they in danger, somehow? That would explain his having the carriage parked so far away, she supposed. But then, why hadn’t he brought the recording?

The summer grass was short and well maintained, twitching occasionally in the rainfall. Meanwhile, birds sang in the shelter of the trees, happily chasing one another from branch to branch.

Sour Sweet gave them a seething look. The birds might be singing or the sun might be shining, summer days and tra-la-la. But none of that made her any feathering drier.

Still, she had to acknowledge that the Cloudsdale pegasi knew their stuff. Faced with such an occasion on no notice, the weather ponies had outdone themselves. For while the skies continued to weep in honor of the dead, the sky was almost clear of clouds; the sunlight illuminating the land despite it all in a promise that, even during the darkest of times, light would always remain light.

Which, she had to grudgingly admit, was a pretty cool message. She wasn’t sure how much she agreed with it, exactly, but, well… optimism seemed to be the common speech of Equestria. And, she had to further admit, it was a contagious language.

Inwardly, she sighed. Maybe she could learn it.

Just then, one of Blueblood’s hooves slipped, threatening to send him tumbling down the rest of the hill.

“Look out,” she exclaimed, catching his foreleg in her own as she did.

Arm, she reminded herself. ’Foreleg’ was a thousand years ago. Now they’re arms, at least around here.

He gave her a grateful smile, and the two of them resumed their careful downhill trek. Stepping cautiously as she went, Sour Sweet had to admit that at least one of her questions had just been answered. It would have been stupid to have been lugging the damned recording with them, trudging their way up and down sopping wet hills.

Of course, that still didn’t answer why the hell they were all the way out here in the first place…

“Are you alright?” Blueblood asked. “You seem unusually quiet.”

She gave a smile. “Yeah. But you did say there’s a shelter down there, right?”

He nodded. “Yes. Thanks to the rain, that’s most likely where we’ll find the ladies we seek. And we should have privacy for our interview, as well.”

She shot him a perturbed frown. “Most likely?”

Blueblood gave her a good-natured shrug and the two of them continued walking, stepping out from the line of trees that acted as a kind of semi-canopy against the hilltop… and, coincidentally, had allowed a momentary respite from the rain. Blueblood’s telekinesis was suitable for a basic umbrella effect for one, but his magic strained to cover them both, and some of the drops always made their way through.

Sour Sweet tried to conceal her irritation, knowing from experience she was doomed to failure.

Don’t be a bitch, she told herself, again and again. He’s doing his best. You volunteered for this. He’s doing his best. You volunteered for this. You volunteered. Don’t be a bitch, don’t be a bitch, don’t be a…

Then, at the hill’s base, they both stopped. And, despite herself, Sour Sweet smiled.

By the lakeside, not too far from the bottom of the hill, there was indeed a sturdy wooden shelter. Dark brown walls and beams surmounted a base of stone slabs, pale and dry under the summer rain. Beneath its roof were also several tables and a wooden bench, the latter facing away from them both.

Seated upon it were Diamond Tiara and Sweetie Belle, holding hooves. Diamond’s head was resting gently upon the other filly’s shoulder, while Sweetie leaned her own head upon Diamond’s. Both of them were obviously busy watching the rain and the lake together, oblivious to the adults’ approach.

“Aw,” Sour Sweet whispered.

Seeing that Blueblood wore an identical smile, Sour Sweet exchanged a quick glance of understanding with him and the pair quietly retraced their steps partway up the hill. Then, they began their descent again, this time treading upon several loud twigs in the process. By the time they reached the hill’s base, the two young mares were sitting at opposite ends of the bench, studying the water, seemingly unaware of anypony nearby but themselves.

“Forgive me, ladies,” Blueblood said.

Both young mares turned, then stared.

“I hate to intrude,” he continued as he entered the shelter, “but I was wondering if I might have a few moments of your time. Both of you.”

Sweetie Belle gave Diamond Tiara a glance, and Diamond shook her head.

“You’re not intruding, Your Grace,” she said. “You’re trying to help.”

“We can talk later, if that would be better,” Sour Sweet offered.

But the pink mare just shook her head again.

“I might not be able to later,” she said. “Sometimes, it’s like a storm in my head. Sometimes I’m numb. Right now, it’s like I’m almost okay. So whatever you need… I think it’s best if we do this now.”

Blueblood nodded, and sat on the dry stone facing the pair, with Sour Sweet quietly seating herself next to him. While they did, the two young mares surreptitiously scooted closer together again.

“Very well, then,” the prince said. “In light of what is at hoof, let us dispense with formalities. And please, tell me everything.”

Diamond Tiara swallowed. “About that night?”

“To begin with, yes.”

Uncertainly, Diamond Tiara glanced at Sweetie Belle. Sweetie, for her part, took Diamond’s hoof again and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Diamond took a deep breath, and then began her narrative, her words accompanied by the rain’s gentle tattoo on the shingles above them all.

“When I showed up at Sweetie’s house that night, Rarity said she didn’t know that we’d had anything planned,” she said. “We usually started around dinner time, but I was a little early, because of the festival. The three of us – Mom, Dad, and I – we’d spent the day together, and then gone our own ways…”

She sighed. “Anyway. Rarity said that normally I’d be welcome, but Sweetie was sick and in no shape for company. I could tell she was exhausted, though, so I offered to take care of Sweets and let her sleep. Rarity argued, but she was just getting over it herself, and she was practically falling asleep on her hooves. I promised her that I’d had it too, so she couldn’t get me sick.

“I saw her go upstairs, and close the door. And I know that doesn’t prove anything, but I know she was there all night…”

“We all do,” Blueblood assured her.

Then, Sweetie Belle gently broke in, saying, “Rarity had let slip that she’d cancelled her museum plans to stay home with me. I hadn’t wanted her to. But sometimes, she forgets that I’m not a little filly anymore. Anyway, it ended up turning out the best for everypony. She got to rest, and we got to…”

Her voice trailed off while the two young mares blushed, and Blueblood simply nodded.

“If it helps any, you’re among allies,” he smiled. “Neither of us will reveal you until you’re ready.”

“It isn’t like that,” Sweetie said.

“Well, it kind of is,” Diamond sighed.

Sour Sweet and Blueblood exchanged concerned looks.

“Mom and Dad had been fighting, more and more, for months,” Diamond Tiara said miserably. “I’d been spending as much time away from home as I could, even before Midsummer’s. I just couldn’t take the yelling. At first I wanted to help, be the ambassador between them both. But, it just kept getting worse.

“Then, one night, it got really bad. I could hear some of what they were saying…”

Blueblood gave a slight nod. “What were they saying, exactly?”

While Sour Sweet scowled at him, Diamond Tiara said, “I could only hear some of what they were saying. It was mostly Mom. Something about bachelors, I think. And toys? And… and me.”

Sweetie Belle held her marefriend’s hoof in both of hers as Diamond closed her eyes.

“Then there was some stuff I couldn’t make out, and then Dad demanded to know who she was, or thought she was… I’m sorry, it was still indistinct. Our walls are stone, everything was still pretty muffled.”

“And when was this?”

“A few days ago, I don’t remember exactly.”

But Blueblood only nodded, saying, “That’s fine. Please continue.”

Taking a deep breath, Diamond went on, “Dad came into my room later.”

“Forgive me. The night of the fight, or a different time?”

“The fight. He looked awful, like he’d been crying. I asked him what was wrong, but he told me no. That I should stop trying to make things better between them, that it wasn’t my job.

“Then, he said I’d been spending a lot of time away from the house. At the boutique.”

She sighed. “I told him I’d been having dinner there a lot, and lately I was spending the night once or twice a week. Mom hadn’t noticed, of course. At least, not until Dad had pointed it out while they were fighting. She’d been too busy, as usual. But Dad had known for a while, I guess. He said he wasn’t upset, he just wanted to make sure I was okay.”

Sweetie Belle moved closer and put an arm around Diamond’s withers.

“He asked if it was because they were fighting,” the pink mare continued, looking down. “If I was just avoiding them both. I could have said yes, and technically it wouldn’t have been a total lie… but that wasn’t the real reason. I’d have been spending as much time as I could with Sweets no matter what things were like at home. And, well, he looked so miserable when he asked… So, I told him about Sweetie Belle. About why I’d been spending my time with her. ”

With a sad smile, she said, “And for the first time in months, he looked happy. He’d always been depressed, or angry, or just too exhausted before, even if he’d come home in a good mood. But now, he wanted to hear all about her.

“So I told him about how we met, how she made me feel. How I felt about her, and how I thought she felt the same about me but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, and what was Mom going to say when I told her…?

“Well, when I was done, he said everything would be okay. That he would handle things. And to let him worry about telling Mom.”

“We weren’t official or anything yet,” Sweetie Belle said, picking up the narrative again. “We both knew how we felt, but we weren’t sure how each other felt. I mean, we were both pretty sure, but… yeah. So, Midsummer Night, while Diamond was spending the night taking care of me, I confessed my feelings for her.”

“It wasn’t what I was expecting,” Diamond admitted. “I’d had it all planned out for a while, how I would tell her. After all, I was pretty sure she felt the same way? I’d envisioned us telling each other outside, under the fireworks, like something out of a story. But when her fever broke, and she looked up at me and she told me…”

For a moment, the two young mares exchanged a loving look. Then, out of nowhere, Diamond Tiara choked, then burst into tears.

In an instant, there were three pairs of arms around her. And for several minutes, nopony spoke, two adults and a young mare holding Diamond as she cried. Finally, she managed to articulate between the sobs that wracked her body.

“It’s not fair!” she wept. “I’m sup-supposed to be the strong one! Diamonds don’t crack under pressure, they sh-shine! Mom always says that!”

“She also says that painting should be beneath you, and that servants shouldn’t be thanked for doing their jobs,” Sweetie pointed out, hugging her tighter. “To borrow a phrase from Apple Bloom, your mom is thick as two short planks.”

“How can I be happy about this?” Diamond demanded through her tears. “My father is dead, what is wrong with me?!?”

“There’s not a damned thing wrong with you,” Sour Sweet hissed, eyes blazing, holding the younger mare fiercely by the shoulders. “You’ve got a right to your joy! And your pain! Now stop fighting it and let it out!”

It was quite a while before this latest storm of emotions had finally released Diamond Tiara, leaving her wrung-out and nearly spent.

“I take it your families don’t know,” Blueblood said at last.

Both girls looked at one another.

“It depends on how you count family,” Sweetie Belle said.

“I think most of the Elements figured us out, and the CMC certainly know,” Diamond Tiara added.

“But Rarity doesn’t,” Sweetie Belle said with a decisive shake of her mane. “And Di’s mom doesn’t.”

Diamond Tiara gave a jagged sigh. “We were going to tell everypony the next day, but…”

The young mare shrugged helplessly, and for the space of several heartbeats there was only the sound of the rain. Ultimately, Blueblood placed a gentle hoof on her withers.

“Diamond Tiara,” he said softly, “Would you look at me for a moment?”

Still sniffling, the earth pony looked up at him, gold mane and deep blue eyes.

“Years ago,” he began, “when this ancient land was not quite so ancient and your parents were newly-wed, Spoiled Rich attended her first Grand Galloping Gala.

“She was, as you might imagine, rather taken aback by this new culture she was suddenly being exposed to, with all its customs and regalia. She was also, being your mother, extremely unsure of herself. She might even have felt intimidated by the unfamiliarity of it all, I don’t know. But regardless, Spoiled knew enough of the upper classes, so called, that she understood the tradition of wearing shoes at formal occasions.”

Diamond Tiara spared him a confused look. “Um, okay?”

“The wearing of slippers by mares is a particularly cherished tradition,” he continued. “The princesses, of course, have the custom of wearing shoes of precious metals… or, in the case of the Crystal Empire, I believe fine crystal. Most ponies seem to think this is to represent both the ladies’ status and their own indestructibility. In actuality, I think it’s just because hard shoes last longer.

“The rest of the noblemares, meanwhile, wear slippers of silk, satin, or other fine materials… ideally adorned with lace, embroidery, and so forth. Besides being more comfortable when one is spending hours on end standing and walking on smooth stone, these delicate treasures have the advantage of wearing out very quickly. Oh, yes,” he added at her quizzical look, “advantage. Especially if one chooses to enjoy a walk through a garden, a hedge maze, or what have you.

“You see, it is customary to have one’s servants ready with several pairs of new slippers throughout the evening as the old pairs wear out. Some ladies will go so far as to coordinate different pairs with different events across an evening, or different times of day. Ultimately, of course, all are thrown away by festivities’ end.”

Diamond Tiara frowned, her misery momentarily subdued. “That sounds… stupid.”

Blueblood nodded. “Oh, it is. And wasteful. But it’s also a sign of wealth. And as such, it persists against all rational judgement.

“Anyway. Spoiled Rich had a very special talent, especially among non-unicorns. Very few earth ponies or pegasi can manage to manipulate objects as small as needles with their hooves, much less with any precision. But Spoiled could not only sew, but embroider. And apparently, she was quite good at it. So good, in fact, that the sets of shoes she had made for herself momentarily became the rage of the Gala.”

Diamond stared. “I never knew that.”

The unicorn nodded. “I’m not surprised. You see, Spoiled took the fascination and applause of the noblemares around her as sarcasm and condescension. She thought they were mocking her for having ‘peasant skills.’ So, she made a scene and destroyed the pair she was wearing, taking care to only wear shoes made by the most expensive and well-known embroiderers from then on. So far as I know, she has never touched a needle since.”

“‘Peasant skills,’” Diamond Tiara muttered, looking down. “That’s what she called my paintings.”

“Again, I’m not surprised,”

Gently, Blueblood placed his hoof beneath her chin and guided her eyes back to his own.

“I’m truly sorry, dear one,” he said sadly. “Sorry for my questions, sorry for everything you’re going through, sorry for the terrible injustice of it all. But it remains that I need to ask you something both awkward and challenging, and I’m afraid I’m not certain it can wait.”

One of Diamond’s ears flattened in puzzlement.

“I’m asking you to never cut part of yourself away for the sake of someone else’s approval or desires,” Blueblood explained. “Not just regarding your paintings, but regarding everything that is yet to come. To never lie to yourself about who you are, or cast aside what gives you joy. And, just as important, to never ask such a thing of others.

“In short, I’m asking you to be wiser than your mother.”

Diamond Tiara looked down again. “I’m… not sure how to take that,” she said at last.

“I don’t blame you in the slightest,” he replied kindly. “But I have every faith in you, just the same.”

“So, what do you think?” Blueblood asked.

Sour Sweet glanced at him, then examined the trees before them as they ascended the hill again, the young marefriends still in the shelter behind them.

“I think I finally found a pony more socially awkward than me,” she said. “It’s kind of interesting to watch.”

Amused, he arched an eyebrow. “I see. And regarding the discussion itself?”

Glancing back his way, her smile was teasing. “I think if you’d ever visited the Crystal Empire you’d know that Princess Cadence’s shoes are gold, not crystal.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, yes. But what about the girls?”

“I think the murderer got the wrong parent,” she snarled through suddenly bared teeth.

Blueblood’s smile was unperturbed. “Focus, please?”

She sighed, running a hoof through her damp hair. “I think there’s something seriously wrong with the Rich family. Or maybe just with Spoiled. When father and daughter are that worried about the missus finding out her daughter has a marefriend… I mean, seriously, what the hell?”

“Yes. I wonder why that was? If the young lady had known, I think she would have mentioned it.”

“Because Spoiled was a snob, maybe?” Sour Sweet suggested. “And so maybe Diamond’s marefriend being the little sister to... no…”

Sour Sweet stopped, frowning for a moment, then the two of them began walking again.

“No, that doesn’t make any sense,” she decided. “Seamstress or not, Rarity is the living Element of Generosity. Being an Element goes well beyond noble rank. It’s beyond any rank. Plus they’re all friends of the princesses! It’s like a step above archduchess, if anything. If you still have archduchesses here,” she added.

Blueblood nodded as they moved past the trees. “Precisely. Plus, both young ladies make each other happy. Not to mention that to weather a disaster like this together, at their age, it’s obviously a good pairing. And for all her faults, Spoiled loves her daughter. So, why? Unless, of course, both husband and child underestimated her completely…”

“Maybe it’s because they’re both mares?”

Blueblood paused, startled. Then, he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Spoiled Rich doesn’t strike me as homophobic.”

Then, with a sigh, he added, “Ah, well. In any event, our two young lovebirds aren’t our main concern. At least at the moment.”

“You sure about that?” Sour Sweet frowned in gentle disquiet. “Her father was killed, and we still don’t know why. For all we know, Diamond Tiara might be next.”

“She’ll be perfectly safe,” Blueblood assured her.

“And you know this how, exactly?”

“With Miss Rarity near-constantly in the company of her fellow Elements, and occasionally a princess or three – not to mention a dashing and indescribably handsome prince – the murderer would hardly dare a second crime. The risk would be too great. With their fall mare so likely to have a solid alibi, their own guilt might therefore be uncovered.”

Sour Sweet snorted.

Blueblood gestured upwards. “Also, look above us.”

Frowning, Sour Sweet scanned the sky. After several moments, she spotted a blue pegasus mare with rainbow mane peering downward from behind a cloud high above them.

“By adding to Miss Belle’s happiness, Miss Tiara has gained some powerful and dedicated friends,” Blueblood observed. “Whether she realizes it or not.”

Sour Sweet nodded. “Yeah, that’ll work.” Then, sighing, she added, “Okay. So. Marefriends, Diamond Tiara has home trouble, and Filthy was supportive. Also, Mommy Dearest still sucks. Did I miss anything?”

“Diamond Tiara can paint,” Blueblood pointed out.

Sour Sweet rolled her eyes. “Great. Perfect. A nation is stunned. And this has what exactly to do with Rarity’s acquittal?”

He turned to her with a grin. “At the moment? I confess I have absolutely no idea.”

“Joy.”

Gesturing towards the carriage waiting in the distance, he continued, “In any event, my dear, it is time for us to away. By the time we arrive at our next destination, the fair ladies of song and celebration should be ready to meet with us at their own domicile. And with a little luck and their own ingenuity, the package we shall present to them may yet provide us the answers we need.”

Smiling, he offered her his arm.

“Shall we?”

The rest of their walk was spent in companionable silence, the press ponies having begrudgingly refrained from following His Grace everywhere for fear of interfering with the first murder investigation in decades.

Granted, he had to admit that his aunts’ pronouncement that anypony so doing would face their personal ire probably hadn’t hurt, either. But just the same, he liked to think that there was at least a little sense of responsibility left in the profession.

A spell to dry them both, even accounting for his umbrella spell, was unfortunately beyond Blueblood’s ability. However, he was able to heat the towels they’d brought along. And Sour Sweet had to admit to herself that hot towels after a summer rain, in a carriage roomy enough to stand in (at least on the inside), was definitely okay.

Still, it was only when His Grace’s carriage was ascending back into the sky that Sour Sweet spoke again.

“Hey, Blue?”

Blueblood absentmindedly took a sip from his drink. “Mmm?”

“That bit you told Diamond Tiara, about not cutting off things,” she said carefully. “You... weren’t just thinking about her mom, were you.”

It wasn’t really a question, of course. Blueblood looked out his window for a moment before answering, then reluctantly shook his head.

“Filthy sacrificed anything he thought might interfere with his wife’s happiness,” he said. “Friends, business practices, hobbies, anything. He never asked her for aught but her hoof in marriage. But she was like a vain goddess in his life, demanding he place everything he loved before her altar. To all appearances, their daughter - specifically, his protectiveness of their daughter - was the only exception to that worship.”

“And he used to be a friend of yours.”

Again, Blueblood contemplated the sky outside before answering.

“Yes,” he said. “Years ago, he was.”

More silence.

After several minutes, Sour Sweet asked, “So, is somepony watching Spoiled Rich? You know, just in case the killer comes after her?”

Blueblood gave a strange kind of sad smile.

“Mrs. Rich is in no such danger,” he said.

For her part, Sour Sweet looked out at the passing clouds through narrowed eyes.

“Don’t count on it,” she growled.

Blueblood chuckled, and asked the driving team to please take them to the home of the ladies Octavia Melody and Vinyl Scratch.

Chapter 13: You Have: No Tea.

As the thunder continued to rumble, the carriage touched down gently on the nearby street to avoid leaving tracks in the rain-soaked lawn. Blueblood wasn’t sure just what he’d been expecting the home of Octavia Melody and Vinyl Scratch to look like. But it certainly wasn’t this.

Before the ladies had moved in, it might have been a modest cottage. Or, he considered, perhaps they’d had it built for themselves. The quarter note-shaped bush that towered over him and Sour Sweet as they approached the door was certainly a singular piece.

But then there was the house itself. Its right half, painted in shades of purple and blue; the left, in sensible browns. All topped by a traditional thatched roof, and a chimney shaped like the pipes from a massive organ.

“Gee,” Sour Sweet muttered, “I wonder what they do for a living.”

Grinning, Blueblood rapped smartly on the door.

“One moment!” answered a cultured voice from within.

A few moments later, it opened to reveal a grey earth mare in a pink bow tie, her black mane cascading elegantly down her shoulder. The lady’s violet eyes grew wide as she took in her visitor’s identity, and then she bowed low.

“Your Grace,” she said.

He nodded, examining her carefully. “Good afternoon, Miss… Melody, I presume?”

Rising, she nodded as well.

Blueblood continued, “Excellent. I apologize for the intrusion, but may we come in? We have questions regarding some of the evidence of Miss Rarity’s case, and you and your partner may be able to shed some light on the matter.”

“Oh! Of course! Please, come in,” she said, stepping back. Then, over her shoulder, “Vinyl! Company!”

The two visitors entered the house, Sour Sweet mentally cursing weather pegasi and clunky padded duffel bags in general, and unicorns with weak-ass umbrella magic in particular. Still, she managed a smile when Octavia offered to take her bag.

“May I offer you both some tea?” Octavia asked, setting the bag gently on the living room table.

“That would be lovely,” Blueblood smiled. “Thank you.”

Meanwhile, a freshly-showered Vinyl Scratch was trotting into the room, still toweling her mane as she said, “Oh, hey, man! Wasn’t expecting you today, but since you’re here I was wondering what you’d thought about applying an aria function to…”

“Wait, Vinyl, it’s not—” Octavia started belatedly.

But by then, the white mare had stopped in her tracks, staring. Her towel fell to the floor, forgotten, while Octavia put her hoof to her forehead with a groan.

“Oh,” Vinyl said, taking in the situation. “Well… far out.”

There were several moments of introductions. Then, as Octavia busied herself setting the dining room table with silver and china, Vinyl approached the duffel bag.

“Should I put this somewhere?” she asked.

“Actually, no,” Blueblood said with a gesture of welcome. “In fact, the bag’s contents are why we’re here. But before we begin, I also have a message for you both.”

Octavia gave the merest pause in her hostess ministrations. “Oh?”

“Arpeggio asked me to send his best.”

“Indeed?” The cellist relaxed into a grin. “I had no idea he’d joined your household. What’s he up to these days?”

Blueblood chuckled. “Well, aside from teaching, he and his partners are busily raising a slew of children…”

Octavia was nodding. “…plus all his other students, who he’s probably adopted in all but name,” she added, still grinning.

“He’d hardly be Arpeggio if he hadn’t,” Blueblood agreed with a smile. “Rumor has it that he actually sleeps on occasion, but cursed if I know when.”

Meanwhile, in the other room, Vinyl had gently unzipped the duffel bag and was peering inside, her eyes growing even wider.

“Oh,” she cooed to the content within. “Ohhhh, look at youuuuu…”

“Um, Vinyl,” Octavia said gently, “Maybe before we start opening things we should… oh,” she finished quietly, as Vinyl carefully removed a large engraved wax cylinder and held it up to the light.

Silently, Octavia went to where her marefriend stood. For several heartbeats, both musicians stared at the newly revealed artifact in wonder.

“This is real,” Vinyl breathed, slowly sitting with her treasure.

“It’s a Tainter,” Octavia marveled. “You can see her mark on the end, here.”

Then, with more purpose, she added, “Here, let me help.”

A few minutes later, the recording was resting on a makeshift bed of folded crushed silk on the table’s center, the four ponies sitting around it, any thoughts of tea momentarily forgotten.

“I can get you the machine it was recorded upon,” Blueblood said. “But I thought you would likely have more suitable equipment already.”

Absently, both musicians nodded.

“Your Grace,” Octavia said, “Forgive me, I realize this may be a stupid question, but… do you know how much this is worth?”

“Actually, I don’t,” the stallion admitted with a slight shrug. “It came from the museum where Filthy Rich was murdered.”

Octavia and Vinyl stared at him.

“Filthy Rich was killed by something unknown,” Sour Sweet broke in. “Something that the prosecution thinks… well, you saw what those idiots think,” she ended with a snarl.

The musicians started, and Sour Sweet continued in a calmer voice, “But this was in the same room with him when he died, and it should have been recording when it happened.”

“The recording was marred by the firework show,” Blueblood added. “Overloaded. But I was thinking, if anypony could retrieve even part of what had happened there that night…”

Octavia, having regained her composure, was nodding thoughtfully. “…it would be Vinyl,” she finished. “She and Princess Twilight bonded over Thaumusical theory as soon as they met. They’ve been working together off and on ever since.”

Vinyl, for her part, was studying the wax cylinder with a frown. Finally, she straightened in her chair, shaking her head.

“Look, dude, you gotta understand...”

“Vinyl!” Octavia hissed.

“Oh, sorry, dude. I mean, Your Grace.”

While Sour Sweet watched and Blueblood struggled to keep a straight face, Vinyl paused, considering. Meanwhile, from where she sat, Octavia stared at her marefriend in growing apprehension and horror.

“…Grace Dude?” Vinyl offered at last.

“Oh, my sweet weanling Celestia,” Octavia moaned, burying her face in her hooves.

“‘Grace Dude’ does have a certain ring to it,” the prince grinned.

Vinyl grinned back. “Yeah, it totally does.”

“When,” Octavia groaned from behind her hooves, “when does the pain stop?”

Sour Sweet glanced over at the unicorns now happily gabbing away, and blew the mane out of her eyes.

“Yeah,” she muttered. “I’ll let you know.”

At first, Sour Sweet had been worried about more tea, and yet more cookies. Not that she had a huge problem with either one, but… sweet Luna’s shadow, how much ritual eating with tiny plates and cups did a pony need in one day? Or a week? Or even a feathering month?

But it turned out that her concerns had been groundless. Once Vinyl had successfully convinced Octavia that His Grace was fine with a less formal venue, the cellist had wasted no time in fetching an assortment of new additives for tea from the liquor cabinet while Vinyl had raided the fridge. China and fine silver vanished. Large earthenware plates and coffee mugs were secured instead, and a pleasant jazz album was set playing in the background while the four ponies sat down at the living room’s large table, the wax cylinder resting in its silken nest in the next room.

Ultimately, what resulted was what Blueblood happily called an ‘early high tea,’ Octavia called ‘tea without all the damned tiny food,’ and Vinyl just called ‘noms.’ And with the advent of the antique recording nearby, the conversation inevitably veered into Blueblood’s hopes for the recording’s restoration, which in turn led to Vinyl’s explanation of the musically-specialized magical theories she and Princess Twilight had been working on.

“…allowing the mid-high frequencies of the recorded voices to be recalibrated through their implied sympathetic link to the earlier samples,” Vinyl finished while refilling their mugs with a nice mint blend.

“That sounds like exactly what we need, then,” the prince said, pouring another shot of rum into his mug. “I confess I didn’t follow a great deal of the particulars you were explaining, but I know enough about magic to recognize a balanced equation when I hear one.”

“It is. It’s just… dude, look,” the DJ said, sitting down again, “what you’re asking for isn’t exactly what we’ve been working on. The theories should apply, but odds are against us recovering a whole lot. Heck, we might not get anything. And anything we do get is gonna be out of context, and the voices may not sound right, and...”

Sighing, the DJ put both forehooves on the table before her, looking down.

“I mean, I’m not saying I can’t do it,” she added. “I’m just saying that, without anything but theory to base this off of, I don’t know if I can do it right. And that’s a hell of a thing to have Rare’s future riding on. You know?”

“You’re far too modest, love,” Octavia said gently, placing a hoof on Vinyl’s shoulder. “For all that it’s still in the experimental stage, everything you’ve done thus far adds up perfectly. And, the same techniques should be applicable to recorded voice filtration and recovery, correct?”

“Well, sure, as long as it’s got a surviving record of him talking on it,” Vinyl acknowledged.

“Well, he’d made some previous recordings on the cylinder,” Blueblood offered.

“Okay, yeah, that should work,” Vinyl admitted. “It’s just…”

“Miss Scratch, I appreciate your candor,” the prince broke in gently. “And your reluctance. But I also trust your expertise. And it occurs to me that you are the preeminent expert in the field. So, even if what you retrieve is imperfect by your own standards, anything gained would be an improvement over nothing.”

“Yeah, okay, point,” Vinyl admitted. “But, you sure that we can’t get Twilight involved in this? I mean, a lot of the work behind the theory is hers. Sure, most of the music theory is mine, and Octavia’s contributed too, don’t let her fool you. But Princess Twi’s the one with the scary Thaum brain, y’know?”

“It does practically pulse with information, doesn’t it?” Blueblood smiled as he sipped.

“Indeed,” Octavia nodded contentedly as she added honey butter to her apple muffin. “Positively chocked full of pulsy knowledge.”

“Pulse, throb, pulse, throb,” Sour Sweet chimed in happily, helping herself to a slice of pie.

“I heard one time she stopped a timber wolf by flexing her brain,” Vinyl supplied, momentarily cheered again.

“Mmph, yeah, I think I heard about that,” Sour Sweet managed through a bite of cherries and crust. Chasing it down with drink, she added, “Crushed it to death against a basket of puppies, right?”

“Yeah, that was the one,” Vinyl deadpanned.

“Right, I think that’s quite enough rum for me,” Blueblood said, setting his cup down. “I really didn’t need that last image.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Vinyl nodded, contentedly, knocking her own drink back.

Then, with a more somber look, she said, “Seriously though, I’m not sure how cool I am with cutting her out of this, man. Princess Twi’s pretty awesome, and a lot of the work behind this has been hers. The discovery should be, too. Plus, you’ll get better results.”

“And in principle, I agree with you,” Blueblood admitted. “And, I admit it’s a risk. But on the off-chance anything you find comes up in court – even peripherally – the less she’s involved, the better.”

There were a few moments of quiet then, as the musicians contemplated this. Finally, Vinyl sighed. She and her marefriend exchanged glances, and the DJ reluctantly nodded.

“Without her help, it’ll take a couple of days,” she said. “But if you check back with us then, we should have something.”

Author's Note

.
.
.
.
.
Belle Tainter was a brilliant composer and thaumusical researcher, and there are several innovations and inventions in her name which propelled both musical and communications technology forward dramatically during her lifetime. The wax phonograph was only one of her many accomplishments.

She also had a rather unfortunate cutie mark. The less said, the better.

Chapter 14: Nocturnal Matters and Crystal Dreams.

The old clock in the study chimed midnight, startling both ponies.

They stared at one another, blinked, then re-examined the files before them.

“Wait,” Blueblood frowned. “Didn’t we already do this one?”

“No, we… um,” Sour Sweet shook her head to clear it, then closed the file, re-reading its cover paper.

“Maybe?” she concluded with a frown of her own.

“I’ll send for more coffee,” Blueblood muttered, reaching for a red silk rope that hung in the corner. “Sorry, I’m not accustomed to being so tired this early…”

But Sour Sweet shook her head.

“Everypony’s asl…” a yawn interrupted her. “hhhhh… mmm …asleep by now,” she finished.

Blueblood, meanwhile, had already made his way to the rope and started fumbling for it.

“You missed,” Sour Sweet muttered.

Blue sighed and hung his head. “I just… damn it all, the stakes are too damned high! I don’t feel right about stopping.”

“Ugh!” Sour Sweet exclaimed at the ceiling. “We’re not stopping! We’re taking a break so we’ll be worth a damn!”

“But…”

“C’mon,” she muttered, nodding towards the door. “No more arguments.”

Sighing again, Blueblood bowed slightly. “Very well. I yield to your superior logic.”

“Good. Fine. I’m thrilled,” she yawned again. “Just… hum! ...no more bowing. S’too weird.”

“I shall make a note.”

Somehow, they made their way to the master bedroom.

“Here’s your stop,” Sour Sweet muttered. Looking further down the hall, she stared, bleary-eyed, at the stairs that led to her own room. Well, eventually they would. There was another hall first, and more…

She wobbled for a moment, then shook her head again, frowning. It wasn’t that far.

Meanwhile, Blueblood had opened his own door, then turned back to her.

“You know,” he said, “you’re more than welcome to—”

Immediately, Sour Sweet flinched back, eyes wide.

“…to, um, stay on the divan, if you’re too tired,” he finished lamely.

“Oh, right,” she said, looking down. “Sorry.”

“No, no apologies, please,” Blueblood said. He reached out to her, but she winced away again as though he’d held a brand.

“Sorry,” she said again. Then, miserably to the floor, she repeated, “Sorry. Sorry.”

“No, please, don’t be,” Blueblood answered. “I should have been more careful of your feelings. At the very least, I should have… well, look,” he sighed. “We’re probably both too tired for this right now. I know I’m certainly not thinking very well.

“So, please, just let me say that you don’t have to do anything. You never have. And if I ever gave the impression that there were any expectations placed upon you, I repent myself of it, completely and utterly.”

One of Sour Sweet’s ears went sideways as she frowned in puzzlement.

“Um… what?” she managed.

Blueblood half turned, resting one hoof on the ornate wall nearby.

“I know my reputation,” he said. “I can only imagine what you might have been told when other ponies found out you were coming here. It just didn’t occur to me until now…”

“Wait,” Sour Sweet interrupted, holding up a hoof.

“I’m—”

“No,” she snarled over him. “Stop talking. Cease. De-sist. In other words, before we go any further down some comedy of errors route, shut it.”

Blueblood shut it.

Sour Sweet closed her eyes for a moment to focus, then began to speak.

“I overreacted, I way overreacted, because of something other than you. And yes, Blue,” she added with an eye roll, “Sometimes it isn’t all about you. And no,” she emphasized as he opened his mouth, “there’s no way you can help, thanks anyway. It’s just…”

She slumped slightly. Whether it was the momentary burst of adrenaline fading, or merely the burdens of her own heart, Blueblood couldn’t be sure.

“Sombra ruled over the Crystal Empire for a long time,” she sighed. “It might not have seemed so long on the outside, and in history books it’s just a number. But… we were slaves. All of us. And nothing slows time more than bondage.

“Then, right when it couldn’t get any worse, Equestria attacked. It was war.

“So, we were mobilized. All of us. We were armed, armored… and driven forward by our worst fears. All to fight against the princesses and their magic.”

She looked away, her voice turning quiet.

“For most of my fellow crystal ponies, the nightmares stopped around when Spike the Brave saved us all. The Crystal Heart isn’t just an artifact of protection, after all. It’s a focus of love, and healing. It’s the heart of the whole empire. But for me…”

She swallowed. “For me, the bad dreams just never went away. That’s why I had to go. I had to go somewhere, anywhere but where I was surrounded by nothing but memories.”

For a moment, she was silent. Then, turning to face him again, Sour Sweet said, “I never heard the rumors about you until after I’d already signed on, and by then… well, okay, I didn’t really know you, but I knew you were okay.”

She gave a rueful smile and added, “Kind of an idiot, maybe, but basically okay.”

He smiled as well, and she continued in a slightly cheerier tone, “So, it’s not because I think you’re evil or anything, okay? I’ve seen evil. It’s just… no.”

She swallowed, her smile fading. “Just no.”

Blueblood nodded. “Of course. Forgive me.”

“Will you cut it out? You didn’t—you know what, never mind,” she said suddenly. “Never. You fucking. Mind. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll have breakfast, we’ll kick ass, we’ll take names, and we’ll save ponies. Good night.”

And with that, she managed an uneven trot down the hall, and up the staircase towards her own room.

Blueblood watched her go until she was well and truly out of sight. Then he entered his own chambers at last, closing the door gently behind him.

It was hardly a surprise that Sour Sweet was so quiet over their shared breakfast the next morning.

For his part, Blueblood had awakened around ten, sitting in one of his comfy chairs, apparently not having made it to his bed. Akane and Hepzibah had exchanged concerned looks as they woke him, but said nothing of the matter. Instead, they simply helped him dress, informing him that Miss Sour Sweet was also awake and readying herself for breakfast.

Shortly thereafter, he was sitting across from Sour Sweet, both of them ravenously attacking plates of flapjacks, muffins, fruit, and coffee. Especially the coffee.

His sleep had been dreamless, so far as he could recall. Hopefully, hers had been as well.

Finally, the lady spoke. It was a fairly trivial, day-to-day conversation. Safe, and certainly nothing personal. And Blueblood, taking her lead, responded in kind.

Finally, the meal was done, and it was time to continue their research. As they rose, Blueblood said, “Would you excuse me a moment? I have something to attend to before we begin today.”

She shrugged, a deliberately nonchalant gesture. “Sure, whatever. I’ll start sorting the next box.”

Minutes later, Blueblood was in a different study. His features partially lit by a candle’s mystic green flame, he dipped his quill into the inkwell and carefully began to write.

Dear Aunt Luna,

Please forgive the intrusion, especially with so much else going on. It is my hope and intention that you will simply wake to find this missive awaiting you when you rise tonight. But regardless, I have encountered someone whose situation may not be able to wait…

Chapter 15: The Morning After.

The rest of the day had been uneventful. Even dull. Having run out of easily-found leads and possible oversights far more quickly than they’d hoped, Sour Sweet and Blueblood had found themselves systematically examining each remaining box. Sour Sweet had quickly skimmed the files within while cross-referencing them with other files she’d expertly dug out from other boxes; while for his part Blueblood had asked questions, made suggestions, and logged their findings.

It hadn’t been particularly hard. Just so mind-crushingly boring as to be exhausting.

So it was that the two of them had made an early night of it, before true overtiredness could set in again. Sour Sweet had continued maintaining her distance throughout the day, with scarcely a word spoken that was not directly related to the task at hand. And Blueblood, of course, had respected her boundaries. But they’d walked together down the winding hallways at day’s end, with the prince taking his leave at his own doorway. He’d wished her good night, and she’d nodded a little awkwardly as she’d turned away to seek her own rest.

Now, it was morning again. And as she entered the breakfast parlour, Sour Sweet seemed more relaxed. Completely silent, which was not necessarily a good sign. Pensive, even. But relaxed just the same.

Then, instead of simply walking to her place at the table and the breakfast that had been set for them, she went up to Blueblood and kissed him gently on the forehead, between the eyes. It was a gentle gesture, devoid of any passion, and completely without warning. But it was also obviously heartfelt.

When he was able to speak again, Blueblood asked, “What was that for?”

“That was a thank-you,” Sour Sweet smiled.

Sitting at her place as she unfolded her napkin, she continued, “I mean, don’t misunderstand, that’s not an invitation or anything, okay? I just…”

She stopped, letting her hooves fall into her lap. For his part, Blueblood let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“I’m glad you’re not angry,” he said. “I would have asked you first, but I thought that might just make things more awkward.”

She shrugged.

“I was a little, at first,” she admitted. “But by the time I was awake again…”

Then her voice trailed off, and she looked down.

“I always thought she hated me,” she whispered. “All of us. Because of what happened. Because of the war. That’s why I never asked for her help before.”

Blueblood shook his head.

“Aunt Luna doesn’t hate many creatures,” he said, “and so far as I know she hates no pony alive. But you must remember that for all her power, she isn’t a goddess.”

Sour Sweet glanced up at him, puzzled.

“Oh, she’s powerful enough,” he acknowledged, “and as close to immortal as you can get. Ask any of the would-be assassins who’ve raised their heads over the centuries. But she was born from mortal womb, like the rest of us.

“That being said, she’s taken on the duty to guide and guard all dreamers, everywhere, as best she can. And even as vast as the difference between dream time and consensual time is, she cannot be everywhere in a single night.”

“So, when the Crystal Empire returned, I just got lost in the shuffle,” Sour Sweet muttered. “Great.”

Across from her, the prince just shrugged.

“Honestly, I don’t know how it works,” he confessed, contentedly heaping scrambled eggs onto her plate. “And I’m not completely certain she does, either. But above all else, if she was in any way able to help, then I am most grateful to her.”

“Yeah, she was,” Sour Sweet nodded as she accepted the food laden plate. “I mean, we’re not done, because apparently I’m a fucking head case,” she ended in a growl.

Then, she shrugged as she dug into her eggs, adding, “But you know. Weanling steps.”

Chapter 16: Taking Flight.

The search through the various boxes and their contents continued after that, about as each of them expected. But though the task remained laborious, Sour Sweet continued to be far more relaxed than she had been in recent days, and the time passed for them much more quickly.

They broke for lunch, stuffed themselves with delicious fare, and then dove back into the forest of boxes that remained. Odds against finding anything more were long in the extreme. But they maintained their devotion to their task steadfastly for hours, refusing to be deterred. Eventually, however, the growls of their stomachs could no longer be ignored.

“Geez, did we miss dinner?” Sour Sweet wondered. Rising, she went over to a far wall, moved a few highly-stacked boxes out of the way.

“Looks that way,” Blueblood nodded. “My fault, really; I asked for us to not be disturbed.”

Sour Sweet considered the clock a moment longer, then shrugged. “Well, it’s after eight. Think the kitchen’s still open?”

“Oh, I’m certain it is, technically,” Blueblood said, rising. “Spaghetti Squash is quite the chef. He’d feed all the world’s creatures if he could, just for the pleasure of seeing them full and happy…”

“…but it’s still after eight, and Spaggi’s got kids,” Sour Sweet nodded. “Yeah. Wanna raid the fridge on the sly? I make a mean PBJ.”

“And I do adore a well-made peanut-butter jelly,” Blueblood acknowledged. “But if I might suggest an alternative?”

Sour Sweet cocked an eyebrow.

“What if, as a change of pace, the two of us were to dine out?” Blueblood suggested. “I know a lovely little pasta place not far from here. They all know me there.”

She snorted, giving him a teasing look. “Don’t they know you everywhere?”

“Well, technically, yes. But we have a very sensible arrangement,” he’d told her happily as they exited the study. “I pretend that I am dining incognito, you see, and they pretend that it’s working. And then I pretend that I believe them, and leave them obscenely huge tips. Everypony wins.”

Sour Sweet laughed then. She had a lovely laugh.

As part of being ‘incognito,’ Blueblood stopped by his chambers, donning a long, black cloak that covered his clothing and his cutie mark. Normally he wore the hood up to complete the image, he explained, but on that particular evening he’d decided it was too hot for such conceits.

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” Sour Sweet grinned.

“I’m sure they will,” he agreed, also grinning. “They’re a very understanding bunch, you know.”

By the time they exited the palace proper, it was nearing nine o’clock. The guards stationed at the servants’ entrance to the palace, seeing His Grace’s incognito cloak, ignored the pair with practiced ease. Blueblood and Sour Sweet made their way down the terrace towards the main avenue, away from the palace district. The sun was not yet down, but it was lowering, making the shadows long and the breeze cool and pleasant. Nor were the streets crowded, with most ponies having either found pursuits away from the city, or else retired for the evening completely.

The two of them chatted happily as they walked, until an unfamiliar voice broke into their conversation.

“They’re on their way,” it growled from the shadows behind them.

The pair started.

“What?” Blueblood demanded, turning. “Who? Who is on their way?”

“The ambulance,” a dark grey pegasus offered in the same growl. She and her three compatriots emerged from the alley behind Sour Sweet and Blueblood: a green unicorn and two earth ponies, one a mustard-yellow earth mare, and the other a large orange brute of a fellow. All with identical looks, hungry and mean.

“Don’t worry,” the pegasus added as the quartet slowly advanced. “We ain’t gonna hurt ya too bad. Just enough for a hospital visit. Few days, maybe a week.”

“Bust you right in the haid,” the green unicorn among them nodded.

The few other ponies in the area fled, several calling for the police as they ran.

“Ah. I suppose I should have anticipated this,” Blueblood nodded as he and Sour Sweet stepped back a pace. “After all, I can hardly prove anything in court if I’m in the hospital.”

“Dunno nuthin’ about that,” the green unicorn said. “But we was given bits, and now we gonna bust you right in the haid.”

“But you’ll let the lady go, of course?” Blueblood suggested. “She has nothing to do with this, after all.”

“What? The hell you say!” Sour Sweet hissed at him.

“Nope,” the pegasus grinned, shaking her head. “Sorry.”

“Right in the haid,” the unicorn added.

“Aha,” said Blueblood. “Yes. Well.”

Then, to Sour Sweet, he asked softly, “I don’t suppose you can fight?”

“Yeah, I can hold my own,” Sour Sweet replied, eyes narrowing.

As the ruffians advanced, the green unicorn, grinning, reached out with his magic. A nearby rubbish bin glowed emerald for a moment, levitated, then crumpled like a paper cup.

“Well, that complicates things,” Blueblood coughed quietly as the two of them continued backing up. “Magic?”

“Crystal pony, remember?” Sour Sweet muttered. “I don’t see any crystal hearts around here, do you?”

“Whereas I can heat a teacup,” Blueblood observed. “And towels.”

“Outnumbered and out-enchanted,” Sour Sweet groused. “Perfect.”

Blueblood nodded to himself, then gave a small shrug.

“Well, then, why wait?” he said.

The two of them exchanged a glance, and without another word launched themselves at their prey.

Their sudden charge took the hooligans by surprise. But more than that, the street toughs were taken aback by the sheer ferocity of the attack. And for that matter, Blueblood later had to admit he was a bit, as well.

His initial thought had been to engage their unicorn, figuring that perhaps he could at least resist the other fellow’s spells with what small magics he possessed. But the orange brute had interceded. Blue fell into a combative stance, gave a quick feint, and landed a strike just behind his would-be assailant’s jaw.

He turned to the next rapscallion as the first one fell, only to find himself rolling with a charge from the pegasus mare, barely avoiding a collision with the wall behind him.

And then, both he and his adversary heard the screams.

The green unicorn was on his back, unconscious, straddled by Sour Sweet. Stars only knew what he had done, what magic he had tried to use against her. But it was she who was screaming, eyes wide open, tears flowing freely. Staring wildly as she unrelentingly smashed her forehooves into his bloody and unrecognizable face, again and again.

Immediately, the yellow mare tried to tackle her off her companion. Without pause, Sour Sweet kicked her rear hoof into the oncoming pony’s throat, meeting the earth pony’s force with her own. With a choking sound the earth mare stumbled and rolled into a nearby wall. She lay there, grasping desperately at her throat, making frantic, half-coughing sounds.

Sour Sweet was standing now, eyes still wide and staring. Hyperventilating, ready to strike again.

The remaining assailants were also staring, the pegasus landing beside their fallen yellow comrade.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!?” she demanded. “You crazy or somethin’?!?”

Blueblood moved to examine the unconscious unicorn, placing a forehoof gently on the other fellow’s neck. His heartbeat seemed steady enough, though his face had been broken in multiple places and his breathing was faint.

“He’ll live,” the prince announced, standing upright again. “But he’ll need that ambulance you’d mentioned. And in our defense, you did attack us.”

“Sure, for a coupla’ concussions,” the pegasus insisted, stepping forward. “Maybe a broken leg, or some ribs. But that crazy bitch,” she jabbed a hoof at Sour Sweet, “she’s gonna kill somepony!”

Once the ambulance and police had arrived, Blueblood was able to explain the situation sufficiently that Sour Sweet, aside from being offered a blanket by a policemare, was left essentially alone. As for the lady herself, she remained silent throughout. Huddled against a far wall with said policemare nearby, wrapped and trembling, refusing to be touched or meet anyone’s gaze.

Even their journey back to the palace was conducted in silence, the western sky painting its way slowly into night as the stars came into view, one by one.

It was only when they reached the servant’s doorway again that Sour Sweet spoke, stepping away from the open portal as she did.

“Blue, I…”

“It’s alright, love,” Blueblood said gently. “We’re safe now. Let’s just get you inside. I’ll fix you something in the kitchen, and…”

But Sour sweet was shaking her head violently. In a shaking, strained voice, she forced the words out, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

To either side, the palace guard ponies might as well have been stone. Unmoving, unseeing.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Blueblood assured her. “Stars above us know, you’ve already done more than anypony ever—”

“No, I mean this,” she said, her composure crumbling as she waved vaguely around them both. “All of this. This whole thing. I can’t. Not anymore. It’s all just gotten too crazy. I mean, sure, ponies have always said that I’m crazy, but tonight was just… I mean, we were almost… and, I, I could have killed that guy, and… I just... I can’t...”

Whole body trembling, she shook her head, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m sorry, I really am, but… I, I’m out.”

The stallion looked at her in dismay. “You mean you… you’re leaving?”

Sour Sweet hung her head. “Yeah. Consider this my resignation.”

Blueblood started. “What? No. Wait.”

“I mean, you’re a great guy,” she said with a nervous smile, still staring down. “Even if you are kind of an idiot sometimes.

“And it was really fun at first,” she went on, her words becoming faster. “I really liked it here. But I just can’t keep doing this, you know? I can’t keep pretending. I thought I could, for a while, but—”

“I don’t understand. Pretending? Pretending what?”

“Pretending that I’m not crazy,” she wept. “That I can be safe to be around.”

Blueblood stared in dismay. “What? Surely you’re not taking the word of that reprobate seriously—”

“You mean the guy whose friend I almost beat to death?” she suddenly cried. “The guy who watched me try to crush somepony’s throat in?”

“That was not your fault!” Blueblood insisted.

But she only shook her head. “I mean, it would be different if I was really helping somehow, but…”

Reaching out to her, he said, “Sour Sweet, please, stop a moment.”

She shied away, avoiding his touch. “I’m really sorry I can’t give you more notice, but I just—”

“Stop!”

Silence.

Blueblood sighed, pinching the bridge of his muzzle with one hoof, eyes closed. Finally, he spoke.

“There has been a serious misunderstanding,” he said.

Sour Sweet’s eyes narrowed as her head snapped up, her uncertainty gone in an instant.

“Just what am I misunderstanding?” she snarled. “You saying I can’t leave? Because you can just watch me.”

“No! No, it isn’t like that,” Blueblood cried. “Damn it all, you’re not just some employee! You never were!”

Sour Sweet blinked. “What? But…”

“You’re not here because you work for me. For me, or anyone else,” Blueblood said gently. As he stepped closer, he met her amethyst eyes with his blue. “You’re here because this is your home.”

Sour Sweet stared.

“Have you ever witnessed a hierarchy being enforced here, outside of jest?” he asked. “Hours being booked? Shifts being assigned? Of course not! And that’s because everyone within the household… is family.”

Mouth slightly open, Sour Sweet could only shake her head slightly as he spoke.

“You were never hired, my dear,” Blueblood explained earnestly. “Not really. Not in any serious sense. You were invited to join our family, not because you could do a job or perform a task, but because someone saw that you belong here. And whoever they were, they were absolutely correct.”

He placed a gentle hoof on her withers, and this time she was too astonished to avoid his touch.

“You have no set duties here, Sour Sweet,” he said, “and I am truly sorry you ever thought you did. You punch no clocks, you keep no set schedule, and you answer to nopony any more than you desire. If you need a day away, a month, a year… take it. And if you ever need anything, anything, be it resources or just someone to talk to, be it from me or anypony else, you have only to ask.

“All I ask in return is that you remember that there are ponies here who love you, and that the door will always be open to you whenever you wish.”

Sour Sweet continued to stare at him for a moment longer, visibly biting back tears. She barely managed a nod before fleeing. Whether from the palace, or from him, it was impossible to guess. In any event, within a moment she was gone.

For his part, Blueblood sighed.

“Please see that she continues to have full access, will you?” he said to the evening air. His voice seemed thin and strained, even to him. “Make certain your superiors know, and all that?”

Each of the guard ponies gave the slightest of nods.

“Thank you,” he said softly. Then he entered the old side door, gently closing it behind him.

Blueblood hadn’t remembered the way to his family’s chambers having been so long before. Nor the corridors being so dark and cheerless. But eventually, his silent trod led him back to his home within the royal wing, and his private study within that.

And here, too, he gently closed the door as he entered. He surveyed the seemingly endless tiers of many-colored boxes, the clock, the sheaves of notes taken over the course of just a few days. Until less than an hour ago, this had been a place of not only joy and laughter, but hope.

How had everything gone so wrong, so quickly?

“You were helping, my dear,” he sighed into the darkened room. “More than you know. But it was certainly my hoof that led you to what happened this night. And I would never hold you back when you wanted to fly.”

He walked slowly to the wet bar and poured himself a large glass of something green, downing it at once.

“It seems I do indeed have a talent for disruption.”

He poured another. Then, sipping it more slowly, he opened the crystal doors and walked out onto the balcony. He considered the wind, wafting up scents from the palace gardens below, and the stars ornamenting the dark sky above. Finally, he spoke again, his voice bitter in the nighttime air.

“How fortunate that I use my powers solely for good.”

Chapter 17: Fugue, Subject, and Answer.

Without Sour Sweet, what had begun as a maze of boxes quickly became a labyrinth of indecipherable chaos.

At first, following a bracing breakfast, Blueblood had attacked the matter gamely. After all, he’d been watching the fair lady excavate meaning from the piles of gibberish for days. Surely at least some of that would have rubbed off. And besides, he was a clever enough fellow. A bit of careful study and note-taking, and the patterns would shortly reveal themselves.

Several hours later, staring at his futile attempts at finding reason in the madness surrounding him, the prince forced himself to accept the simple truth that the matter was beyond his ken.

It wasn’t a comfortable moment, and it took some effort to make himself accept the facts. He just wasn’t accustomed to finding things he couldn’t figure out, at least passably, given a little time. Even magical theory, while certainly not his forte, he could at least puzzle out in essence.

But not this.

Oh, doubtless he could deduce at least the basics of whatever drove this particular system, given another week or so. He was certain of that. But with jury selection rendered moot by his invocation of magistrate law, the trial would be starting in just a few days. And Sour Sweet, the one pony who both would and could help him navigate this wilderness of paper and ink, was gone.

He should have been more supportive, he realized sadly. Instead, he’d sought to dispel the miscommunication between them, rather than trying to help the lady navigate her own particular storm. And while that had seemed right at the time, it had not only driven her away without helping her deal with her misery – though that was certainly bad enough – but it had also inevitably steered his investigation towards a shipwreck at least partly of his own making.

Damn me, he thought.

He gave a mirthless bark of laughter. That, at least, might well take care of itself at this rate.

Right, he chided himself, enough self-pity. It isn’t as though I’d really expected to find more leads than we already had. And it isn’t as if what I have now shouldn’t lead to something useful. After all, all I need is weapon and motive. And a confession, of course.

But still, the possibility that there might be something left, some crucial piece, something right in front of him, if he could only find it, was maddening.

There was only one option left to him, really.

Sighing, he settled into a particularly comfortable-looking chair, opened the nearest box, and resigned himself to the arduous task of systematically reading every paper, in every file, in every remaining box which had been considered relevant to the murder case in the time remaining to him.

“Blue.”

Drifting uncertainly towards consciousness, Blueblood felt something rattling in the back of his throat.

“Blue,” said a familiar, heavily-accented voice, “you are making ze snores.”

Blueblood managed to open one eye. “Mmph?” he managed.

“Zey are very loud, zese snores you make,” Hepzibah asserted primly. “Zey do not go, ‘snort, bleat,’ as ze average snoring might. Non. Zey are ze operatic snores, zem.”

“Right, thank you for waking me,” Blueblood managed, struggling to sit upright again.

“With ze aria, an’ ze full orchestra behind her,” she continued contentedly. “Zis opera, she is ze very loud snore.”

“Yes. Thank you,” he said, trying and failing to be cross with her. Noting his aunt’s multicoloured sunset streaming in through a window nearby, he reached out for a nearby folder.

“At first, we think, ‘Mince alors, ze dragon is attacking, him! For quick, pony ze stations of battle,’” she went on conversationally, straightening his smoking jacket as she did and pouring him coffee. “But non, ze only dragon here in Canterlots, he is Spike, who is très petite. There is no such rumbles an’ bumbles coming from him, non. An’ besides, he live now far away, in ze village below, which is both itty an’ bitty.”

“Ponyville is not a village,” Blueblood said, struggling not to grin as she stirred cream into his cup.

“In fact,” she considered, putting a hoof to her chin as she did, “Mayhaps zat is ze why of his moving there? Such a bitty fellow.

“Oh, but you must not say such sings to him aloud,” she added with sudden mock seriousness. “Large or small, he is still ze dragon, him. With great angair, he jumps up, an’ sets fire to all ze ankles! Foosh!”

There was a moment of eye contact between the two, and they both fell into laughter.

“Thank you, my dear,” Blueblood smiled once their mirth subsided.

She shrugged. “Non, no raizon for thanks. For you, mon ami, I am always willing to be ze tease.”

Grinning, the stallion let his forehead fall against his hoof. “That is not what that means.”

“Ah, but where is Miz Sour Sweet?” Hepzibah frowned as she scanned the area. “I see her nowhere else. So I sink, surely, she must be with you?”

Blueblood shook his head as he drank his coffee. Then, putting it down, he said, “Forgive me, I was so wrapped up in my own affairs, I neglected to tell everyone. Sour Sweet had to go.”

”What? Zut alors! What happened?” Hepzibah exclaimed, all attempts at humor vanishing.

“It was a personal matter that couldn’t wait. She headed out last night.”

“An’ zen you are here til now, doing all of ze searching alone? But you should ‘ave said somesing!” Then, she waggled a hoof at him, chiding, “You must learn for to ask for ‘elp when you need!”

Sighing, Blueblood offered her a form. “Dear heart, do you know what this means?”

Frowning, the ebon unicorn accepted the parchment, and, a few moments later, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Non,” she admitted.

“Exactly,” he said gently, placing the document back into its folder. “And most of what I’m dealing with is like that, to varying degrees. Some of it is self-evident, of course, but…”

He gestured to the stacks of boxes. “What is legible to a layman is evenly distributed, so far as I can tell, among the rest. Which makes me the most qualified pony in the household to search for this particular haystack’s needle. Not that that says much right now,” he admitted with a shrug. “Much of it I don’t understand, either.”

But the mare was nodding her black-and-white mane sagely.

“Zen, I am having ze good news,” she pronounced. “For a message has arrived from ze ladies Oct an’ Scratch. It seems zey ‘ave found a sing.”

“A thing?” he asked, eyebrows raising.

“It seems.”

“What sort of thing?”

She shrugged happily. “Am I ze musician, zat I would know of zair sing? But I know enough of ze maths to know zat a sing, he is better zan a no-sing, oui?”

Blueblood looked at her suspiciously. Like most pony accents, hers was a matter of preference and family tradition more than geography. But even so, there were times when he had the distinct impression that she was having him on.

For her part, Hepzibah gave him a comically innocent look. Then, she became somber again, looking back towards the window.

“Ah, but Miz Sour Sweet,” she fretted. “Whatever is to become of her?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I made sure she knew she was welcome, and that we loved her. I wasn’t thinking fast enough to do much more than that.”

“Zen zat will ‘ave to do, at least for now,” Hepzibah reluctantly agreed. “We will keep out ze eyes for her, until she is coming back. All ze eyes.”

“Yes.”

They exchanged a quick embrace, and Hepzibah said, “Oh, but you must hurry! Akane, she waits for to help you dress for ze journey. An’ ze carriage pegasi prepare ze carriage.”

He grinned. “Whatever would I do without you?”

“Oh, wizzair away an’ die, no doubt,” she winked. Then, gesturing grandly, she pronounced, “Now, off you go, mon ami! Scoot! Zy chariot awaits!”

The sound table of Vinyl Scratch had been well-renowned for several years. She’d been awarded an honorary Masters in Music by the EEA for it, and thus it had been described in some detail in a variety of magazine and newspaper articles in the months following.

Since then, Vinyl Scratch had continued to tinker with and improve its design, even as other disc jockeys had done likewise with their own, based upon her own innovations. This had inspired, in turn, an entire community of ponies and other speaking creatures corresponding across the known world, sharing ideas and experiments in music, recording, and performance. Most recently including, through her collaboration with Vinyl Scratch, Princess Twilight Sparkle.

And it all started with this, Blueblood mused. Amazing.

The sound table was currently the size of a rather large desk, featuring three turntables, several tape players, two microphones (at least for the moment), and a veritable cornucopia of switches, dials, meters, buttons, and sliding devices that he knew in his heart he would never, ever, truly understand.

Each turntable was padded with a gripping surface, and equipped with a needle on a semi-articulate, rotatable arm. The needles were capable of reading and writing to any variety of audio records, so long as they could be positioned against them properly.

The term ‘needles,’ of course, was something of a misnomer in modern day. Granted, the first sound recorders had used literal gold needles, both to record and release the sounds that magic had preserved within scrolls of mystic silver. But that had been many years ago. Around the time that recorders had started using beeswax (allowing for clearer recordings, the wax coming from a living, buzzing animal rather than a silent metal), needles had begun being made from hair, for similar reasons. Blue had read somewhere that Belle Tainter had been inspired by her brother’s smallest painting brushes when she’d made the change.

And thus, just as most orchestral musicians used their own manes (or sometimes that of a particularly beloved family member) for their bows, most modern record players used meticulously cut and shaped hairs from ponies’ coats to form their incredibly soft and sensitive ‘needles.’ Those needles, in turn, were especially enchanted to release the magically-recorded songs from the discs they caressed. Needles made from the coats or feathers of brilliant musicians were therefore especially prized, their sympathetic qualities yielding higher quality playback.

The needles on Vinyl’s sound table were, of course, a delicate grey colour. Blueblood had smiled a little when he’d seen them, realizing their source to almost certainly be the region over Miss Melody’s heart.

Now, the antique cylinder gleamed a dull gold as it rested on its end on one of the turntables. Next to it was a small disc of glass encasing a paper-thin circle of wax, resting in the center of its own turntable. Vinyl Scratch pressed a button, and the compact disc began to rotate. Then, the DJ gently turned the needle’s arm and placed the needle against the record’s surface, a kaleidoscope of rainbows dancing across its transparent surface as it played.

There were the inevitable rhythmic scratchy sounds from the original recording, high and fast, for several seconds. Then, there were pony voices, garbled and indistinct. These were immediately followed by a stallion’s voice. And while the voice’s owner was unclear, his surprise was unmistakable:

“What? What are you doing here? What is that?”

Then followed more undecipherable sounds, almost certainly pony voices that modern sound magic had not been able to fully recover.

Then, a mare’s voice, desperate:

“Because I love you!”

Another garbled cacophony of one or more voices followed. Blueblood frowned then, as a final rush of sound on the record reduced everything else to white noise.

Vinyl shook her head as she switched the recording off. “Sorry, Grace Dude, that’s all we could recover. Far as I can tell, somepony launched off a really major firework close to an open window or something. The sound blew out the mic, and that caused an energy surge into the wax. So, we got this and the previous recordings we used as templates; everything else is just static.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really. That’s rather a lot of damage, isn’t it?”

“It was a big boom, man.”

For a time, the stallion said nothing, lost in thought.

“‘What is that,’” he mused aloud. “Curious.”

“Yeah. And like I said, we can’t identify anypony from it,” the DJ added regretfully.

“Mmm? Oh, that’s hardly a problem, my dear,” he said with a distracted wave of dismissal. “I know who the killer is.”

She blinked. “Uh, what?”

“Oh, yes. I’m never wrong about these things, you know.”

For several moments more, he considered the matter in silence. Finally, he said, “The building’s windows were all closed. That being the case, what kind of firework would it take, do you think?”

“Oh, in that case, one of the big ones, man, like the really big suckers,” Vinyl replied. “We’re talking, like, the massive display models. That, or maybe a quarter blasting stick, if it was close enough.”

“Yet, the psychometrists didn’t find any traces of alchemy around the building,” Blueblood mused. “Or any unusual magic at all, for that matter. And the only traces of magic found within were Miss Rarity’s.”

“Have to be a rocket then,” Vinyl nodded. “Probably went off right overhead.”

“Could it have been anything else you know of? Anything at all?”

The DJ shook her head. “No way, man. This was an explosion. Period. And if the cops didn’t find the vibes around the place itself…”

“…an overhead rocket would seem to be the only remaining possibility,” he finished, still frowning.

“Sure, man. You ever been under those things? Loud as fuck. Somepony probably launched it at an angle, over what they thought was an unused building. It went off too low, and that was it.”

“Mmm.”

Again, he said nothing for a time, still frowning. Vinyl also stayed silent, not wanting to interrupt anything that might save her friend.

“You… had a performance that night, did you not?” he asked at last.

She nodded. “Sure, up at the palace.”

“It sounds like you’ve arrived, as they say.”

Despite the stakes, she couldn’t suppress her grin. “Right? I mean it doesn’t get better than the royals. Plus, they’re some seriously righteous ladies. It was a sweet gig, man.”

Still thoughtful, Blueblood gave another nod. “Indeed they are. What time did you start?”

The DJ’s ears twitched, and she scoffed a little. “Tsh. On the SSC? Seriously? Dude, about nine-thirty. It was part of the fireworks show.”

Blueblood looked at her.

“Nine-thirty.” he repeated. “You’re certain.”

“Dude, it’s summer solstice! Nopony sets anything major off before then, not even the private shows. Otherwise you couldn’t see ‘em right, y’know?”

“Yes,” he said, slowly becoming animated once more. “Yes, actually that makes perfect sense. Thank you, Vinyl.”

“Hey, back atcha. So, um…” The mare’s careless demeanor faltered, her voice growing quieter as she asked, “Listen, Blue… you still think you can get Rarity out of this?”

Blueblood’s smile was genuine and kind.

“With your new information? My dear lady, I positively guarantee it.”

Chapter 18: The Pivotal Question.

With the lateness of the hour, naturally the royal court was closed. But contacting Aunt Luna had been a simple enough task for Prince Blueblood. And with the Night Princess’ talents, both Twilight and Celestia were joining her in the royal court after only a few minutes, just in time for Blueblood’s arrival.

“Ah! Ladies!” he exclaimed as he trotted in, the massive doors closing behind him. “Please forgive my summoning the three of you with such little warning, but time is of the essence. And, to the best of my knowledge, you are the preeminent experts in the field at hoof.”

Twilight frowned as she and her fellow princesses sat at the foot of the thrones’ dais, giving the stallion their full attention.

“What field is that, exactly?” she asked.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Blueblood shrugged contentedly. “But the information I seek is obscure and doubtless not to be found quickly or easily in written records, unless one already knows what one is looking for. Which, as I said, I do not.

“That being said, I believe that somewhere within the minds of one or all of you is the answer I seek. Or, at the very least, a vital part of it.”

The three princesses waited as he began to pace, his voice taking on the tone of a university lecturer.

“What I seek may or may not be a weapon by design,” Blueblood began, “and it may or may not be alive. But it is, in all likelihood, associated with a powerful telekinetic effect. One which can be easily weaponized.

“If it is a weapon, and/or if it is telekinetic in nature, this object or creature is associated with cylinders of silver. These cylinders are rounded at one end, measuring just under half an inch in diameter and just over an inch in length. While counsel for the Crown argued that said cylinder was a sewing weight, its lack of practicality as such, combined with the uniqueness of the object in question, more than suggests a specialized item with a single purpose. A purpose which, to all appearances, causes said cylinders to become charred when used.

“Furthermore, this object or creature operates its effects either without magic, or with such a minimal amount, that the impressions left from a violent death would conceal it from a psychometric examination entirely.

“This gives you a series of variables to consider, I realize. But please correlate with those variables the following certainties.

“Firstly: the murder weapon has an unusual appearance, likely remaining unrecognized even by the most well-traveled pony. We know this because Filthy Rich himself saw it before his death, and, according to the recording made at the time, he had no idea what it was.

“Secondly: it is both easily portable and concealable. We know this because nothing within the museum has the other necessary features of the murder weapon, and because comparing the museum’s manifest with the police catalogue revealed no discrepancies. Thus, the item was not a display, nor smuggled in disguised as a display. Additionally, police psychometry had detected no concealment magic around the crime scene.

“As the murderer would not have dared risk discovery by openly carrying it in the streets of Ponyville during a national festival, the murder weapon is therefore easily transported and carried. In a purse, for example, or in a lady’s mane.

“And thirdly: it most definitely utters a single, loud explosion when activated, similar to the largest of fireworks. The kind one uses in sky displays. Displays which, incidentally, did not start until over an hour after Filthy Rich had been killed.

“That concludes the data I have acquired. Does this description strike a chord with any of you?”

For a moment, all three princesses shared identical frowns, eyes closed. Then, Twilight reluctantly shook her head, turning to look at the other two.

Now, all eyes were upon Luna and Celestia. They sat without moving. Concentrating. Sifting through the aeons that lay behind them with the care of archaeologists unearthing a statuette of glass.

Then the sisters opened their eyes in shock, each staring at the other.

“Sweet ancestors before us,” Celestia whispered.

“Star Swirl’s weapon!” Luna returned.

“To me, my friends,” Celestia cried. “Quickly!”

The other ponies leapt towards her as her horn flared, and then the four of them were gone in a burst of teleportational light.

Chapter 19: A Matter of Memory, Silver, and Dust.

Naturally, Twilight was no stranger to the Star Swirl wing of the Canterlot Archives. And, since her entering the place during her first time travel mishap, she had happily not only read every scroll and book in the place, but organized them, as well.

Well, after all. It was a library.

She’d expected to find herself in some secret, heretofore unrevealed room or hall of the Star Swirl wing. But now, looking around herself, she realized that this was not the Canterlot Archives at all. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, she was still in the palace. Somewhere deep down. She could feel the powerful, ancient magic surrounding them all.

The cutie mark of Star Swirl the Bearded showed prominently on the ancient banner facing the hall’s one set of double-doors. It was covered, along with everything else around the quartet, with a thick layer of dust. The long hall was lined with small alcoves, each carved out from the living stone that surrounded them. Each alcove contained some artifact, some object that Star Swirl had apparently gathered for study during his travels across Equus and to other worlds. A small placard next to each object explained what it was, and any other notes the ancient magician might have felt it wise to impart. And covering each display was a single sheet of glass, also emanating powerful enchantments with which Twilight was wholly unfamiliar.

Here, behind glass frosted with additional glyphs, an ancient oil lamp rested, tarnished and old. Next to it was a small golden scroll covered in a beautiful, calligraphic script alien to any culture on Equus.

There, behind thick, leaded glass, a jade idol of a crouching demonic figure leered, glowing dull green in its alcove’s shadow. The placard beside it showed a single word in Star Swirl’s tidy script: Envy.

And further down, what appeared to be a paintbrush of purest silver, its brushes a midnight black. The card next to it identified the previous owner as a creature called Rapunzel.

Meanwhile, across the hall, a portrait of a beautiful young stallion dressed in exquisite finery was displayed. But the painting showed several slashes across its canvas, forever marring what was no doubt some ancient painter’s masterwork. The placard in its alcove attributed it to Lord Grey, but whether that was the portrait’s creator or its subject was unclear.

Twilight stared around herself in excited fascination. She’d spent close to half her life in the palace, and there were still places within it, sources of fascinating knowledge, that she had never seen. Never even heard about!

She’d have to address that oversight, she realized. Once she’d finished studying everything in this newly-discovered wing, of course.

The other princesses, meanwhile, were already moving forward, away from the doors, wearing identical frowns of concern.

“It has been so long since we were here,” Celestia said. “I haven’t even thought of this hall, or its contents, for ages.”

“Nor I,” Luna agreed. “Not since he last departed our world, though for me less time has passed.”

“What are we looking for, anyway?” Twilight said. “Star Swirl’s weapon? His books never mentioned his making a weapon…”

“That’s because he never made one,” Celestia said.

“And here, we find our fears realized,” Luna added.

The empty display case, like all the rest, was surrounded by wards etched directly into the wall’s smooth stone. The four ponies stared at the empty display case in dismay. Whatever stand or descriptive placard the artifact might have had with it had also been taken, leaving no clue as to its nature.

The glass, once broken, had apparently been knocked out of place shard by shard, placed in the alcove itself to delay detection. Which might not even have been necessary, really. The dust on everything around the four ponies testified to its lack of visitors.

Well, except for their own hoofprints, and what might have been those of another pony some time before, entering and leaving through the massive door behind them.

“But, this is impossible!” Twilight exclaimed, looking around them all. “How could this have happened?”

Luna frowned at the broken display case, and then the door itself. “None of the wards have been tampered with,” she pronounced. “Yet, if our thief had the means to slip past them so easily…”

“…why bother with stealing only this one artifact, much less breaking the glass that barred their way?” Celestia finished for her.

Blueblood, for his part, simply stood with one hoof on his forehead, eyes closed.

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Um, Blue?”

“Aunts of my heart,” Blueblood asked without moving, “what are the protective measures for this wing?”

“Well, in addition to the usual anti-teleportational matrices, the main door has galvanic wards to repel would-be intruders,” Luna said. “Each display, in addition to possible personalized constraints, also has lethal warding in the event of someone violating their confines.”

She looked away adding, “Brutal, I will confess. But with some of the artifacts contained here…”

“And we’ve been working on having that changed,” Celestia quickly added in response to Twilight’s horrified stare. “We have access to magical constraints we that didn’t when the wing was first built, after all. But because of the power levels of creatures who might seek these devices, research is still ongoing to find something powerful enough to thwart them, yet still nonlethal to ponies…”

“Yes, of course it is,” Blueblood sighed. Looking at the youngest princess, he asked, “Twilight, what are the security measures implemented during an open palace event? You know, one where there are crowds, possibly foals, and so forth?”

Twilight blinked, turning her attention away from her elders. “Oh. Um. Well, ever since Luna came back, most of the palace events have been pretty family-friendly. So first off, there are extra guards posted in different places throughout the palace, since all the harsher protections are shut down en masse to avoid any accidental, um…”

Her voice trailed off as the princesses stared at one another.

“Oh,” Celestia said. “Oh, dear.”

“But,” Luna interjected, “but they’re all replaced with temporary nonlethal ones, are they not? Or guard ponies are posted along otherwise forbidden sections?”

“You’d think so,” Celestia said, looking around. “But it may be that the palace guards simply assumed we were taking care of such matters.”

“Nopony can think of everything,” Blueblood pointed out, “not even you. But this makes sense, and I think we’re all lucky that our thief only took… ah…”

He looked at his aunts uncertainly.

“…what did they take, exactly?”

There was a flash of Luna’s blue magic, and the four friends were back in the throne room.

“The silver object you’ve described isn’t exactly a weapon, in and of itself, any more than an arrow is a weapon without a bow to launch it,” Luna explained. “It is, however, quite deadly when activated, being able to pierce flesh, wood, even steel.”

“It’s called a bullet,” Celestia added.

Blueblood frowned. “Like a sling bullet?”

Luna nodded. “Similar in concept. But far more devastating.”

“The weapon that launches it is called a revolver, after the part of the mechanism which turns during its operation,” Celestia continued. “It was gifted to Star Swirl during one of his escapades to Gaea, the world where humans dwell. Like many of the artifacts he brought home from other worlds, Star Swirl insisted that the weapon be guarded with the utmost security, and that nopony but him touch it. Even us.”

Now, it was Twilight’s turn to frown. “Humans?”

“Bipedal beings, with circumstantial correspondences to ponies,” Luna shrugged. “But their involvement is unlikely. While pony magic is primarily concerned with manipulation of matter and energy, theirs deals almost exclusively with manipulation of the more intangible elements. Probabilities, matters of the mind, and so forth. It is also weaker than our magic, and far rarer.”

“So, who gave it to him?” Blueblood asked.

“A human hero,” Celestia answered. “While human magic doesn’t lend itself well to dimensional travel, such travel was Star Swirl’s forte. Star Swirl said that the human who gave him the weapon always wore a mask to conceal his identity, and that he was the last of his kind. But he always used bullets of silver, both as a calling card and as a reminder of the high cost of taking a life.”

“While the weapon itself is non-magical, silver is still effective against certain evil magical creatures, even on Gaea,” Luna added, “And it was in this capacity that he and Star Swirl both found it useful in their adventure together. In any case, the human hero’s first encounter with Star Swirl was also his last. He retired afterwards due to wounds sustained, giving one of his revolvers to Star Swirl in memory of their experiences together.”

“Very well,” Blueblood nodded. “How does it work, and what does it do?”

“The revolver is curved at an angle, and operates through mechanical pressure against a triggering mechanism within the angle’s vertex,” Celestia explained. “The bullet is slung out through a tube via the use of focused explosive force. The revolver can fire six times before needing a recharge.”

“And it’s been fired once by our murderer already,” Twilight nodded.

“And once by Star Swirl,” Celestia added. “He was testing the weapon and its abilities.”

“And… once after that,” Luna broke in reluctantly.

Celestia looked at her sister, surprised. “Oh?”

“I, um, may have been curious about the weapon shortly after Star Swirl’s departure,” Luna admitted, studying the ceiling.

Celestia stared.

“It was hard to use, and terrifyingly loud,” Luna went on, becoming more uncomfortable by the moment. “Once I was able to manipulate its trigger point, it went off quite unexpectedly. It startled me. So, well, I put it back.”

“I… see,” Celestia nodded slowly.

Blueblood studied the sisters for a moment, then ventured, “So… three times?”

Celestia cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable.

Luna did a double take, then stared disbelievingly with an open-mouthed grin, hooves on hips.

“Thou brat!”

While Celestia took her turn in ceiling studies, Blueblood considered the sisters again.

“So, four times?” he offered, smiling. “Four times going once, four times going twice…? Fine. Four times. So, then. Aunt Luna, you’d mentioned it was difficult to use?”

“Oh. Yes,” Luna said, pulling her attention from her sister (who promptly stuck her tongue out at her in a very non-monarch way). “You see, I determined that I would try the weapon in the way it was intended. But the trigger is housed within a small hoop of metal. So it was incredibly hard to manipulate with hooves.”

“But far easier with telekinesis,” Blueblood nodded. “Especially telekinesis which is far more precise than it is powerful.”

All three princesses gave him identical scowls.

“And no, of course I’m not doubting Miss Rarity’s innocence,” he sighed. “But I am mindful of how what I find will be viewed by the prosecution, as well. At least, until I can get a confession.”

“Then, this has been of help to you?” Luna asked.

“More than words can say,” Blueblood bowed. “But for now, please forgive me dear ladies, I must away.”

“Very well, then, away if you must,” Luna agreed. Then, giving a sideways glance to her sister, she added, “Methinks we have much to discuss in any event.”

While Luna struggled to look angry and Celestia continued to study the ceiling with a look of absurd innocence, Blueblood took his leave even as a giggling Twilight vanished in a burst of lavender light.

Chapter 20: A Fireside Chat.

It wasn’t Blueblood’s favorite study. But since his preferred room was filled with indecipherable masses of paperwork, it would certainly do.

The fireplace was empty, the breeze wafting through the open windows perfect for the summer months. Above the mantle sat a portrait of his father, Vladimir Cordon Bleu. Blueblood had few memories of his parents, and fewer pleasant ones; they’d always been distant at best when alive. But shortly after he’d moved in, Aunt Celestia had found what was, in all likelihood, the only surviving picture of the old chap. It had hung there ever since.

Taking it down just seemed rude.

He glanced at the scroll on the nearby table with irritation. Apparently, Filthy had actually included mention of the museum’s assets in his will, since he had either personally acquired or helped to find so many of them. According to Filthy’s will, the sum of his contributions were now Rarity’s… in addition to a massive fund dedicated to seeing to the museum’s completion, with Rarity as its sole executor.

Which helped her case exactly none at all.

Blueblood gave a sigh of great annoyance. Without motive, he had nothing. No real evidence, unless the murderer volunteered to provide the murder weapon for inspection. Nothing to interrogate her with, not even enough for a good bluff. She’d just laugh at any confrontation he could muster, knowing he was grasping at ghosts.

The unicorn frowned in thought. The more he considered the matter, the more of a tangle it became. The whole affair made no sense. He’d known who the killer was from the start, of course. That part had been easy. And now, he finally knew how.

But why? The silly git had no motive, no possible reason to have wanted Filthy Rich to die. He’d been certain that knowing the murder weapon, and how she’d gotten it, would have by default have filled in the rest. But now…

His reverie was broken by a knock at his chamber door.

“Yes?”

The door opened slightly, and Akane’s face poked through.

“Y’all takin’ visitors, Yer Grace?” she asked. “I wasn’t sure.”

Blueblood smiled.

“Actually, I think I could use the distraction,” he said. “Please, show them in.”

As Blueblood stood, Akane opened the door again with a gesture of welcome. As his small guest entered, the prince blinked in surprise. While the two of them had always been friendly enough, they’d exactly never been close.

“Well, good evening,” Blueblood said with a nod. “Please, come in.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Spike replied.

“You’re most welcome,” the stallion said as the door closed behind Spike. “Though I confess I’m a bit puzzled by the sudden formality.”

“Yeah, well. You know,” the dragon said uncomfortably. “Weird times. Plus, it’s been a while.”

“They are indeed.” Blueblood agreed, retaking his seat as he gestured for Spike to be seated as well. “And it has. Far too long, come to that. Speaking of which, however did you get here? Not that I’m not glad to see you, but isn’t Twilight with you? Surely she’s alright?” The idea of Spike travelling the train from Ponyville to Canterlot alone, while not impossible, certainly seemed out of character for Twilight’s protectiveness.

But the young drake grinned as he hopped up into a stuffed chair. “Greenfire, remember?”

Blueblood opened his mouth, then closed it.

“You can do that?” he asked.

Spike’s grin broadened. “You’d be amazed. Far as Twilight can tell, a dragon’s breath varies depending on what hatches ‘em. So, parents who want hatchlings who breathe frost keep their eggs in the tundra, if they want fire they hatch ‘em in volcanoes, that kind of thing. So, yeah.”

“And you were hatched by magic,” Blueblood realized, nodding slowly. “Some of the most powerful that Equestria has ever known.”

He had heard some of the tales told about Spike the Brave in the Crystal Empire, of course. Tales of both his courage and his power. Even Sour Sweet had mentioned him. But he had always assumed such stories were exaggerations.

More fool, me, he thought. What might Spike be capable of in a hundred years… or even in ten?

“Well, that answers that,” he nodded. “And very impressive, by the way. Please consider me boggled, in the best possible fashion. But if you’ll forgive me, I sense this is no social call?”

The young drake’s grin vanished.

“It’s not,” he admitted. “I just really needed to talk to you. Twilight mentioned you’d found the murder weapon, and I thought about how much time is left, and, well… look.”

Spike drew in a deep breath, then let it out.

“I remember the night you and Rarity first met, at the Gala,” he said, staring down where sat. “I was really upset that night. Not just because I wasn’t going, though, you know, that was part of it.

“But Rarity’d made no secret about what kind of night she’d been hoping for,” Spike went on. “Finding some handsome noblepony to sweep her off her feet and carry her off in style. She went on about it for a while. Then, once, she let slip the word ‘prince.’ I knew then who she was hoping for.

“I’d never felt so down in my life. I mean, if it had been anypony else, I could at least have been angry, you know? And in a way, I guess I was. But mostly, it just…”

Spike sighed. “I spent the night trying to drown my sorrows in cupcakes.”

Blueblood gave him a sympathetic frown. “Extra sprinkles?”

Spike managed a slight smile. “Yeah, well, I was really depressed. And like I said, if it had been anypony else…”

The drake sighed again, adding, “But with you two, it seemed so natural, so inevitable. I mean, what did I have to offer her? I wasn’t even grown yet… heck, I’m not even a pony.

“And you weren’t just some stranger. I couldn’t look at you and think, ‘he’s not good enough for her,’ because, come on, I know you. I mean, we’ve never been friends exactly, but, um, wow, you’re… really… not… getting this, are you?”

Blueblood continued to look at his guest with concern and curiosity. “Well, I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I can understand your worry for her well-being; it’s plain that you love the lady. But why were you so upset, if it wasn’t for your exclusion from the Gala?”

Spike facepalmed. For several moments, he said nothing, holding his head in his claws. Finally, he sighed and looked at his host again.

“Not everypony is like you, Blue,” he said. “Sometimes, the pony you love isn’t just someone to spend your life with. They’re somepony you want to treasure, to keep safe, to… to…”

“Hoard?” Blueblood suggested confusedly.

Spike leapt off from the chair and began pacing, making wild gestures in the air. “No! Yes! Maybe, kinda…? I don’t know!”

Still puzzled, Blueblood spoke quietly. “You do realize that, even if Miss Rarity had come to stay here, if your own relationship with her had grown…”

Spike clutched at the sides of his head. “Dude! Don’t make this weirder than it already is!”

“Well, I only meant once you’d come of age, of course—”

“Not helping, Blue! Not helping!”

“Sorry.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

“Look,” Spike sighed at last. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m really messed up, about all of this. And it’s worse for my knowing that I can’t help directly, because of my connection to Twilight.”

Looking down, he went on. “I just wanted to say that for all that we’ve never really been close, I know you’ll do right by Rarity. Even at my lowest, even in my most immature moments, I always knew that.

“And now, finding out about that whole blood-letter thing, well… I mean, I’ve been thinking about this. I know most of the time ponies kinda forget about me a little. I’m younger than Twilight, and smaller, and, well, like I said, I’m not a pony.”

Then, looking up at the prince before him, he added, “But I’ve done things before. Heroic things. I have made a difference. Not just at the Crystal Empire, but other times, too. And if it ends up that there is anything, and I mean anything, I can do that might help Rarity, all you have to do is ask.

“Anything. Ever.”

For several seconds, Blueblood did not react, simply staring into space with that same thoughtful frown. Spike had started wondering if the unicorn had even heard him when Blueblood nodded slightly.

“I believe you,” he said. “Absolutely. And I’ll remember what you’ve said. Further, should I see an opportunity for you to offer the lady further protection from danger, be it now or a hundred years from now, rest assured that I shall call upon your power.”

The young drake smiled. “Thanks, Blue.”

Then, he frowned. “Wait, ‘further protection?’”

Blueblood nodded again, his expression still thoughtful as he stared into space. “Absolutely.”

For a brief time, neither of them spoke. Then, Blueblood suddenly turned to Spike with a smile.

“In any event, I’ve been a terrible host,” he said. “Please forgive me, I’ve been distracted. Might I offer you some refreshments? Some juice, or perhaps some jewels? Or, I could have one of the guest rooms prepared…”

Spike grinned. “Nah, I really should be getting back. Twilight’s expecting another shipment of law books and scrolls tomorrow, and she’s got a new plan for re-organizing the library. Plus, I guess she’s got a meeting with the head of palace security…?”

The drake paused, frowning, then shrugged. “Anyway, it’s a full day.”

Blueblood chuckled. “I can imagine. Well, please give her my best. And please, feel free to drop by any time you wish.”

Rising, the stallion extended a hoof, adding, “Friends are always welcome, after all.”

Spike hesitated a moment, then leaped into a hug with him, which was immediately returned. Then, the dragon hopped down and sauntered towards the fireplace.

“You mind?” he asked.

“Please,” Blueblood smiled.

Spike had just reached the mantelpiece when Blue said, “Oh, and Spike? One question.”

The drake paused, halfway into the fireplace as the stallion considered him carefully.

“You’ve… never tried transporting yourself before tonight, have you?”

Spike looked down, all his bravado evaporating in an instant.

“Please, just get her out of this,” he said.

With a grim smile, Blueblood knelt down, put a hoof on the drake’s shoulder.

“You have my word,” he said.

Spike gave him a look of gratitude, and Blueblood stepped back as the young dragon stepped the rest of the way into the hearth.

There was an exhaled burst of heatless emerald fire, and Spike was gone.

Blueblood considered the fireplace for a moment, then made his way back to the chair he’d been in when Spike had first arrived. Then, taking out pen and parchment from a nearby drawer, he began to write, his words illumined by the nearby candle’s mystic green flame.

Chapter 21: Confrontations.

The museum wasn’t a very pleasant place. Perhaps it would be, after it was finished. But to Blueblood it looked, and felt, like a tomb. Its few displays, the offerings that had been buried with the departed, in the hope that he would remember his old life fondly.

Blueblood looked around with a sour expression, surrounded by darkness. It had been a long walk from the palace to Ponyville, and his aunt’s moon had ascended towards the midnight position in the interim. Which was fine; it meant everything was essentially on schedule.

His letter to the killer had been direct and to the point, and he was quite certain it would bring her here. And confronting her here, in the room where Filthy Rich had died…

Blueblood sighed.

“I’m sorry, old boy,” he said to the floor. “I know it seems cruel. And a little reckless. And truth be told, I guess it is.

“But I don’t really have much choice, either. Disproving the Crowns’ case isn’t enough. I have to actively prove she didn’t do it. And right now, the evidence in Miss Rarity’s favor is circumstantial at best.”

Then, righting himself, “Well. All that said, hopefully we won’t be meeting for a while yet. But in any case: after tonight, Miss Rarity should be free.

“I hope that brings some comfort.”

He heard the front doorknob rattle then, heard somepony press vainly against the sealed portal.

Blueblood frowned. The wards on the door were specific, barring access unless the pony seeking entrance had a legal right to do so. He’d had a bit of trouble with entry himself, probably because his right of entry was vicarious. But after a moment, the magic had finally let him in.

Still. According to the unicorn who had placed them on Miss Rarity’s behalf, the ward had been specifically structured to include family members, in case Sweetie Belle had wanted to enter. So the murderer should have had no problem…

Ah, now the door was opening. Still, the portal’s tardy response seemed odd. Perhaps she’d become uncertain of her standing within her own family, or her right to consider herself such, and that had confused the door’s protections? After all, such charms were seldom perfect. And after what she’d done, insecurity would certainly be understandable.

Still, he mused, such self-reflection was certainly unexpected. Perhaps there was hope for the old girl after all.

He waited as the mare slowly made her way through the admission hall’s exhibits, uncertain, her eyes not yet accustomed to the gloom. Moments later, she was entering the music hall where he waited. Blueblood watched her carefully, not daring to breathe. Then, at the proper moment, he hit the lights.

A dozen crystals flared in their sconces, flooding the room and all its contents with illumination. Antique instruments in glass cases hung on the walls alongside portraits of long-dead composers, while several stands displayed larger instruments, busts, and of course the incriminating gramophone recorder beside which Blueblood stood.

The mare winced in the sudden light, taking an involuntary step back.

“Ow! What the actual fuck?” Sour Sweet demanded, eyes still closed.

Blueblood realized his mouth was open, and closed it.

“What?” he exclaimed. “What the deuce are you doing here?”

Then, walking quickly to her, “Look, you’ve got to get out of here—”

“Ohhh, no,” she interrupted, still blinking a little. “When I saw you sneaking in from Canterlot, I knew something was up. You’d never ditch your carriage on a trip that long unless you were up to something! And anypony with half a brain could figure out what.”

“Well, be that as it may—”

He tried a grab for her arm, but she neatly sidestepped him.

“Come on, Blue! You think I’m going to let you face down a murderer alone?”

“I’m not exactly ‘facing down’ anyone, really.” He said indignantly. “Well, I mean, yes, stage one does involve a confrontation. But I happen to have a plan. It is a subtle, well-engineered—”

“Oh, come on!” Sour Sweet snapped. “A wendigo in a glass-blower’s shop is subtle! A porn statue smashing through a stained glass window is subtle!”

Blueblood opened his mouth to give a heated reply, then paused, head cocked to one side.

“Wait. They make those?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Eyes wide with frustration, Sour Sweet stamped a forehoof. “Blue! Focus!”

“Yes, indeed,” said a third voice from behind her. “While I appreciated being able to enter unheard, I think I’d like your full attention now.”

Sour Sweet’s shoulders slumped, and she stared at Blueblood, seething.

“Surely you’re not going to blame me for this?” he demanded.

“I was considering it,” she growled.

“Now, children,” Spoiled Rich sneered at them both, “let’s play nice. How about you both just move away from the entryway, and towards that whatever-it-is by the far wall.”

Sour Sweet turned to face her then. Shoulders oddly relaxed, eyes dangerously narrowed.

“And why should we do that, instead of just kicking your ass?” she hissed.

“Because, my dear,” Blueblood said softly, “that thing she’s holding is the murder weapon.”

Still gloating, Spoiled motioned with the alien device for the other ponies to move to the room’s opposite wall. They did, Sour Sweet’s mouth pursed into a thin line of aggravation as they retreated.

“Mind you, she’d be a fool to use it,” Blueblood added contentedly as they took their new positions by the gramophone.

Spoiled Rich’s eyebrows went up in a mix of amusement and incredulity.

“Oh? And just why is that?” she asked.

“Because, any moment now, the police are due to arrive,” he said. “And since you were good enough to bring the murder weapon with you, not to mention holding it against the two of us, I think your best bet will be to simply confess, and throw yourself upon the mercy of the court.”

Spoiled Rich stared.

Blueblood nodded to himself in the ensuing silence. Meanwhile, Spoiled Rich was looking frantically from the front door to the other two ponies and back again, Sour Sweet staring at him more anxiously by the moment.

“Aaaaany minute now,” he said, continuing to nod. His eyes had narrowed into a cagey look, focusing on the direction of the conspicuously silent door.

Finally, Sour Sweet spoke.

“You… did send for the police, right?”

“Of course,” he said, still nodding.

“And it was before you left home?”

He stopped nodding, giving her a look of minor irritation. “What? Of course it was before I left home. These things take time, after all.”

“Yes, I know these things take time! I’m just trying to figure out how you would beat them here by this much…”

“I arranged for notice to be sent with specific timing…“

Sour Sweet gaped. “You arranged?!?”

Blueblood frowned. “Well, of course! I couldn’t risk her seeing me tipping them off, could I?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, so you risked both our lives instead! So much better!”

“Well, I didn’t know you’d be here!” he huffed. “And in any event, once Akane and Hepzibah saw the note, I knew--”

“You left them a note?!?” she screeched. “Are you kidding me?!?”

“Are you implying that my family isn’t responsible?!?” he demanded, rounding on her.

Sour Sweet stepped forward. “No! No, I’m saying that you’re irresponsible!”

Blue stepped forward as well, their muzzles now almost touching “Now, see here! I’m not the one who barged in on a murder confession--!”

“No, you just left a note instead of talking to somepony when your life—“

“I’ll have you know I calculated every aspect of this—!“

“Well then, why didn’t you just COMPLETE the thought, and—!“

“SHUT UP!” Spoiled Rich screamed, waving the revolver at them both. “SHUT UP! SWEET CELESTIA’S FLAMING TITS, SHUT! THE RUT! UP!!”

And then, muttering, “Luna’s dapples, it’s like listening to my parents.”

Sour Sweet and Blueblood both took an involuntary step back, staring at the weapon in Spoiled Rich’s trembling hoof. The immediate problem was no longer that she wanted them dead. It was that the device she held operated solely by mechanical pressure, not by will or intent. Which meant that, under current circumstances, it might well go off by accident.

Not that Spoiled Rich would likely object, of course. But Blueblood knew that he certainly would. And that was of far greater importance. Especially considering that, in addition to himself, Sour Sweet would also be a target.

“There’s no point in killing either of us,” Blueblood pointed out. “The note I left was rather detailed. Our deaths would only incriminate you further. And this time with deliberate murders, not an accidental death.”

“Shut up,” Spoiled Rich snarled. “You don’t know anything!”

Blueblood raised a haughty eyebrow. “Oh?”

Taking on his most superior smile, he began, “Very well, then. Let us consider the facts before us.

“Your choice of weapon, while confusing at first, could hardly be called inspired,” he began. “A matter of happenstance, obviously. You got lost in the palace last Grand Galloping Gala, which is the most likely time for you to have acquired it.

“I’ve seen a variety of royal security systems in my travels, and I can assure you that Equestria’s is by far the most relaxed. Probably because unlike my dear aunts, other monarchs have to worry about being assassinated. And the palace’s magical security is always lowered somewhat for public occasions, to avoid any accidental mishaps. Foals are sometimes brought into the grounds, after all, and not all the spells that protect the place are benign.

“So, on those few occasions when the palace is relatively open, deadly wards are depowered en masse in favour of more guard ponies at various stations. After all, it’s not as if the princesses are in any real danger, so what’s the harm?

“I think we know the answer to that question now. Whether there were no guards stationed at the hallway that night, or whether they’d left their posts to help deal with Discord’s guest and their antics, I don’t know. But what I do know is that, for you, curiosity overcame caution.

“You entered the restricted wing you’d discovered below the palace proper. And when you saw the weapon – revolver, I believe the proper term was – you realized that the wards protecting it were down. Any other time of year, electrical glyphs worked into the doorway would have denied you entrance into the wing. Well, unless you had a key, of course. And in any event, breaching the display glass would have blasted you into charred bits.

“But that night, luck was with you. The oversight of having no non-lethal protections within Starswirl’s old artifacts hall, combined with timing, dumb luck, and your own opportunism, and the weapon was yours.

“The decision to actually use the weapon might have seemed sudden,” he mused. “But I do suspect that on some level, you’d already recognized that your marriage was disintegrating around you.

“Then again, perhaps you considered such opportunism a sign of strength,” he went on conversationally. “The zeal a pony needed in order to advance herself in society. Or, perhaps, did having such a weapon give some sense of control you were lacking?”

Spoiled Rich’s face hardened as she blinked back tears, focusing her weapon exclusively upon Blueblood.

For his part, Blueblood shrugged.

“Then again, perhaps you just needed somepony to blame for the downward turn your private life had been taking,” he said. “And, when that time came, perhaps the weapon would be the way you would punish them. I confess, I don’t really know which. Perhaps all of the above, to varying degrees.

“What I do know is that your husband’s involvement with Miss Rarity’s latest charity gave you what you needed: somepony to blame for the state of your family. Well, besides yourself, of course. And when you were ready to destroy that someone for your failures, Miss Rarity made the perfect hook upon which to hang your sapiencidal hat.”

“They’d been spending more time together, more and more, for months!” Spoiled Rich seethed. “We were married. Married! He had no right to go off playing bachelor colt every other night and weekend, playing with his outdated toys with some damned—”

“Miss Rarity, however, was not the final straw,” Blueblood interrupted smoothly.

Projecting his voice to cover what he hoped was the approach of assorted hoofsteps, he said, “It was your daughter, Diamond Tiara! Her ever-growing association with the Rarity household. Staying for dinner multiple times a week, and recently even spending regular nights there. That was what made up your mind.”

The murderess’ voice was a hoarse whisper. “Shut up…”

“I’ll admit, it was all most puzzling to me, even with the weapon’s discovery,” Blueblood went on, idly inspecting a nearby portrait frame for dust. “Not how you did it, of course. Even bearing the revolver’s alien nature in mind, with your unusual hoof dexterity that was never a question. It was motive that was such a poser.”

Frowning, he wiped his hoof on his kerchief before continuing, “After all, it was always obvious how much you loved your husband. Even depended on him, even as you strove to drive other ponies away from him. So, why do it at all? And how did Diamond Tiara fit into it?”

His voice was almost kind as he said, “It was because… you were afraid.”

In a sudden gesture, Spoiled Rich reared up, grasping the revolver with both front hooves, struggling to keep it still as she kept Blueblood in her sights. Tears, still flowing, had long since ruined her mascara. Her breathing was raspy, and hard.

Sour Sweet’s eyes were wide, darting between stallion and mare. “Um, Blue…?”

But the noblepony ignored her, casually pocketing his kerchief as he spoke.

“It took me a long time to see it. And even then, I’ll admit I needed help,” he said. “I’ve simply never known that kind of fear. Fear of loss. Of not being first, and only. A fear which, by all outward appearances, you abated only through your control over the lives of others.”

“It wasn’t like that!” the murderess spat.

“I know it wasn’t.”

“I was happy!” Spoiled choked. “It wasn’t just the money and the connections, it was him! Our daughter!”

And then, in a shriek, “And that bitch was taking my family away from me!”

Blueblood nodded. There it was, the final confirmation. The true motive for this seemingly motiveless crime that had baffled him for so long.

“You knew that Miss Rarity would be here that night,” he said, still ignoring the weapon pointed at him. “Her work on the museum, while not advertised, was no more a secret than any of her other charity works. She was the one you’d meant to kill.

“But you didn’t know that she’d stayed home with her sick sister. And, you didn’t know that your husband had come here earlier than usual… ironically, to tell Miss Rarity that he would be distancing himself from the project, and from her, for your sake. Just as you didn’t know that he’d made dinner reservations for the two of you the following night, to tell you he was done with the museum.”

Spoiled blinked, her voice an astonished whisper. “What…?”

“There was another matter he was going to explain as well, regarding your daughter,” Blueblood said, almost kindly. “But that’s hardly my tale to tell. What I can say with certainty is that when you’d arrived here, you’d come for Miss Rarity’s life, not Filthy’s.

“I can only imagine how seeing your husband here instead filled you with rage. Perhaps you saw him pocketing the letter he’d only just written to another mare. Perhaps you didn’t. But you brandished the weapon just the same. Of course, you’d meant it as a confrontation, not a murder.

“But… you didn’t know how it worked, did you?”

Spoiled swallowed, shaking her head slightly. She lowered again to three hooves, the fourth still keeping the weapon trained upon him. Her eyes were filled with loss, the other mare in the room forgotten.

For his part, Blueblood concentrated on keeping her attention away from the sound of desperate voices outside, muffled by the warded door they were trying to force open.

“Of course not,” he went on. “How could something like that just explode in your hooves by accident? Ridiculous! Magic requires intent to function, by its very nature. Any schoolfoal knows that. A weapon should logically be no exception.

“Yet, your husband was dead, just the same.”

“I didn’t want him to die,” she choked. “I just didn’t want him to—”

She cut herself off, glaring at him. Swallowing back her tears, eyes hard. Again, she raised the revolver, her hoof far steadier than it should have been.

“What I said about the note before was completely true,” Blueblood pointed out.

“So?” Spoiled demanded in a suddenly hysterical voice. “What’s that prove? Nothing! Your reputation’s garbage, everypony knows it! You find a new way to embarrass yourself every Gala, and then hire on whores to mince their way through your apartments at the palace every night. No one will believe the word of a missing libertine over mine! And if the princesses were going to intervene, they would have by now.

“Your disappearance will be seen as an obvious ploy,” she went on through gritted teeth, her voice lowering dangerously. “The two of you fled the price of your courtroom failure, to start up a new life somewhere far away. Your precious note, just a last-ditch attempt to save face, to make the guilty seem innocent.

“But none of that matters tonight, especially not for you. I’ve already killed. I’m already guilty. It won’t matter if I do it again. And I know how the weapon works now.”

“Of course you do,” Blueblood nodded, smiling again. “And you’ll use it, I’m sure. Even with the evidence against Miss Rarity, even with your first killing being an accident, I knew the moment I saw you in court that you were a murderess.”

Again, Spoiled’s fragile mask of composure shattered and fell away.

“How?!?” she screamed, stabbing the revolver at him as she advanced. “How could you possibly have known?!? I had the perfect reputation, the perfect fall mare! HOW COULD YOU HAVE KNOWN?!?”

Blueblood gave a patronizing chuckle.

“Because, my dear, when it comes to reading ponies like yourself…”

His smile broadened with an almost tangible condescension as he finished, deliberately slow enough for even a true dullard to follow.

“I. Am never. Wrong.”

Blueblood bowed low.

There were twin explosions, like the booms of massive fireworks, deep and deafening in the enclosed space.

But even as the noblepony fell, the constabulary surged in through the warded door at last, flooding into the museum, those who entered the music hall staring at the tableau before them in horror.

The prince collapsing to the floor, bleeding out rapidly.

The alien weapon in Spoiled’s hoof as she spun to face them, wild-eyed, surrounded by smoke. The revolver’s hammer desperately clicking again and again on its spent chambers.

The young gold-coated mare, crying out as she rushed to the unicorn’s side. Blood staining her arms and barrel as she tried in vain to catch his fall.

The pain was momentary, strangely enough. His body felt light, even warm. His legs gently gave way beneath him, their strength flowing away like melting wax as he involuntarily settled on the floor.

Shadow encroached his vision from all sides, but he was able to make out Sour Sweet.

Wait, was she crying?

He heard her say something. It sounded like, “Idiot.”

Well. She was alright then.

Blueblood managed a smile. Then darkness overtook him, and he knew nothing more.

Chapter 23: Endings Are Also Beginnings.

My dear Blueblood,

I hope that this missive finds you in good health and good cheer. Well, relatively good health, of course. I imagine there is a limit as to just how good one’s health can be after such tribulations. You will never know my relief when I heard that you would make a full recovery.

Yes, the evidence in my favour was rather scant before. But having the constabulary enter just after she struck you down, smoking murder weapon in hoof, was quite convincing. So was the confession they’d overheard as they were forcing the door, for that matter. All charges were dropped immediately, of course, and she is in the dungeon where she belongs.

Just the same, I remember when they brought her in, even as I was being released. She was fighting the guards every step of the way, alternating between screaming and sobbing. And at the end, when the final door was closed behind her, I heard her whisper Filthy’s name.

Throughout my ordeal I had anticipated, if I ever met with the true murderer, feeling rage towards them, even hate. And mind you, I’m certainly not going to understate the harm she has caused, and I’m hardly in a position to extend the hoof of friendship towards her. But now my feelings are conflicted. Is it strange that, upon seeing her thus revealed, I find myself feeling pity for her instead?

Blueblood’s mouth pursed into a thin line before continuing to read. No, he thought. It isn’t.

As for your own ordeal… you will always have my gratitude, and certainly I am the very last mare to call another pony out for drama… but honestly, was there no option that involved less risk to yourself?

That being said, never forget gallantry, my dear friend! Had you not bowed as low as you did, I have no doubt but that she would have succeeded in piercing you through the heart with that alien weapon of hers, and not through the withers as she did.

Propped up by pillows in his bed, Blueblood smiled a little. Yes, it had been generally assumed that Spoiled Rich missing her shot had been a factor in his survival. But in reality, according to the physicians he’d spoken to, it had been the magical effect in which Sour Sweet had enveloped him that had saved his life.

As she herself had said, the Crystal Heart was an amplifier - as well as a focus point and battery - for crystal magic. A magic of love, protection, and healing that was otherwise almost impossible to invoke deliberately. Outside ponies tended to assume that the Heart was the source of the empire’s special magic, as well. But in actuality, that power came from the hearts of crystal ponies. Blazing, raw, and unfocused as the sun itself.

Small wonder, Blueblood mused, that even while hiding the magical artifact away so jealously, Sombra had worked so tirelessly to break the spirits of his subjects.

Of course, the more powerful the emotion behind it, the more powerful any magic could become, even without a focus. And the more powerful and tempestuous the heart, it seemed, the more powerful the emotions it could produce.

Not that he would ever point that out, of course. No matter how beautifully, or angrily, Sour Sweet blushed.

Still smiling, still thinking fondly of freckles, he read on.

Your family (I nearly wrote ‘staff,’ even after knowing what I know now – ridiculous, isn’t it, how some habits die so terribly hard?) have been beside themselves, of course. But I’m sure by the time you receive this all should be well.

Sweetie Belle and Diamond Tiara say hello, by the way, and send their own thanks and get well soon wishes. Twilight and Spike send theirs as well. Twilight said to tell you that her restructuring of palace security was taking longer than expected, and according to Spike the palace guard has learned new worlds of respect for our royal friend.

Alas, Diamond Tiara is in a terrible way (and who wouldn’t be?). It seems so dreadfully unfair how the young must always pay the greatest price for our mistakes. Anyway, she’s staying with us for now, I’m not sure for how long. She doesn’t seem to have much extended family, and those who have stepped forward seem only interested in having influence over her inheritance, and… well. I’m sure you know the sort of ponies I mean.

Blueblood’s eyes narrowed as he read on, thinking back to his own foalhood. Yes, in fact, he knew exactly the kind of ponies she meant.

So I do hope you can forgive my not being there to greet you when you awaken. I would like to be, but as you might imagine my hooves are very, very full. I’m not sure how well I can give the dear the kind of support she’s going to need, and being “aunt and niece” might make things a bit awkward between the girls (yes, they finally told me, and I feel quite silly for not having realized it myself!).

My adopting her therefore seems an unlikely solution at the moment. Applejack and Twilight have offered, of course, and Apple Bloom is certainly in favour. But would such a life suit her? I don’t know. Still, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.

Blueblood sat back against his pillows, considering this last bit of news. He’d never intended to have any children of his own. After all, the halls were already filled with gloriously rambunctious offspring that he could gleefully play with, wind up, stuff full of sugary confections, and then pass back to their proper parents.

But under the circumstances…

Well. Considering the matter carefully, should the young lady wish it, why not? It could be a fine new adventure for them both. Granted, having her live at the palace might involve a certain amount of uprooting.

Or, then again, it might not. He smiled to himself. From what he recalled, folding a tesseract into a pre-existing fifth-dimensional whatever-it-was such as his chambers could be dicey. But, he felt certain that any or all of the princesses would be willing to lend a hoof with that under the circumstances.

Then, he grinned. If she did move in, he could well guess where Diamond Tiara would want the other end of that particular portal to open. A door between the Blueblood chambers and the Carousel Boutique? Ha! Wait until the rumor mills got wind of that!

Alternatively, it might be that Miss Rarity was underestimating the allure that living in a library – or on a farm – might have for a young lady. Time would tell what young Miss Tiara would prefer. But the more options she had, no doubt the better her future would be.

Then, his brow furrowed slightly as he read on:

Oh, and while you were out, so to speak, I was inspired. Your family will already have gotten their new ensembles, of course. But I put something rather special together for you. I know it’s a bit more daring than you would usually wear, but do try it on. You will be the very rage of Canterlot.

See you soon,

--Rarity.

Blueblood looked from the folded parchment he’d been reading to the box that Hepzibah and Akane were holding between them, each wearing an identical grin. His brow creased further into a suspicious frown. In his experience, such grins were not to be trusted. And, as he was still confined to bed by doctor’s orders, his avenues of escape were even more limited than usual.

“Come, come,” Hepzibah chided. “You ‘ave put this of long enough!”

“Yep, time ta put it on, instead,” Akane agreed as they put the box in his lap.

Sighing, Blueblood reached out and pulled off the box lid, removing the fine garments within.

The ladies oohed and aahed delightedly as he removed the silken shirt, the exquisite neck tie, the finely embroidered vest, the bejeweled coat with…

Wait. Were those…

Bells?

Prince Blueblood looked from one excited, bouncing mare to the other.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

“An’ just why not?” Hepzibah demanded. “You would look fabulous in zis!”

“That there’s a Rarity original,” Akane pointed out. “Made jus’ fer you. Y’really think she dunno what she’s doin’?”

“It’s not that,” he protested. “It’s just…”

“Miz Sour Sweet is waiting to see you in this, mon cher!”

“Y’ain’t gonna disappoint the lady, are ya?”

Blueblood looked again at the garments in his hoof. He sighed again and shook his head, a rueful smile already beginning to form.

He wasn’t going to win this one, either.

Author's Note

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This timeline continues in The Apple Jamboree

There also will be other stories in this timeline - and its sister timeline - in the future.

And, of course, the seminal story that starts it all begins here.

Introduction.

Alone in his chambers, Blueblood frowned.

Where, he thought, in my extreme cleverness, did I put my ivory cravat?

He had put it away somewhere safe, it seemed. Safe even from him.

How irritatingly clever of him.

Still frowning, he picked up the cravat he had been able to find. It was a very fine material, eggshell with just a hint of off-colour in its lace, and it would do, certainly…

But he had distinctly awakened in a mood for ivory.

He gave the offending garment a last accusatory look and then tossed it aside, plunging back into the ramshackle abyss that was his wardrobe. Surely it had to be in here somewhere! No… no… that wasn’t it… no… not that either…

He paused, looking at the old waistcoat he’d inadvertently fished out. He hadn’t worn it for quite some time, actually. Strange, it was one of his favourites. He held it up to the afternoon light, turning it this way and that. The dark charcoal complimented his coat, and the tie he wore with it brought out his eyes beautifully. Plus, it was comfortable as sin… and come to that, why the deuce hadn’t he worn it? Why, even the old frosting stains had come out perfectly—

Ah, he thought with a sigh. Ah, yes. That’s why.

Gently, the white stallion folded the garment again, placed it carefully in its drawer and closed it.

Perhaps today wasn’t fit for ivory, after all.

There was the merest of knocks on the double doors before they burst open, allowing the two mares entrance. They cantered in side-by-side, exchanging conspiratorial smiles as they surrounded him, their usual frilly maids’ outfits rustling gaily as they did.

“Now, Yer Grace,” the green earthmare drawled, “Y’know you’re supposed ta be waited on. Part a’the whole royal business an’ all.”

“Miz Akane speaks the truth, mon chere,” her ebony counterpart joined in. “It iz nearing ze time for late brekky, an’ you must be properly dressed, non?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly aware of that,” he protested, “but I’m quite capable of dressing myself... now just a moment… I was doing something over there… wait, why are we by the mirror… no, I had a thing I was… now see here, ladies…!”

Outnumbered, still protesting, Blueblood found himself gently corralled by the two mares towards the end they had devised.

And then, with new suspicion, “What’s in that box…?”

“Come, come, you know ze new fashions, zey await for no stallion, yes?” Hepzibah chided him happily. She tossed her black-and-white mane as she added, “A stallion of your station must ‘ave ze very latest an’ best in garmants, even for ze brekky!”

“Yes, and I was going to wear my black waistcoat and ivory cravat---”

“Zat old rag? Poof!” The ebon unicorn dismissed the idea with a wave. “I give him to ze travelling salespony, for to keep warm at night.”

Blueblood stared in horror. “You didn’t!”

Side by side again, the couple exchanged a sly look.

“He’s so cute when he’s scaired,” Akane chuckled. Then, to Blueblood, “Naw, Yer Highness, we didn’t toss out yer napkin—”

“Cravat,” Blueblood corrected, rolling his eyes. “Also, my waistcoat.”

“Well, whichever. They went out with th’ cleanin’, early this mornin’.”

“Leaving you wiss nossing to wear,” Hepzibah joined in again. “A true tragedy, I am sure. Fortunately for you, we are having ze solution. Viola!”

The creases of his brow reforming with a new frown, Blueblood dubiously removed the garment from the box Hepzibah had proffered with her customary flourish.

It was certainly well made, of course. And its colours and design were above reproach. But wait, were those…?

“It has tassles,” he observed.

“Oui, it has,” Hepzibah nodded happily

“Yep,” Akane agreed, giving one of the little balls of fluff an experimental poke. “That’s what they are, all right.”

Blueblood regarded them both, eyebrow raised.

“You’re not serious.”

“But, mon cher ami, why would we not be ze serious?” the black unicorn protested. “You would be so très charmant in zis! It wants only for ze final fitting.”

“She ain’t lyin’, Yer Grace,” Akane added. “That there’s an attire fit fer a prince. You’d look good in it, an’ that’s a fact.”

Blueblood’s look became a knowing, teasing one as he focused on the earth mare before him.

“Are you saying my looks are in need of aid?” he purred.

Akane sighed and looked up, blushing furiously. “No…”

For a second, Blueblood grinned, his victory assured. But during that second his guard was down, and that was all that Hepzibah needed. With the precision of a ninja and the unhesitating stealth of a master surgeon, she pounced, slipping a sleeve over one foreleg. Even as Blueblood managed an indignant “Hey!” Akane also leaped into action, her own motions complimanting Hepzibah’s perfectly.

“Now, wait just a moment, ladies… I have a certain amount of autonomy, here…!”

“But of course you do,” Hepzibah grinned.

“An’ we’re jus’ autonomissin’ the heck outta ya,” Akane rejoined with an identical grin.

At length he sighed, balanced on his hind hooves, helplessly imprisoned by the bustle of beautiful mares.

“I’m not going to win this one, am I?” he asked to the ceiling.

“Oh? You have won one before?” Hepzibah cooed, contentedly making chalk marks on his garments. “When was zis?”

“Yeah, where were we?” Akane grinned through a mouthful of sewing pins.

Even as Blueblood opened his mouth to respond, he was suddenly released by the flurry of hooves, pins, and chalk that had held him upright. Catching his balance as he spun, he landed on all fours again, his reflection staring back at him in the full length mirror.

Both mares behind him waited anxiously, bouncing slightly in anticipation. He scrutinized the magnificent stallion in the looking glass, examining his attire this way, then that.

Finally, he hung his head in defeat.

“And…?” Akane prompted.

There was a pause, then he turned and gave them both a mock glare.

“Alright, I like it,” he grumbled. “Damn it.”

There was a moment’s silence, and the three of them burst into laughter.

“Okay then, we’ll get this getup back t’the tailor,” Akane smiled as she carefully helped him out of the pinned layers of cloth.

Blueblood shot her an amused glance. “Wait. We don’t have a tailor?”

Akane chuckled a little. “Not yet.”

“Indeed, mon ami, ze tailoring is ze one profession our famille d'amour seems to not have,” Hepzibah added.

With practiced ease, she folded and replaced the garments back in their box.

“Well, that an’ carpentry,” Aakne observed.

“Ooh! An’ ze mason!” Hepzibah added excitedly.

“Could use a painter, fer portraits an’ whatnot.”

“An’ why not ze sculptair, as well? I hear zere is a fair one, down in ze village...”

“Ponyville ain’t a village, sugar.”

Ignoring this minor detail, Hepzibah turned back to Blueblood.

“Plainly, you have ze work cut out for you,” she said pirmly, her eyes twinkling with merriment. “Best if you are getting busy sooner zan later, non? You just get out zair an’ get us what we need, you. Go on, vite!” She punctuated her command with a shooing gesture.

Blueblood raised an amused eyebrow. “Oh, I see. And just out of idle curiosity, what am I supposed to wear while on this little prowl of yours?”

“Oh, poof,” Hepzibah waved his concerns away. “You are having ze wardrobe of ze lions an’ sorceresses, wiss nossing to wear? C'est ridicule!”

“Y’still got’cher collection a’ smokin’ jackets,” Akane winked. “Mighty fetchin’.”

“Le rowr,” Hepzibah agreed, touching her collarbone with a smoldering look.

Blueblood grinned. “You two are no help.”

“None,” Hepzibah chirped happily as she turned to go, her box floating before her in a sky blue glow.

“You’ll figger somethin’ out,” the earth mare assured him. “I got faith in ya.”

Blueblood shook his head, chuckling. “You are so fired.”

“Fired!” Hepzibah cried to Akane as they headed back to the doors. “Ah, mon bien-aimé! Wherever shall we go? Whatever shall we do?”

“Aw, it ain’t no matter,” Akane replied. “He’ll rehire us tomarra, at double the rate.”

“Zis is true,” Hepzibah shrugged as they passed through the doorway. “Aftair all, whatever would he do wissout us?”

As the doors closed behind them, Blueblood shook his perfect mane. Then he chuckled again, speaking fondly into the empty air.

“I honestly have no idea.”

Sighing happily, he returned to his wardrobe, sifting through its contents anew. There was the same assortment of garments, and they were just as haphazardly arranged. But somehow, their colours were a bit brighter now, their fit just a bit more pleasant. And the sunlight, still filtering through the same window panes, seemed just a little more cheerful, with birds he hadn’t heard before singing as they soared about outside.

It was going to be a beautiful day, he thought as he searched. A day filled with hope, wonder, and promise. Nothing could go wrong on a day like this. He could feel it.

“PRINCESS CELESTIA!”

The Princess of Day blinked, the anguished cry snapping her eyes back in focus. The committee before her had been droning on for easily an hour, about the proposed additions to various policies to cover dual citizenship between Equestria and other nations. And greater trade between them. And immigration. And customs.

And, and, and.

She had just been thinking that she would rather be dealing with something, anything besides the tone-deaf ramblings of the dull bureaucrats before her when the Princess of Friendship had burst into the throne room in full flight, eyes wide, plainly in a state of barely controlled panic.

I must be more careful what I wish for, Celestia thought to herself.

But out loud, the diarch simply said, “Give us this room,” standing as she did.

In seconds, she and her former student were the only ponies in the room. Even the ceremonial guard ponies had filed quickly through the main entrance, closing the massive doors behind, while Raven vanished through her customary entrance to the side.

Celestia descended the dais as Twilight landed before her, gasping, her words barely coherent.

“Princess… it’s Rarity… she didn’t… but they… and now… they won’t… I can’t…!”

Swiftly and gently, Celestia enfolded the youngest of the princesses in her wings.

“Take a moment,” she said. “Breathe.”

“But there’s… I can’t…!”

“Twilight, breathe in.”

Obediently, the violet alicorn took in a long, shuddering breath.

“Now, let it go.”

Twilight exhaled, her shoulders shaking slightly less.

“Now then. Tell me what happened.”

Twilight finally looked up into her mentor’s gaze, her own eyes filled with tears.

“It’s Rarity,” she said. “She’s been arrested for murder.”

“WHAT?!?”

“I know,” Twilight sniffed. “”She was working on something for a new museum of some kind, I don’t know anything else, she’s involved in so many charity projects, I don’t… they wouldn’t tell me anything! I almost… I should have…”

Twilight looked away for a moment, struggling. Then, she continued in a cracking voice, “She was at home. A constable brought Sweetie Belle to me. That’s how I found out. Sweetie was hysterical! I got her to calm down a little, got her to Sweet Apple Acres through the tesser – the other CMCs are with her, plus AJ – and then I went to see Rarity, she’s down in the dungeons, awaiting trial…”

Then, suddenly, Twilight’s expression went dark behind her tears.

“I should have taken her out of there!” she exclaimed, squeezing her eyes shut. “I should have! It would have been easy, nopony could have stopped me!”

“Twilight…”

“How could I just leave her there--!”

“Twilight,” Celestia said gently, “you did the right thing.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Twilight. Please. Look at me.”

With effort, Twilight dragged her eyes back to Celestia’s.

“You did the right thing,” Celestia said again. “There are certain things that even a princess may not interfere with, or else the very foundation of our society will collapse. You know that. And criminal process is one of them.”

“But…”

“The law must apply to all,” Celestia said firmly. “Otherwise, it applies to none.”

“But she’s still down there!” Twilight insisted. “And they’re saying all the evidence is against her!”

“Then that’s all the more reason to proceed carefully,” Celestia replied. “Any government functions upon the faith of its people, or else it becomes a dictatorship. If we are to be just, we must also deserve the faith of the ponies we rule.”

“But I’m not a ruler--!”

“Not in the way your fellow princesses are, perhaps,” Celestia admitted as the two of them began walking together. “But a good ruler guides and guards her realm and her people. And you are a protector of Equestria, and a guide to its people.

“And you have chosen a realm to protect, Twilight: the realm of friendship. In a sense, you carry a far greater burden than the rest of us, for by definition your realm knows no boundaries. So, you must keep the faith of not only the ponies of Equestria, but those of all other lands, as well. Even of the speaking folk throughout the world, who you might one day seek to aid.”

While Twilight stared, Celestia continued, “As the Element of Generosity, Rarity is also a guardian. And, in a sense, a guide as well. She’s saved us all numerous times, and almost nopony will want to believe her guilty. At least, not at first.

“As a result, the law must proceed even more meticulously than it would with most ponies, especially considering the rare nature of the crime. Everything must be above question, above suspicion of bias. Even in retrospect, even years after the fact.”

“What can I do, then?” Twilight demanded. “I’ve never studied law! I mean, sure, I am now, but…”

“Firstly, you can get her home again,” Celestia said. “They should be done questioning her by now. No matter how many bits they ask for, your reputation should suffice for her bond.”

Twilight looked at her uncertainly. “Sooooo, you’re saying my word is her bond?”

“That is where the expression came from,” Celestia nodded.

“But--!”

“Re-unite her with her sister, and let them know that everything will be alright. Then, see them both home. Be there for them, so they know they aren’t facing this alone.”

“Of course, but... how can everything be alright?” Twilight demanded. “If even you can’t help, then how…?”

“It isn’t that I can’t help,” Celestia smiled. “It’s that I can’t interfere. What Rarity lacks right now isn’t a friend, or a barrister, or even a princess. She needs an experienced problem solver. Someone skilled in law, negotiation, and deduction. Someone who can’t be accused of twisting the facts for her out of politics, or gratitude, or personal feelings.”

With a glint in her eye, Celestia added, “And I think I know just the pony she needs.”

Twilight looked at her old teacher suspiciously. Ever since Luna’s return, Celestia had re-discovered a sense of humor that, growing up, Twilight had rarely suspected. And for that, she was immensely glad. But every now and then, Celestia showed a Discord-like streak that Twilight found just a little unnerving.

So, for all that she knew her former mentor wanted only the best for Rarity, there was something about the mischief in Celestia’s smile that Twilight did not completely trust.

Chapter 7: Strategies of Brilliance.

To Princess Celestia, a bath was a moment of solace. A safe port, to recover from the daily storms. A refuge from the tempest. Any number of other weather-related metaphors that she liked. It was a time of quiet, reflection, and solitude. A time to truly be alone and just think.

Unfortunately, there were always exceptions. Some nights – more nights than she liked to admit, really – she was simply too tired to do anything but sleep. Other nights, she had meetings with foreign dignitaries who happened to be nocturnal (though with Luna’s return, that had become much less a concern).

And some nights were like tonight. For throughout the day, any number of events – including some resulting from having so brusquely dismissed court the previous day – had arisen or become overdue, demanding her attention through her nightly tea and well into her bath.

Curses.

So it was that nighttime found the Diarch of Day, resignedly leaning on the edge of the swimming pool-sized sunken bathtub that was her almost-nightly joy. Reading and writing and signing dreary old documents, instead of splashing about, doing laps, and positioning her personal fleet of ships against their various imaginary foes as she rightly should have been.

(And no, those large, antique-looking boats on the shelves nearby aren’t bath toys. They’re expertly-made models of the Equestrian Royal Fleet, along with floating replicas of long-dead sea monsters made to her exact specification, ages ago. So of course Her Solar Majesty doesn’t play with toys in her bath. What a ridiculous question. She meticulously plans out marine strategies on how best to defend her subjects against unknown enemies, every night. With sound effects. Because she is just that dedicated to her ponies.)

With the signing of the final paper, Celestia gave an exhausted sigh.

“And that’s the last of them?” she asked.

“That’s the last of them,” Raven Inkwell assured her.

“No more?”

“No more.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Celestia’s entire body sagged with relief. “Oh, Raven. You have no idea how…”

“Now, all that’s left is your nightly briefing.”

Celestia favored her with a sour look, sinking slowly beneath the suds that covered her massive tub.

With a contented smile, Raven finished tucking the completed documents into her bag.

“Now, Your Highness, you know you can’t put this off forever.”

The suds-covered surface of the tub burbled as the submerged princess blew bubbles at her.

Raven chuckled, and began reciting what updates remained to be told. Gossip, rumor, and hard fact, gathered from various ponies who answered to the major domo, both officially and unofficially. While she did, there was the occasional ripple as the White Sea Beast That Prowled the Royal Tub swam and rolled dangerously beneath the ocean foam.

Finally, she said, “And, lastly, there is of course the news on Rarity and Blueblood.”

At that, the princess slowly surfaced, her normally ethereal mane clinging elegantly to her head and neck while water ran gracefully down its pastel hues and across her coat, her amethyst eyes peering at her friend from between rivulets of mane and foam.

“What news?” she asked.

Raven blinked, then with effort refocused.

“Ah. Yes. Well, um.” Taking a breath, Raven reported, “Apparently they had dinner together at the Blue Coi Paloi, and it ended with her throwing wine in his face and leaving.”

Celestia winced. “Oh, dear.”

Raven nodded. “Yes. Naturally, rumor had already been circulating that he’d only taken up her cause in hopes of adding her to his herd. So now, the assumption is that he propositioned her, and she said no.”

Celestia chuckled. “Really? Oh, dear. I suppose I should have anticipated that.”

Raven shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it. The real problem will probably be the trial itself. The pre-trial’s been moved up to tomorrow morning, at the family’s insistence.”

The princess’ eyebrows shot up. “Her barrister agreed to that?”

“Apparently, Speaker for the Accused raised no objection. The most popular theory is that it was in part because they’re planning to hoof the whole thing over to Blue anyway, and in part because it’s just the preliminary hearing. There’s no way this won’t go to trial, after all.”

“Yes, of course. But then, that also bumps the trial up by default… hm. A strange concession, by any measure.”

“Well, remember that he may also think that Rarity is guilty. Nopony in Ponyville does, I’m sure. But there are plenty of ponies in Canterlot who knew and liked Filthy, especially among the well-to-do. That creates a bias, and that kind of bias can be contagious.”

“Mmm. True.” The Lady of Day considered for a moment, then shook her head. “Oh, well, it hardly matters. This is Blue we’re talking about, after all. He’s studied law, and he’s the best negotiator I know. It’s only a small hop from that to barrister.”

She leaned back into a lazy backstroke with a contented smile, adding, “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing!”

The music room was a large, sunken affair, fully half of it being carpeted steps leading down to a floor perhaps thirty feet to a side. In theory, one could rehearse a full orchestra there without crowding. In practice, however, there were generally no more than three foals or adults practicing at a time.

The exception, of course, was when the household was in preparation for Hearths Warming Eve. During that last week before the holiday proper, the room might find itself stacked to the rafters with extended polyfamily, foals, and relations of relations, all happily singing or playing away in preparation for caroling and the family celebration.

Blueblood had once joked that the entire extended family should put on a concert for the city. Arpeggio, a hub for several relationships and the de facto music instructor of the family, had grinned and said something along the lines of What an excellent idea, Your Grace.

He’d been kidding, of course. Blueblood was sure he’d been kidding.

Regardless. At the moment, the room had only two occupants. Blueblood himself, feeling very much beset by circumstance; and Sour Sweet, who was staring at Blueblood while he railed at the various instruments surrounding them, his hooves dishevelling his previously flawless mane.

“I thought you studied law…” she started.

He whirled on her. “I did!”

“Right, so…?”

“Archaic law!” he snapped. “I began as a history major!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he went on, “It was when I started taking classes in antiquated law that I got a real taste for other cultures, eventually becoming a diplomat for my aunt. Well, aunts, now that Aunt Luna’s finally back.

“Anyway, since then I’ve studied international law, trade law, the laws and traditions of seven different non-pony nations…”

Sour Sweet nodded slowly, understanding. “But never criminal law.”

“Exactly! Well, not in any modern sense, anyway.”

Blueblood sighed, his shoulders slumping while his mane fell back into its usual perfection.

“But to Auntie, if a pony’s studied something, then obviously they know all about it,” he said. “After all, her mind is like a binding circle etched in stone; nothing escapes it. Oh, she’s never condescending about it, of course. And intellectually, she does realize that other ponies don’t work like that. But when it comes right down to it, she just doesn’t know what it’s like to forget anything, or even what it’s like to need to study in the first place.

“Meanwhile, I’d have to learn literally decades – perhaps a century or more – of cases and precedents just to be qualified to assist in Miss Rarity’s defence,” he railed, his ire rising again. “And now, I find out that instead of a month or even a week to prepare, the pre-trial hearing is tomorrow! Honestly, how in the name of every star Aunt Luna knows and names am I supposed to save the damsel in distress, armed with only my keen intellect and a collection of lore that’s literally centuries out of date?”

Shrugging slightly, he added, “Well, aside from property law, I suppose.”

Then, his voice rising again, “But still…!”

Leaning an elbow on the piano’s keys (eliciting a dissonant chord in the process), Blueblood grumbled, “Might as well send a knight against a demon horde armed with a bouquet of roses and a hay sandwich.”

“So, wait a minute,” Sour Sweet frowned. “Why is all this on you? Doesn’t Rarity already have an attorney?”

Blueblood waved her question away. “Only in the most technical sense. No private firm would touch the case with tongs. Defend the accused murderer of Filthy Rich? And alienate the Rich family – along with all their allies, political and financial – forever? No. Oh no, they beg to be excused!

“And so, the fair lady has been stuck with a public attorney who is not only devastatingly inexperienced, but also firmly believes that he’s been saddled with a guilty client. That’s where I’m to come in, as a legal advisor for the accused.

“Except that Miss Rarity’s idiot defender has decided that since I was sent by the Crowns, he’s off the hook,” he growled. “He’s has all but completely ceded me control over the case. Not just investigation, mind you, but representation, arguments, everything! He didn’t even contest the advancement of tomorrow’s hearing. I haven’t even been approved to assist in the case yet, and he’s all but washed his hooves of the matter!

“Yet there’s no way that my qualifications – or, rather, lack thereof – won’t be weaponized against me, and thus against Miss Rarity. Especially with Janus involved.”

“Wait, go back. Janus?”

“Janus Serpentine. Counsel for the prosecution, and the only reason proceedings are moving forward so quickly. One of the best and most unscrupulous barristers to ever serve the Crowns with over twenty years of experience. Also a master orator, an excellent debater, and a fair singer.”

Her eyes narrowed. “He’s that good?”

Frowning, Blueblood nodded. “He’s almost as brilliant as I am.”

Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Though I daresay I have the old devil beat hooves-down in the looks department.”

Sour Sweet rolled her eyes. “Well, obviously.”

Blueblood stopped. “What?”

Sour Sweet reared up to lean on a large harp, snarling, “I said, you’re forgetting an obvious advantage!”

Blueblood cocked an eyebrow at her, genuinely curious.

“Very well,” he said with a gesture of invitation. “Illuminate me. Outside of my mastery of largely irrelevant lore, my devilish charm, my innate brilliance and my rapier wit, what am I overlooking?”

Coming back down to four hooves, she stepped forward, smiling.

“Blue, I was a criminal law student in the Crystal Empire, remember?” she said warmly. “And I’ve been studying modern law ever since I got to Canterlot, so I’d be ready to attend Canterlot U next fall.”

Blueblood had opened his mouth to speak when Sour Sweet roared, “So get up off your pampered ass, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and let’s go save your fucking FRIEND!”

There was a moment of stunned silence from them both. Blueblood, staring wide-eyed at the mare before him; Sour Sweet, eyes even wider, covering her mouth and feeling more mortified by the second.

Then, Blueblood started to laugh.

A moment later, Sour Sweet was laughing as well. She fought it at first, but the mirth insisted on wrenching free of her, breaking through her defenses as it did.

For several moments, the music room was filled with their laughter, his tenor blending with her soprano. Several times it would end for a moment… and then they would look at one another and laugh again, at their own mirth.

Finally, they fell into a companionable silence.

“You’re right, we can do this,” Blueblood said at last. “Between the two of us…”

“We’ve got this,” she smiled. “Rarity’s as good as saved.”

“Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat. “Shall we adjourn to the library? We could research, in preparation for the hearing.”

Still smiling, she nodded. “Sure.”

All in all, the entire business was a frustrating, fatiguing mess. Yet, as he finally retreated to his own bed, Blueblood found that it had also been the best evening he’d had in a very long time. Sour Sweet was brilliant at research, and was excellent company, as well. And they would be working together again tomorrow.

He was asleep as soon as his face struck his pillow, an exhausted smile on his face.

Chapter 22.

One moment was all it took.

His Grace was bleeding out too fast, his blood forming a rapidly-widening pool. Even as the policeponies disarmed and restrained the suspect, even as they moved to offer what aid they might give, it was plainly too late.

Then, music. A song more felt than heard.

In later reports, some of the police would describe it as an orchestra of armonicas. Others would describe it as what it might be like to hear the stars sing. But all of them agreed that with it came a vast, blinding light from where His Grace and the young mare with him lay.

And then, it was gone.

The pool of blood, while no less terrifying in its size, was no longer growing. And at its center, arms wrapped about one another, were a stallion and a mare. Each of them unconscious. Each of them seemingly formed from the purest, most flawless crystal.