He Who Speaks for the Sun

"Graviora Manent."
—Old Equine Phrase engraved upon Blueblood's Royal Seal

Chapter 10: Soot and Sooth

The medical campus was shut up for the night. The night watch on duty gave Blueblood Marshmallow’s address, and he ran with it. There was no time to lose. He had to know tonight.

For a royal physician, their home was unnervingly plain. They lived in a tenement house only a few miles from the campus, barely above the level of a college dormitory. Blueblood bribed the horse at the front door for access and dragged Trixie up two flights of stairs. Marshmallow’s room was at the end of a long, dimly lit hall choked with trash waiting for pickup. Blueblood vaulted over a garbage bag and landed deftly outside room 326.

“Marshmallow! Open up!” Blueblood shouted loud enough to wake the dead. “By order of the Prince of Equestria, I demand you open this door!”

Silence answered him. Sucking his teeth, Blueblood pounded on the door again.

“I know you’re in there!”

“Hey! Keep it down!” Someone shouted back from behind a closed door. “It’s three in the morning!”

“Shut up!” Blueblood snarled back. He turned his attention back to the door and decided to try lying. “Marshmallow! I come bearing orders from the Caliph himself! If you don’t open up, then—”

“Go home, asshole!”

“I said shut up!” Blueblood threw his full weight against the door, thumping hard with his shoulder. “Marshmallow if you don’t open this door I swear on Celestia’s sun I’ll break it down!”

“Please don’t break my door.” An exhausted, slurred voice came from behind Blueblood. He whirled around to see Marshmallow leaning against the wall for support, their eyes glossy and their breath leaden with liquor. “Indigo? How come you’re trying to bust into my apartment?”

“We’ve got a new lead in the case.” Trixie stepped in. “We need you to analyze some—” Her snout scrunched as she sniffed the air. “Are you drunk?”

“Very!” Marshmallow beamed, slinging a hoof around Trixie’s shoulders. “Just got back from a party. C’mon, you ponies can crash at my place while I sleep this off!”

“There’s no time,” Blueblood stressed, double-checking that he still had the samples tucked into his jacket pocket. “How long do you need to sober up?”

“A few seconds.” Marshmallow unshackled themselves from Trixie and leaned forward, tapping their cheek. “Hit me.”

“What?”

“Hit me! Slap me in the face! Really make it sting!” They chattered excitedly.

Blueblood stared, wincing as he lifted a hoof. He gently batted their cheek like he was patting a kitten.

“Nah, c’mon! Really slap me!”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can take it! Whack me a good one!”

“You’re sure you want this?” Blueblood raised an eyebrow.

“Do it!”

The crack of the slap was louder than a gunshot. Marshmallow was spun fully around by the sheer force of it, staggering back to lean against the wall for support as they clutched their ringing cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Blueblood replied, reaching out to steady them. “Are you okay?”

“Better than okay!” Marshmallow rubbed their face. Already the gloss in their eyes was starting to fade. “I’m sober! Let’s go!”

Rolling up their sleeves, Marshmallow revealed the band along their arm. The blade of a scalpel encased in amber pulsed excitedly as they prepared to get to work. They grabbed Blueblood and Trixie by the shoulders and took the lead, reversing the roles as now Blueblood was dragged along behind them.

*****

Marshmallow had taken the samples and entered their lab. Blueblood was too stressed to watch the process but too stressed to look away. He paced up and down the hallway, peering in through the window every time he passed it. His knowledge of the scientific method was limited, and he had no idea what any of the countless devices inside the laboratory actually did. His heart leapt anytime Marshmallow paused to examine their equipment or adjust a gauge.

Trixie on the other hand had brought along reading material to pass the time. The comic book the djinn had left for her retold many of the same stories she had already read. It told of how Arfaj envisioned a united Saddle Arabia, how he waged war against the disparate tribes of the Sarabian Desert, how he sat for forty days in the desert to contemplate the mysteries of the sun, how he raised up water from the dust in arid places, and most importantly to her, how he bound the djinn. It reiterated the words she had read once before, the ritual of binding:

“By the sun and her flame, I bind your mind and magic.
By the moon and her chill, I bind your breast and heart.
By the river Akhal, I bind your left hand
And by her sister Teke, I bind your right.

In the Sea of Sorrows, I bind your belly
And with the desert dunes, I bind your legs.
I bind you in body, soul, and spirit.
And you are mine.”

The comic, however, gave her one bit of extra information. Arfaj and his first disciple, Sandstone, spoke after he had bound the djinn. Sandstone asked how he had done it, and Arfaj’s reply was simultaneously simple and impenetrable.

“The flesh is weak, but does it not contain the spirit?”

Trixie furrowed her brow. What did that mean? She hated trying to decipher all these ancient riddles. Why couldn’t old desert mystics just say what they meant? Why didn’t Arfaj write a book about djinn binding and have it mass-published? If Trixie had bound a supernatural being to her service, she would never let anypony forget it. She’d be touring, getting book deals, endorsing politicians—for a fee of course.

But how was she supposed to capture a djinn when all the advice she got was written in riddles?

Huffing, she pushed the book away. Blueblood was still pacing, his hooves click-clacking on the tiles as he pursed his lips and glanced furtively into the lab.

“Do you wanna sit down?” Trixie motioned to the plastic seat beside her.

The prince stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the chair. “I don’t think I can. I have to know. I need to be right.”

“You can be right without wearing a hole in the hospital floor.”

Blueblood sank into a seat and sighed. He crossed his hooves over his chest and tried to avoid watching the process. Everypony always said a watched pot never boiled, and he supposed a watched laboratory didn’t deliver results.

“So what happens if we’re right?” Trixie slouched in her seat. “Do we arrest Aster?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? The Caliph tasked us with finding his assassin, so we would technically be acting on his orders.” Blueblood shrugged his shoulders. “But there’s something we’re missing here. Killing Alabaster is one thing. He wants Saddle Arabia to remain as it is, and killing off a conspirator was a way to slow that down. But killing the Caliph is a big step up. If it had worked as he intended, Sandalwood would die, his son would be enthroned, and he’d have Saddle Arabian tutors guiding him. But why now? Why not kill me? It worked for Alabaster, so why not murder the next ambassador who seemed like they’d throw their lot against his beloved Caliph?”

Blueblood rapped his hoof nervously against the arm of his chair.

Trixie’s mind was working overtime as she tried to process things. Blinking clarity, Trixie realized something they had missed. “What about Chicory?”

“What do you mean?” Blueblood raised an eyebrow.

“Why her? If Aster planned this all out, why would he just choose a random horse to be the one to take the fall?” Trixie could see pieces clicking together. “So why Chicory? If she was convicted of killing the Caliph, she’d have been killed by a firing squad or imprisoned for life if she was lucky, right?”

“You think he was trying to take down two birds with one stone?” Blueblood’s eyes burned as the gears in his head whirred. “What threat could a slave be?”

“Maybe she’s a slave because she was a threat.” Trixie met his gaze. “Do you know why the Caliph enslaved her? They said it was punishment for a crime, right?”

Blueblood froze. He didn’t. He hadn’t even thought to ask. That was it. That was the missing link.

And Chicory hadn’t been in their room when they returned. Aster had.

“As soon as we know for sure, we need to find her.” Blueblood’s voice held that determined edge Trixie was coming to understand. “I’ve got a feeling Aster is thinking the same thing. If he really did want her dead, there’s not much stopping him from trying again.”

“Other than us.”

“Exactly.”

The door to the lab swung open. Marshmallow stood in the doorway, adjusted their lab coat, and flicked their mane to one side. “Results are in!”

Blueblood and Trixie were on their hooves in a heartbeat. Blueblood was trembling as he stepped forward.

“It’s the same adhesive, isn’t it?” His voice nearly broke.

“You had it right, Indigo.” Marshmallow brandished the results in their magical grip. “Same adhesive as I found in the glass.”

“That’s what I needed to know.” Blueblood breathed an exhale of relief as he wiped his brow. Vindication felt good. “I think we have our culprit.”

“And with that,” Marshmallow shed their lab coat and untied their mane. “The sun is coming up, and I’ve got my work cut out for me today. Especially with no sleep and still slightly buzzed.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to do surgery like this.” Trixie narrowed her eyes.

Marshmallow’s cheeks glowed faintly. “Worse. I’ve got a date.”

“Oh dear,” Trixie’s ears flattened against her skull. “Good luck! I hope it goes well!”

“Oh, it will! My charms are irresistible after all!” Marshmallow tossed their mane. The whiplash made them reel, and they stifled a deep belch into the back of their hoof. “Oh, that’s not good.” They braced themselves as they staggered down the hall towards a trash can. “I think I’m gonna hurl…”

“We should leave.” Blueblood jerked Trixie’s hoof and took off down the hall. “I really don’t want to see them lose their lunch.”

“Wouldn’t they be losing their breakfast? Actually, I don’t think they ate this morning. So… Dinner?”

“I don’t care what meal it is, I don’t want to watch them spew it into the trash!”

*****

Truthfully, Blueblood had no idea where to start looking for Chicory. Nor did he have any idea what their next move ought to be. The sun was painting the horizon scarlet as they stepped into the street, the muezzin's cry echoing down the alleyways like a condemnation. They had their suspect. They had evidence. They had a motive. But at the same time, he still felt like he was groping in the dark. Every day his grasp on the situation grew clearer, yet it hardly seemed to matter. Saddle Arabia was hurtling towards a point of no return, and Blueblood could only slow it down. The Caliph would die. The succession would be messy. And he himself still didn’t know where his loyalty lay.

Siding with Fairweather would make him Caliph—the ruler he had always dreamed of being. Siding with Aster would mean working with someone who wished to uphold the despicable legacy of slavery and oppression. Taking a third path? Taking the throne for himself without Fairweather’s backing? Perhaps.

Trixie bought them both coffee from a vendor and handed a cup off to the prince as they passed through the cool spray of Lineage Park. This early it was devoid of the usual crowds of fillies and colts splashing in the puddles. A few camels were seated on the benches surrounding the fountains playing a card game. The golden sunlight caught the water and doused the park in a spray of dancing, prismatic shards. Trixie felt she could grow to love this place as she sipped her coffee and sighed.

“Every day we spend here, the less I miss Equestria.” She splashed a hoof through the runoff of the fountain. She flicked droplets at the prince, who scrunched his snout as the water struck him.

“If Saddle Arabia ever stabilizes, I’d love to live here.” Blueblood mused softly. “Once you adjust to the heat, it really is beautiful.”

“We don’t have to go back, you know.” She mused as they strolled down a lane shaded with colorful awnings. “To Equestria I mean. We could just… Stay.”

“And get caught up in regime change after regime change?” Blueblood chuckled casually. “I think I’ve had enough of the stress of being Saddle Arabia’s Ambassador for now.”

“I didn’t mean as ambassadors. I mean just… as ponies, you know?” She shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be Saddle Arabia either. We could travel for a while. See the sights. Zebrica, the Gryphon Kingdoms, maybe even go far west and visit the Great Plains.”

“Celestia would never let me.” The prince shook his head. “I’m too valuable as a diplomat, plus I’m a member of the Solar Court.”

“You think she’d drag you back, kicking and screaming?” Trixie smirked over the rim of her mug.

“I’m not worried that she’d come after me. I’m worried she wouldn’t even notice I was gone.”

“If she wouldn’t notice you left, why stick around?”

Blueblood was silent for a long while. He sipped his coffee and seemed deep in thought. The answer didn’t come easily to him. It was a vulnerability—a chip in his armor. Blueblood couldn’t tolerate weakness in himself of all ponies.

Yet he knew the answer. He could feel it like a crystalline mass in his heart. It was a part of his core that he refused to acknowledge. To speak it was to make it real.

But after all they had been through together so far, didn’t she deserve to know?

“Because I’m owed my wings.” The words came out of him like bile. “Every time I’m told to do the impossible, I know it’s cause I’m being tested. And every time I’m tested, I’m found wanting.” He sucked breath through clenched teeth. “That’s what this is. It’s all a test. Celestia wants to see how I’ll handle things here, whether or not I’ll measure up to her faithful student.”

Blueblood paused, took a sip of his coffee in a futile attempt to steady his nerves, then went on.

“I can’t leave because the second I give up, the second I turn my back on it, I’m admitting they were all right about me. Admitting that she's better than me, has always been better than me. That I’m not worthy.” He took a deep breath as his muscles knotted. “And I’m not letting them have the satisfaction.”

Blueblood felt like a piece of him had been torn out. The dull ache in his spine started to throb in time with his heartbeat.

“I know how you feel.” Trixie breathed a low sigh and toyed with a stray strand of her mane. She didn’t like admitting her flaws either. The Great and Powerful Trixie shouldn’t have flaws, lest she no longer be Great and Powerful. “Just in the opposite way. I feel like if I ever settle down somewhere, then I’m giving up a part of myself.”

“How?”

“I’m a traveling magician.” She emphasized her point with a sweep of her mane. “Anypony could settle in some place like Las Pegasus or Manehattan or Fillydelphia and play the clubs or casinos. But for me, if I settle, if I take one of those gigs? I’m admitting I’m not good enough to make it on the road.”

Her horn glowed faintly as magic pulsed within her. “So every night I don’t have bits for dinner, every day where my act bombs and I get pelted with tomatoes, every time I have to drink that Appleoosan Vineyards Moscato you hate so much—” She saw him shudder faintly at the name. “Even though they’re terrible, they’re little victories to me. If I wake up ready to move on to the next town and perform again, then I’m still winning.”

“That explains why it’s always so hard to track you down when I need you,” Blueblood said with a small chuckle.

Trixie managed a grin. “What a mess we are. You can’t leave, I can’t stay.”

“What a terrible pair we make.”

“Opposites attract, don’t they?”

“I guess that’s why it seems I can’t get rid of you.”

“As if you’d ever want to. How would you survive without my impeccable wit and charm?”

They stood close. Too close for either of their comforts. Yet they didn’t back away. Blueblood knew this would never work out. They were too fundamentally opposed. He was confined to Canterlot, she was shackled to the open road. When they returned home to Equestria they would part ways and it would be months, maybe years, before they had another time like this.

So why not enjoy it while it lasts? Blueblood had already pried out part of his core and placed it in her hooves. She had returned the favor, hadn’t she? For the first time in a long while, Blueblood felt he wasn’t wearing the guise of a prince. He was past all the polite smiles, false platitudes, and plastic nobility that being a royal entailed. No longer was he nobility, and no longer was she great and powerful. They were Blueblood and Trixie. No more no less.

Blueblood said nothing, but gently slung a hoof around her as they walked. Wordlessly, Trixie settled comfortably into his embrace.

“You still have no idea where we’re going, do you?” Trixie said with a teasing lilt in her tone.

“Not in the slightest,” Blueblood replied, scanning the streets ahead. “If you were Chicory, where would you be right now?”

“Sleeping.”

“Aside from sleeping.”

“Getting breakfast?”

“Good lead, but where?”

“Is this another test?” Trixie raised an eyebrow. “Another political thing you’re trying to drill into me?”

“No, I genuinely don’t know where to start looking.” Blueblood sighed. “Sutaf is a big city.”

“Well, we’ve gotta start somewhere.” Trixie gently nudged him onto a side street for a shortcut. The fact she was starting to recognize shortcuts in a city not her own made her feel even less connected to Equestria. “And I suggest we start with breakfast. I’m going to need more than coffee to get through the day. Plus, it’s my turn to choose the restaurant!”

“Alright, fine.” Blueblood followed along, shuffling his hooves. “So long as it's not the Grease Pit.”

“But what if that’s my choice?” Trixie plead with her eyes.

“Then you can eat alone.”

“But you liked it!” Trixie huffed indignantly. As they turned back onto the main thoroughfare and merged with the traffic of horses and camels flooding to work, Trixie felt like she was being watched. She slung a side-eye over her shoulder and noticed three palace guards working through the crowd. She’d had enough run-ins with the police to know what it looked like when they were pursuing a target.

Keeping her pace quick but steady, she whispered into Blueblood’s ear. “Don’t turn around. We’re being followed.”

“By who?” Blueblood replied, his gaze fixed in front of him.

“Palace guards. Three of them.”

“We can outrun them.”

“Don’t run. If you run, you're guilty”

“Okay, so we don’t run. What then?”

“Play it cool. Follow my lead.” Keeping his foreleg around her body, Trixie began to maneuver her way through the crowd, weaving through groups of workers to gain distance. “This way.”

They slipped into a cafe and passed by groups of horses getting breakfast. They exited through the backdoor, stepping into an alley strewn with refuse with a creek of fetid slime oozing down the center. Blueblood retched on the smell and had to be dragged along by Trixie as he danced away from rank puddles.

“Wait! I can’t step in—”

“Keep moving!” Trixie hissed, vaulting over the central river. “Now turn!”

They ducked into the doorway of a small tenement, concealed behind a curtain that kept their entryway private. Trixie put a hoof to her lips and shushed. A moment passed before they both heard sharp Sarabic voices and a clatter of hooves. The sound passed them by as the hooves beat their way down the alley, eventually vanishing into silence. Trixie peered out through a small hole in the curtain and exhaled in relief.

“Coast is clear.” She motioned for Blueblood to follow her as she headed back out into the alley.

“I need a bath.” Blueblood shivered as he picked his way carefully around the assorted filth and offal.

“Your bath can wait.” Trixie rolled her eyes and stepped back out onto a deserted side street. “They were looking for us, I’m sure of it.”

“Aster must know we’re getting close.” Blueblood practically leapt for joy as they exited the alley. “He must still have something he doesn’t want us to know.”

“You there!” A voice interjected in barking Equine. “Halt!”

Blueblood and Trixie turned to see another pair of guards approaching from around a bend in the road.

“Do we run now?” Blueblood whispered.

“No. Let me handle this!” Trixie’s horn lit up as she grabbed onto Blueblood’s hoof. She’d been practicing for a time like this. Just as the guards reached them, Trixie’s spell went off and the two of them blinked out of reality.

When they reappeared, they were about forty feet off the ground and falling fast. Trixie flailed to grab Blueblood again, quickly slinging the spell a second time.

This time, they appeared in the center of a metal foundry. The air was thick as syrup and sweltering hot, and horses stripped to the belly surrounded them. They blinked at the intruders in their midst before Trixie vanished once again, leaving them to wonder if the ponies they saw were just a trick of the heat.

Third time being the charm, Trixie landed them in a dark, humid side street somewhere in the city where the sun refused to shine. She landed with a thump on a bale of moldering hay, while Blueblood crashed head-first into a half-finished building. He kicked up clouds of dust as he rolled over half-mixed mud bricks and bags of unmixed concrete.

“You okay?” Trixie popped her head out of the hay, spitting straws as she tried to brush them out of her mane.

“My coat is soiled, my mane is ruined, and I’ve chipped the clearcoat on my hooves!” Blueblood’s voice crackled with horror.

“But are you alive?”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

“You’re fine.” Trixie stepped over an unfinished section of wall and helped the prince to his hooves. He shook the dirt from his formerly pristine coat and tried to brush out his mane. He looked miserable.

“Where are we, anyway?” Blueblood stepped out from the unfinished house and glanced up and down the street. They were closer to the city wall, which was currently blocking most of the rising sun. Everything here was lit in a faint, gloomy grey color occasionally broken by lamplight. The air held faint undercurrents of factory soot and unwashed bodies. He recognized that scent. He had smelled it as soon as they entered Saddle Arabia. “Nevermind. I think I know.”

“We’re in the slums.” Trixie stepped into the lamplight and brushed some dirt from her cheek.

“Were you aiming for the slums?” Blueblood raised an eyebrow.

“I was aiming for anywhere that wasn’t there.” She shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Better here than prison.” Blueblood took a step into the street and something squelched under his hoof. His entire body squirmed as he recoiled in horror. “Nevermind. I prefer prison.”

“Oh come on you big baby.” Trixie rolled her eyes. “Let's get moving.”

The two ponies made slow and careful progress through the underbelly of the city. Here, Trixie was reminded less of Canterlot and high society and more of the small, impoverished towns she had passed along the border of Buffalo Territory. The houses were a mix of brick, concrete, scrap metal, and fabric held together with little more than rusty nails and optimism. A rare three-story building seemed to list aimlessly in the breeze as they passed it by, tempting the wind to blow just a little harder. They felt anxious to move out of its shadow.

There were fewer horses here, Blueblood noticed instinctively. Jackals were far more common, often spotted scavenging what they could from the gutters and glaring at him with confusion and defensiveness in their features. When they spoke to him, it was polite—almost excruciatingly so. They looked like they expected him to strike them senseless should they utter a single word out of line. Many bore a strange, ashen mark on their cheek like someone had drawn there with soot.

All around Blueblood could see the signs of revolution. Crossed blades backed by flames were painted on any wall large enough to contain them. Political treatises and incendiary newspapers spun their way down the damp, dirty streets. Hushed conversations that abruptly ended when they spotted ponies heading their way. Sandalwood had done a good job of keeping this hidden from his visitors, and Blueblood could see why. This wasn’t Saddle Arabia as it appeared on the brochures. This was Saddle Arabia as she truly was; Saddle Arabia when nobody was looking and had no one to impress.

Factories, refineries, and mills seemed as omnipresent as the uncollected trash. Blueblood recognized the names painted into the faded red brick: Fairweather Firearms, Cinnamocha Express, Appleoosan Petroleum, Starswirl Steel Works, and many others. They were like countless Equestrian hooves throttling her younger sibling.

“Indigo? Briar?” A familiar voice reached Blueblood’s ear from the doorway of a blackened, blighted house. Chicory stood on the porch, head cocked. “What are you doing here?”

“Teleportation mishap,” Trixie replied with a bashful smile. “On the bright side, it brought us to you!”

“Is this where you live?” Blueblood scanned the building. “When you’re not at the palace I mean.”

Chicory nodded. “Well, ‘live’ is a strong word. It’s where I sleep.”

“A bunkhouse?” Trixie had seen similar things in heavily industrial areas of Manehattan.

Shaking her head, Chicory motioned for them to step forward. They ascended the steps and peered in through the door. The stench inside was miasmatic. Sweat and vomit and urine and Celestia knew what else had mingled into an oppressive fetor that made Blueblood gag. Within there wasn’t a single bed, but long ropes strung from one end of the room to the other. Horses, Jackals, and a few camels lay slumped over the ropes in various stages of sleep. Some snored loudly, others clung to the ropes in a state of drowsy drunkenness. All were dressed in dirty, well-worn fatigues branded with the name of their employer.

“They’re called Flophouses,” Chicory said softly. “Charges less for a night than a hotel, and way less than average rent.”

“Celestia’s mane…” Trixie breathed, her eyes watering.

Chicory gestured for them to exit, letting them breathe the less tainted air of the slums. Blueblood’s face had been locked into a grimace.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you both, but if you’re here.” Chicory descended the steps two at a time. “I’d like to take you to a Fire Temple. Since you promised you’d come to see one. I was just on my way to the temple anyways.”

Blueblood and Trixie shared a glance. He shrugged and nodded.

“Sure. Since we’re in the area.”

It would give them some time to contemplate things, and potentially some time to interrogate Chicory’s role in these proceedings.

And so they set off, following her through the maze of cracked, crumbling streets.

*****

Blueblood had been expecting something on the scale of the Temple of the Cosmos they had visited. What he got was something far less opulent. Situated in the remains of a shuttered cannery, the entire complex was surrounded by a wall, not of brick, but of stretched sheets of black fabric. Plumes of white smoke rose from within the compound, and Blueblood’s nose could pick out the different types of wood burning within—the sweet scent of cherry, the aromatic cedar, the sticky, sugary pine. Chicory led them to the entrance gate, a ramshackle construction made from brushwood and sunbleached bone, and pushed them inside. There, they washed their faces in a brass basin and entered the courtyard of the temple.

A bonfire burned in a shallow pit in the warm earth, around which a throng of horses and jackals were bowed face down in silent prayer. One of the dogs rose, placed a paw over his heart, and promptly spat into the blaze. When Blueblood wrinkled his snout at the act, Chicory nudged him.

“Prayers without a connection are never answered.” She whispered. “You have to offer up a part of yourself to the flame.”

“But… Spit?” He swallowed, eyes flickering between her and the fire.

“If you’d rather not spit, you can offer blood.”

“I’ll stick with spit then.”

As the jackal passed them by and headed for the gate, he paused by a second basin that had been heaped with grey ashes. He took some in his paws and made a mark on his cheek. That explained the soot sigils he had seen on the Jackals in the slums.

Unlike the Temple of the Cosmos, there was no service here. There were priests, or at least Blueblood assumed the jackal with the long, sooty robe and kindly eyes tending the bonfire was, but they didn’t direct the worship. It felt somehow more personal, more ancient. Blueblood could visualize these same rituals being enacted on a pale dune under the dim moonlight, with only the crackling campfire keeping the vast blackness of the desert at bay.

“How do we—” Trixie motioned to the proceedings but was cut short as the priest approached her.

“Salaam.” The jackal exhaled as he bowed. “It’s not often we have guests at our temple. Even less often do we see ponies. I apologize for not attending to you sooner. Please, call me Brother Sycamore.”

“Wa’alaykumu s’salaam.” Blueblood replied with a nod. “It’s our pleasure to meet you, brother. I am Prince Indigo of Equestria.”

“And I’m his magus, Briar.” Trixie crossed her forelegs for a bow.

Sycamore glanced beyond them to Chicory, who he rushed to embrace tightly. She squeezed him back, pressing her face to his cheek. Blueblood only caught a snatch of the words that rushed out of him.

Ukhti. Sister.

“We’re honored to have you here.” Sycamore seemed deeply anxious to place. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

“How do we do this, exactly?” Trixie repeated her question. “You know, the service and such.”

“Ah, it will depend, my friend. If you wish to approach the flame in prayer, simply bow and speak. When you’re done, rise and bind it. Anoint yourself with ash and know your prayer is heard.” He paused, stroking the soft tuft of greying fur on his chin. “If you wish to have your flames read, then it will take some time.”

“Should we have our flames read?” Blueblood glanced to Chicory. “You’re the expert here.”

She nodded to him. “Please do.”

“Then I shall prepare the fire.” Sycamore gestured for them to follow. They crossed the courtyard towards a pair of heavy, darkened tents that steamed with aromatic smoke. Beside it, fresh bundles of chopped wood were stacked in neat rows. The jackal gestured for them to select one for themselves and wait until called.

Blueblood grabbed a fresh bundle of lovely-smelling rosewood and leaned on it as he watched the proceedings around him. Unlike the Temple of the Cosmos, with its solemn atmosphere and ushers who directed worshipers towards the door when the service ended, this place was a center of community. Horses leaned against the walls and chatted about their lives. A pair of jackals sat on folding chairs and exchanged snippets of poetry they had written. A mother and her pups were passing out sandwiches wrapped in butcher paper. Chicory followed his eyes and smiled faintly.

“We look out for each other here, prince.” She said quietly.

“I can see that,” Blueblood replied, shifting his bundle. “It’s not exactly a glamorous life, but it’s…” He struggled to find something kind to say about the slums he had waded through.

“But it’s life.” Trixie stepped in, having selected a fragrant cedar as her wood. “Life goes on here, even if the palace ignores it.”

“We have to fight for what we have here, but we've managed to survive.” Chicory seated herself on the ground. “This is where I was born and raised. Before I was taken to the palace to serve Sandalwood.”

“That actually reminds me,“ Blueblood bent his knees to sit beside her. “I wanted to ask you something. I apologize if this feels too forward, but how did you end up as Sandalwood’s slave?”

Chicory’s smile faltered. “I wish I knew.”

“You don’t know?” Blueblood questioned, brow raised. “But, it had to be for a crime, right?”

“It was, but I don’t know what I did.” She turned over her hoof and showed it to the prince. A dark sigil had been etched into the frog of her hoof: a game piece. Trixie recognized it. The same game piece that Cedar said Sandalwood used as his focus.

Chicory prodded it with her other hoof, and it flickered a faint green. “Sandalwood put this on me. There’s something that he doesn’t want me to remember, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it was.” She bit her lip and closed her eyes, as though trying to dredge something out of her memory. The sigil pulsed and glowed as she worked her mouth, finally falling silent as she exhaled. “All I know is Sandalwood has something that belongs to me. He took something from me and enslaved me for it.”

“And if the Caliph dies?”

“Then his magic fades.” Chicory turned her hoof back to the ground. “Unless someone else takes over the spell.” She sighed. “It’s only a matter of time before I know for sure.”

The flap of a nearby tent opened. Sycamore stood in the entryway and motioned to Blueblood.

“Indigo.” He nodded softly. “I’m ready for you.”

*****

The air within the tent was utterly stifling. Smoke choked Blueblood’s lungs as he sat on the hard earth facing a pit full of smoldering coals. Sycamore seemed unphased as he took Blueblood’s bundle of rosewood and began to arrange it into a tower of logs.

“Bind yourself.” The Jackal spoke quietly yet firmly.

Blueblood steeled himself as best he could, then finally spat into the coals. It hissed and sizzled as the flames consumed it.

“Thus bound, the fire must be roused with life.” Sycamore produced three small branches, still green and springy. He laid down a palm leaf just out of reach from the crackling blaze. “Palm shades us and is invoked for protection.” Next came a bough of birch. “The birch has many eyes, and is invoked for her foresight.” And lastly, a pine branch covered in needles. “Aromatic pine is the choice of lovers, and she’s invoked for romance.”

Blueblood considered his options. Taking a breath of the smoke-wisped air, he felt his decision was already made for him. “Birch.”

“A wise choice, prince.” Sycamore nodded sagely, his dun-colored fur seeming to glow in the firelight. He tossed the live branch into the flames, watching intently as the leaves began to curl and crack under the heat. “Bow and speak your request. The fire shall answer.”

The prince pressed his face to the stamped earth, careful not to let it ruin the makeup he had spent hours on that morning. Even with his coat, mane, and hooves befouled he would at least retain this basic dignity.

There were so many questions he wanted to ask. Had Celestia been right to send him? Would Fairweather’s schemes succeed? Was Aster really behind Alabaster’s murder? Who would succeed the Caliph? He pursed his lips and considered as he heard the fire spit and gutter and spark. He made his decision.

“Will I prevent Saddle Arabia from falling into chaos?” He mouthed the words silently, then slid slowly back into a sitting position.

Sycamore’s eyes never left the flames. His pupils became black and glassy as the firelight danced in them. The jackal hummed in his throat and stared unblinking. Blueblood couldn’t help but feel a sort of sacrificial weight behind his gaze.

“Now, touch the flame.” The dog rumbled.

Blueblood flinched and demured. “But why? Won’t that hurt?”

“The truth is painful for those who must hear it.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Blueblood reached out and passed his hoof through the flames. He pulled it back with a yelp and a hiss a split second later. Sycamore didn’t flinch. Exhaling slowly, he reached out a paw and gently rubbed a numbing salve on the burn. The fire burned suddenly hotter, cooled to embers, and spat one final defiant spark before dying out.

“The flame has spoken.”

“And what did it say?”

“In the coming days, there will be grave violence. You will doubt, you will waver, and you will sacrifice much.” The jackal gently squeezed his hoof. “But you will live to see the end.”

Sycamore scooped ash from around the rim of the fire pit and shook it in his paw. He gently smeared a streak of black across Blueblood’s forehead with his thumb. His eyes were soft with pity. “Flame light thy path.”

That didn’t give Blueblood much hope. A future of grave violence awaited him as he was slowly ushered into sunlight. Trixie smiled at him as she took his place. He struggled to meet her gaze as she was enveloped in that warm, acrid-smelling darkness.

Chicory stood by a group of horses and jackals who questioned her in hushed, conspiratorial tones. Blueblood noticed that Chicory passed one of them a satchel that they quickly tucked into his sirwal. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled as he approached.

“Indigo, what a pleasure.” The jackals splintered off in different directions. “How was the reading?”

“It certainly was an experience I’ll not soon forget.” Blueblood’s nostrils flared as he caught wind of something in the air. It smelled distinctly sulphuric. “Friends of yours?”

“Good friends indeed.” She nodded. “Do you plan on going back to the palace tonight? If not, I can make arrangements for you to stay here.”

Blueblood opened his mouth to reply, but Chicory stopped him.

“And no, I will not make you sleep in the flophouse with me.”

Blueblood hadn’t considered it until now. Going back to the palace while Aster was still trying to put him under tight guard was a bad idea. Yet it felt so wrong to not be there as the Caliph was dying and his advisors were scheming. Not to mention Aster likely knew he was in Blueblood’s crosshairs and was taking precautions to cover his tracks. But as the sun dipped lower on the horizon, Blueblood was becoming acutely aware that he hadn’t slept and was currently subsisting on nothing but coffee. He was in no state to face Aster. Nor was Trixie.

“Do you know a good hotel around here?” He suggested with a shrug. “Preferably one suited to nobility? Money is no object for me.”

“I’ll find you the best accommodations we can provide.” Chicory bowed and nodded.

Trixie emerged from the tent moments later, trailing smoke from her mane and bearing a smudge of ash just under her horn. She coughed a few times but grinned broadly as she stepped into the light. “Well, that was enlightening. Learned a lot about myself in there!”

She practically collapsed against Blueblood as she stood beside him, flopping across his back.

“Now, can we please get some sleep?”

Sycamore stepped out, smirking slightly to himself. “I asked her to bow and pray, and pretty soon I heard her snoring.”

“I was resting my eyes!” Trixie snapped, tossing her mane.

*****

They were put up in a hotel right on the border of the slums, named fittingly, the Gatekeeper Inn. It wasn’t anything special, a chintzy little abode with worn, brightly colored carpets, cheap wallpaper, and barebones amenities. But the bed was soft, the door locked, and there were no insects buzzing around the room. Blueblood had double and triple-checked for them. He’d flipped over the mattress, pulled the furniture away from the walls, and even peeled back the wallpaper in two places just to make sure. It wasn’t up to his lofty standards, but it would be livable.

The food was much the same. Room service for dinner was all they had the energy for, and what they received was by all means edible. Blueblood and Trixie shared a fruit salad, with Trixie picking out the honeydew for him while he picked out the blueberries for her. Certainly, the least glamorous meal they’d shared since their entry to Saddle Arabia, but on an empty stomach after so little sleep, they hardly cared.

The palace was visible from their window, seated atop a distant hill and shimmering in the sunset. Blueblood sat on the edge of the bed and stared out at it. He could see the black-robed soldiers moving through the streets below, their peaked helmets glinting bloody in the sunset. They were still looking for him. Already he could see them starting to spread into the slums, having determined that he was no longer within the upper part of Sutaf. It was only a matter of time before they checked his hotel. He just prayed that the bribe he’d paid at the counter below would be enough to keep his presence secret.

Grave violence in his future. The words echoed in his mind as he chewed his melon. Was grave violence being done to him? Or was he doing the violence?

“I come bearing an omen.” Luna had said as she put a sword in his hooves.

Grave violence.

You will sacrifice much.

Blueblood’s eyes drifted to the burn on his hoof. It hadn’t blistered, but it still stung. Too many questions swarmed like insects in the back of his brain. What had Chicory done to deserve a life of slavery? Why had they sequestered her memory? What did they have that belonged to her, something so precious to them that they were willing to enslave her and blot out her thoughts? His head leaned forward, heavy with unanswered queries, until he snorted himself awake.

Trixie laid back on the bed, half asleep already. Her eyelids were closed and her breathing was slow and steady. Blueblood glanced back at her and wondered if perhaps she had the right idea. They were as safe as they could be in this city, away from Aster’s prying eyes and Fairweather’s machinations. Yet still Blueblood felt as if any minute now the door would be broken down and he’d find himself clamped in irons. He needed rest, but he didn’t dare sleep.

Blueblood reclined stiffly in bed, cupping his hooves behind his head. There was a crack in the ceiling surrounded by a blossom of browning stains. As his eyelids fluttered, it looked like a branch set ablaze.

*****

The moment came.

A knock at the door roused Blueblood from his sleep, and his heart rate skyrocketed. Trixie stirred, propping herself up on her pillow with ears raised. Another sharp series of knocks echoed through the dark room. Blueblood sat up fully and faced the door. He sucked his teeth and hissed.

“Should we answer it?” Trixie whispered harshly.

“I don’t think we have a choice.” Blueblood pushed himself off the bed and shook the sleep from his head.

“Here, take this.” Trixie passed him a plastic fork from their salad.

“I’m not going to stab them with a fork.”

“Well, what else are you gonna stab them with?”

Blueblood crept across the floorboards with catlike tread. He pressed his eye to the peephole and breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s Chicory.”

“Oh, thank Celestia.” Trixie slumped, dropping the plastic fork to the floor.

Chicory remained in the doorway as Blueblood opened the door. She pressed a hoof to her lips and gestured for them to follow her into the hall.

Trixie and Blueblood shared a nervous glance as they stepped out of their room. Chicory didn’t speak as she led them down two flights of stairs and into the lobby. There, they were met by a group of horses and jackals dressed in rags and carrying old, worn-out jezails. Well, the lucky ones carried jezails. The less fortunate ones were armed with rusty spears, planks of nail-studded wood, or chipped knives. They stood in awkward lines, attempting the neatness of military formation despite the hotel furniture standing in their way. They saluted sloppily as Blueblood approached, his expression falling. He recognized them. He’d seen several at the Fire Temple earlier that day. His nostrils smelled sulfur, and this time he recognized it.

Gunpowder.

“Chicory, who are these—” He gestured vaguely, biting his lip. He scanned the crowd and saw the same sigil, twin blades over a flame, repeated like a canticle. There it was on a headband. There in a tattoo. Here in a necklace.

Chicory accepted a firearm from one of the jackals and stood at the front of the formation, slinging its strap around her shoulder. It fit her like an old friend. The way Chicory held herself, had always held herself, suddenly made perfect sense to Blueblood. She was a mare all too comfortable with a weapon in her hooves.

Trixie rubbed her eyes as if she were still dreaming. Her eyes darted between the armed intruders and the hotel staff, who seemed to regard them without fear.

“Some soldiers from the palace came by earlier.” Chicory’s voice was razor sharp. “They went door to door in the slums letting everyone know that you’re a wanted stallion. The Caliph has demanded your presence in the palace, and only a fool refuses the demands of the Caliph.”

Blueblood swallowed hard. “And you mean to take me in?”

“I knew I should have brought the fork,” Trixie muttered under her breath.

“Quite the opposite.” Chicory went on. “When the word reached me, I gathered some old friends.” She gestured to the ragtag squad of Fire Worshipers. “We’re going to make sure that no one takes you in.”

“But if you fire a shot to protect me,” Blueblood’s hooves trembled. “You’d be taking a shot at the Caliph.”

“We’re willing to accept that.” A bronze, slick-coated jackal barked. Blueblood’s heart thudded as he recognized him. The last time he had seen this jackal, he had been bound and muzzled before the guns of the Caliph.

“You stood up to Sandalwood on our behalf.” Chicory’s words were edged with iron. “Now let us return the favor.”

Grave violence.

Ill omen.

Blueblood’s mouth was too dry to speak. Trixie could feel his tension knotting in his shoulders as she gently pressed a hoof to his back.

“We’ll spread out around the hotel and keep an eye on things.” A horse with a ruddy coat and vibrant silver mane broke rank and headed for the door.

Chicory smiled warmly as she leaned on her jezail. “Sleep well, my friends. We’ll keep a tight watch. No one gets in or out without us seeing.”

“Thank you,” Trixie replied in his stead. “Indigo is just tired. We’ve been awake way too long, y’know?”

She gently took his hoof and led him back to the stairwell as the makeshift army started to break formation and spread out. Blueblood’s head throbbed. He had to lean on Trixie as his knees grew weak.

“They’re taking up arms in my name.” His voice cracked. “Celestia and Luna both, what have I started?”

“We need to make our move on Aster tomorrow.” Trixie hushed as they entered their room and locked the door. “Arresting an assassin is something everyone can get behind, right?”

Blueblood nodded as he sank uncertainly into the bed. “Right. If we can put him behind bars, that might diffuse some tension. It’ll at least buy us some time.”

“And then what?” Trixie slipped under the covers, settling back into the warm cocoon of blankets.

“We decide whether or not we want to ride out the succession crisis or pull the plug and head back to Equestria.” Blueblood stared at the ceiling again. “My reading today says that things are going to get ugly.”

“Funny, mine told me not to worry.” Trixie yawned as she snuggled deeper into her comfy spot.

“You asked about what was going to happen to Saddle Arabia during your reading? I’m impressed. You’re really starting to think like a proper—”

Before Blueblood could finish, he was interrupted by Trixie’s noisy snoring. He rolled over to face her and found that she was already sound asleep, mouth agape.

There was nothing he could do now. Tomorrow would make or break things. Settling his nerves, Blueblood closed his eyes and tried to sleep. As he drifted off, he couldn’t help but notice that Trixie smelled faintly of pine smoke.