He Who Speaks for the Sun

"She dealt with djinn in the rosy light,
And camels armed her with their gold.
She dealt with djinn in the midday bright,
And horses joined her conquest bold.
She dealt in midnight grim as well,
And with the djinn marched off to hell."
—Saddle Arabian Nursery Rhyme, author unknown.

Chapter 11: The River

The morning dawned grey and gloomy. The sun faintly shimmered behind a screen of leaden clouds that roiled with dismal thunder. The air was weighty, charged with static and grim purpose. Blueblood rose, showered, and tried to wash himself with the cheap bar of soap that the hotel had provided. It barely lathered and the scent was so faint it was nearly nonexistent. He supposed it was better than nothing.

Draped in a towel, he gazed at himself in the mirror. He looked exhausted. Deep bags hung under his eyes and his mane was fraying at the edges. If this didn’t end soon, he might return to Equestria unrecognizably ugly. He sighed and pressed a hoof to the cool glass, trying to find the connection between himself and his reflection. Blueblood pulled away. He didn’t need to stress about his looks when there was already so much else to stress over.

Trixie rolled out of bed and yawned, rubbing her eyes. Blueblood silently surrendered the bathroom to her, clouds of steam billowing behind him as he exited. She stood there quietly, stretching her back and rubbing her cheek. Blueblood found himself staring.

She too was exhausted. Her eyes seemed duller, less vibrant. Her coat was no longer silky and well brushed, but tangled and matted in places. She rose from the bed and groaned quietly, shaking out her dry hair. She wasn’t beautiful in the same way he wasn’t beautiful.

Blueblood sidestepped her and she shut the bathroom door behind her. The shower gurgled to life seconds later.

The prince stood at the window and watched the city below. The streets were disconcertingly empty. Maybe it was the threat of rain. Maybe it was the tension. Whatever it was, most horses seemed content to stay indoors today.

Blueblood didn’t want to face the day. Portents and omens clung to him like rancid perfume, choking the clean air from his lungs. All signs pointed to the problem being too big to fix. He wasn’t an alicorn. He wasn’t immortal. He was just himself, and himself wasn’t enough.

The shower dripped to quietude and Trixie emerged, her mane still soggy. They looked at each other for a brief moment, no words sufficient to explain how they felt.

“Are you ready?” Blueblood said plainly. What else could he say?

“Let's go.” Trixie hooked the clasp on her cape and thrust it behind her.

Blueblood gently stopped her with a hoof as they approached the door. She had forgotten her hat. Wordlessly, he plopped it onto her head. She turned to him and reached out with her magic to tighten his tie. Fragile, nervous smiles were exchanged. Mirthless, small laughs escaped their lips.

Then they opened the door and faced the music.

*****

Blueblood expected to be arrested. He expected guards to be waiting for them at every intersection. He expected the butt of a jezail to smash into his snout and leave him shattered on the pavement. And yet, nothing happened.

Exiting the slums was the easy part. Horses and Jackals kept watch over them, assuring they traveled unmolested. Chicory followed them silently for a time but broke off when they reached the demarcation line. She assured them she would be returning to the palace later that day, whispered a short prayer for them, and smudged their brows with an anointment of ashes.

They traveled up the main street on a beeline towards the palace. The wind had picked up, blasting through their hair with a ghostly howl. Thunder echoed through the alleys of Sutaf, and Blueblood knew that rain couldn’t be far behind. Rain was rare in Saddle Arabia, but when it rained, it poured. Blueblood unconsciously scouted out spaces where he and Trixie could shelter from a downpour. As if that mattered now.

It started with a few drops on Trixie’s snout. The two ponies picked up their pace as raindrops started to fall, splattering on the dusty cobblestones beside them. Within seconds the rain went from a drip to a drizzle to a downpour, falling in shattering sheets that drenched right through their coats. The ash Chicory had marked them with ran down their faces like watery mascara. They reached the palace gardens and wove through the muddy paths, ducking for relief under broadleaf trees as they picked their way toward the doors.

Bedraggled and soaked, they stepped into the palace, their hooves leaving muddy prints across the white marble. Trixie shook herself dry, splattering Blueblood with runoff. He squeezed his mane like a rolled-up towel and rang out a bucketful of water. The palace still hummed with activity, but it felt directionless, like a beehive bereft of its queen. A servant approached them with a set of towels, while another appeared with a mop to erase their hoofprints.

“Shouldn’t we be arrested?” Trixie whispered as they shivered and dried themselves. “Or at least, y’know, stopped?”

“I get the feeling they want us here. Getting into the palace was the easy part.” Blueblood replied in a hushed tone. Sure enough, as if in reply to his intonation, a pair of soldiers stood alongside the door they had entered through, glancing at the ponies with a vicious side-eye. “They don’t intend for us to leave.”

Trixie swallowed hard. “So where to?”

“We find Aster,” Blueblood said, ascending the staircase. A pair of servants crossed his path and bowed reverently. “He’ll say we don’t have the authority to arrest him, and maybe we don’t. But that’s not going to stop us.”

“This place is in sore need of some good news,” Trixie replied as they turned towards the diplomatic wing. “I don’t think anyone will object to us taking in an assassin.”

They strode down the hallway with a confidence that neither of them felt. Blueblood considered stopping by his room to grab his blade. Having Pride at his hip would probably make him feel a whole lot better about himself. He decided against it. The temptation to actually use the damn thing would be too strong.

Aster’s office was beside the Zebrican diplomat’s quarters. A pair of them were seated in the hall, picking at a platter of mixed veggies and playing cards. They nodded quietly as the ponies approached them, muting their conversation down to a hush. Blueblood and Trixie shared a glance. One last brittle smile. Blueblood knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

They pushed open the door to Aster’s office. They weren’t remotely surprised by what they saw. It was a modest yet comfortable space, with a wide mahogany desk covered in neat stacks of paper. Bookshelves lined the walls and the air smelt of leather and ink. Aster himself was seated in a thick, plush chair studded with brass buttons. There were no windows, but a lantern hung from the ceiling shed flickering red light across the liaison’s features.

“Ah, my prince.” He grinned in an all too comfortable manner. “I’m glad to see you’ve returned safely. I will admit, I was very worried when you weren’t in your quarters last night. But since you’re here, I have something for you.” Aster pushed a sheet of paper across his desk and gently tapped it. “If you just sign here, we’ll resume trade with Equestria at full—”

Trixie cooly levitated the page with her magic, crumpled it, and tossed it back to him. Aster frowned ever so slightly.

“Magus Briar, I’d appreciate it if you’d let the Prince reply.” His eyes never left Blueblood.

“Consider that a reply from us both.” Blueblood closed the door behind himself. The room was tight; just larger than a Canterlot storage closet. “I’ve got no intention of resuming trade with Saddle Arabia until slavery is abolished in full.”

“Then I must ask, Prince Indigo, why are you here?” Aster’s eyes narrowed.

“Aster,” Blueblood placed a hoof on the desk. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Diplomat Alabaster of Equestria and the attempted murder of Caliph Sandalwood of Saddle Arabia.”

If he was shocked, Aster didn’t betray it. He inhaled slowly and masked his feelings with a paternal smile. “Indigo, I don’t know who you’ve been listening to for Sarabian legal advice, but for one thing, you don’t have the right—”

“I have every right.” Blueblood snorted derisively.

“You’re not denying the charge.” Trixie tilted her head slightly.

“I don’t need to defend myself from spurious allegations.” The liaison rolled his eyes. “You speak confidently for someone with no evidence.”

“You were the dinner coordinator for both events.” Trixie retorted.

“As I am for many events here in the palace.”

“You had access to the exact sort of adhesive used to poison both victims,” Blueblood added.

Aster shrugged calmly. “So does everyone in Saddle Arabia.”

“You have the motive.” The Prince leaned across the desk. “You wanted to see Sandalwood’s dynasty go on, no matter the cost. When you found out that Alabaster and Fairweather were collaborating for the throne—”

“If I cared so much for the Caliph, why would I kill him?”

“Because you knew if you didn’t, Fairweather could take advantage of him. He was already on the council. He had the Caliph’s ear.”

“But to kill him?”

“Better to kill him quickly and get his son on the throne with a proper Sarab advisor that let him wither with fever and get swooned by his foreign friends.” Blueblood dropped his voice low and added sardonically. “Saddle Arabia is to be ruled by horses.”

Trixie saw the slightest chip in Aster’s illusory armor. He blinked and sweat beaded on his brow. The liaison corrected quickly.

“You have no direct evidence.” Aster amended his counterargument. “And you won’t arrest me.”

“Bold words for someone outnumbered.” Trixie was already preparing her magic for a fight. Her spells weren’t designed for combat, but she had always been good at improvising.

“You won’t arrest me, because you can’t.” He smiled with unerring confidence. “You don’t have the right. According to the civil code of Saddle Arabia, section fourteen, the right to arrest lies solely in the hooves of the Caliph’s Guard and the local police. Nowhere does it mention foreign ambassadors having the power of—”

Aster was shocked into silence as Blueblood slapped his cheek with a backhoof so violent it threw him from the chair. He hit the ground with a clatter and a gasp, his hoof cupping his bruised cheek with shock.

“You struck me!” Aster hissed through clenched teeth. His pupils were pinpricks.

“Don’t you dare try to bandy your legalese with me,” Blueblood growled as he yanked the liaison to his hooves and pressed him to the wall. “Law? I was charged to investigate the assassination attempt by the Caliph himself. Law means nothing to me.”

“He didn’t mean you were immune to—” Aster was roughly slammed against his bookshelf.

“I have the authority of Sandalwood himself on my side.” Blueblood’s voice shook with repressed contempt. “He put me on this path. He commanded our investigation. He gave me the authority. You do not get to tell me what I can and can’t do. Do you understand me?”

“My prince, you’re not above the—”

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!"Blueblood bellowed the Royal Canterlot Voice and made the walls ring with authority. His throat ached and he swallowed hard. When he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. “Aster, you’re under arrest by order of his benevolence Caliph Sandalwood.”

“I refuse.” Aster squirmed. His eyes darted from side to side. “You can’t do this to me.”

Trixie fumbled in her hat, pulling out two plush toys, a hairbrush, and a bucket of white paint. At last, she found what she was looking for. A pair of cuffs she used for some of her escape artist acts. “Tell it to a judge.”

Aster thrashed as his hooves were pulled forward and chained together. He snorted, glowering at them both with acidic hate.

“Release me.” Aster snarled, pushing against his bonds.

“I’d like it if you would stop talking.” Blueblood rubbed his throat and jerked his head towards the door. Aster dug in his heels and resisted as Trixie shoved him.

“Indigo, if you imprison me,” The liaison grunted as he clenched every muscle to root himself in place. “You’ll never know who Chicory is!”

Trixie and Blueblood suddenly went limp. Aster took a deep breath and smiled despite his bruised cheek.

“There are only two people in all of Sutaf who know her story. Sandalwood and myself. When Sandalwood dies, I’ll be the only one left.” His breathing was ragged and shallow. “You want me to rot in prison and die with no one knowing the truth?”

Blueblood felt a pang in his chest. The empty space where that knowledge ought to lie. “Then speak now.”

“My prince,” Aster smirked. “You know that's not how bargains work.”

Trixie looked to Blueblood, uncertainty dancing in her eyes. What choice did they have but to bargain?

“What do you want?” The prince said flatly.

“My bonds undone, for one thing,” Aster replied with a snort. “And an apology for striking me.”

“You’ll get neither.”

“Then I shall take Chicory's secrets to the grave.” The liaison sneered. “Where’s all your bravado, my prince?”

“Shut up.”

“Not knowing scares you. You know you’re not playing with a full deck, and you’re terrified that someone else at the table is holding a winning hoof.” Aster stood confidently, his cuffs rattling. “I hold that winning hoof, Indigo.”

“If you had a winning hoof, you’d have played it by now.” Trixie retorted, crossing her hooves over her chest. “Why would you delay winning?”

“Because winning doesn’t matter.” Aster’s eyes blazed. “I’m not playing to win. I’m playing to see you lose. Saddle Arabia will be ruled by horses.”

Blueblood’s heart was pounding like an onrushing army. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins. He needed to choose. The more time he gave Aster to talk, the more he was being swayed from his course.

Saddle Arabia needed something they could all get behind. They needed an assassin behind bars. They needed a victory over someone so obviously guilty that their condemnation bridged the divide.

But it was going to cost him dearly. He would lose out on unraveling the last mystery, the final piece of the political puzzle that kept him from comprehending this country. Aster was right about one thing. He was playing without a full deck. Blueblood was in uncharted territory for a foreign ambassador. Celestia had charged him with impartiality, and here he was defying the law with a revolution brewing around him.

Blueblood sucked his teeth. He made his decision.

“Keep your secrets.” Blueblood spat. “We’ll find another way.”

Aster stiffened. He set his jaw. “Have it your way, my prince. You’ve lost.”

Blueblood didn’t dignify him with a reply. He was done playing games. Aster didn’t resist when they roughly shoved him into the hallway. The response from the palace guard was immediate. They rushed in, jezails at the ready, demanding Blueblood step away from the liaison. He didn’t.

“By order of Caliph Sandalwood,” Blueblood shouted over the protests of the horses. “I charge Aster with the attempted assassination of his Caliph!”

Silence.

Nervous glances and confused whispers were exchanged. The fact that Sandalwood had charged the prince with the investigation was well known among the guard. They simply hadn't expected success.

One of the soldiers spoke up at last. “He’ll need to be questioned and tried.”

“I release him into your capable hooves.” Blueblood shoved Aster into their arms.

A pair of soldiers flanked the liaison, glancing nervously at one another. Aster was led off through the palace, his eyes never leaving the prince. Already the palace servants were whispering to one another. Rumors were starting to spread. Within a day, someone would get the word out of the palace and into a newspaper. Saddle Arabia would have this small victory at last. Blueblood felt a faint relief run through him. It was stopped when it struck the familiar knot of anxiety that choked his chest. This wasn’t over. Far from it.

“Why does it feel so empty?” Trixie mused. “We won, didn’t we?”

“We won the battle, not the war.”

“So what’s our next battle?”

“We figure out the truth about Chicory. Aster was right about one thing. We’re not playing with a full deck.”

“But where are we supposed to get that?” Trixie rubbed her temple with the tip of her hoof. “Like he said, there’s only two horses in Saddle Arabia who know the truth. Aster and—” Trixie stopped herself. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re going to—”

“What other choice do I have?” Blueblood sighed, his heart heavier than ever. “Let's go meet with Sandalwood.”

*****

Getting access to the Caliph was easier said than done. He was surrounded by more guards than the rest of the palace combined; a wounded queen bee at the center of a buzzing hive of soldiers, workers, and nurses. It took convincing, lying, and bribery to secure an audience, but those were areas in which the prince excelled. Blueblood was questioned and checked at every turn, searched for weapons, disinfected, given a layer of spells to dampen his magical abilities, and dressed in crisp, medicinal-smelling robes. Trixie had chafed at having her magic dampened, but she held her tongue. Soldiers flanked them as they entered the Caliph’s resting place, and the doors were locked behind them.

The room was luxurious and cold. The temperature was as low as it could be for Saddle Arabia, and the room had been scrubbed to blinding white. Sandalwood lay in the center of an utterly massive bed, swaddled in cloths soaked with potent, reeking herbs and made to breathe curative incense that crackled faintly at his bedside. If he was indeed still alive, he didn’t look it. Sandalwood had never looked particularly healthy to Trixie, but now he looked to be on death’s door. His skin was tight and dry, his eyes were sunken in their sockets, his lips were faintly cerulean in color, and his hooves seemed to be racked with tremors.

The ponies knelt as they approached his bedside, but it felt farcical. The Caliph didn’t tell them to rise, but they stood anyway. His rheumy eyes focused vaguely in Blueblood’s direction. Trixie wondered if he was going blind.

“You.” Sandalwood rasped, his breath coming in desperate wheezes.

“Your majesty,” Blueblood kept his voice low, as though speaking up would break the sacrosanct silence. “How are you feeling?”

“Why are you here?” The Caliph brusquely dismissed his attempt at small talk.

The prince decided prevarication was worthless. “When I first met you, you told me that your only goal was to ensure your people lived in harmony. You said you would do anything to uphold that fragile balance.”

“The harmony you insisted on upending.” He coughed hoarsely, his throat sounding horribly dry. Trixie poured him a glass of water from a pitcher on the table and offered it to him. He accepted it and guzzled greedily.

“I’m trying to hold what’s left of it in the balance,” Blueblood replied, sucking his teeth. “Saddle Arabia is on the brink. I’m not one of your people, but I’ll be damned if I sit by and watch it fall to ruin.” He held his tongue, trying to choose his words carefully. “Your assassin has been arrested and jailed, and will be prosecuted to the fullest.”

“Good.” Sandalwood croaked. “Was it the slave?”

Blueblood opened his mouth to respond, but Trixie took the initiative. “Sadly, yes. All signs pointed to Chicory after all.”

The prince stared at her, but Trixie flashed her violet eyes as if to assure him she knew what she was doing. Biting his lip, he let her take control.

“So I suspected.” The Caliph sighed, closing his eyes. “Only fitting she would try this.”

“But why?” Trixie questioned, trying to pry out the reason with honeyed words. “What sort of grudge would she have against someone so benevolent?”

“Because she was my slave.”

“Then she must have committed a truly grievous crime, right?” She was on the verge of knowing.

Blueblood held his breath.

Sandalwood didn’t answer. He lay there with his eyes closed, breathing silently. His lips were unmoving.

“Your majesty?” Blueblood tried to wake him, but the Caliph’s only response was a faint smile.

He knew what they were trying to do.

Blueblood decided to throw out subtlety. They were desperate. “Sandalwood, please. We’re trying to save this country.” He reached out and held the Caliph’s blistering hoof. “We need to know. If we don’t, the streets will run with blood.”

Grave violence.

Ill omen.

Sandalwood opened one eye. He glowered defiantly from his deathbed.

“You reject me and insult me, and now you beg for my help?” He hissed serpentine Sarabic in a voice so venomous it withered Blueblood’s resolve. “Go to hell.”

Blueblood pulled his hoof back slowly. He rose to his full height and replied in his own fluent Sarabic. “I’ll meet you there.”

Trixie didn’t dare to request a translation as they were ushered from the room. The tone of their voices had told her everything she needed to know.

*****

“I take it things didn’t go well.” Chicory was back in their quarters, having cleaned and polished the room from top to bottom and relit their fire altar.

Blueblood and Trixie were uncharacteristically quiet. Trixie lay flat on the bed and was staring at the ceiling, while Blueblood continued to pace the room with a prickly aura about him.

“No.” The prince replied simply. Trying to take his mind off of things, he sorted through their mail. Advertisements, expatriation requests, and a note from Fairweather. That last one he tore open and read carefully. “And now we’ve been invited to tour Fairweather Firearms' factory tomorrow. With refreshments to follow at his manor.”

“He’s going to want you to make a decision tomorrow then,” Trixie said with an exasperated sigh. “Can things just slow down?”

“Celestia, I wish.” Blueblood sank into a chair, buried his face in his hooves, and suppressed a scream. “And we’re still groping in the dark. Until we know where she fits into all this," He gestured towards Chicory. "Then we're as good as blind."

Chicory stared at the faint mark in the frog of her hoof. Her eyes drifted from it to Blueblood, to Trixie.

“What about you, Magus Briar?”

“What about me?” Trixie arched an eyebrow.

“You’ve said before that you’re a great and powerful magus where you come from, have you not?”

“I…” Trixie pursed her lips and scratched her neck. “Well, I am, but that’s more of a marketing phrase, you know?”

“If you’re a great and powerful magus, could you not break the spell?” Chicory drew closer, holding out her hoof. “Can you not at least try?”

Blueblood met her flustered eyes. Could she?

“I can try.” Trixie stressed. “But, I can’t promise results.”

How many times had she said that? How many times had she given up after just trying? It wasn't good enough now to only try. She took a deep breath and knew she had to succeed this time. Do or die.

A faint periwinkle glow lit up her horn as Trixie started to examine the spell. Spellbreaking was something that every unicorn learned in Magic Kindergarten, but only the truly gifted ever specialized in. To break a minor spell was nothing. To break a powerful spell required more schooling than most surgeons. Trixie prayed that Sandalwood’s spells were the simple kind. Especially since she had been absent that day in Magic Kindergarten.

It wasn’t simple.

Trixie’s horn flickered and flashed as she delved into Sandalwood’s brand. Cedar had told her that Sarabic Magic was in the memory, but she hadn’t fully comprehended it until now. Sandalwood’s magic was a lattice of his lifetime, memories woven together into a shimmering shield to keep her out. She reached out and touched it with her own magic, scouring it for a weak point. There was none.

Instead, Sandalwood’s magic lashed back into her, and Trixie was suddenly awash with his life. She was a colt sitting at the game table alone, no opponent willing to challenge her. She was crowned and decked with jewels as she sat upon a gilded throne. She was married thrice. Twice it ended in premature death; one to fever, one in childbirth. Once it ended in divorce. She sat at negotiating tables with foreign snakes, forked tongues cutting away chunks of the country he loved and laying claim to what was his by birthright. She witnessed his legacy crumbling, his desperation to cling onto any shred of power. His utter terror that his son would never take the throne.

His fear of death.

Feedback kicked Trixie so hard in the chest that she was flung across the room. She slammed into the wall and slid down into a sitting position, her entire body ragdoll limp. With a wordless cry, Blueblood rushed to her side and tried to snap her back into consciousness.

Magical feedback made Trixie’s limbs tremble. Her vision was full of sparks. The room whirled around her, listing this way and that. Her horn ached. She forced herself to focus, blinking her eyes and trying to focus them on Blueblood. He was saying something, but his words were like indistinct clanging in her ears. Her tongue tasted bile and she managed to force herself to stand on shaky, weak hooves. She staggered to the bathroom, collapsed in front of the toilet, and vomited. Her guts heaved, her back arched, and her spine shuddered.

Clinging pathetically to the seat of the commode, Trixie wiped a thin trickle of blood from her nose and shivered. Her stomach lurched again and she couldn’t stop it. Graciously, somepony pulled back her mane as she did so, keeping it out of her face as she hurled. When she finally emptied her gut and was reduced to meek dry heaves, she glanced up to see that Blueblood was holding her hair. His eyes were anchored away from her, staring fixedly at the opposite wall.

“Are you okay?” He said, still unable to look down at her.

“No.” Trixie spit, wiping her mouth with the back of her hoof. “You can’t look at me, can you?”

“If I look at what’s happening, I’ll be sick too.”

“Of course, you’d sympathy puke.”

“Can you please stop talking about it?” Blueblood shuddered.

Trixie washed her hooves, wiped her face, and flushed her mouth with water. Her head still ached and her body was shaking. The magical feedback was bad enough, but the embarrassment was worse. Despite her efforts, she hadn’t even come close to breaking Sandalwood’s spell. She had sprinted to the first hurdle and face planted spectacularly. Some great and powerful magus she was turning out to be.

“I’m going to try again.” Trixie exhaled sharply.

“You were close?” Blueblood raised an eyebrow.

“Something like that.”

Horn ignited, she tried again. She saw the Caliph’s spell arrayed before her again. This time she wasn’t going to probe it for a weakness. Whatever she had done, she had triggered some sort of inbuilt protection that had thrust her out. Trixie drove the full force of her own magic against it, her horn blazing like a newborn star as she thrust the point of her power through the Caliph’s armor.

The feedback that struck her this time was weaker, but still enough that it knocked her off the bed. She rolled over on the floor, dug her numb hooves into the carpet, and snarled. Forcing herself to stand, Trixie wobbled drunkenly towards the bed, where Chicory stared back at her with a look of concern.

“Maybe we should stop.” Chicory nervously retracted her hoof.

“I’m not done.” Trixie choked the words through clenched teeth. “I’m getting closer.”

“Briar!” Blueblood gripped her shoulders and shook her. “Stop!”

“I can do this!” Trixie glared back. She snorted and felt a bubble of blood burst from her nose. Blinking in shock, Trixie stumbled back, pawing at her face and coming away with streaks of red on her hooves.

“You tried,” Blueblood said quietly. He reached out and touched her cheek gently. “You tried. Please, don’t hurt yourself.”

“I don’t want to just try damn it.” Trixie felt herself on the brink of tears. “I’m sick to death of just trying. I just need to push a little harder and—”

“I’m not going to watch you die,” Blueblood said firmly. He squeezed her tight enough that his own hooves shivered. “Please. Please don’t do this.”

Trixie stared at her bloodied hooves.

Magical feedback started with headaches and vomiting. Then numbness in the limbs. If a unicorn kept straining against an empty magic reserve, it progressed to hemorrhage in the brain and death. How far along was she already?

“Trixie.”

She heard the sound of her name, her real name, whispered in her ear. It felt wrong. Blueblood had pulled her close and embraced her tight, and she hadn’t even noticed.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Trixie squeezed back, both for reassurance and to ground herself in reality. But Blueblood was wrong. She did have to do this. They needed to know. Aster wouldn’t give up his secrets. Neither would Sandalwood. After the Caliph died, someone else would take up his spell and keep them in the dark until the country collapsed. If she didn’t break the spell, who would? If she couldn't break it, who could?

As Trixie tried to steady her breath, a final option emerged in the back of her mind. She wasn’t great and powerful. She never had been. But she had someone great and powerful who had a vested interest in her. Maybe, just maybe, they could break the Caliph’s spell.

Blueblood released her, and Trixie fixed her mane and cleaned her face again. “Wait here. I’m going to get some fresh air before I try again.”

“Don’t.”

“I have to do this, Blueblood.” Trixie saw him wince at his name. “Please. I need you to trust me. Just this once.”

He worked his mouth and worried his mane in his hooves. “One more attempt. And if it doesn’t work—”

“Then I promise I’ll let it be.”

“Promise me you’ll be okay.”

“I’m going to be fine. I just need a break.” Trixie painted a smile on her lips. She hated being such a good liar. Blueblood sighed and retreated to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of wine to steady his nerves.

Trixie stepped out into the hall, closing the door gingerly behind her. She followed the curve of the diplomatic wing until she came to the wide balcony just outside the library. Most days it was filled with ambassadors from abroad, but tonight it was empty. The rain continued to fall, soaking her mane in seconds. She took a deep breath of the lightning-scented air. All it took was a name.

“River-That-Cuts-The-Canyon.”

The raindrops froze in midair. Thunder rumbled from the distant desert, growing louder and louder until Trixie had to cover her ears with her hooves. It stopped suddenly, and the air grew heavy and warm. Wisps of something moved through the stilled downpour, vague shapes reflected in a thousand tiny mirrors. Suggestions of a gnarled hand, outlines of horns, and distorted visions of eyes with black sclera swam in a swarm around her.

Celestia help her.

“You bleed.” The djinn said blandly, its voice slopping and damp.

“I need your help.” Trixie ignored it, trying to sound strong in the face of her terror. “What do you know about spellbreaking?”

“I have beheld magic in the cradle of its birth. There is no spell that is beyond me.”

“I need you to let me break a spell. Just one.” Trixie tried to fix her gaze on the djinn, but it never stayed in place. It seemed like it was everywhere all at once. “One spell, and then we’re done.”

“That is not the deal I’ve offered.” It crackled and filled the air with a smell of smoke. “I can empower you to break worlds, and you would use it to break one spell? All I need is a name. Your true name.”

“Here’s the deal I’m offering!” Trixie leveled her voice. “You’re asking me to trust you before I’ve even seen what you’re capable of. I wouldn’t buy a used carriage without a test drive, and you’re asking me to just trust you with godlike power?”

“I am beyond this comparison.”

“No, you’re not. I’m not just going to take you at your word. All my life I’ve been negotiating contracts, and I never sign anything without proof.” Trixie crossed her hooves. “You’re probably bluffing. I’ll give you my name, and you’ll take over my body and give me nothing in return.”

The air grew warm and muggy. Steam rose from the soggy cobblestones around her. “You dare to doubt me?”

“I doubt everyone. You’re not special.” Trixie rolled her eyes. Lightening suddenly flashed mere inches away from her, burning the stone to slag. She yelped and threw herself to the earth, hooves over her head. Evidently, she had struck a nerve. Shivering, she uncovered herself and stared at the black sky. “If you don’t want me to doubt, then put up or shut up! Give me the power this once, and show me what I’m missing! Unless you can’t do it?”

“Your name.” The djinn refused to give even an inch.

Trixie held in a frustrated breath. She had played all the cards she knew to play and hadn’t moved it. But she hadn’t played all the cards she had. Trixie had one final card she kept close to her chest, a trump card she hadn’t dared to reveal unless all other measures failed. River had to know she wasn’t bluffing. There was still one thing she could do that would undo all of the djinn’s careful tricks and clever machinations.

“Then I’m going to march right back to that room and die.” Trixie’s voice didn’t quiver this time. "You saw I was bleeding when I came to you. That's what trying to break that spell did to me. And if I try again without your help, it's going to kill me."

Silence from the djinn. The air seemed to shift, as though the creature were weighing its options.

“You wouldn’t.” It replied at last. “I have seen the content of your heart. You live for too much.”

“Then you know I’m a stubborn bastard when I want to be.” Trixie glared with a power she didn't hold. “And you know that right now, for the first time in forever, I’m not bluffing.”

It repeated itself. “You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.”

Trixie whirled on her heel and marched back into the palace, her coat dripping and her mane wilted. She thrust it out of her face and felt it plaster wildly to the side of her skull. Good. Let her look wild. She certainly felt it.

When she reentered the room, Blueblood looked at her with pleading eyes. Silently, he begged her not to do this. She stubbornly flashed her fiery gaze. He fidgeted, holding his promise to trust her against his heart.

Horn aflame, Trixie dove back into the spell. She knew now that she was never going to break it herself, but that wasn’t her intent this time. This time she needed to show the djinn that she was serious. Sandalwood’s magic rushed into her as she intruded upon its domain once more, lashing out at her with violence from the Caliph’s own life: bullets fired into protests, a bejeweled hoof slapping a cheek, a razor-sharp scimitar sundering flesh. She felt them as distinctly as if she had been on the receiving end. Magical feedback coursed through her limbs and throbbed at the base of her horn. Trixie could feel bile rising in her throat. She could taste blood. She must have screamed, because she was vaguely aware that Blueblood was on his hooves, hovering and threatening to intervene.

It hurt. Celestia’s sake, it felt like she was being flayed from horn to breast. Her flesh shrieked, her lungs screamed, and her eyes felt like they were melting in their sockets. Blood bubbled from Trixie’s lips as she clenched her teeth so tight they nearly shattered. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, deafening her. Her vision swam. Her brain felt like it was seconds away from bursting through her forehead with a vicious crack.

Somewhere in her senses she could feel Blueblood’s hooves pawing at her, trying to pull her back, try to restrain her. Chicory’s eyes were wild as she tried to cover her hoof, attempting futilely to sever the connection.

“Is this what you want?!” Trixie’s lips didn’t move, but her magic cried out louder than any voice. “You need me, you son of a bitch! If I die, I’m taking all your precious plans with me!”

“Stop this.” River-That-Cuts-The-Canyon spoke directly to her mind. Despite how calm its voice was, Trixie could feel its desperation. “Stop.”

“Make me!” She screamed petulantly.

As Trixie renewed her attack on Sandalwood’s unyielding magic, she threatened to dash herself to pieces against his will. She prayed to Celestia, Luna, and whatever deities would hear her that the djinn judged her worth saving.

Just as her will neared its end, Trixie felt something like a sigh against the nape of her neck. Something cool washed over her, filled her magical reserves to bursting, and dragged her back from the brink. Trixie instinctively knew the djinn had given her the power it had promised.

Trixie tried to wrap her mind around the strength that coursed through her, but her words failed her. She could feel every inch of the palace all at once. She felt the desert beyond. She felt each stone in all of Saddle Arabia, every star in the heavens, and every invisible eddy in the air. Most importantly, they all cried out to her in a language she didn’t know, yet instinctively understood.

They all begged her to use them. Demanded she mold them to her will. Take them in her magical grasp and shape them to purpose. It was a cacophony that overwhelmed her and dragged her along like a river. She didn’t control this power so much as she was swept along in its current, unable to fight it, but able to steer herself through it. With a clear mind and a stonecutting river at her hooves, Trixie faced Sandalwood’s spell with renewed vigor.

Magic is in the memory.

Cedar’s spells had all failed when his memory had become tainted. Trixie knew where Sandalwood’s weakness lay. She prodded his barrier anew, but this time she understood it better. It attempted to overwhelm her with the harsh facts of the Caliph’s life, but now she welcomed them. Every negative memory that Sandalwood had attempted to weaponize collated in her hooves like foam in rapids. Thrusting out her hoof in an accusatory motion, Trixie hurled the Caliph’s memory back at him. She would make him his own damnation.

The memories mixed and mingled like factory runoff befouling a tributary. The shield of willpower that had once held her out began to melt like so much sludge. Trixie gathered the tiny shards of her magic and thrust through it. With a liquid sizzle, Trixie drowned the embers of his power.

As the spell dissolved, Trixie felt the strength she had tapped fading from her. It leached from her body and soaked into the carpet around her like cold sweat. She lay flat on the floor, breathing heavily and too weak to stand, but very much alive.

“Know this, Briar.” The djinn hissed, its voice seething like a sandstorm. “I will not grant you my boon a second time. You are not the only piece in my plan, and I am patient above all things.” It exhaled myrrh. “If you try this again, you will die. Your schemes are measured in the beating of eyelashes. Mine are measured in the lives of stars. Never assume your importance to me.”

And like that, it was gone.

Blueblood didn’t know what to say. He knelt beside Trixie, gently stroking her back and listening to the rise and fall of her breath. She was alive. His heart raced as he considered how close he had been to losing her. And yet, she had done it.

Chicory hadn’t moved since the spell had been broken. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates as she stared at the wall. She kept repeating something under her breath in a desperate mantra. Blueblood leaned closer to listen.

“He took my son,” Chicory whispered. Her hooves twisted the bedsheets and her muscles knotted in horror. “My son. He took my son.”

All the dots suddenly converged for Blueblood.

The empty space at the Ordainment Ball for the Caliph’s wife.

The way Sandalwood had looked at her when he turned her over to Blueblood at the wall.

Aster’s need to frame her and get her out of the picture to safeguard the Caliph he loved so dearly.

Chicory had a claim to the throne. She had a son next in line to rule.

This was it. The end of the succession crisis was at hand. Blueblood could have screamed aloud.

“My son!” Chicory suddenly cried, her eyes filled with tears. “Indigo, he—”

“He’s still alive.” Blueblood took her hooves and gently held them to reassure her. “He’s alive, Chicory.”

She looked like she was about to snap. Blueblood pressed what was left of his wine to her lips and let her drink deeply. Her breathing fell from fitful hyperventilation to merely rapid. She brushed tears from her eyes and tried to convey the memories that flooded back to her.

“His other wives had failed to conceive.” Chicory gasped. “One of the courtiers approached me, begged me to consider bearing a child for the Caliph. I was…” Her eyes grew unfocused. “I was a liaison to the Caliph on behalf of my faith. A go-between from the Fire Temple in the slums and the palace. I agreed, thinking it was for the good of the nation.”

“And then he enslaved you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “He said we would rule together, husband and wife. But the council didn’t approve. I didn’t respect the traditions. My kind could never understand. When he tried to sweep things under the rug, I threatened to go public. I’d tell every paper in the city that would listen that the Caliph had cheated me. That was when they decided I needed to be dealt with.”

She looked like she was seeing spirits. “He took my son, Indigo. My son.”

“And we’ll get him back.” He assured her, his eyes blazing with resolve. “We’ll go before the council tomorrow. I’ll fight tooth and nail for your right to your son and for your claim to the throne.”

“The throne?!” Chicory shrank. “But I’m…”

As she prepared to demure, the weight of who she was started to dawn on her. Mother of the emir.

“Flame guide me.”

Blueblood checked Trixie’s breathing. She was alive and faintly snoring. Gently rolling her onto her side, he saw she was smiling in her sleep. Thank Celestia.

They had survived this day.

Surviving tomorrow was another matter.

Blueblood mentally prepared himself to face the council tomorrow. That would mean facing Fairweather and rejecting his offer to his face. But after what the Caliph had done in secret and with Chicory’s legitimate claim to the throne— Celestia’s mane, he was going to do it. He was going to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Celestia hadn’t misjudged him.

For once, he had been tested and come out triumphant.

The toll of a bell shattered those delusions. Blueblood and Chicory locked eyes as the peal rang through the city. Mourning ululations went up from every temple in the city. Lightning cut through the night and briefly illuminated Sutaf in corpselight.

The Caliph was dead.