He Who Speaks for the Sun

"You may secure your cities all you like, Caliph, but the desert does not kneel."
—Last words of Camel Warlord Aloe Vera

Chapter 13: Prince With a Thousand Enemies

Five times.

It took Trixie five times to teleport to Sandalwood’s chamber. She hurled herself and Chicory into a storage closet, two separate bathrooms, and the palace roof before she managed to pin it down. The two mares burst into the bedroom with a flash, with Trixie’s horn pounding with feedback as she staggered to the wall and braced herself. The room felt disturbingly sterile. The bed had been made, the curtains dusted, and the rugs carefully cleaned. It felt too soon for the palace to have moved on from its ruler, yet the echoing gunshots made it clear that the world didn’t have time to mourn.

And they didn’t have time to sit around and think. Not with Cedar hanging in the balance. Trixie set her jaw and marched from the room, with Chicory close behind. She desperately wished that she’d gotten more time to plan this out, but she was going to have to improvise.

Voices down the hall. Angry, regimented voices shouting orders. Trixie grabbed Chicory by the hoof and dragged her behind a thick set of drapes. The pair held their breath as hooves thudded past, waiting until the reverberations died off before they peered out from their hiding place.

“The coast is clear,” Trixie whispered as she stepped back into the moonlit hall.

Chicory clutched the kitchen knife with her magic as she and Trixie sped off down another corridor. “Do you know where the emir’s bedchamber is?”

“I thought you’d know.” Trixie’s eyes watered at the smell of gunpowder. There was way less sulfur in the stuff she used for her shows.

“I only enter this wing of the palace when called.” Chicory frowned, glancing down a dark arcade resounding with painful groans. “Sandalwood kept me close, but not this close. I was only ever called to dust the library or clean up spills in the halls.”

“Then we better start guessing.” Trixie’s horn ignited as she threw open every unlocked door in the hallway. It would have seemed much more impressive had more than one door been unlocked. She peered inside and found a comfortable lounge that reeked of cigar smoke.

They tried knocking at a few of the locked doors, but the only replies were either silence or the muffled whimpers of grown horses. This was going to get them nowhere. Trixie tried to think, to rationalize the palace with the same eyes Blueblood had, but she couldn’t. Cursing under her breath as she pressed her ear to a door to listen for a reply, she desperately wished that he had come with them. Both because she severely missed his knowledge and because she feared for his safety. Surely Fairweather had realized the two of them were expendable by this point in his scheme. And considering Blueblood had outright rejected his advances… Trixie shook her head and tried not to dwell on it.

She needed to think about the task at hand. Pulling away from the door, Trixie looked over the hall and tried to put herself into Blueblood’s horseshoes.

“Everything is political,” Trixie muttered the prince’s refrain under her breath as she looked over the seemingly endless procession of locked doors.

Sandalwood’s politics were intertwined with his memory. His greatest fear was that his son would never take the throne after his passing. It would make sense for him to keep his only child close by, to ensure that he was safe.

Yet Sandalwood also wasn’t stupid. He would have recognized that any threat to him was a threat to Cedar, and thus couldn’t keep him too close. There had to be enough distance between them that if Sandalwood were in jeopardy, there would be time to save his son.

Trixie’s eyes turned towards the lounge once more. Tobacco and liquor were hardly appropriate for a little colt to be around. Sandalwood certainly wouldn’t have stashed his child somewhere near them. No, Cedar was an emir that so many horses had so much riding on. Only hours after his father’s death, his tutors were trying to get him to act like he was Caliph, after all. Cedar would be somewhere with easy access to knowledge, nestled within a protective ring of teachers, advisors, and courtiers.

It all clicked into place.

“Chicory,” Trixie whirled on her heel. “Can you take me to the library from here?”

“I can. It’s a floor up from us.” Chicory gestured for Trixie to follow as she turned left at the hallway’s junction. They rounded the corner, only to run straight into a pair of earthponies who had been left to defend the choke point. All parties froze for a moment, staring at each other in pure befuddlement. Then both Earthponies shouldered their guns and took aim.

Trixie was quicker on the draw. Her horn burned as she threw open her cape and billowed out thick, blinding clouds of periwinkle smoke. One of the guards shot wildly, and Trixie heard the bullet ricochet somewhere far behind her. Knife at the ready, Chicory plunged into the fog. Trixie could only vaguely discern her outline as she slid past her attacker and left him on the floor. Chicory didn’t bother stopping. Before the second soldier could react, she was already halfway down the hall and charging for a staircase. Trixie tried to follow, only for a powerful hoof to twist itself in her mane and roughly drag her back. In desperation, Trixie shot fireworks erratically behind her and the earthpony released her with a yelp. As she fled the scene, Trixie heard a muffled explosion somewhere behind her and caught a strong whiff of sulfur.

Black powder and wonton fireworks were a potent mix.

Scrambling up the staircase, Trixie rejoined Chicory and caught her breath.

“You didn’t tell me you knew how to fight.” Trixie clutched a hoof to her chest as she took deep gasps.

Chicory cleaned the knife with the same spell she used to light fire altars. “I grew up in the city slums. If you can’t defend yourself, you don’t tend to last long.”

Trixie swallowed hard and decided to drop the subject. The wide plaza at the top of the staircase was studded with balconies that opened onto the palace gardens and let in the sweet aroma of nighttime flowers. Trixie heard the sound of hoofbeats touching down on the marble overlook to their right. Weaving a spell, she grabbed Chicory and pressed her tightly against the wall. A faintly glittering illusion of a potted plant appeared in front of the pair, completely clashing with the overall aesthetic of the court. Trixie prayed that the pegasus that crept in through the twilight didn’t have a cutie mark in interior design.

Graciously for Trixie, she didn’t. She stepped in from the balcony and flicked her ears, listening for something. Pursing her lips in displeasure, she scanned the area, spread her steel studded wings, and took off once more. Trixie sighed and released her spell, wiping the nervous sweat from her brow.

This section of the palace was mercifully deserted, though the sound of combat elsewhere was drawing nearer with every heartbeat. The floor was patterned with a mosaic of the solar and lunar cycles, encircled by swirls of Sarabic text that charted their movement through the heavens. Three massive, high-peaked arches had been cut into the opposite wall, revealing the cavernous depths of the royal library within. If Trixie had been impressed by the library situated in the diplomatic wing, then this utterly dwarfed her comprehension. Three levels of books were visible from the doorway, and the books made up only one portion of the collection. Artifacts were encased in airtight glass, spiderweb-covered scrolls that were probably older than Trixie’s grandparents lay collecting dust, and a telescope bigger than her carriage stared out at the heavens through a massive glass dome.

Shaking her head, Trixie didn’t let it distract her. There were other, smaller rooms set into the square. She tried again to throw them all open with a spell, and this time had better luck. This time two doors opened rather than one. She and Chicory examined each and found them both to be classrooms. Trixie could feel herself getting warmer.

“Cedar?” She knocked at one of the locked doors, only to receive a stammered “Go away!” in reply. Moving on to the next, she tried again, and this time was met by nothing but silence.

The third time, however, she knocked and whispered the Emir’s name, and there was a reply so soft she almost missed it.

“Who’s there?”

There was no mistaking that voice. Trixie’s heart bounded into her throat. “It’s Miss Briar.”

Silence.

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

Trixie leaned in close to the lock and blew a raspberry. The lock clicked only seconds later as Cedar threw open the door. He didn’t have a second to speak before Chicory hugged him so tightly his eyes bulged in their sockets. Trixie shut and locked the door behind them as Cedar was embraced by the mother he had never known. Chicory’s eyes welled with tears as she crushed him to her chest.

The emir leaned into her, bug-eyed and shocked, his hooves wrapping gently around her body as he returned the hug. Cedar looked at her, blinked, and suddenly realized.

“Mama?”

*****

Blueblood hadn’t known ponies could fight the way Captain did. She was like an oak tree, firmly rooted and inflexible. Every attack he brought to bear upon her was easily turned aside with flicks of Abnegation so minute that she hardly moved. Yet the second Blueblood slowed, the second his strike went wide or he stepped too close to her guard, Captain was upon him with the ferocity of a manticore.

Batting away a probing thrust, Captain flashed into his guard and slashed at his ribcage. Blueblood caught it on the flat of his blade, but in the same instant, she shattered her sword and stabbed at his eye. Backstepping feverishly, Blueblood danced between her blows and tried to regain his fencing stance, but she pursued ravenously. Pressing her advantage to its fullest, Captain battered him with a furious assault of tight, pinpoint slashes. Blueblood managed to catch her blade and lock it in place for a moment, giving him just enough time to breathe and adjust his position. Captain’s horn flashed a sick, pus-yellow before she flicked a stream of vile-smelling liquid from her blade.

Narrowly avoiding the splash, Blueblood’s nostrils flared at the nauseating odor. The stuff landed on the carpet below, where it hissed and sputtered, burning rank holes in the fabric. Steeling himself, Blueblood found his footing and lunged.

Captain turned aside his attack with ease, returning the favor with a lightning-fast thrust that caught Blueblood’s foreleg with Abnegation’s tip. He could feel the bite of acid against the wound and grit his teeth to keep from screaming. Again and again, he assailed her, but her defenses were ironclad. Shattering his blade, Blueblood peppered her with shards of his blade at awkward to defend angles, forcing her, at last, to dodge rather than stand her ground.

“You fight well.” Her voice droned as she ducked beneath three motes of Pride and caught another two with a well-placed ward. “But Canterlot fencing can only go so far.”

Blueblood snarled and turned up his aggression. Pride swarmed back to him, reformed, and clashed against Abnegation like an executioner’s axe. Captain blocked it, but Blueblood forced his way into her guard and threw a punch. Rolling her shoulders to block his hooves, Captain aimed a sharp snap kick at his bad foreleg. When Blueblood danced back, she was ready for him. Her blade disengaged, thrust forward, and vomited black bile. Blueblood twisted to one side, and droplets of the foul concoction spattered his cheek and sizzled against his coat. Four shards of his blade clung to his hoof like talons as he struck low, managing to catch Captain off guard. The sound of shredding cloth and melting tapestries filled the hall as Captain threw herself backward, her eyes surveying the damage in an instant. Only her uniform had been scratched.

Blueblood breathed heavily. “I didn’t just learn fencing in Canterlot.”

Again he lashed out at her, Pride whistling through the air for a stab. When Captain blocked it, Blueblood was there with his makeshift claws, ready to gouge her cheek. She shot backward faster than Blueblood could blink, steadying herself as she eyed his new stance.

“You trained with gryphons.” Captain seemed to recognize the style almost immediately. As Blueblood attacked her once more, she too shifted tactics. If before she had been an oak, now she was a willow. She bent and twisted away from every furious swipe, every aggressive slash, every vicious thrust. Patiently, she baited him further and further down the hallway until she spied an opening in his offensive. Three shards blocked Blueblood’s blade, another four slapped his hoof away, and the remaining ten cut a vicious arc toward his face. He turned aside just in time to avoid losing his head but felt a white-hot pain lance through his muzzle as Captain painted his cheek red.

As Blueblood staggered back, clutching his bleeding cheek with his bleeding hoof, Captain flourished Abnegation and watched him with eyes of ice. “You forget, prince, that I’ve killed gryphons as well.”

Launching back into the fight, Captain continued to beat Blueblood down. He tried switching tactics again, batting aside her sword and engaging her hoof to hoof, hoping to catch her off guard a second time. It did him no good. She ducked his first punch and struck his injured foreleg viciously. A harsh cry died in his throat as her follow-up shattered his bloodied cheek.

“You were well trained.” Captain bashed him with the flat of her blade and made his teeth ring. “But training is not experience.”

A kick to his gut made Blueblood heave. She refused to let up, making him breathlessly avoid the sweep of Abnegation once more. He smelled the acrid, sour reek of guttering acid on the edge of every shard. Their blades locked, and he could feel it gnawing at the air itself.

“I have killed on three continents.” Captain’s voice held the faintest tinge of pride. “In Celestia’s name, I have killed Gryphons and Zebras and Horses and Dogs and Changelings.”

Blueblood swung low and hacked at her legs. She vaulted his attack and shattered his psyche with a blow to the jaw. “I was born to the sword, Blueblood. It is no shame to die by my hooves.”

Twelve shards of Abnegation screamed through the air. Blueblood intercepted them with motes of Pride, backed against the wall, and met her charge valiantly. He caught her blade with his own and shoved her back, using the stone behind him for leverage. As Captain stumbled, he recalled his blade and thrust for her chest. She bent backward at an awkward angle to avoid it and slung a shard at his midsection. The stained glass behind him shattered, and Blueblood stood in a shaft of brilliant moonlight.

“If you were born to the sword,” He panted, harrying her with another thrust. “Then where’s your cutie mark?”

Captain turned aside his assault, fighting with a disgusting ease even when on the backhoof. “Do you know what it means to abnegate?”

Three more shards shot out from her blade. Blueblood threw himself out of the way, listening with horror as they ate their way through stone. He landed on his bad leg, and grunted through clenched teeth, nearly falling to the floor as he parried three incoming strikes.

“It is a denial.” Captain’s horn ignited as she swept the hall with a vitriolic lash, countless artifacts reduced to slag by her spell. “A refusal of some higher power.”

Blades clashed in the pale moonlight. Blood and acid and ichor mingled on the floor in a vile, fetid concoction. Blueblood struggled to stand, his leg throbbing with every step in their fatal dance. He felt his heartbeat in his cheek.

“I know my destiny, prince.” Captain continued gaining ground. “I know where my talent lies.”

Blueblood was struggling to breathe. He panted and gasped as he sidestepped and dodged, every second draining him. Blueblood couldn’t die here. He had promised.

“I simply refuse it.” Captain wielded Abnegation like an extension of her soul. “I have no cutie mark by choice.” She punctuated her sentence with a strike so powerful that it sent Blueblood sprawling. He landed on his back, hissing through his teeth. Towering over him, Captain narrowed her eyes. “I have no name by choice.”

“What happened to not being a mare of words?” Blueblood groaned.

Without another word of explanation, the nameless mare delivered her coup de grace. She thrust her sword downward at Blueblood’s chest, skewering him through the heart.

Or rather she would have, had he not caught her blade with his injured foreleg. Blueblood’s vision bled stars. His entire world erupted in sparkling, shrieking, pain. Abnegation was embedded in his flesh, protruding through it, but trapped for a moment. Blueblood knew he was screaming. His throat felt raw and scarred, but he couldn’t hear it. Silence covered him as a chill crept up his back.

Captain snarled something at his face as she tried to free her trapped weapon, only for Blueblood to curl his hoof around it, gripping it with a leg slippery with blood. Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to rise. Captain drove the blade deeper, trying to impale him, but the disgraced prince twisted like a hooked fish, avoiding her attempt. As she pushed and he pulled, they drew closer and closer. Captain stared at him, and for the first time, Blueblood could feel her simmering with rage.

Who was he to deny her? She who was defined by her refusal of destiny?

Blueblood headbutted her hard enough that he thought he must have broken his skull. Captain’s head jerked back, but he grabbed her by the mane and clashed with her again. It was enough. Her horn flickered for a split second, and that was all he needed. Throwing himself backward, Blueblood tore his foreleg from her blade with a ragged cry. He had only seconds to act, and he made his choice. She wasn’t the only pony who could renounce destiny.

Without a second thought, Blueblood leapt from the window.

Recovering quickly, Captain wiped her face and rushed to the broken window. Blueblood was running as fast as his hooves could carry him, limping with every step.

*****

“But Dad told me—” Cedar sniffed and wiped his snout with Trixie’s cape. “He said you left when I was born!”

“I’m so sorry, Cedar.” Chicory stroked his mane, brushing tears from her eyes. “I didn’t know. I never suspected—” She clutched him to her body once again, pressing kisses to his head. “I’m here now. I’m here.”

As beautiful as the reunion was, Trixie was getting impatient. She tapped her hoof on the floor, hoping that the pair would get the memo that time was of the essence, but all they’d done was use her cape as a snot rag. The clock on the wall told her it was after one already. They needed to get moving.

“I’m deeply touched,” Trixie said, trying to disguise her discomfort with sweetness. “But we really need to go. There’s still a coup going on, and I’d very much like to not be shot tonight.”

“Miss Briar,” Cedar clung to her cape as she peered out the door and ensured the coast was clear. “What’s a coup?”

“It means there are some bad ponies out there who want to hurt you.” Trixie pushed open the door and gestured for them to follow.

“But we won’t let them,” Chicory added, tucking the knife into her tunic. “Never again.”

They crossed from the room to the balcony, where Trixie grabbed both of their hooves and lit her horn. She glanced over her shoulder as she heard the clatter of hooves on the stairs behind her. Ponies were spilling out of the hallway, weapons at the ready.

“Shoot her!” One of the unicorns ordered, his horn flashing a molten red.

“Wait! Hold your fire! The emir—”

Trixie didn’t have time to aim. She teleported with nowhere in mind, throwing herself at the mercy of her magic. All three of them reappeared crushed into a dark space somewhere with barely enough room for one of them.

“I can’t feel my hooves.” Cedar squirmed against Trixie’s back. The smell of bread and roasted vegetables made her think they were in a pantry in the kitchen. She threw out the spell again, and this time they landed just outside the Grease Pit.

Chicory had hit the ground with more momentum than intended, and she rolled across the cobblestones like a ragdoll. She sprang back up and shook the dust from her mane, blinking in confusion at Trixie.

“Look, I’m really trying, okay?” Trixie blew a strand of hair from her eyes and grabbed Chicory’s hooves again.

The world blinked away and they popped back into existence on the sidewalk beside Lineage Park. Trixie breathed heavily. Three attempts wasn’t the worst.

“Miss Briar!” Cedar yelled beside her. Trixie smelled burning hair.

Sure enough, Cedar’s tail was on fire.

Trixie grabbed him and shoved him into the spray of a nearby fountain, dousing the flames with a sputter.

Cedar shook his soggy coat dry and splashed Trixie. “Thank you, Miss Briar.”

“Was he supposed to catch fire?” Chicory arched an eyebrow.

Trixie swallowed sheepishly. “I don’t think so?”

“Is Prince Indigo coming with us?” Cedar said as he flopped down on a bench.

“He’s supposed to catch up with us here.” Chicory sat beside him, gently stroking his damp hair.

He should be here by now. Trixie gnawed her lip and paced. She was as bad as he was when she was stressed. Grabbing Cedar was supposed to be a short detour, but instead, it had taken nearly an hour. Something was wrong. She could feel ice sinking in her gut.

Where was he?

Trixie’s eyes went skyward, and she suddenly dragged the two horses off their bench and into the tree line. A pair of pegasi soared overhead, their shadows blurring past on the flagstones as they swept the area. When they vanished in the direction of the palace, Trixie breathed a sigh of relief.

That was bad news. Blueblood was still picking his way through the city. Would they notice him? Drag him back to the palace? Execute him where he stood? She wrang her hooves and worried her cape. She needed to know.

As she watched the street ahead, Trixie noticed something moving. A pale, shuddering shape moved towards them as quickly as its legs allowed. That had to be him.

Blueblood descended the street like a shambling shell of himself. His white coat was splashed liberally with slashes of drying, rusty blood. His foreleg was mangled, his mane was tangled, and his clothes were torn. As Trixie crossed towards him at a gallop, she saw his eyes; exhausted, sad, and broken.

“What happened to you?” Trixie held back her affection as she looked at his injuries with a wince. “Please, please tell me that’s not your blood.”

“Not all of it.” Blueblood croaked weakly, coughing into the back of his hoof. “Did you—”

“I’m safe, Indigo.” Chicory approached slowly, holding Cedar by the hoof. “We’re safe.”

“Thank Celestia.” He looked like a boulder had been lifted from his back. It didn’t help his wounds, but he could at least breathe a little easier. “We need to keep going.”

“But where?” Cedar looked up at him with big, wonderous eyes. Blueblood saw his face reflected in the emir’s pupils.

Blueblood sucked his teeth. “Out of the city. Into the desert.”

“Then where?”

“I don’t know yet.” Blueblood shivered, his eyes flickering between his lacerated leg and the street ahead. “We just need to get out of here. We’ll figure it out later.”

“We’ll cut through the slums.” Chicory nodded to herself. “Gather the troops and let them know we’re fleeing the city.”

Blueblood detested that. He didn’t want an army. He wasn’t a general. He wasn’t a soldier.

And now, he wasn’t even a prince.

But his body was so crushed that he didn’t have the will to fight it. Chicory sidled up to him, letting him sling his injured hoof over her back for support. They set off for the slums, with Blueblood hobbling down the street and slowing them down. It wasn’t fast enough.

Trixie heard the rush of wings above as another pegasus looped over them. She cursed herself for not noticing sooner. The pegasus twisted upward and pulled something from her saddlebag. A second later, a bright red flare ignited, casting them all in a bloody glow. The pegasus rolled back over and flew in the direction of the palace. They had been discovered.

“Son of a bitch.” Trixie cursed, ushering for the others to pick up the pace. Cedar's ears flicked as she swore. “Cedar don't repeat that! We need to move faster!”

“I can’t.” Blueblood gagged on the words. “My leg, its—”

“I can see that.” Trixie cut him off, her mind a cyclone. “Somepony has to slow them down.”

Blueblood groaned in protest. “But I—”

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Briar, you can’t.” His eyes were wide with shock. “You haven’t seen what they can do.”

“And they haven’t seen what I can do.” Trixie flared the collar of her cloak. “Now go.” I’ll catch up with you at the gate.”

Before Blueblood could protest, Chicory dragged him along towards the slums, lugging him like a particularly willful sack of flour. Leaving him without a choice, Trixie considered her options. She turned her hat upside down and started to shake out objects at random: a bucket of white paint, a hairbrush, two plush dragons, a pair of cuffs, a half-eaten bar of chocolate she had forgotten about, and a hoof-held confetti cannon.

That gave her an idea.

*****

The coup at the palace had succeeded in all but one objective. It had failed to secure Emir Cedar. The once-contained violence spilled over into the streets as ponies flooded the city searching for their quarry.

Blueblood ducked into an alley as another flare erupted overhead. They were tracking his movements through the city, and every brilliant fireball brought the Equestrian soldiers closer. He couldn’t let them win.

As he sprinted from the alley, trying to keep his weight off his bad hoof, he was horrifically conscious of just how loud his hoofbeats were. He felt like they echoed off every surface in a way that drew attention just as perfectly as the flares that ignited his path.

Something whooshed over his head, fast enough that it fluttered his bloodstained mane. The soft click of hooves on pavement caught his ears. He turned, breath hitching in his throat.

Duke Fairweather stood in the middle of the street, dressed in his crisp military uniform with molten steel in his eyes. Any lingering shred of affability had sloughed off of him like an insect shell. He looked the part of a conquering hero, the sort of pony Blueblood would see posters of in the backwater villages he traveled. The sort of sharp, snappy soldier who made little colts and fillies play soldier on the playground and join the army when they were grown.

“Blueblood,” Fairweather spoke the name with a blazing vitriol. "Where is the emir?"

"Gone." Blueblood coughed, his throat scratchy.

“It shouldn’t have come to this. We could have ruled Saddle Arabia jointly. Like brothers.”

Blueblood swallowed hard, stepping back and taking a shuddery breath. He thanked Celestia that Chicory had left him.

Fairweather’s wings rustled. The iron feathers that lined them tinkled like chain mail. “You stood in front of a firing squad and said you stood against the Caliph, and now look at you.” He spit into the stones. “Fighting to save the system you put yourself against. You make me sick.”

“It isn’t our place,” Blueblood replied, his voice ragged and squeaky. He cleared his throat and tried to restore his composure, but couldn’t. His words came out far weaker than he needed. “This isn’t right!”

“Right?” Fairweather growled. “Do you know what isn’t right? Letting a sick system continue to abuse the ones forced to live under it. It's the same as it ever was. Mareocco, Neighgeria, Camareoon, Saddle Arabia… The only way to fix the problem is to excise it entirely. If you want to change the world, sometimes you have to make harmony happen.”

"And I'm sure your business has nothing to do with it."

Before Blueblood could react, Fairweather had closed the gap between them and struck him across the cheek. Blueblood was thrown back, rolling head over hooves as he tried to right himself. When he finally got to his hooves, he found himself kicked again, hard enough that he tumbled into Lineage Park.

The spray of a fountain kept him conscious as he woozily staggered to his hooves. More ponies were arriving now. Unicorns and earthponies and pegasi, all armed to the teeth and watching with rapt attention as their leader bludgeoned a traitor beneath his hooves.

Fairweather pummeled Blueblood, blow after blow crushing his body as he was pushed from fountain to fountain. A succession of Caliphs loomed over them as Fairweather beat down his weakened foe. Blueblood collapsed against a statue of Caliph Typhoon, gasping for air. The duke burst through the shroud of water, gripped his foe around the chest, and launched himself skyward. The pair spun as they ascended, the city lights sparkling beneath them like a carpet of stars. Blueblood coughed as they turned in lazy circles like partners in a waltz.

“I’m going to give you one final chance.” Fairweather’s breath was hot against his cheek. “Nopony ever said I wasn’t forgiving.”

His grip loosened ever so slightly, and Blueblood felt his hooves dangle in nothingness. He tried to cling on to his foe, but with the injury in his foreleg, his grip was too weak.

“You’ll never rule with me. That ship has sailed. But you don’t have to die.” Fairweather tried to soften his tone. “You’ll be imprisoned for a time, sure, but isn’t that better than losing your life? I’ll let you return to Equestria with your mistress, and we’ll both put this all behind us. I might even let you return as diplomat once things have settled down here! Wouldn’t that be better than—”

Fairweather glanced down at his hooves. They were covered in smears of white. When he glanced up at Blueblood, he could see dashes of light blue across his coat. Their eyes met.

Blueblood’s familiar gunmetal grey eyes didn’t look back at him. Instead, twinkling periwinkle returned his gaze.

“You’re not Blueblood.”

An illusory blonde mane flickered and vanished. Trixie couldn’t help but smirk. “Nope.”

Fairweather hovered there, his mouth agape in confusion.

"And I ain't his mistress either." Trixie leveled her hoof at his face and lit her horn. With a shrill squeak, she shot Fairweather in the snout with a confetti cannon. Blinding strands of multicolored paper and long metallic streamers exploded inches from his face. His grip on Trixie went slack and she fell towards earth like a scream. Exactly as Trixie had planned. Her horn burned as she threw out her teleportation spell, praying to Celestia, Luna, the sun, the moon, and the flame that this time it would work.

She blinked out of existence inches from the earth, reappearing someplace dark, smoky, and stifling. Gagging and gasping for air, Trixie thrashed about, her hooves stirring up more dust that reduced her to a choking mess. Her hooves found purchase on a screen of thick fabric, which she hastily pawed at for some sort of release. Instead, the room collapsed in on her like a dying star. Was this the price of failing to teleport? Was she lost somewhere in the space between spaces? Trixie got her answer when several pairs of paws dragged her from a collapsed tent into the fresh air.

“Briar?” Trixie’s bleary eyes focused on the blurry form of Brother Sycamore. His head was cocked and his ears lopsided as he stared down at her. “How did you end up in our reading tent?”

“Teleportation mishap.” Trixie coughed and wiped her eyes as she was pulled to her hooves. “Did Chicory already—”

Before she could finish, a bell sounded a doleful toll over the slums. Sycamore stiffened suddenly, his eyes drawn to the squat skyline of the slums.

“That’s her.” Trixie exhaled, brushing a hoof through her soot-streaked mane.

Horses, jackals, and a few camels appeared in the doorways of nearby bunkhouses, from rickety shanties of tarp and scrap metal, and from the temple itself. They were armed as Trixie had seen them only two nights ago, with ancient jezails, makeshift spears, clubs, and daggers. There weren’t many, and despite Chicory’s claims of an army, this barely qualified as an angry mob. Trixie had been chased out of town by larger and better-armed groups than this. Falling in line, Trixie followed the makeshift militia as they streamed through the streets in a thin trickle.

Chicory had rung the bell outside the local ironworks, and her bedraggled troops had sloppily assembled. They were still dressed in their pajamas, yawning and stretching as they stood before her. She smiled like a proud mother being shown a crayon doodle she was sure to hang on the family fridge.

“Pack your things if you haven’t already!” Chicory’s voice boomed as she stood atop the brick and iron fence. “We’re moving out!”

A murmur went through the crowd. Nervous whispers were exchanged. Chicory raised a hoof and silenced them.

“Prince Indigo believes we’ll have a better chance of retaking the city if we do so from the desert!” Chicory spoke confidently, although, behind her, Blueblood’s mein was shaded with abject horror. “We will return! We will retake our homes! We will drive out these usurpers! And we will be victorious!”

One of the horses in the crowd tossed a gun to her. In a single smooth motion, Chicory slung it around her body and held a hoof in the air. Her meager army returned the gesture with as much cheer as they could muster. The procession began to march in an uneven rhythm as they tramped through the slums, with Chicory and Cedar at its head. Blueblood and Trixie fell in towards the rear, with Trixie shouldering his bad leg.

“You made it.” Blueblood managed a smile through his pain.

Trixie tossed her mane haughtily, only for her bruises to throb and make her wince. “Never doubt me.”

“I’ve seen your show. I’m always doubting you.” Blueblood leaned against her heavily, shifting as he wove his way around the rank puddles that Trixie splashed through. “I really wish they’d stop talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“About taking back their city and such.” He blew air from his lower lip. “Our best case scenario is that we flee to Equestria and set up a government in exile there.” Blueblood’s eyes scanned the throng he found himself in. “No matter what Chicory says, this isn’t an army. And even if it was, I’m not a soldier. I’m not even a prince anymore. I’m—”

His voice cracked. Blueblood reached a trembling hoof to his brow, assuring himself that his crown remained.

“I’m nothing.”

“You’re still you,” Trixie said calmly. She gripped his hoof as they trudged through another decrepit alleyway. “And that’s all we need right now.”

“Briar,” Blueblood’s voice was low and desperate. “They’re hoping I’ll lead them on a reconquista of their homeland. They want a civil war.” He swallowed a growing lump in his throat. “What am I supposed to do about that?”

“We can burn that bridge when we get to it.”

“That’s not how the saying goes.”

“You know what I mean.”

The city gates were visible. Both ponies breathed easier knowing that they were close. It was, quite literally, all downhill from here. Their procession wound its way down the last hill, their marching formation woefully uneven. Blueblood felt horribly cold. His bad hoof was going numb, which he knew was a bad sign. He was praying to every deity from every nation that someone in their mean little squadron was a doctor.

Something swooped over their heads. Three shadows crossed their path, banking sharply and screaming towards the gate. Then two more. Then another four. Blueblood’s head pulsed pain as the realization dawned on him all too late.

“They’re trying to cut us off at the gate.” He breathed the words in a shallow voice. “They know it won’t take much.”

Gunshots shattered the night. The horses around Blueblood reared and shrieked. The jackals bayed and whined. Blueblood could barely muster the strength to scan for casualties. Two horses had already been shot. Chicory thrust her son back behind her to shield him as she barked out orders. A few jezails returned fire, but their volley was haphazard and their accuracy poor.

Cedar clamped his hooves over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. Trixie rushed to his side in the commotion, pulling him away from the conflict and holding him tight. Chicory still placed herself protectively between him and the gunfire, even as she slammed the firing level of her jezail and launched a bullet downrange.

More and more of Chicory’s army were deserting. They had started with few, and now they had less. Blueblood’s blood was ice in his veins. This was where it ended.

Unless.

Blueblood didn’t have time to think about what he was doing. He couldn’t afford the few seconds to think over his actions, lest the guilt set in. Stepping forward, he snatched Cedar from Trixie’s arms and pulled the emir to his chest.

“Indigo! Don’t!” Trixie reached out to stop him, but it was too late. Blueblood threw himself into the line of fire, the heir to the throne as his shield.

“Hold!” Blueblood mustered up all the strength left in his body and screamed the command. “Hold your fire!”

The pegasi didn’t drop their rifles but stared back viciously.

“Indigo!” Chicory’s voice was broken with betrayal. Blueblood glanced over his shoulder and mouthed the words I’m sorry.

“You’re here for the emir.” Blueblood grit his teeth as he was forced to walk on his bad leg. “If you shoot him, this will have all been for nothing.”

“Our orders were to bring him back safely.” A deep-voiced, maroon-coated pegasus fixed the prince in her sights. “You on the other hand—”

Cedar was trembling. Blueblood could feel his chest heave with small sobs. He leaned forward just enough to whisper in the colt’s ear. “Please, please trust me. I’m so sorry, emir.”

Blueblood’s hoof constricted around the colt’s chest. His horn burned silver as Pride flew from its sheath. The blade rested against Cedar’s quivering throat. His breath hitched and his sobbing ceased. Chicory screamed.

Blueblood hissed under his breath. “I promise not to hurt you.”

“Let him go!” The pegasus put her hoof on the firing lever.

“If you shoot me,” Blueblood was deliberate and glacier-cold. “He dies.”

“You’ll be dead before you can make a move.”

Pride shimmered sharply in the moonlight. “Try me.”

Their standoff seemed to last forever. All sound was silenced as the street became a vacuum of held breath and silent prayers. The pegasus didn’t flinch, but Blueblood could see the sweat beading on her brow. She knew what the stakes were for failure. If Cedar died, all of Fairweather’s plotting would be undone with the flick of a knife. Years of backroom politicking, backstabbing, debasing himself in front of a Caliph he despised—all rendered worthless by a single bad decision. She swallowed hard and squinted.

“What will it take for you to let him go?”

“Let us leave the city.” Blueblood held firm.

“I can’t let you—”

Blueblood tensed his muscles and flashed his horn. His blade moved a fraction of an inch, and the emir closed his eyes.

“Stand down,” Blueblood growled. “All of you.”

One by one, their weapons clattered to the cobblestones. Better to be responsible for a setback than a total operational failure. At last, the pegasus who had so sternly denied him dropped her gun.

“Go.” She snapped.

They parted as Blueblood led what remained of Chicory’s army down the last sloping street and through the city gates. He relaxed his grip and lowered his blade slightly. Cedar took a deep breath, looking up at Blueblood with terror in his eyes.

“I won’t hurt you.” Blueblood reiterated, his breath finally returning. “Celestia and Luna both, I’m sorry.”

Through the city gates, they marched, tramping through the outlying kingdoms of rice paddies and olive groves, across fields of sharp-scented sagegrass, down the slope of the rocky plateau on which the city sat, and finally into the moonlit sand of the Sarabian Desert. It wasn’t until his hooves touched the sand that Blueblood released Cedar entirely. He let his grip fall away, sheathed his sword, and fell to his knees in the cold desert.

“I’m sorry.” Blueblood hung his head and drew short, rapid breaths. “I’m so sorry.”

His lips kept moving beyond his volition. Apologies bubbled up from within him like water from a spring. He tried to stop. He tried to clamp down on his emotions and force them into captivity. Since the first shots of the coup, he had been denying himself. Now the dam had cracked and the levees were drowning. The words died away, replaced by desperate choked screams that died strangled in his throat. Tears clouded his vision and the desert around him vanished in blurry mist.

Everything flowed from him all at once. In one night, Blueblood had ruined his life.

The desert stretched before him, vast, cold, and trackless under the moonlight. The dunes beckoned to him.

Step forth into the waste and become nothing.

As Trixie helped him to his hooves, Blueblood gave in to the urge.

*****

Hours passed in a blur. Their “army” had been reduced to seven jackals, three horses, and one camel, not counting Chicory and Cedar. One of the jackals, Crocus, had been tending to Blueblood’s wounds as best she could. She had applied a foul-smelling poultice, bound it with clean bandages, and fastened it with an olive branch splint. Blueblood was able to walk unassisted, albeit with a heavy limp.

The air felt still and heavy. The moonlight was palpably cool on their backs as they crossed dune after dune in a neverending undulation. Trixie’s hooves sank into the sand with every step, and even Chicory found herself stumbling as they ascended the steep faces of the silver dunes. Where they were going no one knew. Their only direction was away from the capital, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and their home.

At last, they came upon a stone-strewn wadi studded with rocky outcrops. Descending into the riverbed, they diffused into the shade and sank to the ground. Blueblood and Trixie found a spot and sat, unable to speak. Crocus changed Blueblood’s bandages and applied a fresh salve to his foreleg that made the wound tingle. She tied off the bandages and cut them with her claws.

“Will it heal?” Blueblood’s voice was dry and cracked.

Crocus shrugged. “The bone is fractured and there’s a lot of tissue damage. You’re lucky the nerve didn’t get severed.”

“Will it heal?”

“We’ll see. Let the sangthistle paste do its work.” The jackal shouldered her bag and left to take care of another, a horse who had been hit with a piece of shrapnel.

Another cold silence descended on the pair. Trixie glanced at him, knowing she should say something, but what was there to say? Half of her wanted to wait until morning to try to discuss things with Blueblood, and the other half said it would be too late.

When Blueblood rose from his seat and shuffled away from the group, Trixie slowly followed. He ascended the dunes that bordered the wadi and found a place to sit in the sand. His eyes were unfocused, his motions drunken.

“Indigo,” Trixie placed a hoof on his shoulder. He jerked away like he’d been pricked with a hot poker. She winced and drew back, unable to touch him. “Talk to me.”

“What is there to say?” He stared morosely at the moon. “I failed.”

“We haven’t failed yet.” She sank down beside him, trying to meet his eyes. He refused.

“Yet? What do you mean, yet?”

“We’re still alive, and while we’re alive, we haven’t failed.”

“Don’t give me that. Fairweather won. All the council members are either dead or in hiding. The only thing he doesn’t have is Cedar, and now it's only a matter of time before Fairweather consolidates his power and comes after us.” Blueblood closed his eyes. “And even if we go back to Equestria and try to set up a government in exile, who knows if Celestia will listen to us.”

“You’re her nephew, Indigo. Of course, she’ll—”

Blueblood’s eyes finally broke contact with the moon to stare at Trixie. “I killed ponies tonight, Briar.” His words stuck in his chest like a tumor. “I’m a murderer. Do you think Celestia is just going to let a murderer come back to her palace like nothing happened?”

“Then don’t go back.” Trixie exhaled softly. “We can—”

“We can’t!” Blueblood snapped. “We can’t stay here, we can’t go back to Equestria, and nowhere else is going to accept us! We’re alone, Briar!”

“Listen to what you’re saying!” Trixie’s shoulders drooped. “We’re alone?”

“Don’t patronize me, damn it!”

They both went quiet. A second passed, then another. Blueblood’s expression softened and he twisted a hoof in his mane. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Trixie reached out, untangled his hoof from his mane, and held it. Silver moonlight glistened in the corner of her eyes, glinting off of budding tears.

“I’m trying, Blueblood.” She strained her voice, his real name hitting him like a slap. “I’m really trying. I’m trying to hold it together because I know if I break you will too.”

“I’m so—”

“Don’t apologize, damn it.” She shook her head. “I don’t need apologies. I need you.” Trixie sniffed, brushing her cheek with the back of her hoof. “You said back in the palace that you loved me. I said I loved you too. And I know—”

Trixie shivered as a frigid wind blew across the desert. Blueblood shed his shirt and gently draped it around her shoulders.

“I know this won’t work.” Trixie found her voice as she pulled his shirt tighter. “When we return to Equestria, we both know what will happen. I’ll go back to my wagon and you’ll go back to the palace and it’ll be years before we see each other again.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said that.” Blueblood held her hoof like he would lose her if he let go.

“I wasn’t either. But we both know how this ends.” Trixie managed one of those glassy, fragile smiles. “That’s why I don’t want to go back to Equestria. Because I know that’s the end. When I’m here, I feel important. I feel like I belong. In Saddle Arabia, I really am great and powerful. But when I go back, I’ll lose everything. You included.”

Blueblood opened his mouth, an apology on his tongue, but Trixie’s glare shot him down.

“If we stay, we’re going to end up involved in a civil war.” He pled with his eyes.

Trixie chuckled under her breath. “What’s one more crime on our rap sheet?”

“It’s one more nail in my coffin.”

“If Celestia won’t take you back,” Trixie shifted closer. Near enough that Blueblood could feel her breath on his cheek. “Then stay here. Stay with me.”

“I reiterate, civil war.” Blueblood’s skin prickled with goosebumps.

“I’d take a civil war with you than peace without you.” Her hooves found their resting place on his hips. She held him in a distant embrace, her eyes locked with his. “Stay with me.”

Blueblood returned the touch with his one good hoof. Her coat was matted and slick with sweat. She shuddered as his hoof slid gently down her side. Whether that was from the cold, the bruises, or something else, he couldn't decide. He breathed deeply as they grew closer. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything.” Trixie shushed him with a hoof to his lips. “If you have to talk, lie to me. Just for tonight.”

They shared a kiss—a breathless, dainty kiss of spider silk and mothwings under a star-swirled sky. When it broke, they replaced it with something stronger, something deeper, richer, and more fulfilling.

What transpired between them that night was not beautiful. As they embraced, they breathed in a mixture of gunpowder, damp earth, sweat, and smoke. They were bruised, aching, and exhausted. Their manes were a mess, their coats were gritty with sand, and their voices were hoarse and harsh as they exhaled each other's names. Neither knew what they were doing, and neither cared. They were alive. For one more night, they were alive. No matter what the daybreak brought, they had this moment to hold between them.

As they lay on the sand, a cloud passed in front of the moon. In the dark, they lay side by side, hoof in hoof, listening to their heartbeats thudding in unison. For one brief and fleeting moment, the world was a simpler place. There were no politics nor wars to be fought, no threats of abandonment, no thoughts of what tomorrow would bring.

But tomorrow would surely come and the sun would burn away all falsehoods. Blueblood touched her cheek softly and pressed a demure kiss to her forehead. He wasn't ready to let this end. He wasn't ready to go back to Equestria.

Not yet.