He Who Speaks for the Sun

"In the world beyond Equestria, you will encounter many strange and unique ideas. Not everypony believes the same things you do, and that's okay! Our differences are beautiful! So when you encounter a strange new idea, don't shake your head and scoff! It might just be something you can learn from!" —The Precocious Princeling's Guide to Diplomatic Relations

Chapter 5: Ordainment

Twice, thrice, and yet again Blueblood was assured that the gunshots he had heard were warning shots. Aster assured and reassured him that the soldiers could be trusted to keep the peace and that the place for a prince was in the palace. Yet as he sorted through his outfits for the evening, he kept thinking he should have stayed.

What could he have done? Were there horses dead because he failed to act?

The prince pushed the thoughts from his mind. It wasn’t his place, he told himself. His job was to ensure that the interests of Equestria were taken care of. His place was trade deals and alliances, not local revolts and revolutions. Blueblood looped his crimson tie around his throat and tightened it. He’d selected something as plain as he could manage for his official appointment: a tailored black suit jacket, tie, and a matching cummerbund tied around his stomach. Now it was time for the finishing touch. Blueblood slowly lowered his crown onto his brow. It wasn’t the gaudy, peaked things the princesses wore. No, he hadn’t been allowed anything so eye-catching. His crown was a thin band of silver that bound his head, with Celestia’s sunburst cutie mark embossed in the center. Precious gems were set in a small circle around it, sapphires and diamonds alternating. He looked every bit the Equestrian Royal.

Trixie sat on the bed and rolled her eyes. “Are you done gawking at yourself in the mirror yet?”

“Are you done getting dressed?” Blueblood didn’t look away from his reflection, checking his cheeks for the slightest blemish.

“I’ve been done.” Trixie flopped back on the cushions, staring at the ceiling. “We’re waiting on you, Little Miss Perfect.”

Blueblood averted his gaze for just a moment to check on her. “Celestia’s mane, please tell me you’re not wearing that.”

“Is there something wrong with my cloak and hat?” Trixie arched an eyebrow and tilted her peaked hat up. “It’s iconic!”

“It’s pedestrian.” Blueblood chided. “You did pack formal wear, didn’t you?”

“I packed light.”

The prince exhaled slowly. He snapped his makeup kit shut and crossed the room to one of his bags. “Luckily for you, I made sure to pack extra.”

“I don’t look good in a suit. I’ve tried.” Trixie sat up, kicking her legs over the edge of the bed.

“Considering I’ve selected red for the night, then I’m thinking perhaps a Merlot for you. A good complimentary color.” Blueblood rummaged in the bag, ignoring her protests. “Plus, I think too bright a red would contrast too sharply with your coat. Best to keep things darker and more muted.”

“Indigo, I told you I’m not wearing a—” Trixie was cut short as a wine-colored dress struck her in the snout. Her voice was muffled from beneath the fabric as she struggled to find her way out. “Why do you have a dress in my size?!”

“It’s in my size. It’ll be a bit loose on your hips, but it shouldn’t be too noticeable.” Blueblood tossed his mane. “Now get changed. And Celestia’s sake, fix your mane!”

Trixie’s head popped out from beneath the ruffles. “What do you mean it’s in your… Nevermind. I don’t think I want to know.”

As she changed into the dress, Blueblood decided to take matters into his own hooves and grabbed his brush. He gently combed through her mane, doing his best to shape it into something presentable. Trixie glanced at herself in the mirror as she modeled the dress. It was rich, much too rich for her. Blueblood wasn’t wrong. It complimented the bright red of his tie nicely and went with her coat seamlessly. If she was going to be a fraudulent royal, then at least she would be a beautiful one.

“Well, I’ve done all I can with your mane.” Blueblood tossed the brush back into his substantial makeup bag. “It’s… Presentable.”

“You’re edging dangerously close to complimenting me,” Trixie smirked as she fluffed out her dress. “How do I look?”

“Good enough.” He presented his foreleg and she took it with a grin. “Now, let’s go get ordained.”

*****

The palace ballroom was a massive, cavernously tall space. Two sides of it were open to the royal gardens, letting in both natural light and sweetly scented air. The natural light couldn’t reach the peaks of the room, which was lit by a swarm of magically levitating lanterns. Ancient pillars carved with faded petroglyphs supported the ceiling and held up long, arching garlands of flowering vines. Food and drink flowed freely, with tastefully dressed jackals presenting platters of refreshments to their guests.

The guests themselves were nearly as varied as the flowers of the garden. Zebras, gryphons, yaks, camel merchants, horses, ponies, buffalo, and even a few deer were in attendance, dressed in a dizzying array of colors and styles. It was a melding of world culture all under one roof. Blueblood and Trixie entered the room and were stuck still by the sheer scale of it. Blueblood had attended diplomatic balls in Canterlot, but those affairs were kept small and intimate. Here was the whole world at the tip of his hoof and presented without a filter. And for Trixie, it was the largest party she’d seen since the Grand Galloping Gala.

At the opposite end of the room was a raised dais with a winged throne upon it. A pair of carved lions flanked it with stern expressions and windswept manes. For now, it sat empty. Blueblood imagined that was where the Caliph would be when he arrived.

It took only seconds for the two of them to be swept up in the party. Blueblood accepted a glass of white wine from a jackal and sipped thoughtfully on it as he discussed Equestrian champagne with a pair of Zebras. Trixie took up residence beside a platter of cheeses from across the world and tasted each with a boisterously drunk gryphon. Blueblood kept his eye on her as she flitted between conversations, laughing and drinking. She played the part of a diplomat swimmingly. After all, there was nothing more important than making your country appear likable through yourself.

“Celestia’s mane! Prince Blueblood is that you?!”

Blueblood’s coat stood on end at the mention of his real name. After only a day without it, the words felt awkward to his ears. He turned slowly and found himself standing face to face with an immaculately groomed pegasus with a pale teal coat and a close-cropped mane. His dark hair was salted liberally with grey, though he carried himself confidently despite his age. His cutie mark was a pith helmet laid atop a map. Certainly distinct.

“Have we met?” Blueblood arched an eyebrow incredulously. “And please, call me Indigo.”

“Ah, right, right!” The stallion clasped a hoof to his forehead. “I forgot! Here they have some silly superstition about true names.” He extended his hoof for a shake. “Wormwood is the name here in Saddle Arabia.”

Blueblood shook hooves with him and scoured Wormwood with his glare. He reeked of new money. His suit wasn’t tailored and bore an embroidered fleur-de-lys on the collar. Designer brand; the fastest way to prove to everypony in the room that you have wealth.

“A pleasure to meet you.” Blueblood inclined his head ever so slightly. “I’m sure you already know of me.”

“And perhaps you know of me?” Wormwood straightened his suit jacket with a starchy flap. “Back in Equestria, I was Duke Fairweather. Explorer, soldier, trader, and now manufacturing baron extraordinaire!”

Fairweather. One of Alabaster’s associates. How much did he suspect Blueblood knew? Did he know he was already a person of interest in the death of the diplomat?

“Ah, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you!” Blueblood brightened his demeanor immediately. “Celestia herself told me of your exploits!” The lie came easily to his lips. He honed in on Fairweather’s brief introduction. Soldier. “I heard you served in… Oh what was it? The Royal Guard?”

“Royal Navy, my friend.” The pegasus corrected gently. “So what brings the Prince of Equestria to Saddle Arabia? Not just to meet with me, I presume!”

“You’re speaking with the soon-to-be-appointed ambassador to Saddle Arabia!” Blueblood puffed his chest with pride. “Princess Celestia decided I needed some time outside the palace, and shipped me off to this backwater post.” He gestured for one of the jackals to give him another glass of wine. Fairweather took a glass for himself and thanked their servant in Sarabic. Blueblood thanked him in Equine. He slipped easily into the role of an ignorant outsider. A clueless royal on an assignment he never wanted, out of his depth and over his head. He all but dared Fairweather to underestimate him.

“It did seem strange that we were without a diplomat for so long.” Fairweather swished the wine in his glass and brought it to his nose. “It’s been a difficult time here without one. I had a good relationship with Rough Cut, our last ambassador. Did you get a chance to meet him?”

I met his corpse.

Blueblood bit his tongue. “No, I wasn’t fortunate enough to make his acquaintance. Did you know him?”

“Quite well! My manufacturing business was running smoothly with him helping me secure contracts from the Caliph. Without him here…” He trailed off. “It’s been difficult.”

There was a moment of silence as both stallions sipped from their goblets.

Duke Fairweather beamed. “But now that you’re here, things will be right as rain! I do hope you’ll come meet with me soon.” He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a varnished paper card.

Fairweather Firearms
“Put a hole in your enemies, not in your wallet!”
14 Canterlot Ave. Equestrian District, Sutaf, Saddle Arabia

“The Equestrian district is lovely.” Fairweather chuckled as he gently ribbed the prince with his elbow. “Sure to banish any homesickness, I promise!”

“Hopefully, I’ll be calling on you soon.” Blueblood pocketed the card. “As soon as I learn to ask directions in this ghastly tongue of theirs.”

Fairweather laughed. “Oh! It’s simple, just try asking this…”

Blueblood listened intently to Fairweather’s Sarabic. Basic and rudimentary. Good enough to get directions, no doubt, but far from the prince’s fluency. His was a Sarabic born of pragmatism rather than love; the bare minimum with all the beauty and flourish stripped away.

So that was Fairweather’s connection to Alabaster then. Business partners leveraging a link to the Caliph. Blueblood thought back to the graffiti that riddled the city streets. There were plenty of horses with good reason to be angry at outside investors using their city for cheap labor. But one with enough clout to kill a diplomat?

Trixie stumbled from a throng of horses, a colorful drink sloshing in her hoof. “Indigo! Indigo! You’ve got to try this. It’s got some sort of cacti mixed into the—” Her voice trailed off when she saw him chatting with Fairweather. She painted on a smile and quickly fixed her mane. “Oh! Hello there! Briar, diplomat of Equestria.” She thrust out her hoof for a shake.

“Blueblood! You didn’t tell me you had a wife!” Fairweather shook her hoof vigorously while she and Blueblood shared an awkward glance. “Duke Fairweather. Explorer, soldier—”

Blueblood cleared his throat. “She’s not my wife.”

The duke’s grip went slack. “Oh. Consort then.”

“Not consort either.” Trixie’s hoof retreated and she took a nervous glug of her drink. “We’re just…” She worked her mouth trying to find the right word.

“Friends.”

“Co-workers.”

She and Blueblood chimed in a pair of somewhat contradictory answers. Fairweather laughed heartily as he downed more of his wine. “Regardless of what the two of you are, it’s lovely to meet you, Briar. I look forward to working with the both of you.” He paused and spied somepony in the crowd, beckoning them over with a wave of his hoof. “But if you haven’t a wife for me to meet, I’d love for you to meet mine!”

A slender unicorn strode through the crowd like a spirit. Her coat was iron, her mane was short and tightly braided, and her expression was sour. She refused to conform to the formal wear of her surroundings, dressing simply in an out-of-date Royal Navy uniform adorned with countless service medals. A longsword hung at her hip, which was where Blueblood and Trixie got their biggest surprise.

Her flank was blank.

“Prince. Guest.” She nodded stiffly to her husband’s guests in turn. She fell into line at his side and clacked her hooves on the floor, standing at attention. “Welcome to Saddle Arabia.”

“Oh! We’ve felt very welcome! Such a lovely country!” Trixie flashed a smile that bounced off their company like a crumpled napkin. “I’m sure you agree, Miss—”

“Captain.” She withered Trixie with a leaden glare.

“Of course, Captain…” Trixie waited for a name but received none.

Fairweather chuckled and slung an arm around his wife. “She’s not one for much beyond the title. A bit of an odd duck, you see?”

“I have no name.” Captain’s voice sounded hollow. She didn’t react to Fairweather’s touch, even when he nuzzled her neck.

Trixie swallowed hard and suppressed a shiver.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Blueblood offered. “A glass of wine? Cocktail?” He found his offers deflected by her armor. “A straight shot of whiskey, perhaps?”

“I do not drink.” Captain exhaled sharply. “Alcohol is the dullard’s companion.”

Blueblood and Trixie both eyed their drinks and gave each other a shrug.

“She’s strange, but a better lover I’ve never met.” Fairweather patted his wife’s back. His hoof slapped against solid, steely muscle. “Saved my life three times in Zebrica, if you can believe it! Once from crocodiles, once from Lavender Fever, and once from a very, very pissed-off Spirit Doctor! If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be standing here beside you today!”

“And what a shame that would be.” Trixie drawled over the rim of her cocktail.

“Duke,” Captain turned her head, something that until now seemed nigh impossible for her. “I came to fetch you. You’re needed elsewhere.”

Fairweather checked his watch, a Vanity Mare branded thing that took up half his foreleg. Blueblood fought his urge to groan at the sickening display.

“Oh, Celestia and Luna both! I’m late!” The Duke chugged the last of his wine and passed the empty glass to Trixie as if she were a servant. “A pleasure meeting the two of you!”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Blueblood replied, waving as the duke and his wife trotted off across the busy ballroom.

“That’s our suspect?” Trixie stood beside him, offering him a sip of her cactus drink. Blueblood took one sniff and demurred politely.

“One of them anyway.” Blueblood glowered at the duke’s retreating back until he vanished behind a pillar into the garden. “I loathe him.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” Trixie scoffed. “I’ve met rocks more talkative than that mare.”

“And the way he flaunts his wealth!” Blueblood sniffed and held his head high. “Utterly disgusting.”

“As if you’re not wearing a hoof-tailored suit and a silk necktie.”

“There’s a difference. I’m royalty. I don’t need to flaunt my bits in your face to remind you of that. It’s why nopony who’s anypony in Cantelot wears designer clothes. The ponies who do want you to see it and comment on it. It’s pathetic, truly.”

They stuck together for the moment, sampling a dish of heavily spiced cheese that they soothed with small dollops of lemon ice cream. A pair of Zebras were hosting a drinking game in the corner, and although Trixie begged, Blueblood declined to participate. A trio of musicians entered from the garden and walked themselves through a few warm-ups. The sea of guests parted as the dance floor was cleared, with horses and ponies and zebras stamping their hooves in anticipation. The band launched wholeheartedly into their first song, a sweeping waltz that Blueblood felt bore an uncanny similarity to the ones performed at the Grand Galloping Gala. He bowed and extended a hoof to Trixie.

“May I have this dance?”

Trixie slammed the last of her ice cream with a gulp and tossed the paper cup aside. “Just don’t spin me too fast. Don’t forget, I’m already a few drinks in.”

They joined the dance like a pair of experts, with Blueblood taking the lead. They rocked from side to side in time with the beat, taking one step to the left, and two to the right, occasionally breaking up the monotony with a turn or gentle spin. It all felt so starkly familiar to both of them. The dance was a Canterlot Waltz, just with a few minor variations in tempo and tone. It struck them as so out of place, so alien, to perform a dance they knew in an unfamiliar hall. even more so when it was unprompted. Just how much influence did Equestria have over her younger sibling? Enough to warp her culture?

“You’re thinking about politics again.” As they passed, Trixie elbowed him in the ribs and parted for a bow.

“You can tell?” Blueblood said with a sheepish smile.

“You always make a face when you’re thinking hard about something.” Trixie pursed her lip and let her eyes go glossy, mocking him. “Must be painful.”

“Only because you’ve never had the burden of thinking at all.” Blueblood’s smile transitioned seamlessly to a smug smirk.

The pair rejoined each other in a spiral of loose cloth.

“Try thinking about something a little more pleasant for a change,” Trixie suggested as they resumed their careful two-step, picking up a bit of speed as the song began to swell.

“Such as?”

“The fact that you and I met doing a Canterlot Waltz together is a start.”

“Ah yes, when you stomped my poor hooves into powder and I required three hours in the manicurist chair the next day. Truly the pinnacle of pleasant memories.” Blueblood dodged a stomp as she attempted to mangle one of his hooves for old time’s sake. “Good to know I’ve still got the reflexes.”

“Oh shut up.” She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t that bad. Besides! it was my first Gala! Cut me a little slack!”

“It was your first Gala because you weren’t on the guest list!” Blueblood hissed, spinning her particularly fast.

“It’s not my fault the guards were slacking off!”

“They were cider-drunk and got sacked the next day. You should have been stopped at the gate.”

“And yet everypony let me by after one glimpse of my magnificent charisma!” Trixie stumbled, nearly dragging Blueblood to the floor as she tried to right herself. “Celestia’s mane, those Cactus Coolers were a lot stronger than I thought.”

“Magnificent charisma, you say?” Blueblood steadied her, letting Trixie lean against his flank as they swayed. “And I’m sure the smoke bomb had nothing to do with it.”

“The smoke bomb may have tipped the scales in my favor.” Trixie allowed Blueblood to dip her low to the floor, even though it made her skull spin. “And yet, you had the option to kick me out and didn’t.”

“I’ll admit, I considered it pretty strongly.” Blueblood chuckled as he hefted her to her hooves again. “But I'll do anything to break up the monotony of another royal ball.”

“Still, you didn’t need to dance with me that night.” Trixie felt the slightest hint of a blush on her cheeks as they stood back to breast taking small steps. “I told you I didn’t know how.”

“Which you proved by crushing my hooves precisely twenty-seven times. I know, I counted.”

“So why?” Trixie cocked her head. “Why bother with the unicorn who broke into the gala on a whim?” She paused as the music slowed again, the song nearly over. “And why bother looking for me afterward?”

“What’s a royal without a court wizard?” Blueblood replied simply. “You happened along at the perfect time to replace the doddering old bastard my auntie had suggested when I was a colt, and just before she could suggest taking on her new favorite.” He snorted scornfully. “Of course, I had to stretch your resume a bit. Really sell them on how great and powerful you were. But my magnificent charisma was enough to get you the job.”

A thousand questions lingered on Trixie’s tongue. Why choose a wizard he knew was exaggerating her power? Why go out of his way to ensure that it was her who got assigned to him? Was she just a court wizard to him? He had referred to her as a co-worker rather than a friend. Did he even consider what they had friendship? Did he have any friends at all?

All her questions remained unsaid, however. The song ended and a shriek of brass replaced it. Trumpeters flanked the dais at the other end of the room, and the floating lanterns congregated to bathe it in warm light. A dappled horse with a silver-streaked mane appeared on the platform and sucked in a breath.

“Subjects! Guests! Esteemed Peers!” He shouted with a magically enhanced voice. “Please bow for the entrance of your Caliph!”

Blueblood and Trixie sank into a bow as the room went mausoleum silent. Caliph Sandalwood was preceded by the hollow tapping of his cane. He was somehow both imposing and broken. His royal regalia was all white, the luxurious fabrics of his clothing refracting rainbows over the stage. His eyes were shielded by bottle-thick spectacles, and whenever his limbs showed, they were bone thin and wrinkled. He carried himself as royalty, yet walked with the hunchback of old age. When he settled into his throne, he appeared disconcertingly small; a dark chestnut pinprick snuggled in a nest of pristine silk. The Caliph’s son trailed in his long shadow. He was young, perhaps only five or six, and was a spitting image of his father. He seated himself comfortably on a set of cushions beside the throne. An identical set on the opposite side, reserved for the Caliph’s wife, remained empty.

Next came the small, exclusive inner circle of the Caliph’s advisors. Pompous, puffed-up positions reserved for horses, and horses alone, he trusted with his ear. The power they held depended on whether or not the Caliph cared to listen to them that day. Unlike the royal council in Equestria, they had no real, tangible power. Blueblood ignored their names. He could care less about a collection of snobs and hangers-on who clamored for the Caliph’s love.

That was until he heard a name he recognized.

“Advisor on Economic Interests, Wormwood.”

Both he and Trixie jerked their heads up, watching as the Duke they had met only moments ago paraded across the stage. He strutted like a peacock in his flashy designer clothes, an ear-to-ear smile alighting on his face as he scanned the crowd to lock eyes with Blueblood. His eyes glittered. Blueblood could hear the sentiment behind his smile.

“Look at me. See how far I’ve climbed. Look upon my works, ye royal, and despair.”

A challenge and a taunt all in one.

The Caliph raised his hoof and spoke. His voice was rough and ragged, yet powerful. “You may rise.”

His guests returned to their hooves with muted groans and a shuffling of clothes.

“Guests from home and from abroad,” Sandalwood spoke firmly. “My family welcomes you to Saddle Arabia. In the name of the Sun and her warmth, I bless your coming. In the name of the Moon and her shade, I bless your going. Tonight we welcome our esteemed diplomats from every corner of the world. From Equestria, from the Gryphon Kingdoms of Kleinkrieg and Schadenfreude, from Yakistan, Zebrica, the Crystal Empire, and beyond. Let tonight be a night to renew our bonds. Let us devote ourselves to peace and prosperity. Let us move forward into a golden age of love, cooperation, and harmony together. Amen.”

His hoof fell, and a wave of applause and approving stomps echoed around the ballroom. The Caliph’s announcer instructed all foreign diplomats to form a line on the left of the stage to receive their ordination. Blueblood motioned for Trixie to join him as they fell in line behind a pair of nervous-looking Zebras.

“What’s he doing there?” Trixie hissed under her breath as the line moved forward. “Are ponies even allowed to serve as advisors?”

“I don’t think the Caliph cares much for written rules. “ Blueblood muttered as he shifted uncomfortably. “He must see something in Wormwood that I don’t. I assume whatever arrangement he had with Alabaster is responsible.” He gestured lazily.

“Maybe he killed the ambassador for it.”

“Possibly.”

They quieted their conversation as they approached the throne. The zebras ahead of them ascended the steps, knelt, and kissed the hoof of the Caliph. He hissed a short blessing over them, instructed them to rise, and they were on their way. Blueblood and Trixie followed shortly after, their hooves clicking quietly on the stairs as they climbed the mountainous staircase. Kneeling, they both pressed their lips to Sandalwood’s hoof.

It was warm. More than that, it was hot. Blueblood’s lips burned at the touch. The Caliph was aflame with fever. Kneeling so close to the leader of Saddle Arabia brought his frailty into stark focus. His body shivered, his eyes were rheumy, his lips were thin, and his eyes were sunken into their sockets. He wasn’t just old, he was dying. Blueblood had to hold his breath to keep from gasping.

The seconds bled as the Caliph whispered his prayer over them. Trixie’s heart was thudding in her chest as she listened to words she couldn’t comprehend. Her nerves were buzzing like a wasp’s nest as she waited for the interminable blessing to end. Her eyes flickered between the floor and the Caliph for a moment, before they landed on his son. He blinked bright brown eyes, managed a mischievous sliver of a smile, and stuck out his tongue at her. Trixie, anxious for even a tiny release of the tension, quickly checked to make sure Blueblood wasn’t watching, and returned the favor, blowing a soft raspberry. The colt stifled a giggle as Trixie averted her eyes once more.

At last, the prayer ended with a throaty ululation and they were officially ordained. The pair descended the steps and reentered the party, a fresh weight upon their shoulders. Blueblood exhaled a sigh and wiped his forehead with the back of his hoof.

“Well, glad that’s over with.” He leaned against one of the pillars and slumped his shoulders. “We’re officially Equestria’s new diplomats.”

“Felt like this moment would never come.” Trixie adjusted her dress and brushed wrinkles from it. “Hard to believe we’ve only been here a day.”

“Things are moving fast.” The prince huffed. “I’d very much like for them to slow down.”

“You and me both.”

As the ordainments came to a close, the party swept back into full swing. Trixie was gently coaxed onto the dance floor by a Yak dressed in thick furs. She invited Blueblood to join her for one of the large group dances, but he refused. He needed time to process things. The Caliph was dying. He had an heir, but his heir was barely old enough to read, much less create policy. A crisis over succession was as inevitable as the dawn. The Prince sucked in a breath. His eyes swept the Caliph’s advisors as they milled about near the stage.

Every smile was sharpened, every eye was weighted, and every tongue was forked. A brood of vipers with poison for his wine glass and daggers for his back. Blueblood knew enough of succession dynamics to know that this was a powder keg waiting to detonate.

He tried to shrug it away. The prince told himself again and again that his responsibility was to Equestria. So long as trade remained stable, then everypony back in Canterlot could care less about petty succession squabbles between petty mortal rulers. And yet…

Celestia had pried him from his capstone project with Zebrica. She expected him to vacation abroad in Saddle Arabia while the twin courts in Canterlot bickered about who would be best to install as the permanent diplomat. But if he were to involve himself? If he were to be known as the pony who held a nation together in the face of certain collapse? Well, Celestia couldn't very well brush that off, now could she? Let's see her lapdog mage do that!

Blueblood's head was spinning as he slipped past one of the curtains that edged the ballroom and took a deep breath of the fresh garden air. The night was laden with the aroma of flowers in bloom and tinged with citrus from the lemon trees. The prince slunk off, the noise of the party fading as he wove his way along the gravel path. A few horses were milling about aimlessly in the garden, drinks in hoof. He really didn’t want company, and so made his way behind a shroud of willow vines to a small, circular pond. A stone bench had been embedded in the thick trunk of the tree, and Blueblood sank into it with a huff. Two shimmering orange koi swam in lazy rings around the pond, rippling the water.

“It’s peaceful, isn’t it?” A familiar yet implacable voice reached Blueblood’s ear. He rounded on the voice, ready to give whoever dared to disturb his peace and quiet a verbal thrashing. He bit his tongue and stopped short as Caliph Sandalwood stepped silently into his secret grove. The old horse’s frail limbs trembled as he leaned heavily on his cane. Blueblood made room on the bench in an instant, and the Caliph slid into place with a heavy thump. The breeze billowed through his silk robes, making them wisp and writhe like a cloud over the ocean.

“My Caliph, whose hoofprints make the desert bloom, I—” Blueblood began, only to be dismissed with a wave from Sandalwood.

“Let’s dispatch with the formality, Khitab Al-Shams.” His voice was stronger than the rest of him as he pushed up his thick spectacles. His eyes drifted to the water as he watched the koi turn. “I will not be called Caliph in the gardens of my youth.”

“Sandalwood it is then.” Blueblood swallowed. He could feel the horse’s fever in the air. The Caliph had referred to him with a title, though even with his Sarabic he couldn’t quite parse it. “Khatib Al-Shams?”

“Long ago, when the first ambassador came to us from Equestria, he called himself Khitab Al-Shams, for he claimed to speak for the Sun. None believed him, until with a word to his princess he stopped the heavens in their tracks.” The Caliph coughed and sucked his teeth. “Our last Speaker didn’t understand the weight of his position.” Sandalwood placed a hoof on Blueblood’s shoulder. “I pray that you will know better than he.”

Blueblood didn’t look up from the pond. He weighed the words on his tongue for a long moment before speaking. “Is that a threat, or a warning?”

“Call it a warding.” Sandalwood clapped him on the arm and smiled faintly.

“To what do I owe the visit?” Blueblood raised an eyebrow. “I presume the Yakistani representatives aren’t getting a one-on-one with the Caliph tonight?”

“Can an old horse not seek peace? Can he not rest a while in his own gardens?” Sandalwood’s smile remained but took on a sharp, edged look. “My servants tell me that you already ventured outside the palace today. What did you think of Sutaf?”

“I did.” Blueblood knew he was being prodded. He could feel the Caliph’s verbal tendrils probing him for weakness. How much should he let on? How much did Sandalwood already know? What did he want to learn? Best to play things safe. “The Museum of Modern Art is beautiful. The gift shop, however, is utterly criminal! Fifty bits for a parasol? Celestia’s Mane!”

Sandalwood wheezed out a chuckle. “Ah, Indigo. If you wanted a parasol, all you needed was to ask. I’m sure your liaison, Aster, would be pleased to fetch one for you.”

Blueblood met the Caliph’s wizened eyes. Why bring up Aster? Unless he already knew of the incident at the square. And if he knew, he knew Blueblood had been there. The prince merely smiled in return. “Next time, I’ll be sure to ask.”

Blueblood wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected out of the Caliph. Barely able to stand without his cane, a part of Blueblood had expected him to be dull and laggardly. Yet behind those clouded, fevered eyes was the mind of a man who had ruled a nation. A mind with countless years of experience that Blueblood didn’t have, and a crucial four months that he sorely needed. With one strike of his hoof, Blueblood could have crumpled the Caliph, yet he felt like he was the one in danger.

“You are…” Sandalwood groped for the word in Equine. He pursed his lips and decided on Sarabic instead. “Emir?”

“A prince, yes.”

“Ah, prince! There’s the word!” He nodded solemnly. “So you’ve ruled Equestria how long?”

A sharp pang stabbed Blueblood. Phantom wings ached on his spine. He fought to remain stoic, to tamp down any emotion that might give him away, but he couldn’t. He met the Caliph’s eyes and saw the faint sparkling smile amidst the milky white. He knew. Blueblood bit his tongue until he tasted blood. He inhaled through his nose and tried to reply.

“I have not been given a region of Equestria to preside over.” He kept it simple and direct. “Celestia has been occupied training—” He stopped himself short of calling Twilight her successor. That was admitting defeat. “A new member of her retinue. In the meanwhile, I was dispatched here to replace Alabaster at her express direction.”

“So I assumed.” The Caliph’s dismissive tone drove another spike into Blueblood. “Alabaster had never ruled before either. He couldn’t understand…”

Sandalwood trailed off and shook his head. His eyes drifted back to the koi pond, watching the pair turn in their orbit like planetary bodies.

“You see, Indigo,” He gestured to the pool. “This pond is like my vision for Saddle Arabia. It’s smooth. It’s at peace. Everything moves in gentle harmony.” He cocked his head. “You ponies speak very highly of harmony, no?”

The new princess certainly thought so. “We do.”

“So I’ve not heard wrong.” Sandalwood laughed weakly. “But harmony is fragile. A little thing of glass in a world of iron.” The Caliph produced a small crust of bread from within his silken sleeve. He cracked off a crumb with his hooves and held it out to Blueblood. “All it takes is one little change—” He tossed the crumb into the koi pond. The fish immediately ceased their circling and pounced on the bread, their toothless jaws gaping as they thrashed and churned the water. “And harmony is no more.”

Blueblood watched as the fish gawped and begged with liquid eyes, waiting for the next morsel to drop into their enclosure. Sandalwood didn’t give them another. The rest of the bread vanished up his sleeve as he reached for his cane.

“Harmony will break if you are idle, Indigo. That was what Alabaster failed to understand.” Sandalwood took a shaky step towards the pond. Bracing himself against a low-hanging branch, he pulled back his cane and slashed the surface of the water. The koi immediately dove back under the water, only for the Caliph to prod them back into motion with the tip of his cane. “Harmony must be maintained. It must be nurtured. Sometimes, it must be enforced.”

He glowered at Blueblood over his shoulder. The light caught his glasses and glimmered like the edge of a knife. “I have kept this nation in harmony for fifty-seven years, Khitab Al-Shams. That may not sound like much, to your immortal princesses, but it’s more than two of your lifetimes. Do not think you’re better than us.” His voice rasped and scraped like metal on concrete. “I want you to understand what Alabaster couldn’t. That everything I do, everything I have done, is to protect my people. To keep them in peace and harmony.”

“I understand.” Blueblood nodded solemnly. Something flickered in the back of his brain. “I don’t believe myself better than you. After all, the stability of your rule is evident everywhere I go.”

The Caliph’s glare dulled slightly. That confirmed he knew about Blueblood’s presence at the riots. The prince couldn’t help but smile a ghostly, smug little grin. After being toyed with, even the slightest victory was a balm to him. Blueblood continued.

“But that just begs the question then; why appoint a pony as your Economic Advisor? Surely a wise horse like yourself doesn't require Equestrian advice?”

Sandalwood blinked. For a split second, Blueblood saw doubt crack his steely facade. Just as quickly, he recovered from the slight and waved a hoof dismissively. “Wormwood understands my vision. He’s a concession to the Equestrian expatriate community. No more.”

That left Blueblood with two impressions. The first was that the Caliph must be desperate on the economic front. Based on the number of impoverished Sarabs Blueblood had already seen, he knew things had to be bad. Evidently, whatever Fairweather was doing to improve the economy, it wasn’t enough. Second was that the community of Equestrian expatriates must have a much stronger voice in Sarabian politics than he’d assumed.

Blueblood rose from his seat slowly, stretching and yawning. “Well, Sandalwood, it’s been lovely talking to you, but I really should be getting back to the party. My magus is sure to have gotten herself into some sort of trouble without me.”

He bowed, but the Caliph was no longer watching. His eyes were back on the koi, watching them swim. As Blueblood slowly backed away, he couldn’t help but notice their movements were slow and sluggish.

*****

“As much as I’d love another dance, Snowmelt, I think my head is still spinning from the last one!” Trixie laughed as she stumbled away from the dance floor, her entire body listing to one side and then the other. Her dance partner, a Yak with brawny limbs with fresh crocuses woven into his fur, had nearly given her whiplash with how quickly he spun her. He bade her a fond farewell as Trixie staggered off to find something to brace herself.

The bar would do nicely. Trixie ordered herself a cosmarepolitian and took a seat on a pile of low cushions off to the side. She felt like she hadn’t properly sat down in days. Blueblood clearly intended to run her ragged on a trip he’d promised would be like a vacation to them. So much for that, she supposed.

She sat for some time watching the dances and tapping her hoof to the music. The band seemed to never tire of playing and the drinks were flowing freely. As Trixie accepted a small plate of crusty bread piled high with chopped tomatoes and cloves of garlic, she felt at last like she was actually relaxing for a change. After two days of heat, intrigue, djinn, politics, and gunfire, she finally felt at ease. If this was what Alabaster was used to when he was a diplomat, then she understood why he never left the palace. It was cool, comfortable, and piled high with whatever food or drink she desired. Plus, Trixie was being paid for all this! She sighed warmly, reclining on her cushion and kicking her hooves up on the table. So what if it was royal furniture? She was an official Equestrian diplomat now! What could anyone do to—

“My daddy doesn’t like it when ponies put their hooves on the tables.”

A small, shrill voice cut into her thoughts. Trixie swept herself off the table and sat up in an instant, terrified that she would be looking down the barrel of a soldier’s jezail. Instead, she found herself looking at no one. She cast her eyes down and saw the Caliph’s son staring up at her with wide, curious eyes.

“Uh, I’m sorry?” Trixie shrugged sheepishly.

“It’s okay.” The colt flopped dramatically into the cushions beside her, landing with a whump. “I just wanted to see you jump!”

How charming. Trixie huffed indignantly and took a gulp of her cosmare. Her guest continued to stare rather impolitely as she drank, trying to keep her eyes off of him. What was she supposed to do with the son of a Caliph? Should she bow? Kiss his hoof as she did his father’s? Should she just ignore him? For the first time, she wished Blueblood were here to remind her of her manners.

“My name is Cedar!” A big name for such a little horse. He grinned at her wide enough to show off all his teeth. He was missing a few where his baby teeth had fallen out. “What’s your name?”

“Briar,” Trixie replied plainly.

“Are you a princess?”

“No.”

“Duchess?”

“No.”

Cedar sucked in a deep breath. “Queen? Captain? Baroness? Countess? Emir? Imam? Mistress? Chieftan? Prophet? Scholar? Lady in—”

“Magus!” Trixie had to shout to make herself heard over his babbling. “I’m Prince Indigo’s Court Magus. I think that’s the word for it?”

“You’re funny.” Cedar giggled, scrunching up his snout at her.

Trixie breathed an internal sigh of relief. He was just a kid, despite being heir to an empire. She wrinkled her nose and squinted her eyes. “You’re pretty funny yourself.”

“So if you’re a magus,” Cedar kicked his hooves excitedly. “Does that mean you can do magic? My dad won’t let me do magic yet. He says I’m not ready. I tried it once, and it gave me this!” Cedar craned his neck to show off a small patch of his coat shaved of hair. “I tried to make fire!”

Trixie cringed a bit at that. It’s not like her own spells didn’t blow up in her face, even now. “Well, maybe we’ll start with a trick that won’t burn the palace down. I am, after all, a very great and powerful magus!”

No matter how many times she said it, the magic never came. It just didn’t have the same ring to it.

“Show me! Show me! Show me!” Cedar pounded on the table excitedly.

Trixie held up a hoof and hushed him. “Shhh. I need to concentrate.”

Her horn shimmered periwinkle as she tapped her magic reserves. Trixie traced a hoof around the rim of her glass, leaving it faintly glowing. She reached a hoof into the glass, her foreleg vanishing into non-existent space as she stuck it deep into the liquor. She pulled out a brightly colored handkerchief and handed it to Cedar, who cocked his head.

“That’s it?” He ran his hoof over the fabric.

“Try pulling on it,” Trixie suggested with a grin.

Cedar gave it a tug, and another knotted kerchief emerged from the glass. Then another. And another. And another ad infinitum. Soon Cedar was racing along, pulling out colorful scarf after scarf trying to find the end. The hankies piled up around him in rainbow mounds and still, there was no end in sight. At long last, he met a snag. Cedar grunted with effort as he braced his hooves and pulled hard. With a pop, a plush dragon with a kerchief tied around his neck burst from the too-small glass and landed in Cedar’s hooves.

“You can keep him if you want.” Trixie waved a hoof and dismissed her spell, the piles of fabric vanishing with a poof of violet smoke.

“But how did you do that?!” Cedar said, looking the cup over, lifting it to see beneath it, as if he could find some revelation there. “What’s the secret?”

“A magus never reveals her tricks.” She tossed her mane with a haughty laugh. “But feel free to keep looking!”

Cedar furrowed his little brow and pursed his lips, peeking under the table, nudging the glass this way and that, prodding the moisture left on the varnished wood. He rolled up the sleeves of his white robe, revealing a sleek golden band around his upper foreleg. He closed his eyes and breathed deep; his band suddenly igniting with brilliantly red light. The rim of the glass suddenly burst into flame, the alcohol within vaporizing in seconds. Trixie leapt back, her breath stuck in her throat as she watched the fire rise higher.

“Darn it!” Cedar huffed, releasing his grip on the spell in an instant. The fire died away, leaving the glass empty and blackened. His armband still flickered with heat as he crossed his hooves over his chest. “I thought maybe if I tried to copy the spell, I’d figure out how it worked!”

“Uh…” Trixie wafted the lingering smoke away from her face, coughing slightly. “Maybe keep practicing. Preferably somewhere less flammable!”

He slumped, laying back on the cushions like a lump. “At least I didn’t burn my mane this time.”

Trixie couldn’t help but see a bit of herself in the Caliph’s son. She had struggled with magic at his age too. Actually, she struggled with it even now, but he didn’t need to know that. She reached out a hoof and gently nudged him.

“Hey, that’s progress, right?” She smiled warmly, doing her best to make him sit up. Celestia, she was acting like she knew the kid already. “Trust me, I set myself on fire all the time when I was a filly.”

“You did?” Cedar sniffed and wiped his nose.

“Yep! But y’know, I kept at it.” She helped him sit back up and gently slapped his shoulder. “And now I’m the magus I am today! So just keep practicing. Eventually, you’ll get it!” She quickly tacked on one last bit of advice. “Oh, and keep some buckets of water nearby when you practice!”

The colt smiled sheepishly. “Thanks, Magus Briar.”

“Don’t mention it.” Trixie rose, looking at her empty glass. Cedar leapt up from the table and raced away, waving goodbye as he went to go pester one of his countless caretakers for something to drink. Trixie decided she needed a fresh drink too. Back to the bar!

*****

Prince Blueblood reentered the party but remained at its edge. Caliph Sandalwood had likely been found by his coterie of guards by now and would be returning to his position on high. The dancing had died down as the band took a break for refreshments, and Blueblood crossed the empty dance floor with ease. His throat was scratchy, and he needed something to drink. He wanted water rather than liquor. Trixie might enjoy drinking until her head swam, but Blueblood needed to keep his mind about him, especially tonight. Yet, try as he might, every jackal who was catering drinks had only wine or cocktails. Huffing, he moved his way through the crowds in search of something less intoxicating. At last, he spied a horse carrying a platter of glasses filled with crystal-clear water.

“Miss!” He held out a hoof trying to stop her. “Excuse me, Miss!”

The server turned, and Blueblood stopped short.

“Water, your grace?” Chicory held out the plate to him, and he accepted a glass.

“I wasn’t aware you were a servant to the rest of the palace.” Blueblood mused over his drink. “I thought you’d been assigned to me?”

“You haven’t required my service nearly as much as the Caliph expected.” Chicory was still every bit as rigid and stoic as she had been in his quarters, holding herself apart from the slouching, drunken guests and the quiet confidence of the Caliph and his hangers-on. “And I am not a servant.”

That phrase hung in the air like a threat. Blueblood didn’t press her. He let his silence draw her on. This time, she decided to supply the answer.

“I am the Caliph’s slave.”

Blueblood felt the water stick in his throat and choke him. He swallowed hard and wiped his mouth. His brain burned as he rushed through the history of Saddle Arabia he had studied years ago. “But… But Caliph Monsoon abolished slavery during his reign. He freed the slaves with his order in the year—”

“Your grace,” Chicory’s voice was low and edged with a twinge of anger. “Monsoon freed the slaves bound by conquest and birth. My slavery is by neither.”

“Then what?” Blueblood’s face was flushed and his ears felt hot. His breath was quickened and his eyes razor sharp.

“Punishment.” Her reply was as blunt as a hammer blow. She didn’t elaborate. With her magic, she levitated a pitcher of water and refilled Blueblood’s glass before she turned to leave. As she did, Blueblood caught a glimpse of the glowing necklace through which she focused her spells. The glittering charm was small but unmistakable to him.

Curved, crossed blades before a flame.

A motif of revolution painted on every wall of the city. A rallying point for horses, jackals, and camels alike. The rebellion rose high then, all the way to the palace. No wonder the Caliph stressed the need for order and harmony. The disharmonious element was already within his palace.

Blueblood nudged his way through the crowd and found Trixie nursing a glass of white wine. Her eyes caught his, and she sidled up to him as they crossed to a small table away from the cluster of conversation.

“Where have you been?” Trixie hissed into his ear as they settled into their cushions. “I had to play babysitter to the Caliph’s kid for like an hour!”

“What do you mean you’ve—” Blueblood exhaled sharply. “Nevermind. I was having a rather unpleasant one-on-one chat with the Caliph himself.” The prince carefully relayed the conversation he’d had with Sandalwood, embellishing his own performance a little just to ensure he looked good. He swallowed another gulp of water. “We’re very much in over our heads.”

“What do we do?” Trixie whispered in a hushed tone. The band had picked back up, their jaunty music contrasting with the shroud that laid over the pair.

“Equestrian policy is we don’t get involved,” Blueblood replied drolly. “Diplomats are meant to shift foreign policy. Not domestic.”

“Then what happens if we’re stuck here when a revolt breaks out?” Trixie glanced back and forth, ensuring they weren’t being observed. “Are we just supposed to ignore it and act like nothing is happening?”

“We’d have to ask Celestia for recall.” He worked his jaw as he thought. “I’ll send her a letter tonight. She ought to be updated on our circumstances, plus be on standby in case…” His voice trailed off into nothing. He didn’t want to finish that thought. Instead, he decided to fill her in on his other revelation.

“You remember Chicory, our servant?”

“The one who lit that altar in our room?” Trixie raised an eyebrow.

“The very same.” Blueblood sucked his teeth. “She’s a slave.”

“She’s what?” Trixie clapped a hoof over her mouth. “But that’s—”

“I thought so too.”

“Indigo, we can’t…” Trixie groped for words. “They can’t get away with this! Can they?”

“They won’t.” His voice was low and venomous. “Equestria is the principal trading partner of Saddle Arabia, and that gives us leverage. Celestia would never allow trade with a nation that holds its citizens in bondage, whatever the reason. We’ll pressure them with everything we’ve got.”

As they spoke, the Caliph returned to his throne, preceded by a flurry of servants delivering samples of the night’s cuisine. Notably, Blueblood spied Chicory among the workers, pressing a glass of wine to the Caliph’s lips as he drank. Her eyes flickered restlessly, scanning the stage as she pulled the cup away and wiped it with a cloth. Sandalwood made a disgusted face and spat something at her in Sarabic. Though it was hard to tell just by reading lips, Blueblood was sure that it wasn’t something he could repeat in polite conversation.

Knowing what he knew about her position, Blueblood decided to spare her the verbal abuse for a night. The prince caught her eyes and lifted a hoof, beckoning her over. She looked relieved, as relieved as she could with that statuesque posture of hers, as she descended the steps and approached.

“You require something, your grace?” She said, still holding the wineglass with hooves that trembled with repressed rage. Blueblood was starting to understand why she stood so rigidly.

“Sit with us.” Blueblood motioned to the cushions around the table.

“I—” Chicory shifted nervously. “Would you like refreshments? Another glass of wine, my lady?” She inclined her head towards Trixie, who merely patted the seat beside her. She breathed out slowly and swallowed hard, ears drooping. “I’m not supposed to sit on the job, your grace.”

“It’s a request from us,” Trixie smirked. “If anyone asks, you were just following orders. You deserve a break, damn it!”

Like a granite capstone being lowered into an arch, Chicory slowly sank into the cushion and sighed. “I am not owed kindness, you know. The Caliph—”

“He assigned you to us.” Blueblood tapped a hoof on the table. “What Sandalwood wants of you now is irrelevant. Certain lines should never be crossed.”

“The law clearly states—”

“The law is wrong!” Trixie put her hoof down. “And Indigo and I are going to change it. Right, Indigo?”

“We’ll pressure the Caliph as much as we can. We’re now officially ordained as Diplomats of Equestria. It’s time we started acting like it.” Blueblood hissed through clenched teeth. Everyone here was playing their own political games, why shouldn’t he? It was time to remind everypony at home and abroad who they were toying with.

Trixie snagged a plate of snacks from a passing Jackal, who looked at Chicory with a slightly jealous glare. Chicory stared at the plate for a moment before picking at it dubiously.

“Alabaster questioned the tradition, much as you did.” She said in a quiet, breathy voice. “Understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I am not Alabaster.” Blueblood growled the words.

“We’re better,” Trixie added with a grin.

Chicory appraised them with a glance. Her face fell as she continued to nibble on some crackers and cheese.

That was when they heard it; a cough that resounded through the room like a shot. All eyes were suddenly on the dais as the Caliph held a hoof to his chest and gagged. He leaned forward on his throne, his face contorted with pain as he gasped for air. He looked like his favorite koi trying to gulp down food. He suddenly vomited, spewing a black, viscous liquid all over his white robes. Drooping, Sandalwood convulsed, his eyes rolling back in his skull until only the whites were visible.

Screams rang out among the partygoers. Horses rushed for the exits, only to be bowled over by soldiers who were rushing to secure the scene. A cream-colored mare with a toasty mane rushed the stage, a red crescent band around their foreleg. They were already administering medication to the Caliph as his guards began to hustle him away from the stage. Marshmallow, his physician, Blueblood assumed.

Blueblood and Trixie shared a glance. Both realized instinctively that it was time to go. They leapt up, swiftly followed by Chicory, and started sprinting towards an unblocked exit to the garden.

“We can circle back to our room the long way!” Blueblood yelled over the chaotic din. Someone was weeping and praying profusely, lying prostrate on the floor in the middle of a crowded thoroughfare. Blueblood vaulted over them, his eyes fixed on their escape route. Wordlessly, Chicory grabbed him by the mane and yanked him sharply to the right, pointing a hoof at a small wooden door set into the wall.

“The servant’s quarters are safer. They’ll have guards all over the garden. This way!”

Trixie glanced back to see Cedar being held tightly by a pair of horses with drawn swords. They were pulling him away from his father, who lay on his back in the throes of a seizure. The colt’s eyes were filled with fat tears as he screamed, hooves outstretched, begging for his father. His new plush dragon lay at his hooves. Swallowing, she turned her back on the scene and fled with Chicory and Blueblood.

Before they could reach the servant’s quarters, however, a burly horse with a peaked helmet cut them off. He screamed orders in Sarabic as he gestured wildly with the barrel of his jezail. Blueblood and Trixie halted, but Chicory carried on, trying to shoulder her way past him. He tackled her to the floor and pinned her, just as two more guards arrived on the scene. One kicked her hard in the stomach, enough that her placid face bulged with pain, while the other set about hog-tying her flailing limbs.

“Let her go!” Blueblood ordered, his voice like a regal razor. “Release her this instant!”

The guards stared at him, scowling impassively as they returned to their work.

“I said, let her—” Before he could finish, one of the guards sent Blueblood sprawling with a vicious backhoof. He staggered and fell, clutching his face. Shock and anger made his cheeks burn bloody as Trixie rushed to his side. Another pair of guards arrived, leveling their firearms at the newly ordained ambassadors.

“To your quarters!” One of the soldiers screamed, prodding Blueblood’s flank with the mouth of his jezail. “Up! Walk!”

“You struck me!” Blueblood’s voice was drained of bravado. His words quavered as he brought a hoof to his bruised cheek. “You—”

Trixie dragged him to his hooves and they walked, the muzzles of weapons cold against their flanks. One final glance at the stage showed that the Caliph was still, his chest rising and falling as his physicians fed him small bits of charcoal.

The palace suddenly felt less comforting as they were pressed through it towards their room. The alcoves where soldiers had stood guard were no longer to keep invaders out but to keep them in. The wealth and opulence of their new home a lure to entice them away from the rest of the city. And yet, as Alabaster and Sandalwood had shown them, there was no safety here.

“What’s going to happen to Chicory?” Trixie asked over her shoulder. The guard grunted and shoved her forward roughly in reply. She dug in her hooves and whirled to face him. “I asked you a question!”

He snarled, pulling back the butt of his weapon like a club. Trixie yelped and tried to protect her head with her hooves. His partner stopped him with an outstretched hoof and exhaled sharply. “We don’t know. Her life is in the hooves of the Caliph, whose justice is impartial.”

That wasn’t good news. Blueblood drew in a breath as they rounded the corner and approached their bedroom. Once inside, the door was locked behind them and barricaded shut with something heavy. Trixie tried it once, but it refused to budge. Blueblood was still in a state of shock as he plodded to the kitchen. He drew some ice from the fridge and held it to his swelling cheek, flinching at the chill.

Trixie tried the door again. She attempted to use her magic to dislodge whatever was pinning it shut but to no avail. Stomping to the bed she threw herself down, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it. She lay there taking short, rapid, hot breaths, crushing the expensive fabric between her hooves. At last, she looked up and turned her eyes on Blueblood.

“Indigo, what are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know.” The Prince sat limply. He felt numb from his cheek to his hooves. Everything moved in slow motion and his blood roared in his ears. “It’s all just—” He took a shuddering breath. “It’s too much. Between solving Alabaster’s murder, the fact that Saddle Arabia keeps slaves, and everypony trying to put us at the center of their political games it’s just…”

He didn’t finish. He couldn’t finish. Blueblood tangled his hooves in his mane and pulled, filtering his emotions through tightly clenched teeth.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” He said in a voice scarcely above a whisper. “I wanted this to be a vacation. An easy assignment where we could get away from Equestria for a while. Not this.” He shook his head and wiped his snout with a sniff. “Celestia, what have you gotten us into?”

Trixie moved to sit beside him. Her movements were careful and deliberate; adrenaline still coursed through her veins and made her feel jittery. She pulled one of his hooves away from his head, gently clasping it as she forced him to uncurl himself. Blueblood exhaled slowly, leaning against her the way he had in the museum courtyard. He smelled faintly of wine and perfume as he steadied himself.

“I know this isn’t what we expected.” Trixie managed, her voice still trembling. “I probably would have asked you for at least double my pay if I knew we were going to be held at gunpoint.”

Blueblood managed a faint, breathy laugh at that.

“But we’re here.” She grabbed his shoulder and forced him to look her in the eye. “We’re here, and everypony thinks we’re wrong for the job.”

“And we probably are,” Blueblood said glumly.

“We definitely are.” Trixie didn’t try to sugarcoat it. “But we’re what Equestria’s got.” She leaned back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and rubbing her eyes. “We told Chicory that we were better than Alabaster.”

“We are.” Blueblood took a deep breath. “We have to be.”

The two of them lay there in silence, hoof in hoof, as if they were waiting for a sign. When no sign showed itself, they decided they needed to take matters into their own hooves.

“Well, since we’re trapped in this room.” Blueblood slid out of the bed and trotted to the table, slapping Aster’s thick logbook. “Let’s get to work.”

Trixie rolled over, her horn igniting as she lit every lantern in the room. Blueblood added oil to the Fire Altar, letting the flame bob on the still water once more. It felt poignant somehow, lighting it in honor of Chicory.

“Alright, we’re going to have a late night, so get comfortable,” Blueblood said as he settled into his seat.

“I’ll make some coffee.” Trixie tied her mane back in a ponytail as she slid out of her party dress. Blueblood loosened his tie and tossed it aside. Trixie pulled back his mane in a ponytail as well, tying it off with a spare ribbon from his bags. The coffee was set to brew as Blueblood inked his quill and set it to paper. First things first, he needed to send a letter back home.

My dearest Auntie Celestia,

Saddle Arabia is not the place it once was. After only two days in the country, I have seen enough to know that things have changed drastically. There are riots in the streets, revolt in the air, and violence on the horizon.

Our predecessor, Ambassador Rough Cut, is dead. I have reasons to believe that he was murdered.

Our servant in the palace, a mare named Chicory, is a slave to the Caliph.

During a visit outside the palace, we were pulled into a rally that was dispersed with gunfire.

All this and more has given me reason to believe that things cannot remain as they are much longer. Equestria cannot remain impartial in these matters. I am writing to request a reduction of trade with the Kingdom of Saddle Arabia until they make strides to truly eliminate slavery from their state. Equestria needs to throw her weight on the right side of history.

I also write to request the service records of two members of the Royal Navy. Duke Fairweather and a nameless blank flank with the rank of Captain. She was tight-lipped about her name but gave her rank at least. I imagine there are very few ponies without cutie marks in the Navy, so she should be easy to track down.

I implore you to consider what I’ve written. Equestria must act, and the sooner we act the better.

Your favorite (and only) nephew,

Prince Vladimir Blueblood, First of His Name

Blueblood uncorked a bottle of green dragonfire and burned up the letter. He watched the emerald flames dance over his words, shipping them off to Celestia as quickly as possible. That was that then.

“Ready to get studying?” Blueblood said as he inked his quill and laid out a fresh page for notetaking.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Trixie slid into her seat and passed him a mug of coffee. Two lumps of sugar and a dash of cream, just the way he liked it. “Haven’t studied since the day I dropped out of university.”

They cracked open Aster’s book and set to work.