He Who Speaks for the Sun

"Where you can make peace, hold not.
Where you can hold, harm not.
Where you can harm, maim not.
Where you can maim, kill not.
If you must kill, kill well.
—Oath of the Equestrian Blade

Chapter 7: Moon, Sun, and Marshmallows

Blueblood was exhausted. He had been awake for around thirty hours now, yet he couldn’t sleep. Trixie was snuggled comfortably in bed, snoring peacefully and drooling on her pillow. Chicory had claimed the couch and was sleeping like a corpse. Blueblood had already checked twice to ensure she was still breathing. Canterlot gossip would have a field day with this if they ever found out. Sharing a bed with a commoner and letting a servant share his quarters. How far the Prince of Equestria had fallen. He tossed and turned, wrestling with his restlessness to no avail. He gave up, slid from the bed, and stepped out on the balcony.

A slender crescent moon bathed the gardens below in frostlight. Blueblood leaned against the cool stone of the railing, letting it chill him like a balm. From here, he could just barely see the arc of distant desert beyond the wall. Endless leagues of silver sand unblemished by hoofprint stretched as far as his eyes could see. It was bleak, vast, and beautiful. Something about those soft, undulating dunes called out to him. They begged him to lay down his worries, step out into the trackless waste, and become nothing.

Blueblood wasn’t sure how he felt about those thoughts. Probably something he ought to repress.

“They say there’s nothing as beautiful as a desert moon.”

Blueblood felt he should have jumped hearing a voice right behind him. Yet somehow it was so natural that his nerves seemed to expect it. Slowly, he turned to see the black silhouette of the Lunar Princess emerge from the doorway. Luna moved like liquid shadow, her hooves silent on the stone tiles as she solidified beside Blueblood.

“Cousin.” Blueblood regarded her with an incline of his head.

“Cousin,” Luna replied with her own nod. “I come bearing tidings from Canterlot.”

Blueblood motioned for her to continue.

“The trade deal with Zebrica went swimmingly. Celestia asked me to extend her personal thanks to you for laying the groundwork for the meeting.” Luna’s mane fluttered in an astral breeze and fell over one eye.

“So overjoyed that she couldn’t come herself.” Blueblood refused to meet her gaze, his skin simmering in the evening cool.

“I travel faster than my sister.” Luna’s voice was level. “My work is the work of dreams. To arrive here takes no time, so long as there’s somepony with a dream in their slumber.” Her gaze drifted to Trixie, who was hanging half off the luxurious bed. “She dreams of you, you know.”

“Must be a nightmare.” Blueblood rested his chin on the stone.

“She dreamed that you became king of Equestria and gifted her a crown.” Luna watched as Trixie snorted, her mouth open in a lopsided grin. “She was prying out the jewels and selling them off when I stepped out.”

Blueblood managed a ghostly smile. “Glad to know she’s consistent.”

“I also come in reply to your letter.” Luna tapped a hoof on the balustrade and produced his parchment. “Celestia asked me to reply in her stead.”

She laid down two envelopes sealed with red wax and a sunburst seal. “This is what Celestia was able to pull from the records about the ponies you requested. And this…”

Luna produced a thick folder, unsealed but stamped with the sigil of eclipse. “This is what my spies were able to uncover about them.”

It was significantly more than Blueblood had expected. He swallowed the acidic reply he had been chewing on and managed a polite bow.

“Thank you. I’m honored to receive.” He rose and accepted the sheaf of papers, clutching them to his chest.

“My sister trusts you, dear cousin.” Luna reached out to rest a hoof on his shoulder. “She trusts you utterly, but worries for you.”

“Well, she threw me into this mess.” Blueblood shrugged solemnly.

“Because she believes you’re the only pony who can handle it.” Luna paused, her gaze weighty with purpose. “But, should the danger be too great, she has authorized you to return home at any time. The judgment of the situation she leaves to you.”

The prince was silent. What was there to say?

Luna took a seat on one of the plush sun chairs. She gestured for Blueblood to join her.

“You don’t believe you’re up to the task.” Luna’s mane shimmered as her eyes dredged Blueblood’s emotions. “You fear that Celestia has misjudged you.”

“I think she’s made a mistake.” Blueblood kept his voice low, as though he needed to keep it secret from even himself. “I’m not good enough to untangle the politics of this place. I’m in over my head and—” He ground his teeth. He had to fight himself to say the words. Once he gave voice to the insecurity it was real. “There are other ponies more qualified than I am.”

“You speak of Twilight Sparkle.”

His eyes fell. He couldn’t even nod in reply. Luna exhaled softly, her breath cool and vaprous in the night.

“If Celestia believed Twilight could solve this problem, she would have dispatched Twilight. She did not.” Luna extended a hoof and gently tapped Blueblood’s chest. A crust of frost formed where she touched him. “She chose you, cousin.”

“But what if she was wrong?” Blueblood brushed ice from his coat.

“You will have to determine that for yourself.” Luna gently grasped his shoulder. “But remember. Out of everypony in Canterlot, she chose you. Celestia does not make her decisions lightly. If there was somepony more qualified for the job, you wouldn’t be here.”

The prince huffed quietly. He swallowed hard and steeled himself mentally. Luna smiled as she felt his resolve.

“Now rest.” Her horn glowed pale silver and Blueblood felt himself grow weary. “You’re exhausted. No dreams in two days makes the mind dull.”

“Thank you, Luna.” Blueblood yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Tell Auntie I love her.”

“She knows.” Luna chuckled softly. Her frame stiffened suddenly as she seemed to recall something. “I almost forgot. I come bearing an omen.”

The Lunar Princess produced a long, thin box of ebon wood held with a silver clasp. Blueblood already knew the contents, yet he opened it anyway. Twenty shards of meteoric platinum were set into an interior of plush, scarlet velvet. His blade.

“Does Celestia know you’re smuggling arms?” Blueblood replied with a dry smile. He levitated the motes of the blade from within and felt them lattice together into a thin, tampering sword. Luna hadn’t been kidding. This was an ill omen. If she felt the need to bring him a weapon, then she was tacitly expecting him to use it.

“I suspected you would want Pride within reach should things require it.” Her eyes glinted like starforged steel as she spoke his blade’s name. “Wear it with honor.”

Blueblood flourished his blade, shattered it, and returned it to its case. He clasped it firmly and felt its weight in his hooves. "Thank you. I pray I won't have cause to use it."

“Goodnight, dear cousin.” Luna smiled, her outline growing fuzzy and indistinct as she faded into shadow. “Do us proud.”

“Goodnight.”

Luna vanished from his sight, leaving behind a shimmering, starry outline in the night. He blinked, and that too was gone. Slouching back to bed, Blueblood fell into the pillows and inhaled the perfumed fabric. Trixie had shifted so far in bed that she was kicking his side in her sleep, but he didn’t mind. Something about it felt right. Exhaling slowly, he expunged the dread of Canterlot tabloids from his thoughts. His eyes slid shut and at last, he drifted off into dreams.

*****

“Five more minutes…” Trixie clamped a pillow over her head and burrowed deeper into the blankets. Blueblood rolled his eyes as he adjusted his shirt. He grabbed her lashing tail and dragged her from the comfort of her bed, kicking and screaming.

“I don’t wanna get up!”

“Briar, get dressed! We’re going to be late.” Blueblood tossed her hat and robe at her, burying her again in soft fabric. “Celestia help me, if we’re late for prayer because of you, I’m throwing you off the balcony!”

“I’m up, I’m up!” Trixie cried, tying her cape and tossing her mane. “I wasn’t aware you were so religious.”

“He’s not,” Chicory said bluntly.

Blueblood grabbed a brush and began fussing with Trixie’s hair. “Ah, but it looks good to do it. Particularly on a day like today, when the Caliph is reading the prayers.”

“I thought we hated— Ow! You’re pulling!” Trixie winced.

“Only cause you’re fighting my vision.” Blueblood dolloped pomade onto her mane and went on. “And yes, we’re very much on Sandalwood’s bad side. But, this is a good opportunity for us to make some small amends.”

“And we’re making amends why?” Chicory raised an eyebrow.

With one final brushstroke Blueblood finished Trixie’s mane. “Because getting anything done with the Caliph against us is going to be impossible. We need to at least look like we’re trying to get along. It doesn’t matter how we actually feel, so long as your average horse can look at us and assume we're on the same page.”

“So what you’re saying is we need good publicity?” Trixie plopped her hat atop her head, ruining Blueblood’s hard work. She ducked under the brush he threw and smirked. “If there’s one thing I can handle, it's publicity.”

“Then grab the parasol and let’s go.” Blueblood glanced at the clock. “We’re three minutes behind schedule thanks to you.”

“Which one of us insisted on doing my mane?"

“And which one of us insisted on soiling my masterpiece?”

Chicory rolled her eyes and shoved them both towards the door. “Less fighting, more moving.”

The trio threw open the door and spilled into the hall. They nearly bowled over Aster, who had just been preparing to knock. He danced back deftly, avoiding the collision with ease.

“Ah, my prince.” He grinned and bowed reverentially. “I come bearing news.”

“If it’s bad news, it can wait,” Blueblood replied without breaking his stride. He didn’t have time to stop and chat. Thankfully, Aster seemed content to walk and talk, matching his speed.

“Thankfully, I bear good news for a change.” Aster bounded beside the prince. “Marshmallow has agreed to meet with you today. They requested you join them for lunch this afternoon. Shall I let them know you’ve accepted?”

“Please do.” They rounded a corner and descended a flight of steps that deposited them in a checker-tiled foyer.

“If I may ask, my prince,” The liaison said, parting briefly to allow a pair of servants to pass between them. “Where are you off to at such an early hour?”

“We’re on our way to morning prayers.” Trixie yawned. “The Caliph is reading them today, right?”

“He is indeed.” Aster scanned them with an implacable expression. “I wasn’t aware you were religious.”

“Is it not important for me to understand the culture of Saddle Arabia while I’m here?” Blueblood dodged the question with ease. “If I’m going to live here, I feel I ought to participate at least sometimes.”

“You’re doing this for publicity, aren’t you?” Aster exhaled flatly.

“Is it that obvious?” Trixie shrugged sheepishly. Blueblood elbowed her in the stomach and glared over his shoulder. “Hey!”

“It’s not entirely for publicity.” Blueblood tried to stress before Aster cut him off.

“No, no.” Aster held up a hoof to silence the prince. “It’s wise. The rift between you and the Caliph, whose soul is righteous, is plain to all who see it. This is a good opportunity for some healing. Let the public see you being reverent alongside them.”

Blueblood and Trixie were both silent for a moment, surprised by his pragmatism.

Aster flashed a small but knowing grin. “You forget I’m a liaison. My job is to build bridges between Equestria and Saddle Arabia. Truthfully, I’m only upset I didn’t think of it first.”

*****

The Temple of the Cosmos looked like something out of a dream. An obsidian ziggurat that appeared like a shadow in the early morning light. The sun was not yet up, and in the last gloomy shreds of moonlight, Blueblood could just barely make out the watchful minarets that ringed the structure. The air was ceremoniously still as horses and camels made their way to the open doors. Blueblood breathed a sigh of relief that they had made it on time. Nothing would have looked worse than interrupting prayer as an outsider.

“See?” Trixie gestured to the doors, huffing softly. “I could have had five more minutes of sleep.”

“If I gave you five minutes, you’d have slept another hour.”

She yawned and stretched, blinking her eyes lazily. “Just promise we won’t make this a habit.”

“Believe me, I have no intention of getting up this early every day,” Blueblood replied, fixing his mane. Before they could enter the temple, Aster motioned for Blueblood’s attention.

“My prince,” His eyes shifted to Chicory, who stared at the ziggurat impassively. “Are you sure you want to bring her into the Temple of the Cosmos?”

Blueblood cocked his head. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“She’s a Fire Worshiper, my prince,” Aster whispered acidically. “She does not respect our traditions.”

Chicory’s ear flicked at that. Evidently, she was listening in.

“Why don’t you ask her if she respects your traditions?” Blueblood raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“There’s no use in talking to those who don’t understand.” Aster spat, passing Blueblood by to enter the darkened doorway.

“What was that about?” Trixie removed her hat as she lingered on the lintel.

“There’s much bad blood between our faiths. It's too long and too ancient to explain now.” Chicory breathed out slowly. “I’ll wait outside.”

“Are you going to be respectful if you’re allowed inside?” Blueblood rubbed his temple.

“I will show them the same respect that they would show me.”

“Chicory.” Blueblood met her eyes. “Can you promise you’re not going to make a scene?”

She inhaled sharply. “I promise, on one condition.”

Blueblood gestured for her to continue.

“I want you to see the other side of things.” Chicory swallowed hard. “I want you to visit a Fire Temple with me.”

“It’s a deal.” Blueblood shook hooves with her to seal things, turned on his heel, and stamped into the dark of the temple.

Inside, he was overwhelmed by a holy aroma. It was the smell of burning incense, of woodsmoke and embers, and long-lived tradition. Blueblood could feel the age of the temple in every inhalation. It was dark, so dark that his sight failed him completely. There were no windows that he could see, only stark, somber stone on all sides. He followed the gentle curve of the wall, feeling weathered hieroglyphs etched under his hoof until he stumbled into a large, central chamber. Two slats of dim light fell like slanted pillars through small, circular holes in the ceiling. Blueblood could just barely make out Aster to his right and padded over the dense network of prayer rugs until he stood side-by-side with his liaison. Trixie bumped into his flank, followed by Chicory seconds later. Aster glowered at her for a split second before his attention turned back to the east.

Black-robed priests roamed the aisles, sticks of burning incense fuming in their high, cubic caps. They scattered fragrant herbs before their hooves as they walked, murmuring benedictions of farewell to the rapidly vanishing moon. Their eyes fell on Blueblood and Trixie, and they paused their prayer to blink away their confusion. Evidently, ponies didn’t typically attend these services.

A moonstone plinth rose at the intersection of the twin beams of argent light. There was a loud, unwholesome cough as a white-robed horse hobbled towards it. Even through the shade, Blueblood knew the bespectacled silhouette of Sandalwood. A priest supported him, letting the weakened Caliph lean against his side as they approached the center of the chamber.

“Just follow my lead, my prince.” Aster gently rapped on Blueblood’s shoulder. “You as well, magus Briar.”

Both noticed that Chicory was purposefully excluded from the arrangement.

“Indigo,” Trixie whispered. “Can you translate what they’re saying to me?”

“I can try. Keep your voice down!” Blueblood hissed, only for a mare in black to shush him.

The Caliph ascended the steps with aid, his weight lurching between his assistant and his cane. Once he managed to get a hoof on the pulpit, he clung to it like a lifeline. Even from a distance, Blueblood could see the pained heaving of his chest. Sandalwood looked sick. If this was meant to reassure the population of his health, it was having the opposite effect.

“Good morning.” Sandalwood’s voice was scarcely above a whisper, but it was enough. The acoustics of the barren walls carried it to every ear. His eyes scanned the crowd, taking a mental note of Blueblood and Trixie as he returned to his notes. “I’m pleased to see that we have guests from Equestria in attendance.”

There was a quiet shuffling as heads were craned to gawk at the outsiders. Blueblood bore their stares like a stone and Trixie managed an awkward wave.

“Let us pray.” Sandalwood removed his gaze and faced east. The entire congregation rose to their hooves and turned, facing a white brick set into the wall. Blueblood’s heart quickened. It was an odd feeling, being a part of something so much bigger than just himself. The horses around him didn’t regard him as odd or out of place. He was a worshipper of the sun, same as them.

Yet on every exhalation, there was an undercurrent of something out of place. Blueblood could understand the whispers in the air around him and felt his throat constrict.

“Psst!” Trixie prodded his side and hissed. “What are they saying? Is it about us?”

“They’re saying how shocked they are to see royalty here,” Blueblood replied under his breath. He withheld the truth ever so slightly. They were certainly shocked, but royalty wasn’t their reason. The hallowed utterance on every tongue was Khitab Al-Shams.

Sandalwood continued his prayer unabated. Blueblood dutifully translated for Trixie’s benefit. “O, Sun, we greet your rising with praise. Guide our hooves, that we the righteous may not stray from your path. Light our minds, that we may banish wicked thought. Protect us, that evil may flee from our going.”

As the Caliph paused, the priests hummed a low, throaty note. Slowly it grew, rippling out as the entire congregation joined in the basso tone. It felt like the earth itself was thrumming beneath them by the time the priests commanded silence.

“O, Sun, we greet your rising with praise. Have mercy on us the righteous, that your flame may leave us unscathed.” Sandalwood continued, gasping for breath. “Burn away falsehood, that we may inherit your truth. Burn away division, that we may know harmony. Burn away our fault, that we may be made pure.”

Another silence filled with deep humming. Through the east-facing slit in the ceiling, Blueblood could see the sky growing rosy.

“O, Sun,” The Caliph’s voice wavered. He coughed and steeled himself. “We greet your rising with praise. Grant us your warmth, that we may love one another. Let us love our kin, let us love our neighbor, and let us love the stranger as we love ourselves. For he that knows not love will know not warmth.”

The priests led a final hum, then knelt to their rugs. The entire temple followed suit, filling the air with a soft seething of fabric. Everyone bowed at once, just as the first ray of sunlight burst over the horizon. They held the pose in hushed silence as the entire chamber was bathed in brilliant gold. The slit of sunlight slowly swept across the worshipers, baking their backs as they knelt subserviently. Blueblood felt the heat on his spine as beads of sweat blossomed across his coat. A second later, it was over. Coolness spread across his skin and made him feel oddly chilled.

It took nearly a minute for the shaft of light to cross the room. At last, the sun rose beyond the window and the entire temple was cast back into quiet, holy-scented dimness.

“Arise.” The Caliph croaked as his assistant helped him to his hooves. “And walk in the light.”

Dull muttering filled the temple as horses began to spill towards the exit. Sandalwood stood in the center of the chamber, his eyes fixated on the ponies. His expression was impossible to read. Blueblood could feel confusion radiating from the ruler as he watched them meander toward the exit. Blueblood knew this was a victory, albeit a slight one. Horses glanced at him and smiled faintly when they caught his gaze. Whispers were circulating already. Blueblood tried to focus but only managed to catch snippets.

“—ponies would never—”

“Not like the old diplomat, for sure—”

“—Can’t believe they bowed—”

“—Khitab al-Shams—”

Good. Let them see him as a pony of the people. Even if just for the moment. Blueblood had successfully disentangled himself from Alabaster’s sordid legacy in two days.

"Well done, my prince," Aster whispered as they stepped from the temple into the brilliance of daybreak. "I will check in with you back at the palace tonight."

As he stalked off, Chicory nudged Blueblood from behind. "I'll also meet you in the room tonight. I have a few errands to run before I get back to the palace." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "And remember your promise, Indigo."

"Of course," Blueblood replied calmly.

Now on to meet the good doctor.

*****

It felt like a grim portent that Marshmallow had wanted to meet in their office at the medical campus. Blueblood and Trixie shared a worried glance as they approached the site of their first shock of their Saddle Arabian excursion: the dead body of their predecessor. A nurse ushered them into the heart of the hospital, past the operating rooms and recovery beds to an inner sanctum of research and innovation. Laboratories bustled with horses in worn leather smocks, all of whom reeked of chemical components. The air was thick with the scent of progress, a feeling of scientific import seeping into the tile floors and white stucco walls. In one room, horses wearing thick face masks checked dishes of disease and injected their freshly mixed cures to test. In another, Trixie spied a group of students examining blood samples under massive magnifying lenses. A pair in the hall exchanged notes over anatomy textbooks heavier than the bricks that made up the walls.

Yet despite the change of scenery from the morgue to here, Trixie still felt that uncomfortable, lingering dread. The acrid odor of industrial cleaner in the air whirled in her nostrils and made her temples throb. Vials of blood and samples of tissue still lay behind every door. Her stomach churned as they walked the halls, following Aster’s note that they were to meet for lunch in the University cafeteria.

Blueblood checked the map he had been given on the way in as they came to a fork. They took a left and found themselves approaching the crowded cafeteria. Students and doctors alike were sitting down to lunch, scarfing down meals while they perused patient records or crammed for their next exam.

“Not exactly a glamorous luncheon, is it?” Trixie sighed as they received metal trays and fell into line.

“It’s got to be better than The Grease Pit,” Blueblood replied with a wry smirk.

“Shut up.” Trixie bumped into his side. “You loved it once you gave it a try!”

“Once I was threatened.” The prince corrected, holding up a hoof. “Let’s not forget your role in this.”

The two of them followed the line, receiving some extremely unappealing food. A loaf of crusty, dark-colored bread, a small cup of watery vegetable soup, two coin-sized lumps of soft, clay-like cheese, and a cookie so hard it could shatter stone.

Blueblood sniffed at the soup and made a face. “I’ll trade you my soup for your bread.”

“No way.” Trixie shifted her tray away from him. “My bread for your cheese or the deal’s off.”

Blueblood prodded the cheese with his hoof. “Is this surke?”

“Don’t ask me.”

“If it’s surke, then I’m not trading it.” Blueblood levitated a ball up to his nose and took a whiff. “It looks like surke, but it smells so faint…”

“Look, are you gonna trade with me, or not?” Trixie pouted like an annoyed schoolfilly.

Blueblood paused to scan the cafeteria. Wooden tables with smooth metal benches were packed with horses from end to end. He struggled to find an open seat, much less one where they could meet and speak privately with Marshmallow. A gentle tap on his side caught his attention.

Marshmallow stood between them, levitating their platter with magic. “Esteemed prince, magus.”

“Doctor Marshmallow, I presume?” Trixie arched an eyebrow.

“In the flesh, bone, and sinew.” They said, bowing dramatically. “It’s a pleasure to meet you on such short notice. Come, follow me.”

Blueblood and Trixie fell into line, following Marshmallow to a backroom reserved for University faculty. The table and chairs were no better than the ones in the cafeteria, but it was at least a little more private. All three slammed down their trays with a clang and took their seat.

“Tell me,” Marshmallow crushed a lump of cheese into their bread and took a bite. They didn’t bother to swallow before continuing. “Is Equestria still using wooden splints to set broken limbs? I recall that was the case last time I visited, though even then it felt somewhat outdated. Not to insult your homeland of course, but I was shocked to see they hadn’t started using softstone for it.”

Blueblood opened his mouth to respond as Marshmallow swallowed. They dipped their bread in the watery, salty soup and took another bite. Before Blueblood could even consider a reply, they continued.

“Oh! And another thing! Since they weren’t using softstone I recall Redheart telling me that they were using some sort of subtle attraction magic to hold the splint in place. Do they still do that? If so, what spell? While softstone is great for immobilizing the limb, it can slip off when the limb starts to sweat, which, can you believe it, happens a lot in the desert!”

The doctor laughed, clapping a hoof against the table as they tossed their faintly toasted mane. Blueblood resigned himself to sipping a spoonful of his soup as he waited for them to finish. Trixie cleared her throat and tried to cut in.

“Doctor Marshmallow, we were really hoping to—”

“Actually now that I think about it, last time I checked in on Equestria, they were still using somnasprig for anesthesia. They don’t do that anymore do they?” Marshmallow raised their eyebrow and shook their head. “Sun and moon, I hope not. The side effects just weren’t worth it! A day of nausea after tranqwort is so much easier to recover from than the headaches and exhaustion somnasprig can cause! Of course, right now I’m testing to see if tranqwort oil can reduce pain on contact or if it needs to be consumed in concentrate to assist with—”

“Well, you see, we’re actually hoping to—” Blueblood tried to butt in but found himself swiftly rebuffed.

“The problem has been the smell you see, tranqwort doesn’t have a pleasant aroma, so it's difficult to find willing subjects to test on if they’re going to stink of—”

Blueblood decided to keep pressing. “Marshmallow, do you know anything about the Caliph?”

Their chatter suddenly ceased. A flush of embarrassment darkened their cheeks as they took a nervous mouthful of cheese. “My apologies. It's not often that I get to speak with representatives from outside Saddle Arabia. Yes, the Caliph. That’s why you asked to meet with me. Curse my silly scatterbrain!” They thumped a hoof weakly against their temple for emphasis. “I presume you wanted to know about his health?”

“In a roundabout way, yes.” Trixie tried to chew her cookie but gave up after gnawing on it like a bone.

“He’s as stable as one can expect after all he’s been through.” Marshmallow shrugged their shoulders. “The poisoning took its toll on him. He’s just very lucky that I remembered to pack charcoal in my bag that night! You know, I nearly left without it, but something nudged me to check my bag before I was out the door, and I realized I was out of it! Good thing I still had some in my kitchen cabinet!”

Blueblood decided to cut right to the point. “And do you have any idea what sort of poison it was?” When Marshmallow narrowed their eyes suspiciously, he tacked on an explanation. “The Caliph has tasked Briar and I with investigating the assassination.”

“Odd. Why wouldn’t he designate that to the guard?” Marshmallow pursed their lips and gently stroked their chin. “Ah well, it doesn’t matter. Like the moon, the Caliph (who beautifies bleak desert with his name) works in mysterious ways.”

They popped the last of their bread into their mouth and chewed quickly. Marshmallow levitated their saddlebags off a wall hook and laid out a set of papers on the crumb-covered table. “These were my notes on the incident. I tested a bit of Sandalwood’s blood, plus the plates, silverware, and cups he used last night. The poison was found in his wineglass.”

Blueblood winced internally at that. Trixie sucked her teeth and met his eyes. Both ponies looked like they’d been sentenced to the gibbet.

“But that’s what was so odd.” Marshmallow hummed, shifting the sheets around. “If you’re going to assassinate someone, you’d wanna use a powerful poison, right? But this wasn’t really poison. I mean it’s not like rotroot or princebane, where the stuff is strong enough to kill a camel with a single drop.”

“So what was it?” Trixie looked over the papers, pretending she could comprehend them through the mix of awful penmanship and medical jargon. She recalled the name of a poison from a detective paperback she’d perused while waiting for a train. “Oh! Was it bitterblight?”

Marshmallow stared blankly, blinking in befuddlement. “I… I don’t think bitterblight exists. At least I’ve never seen it in my botany training.”

“Oh.” Trixie’s face fell. She swallowed her embarrassment with a piece of cheese. “Nevermind.”

“It's a mixture of chemicals.” Marshmallow ran their hoof along a paragraph of terms as long as their arm. “I recreated it in my lab, and it turns out it's an industrial adhesive. A plant-based, water-resistant glue.”

“And why use that over something stronger?” Blueblood knitted his brow. "Something more suited to the task?"

“That’s what I’m struggling with.” Marshmallow shook their head, their mane bobbing softly. “It could be that they just used whatever was at hoof. Maybe they didn’t have the money or the know-how to get their hooves on something stronger. Or it could have been a spur-of-the-moment decision, and they just dumped something they thought would be toxic into the wineglass and hoped for the best.”

“This adhesive…” Trixie downed what was left of her soup with a grimace. “Could it have actually killed the Caliph?”

“Oh almost certainly! The stuff is nasty! It’s not meant for consumption at all! Generally, you’re going to get muscle cramps, vomiting, seizing of the chest…” They rattled off the effects from memory, going down the list in a musical tone.

Blueblood listened impassively, but a slim connecting line drew Trixie’s attention.

“What about the heart?” Trixie interrupted the doctor’s sing-song symptoms. “Can this stuff hurt your heart? Like, let's say, cause a heart attack?”

“Hm? Oh! Yes! I was getting to that!” Marshmallow rapped their hooves on the table excitedly. “See, most of the symptoms on their own aren’t enough to kill someone. Feeding them charcoal and relaxing the muscles will usually help the body purge it naturally. The real problem is that when those symptoms all hit at once—” They clapped both hooves together loud enough to make their guests jump. “It can send the body into shock. Blood won’t circulate properly, and that can induce cardiac failure. You’ve gotta treat it fast! Thankfully, I guessed right that Sandalwood had been poisoned and got him treatment in time!”

Blueblood caught Trixie’s gaze. He knew where she was going with this. He cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.

“And this adhesive,” Blueblood followed her lead, winding her conclusions tighter. “Would it show up on an autopsy? Let's say this had killed the Caliph in private. Would you have been able to determine he had been poisoned?”

“Now there’s an interesting question!” Marshmallow could hardly sit still. The buzzing of their thoughts was nearly audible as they shifted back and forth in their chair. “Hm. See that’s difficult to answer. If I ran a test suspecting poison, I’d likely find that something was amiss. The question is whether or not I’d even suspect poison if they had used an adhesive rather than a traditional toxin.”

Unable to sit still and continue thinking, they rose from their chair and paced the room.

“Most poisonings will leave behind some sort of evidence. Like princebane for example. It smells faintly like coffee grounds and tends to leave a reddish tint to the hooves in its victims. Or rotroot, which makes the gums bleed. But this? Well, the only evidence is that they died in the first place. If I hadn’t seen Sandalwood collapse with my own eyes, if I’d just treated him after the fact?” They pursed their lips and hummed, drumming a hoof against their temple. “No, I don’t think I’d have assumed poison.”

“And!” Trixie was on to something. She was having a rare moment of genius and intended to fully exploit it. “How long would the adhesive remain in the body? Would it still be there after say… a few months?”

“Ha! I doubt it would last a few weeks!” Marshmallow returned to their chair, rocking from side to side as they settled into it. They thrust a stray strand of their mane out of their eyes, only to replace it with ten more. “Fluid loss after death usually means that toxicology tests need to be done within days if not hours. You could try checking hair or hoofnails for long-term poisoning, but if the poison killed them in a matter of minutes? You’re out of luck.”

That was exactly what they needed to know. The two ponies nodded to each other, grinning broadly. The mystery of Alabaster’s death was being drawn back like a funerary shroud. The pieces were coming together. Now was the moment of truth. Could they pin down a culprit?

“Doctor,” Blueblood leaned forward in his seat. “Where would someone get an industrial adhesive like this? What sort of person could get their hooves on it?”

“Oh, just about anyone.” Marshmallow shrugged their shoulders.

That deflated the ponies' excitement almost instantly.

“It’s fairly common in a lot of trades. Carpenters use it for extra security on joints. A lot of furniture uses it for upholstery. Most model kits have a little bottle included. You can use it to repair clothes, bind books, fix carriage wheels, seal leaks, or put up posters. I’ve even used the stuff to glue the handle back onto my coffee mug when it snapped off before. Pretty much every hobby store in Sarabia has it on their shelves.”

“Well, that doesn’t narrow our suspects down at all.” Trixie huffed, folding her arms across her chest.

“Sorry, wish I could help you more there!” The doctor cocked their head with a lopsided smile. They paused and glanced down at their watch. “Oops! Lunch break is over! I’d love to keep chatting, but I’ve got patients waiting. Royal Physician is a pretty busy job!”

The remnants of their lunch were swiftly scarfed down. Marshmallow wiped their mouth on the back of their hoof and waved a fond farewell before they sprinted for the door and vanished around the corner with a clatter of hooves. Blueblood stared down at his plate and exhaled slowly.

Whoever had been behind the attack on the Caliph was likely behind Alabaster’s death as well. There was no way to prove it for sure, but the clues were pointing in that direction. An unusual poison that was hard to track. Something widely available to force any investigation to cast a wide net. Their would-be assassin was covering their tracks well.

But they had a method. They had a reason why Alabaster’s autopsy had come back clean. And now they had a link between Alabaster’s killer and the Caliph’s assailant.

“So,” Trixie tapped a hoof on her plate. “My bread for your cheese?”

Blueblood sighed and passed her what remained of his surke. He nibbled on the bread and tried to look on the bright side. Victory was victory, no matter how small.

*****

Trixie didn’t want to believe that Blueblood had been right, but she was starting to get used to the heat. As the two of them walked the dusty pavement of Palm Street, she found she wasn’t sweating nearly as profusely as she expected. It was past noon, and the long shadows of early afternoon striped the streets like zebraflesh. Towering, stately palms lined the road, their broad leaves concealing bundles of scarlet dates. A young Jackal had scaled one of the nearby trees and was plucking the fruit and stuffing it hastily into his satchel. The streets bustled with barkers and zealots and patrons of all shapes and sizes. Blueblood and Trixie briefly parted to allow a pair of fillies to sprint between them, flailing freshly purchased plush toys. They ducked beneath a rug that two Jackals were carrying on their shoulders. They twisted through a throng of horses who watched a street magician who arced lightning between his hooves. They jumped over a puddle of spilled olive oil that was rapidly spreading across the cobblestones.

They felt so strangely normal in this scene. Trixie hadn’t been in Saddle Arabia more than a week, and already she felt like she belonged there. The language barrier notwithstanding. Horses smiled as she passed them by, camels nodded appreciatively, and jackals waved nonchalantly. Blueblood exchanged odd bits of conversation with street vendors, politely refusing their advances with good humor. Trixie felt that same sense of cruel domesticity she had felt the night before creep into her heart.

How sad that they were stuck playing diplomat and detective. If only they could live their lifespan in moments like these; moments of quiet bliss spent together.

Trixie’s eyes flicked to Blueblood. He was smiling that painted grin of his. As soon as his conversation ended, he returned to his resting look of scorn and frustration. His eyes caught her gaze, and he smiled again. Something smaller, fainter, weaker. When his attention was drawn elsewhere, it vanished once more.

Coworkers. That’s what he had said they were. Was that how he really felt? Or was he trying to save face in front of Fairweather?

Was that what Trixie wanted to be?

If there was one consistent thing in Trixie’s life, it was inconsistency. Every night was a new performance in a new town with a new crowd. She had never put down roots, found a community, or bothered to settle. And she didn’t intend to. Yet no matter how far she roamed, Blueblood always found her. If she was just a coworker to him, why would he travel far and wide just to reconnect?

Her eyes drifted to his again. Another frail smile before he glanced away.

“So, where are we heading?” Trixie pushed her confused emotions down as they ascended the lane.

“Since we were in the area, I figured we could check out Celestial Antiquities.” Blueblood shrugged. “Might as well figure out what they remember about Alabaster’s visit. If he seemed healthy when he visited them, then it confirms our suspicions about his death. It’d also mean he had to have been poisoned at the Waltz of the Crescent Moon, which could narrow our search to the guest list. Just another way to draw the net a little tighter.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Things were quiet between them again. Trixie could read from his expression that he was deep in thought, though she imagined their focuses differed greatly.

“So,” Blueblood cleared his throat and spoke up, his words imprinted with his smirk. “I heard you were dreaming about me last night.”

“How did you—” Trixie blurted her implication before she could compose herself. Her cheeks darkened as she harumphed and turned sharply. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Princess Luna told me.”

“When did—”

“Last night.” Blueblood chuckled softly. “So, are you saying the almighty Princess of the Moon is a liar?”

She exhaled sharply. “You’re a real ass, you know that?”

“Answer the question, Briar.”

“Technically, yes.” She waved a hoof to try and ward off his accusation. “You were a supporting character in the dream. You gifted me a crown that I sold for a very lovely pile of golden bits.”

“Glad to know I’m always on your mind.” Blueblood nudged her with a wry grin.

“Money is always on my mind.” Trixie shoved back. “It’s first and foremost in my thoughts at all times.”

“I thought that was liquor?”

“No. First money, then food, and then liquor.” She corrected. “A mare has to have priorities, you know.”

“Speaking of food and liquor,” Blueblood sidestepped a very drunken jackal who stumbled down the lane. “After we check out Celestial Antiquities, shall we get dinner before we return to the palace? Maybe a few drinks as well?”

“College cafeteria food didn’t satisfy you?”

“Celestia, no.” He wrinkled his snout and let his ears droop. “I’ve never had such bland, tasteless cuisine in all my life.”

“So back to the Grease Trap then?” Trixie snickered.

“It’s my turn to choose the restaurant.” Blueblood retorted with a snort. “And no, Al-Hawa doesn’t count.”

“Fine, you choose then. Dinner sounds lovely right about now.”

“It’s a date.”

Celestial Antiquities was a small shop situated at the corner of Palm and Dune, decorated with a stylized depiction of Celestia trying on a turban. Blueblood cringed at the tacky branding. The “Grand Opening!” banner was still strung across the front of the store four months later. Blueblood wondered if that was intentional to draw customers, or just laziness on the part of the owner. He approached the door, a frosted glass panel with a chalkboard hung on it to list out the store hours, as well as its tagline.

“The sun never sets on our empire of deals!”

Classy.

Blueblood pushed open the door and entered. His first impression was coughing and gagging on the thick layer of dust that hung in the air. Trixie didn’t fare much better, sneezing so hard she got lightheaded as she inhaled the stale air.

“Welcome to Celestial Antiquities!” A bronze pegasus popped her head up over the register counter, a stone slab inlaid with fading hieroglyphs. “How can I help you?”

The entire shop was stuffed to bursting with bits and pieces of Saddle Arabian history. Ornate prayer rugs dangled from the ceiling, and old brass weapons hung on every wall. Paintings with brilliant wooden frames were stacked in unsteady pillars. Political fliers had been torn from walls and stickered for a few bits. Bowls of assorted arrowheads and spent bullets were on sale, fifteen for three bits. The figurehead of an ancient Sarabian riverboat was prominently displayed at the front of the shop: a wild-maned lion holding a “SOLD!” sign in its bloodied jaws.

“What uh… What do you sell here?” Trixie ran a hoof over the rust-flecked blade of a scimitar.

“Here at Celestial Antiquities,” The pegasus vaulted over the counter gracefully. Her cutie mark, a lock and key, seemed appropriate. “We’re in the business of sellin’ history! Like this!”

She brushed by Blueblood to remove a warped wooden staff tipped with an iron band. “See, this here’s the staff of the Prophet Wadi, who fought Arfaj in the first days of the empire. And that—” She replaced the staff and flapped her wings, bolting up to the rafters and alighting on a prayer rug covered in faded roses. “Is the prayer rug of Chestnut the Wise, seventeenth Caliph of Saddle Arabia!”

“And how much do you charge for something like that, miss…” Blueblood trailed off.

“Cyclone’s the name!” She shook Blueblood’s hoof vigorously. “And if you gotta ask, you can’t afford it!”

Blueblood very much doubted that. In fact, he suspected he was the target audience for a shop like this. “And business has been good?”

“Boomin’!” Cyclone thumped her chest. “Got two more orders to fill tonight. One to Canterlot, one to Manehattan. Then I’m done for the day.” Her lips curled into a judgemental grimace. “But somethin’ tells me you ain’t here to buy.”

“Actually,” Trixie pushed her way into the conversation before Blueblood could drown the poor pegasus in insults. “We had a question about a friend of yours. A pony who helped out with the grand opening."

“Oh, you’re talkin’ bout that diplomat guy!” Cyclone clapped their hooves together. “Somethin’ Bastard?”

“Alabaster.” Blueblood said icily.

“That’s right! Damn shame what happened to him. Was always a friend while I was gettin’ the business off the ground.”

“Did he seem… Off to you?” Trixie questioned.

“Off how?”

“Sick? In pain?”

“Can’t say he did.” Cyclone shrugged. “Seemed like himself to me. Gave a nice speech about how we were bringin’ jobs back to the city, and how great this store was gonna be for Equestria and Saddle Arabia both! Then he cut the ribbon, bought an old jezail we were gonna ship back to Canterlot for him and headed out. Didn’t seem like he was off at all to me.”

She stopped short, suddenly glancing between her customers in a panic.

“Wait, hold on now! You ain’t tryin’ to imply I’m a suspect, right? Everythin' I do is completely above board! I got certificates of authenticity for every item! Celestia as my witness!”

“I’m implying nothing of the sort!” Blueblood grinned broadly, gently patting Cyclone on the shoulder. “Just asking questions.”

“So uh,” Cyclone returned his grin with one of her own, one that felt far too oily to be genuine. “Are ya’ll gonna buy somethin'? A nice carpet really ties the room together, y’know?”

“I don’t think we need a carpet.” Trixie giggled softly as she headed for the door. “I think our room in the palace is already quite complete, don’t you, Indigo?”

“Very much so. Thanks for the offer.” Blueblood paused on the lintel and shot a glance backward. “I’ll tell Celestia we were very impressed by your artwork of her, by the by.”

“Wait! You know Cel—”

Blueblood exited the shop before Cyclone could finish. Let her put together who her mystery shopper had really been over the next few days.

“Well, Alabaster wasn’t dying when he came here,” Trixie said, lingering in the shade of a leaning date palm.

“It sounds like he was expecting to return to Equestria.” Blueblood stood beside her and sighed. “He wouldn’t have bought a gun and shipped it home if he never expected to see it again.”

“So whoever killed him—”

“—Had to be at the Waltz of the Crescent Moon.”

Trixie’s violet eyes practically glowed with excitement. Blueblood could see faint sparks springing from her horn in the dim shadow. “Indigo, we’re getting closer. We’ve got a list of suspects. Celestia’s mane—” She shuddered, breaking out in a string of eager laughter. “We’re detectives! Real, honest to Celestia detectives!”

“And to think, you caught the link between Alabaster’s death and the Caliph’s assassin before I did.” Blueblood nudged her playfully. “Sometimes, I don’t hate having you with me.”

“And sometimes, I enjoy our time together.” Trixie immediately bit her tongue. Was that too far? Blueblood didn’t seem to think so.

“If I didn’t enjoy your company, I’d have left you back in Equestria.” Blueblood extended a hoof to her, giving her a gentle tug back into the street. “Now, I’d say we’ve earned ourselves a few drinks, haven’t we?”

“A few drinks of strong whiskey in a smoke-filled bar, like a real private eye.”

“The whiskey I agree with. The smoke, less so.” He wrinkled his snout. “Coffee is also going to be a must. We’ve got a lot to go over back at the palace, and it’s probably going to be another late night.”

“Oh, joy.” She rolled her eyes.

*****

They ate dinner at a cozy, dimly lit little tavern across the street from Lineage Park. As the sun dipped low on the horizon, they were seated outdoors beside a warm, crackling fire. They clinked their glasses and drank deeply, capping their night off with meaningless chatter and playful banter.

With liquor coursing through his veins, Blueblood felt his thoughts being drawn back to the deep dark of early morning. He sipped at his cocktail thoughtfully, his eyes dancing between the fire and Trixie as he reclined on a pile of cushions. She had dreamed about him.

In the comfort of his own mind and after a stiff drink, Blueblood could privately admit that he hadn’t exaggerated his words. He genuinely enjoyed her company. That wasn’t something he could say of most ponies. Blueblood spent so much of his time feigning smiles, painting his face with a rictus grin around pompous bastards like Fairweather and his ilk. The only time he allowed himself the vulnerability of a true, genuine smile was here with Trixie.

Yet he knew he shouldn’t.

He was a Prince of Equestria. Any vulnerability, any chink in his armor was a weakness he couldn’t tolerate. The fragility that other ponies could take for granted was a foothold for others in him. The second he allowed himself to open up, a thousand enemies foreign and domestic would sink their claws into him.

Blueblood slugged another sip of his drink. Trixie’s eyes met his and he returned it with a real, honest smile.

Equestria had to come first.

Before friends.

Before family.

Before love.

The booze tasted like ash on his tongue as a black mood drifted over him. His joy faded from his lips as he watched the fire.

“Hey,” Trixie nudged his hoof and summoned him back to reality. She was smiling. The flames reflected in her eyes, making them twinkle like amethyst diadems.

“Hey,” Blueblood replied, gently clasping her foreleg. It was the closest gesture to affection he could allow.

“Dessert?” She asked hopefully.

The prince leaned forward and scanned the menu. “Have you ever had masoub?”

“Never even heard of it.”

“Oh, then we’re absolutely getting some.” Blueblood flagged down a server and rattled off an order in Sarabic. “It’s a creamy banana pudding. It’s to die for!”

And just like that, the mood had passed. Blueblood felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He didn’t realize that he was still holding Trixie’s hoof until the masoub and coffee were on the table.