He Who Speaks for the Sun

"Good intentions cannot outweigh wicked deeds, just as honey cannot outweigh venom."
—Sarabic Proverb

Chapter 8: Sobriquet

“Okay, let’s review then shall we.” Blueblood stood in the eye of a hurricane of scattered paperwork. Celestia’s notes had given them the perfunctory information they had expected. Luna’s on the other hand, showed a more complete story. They had pinned up snippets of information on the walls, connecting them with a maze of red thread. Blueblood ducked beneath a string and maneuvered past Trixie, who passed him his coffee.

Pointing his hoof at a crude caricature of Fairweather, he began.

“Duke Fairweather. Duke because his father owned vineyards on the southern slope of Canterlot Mountain.” Blueblood followed the thread along to his next point. “Graduated from Manehattan University of the Arts with a degree in economics. Played Buckball, and was quite good at it.”

Another thread to the next phase of the Duke’s life. “Age twenty-five, he joined the Equestrian Navy, Merchant Marines division. Worked aboard the HMS Breezie Dancer as a gunnery officer. Awarded an Astounding Service Star for his leadership against a pirate vessel off the coast of Zebrica.”

Blueblood traced a line to the kitchen, where Chicory had busied herself cooking a small pot of tomato soup. She held out a spoonful to Blueblood, who tasted it with a hum of approval.

“Following that, Fairweather was stationed in Zebrica permanently. Luna says he was dispatched to Mareocco, to help protect the mining sector.” Blueblood prodded the paper he’d pinned there. “It looks like Celestia approved Equestrian marines to assist the Zebrican armed forces against a local separatist rebellion. And that brings us around to her…”

Two strings converged upon a doodle Trixie had drawn of Captain. “Celestia and Luna both had little to say about the Captain. Joined the Army at eighteen, earned an Astounding Service Star for a border skirmish with some rogue Gryphon elements outside of Kleinskrieg, some scattered service training up the Crystal Empire Defense Corps, and a Scarlet Stripe when she was wounded in action in Mareocco.

“She and Fairweather met while guarding a silver mine in the Mareoccan desert.” Their intertwined lines moved as one along the path Blueblood had drawn. “From what Luna gathered, they both served in the 114th Celestial Dragoons together. Their position was consistently struck by hit-and-run attacks by rebel forces, and instead of following their orders and holding the line, they decided to break ranks and go on the offensive.”

“Taking a handful of Zebrican officers with them, they fought a campaign against the Mareoccan rebels for six months.” Blueblood stepped over the line that ran along the floor. “Culminating in the Battle of Saltsooth Flats. Outnumbered two to one, Fairweather and Captain delivered a stunning victory in a night attack on the rebel encampment. Their service came to an end with a Zebrican Medal of Valor and a court martial from the Equestrian Navy for breaking orders.

“Returning to Canterlot and retiring from service, they founded Fairweather Firearms. Business was slow as they failed to win a contract with Equestria, but found that exporting arms worked even better.” Blueblood stood beside the business card he’d received at their ordainment gala. “Drawing on old connections, they opened a factory in Mareocco. They got a contract with the local army, plus tax incentives from the local government. Then they expanded. Locations in Camareoon, Neighgeria, and Zebrabwe followed.”

Everything converged on one final point. “With his wealth in hand, Fairweather and his newlywed bride expatriated to Saddle Arabia. Within two years they had a deal with the Caliph for a new factory. In four they had a mansion in the Equestrian Quarter. By five, Fairweather was on the ruling council. All things considered, they did well for themselves.”

That was where things ended. Blueblood exhaled and brushed his mane away from his face, taking a long sip of his coffee. “Did I miss anything?”

“Don’t think so,” Trixie said as she examined their intricate web of connections. “All that’s missing is how they connect with our investigation.”

“Any luck with the guest list?” Blueblood danced around the threads to slide into a seat beside her at the table.

“That’s where I’m stumped.” Trixie had unfurled the guest list for the Waltz of the Crescent Moon that Aster had brought them. “I’m comparing it with the list we got for the Ordainment Ball, and there’s plenty of overlap but—” She tapped her paper with the tip of her quill. “See, Fairweather and his wife weren’t at the Waltz.”

“They weren’t?" Blueblood cocked his head. He rushed to double-check her work. “I’ll be damned.”

He sank into a seat and Chicory set a small dish of tomato soup in front of him. She served a second to Trixie, who slurped at her spoon almost immediately.

“They could have easily done the deed through an intermediary,” Chicory said as she lowered herself into her seat. “I’d be more surprised if they didn’t. Less blood on their hooves.”

“But the method makes me doubt that.” Blueblood mused as he blew on his soup. “If they paid someone to kill Alabaster, why wouldn’t they use a more professional poison? Something to ensure the job was done?”

“Regardless,” Trixie forsook her spoon and sipped straight from the bowl. “That gives them an alibi. They weren’t there when he died.”

Blueblood pursed his lips as he looked at both guest lists. Fairweather’s words post-execution still rang in his ear.

“The Caliph attended both parties.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Trixie shrugged. “He’s the Caliph. It's his job to go to parties like this.”

“The Waltz of the Crescent Moon wasn’t an official event. It was much smaller than our ordainment gala, too. So why would he need to attend? Unless…”

Trixie narrowed her eyes. “You’re not seriously suggesting…”

“I’m only half suggesting.” Blueblood held up a hoof. “I’m just noticing a pattern. I mean, I’ve seen with my own eyes what Sandalwood does to his opposition. If he’s willing to let soldiers fire into a crowd, poisoning somepony is nothing.”

“You think he poisoned… Himself?”

“No. I think…” Blueblood scowled and filled his mouth with soup. “I don’t know what I think. If it’s not Fairweather, then it has to be someone else with the power to get it done.”

Trixie pushed the papers away and rubbed her temples. “I’m getting a headache.”

“You and me both.” Blueblood sighed and sipped his soup. “I don’t think we’re getting any further tonight.”

“Take a bath,” Trixie said as she sucked out the last dregs from her bowl, leaving a faint rusty stain on her cheek. “Soak for a while and go to bed.”

“Good idea.”

“But take one after me.” She slid from her seat and sprinted to the bathroom door. “Goodnight Indigo. Goodnight Chicory.”

“Goodnight, Briar.” Blueblood nodded.

“Goodnight.” Chicory waved lazily over the back of her chair. She glanced around the room, her eyes following the countless lines of red thread and scattered papers. “We should clean this up.”

“In the morning.” Blueblood yawned. “You’ve done more than enough for today.”

*****

Morning came and went in the palace. Blueblood and Trixie slept long and hard, barely acknowledging the sunrise and the stirring of the world around them. Sunbeams disturbed their slumber only slightly, as they rolled over and ignored it. They deserved to sleep in for a change. Well, Blueblood certainly thought he did. After a night without sleep directly into an early morning the next day, he had earned the right to sleep until noon.

So sleep they did.

Chicory had an impeccable internal clock, however, and woke with the sunrise. She drank some juice from the fridge, cleaned the dishes in the sink, and waited for them to awaken. When they didn’t, she sighed and checked the fire altar. Much to her surprise, the oil had already been replaced. Her eyes drifted to the sleeping ponies. The slightest creak of a smile graced her lips.

Not like Alabaster indeed.

She crept quietly from their room. There were other things she had on the agenda for today. Let them sleep for now. They had earned a little rest.

It wasn’t until the sun was high in the sky that Blueblood and Trixie started to stir. Blueblood was the first to wake, opening his eyes and staring vaguely at the ceiling as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. Trixie squirmed and groaned as she rolled with her face towards the light, forcing herself out of her dreams. She yawned and shifted, glancing across her pillow at Blueblood.

“Morning.” She mumbled as she rubbed her eyes.

“Good morning to you too,” Blueblood replied as he exhaled slowly. “Do you think anyone noticed we stayed in bed all day?”

“Who would care?” Trixie shrugged.

“I think they’d notice that the diplomats of Equestria were missing.”

“I don’t think anyone cares that much, Indigo.”

“Everyone cares. I’m the Prince of Equestria, damn it.”

“You’re too full of yourself.” She kicked him under the blankets.

A knock at the door startled them both from the semi-somnolent state they had been resting in. They sat bolt upright and stared at the door, not daring to move.

“Told you so.” Blueblood hissed between his teeth. “Probably Aster coming to check in and—”

“Blueblood, is that you in there?” Fairweather’s voice drifted through the door. “Ah, I was so worried they’d given me the wrong room! But of course you’re in old Rough Cut’s chambers! May I come in?”

Trixie and Blueblood glanced at their walls covered in pictures of the weapons mogul and the miles of string connecting them. Trixie cringed inwardly.

“Just a moment!” Blueblood threw himself out of bed and started snatching papers off the walls. “We’re not decent just yet!”

“Not decent? Whatever do you mean?”

Trixie began to hastily wind thread around her hooves as they scrambled to undo the evidence of their investigation. “A lady can’t be seen in a state of undress!”

“But madam, you hardly ever wear—”

Blueblood opened the door a crack and shifted himself to block Fairweather’s view of their room. “Apologies old friend! Just a moment! You know how women are!”

He slammed the door again and deflected a glower from Trixie as he raced to the kitchen, snapping off the pin that hung there and stuffing Fairweather’s Mareoccan service records into his hooves. They met in the middle, glanced across the room to ensure they hadn’t missed anything, and promptly shoved the piled documentation under the bed, kicking it back as far as they could with their hooves. Blueblood slumped to the door, breathing heavily, and opened it once more.

“Sorry about that! Just needed to make ourselves presentable!” He gestured for the duke to enter and stepped aside.

Neither of them looked remotely presentable. Their manes were still messy with bedhead, their eyelids still droopy with sleep, and their faces unwashed. Fairweather smiled politely, but even he seemed to realize he had intruded on something. The conspiratorial smirk he flashed at Blueblood made it clear he suspected something far more carnal than the reality.

“Sly dog.” He muttered to the Prince as they passed. Blueblood’s uncomfortable blush seemed to confirm his suspicions. “Well, my apologies for intruding on your fun! I just—”

His eyes fell on Trixie, who was seated on the edge of the bed, still unclothed. She smiled at him, then suddenly realized her mistake. She swept into her cape and donned her hat so swiftly she thought she would tear the fabric.

“Well, now that we’re all decent,” He chuckled. “I wanted to come by and deliver to you my personal invitation to a party we’re hosting tonight in the Equestrian District! The Summer Sun Sobriquet!” Fairweather’s wings fluttered with excitement as he punctuated each word of the title. “Oh! Isn’t it a marvelous name? I must’ve spent days pouring over the perfect idea! Rolls off the tongue so nicely! Sobriquet! Ooh! It makes me shiver to say!”

“It’s certainly beautiful,” Blueblood replied simply. He bit his tongue hard. He wasn’t going to tell the duke that a sobriquet was a nickname. He also wasn’t going to tell him that it wasn’t pronounced sob-ree-kwet. “How did you come up with it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ah, a magician never reveals his secrets!” He slid seamlessly into a seat at their table without asking. “Blueblood, have your coworker fix us something to drink.”

Trixie fumed silently, her eyes locking on Blueblood and daring him to choose his next words carefully.

“Briar? Could you get us all a glass of tamarind juice?” He mouthed a ‘please’ at the end.

“Sure thing.”

“No alcohol? Don’t tell me you’ve gone dry!”

“Hardly,” Blueblood replied with a wry chuckle. “I simply don’t have the taste for it this early.”

“As they say in Canterlot, it’s sundown somewhere!” He accepted the drink from Trixie as if it was expected of her. “So, how have you been taking to the city?” Fairweather planted both elbows on the table, turning his wrists out to show off diamond-studded cufflinks. “It’s never dull here in Saddle Arabia, that’s for sure!”

“We’ve been well,” Blueblood replied simply. He accepted his juice and invited Trixie to sit by his side, aligning himself with her. “I’m starting to get used to the heat, and the food is growing on me.”

“Ah, of course you have! If there’s one place that knows how to cook in this blasted city it's the kitchen at the palace!” He laughed and Blueblood returned the gesture. “I heard you even went to prayer yesterday! Somepony told me that their housemaid was chittering in that brackish language of theirs about some ponies showing up at the… Temple of the Universe, was it?”

“I think it was the Temple of the Galaxy.” Trixie had already caught on to what Blueblood was doing. Play dumb. Be ignorant. Let them underestimate you. “Though it was hard to tell! Really, they ought to print these signs in Equine rather than Sarabic!”

“I agree wholeheartedly!” The duke sipped his drink, clearly missing the bitterness of liquor. “This whole place needs some better management!”

Blueblood buried a reply in his glass as he drank. Best not to speak ill of the Caliph in his own palace in such an obvious matter.

“Still, thank you so much for your invitation to the sobriquet.” He tried not to retch on the way he said it. “I think a little time among fellow ponies is just what we need.”

“Of course! I expect to see you there!” Fairweather spread a smile over the pair. “I intend to see the two of you a lot in the coming days! We’ve got a unique opportunity here in Saddle Arabia, and I for one refuse to see it squandered!” He wagged a hoof at them as he rose from his chair. “Perhaps after the Sobriquet, we can have an opportunity to talk business! I’d love for you to tour one of my factories. A chance to see the innovation at work!”

“That sounds lovely.” Trixie started to gently edge the duke towards the door. “Well, we’ve got a bit of work to do before tonight’s Sob Banquet.”

“That’s sobriquet, madam.”

“Right, right. And we’ll be in attendance, don’t you worry!”

As he headed for the door, Fairweather suddenly paused. His eyes locked on something pinned to the wall. He approached it, his wings stirring. “Blueblood? Why did you stick up my business card here? Are you that short on decor?”

“Oh, that!” Blueblood dismissed it, rubbing his mane. “I just wanted to put it somewhere I’d remember. You know how it is with paperwork. You set something down on the table and suddenly it’s buried in receipts and letters and bills!”

“Well, glad to know you care!” Fairweather chuckled and gently clapped Blueblood on the shoulder with his wing. “Ought to get yourself one of these!” He removed a leatherbound Rolodex from the pocket of his suit jacket, taking great care that the gilded Crystalline Instruments logo caught the light.

“I’ll have to ask around to find a good one.” Blueblood gave an appreciative nod toward the chintzy device. “See you tonight?”

“See you tonight! Party starts at eight, so don’t be late!” The duke laughed. “Ah, poetry! Ought to print that on the fliers! Farewell, farewell!”

Fairweather was out the door, and Trixie locked and bolted it the second he was gone. Both ponies huffed and slumped with relief.

“Sobriquet, really.” Blueblood shook his head, finally pronouncing the word as Celestia intended. “It’s a nickname! That’s what the word means! Of all the insipid, worthless drivel—”

“Right?” Trixie laughed as she pressed her back against the door. “Everypony knows that a party is a Sorbet!”

“Briar, that’s an ice cream. You're thinking of a soiree” He snorted. “And it’s not pronounced Sor-beht.”

“But it’s supposed to rhyme with sherbert!”

Blueblood rubbed his temples and sighed. “I’m going to force-feed you a dictionary tonight.”

*****

The Equestrian district looked like it was transplanted directly out of Canterlot. Palatial manors carved from white marble and slate limestone lined a lane paved with imported grey cobbles. Banners of violet and pale pink fluttered from gas-lit street lamps, which bathed the streets in an orange glow so familiar it gave Blueblood deja vu. Carefully manicured flower boxes bloomed and filled the air with floral perfume. Delicate arches of creamy brick covered the path at regular intervals, dotted with statues depicting great scenes of Equestrian history.

There was Celestia mournfully banishing her sister to the moon. Next, a statue of a unicorn, pegasus, and earthpony clasping hooves as they unified their three tribes. An abstract sculpture of Celestia sending out the first Equestrian diplomats into the wide world followed.

Then he began to see her everywhere.

Twilight Sparkle, who had defeated Nightmare Moon. Twilight Sparkle, who had imprisoned Discord in stone. Twilight Sparkle who had halted a changeling invasion. Who had saved the Crystal Empire. Who had crushed Tirek. Who had taken her rightful place alongside the sun and moon themselves in the pantheon of Equestrian royalty. Long shadows of outspread wings darkened Blueblood’s mood.

Everything is political. The refrain echoed in the recesses of his mind as he walked the streets of this new district. To force the thoughts of his replacement from his brain, he started to analyze.

The ponies here were making no attempt to assimilate to Sarab culture. All the street signs were in Equine, not a word of conversation was uttered in Sarabic, and even the architecture had been directly imported from their homeland. Why? The art and ostentation of the manors that surrounded him gave him a clue. It was a sense of superiority. He knocked on a marble pillar that they happened to pass and heard the sound echo within. Hollow. Blueblood’s eyes locked onto a bronze statue of Celestia standing placidly in a flower garden. The sprue from where it had been molded was plainly visible. Empty, false marble pillars and plaster-molded monuments. This had been made quickly and cheaply.

That’s cause it wasn’t meant to just project wealth, Blueblood realized. It needed to be done as fast as possible because it was meant to be overwhelming. The intent wasn’t just to show off patriotism, but to bury the local culture beneath it. It was stamping out all reminders that this was Saddle Arabia. To the ponies that lived here, their citizenship papers meant nothing. Equestria was wherever they settled.

As they passed a group of soldiers who sat drinking outside of a tavern, Blueblood looked over their uniforms. As he had suspected, they wore the rank and insignia of the 114th Celestial Dragoons. Fairweather and Captain’s old unit. So that’s what this was then: a place for ponies to play royalty in a land they didn’t own. A nation so tightly dependant on its dear sister that her very culture had been warped now seeing its own soil upended and remade in the graven image of foreign power.

Was Celestia aware of this? Blueblood sucked his teeth at the thought that this was all going on under her snout. A worse idea shifted into existence from the darkest depths of his subconscious. Had Celestia endorsed this? How much of Equestria’s foreign policy depended on keeping footholds like this around the world?

And what role had Blueblood played in all this?

He pushed the thought from his mind as they ascended a hill towards Fairweather’s Manor. It was festooned with the cupolas and spires of Canterlot Castle itself, a miniature mockery of the wealth and splendor Blueblood was accustomed to. He adjusted his suit jacket, fixed his crown, and drew in a deep breath.

“Ready?” Trixie nudged him, her eyes nervous.

“I feel like I’m walking into a manticore den,” Blueblood admitted.

“Glad to know I’m not the only one.”

They crossed a bridge over a small artificial creek that surrounded the property, presented their names to the guard on duty, and were admitted to the party. Both ponies shared a glance and a nod as they girded themself and shoved open the doors.

The hall they entered was lined with trophies from Fairweather’s wide-ranging travels. Mareoccan blades and Zebrabwean Spirit Masks hung on the walls, protected by glass boxes. There were flags from Equestria, Zebrica, and Saddle Arabia draped overhead, and underhoof was a red carpet so plush that Trixie felt she was sinking in it. Picture frames contained photographs of the Duke and his wife, some in uniform, some dressed casually. Fairweather grinned broadly in every picture. His wife did not.

“Such a happy couple,” Trixie commented as she stared at one of their pictures.

“What they see in each other I’ll never understand.” Blueblood shook his head lamely.

They passed from the entrance hall into a foyer that had been converted into a lounge. If the carpet in the hall had been thick underhoof, this was just overkill. The floors were layered with overlapping Sarabian rugs that must have cost a fortune. Flowery crown molding made from brilliant gold contrasted sharply with the redwood walls that still radiated the lively scent of sap. Cushions, couches, and massive ottomans furnished the space, where gaudily dressed ponies reclined with glasses of wine or expensive cocktails. A bar at the back of the room kept the drinks flowing freely. Even to Trixie’s untrained eye, she could tell the liquor must have been worth tens of thousands if not hundreds.

Beyond this little foyer was the ballroom, a massive, brilliantly lit space that shimmered with marble and crystal. Chandeliers refracted the light and sent prismatic sparkles dancing across the polished floor. A live band played from a gauze-curtained box set into a wraparound balcony, where ponies traversed even further displays of Fairweather’s culture and wealth. The entire building was redolent with the odor of freshly counted bits and crisp bills. Everywhere Blueblood looked there was designer clothing to catch the eye, designer perfume to catch the nose, and designer desserts to catch the tongue. The estate desperately thrummed with a need to be seen. A need to be noticed. A need to justify its price tag.

The pair slid into seats at the bar and ordered. A sweet and bubbly Butterscotch Flurry for Trixie and a strong, smoky Old Fashioned for Blueblood. They clinked their glasses in cheers and took a bracing sip.

“Celestia and Luna both!” A dun-colored mare with a caramel chocolate swirl of a mane practically hurled herself into the seat beside Blueblood. Her white dress unfurled around her like a lotus as she settled into place. “Prince Blueblood! What an honor!”

“It’s Indigo.” Blueblood corrected politely. “The honor is all mine, ma’am.”

“And—” She glanced past the prince at Trixie. She fumbled for a name. “Forgive me, I don’t think we’ve met.”

As if she had met Blueblood prior to this moment. Trixie snorted. “The Great and Powerful Magus Briar, at your service.”

“I’d no idea you were living in Saddle Arabia now!” The earthpony beamed, ordering an espresso martini with a gesture. “What brings you to this corner of Equestria?”

“Work, mainly. The diplomatic corps never sleeps.” He sipped his drink smoothly. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“Oh! Right! Silly me! Cinnamon Mocha, Your Highness.”

“Well, it’s wonderful to meet you, Miss Mocha.” Trixie scanned the mare’s cutie mark; a steaming mug of coffee. “Do you run a cafe here in the Equestrian District?”

Mocha turned up her snout and huffed contemptuously. “Heavens no! Imagine a mare of my stature stooping to running a cafe!”

Trixie’s ears drooped and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“No, a cafe isn’t my business, dear. Don’t be silly!” She tossed her luxuriously curled mane. “My company Cinnamocha Express manages the largest coffee export business outside of Zebrica! Why, did you know fully half the beans brewed in Canterlot are Sarabica Blends that come straight from my plantations here?”

“That’s uh… Very impressive?” Trixie scratched her cheek bashfully.

“In fact, that actually brings me to my next point.” Mocha moved the conversation along swiftly. She had practiced this before. “Since you’ve been recently instated as the new diplomat to Saddle Arabia, I was curious if you can do anything about the tariffs Equestria has been imposing on foreign coffee? I know they’ve been trying to grow domestic along the southern border, but really—”

Blueblood sipped at his drink and calmly slid from his seat, his face fixed in that spiteful rictus grin of politeness. Trixie could practically sense the bile burning in him as he took her arm and led her from the bar into the dance hall.

“Oh! Wait! My prince! I wasn’t finished! I was going to ask—” Mocha tried to pursue, but Trixie was ready. She snatched a glass of Merlot from a passing server and stepped fluidly into the earthpony’s path. The two collided with a spray of red wine, soaking Mocha’s dress and dying the pristine fabric pink.

“Oh! Celestia! I’m so sorry!” Trixie pushed down the urge to smirk. “Don’t worry, I can fix this. Let me just…”

Her horn glittered as she wove a spell. Trixie focused on the dress and released a flash of magic. As the light faded, she had indeed gotten rid of the stain. However, she had also given the dress a lovely striped pattern.

“You’ve ruined it!” Mocha snarled, clutching her outfit and seething. “Don’t you know stripes are for autumn gatherings?”

“Ah, sorry! You’re right! I can fix it!”

Another flash and the stripes had been changed to polka dots.

“There!” Trixie beamed, hooves on her hips.

“This is disgusting!” Mocha shuddered and swatted at the dress like it was covered in insects. “How dare you!”

Before she could reply, Trixie was once again whisked away by Blueblood as he swept her off into the thick throngs of ponies who watched the dance floor.

“You really do have a knack for causing trouble, don’t you?” He smirked faintly as he watched Mocha stomp off to the restrooms.

“Only when the time calls for it.” Trixie returned his grin. “Is this what every Gala is like? Sorry, every Sobriquet?”

“It’s a constant.” The prince sighed. “Everywhere I go there’s always somepony who wants to get something out of me.”

“Lands sakes! Is that Prince Blueblood I see!” A pegasus dressed in beadcraft and rawhide alighted beside the prince. “Hoo-wee, boy! I ain’t seen ya since the Lunar Masquerade eight years ago! How ya been, son? Say, you remember how I was askin’ ya then about the land rights west of Appleoosa? Out in the buffalo grounds? Yeah, I was wonderin’ if ya passed that on to Celestia like I was—”

Blueblood turned his gaze to Trixie with an “I told you so” expression etched into his mein.

Truly, Fairweather’s party had truly captured the essence of Canterlot. Blueblood felt like he was back home in all the worst ways. The gaudy displays of wealth, the holier-than-thou attitudes, the new money desperate to impress and the old money always ready to rattle off their various famous relatives. He was passed to and fro between various businesses; from mining magnates to agricultural titans, from Manehattanite Real Estate moguls to Canterlotian nobility. All of them bearing petty gripes, minor requests, and complaints of all kinds. He had perfected the art of saying no while saying yes.

“Of course, I’ll pass it along!”

“Oh, how right you are!”

“Next time I see Celestia, I’ll let her know!”

He spewed non-replies for as long as it took him to finish his drink. Once he was done, he handed the empty glass off to a suited servant and scanned the crowd for his companion.

Trixie too was noticing how cleanly Fairweather had transplanted Canterlot to Saddle Arabia. She had been out of place in the real Canterlot, and she was just as ostracized here. It wasn’t for lack of effort. She tried to insert herself into conversation, tried to engage others, but everytime she was turned down or ignored. They seemed to have a sixth sense that she was an imposter. They remained stiffly polite, yet made it immediately clear to her that she was not welcome here. She wasn’t a noble with a family lineage that stretched back to the original three tribes. She wasn’t a power player in the economy with warehouses of goods and an empire of workers. She was a traveling magician who lived in a cramped carriage.

But Trixie refused to let that dampen her spirits. She sucked it up and pressed herself into a fresh conversation between a pair of regal unicorns with silk scarves around their throats. She listened in, trying to find a natural point to push in on.

“Truthfully, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw it.” The one in red said in a hushed tone. “Really, she ought to have known better.”

“I give her credit at least, it was an audacious attempt.” The unicorn in blue replied as she polished off a glass of white wine. Her eyes drifted to Trixie as she approached and her expression lightened. “Oh, thank Celestia you’re here!”

Trixie sucked in a breath. She tried to tamp down her excitement at being included as she trotted up alongside them. Before she could open her mouth to speak, the unicorn thrust her empty glass at Trixie.

“Be a dear and fetch me another? Pinot Grigio, the Canterlot Supreme?” Her smile suddenly appeared less welcoming and more condescending. “Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll tell Fairweather to make sure you get a good tip!”

Trixie found herself standing there holding an empty wineglass as the party swarmed around her. What was she doing wrong?

“Excuse me,” Blueblood emerged from the crowd beside her, squirming his way past grasping hooves and calls for conversation. He laid a hoof on Trixie’s shoulder. “I was wondering what happened to you.”

“Nothing.” She sighed, setting the goblet down on a nearby table. “How long do we have to stay before it's polite to leave?”

“A few hours at least.”

“Then I’m going to need a much stronger drink.”

“Did something happen?” Blueblood cocked his head.

Trixie wavered. “It’s nothing.”

“That means it's not nothing.” He pressed her. “Did some pony say something?”

“No.” She exhaled slowly. “Nopony needs to say anything. They know I don’t belong.”

“You belong as much as I do,” Blueblood replied stiffly. The corners of his mouth turned in a playful grin. “Well, not exactly as much as I do. But you know what I mean. You’re here with me. You go where I go.”

“But I’m not…” She scratched idly at her shoulder as she adjusted her dress. “I’m not like you. I’m not royalty. I’m not wealthy. I’m just… Me.”

Blueblood’s ear flicked as he heard the music start to pick up. The band was launching into a new song, and ponies were starting to partner up for the next dance.

“You’re you, and that’s why you’re here with me.” Blueblood reached out to fuss with her mane with his hooves. “I wouldn’t have brought you halfway across the world with me if you were anything like the ponies at this party. You’ve seen how they act, how they treat each other. You think I’d ever want to associate myself with them?”

Once he was satisfied with her mane, he extended a hoof to her. Trixie took it without question.

“Plus, they’re jealous of you,” Blueblood added as he led her out onto the dance floor.

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just overselling it.”

“No, I’m being serious!” He chuckled softly. “They’re jealous of the fact that you’ve got access to me and they don’t.”

The music started to rise and Blueblood began to step to the rhythm.

“Plus, they’re all upset that they don’t have your looks. That dress really does suit you.”

“It’s your dress.”

“Hence why it looks so immaculate. You’d hardly know it wasn’t tailored for you.”

Trixie allowed herself a delicate blush as she let Blueblood lead in the dance. “Thanks. Really.”

“Don’t mention it. Now come, let’s really give them something to covet.”

They were swept along in a lively, wild foxtrot full of graceful sweeps and swift turns. Blueblood knew this dance well. A few years ago it had been a major craze in Canterlot. Hardly a gala passed that didn’t include it. Apparently, it had never fallen out of fashion here. Trixie however, was struggling to keep up. Her gait was unsteady and she stumbled over her own hooves as Blueblood led her in the wide circle as if it were a race.

“Slow down!” She huffed breathlessly, already feeling sweat welling across her back. “You’re going to bowl me over, damn it!”

“Then you’re gonna have to move faster!”

“I can’t! I don’t know the steps like you do!”

“I can tell, you’re stepping on my hooves again.”

“So slow down!”

Blueblood didn’t stem his pace in the slightest. If anything, he picked up speed. His eyes flashed fire as they circled again. “This is what being a diplomat is all about, Briar! Learning on the fly!”

“You’re going to—”

“Get learning!”

Trixie danced back, dodging Blueblood’s hooves and trying to avoid stomping on his with her own. Get learning, he said. As if this weren’t a dance he’d practiced a thousand times and had doting tutors to tell him exactly where to put his hooves at every step. She snorted and barely dodged another step, stumbling backward with only Blueblood’s momentum to keep her upright.

“How am I supposed to learn the dance when you keep shoving?!” Trixie hissed through clenched teeth.

Blueblood refused to relent. His lips curled into a smirk as they whirled and whipped across the dance floor. “You belong here, damn it! Now show these nouveau riche bastards that you’re better than them!”

Trixie very briefly broke eye contact with Blueblood. She stamped on his hoof to do it, but it was well worth it. Everypony was struggling just as much as she was. A pair of stallions danced together and nearly dragged each other down with the speed of the dance. A pegasus spun like a dervish and inadvertently tripped over her partner. They were all able to laugh it off. If they failed, it was in front of their peers. But for Trixie?

Every eye was a dagger. Every tongue a sharpened barb. Every smile oozed venom that itched for an outlet. If she fell, she knew everypony in the room would not be laughing with her, but at her. For her to stumble and trip on her own hooves wasn’t just a mistake. It was a sign of her place. No wealth, no family name, and no culture.

Trixie set her jaw. She wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

At first, she tried to focus on her hooves. Her eyes cast downward as she watched her every step like a paranoid hawk. It didn’t help. She stumbled, bracing herself bodily against Blueblood to hold herself up. What was she lacking? Trixie sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes.

For a moment, all she did was feel. Trixie felt the rustle of chiffon as her dress swished against her legs. She felt the slick silk of Blueblood’s suit jacket on her neck as she leaned into him. Her nostrils flared with the woody, leathery scent of his perfume. The heat of his body coursed through hers, the indistinct dampness of their sweat mingled together in a way that repulsed and attracted her in equal measure. The rhythm of Blueblood’s heart matched the rhythm of his hooves pounding the floor below, which in turn matched the rhythm of the foxtrot.

Trixie could do this.

She opened her eyes. For the first time in a long while, she felt great and powerful once more.

Blueblood met her stare and immediately sensed her change. No longer watching his hooves, she predicted his moves. The entire ballroom seemed to quake with the brisk one-two-three of his steps and her staccato ripostes resounded like gunshots in her ears. The entire ballroom seemed to spiral on the pivot point of her and now the eyes that rested on her were narrow with envy. Let them loathe her. Let them secretly wish to be her in the moment. As Blueblood lifted her and the music crescendoed, Trixie glowed with smug jubilation. Nopony else was dancing as smoothly as they were.

All except one couple.

Both she and Blueblood took notice of a fresh pair that joined them on the dance floor and matched them step for step.

Fairweather and Captain moved like they were extensions of one another. They pressed so tight against each other and mimicked each other’s steps with such mirrorlike precision that it was hard to believe they didn’t share the same flesh. Captain had shed her robotic stiffness and now moved with the sort of muscular, potent purpose that Trixie had only seen in predatory cats. Fairweather was like liquid. In spite of his age, he was as light on his feet as a sparrow and as graceful as a swan. Blueblood hadn’t believed they were a married couple with any chemistry until this very moment. You didn’t dance that perfectly with just anypony.

All eyes were on both pairs as the song soared to its zenith. Silk and chiffon flew as they hurled themselves across the dance floor with reckless abandon, daring each other to make a mistake. Yet the mistake never came. The song ended in a roar of brass and strings and the four of them stood at the center of the crowd, panting and huffing to polite applause. Trixie felt as though the scales had fallen from her eyes as she stared back at the faces of ponies who had looked down on her moments earlier. She could see the green envy plain in their expressions, the frustration behind their whispers, and the nakedness of their distaste that she stood where they ought to.

“My word, Blueblood!” Fairweather dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. “I’d no idea you could dance like that!”

“Lots of practice.” Blueblood drew in a short and ragged breath. “Plus a good partner.”

“Oh stop.” Trixie shoved him with a giggle.

“I’m so glad to see you both made it! And that you’re having fun.” The duke laughed loud enough that it reached the galleries. “Come, let's get some refreshments together!”

They made idle chitchat over finger sandwiches and cocktails. It felt every bit the part of a Canterlot Cotillion, from the food to the setting to the company. To Trixie, it was a special occasion full of flash and sparkle, and to Blueblood it was Wednesday night. Fairweather polished off his sandwich and rose from his seat, brushing any stray crumbs from his suit before gesturing to Blueblood.

“Sweetheart? Would you mind keeping Trixie entertained for a moment?” He smiled to his wife, who returned it with a stolid nod. “Thank you, dear. I want to speak with the Prince for a moment, just the two of us.”

“And why can’t my magus join us?” Blueblood raised an eyebrow, but nonetheless stood and stretched.

“Sometimes I just want to have a man-to-man chat! Nothing wrong with that, right?” Fairweather shrugged and grinned. “Besides, I’m sure the ladies will have a grand ol’ time without us weighing them down!”

As the two of them exited the room, Blueblood shared one final glance with Trixie. He could already tell he was about to be barraged with more requests for intervention. Trixie waved goodbye as the two of them vanished up a previously cordoned-off flight of stairs.

“So,” Trixie sipped her cocktail and cast her eyes towards Captain. “How is your sandwich? Do you like it?”

“Adequate.”

Trixie swallowed hard. “Would you like me to get you another?”

“No.”

Trixie sighed and swiftly gave up on the conversation. This was going to be a long night.

*****

Blueblood found himself in a small, dark paneled space somewhere on the second floor. The air within was leaden with the smell of cigarette smoke and fresh ink. Heavy drapes blocked out the window that overlooked the ballroom, stifling the music and filtering out the celebration below. The room was lit by a pair of gas lamps that sputtered and hissed, sending out grubby orange and red illumination. Blueblood was directed to a comfortable overstuffed chair to the left of a brick fireplace. Fairweather presented him with a finger of good whiskey, the sort that filled the air with woody aroma, and took one for himself as he sank into the opposite chair.

“Do you smoke?” Fairweather commented as he drew a silver-tipped cigarette from his suit pocket.

Blueblood shook his head.

“Wise.” He lit his cigarette in the flame of a nearby gas lamp. “It's a bad habit. I swore to myself when I was young that I’d never do it, but you’ve seen soldiers and their smokes.” He chuckled softly and inhaled slowly, the cherry of his cigarette put out thin, spidery wisps that smelled faintly floral to the prince’s nose. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all.” Blueblood sipped at his whiskey. “We all have our vices.”

Tension hung in the air as thick as the smoke Fairweather exhaled. Both stallions gazed at each other with a sense of dull expectation, waiting for the other to make the first move. Fairweather breathed a cloud through his nostrils and spoke up at last.

“I told you I was a Navy stallion, didn’t I?” He flicked his ear in thought.

“You did.” Blueblood nodded. Was Fairweather trying to determine how much he already knew? Erring on the side of caution, Blueblood didn’t elaborate.

“You’d think,” The duke chuckled lowly. “That I’d have been deployed to Saddle Arabia with how well I’ve acclimated to the culture. But it was Zebrica I left for first. Mareocco to be precise.”

“I’ve been once or twice. Beautiful country.”

“It's one of the most lovely places in the world. A shame that their Malik was corrupt to the core.” Fairweather sucked smoke. “My service there was in the mining sector with a bunch of other Marines. Keeping things safe from various unwanted elements.” He gestured lazily with his hoof. “Those were Celestia’s orders.”

Blueblood plastered on a smile and decided to turn on the flattery. “And I’m sure you followed them faithfully.”

“I did, for a time.” The duke stroked his chin. “See, therein lay the problem. We would sit behind makeshift walls while zebras took potshots at us day and night. Sure, we could ride out and do battle, but they’d turn tail and flee the second we opened the gate. Eventually, they’d be beyond our reach to regroup, rearm, and retrain. It was a losing strategy.” His eyes were downcast with recollection, sparkling like flint. His voice took on an acidic edge that Blueblood recognized as his own. “I can’t tell you how many times I wrote to Celestia begging her to reconsider. We were there on the ground taking bullets to protect her friend the Malik, but she stayed back in Canterlot demanding we stay put. So you know what I did?”

“Broke your orders?” Blueblood rattled the ice cubes in his drink.

“I did the right thing.” Fairweather’s wings flared as he spoke. “I gathered a group and put my training to good use. We rode into rebel territory and rooted them out, burned their supply caches, and put them to the sword.” Fairweather shifted in his seat and took a drag on his cigarette. “Celestia had us locked into an unwinnable stalemate. I took things into my own hooves and made Mareocco whole again. I did what she couldn’t do.” He exhaled slowly. “But it wasn’t enough.”

“The rebels returned then?”

“No. I realized that even though we had won the war, we hadn’t made things any better in Mareocco. The slums were still packed with zebras too poor to live anywhere else, jobs were still scarce, clean water was still a rarity…” He rattled off the countless issues with a tap of his hoof. “The problem was the root of things. The Malik was hoarding wealth and treasure in his mountaintop palace while his people starved. Sound familiar?”

Blueblood could see where he was going with this. He nodded and set aside his drink. He didn’t need to cloud his mind any further. “So what happened with the Malik?”

“He stayed in power,” Fairweather said with a grim frown. “I brought my firearm manufacturing business to Mareocco and won contracts with the army. It made good money, sure, but that wasn’t the important part. It gave zebras jobs. They had money to spend when all they had known was poverty. So we reinvested. We dug wells, we built housing for workers, we made Mareocco a better place for zebras who never dreamed of change.”

“And that’s a good thing, but I don’t—”

“It still wasn’t enough.” Fairweather sighed deeply. “Nothing we did was enough because we couldn’t fix the root of the problem.”

“The Malik.” Blueblood inclined his head.

“Exactly. Change always comes from the top down. We could fix problems as they came up, but the corruption at the heart of Mareocco always ruined things.”

They were silent for some time. Blueblood could feel the pull of the conversation. He knew where this train of thought led.

“I’m telling you all this because I think you and I are more alike than you realize.” Fairweather stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

“How do you figure?”

“Celestia cast us both out, didn’t she?” The duke cocked his head.

Blueblood blinked in confusion.

“She hasn’t cast me out.” He said firmly. A defensiveness rose in his throat that he struggled to tamp down. “She assigned me as diplomat to Saddle Arabia. Before that, I was diplomat to Kleinkrieg, and before that, I was diplomat to Yakistan. To say I was cast out is a bit of a stretch.”

“And yet,” Fairweather’s lips shifted into a sneer. “I can’t help but notice that there are four princesses with wings and only one prince without them.”

Blueblood clenched his teeth so hard he felt it in his temples. The constant throb of embryonic wings synced with his heartbeat and sent shockwaves through his entire being. He couldn’t let Fairweather know he’d struck a nerve. He sucked a breath through his nostrils and exhaled meditatively.

“Let’s face facts.” The duke steepled his hooves and leaned forward in his chair. “Celestia doesn’t like those who take matters into their own hooves. She’d have had me sit back in Mareocco and watch my comrades wither away. And now she’d rather have you playing diplomat in a barbaric backwater like Saddle Arabia than embracing your full potential at home.”

“And what would you have me do? Go home and declare myself King of All Equestria?”

“No.” Fairweather slid from his chair and drew close to Blueblood, his voice as sibilant as the sputtering gas lamps. “Blueblood, do you know what Alabaster and I were working on together?”

Blueblood tried not to recoil as the pegasus draped a wing over his shoulder. “You told me that you were pursuing mutual business interests together.”

“And that wasn’t a lie.” Fairweather grinned. “Business is just another path to harmony, isn’t it? After all, some of the first diplomatic groundwork is always trade. But we can’t have harmony here for the same reason we couldn’t have it in Mareocco, Blueblood.”

“Because the ones in power are unfit to rule,” Blueblood replied grimly.

“You’ve seen the way the Caliph treats his subjects. In your first week, you’ve seen his guards fire into a protest, arrest innocent palace servants, and put his own people before the firing squad. What more do you need to know about him? He’s a tyrant, Blueblood.” Fairweather inhaled slowly, clearly choosing his next words carefully. “And he’s a tyrant who’s dying.”

“He wasn’t well when I met him, and the assassination attempt certainly did him no favors.”

“No, Blueblood. He’s dying now.”

The prince swallowed hard. His heart thudded against his ribcage like a sledgehammer. “How long does he have?”

“A week, if he’s lucky. The nurses attending to him say he’s been on the decline. Today he didn’t get out of bed at all. His eyes are unfocused and he struggled to speak. It’s bad.” His grip on Blueblood’s shoulder tightened as he spoke. “You’ve seen the way they rule here, Blueblood. They hold on with an iron hoof and crush all dissent. Equestria has her problems, but surely you see we’re better than this?”

And so it came to this. Blueblood’s throat felt dry. “Fairweather, are you suggesting that a pony should be the new Caliph?”

“Not just a pony.” The duke’s oily smile stained Blueblood’s soul. “You. Caliph Blueblood has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Blueblood opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t find the words. What was one supposed to say to an offer like that?

Fairweather was right in part. Saddle Arabia wasn’t going to get better without a change. Equestria didn’t have the same problems that her younger sibling had. Celestia had pulled him from his pet project to give it to her lapdog. Had she sent him here because she believed in him, or because she was setting him up to fail?

The thin crown on Blueblood’s brow felt heavy. A long while ago, Celestia had seen him as her best and brightest. Then Twilight had hatched a dragon’s egg and suddenly it was much less impressive that he could draw Equestria’s borders from memory and conjugate sentences in High Gryphonic. Suddenly Auntie had a new favorite. Ever since that day, he’d become a part of the background, as consistent as the palace furniture. Somewhere deep down, Blueblood knew no wings were waiting for him in his future. But to acknowledge that was psychological suicide.

So why not make something of himself here? Why settle for being a Prince of Equestria when he could enthrone himself as Caliph of Saddle Arabia? He had spent a lifetime preparing to rule and never had the opportunity. Wouldn’t he be a better leader than Sandalwood? With a stroke of his pen, he could end slavery and set Chicory free. He could call for the soldiers to stand down and end the bloodletting in the streets. He could remake the economy of the nation, nationalize foreign interests, and heal the divide between rich and poor.

And who better to do it than Khitab Al-Shams?

But was it right? This wasn’t his country. These weren’t his people. Was it right for him to rule over them when he still didn’t know their customs? Blueblood only wanted to do right by them, but did that give him the right to take the helm of their nation? Was he to be the capstone of the Equestrian district? The ultimate victory for a group of ponies playing at royalty on foreign soil would be to secure real and tangible power. If Blueblood took the throne, would Saddle Arabia even be Saddle Arabia anymore? With the backing of the expatriate community, it would become Equestria in all but name.

“I don’t expect an answer tonight.” Fairweather’s touch jolted him from his thoughts. “But think about it. You’re already more popular than Alabaster ever was. Your little stunt at the execution has your name on everyone’s lips! You’d be a shoo-in for the Caliph’s position!”

“And you’re sure they would pick me over everyone else on the council?” Blueblood raised an eyebrow incredulously.

“My wife and I would make sure of it! You just leave it to us! We could do real good here, Blueblood. We could make Saddle Arabia a place of real harmony. It's like Celestia always says, 'It takes harmony to change the world'."

“I’ll have to think about this.” The Prince exhaled a sigh. “It’s a lot to take in all at once.”

“Take your time.” Fairweather gently patted his shoulder with a knowing smile. “We’ll check in with you in a few days to get your answer. For now, enjoy the sobriquet.”

Blueblood’s blood froze in his veins.

The duke had pronounced it correctly.