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To Chain the Sun at Midnight
Prol. - What Harmony Endures in the Burning Hearts of the Broken
Author's Note
This started off as a self-contained short for Spoopyjupi's "A Spark For Us" Twilight Sparkle Fanzine: https://heyzine.com/flip-book/343b25f1c5.html#page/1 . But I really liked it and decided to turn it into a fic. As I am intermittent at best when it comes to working on these things, who knows if it will ever amount to much, but for now I'm enjoying writing it.
Prol. - What Harmony Endures in the Burning Hearts of the Broken
Fall came late to Canterlot that year, but the lingering summer had been harsh. The oppressive heat was unkind to crops and creatures alike, and even the ageless and undying could do little to dispel the punishing rays of the sun. And so, most of those who possessed wealth or power remained inside behind their cool marble walls for months on end, safely tucked away from the discontented precariat and nature alike. The Empress of Equestria was no exception.
Ponies had begun to worry and whisper. Why did the summer linger so? Why did this heatwave not end? Was the Empress displeased with them in some way? After all, it was she who marshaled the sun and the moon across the sky. It was she who ushered in the seasons and who pulled the yoke of the world so that all things progressed through the cycles of life, death, and rebirth.
Those who were wise paid no heed to these whispers, and those who were foolish at least only voiced such thoughts far from listening ears and under the cover of darkness, but still, such rumors have a way of seeping through even the smallest cracks and spreading far and wide on the gentlest of winds.
On this day, in the cavernous throne room of the Canterlot Palace, Twilight Sparkle, Eternal and Benevolent, held court. A normally rare event, but something that was becoming more frequent as of late, much to the distress of her councilors and the aristocracy at large. But it was not she who had called the court to session this time. No, something else had brought them all together, something unusual, something that was truly rare within the confines of Equestria’s borders.
Today, they gathered to judge a murderer.
The young pegasus sat on the cold marble floor at the foot of the stairs ascending to the Empress’ dazzling throne and was neither shackled nor escorted by any guards. The curtains were pulled shut over the throne room’s vaulted windows so that the only light available–a massive crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling above the Empress and the accused–bathed the pegasus’ in a soft spotlight.
Many of those gathered thought that they had never seen a pony look so small and helpless in their lives, but they were all standing along the walls at a distance from the criminal, and so they could not see the fire in her eyes as she stared up at the Empress nor the set of her tense and defiant jaw.
In contrast to the illuminated pegasus, the Empress was cast in shadow by the curving back of her throne so that only the glint and shimmer of the lavish golden jewelry she was draped in and the glow of her dark, cyan-speckled eyes were clearly visible.
“Sundancer,” spoke the Empress, and her voice was clear and pure like the chiming of winter bells. It did not boom, nor was it filled with anger. There were no attempts at authority or intimidation in her tone, but even the ponies nearest to the door, far from the throne, could hear her clearly, as if the sound came from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
“My little pony, I am told you are a killer,” she said. “I am told you struck down one of my guards when he attempted to stop you from committing a crime. I would hear from you if this is true.”
Sundancer glared up at her Empress, at the unknowable ancient immortal being that seemed more a force of nature than a living creature, but she had ever only feared a handful of things in her whole life, and trumped-up Alicorn witches didn’t make the list.
Sundancer was not a large or powerful pony by any means. As a child she had often been taunted for her small stature, and though her light frame made flying easier, she had never been considered by any pony who met her physically intimidating. Her pale cream coat, her soft and vibrant multicolored mane, and the shimmering golden sun that was her cutie-mark all seemed inviting and kind at first glance.
She sneered at the Empress and spat on the floor before answering.
“It is true,” she said loudly, so all could hear, though her voice was smothered by the scandalized protests and condemnations that arose from those gathered when her spit hit the floor. The audacity, the foolishness, the disrespect! Anger surged in the hearts of those in the crowd, and each pony’s anger fed their neighbors so that they found themselves nearly frenzied in their calls for Sundancer to be punished.
But the Empress said nothing. She waited, looking into Sundancer’s bright and angry eyes, and when the clamoring of the crowd failed to die down, she raised a hoof for silence.
Not all who were yelling saw the gesture, as their focus was turned to Sundancer, but it did not matter. Their voices were stolen from them because the Empress willed it to be so, and the quiet that filled the throne room was louder than any noise that had come before it.
“Why?” she asked. A simple question spoken without judgment, as if she was just curious and nothing more.
“Does it matter?” Sundancer said, voice dripping with venom.
“Perhaps it does,” the Empress answered, “and perhaps it doesn’t. How am I to know if you will not tell me?”
A sudden rush of wind blew through the throne room with a force and chill that startled Sundancer and made the gathered nobility cry out in fear and alarm. The dim light penetrating the drawn curtains was snuffed out entirely, and the world outside the spotlight Sundancer was sitting in disappeared, so it seemed like only she and the Empress remained in a still and quiet void.
When the wind died down and silence fell once more, the Empress stood from her throne and stepped down from her dais. When she came into the light, it revealed a terrible beauty so great it almost hurt to look at her. Sunrises and sunsets played in her mane and her pinions, and stars shone and twinkled in her eyes and her coat. She was so laden with an abundance of golden chains set with opulent, shimmering diamonds that each step she took was followed by a soft jingle.
Despite all of her courage and anger, Sundancer felt herself shrink back from the tall entity as she sat down within the chandelier’s spotlight. But she caught herself and stood up straight, struggling to meet the Empress’ gaze head on.
“Why?” she asked again, and so near to the Empress, Sundancer felt the power of her question, tugging at her like the undercurrent of the sea, coaxing her to answer and to answer with the truth.
“I… I needed the food,” she heard herself saying, and hated how weak and small she sounded. “My daughter is sick and hungry, and the heat has destroyed most of this year’s crops… and rotted what few pastures the earth ponies have left. I’d heard there was food in the city, that if you came to Canterlot, there was plenty to go around.”
“Could you not have paid for it instead of stealing it?” Again, the Empress’ voice was even and curious and without judgment, but still, the simmering anger in Sundancer’s heart was stoked into a raging inferno by the question.
“With what money, Empress? I have nothing! None of us do. What work is there for a Pegasus when the weather no longer listens? What labor is there for anypony when the very land rebels and turns against us? I steal because I must, and when your guard grabbed me and beat me for trying to survive, for trying to feed my child, I did what I had to. If you will not defend us, if you will not care for us and feed us, then we will defend ourselves. I will not let my daughter starve!”
She realized she was shouting and felt the burning threat of tears in her eyes, but she did not care. For Willow Wind, she would do anything, go anywhere and fight whoever stood in her way, even if that somepony was the Empress of Equestria. She prayed to the sun and the moon that the Empress would not strike her down for her insolence and leave Willow an orphan, but what else could she do? She would not go meekly to a cell or the gallows.
A note rang softly in the stillness that followed her outburst, as if an instrument had struck a chord that lingered and circled the two of them. The Empress looked down at her with her deep and endless eyes, encircled by soft flames that never faltered, and Sunburst felt that if she did not stand her ground, she would quickly be swallowed by and drown in those eyes
Then the Empress parted her lips, and her words were quieter still, barely more than a whisper.
“There is a hatred that purifies the heart,” she said, and though it almost sounded as if the Empress was hesitating, the words had the quality of a song or a poem. “The anger of the better against the baser part, against the false and wicked, against the tyrant’s sword…” She trailed off and looked up over Sundancer’s head at something the pegasus was blind to see, then she sighed, and Sundancer thought that if it was possible for the endless and undying to look tired, in that moment, the Empress certainly did.
Of course, it was not within Sundancer’s power to know or understand what it was the Empress saw or thought when she looked at her, nor was the Empress fully aware and privy to the vagaries of her own mind. When Sundancer spoke, when she looked the Empress in the eyes, Twilight Sparkle felt she could almost remember something important from ages long gone by, from a time that had passed into memory and eventually myth. An age she herself could not clearly recall.
She saw flashes of orange and pink and blue, and her mind lingered on the images of butterflies and diamonds. She thought she heard the faint echo of laughter from somewhere just out of sight, and the scent of apples and hay seemed to linger in the air, teasing her nose before vanishing and leaving her wondering if it had ever really been there at all.
For the briefest of seconds, she saw above this little pony’s head a star burning brightly in a dark and callous void, and the heat it sent forth wrapped her in a comfort and care so tender it threatened to make the Empress weep. Twilight Sparkle could not remember from where she came or if she had ever had a family, but she imagined–hoped– that this was what a mother’s embrace might feel like.
To Sundancer though, all of this was hidden. She saw before her only the cold and terrifying Empress, eternal and omnipotent, and who among the laity had knowledge to comprehend the expressions of something so distantly removed from any normal and mortal pony?
“I am going to have to punish you,” the Empress said, suddenly sitting on her throne once more. The light returned to the throne room with a startling suddenness, yet all the gathered aristocrats behaved as if nothing unusual at all had just occurred, nodding to one another that what the Empress said was just and right. Sundancer, feeling as if an immense force had just been lifted from her throat, inhaled deeply and tried her best not to tremble.
“You show no remorse for your actions. In fact, you seem proud and defiant, and you have expressed a disdain for me and all that I stand for.” The gathered murmured approval, and when Sundancer looked them in the eyes, she saw a hunger there, a desire to dole out hurt that had little to do with justice and everything to do with her lowly stature and their own perceived moral authority.
She sneered at them and hissed like a wounded animal, surprising herself as much as she surprised them.
“But,” the Empress said, and the word was followed by an immediate stillness and tension. But what? Sundancer wondered, and in this, she and everypony else there was of one mind. But what?
“I was… moved,” the Empress said, and this time the hesitation in her words was unmistakable. The Empress did not hesitate. She did not change her mind or make concessions. She was absolute. Everyone knew this. The Empress was absolute.
“…moved,” she continued, “by your daughter’s plight. I would not leave her without care nor rob her of her mother if I could avoid it, which I can. Your punishment will be to serve me until the end of your days. You will tend to my every need and be near me at all times, and what wages you would have earned doing this work of your own volition will be split between the family of the dead guard and your daughter, who will take up residence here within my palace.”
Sundancer could almost hear the nobles choking on their own disbelief. Not a pony among them was still looking at her, having all turned their stunned expressions on the Empress. Sundancer could scarcely believe it herself. This wasn’t a punishment. This was salvation. For her and her daughter, at least.
As if reading her mind, the Empress eyes narrowed.
“Lest you believe this will be anything but a punishment for you, understand that you will be working from the minute I raise the sun until the moment I allow it to set, and should I have need of you at night, I will call upon you whenever I so desire. I will assign to you the most difficult and backbreaking tasks I can conceive of and will continue to do so until you shuffle off this mortal coil. For you, a lifetime may seem long, but I promise you that it is but a fleeting moment to me, and so do not think that I will fail to give you the attention a murderer deserves.”
Sundancer could do nothing but nod. If being indentured to the Empress meant Willow Wind was fed and cared for, she would do it gladly a hundred times over. Neither Sundancer nor anypony else present that day knew that the plight of Sundancer’s daughter had meant very little to the Empress. Instead, it was the colors and sensations that had flashed through her mind as she spoke to Sundancer that had captivated her so.
She could not send the young pegasus away nor condemn her to death, for if there was yet a sliver of Twilight Sparkle, Element of Magic and Princess of Friendship, left in the Empress’ heart, it was simply this: curiosity.
To Chain the Sun at Midnight
Ch. I - Here In The Halls of Power
Sundancer and her daughter Willow Wind were escorted into the Empress’ courtyard during the dark and quiet hours of the early morning, an hour or so at least before the sun would rise. She had been allowed to go home, under escort and guard, to collect her daughter in person. A small mercy that would allow her to say her goodbyes before Willow was taken from her and given over to the care of Matron Rosemary Flint.
It wasn’t something Sundancer had known beforehand, nor was it widely publicized, but the palace was home to an orphanage meant to serve the children of royal guards, aristocrats, and palace staff who had no relatives to care for or adopt them if their parents passed on. Sundancer was, of course, still alive, but no assurances had been made that she would be allowed to see Willow when and if she had any downtime.
That this was the last time she might get to spend any meaningful time with her daughter was a thought that haunted her, but she had cried herself dry on the trip out to her small village on the edge of the Everfree Forest, and now she gathered courage from the knowledge that Willow would be well cared for and fed.
One of the three guards escorting her—a surprisingly young bat pony whose scowl could not quite hide the laugh lines around her eyes—had been slightly less hostile towards her than the other two. She had told her that the matron of the orphanage was strict and uncompromising but also fair and that she always tried to raise the foals in her charge the right way. What exactly the right way was, she hadn’t said, but Sundancer chose to interpret it in the most hopeful way she could.
She had relayed this information to Willow on the way back to Canterlot, holding nothing back, and though Willow too had cried, she had been brave, offering no protest and simply nodding in agreement when Sundancer told her that this would be a good thing, that she would be fed three times a day, be well taken care of, and that she should treat Matron Flint with the same respect she afforded Sundancer.
Willow Wind was small and rather weak. Some of the smallness was a result of malnourishment, but some was genetic, and some was because of her age. She still had not received her cutie mark and was yet too young to worry about such things. The all-night trip to Canterlot was long and hard for her—they had been made to walk and were not allowed to take the train—and she spent much of it riding on Sundancer’s back, falling in and out of sleep.
During the trip, the guards shot the little one an occasional glance, but only the eyes of the less hostile bat pony ever showed anything resembling sympathy. Not for the first time did Sundancer think that she wasn’t terribly sorry about the guard who had lost his life when trying to apprehend her. It mattered little that Sundancer had never meant to kill him. She had simply kicked out in fear when he grabbed her wing in his magic to keep her from flying away.
She remembered the feel of the kick vividly, the way the bones in his face had faltered under her hoof, the sound it had made. She suspected it wasn’t something she was likely to forget anytime soon. But she told herself that, like so many of the Empress’ other guards, he likely deserved it. How many ponies had he imprisoned or hurt simply because they were homeless and starving? The thought made her steel herself to any regret she might otherwise have felt.
Despite the early hour, the courtyard was filled with a sort of hushed and hurried hum. Guards and functionaries scuttled about, but they all took special care not to step too loudly or speak above a whisper. Magically floating lanterns spaced too far apart along the walls did little to drive away the creeping dark, and Sundancer was certain the light from the stars and the moon had dimmed the moment they’d passed through the gates.
The shadows between the orange lantern pools never seemed to settle either, and if she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn they seemed to move with intent, blindly grasping their way along the cracks between the polished marble cobblestones.
The whole place reeked of shame and fear. Most of the ponies she saw kept their heads low, trying not to accidentally draw the attention of their absent mistress or anypony authorized to speak on her behalf. Only the guards stood straight and tall, though she thought their eyes seemed unusually vacant... even for guards.
Two of her three escorts broke off immediately and headed off towards a large metal door that looked out of place amongst the otherwise elegant architecture of the palace, but the bat pony guard stayed with her, stopping under one of the lanterns but saying nothing to either Sundancer or Willow.
Using one of her wings, Sundancer gently helped Willow down from her back, making sure the exhausted filly kept her balance. Her daughter’s dirty green mane hung down over her face, obscuring a pair of tired and wet eyes. For a moment, the little one said nothing, and Sundancer herself didn’t know where to begin. How did you say goodbye to your only child?
She wasn’t sure what Willow saw on her face—hesitation, maybe, or even fear—but the filly raised her chin and looked Sundancer straight in the eyes.
“I, uhm...” She swallowed and trailed off, then shook her head and started again. “I’ll be good to the matron, and I’ll be just as brave and strong as... as you are. So you don’t have to be sad. See.” Willow tried her best to smile through her dirty, tear-streaked face, and it was all Sundancer could do not to start weeping herself. Instead, she smiled back, though it was tremulous and weak.
“That’s right. You’re my big girl. Strong, just like me, and just like the roots of a real willow.”
“That is good to hear,” a severe voice interrupted, loud enough to make several nearby ponies flinch and hurry on their way, though the grim-looking unicorn had only spoken at just above a normal conversational tone. “This is a place where the strong tend to do well.”
Matron Rosemary Flint looked more like flint and less like rosemary. She was uncommonly tall for a unicorn, with a slate gray coat and a pale mane that looked like it might once have been a rich blonde color. Said mane was worn in a tight bun, and she was dressed in a dark purple frock cut in such a way as to make it clear she was in uniform.
She turned her electric blue eyes on Sundancer, looking her up and down, blatantly evaluating her and passing some secret judgment. Her expression did not change in any way, so Sundancer could not tell if she had been found wanting or not. The matron then turned her attention to Willow.
“I presume you must be Willow Wind.” It was not a question, and so she did not wait for a response. “Judging by your wing growth and stature, I would guess you’re only six or seven, but I’ve been told you’re nine. That is a pity, but one must bear the lot in life that the universe has seen fit to grant. It will take some time to reverse the effects of starvation, and I fear you may never grow as much as you should have.”
Sundancer had the distinct impression that the matron was the kind of pony who would expect a boulder to move out of her way if she came across one on her path. If Matron Flint said that she would make Willow healthy, then Sundancer felt compelled to believe her.
“You will care for her?” Sundancer found herself asking.
“Of course,” Matron Flint said, scrunching her nose and huffing dismissively. “The Empress decreed it, and so it will be done. The novitiate sisters of the orphanage will attend to young Willow under my guidance and direction.”
“Are you... are you taking her now?” Sundancer tried not to let the fear she felt make itself heard in her voice, but the reality was that her child was being taken from her to be raised amongst the ponies she despised the most in all Equestria, and she could do nothing about it and had no guarantees she’d get to see or interact with Willow ever again.
“I am,” Matron Flint said, nodding, and whether it was real or simply wishful thinking, Sundancer thought the mare’s eyes seemed to soften just a little when she said it. “I will give you some privacy to say your goodbyes.”
The unicorn turned her back on Sundancer and Willow and walked a few paces away. Not so far she couldn’t still hear them, but far enough to create the illusion of privacy. She grimaced and scrunched her nose once more when the bat pony guard failed to do the same.
“Moss,” she said, “if you would come join me over here.”
The bat pony guard—Moss, apparently—shot Sundancer and Willow an uncertain glance before nodding and walking over to the matron, who leaned in and whispered something that caused Moss to hunch her shoulders and hang her ears.
Sundancer put it from her mind and turned her attention back to Willow. Oh, how the child tried to stand tall and look brave. She was so small and weak, but her eyes burned with determination, and though her knees shook, her mouth was set against the anguish of farewell.
Sundancer knelt and wrapped her child in her forelegs, hugging her tight to her chest. Willow held on just as tightly.
“Your mommy loves you,” she whispered, her tears falling into Willow’s tangled mane. “I will always love you. Remember that, even when I’m not around.”
“Maybe... maybe I’ll get you see you in the palace sometimes?” Willow whimpered, the question coming out as a small and desperate plea.
“Yeah,” Sundancer answered, pulling back from her daughter so she could see her face. “I’m sure you’re right.” She tried to keep smiling for Willow to show that everything would be alright, but she feared it was hardly convincing.
“Will the Empress be... uhm, will she be nice to you?”
Sundancer wasn’t sure how to answer that. She doubted the Empress would be kind to her, just as much as she doubted the Empress would be cruel to her. Very likely, the Empress would treat her the same way she treated everypony else, like furniture that could walk and talk.
“Probably not,” she said, mustering a chuckle despite it all. She tried never to lie to Willow, even when it was unpleasant. “She’ll probably forget I’m even there, but don’t you worry about that, Willow. I don’t want you to be thinking about me all the time. They’re going to let you attend school, so I want you to focus on that. Take care of yourself and focus on your classes, okay? Can you promise me you’ll do that?”
Willow nodded. “I promise.”
A cleared throat announced the return of Matron Flint.
“I am afraid the time has come for me to take young Willow away. Do you have anything else you wish to say to your daughter? If so, now is the time.”
Sundancer shook her head and kissed the top of Willow’s head. “No. I’ve said what I need.”
“Good. Come along, Willow. There is much to do, and the day approaches rapidly. I abhor a laggard.”
Willow hesitated, looking up at Sundancer, then hugged her one more time as tightly as her little legs could before turning and following Matron Flint.
Ignoring Moss, who was signaling for Sundancer to follow her, she stared after her daughter until she disappeared out of sight around a corner.
“May the Sun, the Moon, and all the Stars watch over you,” she whispered, drawing the shape of the sun on her chest.
Moss hissed and slapped Sundancer’s hoof to the ground.
“Are you crazy? You’re lucky I’m the only one who saw that.”
“Yeah,” Sundancer answered, voice flat and empty. “Lucky me.”
-
Twilight Sparkle stared at the tattered old copy of The Empress: Element of Magic - Vol. 873 . It was the earliest extant volume of this particular publication in the world as far as she was aware, and she had spent a long time looking. Her life was a thread that stretched back in time so far even she couldn’t see where it had started, and this dingy old annual was the end of that thread... or the beginning, depending on how you looked at it.
She’d never bothered putting it on display or setting it in a protective glass case or any nonsense like that. Unbreakable preservation spells protected each and every book in her prodigious personal library, and so eight seventy-three, as she’d taken to calling it, usually sat on her bookshelf, indistinguishable from any of the other books there, starting the very long set of shelves containing the rest of the annual chronicling of her own life.
She often wondered why it was in such a poor condition or why it was the earliest book in her collection. The spell to preserve a book was simple, and she could not imagine she’d been Empress already for eight hundred and seventy-three years before learning it or that she’d decided not to retroactively apply it to the rest of her collection if that had indeed been the case.
So what had happened to all the books she had owned before eight seventy-three?
Not that she was even certain the book’s numbering was an accurate account of how long she’d reigned in the first place. The interior title page said it was part of an annual publication, but she could not be certain the series actually began its run upon her ascent to the throne, nor did the content of the book ever clarify whether the series had indeed been published uninterrupted every year of her rule.
The department of the imperial bureaucracy currently tasked with distributing new volumes of The Empress had even scarcer records than Twilight did, only able to trace their own history back a couple of thousand years, and not a small amount of them were certain that the Empress was eternal. Fools and sycophants, the lot of them.
She opened the book and let her eyes linger on the gentle cursive signature on the interior of the cover that spelled out Twilight Sparkle. She had a stamp for that now. It was more uniform that way. There had been something else written under the signature at some point, but it had been scribbled out hastily and with enough force to tear the paper. To repair it with magic, she would have to remove the preservation spell, but she feared doing so would make the truly ancient book crumble to dust.
And so this was all she had. Aside from a few stone carvings and statues, it was the oldest record of her existence.
“Empress?” A soft and musical voice said. “Do you wish that I should return at some later time?”
Her name was Elderflower though she was still very young, which Twilight found amusing. She was also Twilight’s seamstress, dressmaker, and a well-trained courtesan, something the Empress took occasional advantage of. That was the purpose she’d been summoned for this particular night, though Twilight had almost forgotten she was even there. It happened sometimes. Her thoughts would run away with her, and the world around her fell away.
It was difficult to stay grounded when the only thing not terrifyingly transient was herself.
“Stay,” she said, and though she spoke quietly, the sound filled the entire room with its presence, creeping into every nook and cranny. Others had called it eerie when they thought they were safe from her attention. If she hadn’t always been as she was now, perhaps her voice had once been able to convey something like warmth, kindness, or even love. Now, however... It wasn’t a harsh or hateful voice, nor was it icy and cold. It simply was, as the Empress herself simply was, fixed and indifferent.
She floated the book back to its empty slot on her bookshelf and turned to face her bed. Elderflower lay on top of the covers, dressed in a diaphanous white gown hemmed with large, shimmering pearls. She had a coat to match the dress, a white so brilliant it too possessed the rainbow qualities of nacre, and her long purple mane was tied up in an intricate updo that the Empress knew would collapse into a natural glossy curtain with the pull of just a single golden hairpin.
Everypony knew the Empress’ favorite colors were purple and white, and everypony knew the Empress preferred mares. And so, of course, everypony knew exactly why Elderflower was her favorite. It was Twilight’s opinion that everypony tended to be too certain of the things they thought they knew.
Elderflower smiled at the Empress through heavily lidded eyes. It was an inviting and seductive smile, but it was an act. Well, at the very least, it was a trained expression that Elderflower had used on countless occasions with almost all of her clients. Twilight wondered briefly what a normal pony felt when they saw that expression, when they touched Elderflower's coat or kissed her lips. Surely something... more?
She raised a hoof and waived Elderflower off. “Not tonight.”
The young unicorn’s eyebrows furrowed over her large green eyes, a brief moment of candid surprise, but she bowed her head to acknowledge the command.
“Music,” Twilight said, gesturing towards a large golden harp in the corner of her room near an opulent crystal water fountain.
“As you wish, my Empress.”
Elderflower maneuvered off the bed with incredible grace, and as she passed by Twilight, she flicked her tail so it lay out across the Empress’ chest and shoulder before sliding off slowly. It was a pleasant sensation, and Elderflower giggled when Twilight raised an eyebrow at her. The sound of Elderflower’s giggle was pleasant as well.
“Does the Empress have any requests?” she asked, seating herself by the harp.
An unformed melody teased at the edges of Twilight’s mind. A song from eons past, no doubt, one that she would never remember but that would taunt her until the end of time. Just like all the rest of them. She realized she was in a mood tonight, and she wished to stew in it.
“Something slow,” she said, climbing onto her bed and lying on her stomach so she could face Elderflower. “Something dreary.”
It was Elderflower’s turn to raise her eyebrow. She looked at the harp, then back at the Empress, then back at the harp.
“Empress, this is a harp. I don’t think it can do dreary.”
Twilight felt her jaw tighten and recognized the slight tugging sensation just under her brows that always precipitated a flaring of the flames around her eyes. It was simple to relax her jaw and slow her breath, preventing the flare-up, but Elderflower—always quick to read and react to the moods and expressions of her clients—schooled her face to stillness and nodded meekly. Twilight wasn’t fond of her subjects being clever with her, even ponies with as much leeway as her favored consort. Elderflower wasn’t an idiot and well knew this, but she had an unfortunate tendency to push her boundaries.
“Forgive me, Empress.”
“Play,” was all Twilight answered, and the unicorn did as instructed, plucking a quiet and slow tune that had something of the darkness of winter in it, though she had to admit it was more gentle than it was dreary. After a pair of measures, Elderflower added her voice to the music of the harp, singing softly in an old, dead language that only Twilight could recognize. Well, Twilight and one particularly eccentric linguist she happened to know.
Twilight was the one who had taught Elderflower, specifically so she could sing songs and read Twilight stories from some of the older books in her library. Though it was true that Elderflower had taken to the language with surprising speed, it hadn’t come as a surprise to the Empress. She knew she was an excellent teacher, at least when the students weren’t too frightened to actually pay attention.
For some time, the Empress lay on her bed, listening to the velvet voice of Elderflower and the aching notes strummed forth from her harp. Though she was incapable of true sleep, a weighty, warm darkness soon embraced her, clouding her thoughts and melting the cold ire that made residence in her chest at all other times, an intrinsic part of her that only receded in stolen moments such as this.
A tiny brass owl—a clockwork figure next to the inkpot on her personal desk—came alive and hooted twice, disrupting her reverie. Somepony was approaching her quarters, and she would need to be alert for that, so she shook off the immaterial trappings that swaddled her and climbed out of the bed, taking a breath and stretching her back and then her great dark wings.
Elderflower, hearing the owl as well, let her voice trail off but kept playing the harp at a slightly lower volume. Background music, unintrusive and easily forgotten, but still present to establish a mood, a sense of effortless confidence and power. She really was very good at her job. Twilight let the flames run wild around her eyes and prepared to receive her new guest.
-
Sundancer followed Moss through the winding palace halls. Their baroque majesty, veiled in shadows and flickering orange light, passed her by unnoticed. All she saw was Moss ahead of her, and even that seemed ethereal as if they walked through the crevices and in-between places of an afterlife that had somehow claimed her still-living body.
Though living was perhaps a strong word, considering the gaping agonizing wound she felt where her heart should be. Her thoughts lingered with Willow, as they would every day she spent in this forsaken palace, and she found herself incapable of doing anything but worry for her daughter’s safety and well-being.
“Is your daughter really nine?”
The question caught her off guard and felt somehow like a violation in these otherwise silent halls.
“What?” she said, unsure she had heard correctly. Moss hadn’t stopped nor turned her head towards Sundancer, so when she spoke, her voice echoed away from Sundancer and down the hall, though it was a quiet echo, returned to her as almost a whisper.
“Matron Flint said your daughter is nine, but she looks... well, not nine.”
Sundancer sneered and shook her head. “It’s crazy what happens when you don’t have enough food to eat.” She let her words drip with venom, having no patience for those raised with silver spoons in their mouths. Moss’ relative kindness was starting to seem more a case of buffoonery than actual compassion.
For a second or two, Sundancer thought Moss would leave it at that, but then the guard spoke up again, still in the same quiet voice.
“This was my first time outside of Canterlot. I was raised here. I trained in the palace and have lived here since. I didn’t know villages could be so small... or dirty.”
Sundancer felt a growl manifest in her throat, but she forced it down.
“You’re a fool,” she said instead, to herself as much as Moss. The guard’s ears wilted somewhat, but she did not respond, and they wandered in silence until they reached a massive marble staircase veined through with gold and amethyst. Moss stopped before the lush plum-colored stair carpet that ran up the length of steps as they curved up and out of sight into what Sundancer assumed was the central tower of the palace.
“I was told not to follow you up,” Moss said, turning to look at Sundancer, though she seemed hesitant and quite unsure. “It’s, uhm, it’s going to ask you for a password, but it’s different for everyone, so I can’t tell you what it is. The Captain said you’d be fine though.”
Without explaining any further or waiting for Sundancer to ask any questions, Moss took flight down the hallway they’d come from and was quickly out of sight.
Alone for the first time in days, she tried to ignore how small she felt as she turned to the giant stairs. They were clearly built for someone much larger than her, but fortunately, she had wings and so could bypass the laborious climb. Or so she thought.
No sooner had she flapped her wings and passed over the first step than did her wings clamp tight against her sides and cause her to crash violently face first into the stairs. She thought she was very lucky to land on the runner, which helped soften the fall somewhat, though the warm, wet sensation under her smarting nose made it clear she was bleeding.
The air around her seemed to shiver, and when she gingerly climbed to her hooves, she thought she heard a soft jingle like tiny bells. A spell, no doubt, to prevent flight, but why it was there, she hadn’t a clue. With a deep breath, she resigned herself to climb.
The walls of the stairwell were engraved with strange painted figures engaged in stranger activities. One carving was of a group of ponies with minotaur horns cavorting under a fiery red sun. The longer she looked at it, the more she was certain she could hear their gleeful manic cries and see their bodies undulate as they danced. Another carving was of a dark alicorn with moons for eyes. Gold seemed to run like tears from her eyes as she crushed a heart between her hooves, and—though she didn’t know how—Sundancer was certain the heart belonged to the alicorn.
She saw a giant snake swallowing a herd of screaming earth ponies, an alicorn foal in her crib strangling a swan with her hooves while surrounded by robed gargoyles, and a unicorn weeping as a hundred books burned around her. There were dragons, griffons, and changelings all engaged in confusing but terrible acts, yet none of the carvings were of the Empress, none but the very last.
At the top of the stairwell, a massive carving covered the entire wall and depicted the Empress, haloed and surrounded by rays of light. She stood over the bleeding body of a monstrous serpentine creature, holding in her magic an intricate spear that pierced the creature's chest. Hundreds of small butterflies sprang forth from the wound, each one set like a shimmering gem in the wall.
Once again, the longer she looked at the carving, the more it seemed to move, the Empress’ mane catching in the wind, the butterflies flapping their tiny wings, and the serpent’s goat-like face twisting in agony and despair. For a moment, she thought the same look of despair was mirrored on the Empress’ face, but it quickly disappeared, replaced with the same disinterested expression Sundancer had seen during her trial.
She stepped out of the stairwell into a new hallway, but when she turned her head to catch one last glimpse of the carvings, she froze in her tracks. The walls were completely smooth, any trace of the carvings having vanished into thin air. It seemed that if Sundancer were to make a new life for herself within these walls, she would need to acclimatize quickly to the strange and unpredictable vagaries of magic.
“And the sooner, the better,” she muttered to herself.
The opulent windowless hallway she found herself in was smaller than the cavernous vaulted monstrosities that crisscrossed the public sections of the palace—smaller and unmistakably older. Veined marble had been replaced with dark polished wood, and where before there had been stained glass windows and gargantuan stone effigies, there were now shelves and pedestals covered in books, oddities, and antiques, all of which exuded an aura of forbidden knowledge and ancient wealth.
Despite her feelings towards the Empress and everything she stood for, Sundancer couldn’t help but be impressed... and curious. So many strange-looking devices, the purpose of which she was sure she would never guess in a million years. Though some were familiar, such as the clocks, compasses, and astrolabes that were strewn about the shelves seemingly at random.
She noticed several frames hanging on the wall, all of them covered in tasseled miniature curtains to hide the paintings within, though she thought the raised paisley pattern on the fabric was beautiful enough on its own. The soft velvet runner beneath her hooves swallowed the sound of her steps, and the silence was deafening, interrupted only by the steady tick-tock of the various clocks and Sundancer’s surprisingly steady breathing.
The doors at the end of the hallway were made of the same dark wood as the rest of the halfway and looked sturdy more than anything else. She’d expected gold filigree and intricately sculpted door handles, maybe a decorative knocker. Not this level of practical simplicity. On a pedestal to the left of the doors, encased in a bell-shaped glass cloche, lay a gold-plated skull.
It was a pony skull, no bigger than her own head, and she was quite certain it was real. As she approached, two small flames sprang to life within its eye-sockets, and a soft chime rang out through the hallway. No doubt this was what Moss had been talking about, but it felt unnecessarily grim to Sundancer.
“Who approaches?” the skull asked in a surprisingly soft voice.
Sundancer matched the skull's quiet tone and introduced herself.
“That is an unusual name. Your parents must have been either very brave or very foolish.”
“Not really either,” she replied. “They were just regular ponies trying to make the best of a raw deal.”
“Not you, though? Regular ponies don’t often kill guardsmen, nor do they end up indentured to the Great Mistress.”
“Yeah, well, like I said. A raw deal. Are you going to let me in?”
“Unfortunately, no. The Great Mistress likes her games, so I am bound to require a password from any who wishes to pass.”
“How am I supposed to know a password that’s different for everyone when no pony gave me mine?”
“That’s not how this works,” the skull said. “How well do you know your Carangiformes?”
“What?”
“Carangiformes, in particular the ray-finned fish. Do not fret. Correctly answer the question I ask at the end of this story I’m going to tell you, and I’ll grant you access.”
“Sure,” Sundancer said, though she felt nothing of the sort. Annoyed was more apt. She had been forced here against her will and now had to prove something or guess some riddle correctly just for the privilege of gaining access to her own punishment.
“One day,” the skull said, “a suckerfish arose from the dark and saw the vessel of a great griffon fisherman who had in prior days caught much of the suckerfish’s kin. Though it was perhaps foolish, he grabbed hold of its hull and struggled with all his might to delay its journey home, for he knew a storm drew near, and he wished for the winds and the waves to batter the vessel and cast the griffon into the depths.
“Despite his small size compared to the boat, he was successful in his endeavor. The wind and the lightning struck down the vessel and tossed not just the griffon but also his two sons—who had journeyed out with him—into the sea, and the suckerfish watched as all three of them drowned.
“What did the suckerfish feel in his heart as he watched the griffon and his sons perish?”
Sundancer sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her hoof.
“That was an awful lot of work for a really bad pun.”
“Please answer the question.”
“Remorse,” she answered, unable to keep the frustration from her voice. “The remora felt remorse. But I don’t, so I’ll thank you to keep your passive-aggressive insinuations to yourself.”
The skull was just a skull, but Sundancer was certain she saw its dead grin deepen.
“You’re not an idiot, at least, though I should hardly be surprised. The Great Mistress tends not to attract fools into her orbit.”
Before Sundancer could respond, the light in the skull’s eye sockets flickered and died, followed by a soft click from the doors, signaling they were now unlocked. This was it, she thought to herself, the beginning of the torment that would constitute the rest of her life.
“For Willow,” she whispered, trying to bear her trepidation with grace. Of this, she was certain; for Willow, she could endure anything.
To Chain the Sun at Midnight
Ch. II - Approach with Malicious Intent
When Sundancer opened the doors to the Empress bedroom, she was met by a blast of hot and humid air, as if she’d just stepped into a bath house. The atmosphere and the overwhelming scent of frankincense and bergamot that permeated the room made her feel immediately dizzy, though the pale mare playing a harp in the corner of the room seemed entirely unfazed.
The harpist was dressed in a draped and loose-fitting gown, but the Empress, who lounged on a chaise by the roaring fireplace, was dressed in nothing but jewelry. Though to say it was ‘nothing but’ was a disservice to the sheer amount of gold that adorned her body. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets, and more—many of which were encrusted with gemstones or connected via golden chains—hung off her in such quantities she looked more like a gilded figurine than a real pony.
A tall and enormously powerful figurine, Sundancer thought, reminding herself that whatever otherworldly beauty she may possess, the Empress was, in fact, a tyrannical despot and not a piece of art. She took a cautious step into the room, the doors closing behind her on their own.
Unlike during her trial, when the Empress’ mane had seemed to float, looking almost alive with its dancing hues and constellations, it now hung straight from her head, sheer bangs obscuring flame-circled eyes like the scrim of a shadow play. And just like a shadow puppet, those eyes seemed to Sundancer to contain an endless wealth of malice and secrets.
“Kneel.”
The Empress spoke the word softly, like a gentle request whispered into a lover’s ear, but as soon as the sound left her lips, the air around Sundancer began to shiver, and a great power pressed down on her, forcing her to her knees. The indignation bristled, and she tried her best to push back, to stand up and look the Empress’ in the eyes. But no matter how much Sundancer strained against the unseen weight, she could not overcome it. Her knees began to burn, and her neck grew sore to the point that she began to cry.
The harpist played on, and for several agonizing minutes, the Empress said nothing until, eventually, Sundancer’s strength failed her. She felt her body grow slack, giving in to the Empress’ indomitable will, and the tears—as much from the pain as from embarrassed frustration—continued to fall.
“Good,” the Empress said. “Next time, you will kneel by choice, or I’ll be forced to make you, as I did just now. I will not be as gentle.”
The pressure released, and Sundancer did her best to stand back up on her trembling legs. The Empress, appearing as unconcerned as ever, materialized a gold and diamond-encrusted hookah as if from thin air and levitated a glowing coal from the fireplace onto the bowl, taking a long, deep breath through the amethyst-tipped hose. When she exhaled, the thick smoke sparkled and swirled as if enchanted.
“Do you enjoy music?” the Empress asked. She nodded towards the harpist. “This is Elderflower. Along with her many other skills, she is a most talented singer and musician. I suspect that, aside from performing menial labor, you do not bring nearly as much to the table. Though it would please me to be wrong.”
Sundancer took a deep breath, unclenching her jaw. Her eyes still stung, but at least the tears were drying up. The Empress was right. Sundancer was not particularly well-read, nor did she have any practice with the arts or the sciences. Her parents were farmers, a craft they had passed down to her. She had some talent with the weather, but practice had been hard to come by, seeing as it was illegal for pegasi to manipulate the weather without a permit from the Empress’ Vicar of the Winds.
“I’m a farmer... Your Majesty. I can grow crops. I have some knowledge of weather and can work metal and wood passably. Nothing refined. How to repair a broken plow or build a shed. That kind of thing.”
The Empress looked her over and nodded. “As I feared. You will be taught the things you’ll need to know, and you will learn quickly, lest you wish to be punished. It’s my intention that you partially serve your sentence by assisting my lady’s maid. This job will require you not only to clean, cook, and care for my person but also to assist the both of us in more specialized tasks.”
Sundancer thought back to what the Empress had said about assigning her the most difficult and backbreaking labor, and this seemed like a soft departure from that. She kept her thoughts to herself in case she was proven wrong or gave the Empress any ideas.
“Approach me,” the Empress said, and though Sundancer hesitated for just a moment, her lesson in humility was still fresh in her mind and joints. She stepped closer to the alicorn, trying not to let the Empress’ arcane countenance frighten her and also trying not to cough as the smoke from the hookah enveloped her. It tasted sweet and tingled on her tongue and in her nose.
The Empress levitated a brush over. Unlike everything else in the room, which was gilded with gold or made of dark wood so polished Sundancer could use it as a mirror, the brush was plain. She knew enough to appreciate the craftsmanship, but it lacked polish or flourish and was very old, clearly worn, and having had its bristles replaced many times.
“Take this,” she said, placing the brush in Sundancer’s outstretched wing. “Rest.”
The second was a command for Elderflower, who ceased playing and walked over to the two of them, sitting down with her back to Sundancer and facing the Empress. Without music, the atmosphere in the room felt thick and hostile.
“You will brush Elderflower’s hair. One hundred strokes, and I will... correct your mistakes as you go.”
Sundancer stared down at the brush, flabbergasted. She had expected something like scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush or hauling ingredients to and from the kitchen. Not whatever this was. Elderflower seemed entirely unbothered, but Sundancer’s hooves and wings were not accustomed to delicate things, and she had seldom had occasion to apply a light touch.
The Empress’ face was a study in marble, expressionless and cold, so Sundancer kept her eyes firmly locked on Elderflower’s glossy mane, fighting a growing sense of dread and trying not to think too hard about what she was doing. She had brushed Willow’s hair hundreds of times before, though it was often a quick exercise born of necessity more than a desire for beauty. Matted hair was a fertile breeding ground for lice.
The bristles dug awkwardly into the musician’s purple hair, and though she tried her best to be gentle, to pull down carefully while draping the mane over her other hoof for support, the brush snagged ever so briefly on the first down stroke. Elderflower gasped softly. Certainly, it was an involuntary response and would have been barely perceptible if not for the deafening silence in the Empress’ bed chamber.
A crack like thunder cut through the air as something invisible struck Sundancer on the side of the head with enough force to slam her limp body into the floor, her skull bouncing off the rug like a rubber ball. She had barely enough awareness to notice Elderflower crying out as her head was yanked backward by the brush and that the wetness she felt around her ear was blood.
The last thing she saw was the Empress’ bored, unconcerned eyes. Then, the world disappeared, swallowed by darkness and pain.
-
She awoke in comfort. Groggy, for sure, and uncertain of where she was. But there was no pain, and when she raised a hoof to check the side of her head, there was no wound, just a mild soreness like an old bruise. She was sure the Empress’ blow had left her bleeding profusely.
“She is a very talented healer,” said a voice in the dark, followed by a soft clicking sound as a wall-mounted oil lamp flickered to life. Sundancer sat up in the bed she’d been lying in. It was small and plain, but the mattress was soft, and all the fabric looked to be of a much higher quality than anything she had ever owned herself.
The room she found herself in wasn’t particularly large. Aside from the bed, there was a desk with some writing tools, a large chest—the kind used for clothing and personal items—and a bookshelf with a dozen or so well-kept volumes. They seemed to be mostly dictionaries, history tomes, and a few educational textbooks.
She also noticed with some surprise that the walls, painted white, had beautifully gilded base panels and that the intricately patterned parquet floor was covered in well-woven, multi-colored rugs. So, this was not a dungeon but rather the living quarters of a well-to-do servant.
By the door, on a cushioned white chair, sat a... pony? Sundancer wasn’t sure. Whoever she was, she looked like an unusually tall and slender earth pony, but there was something altogether off-putting about her. She had a dreamy look on her face—as if she wasn’t quite awake—and she was smiling in a way that Sundancer would have described as kind on anypony else, but that currently sent a shiver up her spine.
Like Elderflower had been, this mare was dressed in a diaphanous white gown that seemed in some ways lighter than the air around it, and though she too was adorned in pearls—they hung around her neck, from her ears, and from a rose-gold chain encircling the top of her head—, she had also woven tiny crystal flowers into her long flaxen mane.
Her coat was pale. Not white like Elderflowers, but rather a clean, tannish gray color, like morning fog or the clouds over a rising sun, and her heavily lidded eyes followed suit. She thought they might be blue, but if so, it was such a light shade they might as well have been gray. It made the mare look almost blind. Altogether, she unsettled Sundancer, and she briefly imagined this must be what a ghost would look like.
“Hi...” Sundancer heard herself say awkwardly. The mare by the door giggled, and once again, the sound should have been soothing, the sort of absentminded giggle a silly girl at a midsummer dance might have made at a particularly handsome colt. Instead, it set her teeth on edge. She wanted very much for the strange mare to leave.
“Hi, Sundancer,” the mare said, her voice slow and soft. “I’m Gossamer, the lady’s maid to Mistress Twilight.”
Sundancer nodded. That made sense, though Gossamer’s casual use of the Empress’ first name only increased the unpleasant and esoteric nature of her presence.
She opened her mouth to apologize for taking up space in Gossamer’s room and using her bed, but before she could speak, a whisper seemed to slither across the walls of the room, stalking through the air and burrowing into her ears as if from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
Shhhh , it said. Be still. Sundancer swallowed hard and tried to suppress the shiver of fear that spread through her shoulders and forelegs.
“Sundancer,” Gossamer said, chewing the name over, though clearly speaking only to herself. “What a peculiar name. It’s... a dangerous name.” She giggled again, and though Sundancer couldn’t have said why, she was overcome by a powerful urge to empty her stomach. She also realized she’d broken out in a cold sweat.
“This room is for you,” Gossamer said as if having read Sundancer’s mind. “It’s very kind of her to put you here, so near to her and in such comfortable accommodations. But tsk tsk , you mustn’t anger her so when you’ve only just—” She stopped speaking, tilting her head as if she’d heard a sound, then yawned before finishing. “...arrived.”
Gossamer stood from her chair, and even that seemed not quite real. Each tiny movement was precise and fluid, like water flowing from one place to another. She opened the door and turned her head to Sundancer.
“It’s morning now, but the Mistress has given you the day to rest and recover. Be a good girl, won’t you?”
It wasn’t until she stepped out and closed the door behind her that the unmoored whisper returned, clinging to the air and the walls like grease to a skillet.
Or else .
Sundancer leapt from her bed and rushed to the door, slamming it open and looking up and down the narrow corridor outside. It curved away in both directions, so she could only see a few yards either way. Gossamer was gone, but in an alcove directly across from the door stood a guard. It was the bat pony, Moss.
She looked displeased to see Sundancer up and about.
“Ah,” she said, and Sundancer was certain she’d never heard a more unsure guard. “You’re supposed to be resting. The captain told me you... He said you had an accident.”
Sundancer sneered at Moss. “I’m sure you know it wasn’t an accident. Where did Gossamer go?”
Moss paled at the mention of the lady’s maid and shook her head. “I can’t tell you. Besides,” she repeated, “you should be resting.”
“Why? I just need to know which direction she went.”
Moss sighed and shook her head again.
“Look, I can’t tell you because I don’t know. Miss Gossamer isn’t... she’s not like you and me. It’s hard for most of us to look at her directly, and she kind of folds away out of sight when she’s walking away from you. It messes with your memory. I know she was here, and now she isn’t. That’s it.”
Sundancer chewed on her lip for a moment, thinking, then nodded her head. “So I’m not going crazy, at least. That’s good. I was worried my accident was making me see and hear things.”
The mention of the violence perpetrated against her made Moss look even more uncomfortable, which Sundancer hadn’t thought possible. She sighed and took a moment to collect herself, closing the door behind her and fully stepping into the hallway.
This was her room, which was a surprise in and of itself. She hadn’t expected such fine accommodations, nor had she expected the freedom to come and go, having fully expected to be locked up when not actively working. She’d been told to rest but, aside from that, had been given no further instructions or information.
“Are you under orders to keep me here?” she asked.
“No,” Moss said, “just to stay near you. I’m supposed to make sure you’re safe.” She looked around Sundancer at the closed door and sighed. “You really should stay here and rest, though... please.”
“Can you take me to Willow?” Sundancer asked and felt her heart drop when Moss shook her head.
“You’re not supposed to see her for at least a week, according to the Matron. She said she wants Willow to get used to being away from you. You can see her on Saint Meadow’s Eve, six days from now. All the children in the 7th Ward will be visiting the Chapel of Kindness at the east end of the Palace Grounds. You can see her then.”
Sundancer sat down and took a deep breath. The Matron was right. It would be in Willow’s best interest to get used to her absence, and rushing to her every moment she had free, with no guarantee she’d be able to continue to do so, would hardly help.
She looked up at Moss with a furrowed brow.
“Could you show me the layout of the palace so I can get my bearings?”
Moss’ dark green eyes nervously darted this way and that, and it wasn’t until Sundancer pointed out that she would go exploring regardless that the guard reluctantly agreed.
As it turned out, the quarters set aside for the more important servants and the Empress’ various functionaries took up the entire north section of the palace. Sundancer shared a hallway with three of the palace chefs, the head groundskeeper, the grown son of the Keeper of the Seals, a handful of officers, and surprisingly, because she had not been aware there even was such a thing, the Court Jester.
Imagining the Empress enjoying the buffoonery of a clown was like trying to imagine a rock smiling or a tree dancing. Possible, but fundamentally, a fantasy.
This was all revealed to her by Moss, as the shared corridor and commons her room connected to were empty. The only exception was Andesite, the son of the Keeper of the Seals. He was sitting on a chaise lounge by a large window, reading a book and looking tremendously bored. Everything about his appearance annoyed Sundancer the moment she saw him.
His hooves were immaculate—perfectly glossy and healthy—and he was wearing a loose-fitting white blouse with an old dark stain along the frills of the collar. Spilled wine, no doubt. His dark mane was kept short, tied up in button braids, and his chestnut coat actually seemed to shimmer. Careless, rich, and unaccustomed to work or hardship. It was all she could do not to spit when they came upon him.
“Salutations, Moss,” he said, not looking up from his book. His voice was melodious in a way that made Sundancer think he was a singer or, at the very least, a poet. “And good morning to you too, Miss Murderer. We’re all very delighted to have you in our midst.”
“I’m sure,” she said, infusing her words with as much ice as possible, but if he noticed, he gave no indication.
“Hi, Andy.” Moss’ voice sounded sheepish. Or, well, more sheepish than normal, and Sundancer was surprised to see she was blushing. She rolled her eyes and sighed. What anypony ever saw in stallions like him, she’d never know. She glanced at the book he was reading, but the worn fabric cover was blank.
“My father was quite upset the Empress didn’t throw you in the dungeons for the rest of your life.” He snapped the book shut and tossed it towards the other end of the chaise lounge. It landed on the cushion but slid and fell off onto the floor with a soft slap, which made him sigh, though he left it where it lay.
Sundancer, thinking about her last meeting with the Empress, considered that being tossed in the dungeon might have actually been a less hazardous punishment. If not for the fact that Willow was cared for, she might have even preferred it.
“I can’t imagine a situation in which your father’s opinion would matter even the slightest to me,” she said.
Instead of looking offended, Andesite just chuckled.
“That’s probably for the best. He’s old and full of vinegar and bile. I suppose being cooped up with so many candles, documents, and filing cabinets every day for years on end makes a pony bitter. Gainful employment in exchange for killing a guard does seem an awful light sentence, though. You can’t blame ponies for thinking you got off easy.”
“Who am I to question the Empress’ wisdom?” she said, suddenly tired and unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.
“Oh?” Andesite said, smiling. “I assumed a hardened criminal such as yourself puts as much stock in the will of the Empress as she does the laws of the land.”
“Not much at all then,” Sundancer muttered.
He raised and waved a conciliatory hoof. “Those are your words, not mine.”
She growled and turned to leave. If everyone she met in the palace was going to be either a nuisance, like Andesite, or a clear danger to her health and well-being, like the Empress and Gossamer, she would need to get a grip on her temper and start practicing some humility.
She felt it would be easy with the Empress, as fear would do the job for her, but she didn’t need the rest of the palace’s residents harboring more animosity towards her than they already did. She felt strangely grateful for Moss in that moment, who was certainly a fool, but seemed to harbor no actual malice for her.
Moss said goodbye to Andesite, who mumbled something in return that Sundancer—who had already turned her back on him—couldn’t hear, then hurried to catch up to her.
“He’s really not all that bad,” the guard said, trying to defend him from whatever she saw in Sundancer’s face.
“He lives here,” Sundancer said. “He was born into nonsensical wealth and has never known want in his life. It matters very little to me if he happens to be nice or not.”
They continued to walk in silence, except for Moss pointing out the locations of various rooms, such as the kitchen and the library. She also showed Sundancer how to find her way back to the stairs leading up to the Empress’ tower.
“I know you were up there yesterday morning,” Moss said, looking with obvious unease at the stairs. “Tomorrow, you’ll probably be accompanied by Gossamer, but you should know the tower changes. Just so you’re not caught off guard.”
“The murals, you mean?” Despite herself, Sundancer couldn’t help but feel a curious excitement. She had been so certain some of those murals moved when she looked at them for more than a few seconds.
“Sure, but everything else too. Like rooms and hallways that weren’t there before.”
Sundancer nodded. For some reason, none of that surprised her. She was starting to think not much in the palace would anymore. There was an oppressive sense of wrongness that hung over everything, a thrum of ambient magic that even a pegasus like herself could feel. Between the Empress, Gossamer, and the murals, it was just as she’d thought the morning prior; the sooner she could get used to the unpredictable, the better.
After that, Moss took her down a hallway into an enclosed courtyard. The grass and bushes here were lush and dark despite the heatwave and the withering of plant life elsewhere. In the center of the courtyard, surrounded by a gravel pathway and rows of lush, dew-kissed roses, stood a one-room stone chapel. A tall steeple straddled the entrance, its lantern closed in by stained glass windows that reflected the morning sun onto the grass in fanciful patterns.
There was such a sense of stillness and serenity in the courtyard that Sundancer couldn’t help but take a deep, relaxing breath as some of the tension in her shoulders eased. Considering the nature of the chapel, this surprised her.
Though Moss had seen her forbidden prayer that first night, she didn’t bother asking if Sundancer wanted to follow her into the chapel, simply walking up to the door, touching her forehead with her hoof, and stepping inside. Sundancer followed suit, but that sense of wrongness she’d been feeling grew stronger, and her traitorous mimicry of Moss’ gesture before entering made her feel sick.
Like every other chapel and house of worship still standing in Equestria, this one was dedicated to the Five Virtues. Everypony knew Equestria was united in one faith: the veneration of the Empress. If you happened to say differently—if you happened to think like Sundancer thought—you were quickly and violently dissuaded of your erroneous opinion. Unless you kept your mouth shut, that is, and whispered your prayers in secret.
She thought about the mural she’d seen of the horned ponies cavorting under an evil red sun and shuddered.
“You must be Sundancer,” a strange deep voice said from the opposite side of the prayer room. Moss flinched, and Sundancer once again wondered how the mare had ever made guard.
The voice came from the black box next to the altar. Not every chapel in Equestria had a black box, only the most important ones. The boxes were always bolted to the floor and had no doors or windows. Their walls—whatever material they were made of—were cut into a tight mesh pattern so the occupants could see out and be heard by others, but it was impossible to see back in. Whether this was by magical means or just clever construction, nopony knew.
The black boxes’ occupants—the Lectors—were a mystery. Aside from the Empress and her ecclesiarchs, nopony knew their identities. The fact that the boxes often weren’t long enough for a pony to stand in and were also unusually tall—even some taller than the Empress—, had most ponies convinced that whoever it was the Empress interred in these black boxes, they certainly weren’t ponies.
“Lector,” Sundancer said, trying to sound respectful and contrite. Religious types always wanted you to sound contrite or miserable. She knew that much, at least. Moss lowered her head as well and repeated Sundancer’s greeting. The Lector chuckled, and the sound of it unsettled her, sounding as if it came from a great distance away, echoing ever so slightly.
“Why do you pretend to reverence?” the Lector asked. “I know well who you are. And you, Child Moss, with your little secrets...” For a while, the Lector said nothing, sounding as if they were struggling to breathe, and then the horrible chuckle came once more. “You know the red fire burns in her still. Why did you bring her here?”
Moss swallowed, then stuttered out her answer. “I... I thought she should know where the closest chapel... I thought...”
“But you already know she will not come on her own. You already know that which I see clearly. Do not bring her here again. Remove her. Cast her from this sacred place.”
Moss hurried to obey, grabbing Sundancer and pulling her out of the chapel. Sundancer followed readily, having no desire to stay where she wasn’t welcome. Though it was curious, she thought, as they walked away from the chapel and back into the palace, Moss muttering apologies beside her. The Lector’s words had been harsh and condemning, but their tone of voice had been sly, as though they were telling a wonderful joke, one that only the Lector, in all the world, understood.
Author's Note
This was a slightly shorter chapter, but I decided to set some self-imposed publishing goals and deadlines (for the first time in my life XD), and I knew I needed a chapter to introduce some characters and ideas. If you notice any spelling or grammar errors, feel free to hit me up, as this chapter is going out sans pre-readers.
