19th day of Frostfall
454 Years after the Defeat of Discord by the Sisters

Zudah sniffed at a canapé. The fried bread was cut into a small circle, topped with herb butter and a sautéed mushroom, a spig of rosemary serving as a garnish. He popped it into his mouth and chewed, most of the subtle flavors lost on him. “Eh. I’ve had better,” he mumbled.

“You just have no taste,” Wind Dancer said. She sipped from a wine glass, then lowered it, swirling the contents around the tall flute. “This wine isn’t bad, but you’d probably prefer a few tankards of mead.”

“Of course I would,” Zudah snorted. “I’m a soldier, not a courtier. I can’t believe I ended up getting dragged into this. I don’t even like wearing my dress uniform.” He adjusted the tight collar of the black uniform. “Why didn’t you wear yours?”

“Because unlike you, I happen to have more clothing than just what the Quartermaster hoofed over to me,” Wind Dancer retorted.

“I’m surprised,” Zudah admitted. “You look good in a dress for somepony whose previous job involved them being naked most of the time.”

Wind Dancer blushed and resisted the urge she had to throw her wine in his face. She needed to avoid making a scene if she wanted to capture somepony and make a claim on him. Or her. She wasn’t too picky, as long as they had money and were willing to get married.

“They look good together,” Zudah said, changing the subject at the sight of Wind Dancer’s glare. He gestured with his chin towards Pallas and Bianca. The two were a dark presence on the dance floor, a shadow with flashes of white and red, swirling alternately slowly and with surprising speed to the beat of the music.

“I guess all that time spent in armor and practicing sword drills paid off,” Wind Dancer considered. “Pallas is so light on her hooves, and the way she’s moving… it’s almost like a fight. I think I recognize some of those moves. That one’s the Viper’s Tongue.” She watched as Pallas ducked low, spinning while Bianca’s wing swept high over her.

“She names her moves?” Zudah raised an eyebrow. “That’s so lame.”

“At least she has moves,” Wind Dancer said, blowing a raspberry at him.

“See? I knew you could dance,” Bianca said, as she led Pallas away from the dance floor. “Anypony can.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pallas sighed. “I didn’t like the way everypony was staring at us.” She trotted with Bianca out onto the balcony, the cool air a welcome change from the heat of the room. “It made me feel like I was doing something stupid.”

“They were staring because you looked quite good together,” said a heavily accented voice. Pallas turned and her eyes went wide, her broken wing flaring out on instinct to shield Bianca, despite the pain. The speaker was a griffon, with graying feathers and elaborate clothing, proudly wearing a sash with dozens of medals.

“Maybe this won’t be so boring after all,” Pallas muttered, narrowing her eyes. She couldn’t see a weapon on him, but it didn’t mean much. A griffon’s talons, claws, and beak were more than enough to make them a threat even without a sword.

“Stand down,” Luna said, gently, from behind Pallas. Pallas glanced back to see her waiting there, with two glasses suspended in her magical field. “Ambassador Xaaron is no threat. He is sworn by honor to do no violence here.”

“Then why is he here?” Pallas asked. She folded her injured wing back to her side, hiding a wince of pain as the still-mending bones shifted.

“He’s here to help with the peace process,” Celestia said, stepping out onto the balcony. She had her own glass, along with a plate of bite-sized cakes. “Working towards peace means that both sides have to speak with one another. The Ambassador here is representing Emperor Zephyranthes.”

“It’s a challenging position,” Xaaron said, taking one of the wineglasses from Luna’s grip and sipping at it with grace and restraint that Pallas hadn’t seen before in a griffon. “The Emperor is not used to negotiating from a position of weakness. And yet, here we are.”

“Indeed,” Luna said. “Ah, yes, I haven’t introduced you yet. Ambassador, Centurion Pallas Athene is one of my finest soldiers. At her side is Bianca, my student.”

“One of your finest soldiers?” Xaaron smiled. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I am always happy to meet another warrior. From the looks of you, you might even have seen action yourself. Tell me, what does it take to be one of the Night Princesses’ finest warriors? Thirty confirmed kills? Forty?”

“Over two hundred,” Bianca said. “She’s really great!” Celestia looked like she would have paled again at the reminder, if she weren’t already white.

“I didn’t think she was allowing any of her armored demons attend this little party,” Xaaron said, frowning slightly.

“The Dragoons are just normal ponies of exceptional skill and Loyalty,” Luna put in, shaking her head and raising a hoof when Celestia gave her a confused look. “They are not in attendance tonight. Centurion Pallas Athene is part of the larger Night Guard forces.”

“Ah, I see,” Xaaron nodded. “Perhaps we should return to the festivities before my own contingent begins wondering just where I’ve gone off to.”

“An excellent idea,” Celestia said. She shot Luna a look that Pallas could read from a mile away. She wanted to get her sister somewhere private and extract secrets from her.

“Yes,” Luna muttered. She nodded to Pallas and Bianca. “Enjoy the ball.”

“There you are,” Silver Tongue muttered, as he spotted what he was looking for. An old book, bound in black leather. The tome stood apart from the other volumes in the castle library, not only because of the grisly binding, but as if the other books were shying away from it, clearing room around it on the shelf.

“You just can’t stay away, can you?” Silver Tongue froze at the sound of the old, tired voice. “That’s the book that got you into trouble in the first place, boy.”

“I suppose I just can’t help myself,” Silver Tongue said, turning to look at the speaker. There was a gentle tinkle of bells as the stallion stepped into the light, a gray unicorn wrapped in elaborate blue robes, with a wide-brimmed hat edged with small bells. His glare pierced the shadows from under the brim, as if his eyes were glowing with anger.

“Dark magic isn’t something to be trifled with.” The unicorn grabbed the book right out of Silver Tongue’s grasp and shoved it back onto the shelf. “Hmph. I should lock the thing away where nopony will ever find it again.”

“Next you’ll suggest burning it, Star Swirl,” Silver Tongue muttered.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Star Swirl snapped. “There’s no greater crime than burning a book! After Discord, the last thing we need is to lose even more of our history. We have almost no written records at all of the years before his defeat, and even now all but the last century is almost lost to myth.” He spat on the floor at the thought. “One of these days I’m going to go back and take a look myself.”

“You’ve always said that,” Silver Tongue snorted. “You’ve been saying it since I was a foal.”

“And if you keep playing around with things like that…” he nodded to the black book. “I’ll be saying those things long after you’re dead, too. And what in Tartarus did you do to your horn? It looks like some damn fool tried carving a book into it!”

“My special talent is enchanting objects,” Silver Tongue said, evenly. “I decided to put my talent to use. It enhances some of the most common spells I cast, and can store thaumatic energy for later use. It’s a bit like having a little extra in my wellspring, though after I use the energy stored in it, it reduces my own magical pool to recharge itself.”

“Clever, I suppose,” Star Swirl said, walking past Silver Tongue and picking a book off the shelf himself. “But I can tell you from experience that Clever means trouble. I still have a bald patch from when Clover decided she could safely overcharge a simple water heating spell and the bloody thing exploded. The only thing she was clever about was ducking out of the way faster than I did.”

“How old are you, anyway?” Silver Tongue raised an eyebrow.

“Old enough to be smarter than you,” Star Swirl snapped. He muttered something under his breath about time travel and age regression and having totally lost track. After a moment, he threw the book he’d grabbed at Silver Tongue. “Here. Take this. If you want to learn something useful, that is.”

“What is it?” Silver Tongue asked, grabbing the book out of the air and opening it.

“Fifty Habits of Highly Effective Wizards,” Star Swirl said. “I felt you might need it.”

Silver Tongue raised an eyebrow and read from the page he’d randomly flipped to. “’Lesson Fifteen: The longer everything goes according to plan, the bigger the impending disaster.’”

“Like I said, good advice,” Star Swirl snorted. “If you ever finish playing around with Moonbutt and her private band of thugs, swing by the Academy. They might let you back in if you agree to a geas or two.”

“I’m happy with where I am,” Silver Tongue said. “Do you know how many lives I saved in the war?”

“No, but I know exactly how many were lost,” Star Swirl retorted. “No one wins in a war, boy. Not us, not the griffons, and especially not the farmers caught in the middle. The only way to really win is to avoid the bloody awful business in the first place.”

“We didn’t start the war,” Silver Tongue said. Star Swirl shook his head and turned away, walking back the way he came. “We just ended it.”

“Nothing ever ends. That’s the point of the thing. The way they’re going to remember this is that some ponies killed a whole mess of griffons. Little griffon chicks are going to grow up without mommy or daddy, and when they ask why, they’re going to blame us for it. And then, fifty or sixty years down the line, someone who remembers being hurt by us is going to want to hurt us back.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

Star Swirl looked back over his shoulder and huffed. “Don’t presume to tell me what I do or don’t know. I’m too old for all this politics nonsense. You stay away from that book or else I’ll have to get creative with finding a place to shelve it, and you won’t like the result.”

“I’m telling you, there’s just something wrong with that griffon,” Pallas muttered.

“Yeah, he’s not screaming and running at you with a sword,” Bianca laughed. “You should relax. Luna explained it all to me already. They’ve already got a first draft of the treaty. The only thing they’re discussing now is how to handle an exchange of prisoners.”

“Shouldn’t that be the easy part?” Pallas asked, confused.

“It would be but…” Bianca frowned. “Apparently a lot of the ponies were sold into slavery. They’re technically not property of the Emperor. There’s no way that Celestia and Luna will let them come to harm, but the Emperor says the owners have to be paid for their property, and they’re arguing about it.”

“Slavery is illegal!” Pallas said, shocked. “How could he-“

“Slavery is illegal in Equestria,” Bianca corrected. “In the Griffon Empire it’s perfectly legal. The minotaurs sort of have slaves too, but that’s more of a caste thing. Luna is pressuring the griffons to accept a clause in the treaty that would outlaw slavery there, though they’re definitely not fond of it.”

“Thief!” screamed a pony across the room. Pallas’ ears perked up and she stood up straight, looking across the sea of heads in the ballroom to where a unicorn mare was pointing at Zudah.

“Oh no,” Bianca groaned. “Golden Showers.”

“You know her?” Pallas asked.

“Sort of. Luna mentioned her. She’s a Duchess, and I haven’t heard one good thing about her from anypony.”

“Come on, let’s find out what happened,” Pallas said, pushing through the crowd. Bianca jumped on her back, Pallas barely even noticing the additional weight. Guards were already closing in around the scene, either to keep the peace or just cordon it off. Pallas cleared her throat.

“Zudah, what’s happening?” She asked, using her best ‘commanding officer’ voice.

“I have no idea!” Zudah protested. “She just came out of nowhere and slapped me and said I stole her purse!”

“He’s a liar!” Duchess Showers declared. “I felt him grab my coinpurse from my dress. Search him.” She waved to the guards. The golden-armored Day Guards held Zudah still, patting him down. As they felt the pockets of his dress uniform, they stopped, reaching in and extracting a small velvet bag that jingled with the sound of metal on metal.

“What? But I didn’t?” Zudah looked confused. “I swear I didn’t take it! I don’t know how that got there!”

“A likely story,” Duchess Showers said, as the bits were returned to her. “Guards, take him away.”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Pallas said, shoving one aside. “As his commanding officer, I’ll deal with this.”

“I shouldn’t expect a commoner like you to understand, but I’m a Duchess,” Golden Showers said, raising her chin. “I far outrank you. They don’t have to listen to a thing you say.”

“Pallas, don’t get into a fight with her,” Bianca whispered. “We can just go get Luna and get this sorted out.”

Pallas huffed, glaring at Golden Showers, then looked to Zudah. “Zudah, we’ll get this cleared up. You just go with them and sober up for a bit.”

“Pallas, I mean it, I really didn’t take it!” Zudah hissed. “You can’t let them take me to the dungeons!”

“It’ll be fine,” Pallas said. “Just hang on for a little while. I promise.”

“I- fine.” Zudah groaned. The guards led him away. Pallas watched him go, and turned to look at the Duchess, who had already retreated away, smugly smiling and holding her purse. Pallas felt her blood boil just watching her, and almost ran over to beat the truth out of her before a hoof touched her shoulder.

Bianca was on the verge of tears. Pallas pulled her into a hug.

“Let’s go find the Princess,” Pallas said, still watching Golden Showers over Bianca’s shoulder.