Collar sat back in his chair after Cloudy finished her report, tapping a hoof against the arm of the chair. Rosewater was cracking, that much was clear from what Cloudy had said of the first exchange of their meeting, and she could break either for or against Collar’s interests, depending on how things played out.

She’d also given little away about what her true intentions were, aside from protecting and cherishing Rosemary. If he’d sent anypony else, they might not have returned from the meeting.

“I’m sorry, Cloudy,” he said at last. “I hadn’t thought beyond the immediate need.”

“I’m not.” Cloudy huffed. “I watched her use that perfume on herself. I saw the effect it had on her. Whether she intended to or not, she showed a side of herself I believe she meant to keep hidden from all.”

“But why there?” Collar rustled some scrolls around before finding a city map of Damme with a focus on the riverfront. “You said she stood here?” He highlighted a spot on the map.

“Yes.” Cloudy rolled her eyes. “I’ll save you the trouble of figuring it out.” She drew a line from the spot down a straight street and tapping the palace’s blocky square. “I don’t know whether Rosemary’s suite is visible from there or not, but she brought with her a ‘flag’ that could be seen miles away when she lit it up.”

She was right. Collar frowned down at the map. “Has she bottled telepathy?”

“You keep telling me telepathy isn’t possible,” Cloudy reminded him, yawning widely and blinking. “Stars above, today took a lot out of me.”

“Go to sleep, then. I’ll join you shortly.” He rubbed at his cheek again, staring at the map, certain he was missing something. It might have been exhaustion clouding his mind. “I just have some more thinking to do.”

Her lips were warm and soft against his, waking an ache and a want in him for the brief moment they shared a breath. “Don’t stay up too late.”

She didn’t bother to flirt her tail on her way out as she usually did. A sign of just how tired she was. The little catnaps that Note’s report of the day’s activities hadn’t done her much good.

They were more than he’d gotten for himself.

His day had been spent cloistered with Lace to discuss Rosemary’s sentencing and to set an appropriate and appropriately high cost for her ransom. On the table as well was the potential of making her serve out the sentence in full.

There was no provision in the Treaty to force acceptance of a herdgild in return for waiving sentencing, simply that it was the most common practice and mechanisms had been enacted at the start to facilitate that trade of flesh for coin or favor. Distasteful as he found it, it was the only way to truly put pressure on Merrie that the Reformations allowed.

Economic pressure.

Rose Crown’s return had fetched an increase of bridge taxes for the use of Damme’s ports by Merrie’s merchant class and had caused a subsequent increase in the grumbling their spies reported aimed at Roseate. Rosemary’s…

He yawned and leaned back in his chair again, thankful for the support helping him stay awake. If he’d sat on a pillow throughout the discussion, he wasn’t certain he’d have stayed awake.

Rosemary’s obvious remorse, and her fumbling attempt at an infiltration had pushed Collar to think more leniently on her sentence and forego the price, compelling her to serve time.

That would frustrate Roseate.

Collar slid from the chair and resolved to make a last check of Rosemary’s comfort before retiring to his bed with Cloudy.

The palace was quiet, empty feeling this late. Lace and Dapper had long since retired, and the night watch was circumspect in their patrols of the halls, lest they wake the staff that slept in their quarters on constant retainer. There weren’t many of them in that class, but some had elected to take the offer of housing in return for services and an increase in pay to compensate for their being always on call.

It took him a moment as he made his way up the staircase to the second level to realize that Prim Coat wasn’t on watch outside Rosemary’s cell. In his place, Sunrise Primfeather stood there, her ears splayed sideways and going flat as she caught sight of him.

“My lord,” she said, saluting.

“At ease,” Collar replied, returning the salute automatically. “Where’s Coat? I thought he’d be taking the last watch of the day.”

“Er…” Sunrise chewed her lip and glanced at the door and swallowed. “I was… he…”

“Something happened?” Collar’s sleepiness fell away. “What happened?”

“N-nothing, my lord. He called for me as I was passing by and asked me to keep watch.” Sunrise swallowed hard. “Then he went inside, and there was nothing but silence after that.”

Collar relaxed minutely, but the adrenaline response still kept him alert. “Thank you for making things seem normal. Where’s your normal duty shift at this time of day?”

“Patrol, my lord.” She saluted again. “I’m night shift patrol for another few days.”

“Get to it, please. I’ll have a word with Coat later.” Collar waited until she’d left before he thought to ask how long ago that had been. By then, it was too late. He sighed and rubbed at his muzzle before opening the door and slipping in to…

Rosemary was lying on the bed, curled up into a ball, her nose tucked between her hind legs and tail covering her ears. Her small frame shivered and shook in time with the faint whimpers drifting up from where she’d hidden herself.

Coat looked up from where he half-lay on the bed, his hoof stroking her back and not pausing even as he acknowledged Collar’s presence with a nod.

Scattered on the bed were the letter Rosewater had sent and the perfume bottle, its stopper thankfully clasped tightly shut and latched.

“What happened?” Collar whispered as he settled in across from his cousin.

“I don’t know,” Coat replied in just as soft a whisper. “Scent magic isn’t my forte. All I know is that when I came in, she was breathing in a pink and gold mist as she stared out the window, and she was calling for her mommy.”

A memory from foalhood. “Was the mist glowing?”

“Brightly.”

She’d activated and empowered the perfume and used it on herself. He couldn’t imagine how much clearer or impactful the vision of a memory past would have been with that much magic coursing through it. It’d been what Rosewater had done, and as he looked out the window, it all clicked into place.

“By the stars and the Mare,” Collar whispered, closing his eyes. “They were sharing a memory.”

Rosemary’s whimpering and sniffling grew fainter and her back stiffened.

Collar glanced at the letter, noting that the words seemed different, and in a different shade than they had before.

“Rosemary,” Collar asked in a more normal voice. “May I read the letter again?”

Her head bobbed in a nod, and her voice rose briefly. “Thank you for asking.”

The back of the letter held a small paragraph of fine script that smelled faintly of the perfume he’d tested.

Dearest Rosemary,

This gift was meant for your twenty-first birthday, to share with you the memories I had of your mother, and the love we had for you. I love you with all my heart, and your mother does, too.

At the sun’s downing, look to the river and share with me a memory of Carnation.

Love,

Rosewater

By the stars. Collar swallowed. All that pageantry. All the setup. All the work she must have put into planning and executing the delivery of a letter and a bottle of perfume.

All to share a memory of their mother. Their true mother.

Collar folded the letter carefully and slipped it back into its envelope and laid it on a pillow at the head of her bed. “I’m sorry, Rosemary.”

He should add to her sentence for willful use of scent magic in Damme’s borders. That’s what the law said he should do, and what he would have done in any other circumstance. This…

It was the opposite of everything that most Dammers believed of scent magic. It wasn’t controlling, or harmful, but uplifting and loving. For Rosewater to create it, to share it so freely with another…

He met Coat’s eyes and tipped his head to the door. “You’re supposed to be on door guard for this shift.”

Coat bristled briefly, his cousin, soft-hearted stallion that he was, rebelling against the apparent chill. “My lord,” he said, reverting to formality. “She was upset, and alone, and scared.”

“She was not. She is.” Collar tipped his head to the side as Rosemary straightened herself out. “Thank you for taking care of her, Coat, but I do need you to follow orders. Find me the next time something like this happens.”

Coat swallowed and nodded. “She is.”

“I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

When the door clicked shut again, Collar took over maintaining the silence ward in the room, and made a mental note to ask for the funds to make the ward semi-permanent.

“I’m sorry,” Rosemary murmured, her hoof reaching out to touch the silver and glass bottle.

“I can hardly arrest you for the same crime twice, while you’re still under arrest” Collar said, more lightly than he felt. “But if it had been anypony but Coat or I who found you, it would have extended your sentence.”

“Extend it.”

Collar blinked at the mare as she twisted her head, her cheeks stained by tears. “Excuse me?”

“I broke the law again, my lord. Willfully.”

“Ah.” Collar forced himself to chuckle and plucked the perfume bottle from the bed with a spell. “Then I suppose I should get a sentence as well, considering it was I that lent you the tool to commit the crime. That’s called being an accessory.”

She smiled weakly, but it was a smile. “I’m being… overdramatic?”

“No.” Collar inspected the silverwork encasing the bottle, playing for time. “Honestly, I have a hard time sometimes understanding what it’s like to have siblings,” he said finally, setting the bottle on the nightstand. “I’m an only child, and while I grew up playing with Coat and a few other cousins, that’s all they were. At the end of the day, I went home, and so did they, leaving me with my parents and the staff of the palace for company.”

“I’m an only child, too,” Rosemary murmured, looking aside and betraying the lie.

“You were Carnation’s only child. That doesn’t mean you didn’t grow up with a sister,” Collar replied.

Something in Rosemary’s stare at him said he’d not quite gotten to the truth. Not as they saw it anyway. Still, he knew what he’d seen in her eyes, and Cloudy wasn’t far off the mark, either. She had experience with that kind of ache.

Finally, Rosemary nodded, hesitantly, but she acknowledged the point. “Carnation raised both of us.”

Not, he noted, the same as saying ‘She raised us as siblings.’

“Get some sleep, Rosemary,” he said. “I won’t stop you from remembering your mother, but please ask if you want to use scent magic in the future.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I-I…” She trailed off again, biting her lip. Still holding back. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything I can get you?” Collar asked, thinking of what flowers he could find that were supposed to be useful sleep aids, then grimaced. “Some warm milk, maybe?”

“No.” Rosemary smiled, beaming the same smile Cloudy had said Rosewater had shown. “I think I’ll sleep okay.”

When he stepped outside with Coat, he sagged to his hindquarters. “You’re more in tune with the crowd in the barracks than I am these days. Think of some Dammeguard that would be kind to her, possibly friendly. Don’t tell them who she’s related to.” Collar looked up briefly to make sure Coat had gotten his meaning.

“I’m not an idiot, sir,” Coat said with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t have guessed it myself, with how sweet she is.”

“I know. I intend to put myself in the rotation as well. For at least an hour a day.” He jerked his head up and back at the door. “That young mare… she doesn’t deserve this.”

“No.”

He sighed. “I’m starting to get the feeling that Rosewater doesn’t, either.”

Coat wasn’t that far along. He eyed Collar, then lifted his nose briefly. “If you say so, sir.”

At least he liked Rosemary. He could work with that.

The next morning, Rosemary woke alone in the luxurious bed, with only the remnants of Cloudy’s scent decorating the coverlet beside her.

With that draw of breath, she also caught another mare’s scent, that of a mature, if not elder mare. It was fresher, and the sound of shifting hooves told her she wasn’t alone.

“Peace,” Lace said softly from beside the doorway as Rosemary twisted to get a look at her. “I come bearing breakfast and an offer of companionship.”

“My lady.” Rosemary swallowed, frozen in place on the bed, uncertain what she should do in the situation. “Companionship?”

“A young stallion who’s been Collar’s protege for some years now. One of his proteges, at least.” Lace tipped her head to the side, indicating a sealed plate. “And a game. Can you guess what’s under the dome from smell alone?”

Rosemary frowned, and immediately pulled it into a neutral expression. “Why?”

“It was a game your mother and I played while she was a prisoner of war,” Lace said softly. “Some years before you were born, and in the same year Rosewater was. Guess the food, ask a question. Fail to guess, answer a question. Honestly and fully.”

“You knew my mother?” She wasn’t sure what surprised her more, that Lace knew her or that her mother had kept it from her. Did she keep it from Rosewater, too?

“Very well.” Lace’s ears dipped briefly as she gave a small, sad smile. “I take it that she did keep our accord, then.” She settled in. “I’m afraid that I still cannot break our accord, but suffice to say that before I was convinced to release her from our custody, I had an ally on the other side of the river. I was quite reluctant to do so, you understand, as the sister of the heir of Merrie was a powerful bargaining chip.”

A thin smile parted Lace’s lips at the end, showing a hint of teeth.

Rosemary swallowed past the sudden tension in her throat. “She… never said anything.” She took a breath, drawing upon her heritage more deeply than usual. “You sealed it with wax and washed the cover.”

“My dear,” Lace clucked her tongue. “I can’t make it too easy.”

Another few breaths only yielded a hint of the chef and the mare who’d delivered it. “I give up. You’ve cleaned away the scents too thoroughly.”

“Mmm. So I get to ask a question.” Lace cast a spell on the plate and dome, and with a faint pop, it came free, revealing eggs with a side of whipped roe adorning a slice of toasted bread and two crispy hashed brown patties. “If you agree to my terms.”

“What are your terms?”

“Answer honestly.” Lace smiled sweetly and floated the plate, a napkin, and a dinnerware set to rest on the foot of the bed. “That’s all.”

“If I have my own promises and secrets to keep?”

“Then say you can’t answer.” Lace bobbed her head slightly. “A fair question. And my first one is this: what was she like as a mother?”

Rosemary resisted the urge to swallow. She could ask for clarification, but that would give away the secret, or she could assume Lace meant Carnation… or she could assume that Lace knew, somehow, that Rosewater was more than she portrayed herself as.

“Carnation Rosethorn,” Rosemary said slowly, testing the way ahead with words, looking to Lace for confirmation that this was what she wanted, “was loving. She…” She swallowed, glancing at Lace, and flattened her ears. “When I partook of Mother’s Kiss, I relived a day when I was with her on a picnic outside the city. It was springtime, and she’d brought her easel and Rosewater had made some raspberry tarts for us to share while Carnation and Rosewater took turns painting one another into the landscape.”

Lace’s smile grew warm, motherly and matronly at the same time, and she settled in to listen.

“Rosewater was trying so hard to learn to paint like Carnation, but watercolors were never something she could get the hang of. She was much more comfortable with precise lines and proper, exacting shades. But she was learning to soften her touch, and look at the world more impressionistically.” As she spoke, the memory bubbled up again, and it was easy to steer clear of calling Rosewater mother and see her as a sister, from Lace’s perspective.

“I was ten years old…”

“Are you sure this is going to be okay?”

Rosemary looked up from nosing through the picnic basket to see Rosewater staring off to the north, her nose lifted to the air, a hoof on the bonnet keeping her mane in check as the wind gusted and blew down from the mountains far off in the distance.

“We’ll be fine. Nopony else is going to bother coming out here, you know.” Carnation laughed and nuzzled Rosewater’s neck, as high up as she could reach on the younger, taller mare. “Come back and sit down, Rosewater. I promise, we’ll make it home before the storm settles in.”

Her mothers, one carefree and spirited, the other worrisome and tightly constrained, were a portrait of opposites, and yet they fit together, each one making up for the others’ shortcomings. That Rosewater was sixteen years Carnation’s junior didn’t seem to matter to them, and so it didn’t matter to her.

They were her mothers. That was a fact as solid as the stones she’d spent half the morning scrounging up to weigh down the blanket.

“And the easel?” Rosewater eyed the tripod and the canvas frame, both of them attempting to fly away.

“We’ll figure something out,” Carnation said. “Come on, I’m not going to listen to you gripe about the weather, ‘Water. Today, regardless of whether I get some painting time in, is for us. The wind helps us stay private, after all. It’ll shred any listening spells.”

That was a cue for Rosemary to bound around the basket and hug her dour mommy’s foreleg. “Come on, mother, let’s have lunch! I’m starving!”

Little else could pull Rosewater away from her worrying, but that could, even if she did cast a fearful look back towards the city at Rosemary breaking the taboo against calling her mother in public.

In the end, she lost the battle against her beloved’s urging and her daughter’s pleading, and relented, though she did keep an eye on the storm brewing far north, the dark line promising a chilly gale much later.

“If either of you catches a cold,” Rosewater said indignantly as she was drawn back to sit on the blanket, keeping a small dome of calm air over the easel and canvas, “I am going to say ‘I told you so’ for a week.”

“And if we don’t,” Carnation said, grinning broadly, her eyes twinkling, “I get to choose where we go for our next four outings.”

Rosewater couldn’t hide the amusement in her eyes even as she put on a mock-severe face. “Deal. I look forward to wearing my voice hoarse.”

“And I look forward to having Seed and Rosemary braid your mane.”

“The horror,” Rosewater said, a laugh finally breaking free and the dour facade falling away to reveal the mother she was in private, delighting in Rosemary’s recounting of finding the biggest rock, a quartz and granite geode that would later grace their kitchen cabinet-top.

“Rosewater begged off painting anything but the landscape,” Rosemary said as she cut the last of the eggs with a fork and pushed a touch of the whipped roe onto them. “She’s always been better at painting wild spaces than ponies. I think it’s a part of her fascination with the Deerkin tribes that use our bridges to cross the river on their way south for the winter.”

“I would love to see some of her work.”

“She… keeps it all locked up in the estate,” Rosemary admitted, smiling faintly. “In part because Carnation often adds us to the landscapes Rosewater painted. Sometimes little figures hiding in the woods, sometimes sitting in the focus, and sometimes…”

Lace’s brows rose. “Sometimes?”

She’d almost let it out. It was too easy to think of Rosewater as her mother. She hadn’t had that problem before. Not for a few years.

“Sometimes, she liked to imagine we were a happy family.”

“It sounds to me like you made your own happiness,” Lace said more gently than she would have thought possible from the stern older mare. “That was Carnation. She made her own happiness, and if she couldn’t, then she found it and dragged everypony with her.”

“That sounds like you speak from experience.”

“I do.” Lace smiled more broadly and chuckled. “When Rosewater was just six, she pulled that poor little filly to a gala and introduced her to me, and to Collar. I doubt either of them remembers it. She was still grieving over her father, and he was a six year old Damme colt.”

“You haven’t told him?”

“No. I… don’t know what became of that filly, Rosemary, and I don’t want to make assumptions that could give my son the wrong idea.”

“She’s still a good mare.”

“I hope she is.” The smile fell away after a moment, and Lace nodded to the plate. “Finish up, dear, and I’ll take that with me.”

“What happened?”

“Roseate happened, sadly.” Lace’s smile turned thin and bitter. “You are more familiar with the story than I from there, young lady, and I won’t burden you with retelling it. I am happy to hear a touch of what my dear friend got up to after she was forced to let go of her contact with me.”

Rosemary darted a look from the plate to Lace. “After Roseline died.”

“Roseline and I never saw eye-to-eye on much, and we butted heads on more occasions that I care to think of, but she was as devoted to the well-being of her ponies as I was to mine.” Lace cocked her head to the side. “Had she lived but a few years longer, both cities would have seen the Reformations come to pass. I had hoped Roseate would at least not destroy the work we’d already put into it, but the ground was still soft, and the mourning candles still smoking when she burned the agreements.

“We lost two great ponies that year, Rosemary. Blue Star, your uncle, also passed only a few months before Roseline.”

Rosemary closed her eyes and sent the plate over to land on the desk, appetite destroyed. “I never knew him.”

“And Rosewater wouldn’t talk about him.” Lace smiled and bobbed her head. “One of the last things Carnation told me was how closed-up Rosewater was becoming about her father, as if she were hoarding every memory of him to herself.”

Unspoken, but still heard, To keep them safe from Roseate.

“I’ll be happy to share what I know of him,” Lace continued. “But it would be best if you asked your cousin. She knew him best of all of us. She rarely left his side for four long, mostly happy years.” She gathered up the plate and utensils and sealed off the rest of breakfast. “Most of who she is came from him, I believe. Both good and bad.”

“No. Carnation is there, too.” Deep down, below her armor, Rosemary knew that Rosewater tried her hardest to live up to all Carnation tried to embody.

“Oh, she is, I’m sure. But Blue Star was a determined stallion. I see more of that in her than I see your mother’s carefree nature. Those early years shaped who she would be, Rosemary.” Lace opened the door, hesitating before she let the enspelled silence drop. “Only Rosewater can tell us who that pony is.”

After the spell dropped, Rosemary worried her lip and stared at the door. “My lady?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“What… what happens next?”

“Coat will be along with lunch around the noon hour. Try to get some rest until then.”

The door closed and locked behind her, and she heard Lace’s voice issuing soft orders before silence fell again and left Rosemary to consider all over again just what her parents had been hiding from her.

The latter morning and early afternoon found her talking quietly with Prim Coat through the door, asking him questions about Damme and his family, and eventually about his husband.

It was a quiet and reflective way to spend an afternoon, thinking on family and what somepony else’s family was like. Coat’s was normal compared to hers, and he was Collar’s first cousin—a fact that left him open to politics from all sides, both pro- and anti-Reformation.

He was, she was happy to learn, pro-Reformation and despite being married and eligible for the family exclusion, had volunteered to remain in the Dammeguard, and at risk. Not only for duty, but because Collar needed a first cousin to kick some sense into him now and then.

By the time it was starting to get darker out and the afternoon shaded into early evening, a new scent joined Coat’s.

A moment of hesitation seemed to shiver against the door before Coat knocked lightly. “Visitor, Rosemary. We have new orders.”

Rosemary glanced at the book she’d been reading idly to pass the quiet time. She couldn’t talk to Coat all day, after all. She’d run out of things to talk about in just a few days and have to start making things up.

“Come in. I was just reading.”

While Coat stood only a little taller than herself, the pegasus stallion that entered with him was only another hoof or two taller still. A far cry from Collar or Rosewater, but that fit his streamlined frame, and the shape of his wings made clear he was a sprinter rather than a glider or an acrobat. His graceful appearance was belied only by the sheepish and guilty look of a clumsy foal with their muzzle caught in a cookie jar.

“Primfeather Stride, Rosemary Rosethorn,” Coat said in a formal voice, bowing briefly and ticking his ear at the younger pony. “Our new orders, from Collar and approved by Lady Lace, are that we are to be allowed an hour of each shift providing you with company. If we choose. And if you choose.”

“While I do appreciate the offer,” Rosemary sait, eying the pegasus briefly, “I’d much rather the company be mutually agreed upon rather than mandated.”

“Volunteered, m-my lady,” Stride said, swallowing and glancing aside at Coat. “I-it was something Sergeant Coat asked me personally if I would be willing to do.”

Very interesting. Rosemary cocked her head to the side briefly to study him, an act which made the pegasus flinch. Birds of prey cocked their heads, and she realized her mistake instantly.

“Sorry. I… picked up the habit of doing that from Rosie Bliss.” Rosemary smiled and perked her ears instead, a more normal unicorn sign of interest. “She’s more like a dove. But don’t you dare tell her I said that.”

“Why not?” Stride asked, brows rising.

“Because she thinks doves are pretentious,” Rosemary said with a wink. “Strutting around like they own the place.”

“I-I see…” He plainly did not, and neither did Coat, both of them looking more confused than if she hadn’t tried to make a joke.

“Nevermind.” Rosemary sighed and slipped from the bed, stretching languidly and coming to sit in front of them, hoof outstretched. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“A-and, um…” Stride raised his hoof hesitantly, glancing at Coat before he tapped his against hers. “Likewise?”

“Well then.” Coat bowed slightly, glancing at the window as he rose from it. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”

“Of course.” She pursed her lips, then nodded. “Go on, Coat. Be with your mate before he heads off for the evening rush.”

“My thanks, Rosemary.”

Once he’d gone, Rosemary sat quietly and regarded Stride curiously. “Why are you afraid of me, Stride?”

“B-because…” He swallowed, closing his eyes and settling his wings closer to himself from their half ruffled state, ready to spring open at a moment’s notice. “Sorry,” he murmured, keeping his eyes closed as he spoke. “I have a hard time with…”

“With rose thorns?” Rosemary asked, biting the inside of her cheek briefly. “I do, too, to be honest.”

“Wait, what?” his eyes snapped open, meeting hers, then dancing away. “Why?”

“Because they’re sharp, and pointy, and if you believe the tales, they gave me these.” She turned her head to the sides, showing off the deep crimson lines along her muzzle and tipping her muzzle up so they looked like the flowing of blood from a scratch.

He stared at her for a long time. “They… gave you those?”

“Well, not me. My distant ancestor. Rosethorn the Wise. His name is on our philosophy, and he was the first of my ancestors to know the smells of the flowers to be more than pretty.” She raised the book she’d been reading from the bed. “This book doesn’t tell it the way we tell it in Merrie.”

No response from him save for a flutter of his eyelids and a glance towards the door.

“Legend has it that Rosethorn’s mother was stabbed by a twining rose bush as she tried to pull it from its trellis, and the wounds would not heal, no matter how she tried to cure herself.” She raised a hoof to trace the line. “And the trail of her blood, her heart’s blood if the story is to be believed, one day drew the attention of the Mare in the Moon while she was sitting, hurting while pregnant with her first son.

“The Mare in the Moon took pity on the young Rosecrown and came down to her. She spoke the words of the Rosethorn family. To thine own heart, be true, and to thy nose, listen. The wound healed, but where the blood had trailed from her nose to her cheeks, dripping to her breast, her coat had turned the livid crimson of fresh blood, and whenever she opened her mind to the scents of the world, they came to her, and spoke to her heart. Every Rosethorn following her has borne the marks to varying degrees.”

She touched her breast, then her cheeks and muzzle with a hoof. “The mark of the Rosethorn line.”

“Is it true?” Stride asked, his eyes flicking from her face to her breast.

“Who knows. Rosecrown lived before the Battle of Two Nights. Not much but dust and legend exists of those times.” She shook her head. “I’m not like other Rosethorns. My family, I mean, not the bush thorns. I’m sure Lord Collar said that.”

Stride’s jerky nod was her only answer for a few seconds before he cleared his throat. “I, um. That’s… an interesting bit of story.”

“I can tell you more. Merrie isn’t a scary place, Stride. Not like Damme is,” she said, laying out a tiny bit of bait.

“But Damme isn’t—” He caught himself and chewed his lip, staring at her.

“But it might be, if being in Damme is half a jail sentence with these marks,” she said. “You have a beautiful city, Stride. I only wish I’d had more time to experience it before circumstance forced my hoof.”

He sat slowly, still watching her, his body angled away to keep his privates private. Cute of him, but unnecessary.

“Maybe…” He trailed off, looking at the bookcase. “Maybe… tell me a little of what it’s like in Merrie?”

Author's Notes:

This time, I set an alarm!

So! I made an offhand comment, and talked it over a bit with my pre-readers/editors, and a few friends. And yes, there will be an interludes chapter between book one and book two featuring short vignettes from the following ponies so far:

Firelight Spark
Roselight
Roseling

Even with those, it barely comes up to two thousand words, and I'd like to round it out to ~4,000-5,000 words. These are little vignettes that round out the world a little more, introduce bits of the cities that aren't necessarily part of the story, or take a peek at ponies who don't play a large part in the story.

I'm open to suggestions for a vignette or two from another character. These will be short ~800 word vignettes.

Is there a character you'd like to see a little more of that I can put into that space, or something in the lore or backstory you'd like to see?

Let me know and I'll see if I can work it in.