The archives of the Rose Palace were, in larger part, disorganized. There weren’t many Roses that came along with talents in bookkeeping.

But the branches of the family were required to maintain their own histories and genealogies in the archives in the strictest order. It was a requirement for a society that was so free about sex and reproduction that none closer than third cousins ever mated.

Any Rose could recite, at length, their closest relatives up to three removes. Anypony outside that circle was safe. At least for breeding pairs. While it was frowned on quite strongly, Roses tended to look the other way for same sex couples of closer relations. In the past, during the hotter years of the Rose-Prim war, it wasn’t uncommon for sister-lovers to rise to prominence on the Rose side of the battlefield, using their bond-pairing to great effect.

They had also been the greatest tragedies. One side of the bond did not often survive long after the other perished. After one particularly tragic incident, the head of the family at the time had issued a decree that no future sister-lovers were to be allowed, and set forth stricter mating laws.

Still, the earliest years of the Rose family and its various branches rise in Merrie tended to look more like tangled webs rather than proper trees.

As a former Rose, even if she was a minor branch scion, Cloudy had to have left a presence behind when she left, and Rosewater was determined to find it.

It had taken hours to find the particular tome she was looking for, precious hours she would have preferred spending with Rosemary, teaching her in the hours left before her own raid.

“House Rosewing,” Rosewater murmured softly to herself as she flipped through the pages, tracing with mind and magic the pathways of family from page to page. Largely a pegasan branch, and militaristic in their earlier days, they had been scouts and strike troops, and had once been a far stronger branch, before the Rosethorns, Rosewater’s own branch, had pushed them out of power following Celestia’s treaty.

“Why do you want her, mother?” She murmured, flipping past former heads of the Rose family, soldiers, and guards, then later traders and messengers, and finally little more than commoners with the Rose name. She found Cloudy Rose in the middle of the fifth page from the last filled page. She had a two brothers and a sister, not large, but the Rosewing family branch had been in decline for centuries.

With that information in hoof, and a reference number, Rosewater was able to find a short biography about her, written by the Rosewing matriarch, Cloudy’s mother.

Fastest flyer in either city.

Prospects with a younger Rosethorn member, Rosemary.

Defected.

It was written in a shaky hoof, and there was more than a few discolored blotches on the page below it. The poor mare had had to write it at Roseate’s direction. She must have. She wouldn’t have willingly written it. Nopony wanted to write that word in the family book.

Roseate had relished writing it in the Rosethorn family book for Carnation. She’d read the first line, once, out of morbid curiosity, and couldn’t read on. It’d called the mare a traitor to everything from species to gender.

“With my Rosemary, were you?” She briefly considered breaking the accord, then dismissed it. That notation had been almost two years ago. The defection had been recorded last year. That they had recorded it wasn’t a surprise. A minor house scion bonding with a Rosethorn would bring that house up in prestige. But having defected to the Prims, she had sunk the branch’s prospects even lower.

She clucked her tongue. She’d have to be gentle with Rosemary in the questioning. Cloudy deserting her for the Prims may have hurt her dearly. If she knew about it.

If she’d only disappeared…

A memory sparked, of a period about a year ago when Rosemary had grown increasingly worried, downcast, and, at times, irritable, but she hadn’t wanted to talk about it, and Rosewater had let her have her space. She had recovered after a month, and seemed cheerful thereafter. At the time…

It had been near the anniversary of Carnation’s exile. Rosewater could remember the day Rosemary had come home, stoic, hiding the fact that she’d been crying. Just as Rosewater had hidden her own pain at the remembrance of Carnation and the day that had ripped apart their happy home life.

Now…

Why did you leave her? Did you say anything? Try to say anything? Questions she would have to ask, if she got the chance.

She tapped a hoof on the table, considering the entry and the cutie mark that had been partially scratched off; a mark of Cloudy’s dishonor. Remnants of rose petals and a cloud. Perhaps a cloud raining rose petals. Perhaps a cloud shaped like a rose, shedding petals. She committed the scraps of image to memory.

She tried to recall which of Rosemary’s myriad of pegasus lovers it could be, but none came to mind. None of the ones she’d known the names of had defected. She frowned. Sometimes, Rosemary’s myriad of friends and lovers proved to be problematic, but they all made her happy.

A hint of her mother’s plan came to light, as well. Erasing the last vestiges of the mare who’d been like a mother to Rosewater in her youth. Carnation’s daughter would be the last thing to corrupt before she could claim she had won whatever petty contest she’d imagined up between them.

Take a former lover, one who’d meant enough to Rosemary to mope about for a month when others flitted through her life like petals on the breeze, would be an enticement worth the risk of having Rosewater foil the plan. Or, Rosewater thought, the perfect irony. For Rosewater to deliver into Roseate’s hooves the tool to finish destroying what she’d sought to protect for the past six years.

There would be traps along the way in whatever plan she had to keep Cloudy free of Roseate’s hooves, but she’d thwarted other plots by her mother.

Collar’s accord was going to make things trickier. She couldn’t just capture the mare and hold her for a time away from Roseate’s hooves and machinations and attempts to corrupt otherwise innocent ponies.

Her mother was, if nothing else, predictable. There would be tools the mare would leave out that Rosewater could pick up and use to her own ends regardless of the ends Roseate had intended them for.

She only had to be careful about how she used them.

Rosemary Rosethorn was easy enough to locate in the palace intelligence archives. As one of the highest of the Rose family, she had a file all her own in the main cabinet of files on ‘the enemy.’

It was also practically empty, just as it had been the first time he’d checked it months prior. Still no arrest record, so his accord with Rosewater wasn’t in danger from the start.

Hobbies, interests, possible meanings for her cutie mark, all blank. She was an apothecary, a rare skill even in Merrie, but whether that was related to her cutie mark or not was uncertain. The only definite information was that she was the daughter of Carnation Rosethorn, lived with Rosewater Rosethorn, and often spent nights away from home with lovers.

A lot of nights. She was apparently quite popular among the lower levels of the Rose family and claimed lovers all over the city. But she never brought any home.

“Are all Roses this promiscuous?” Prim Collar asked. “I mean, seriously, three pages of lover’s names?”

“She was special. Is special.” Cloudy’s ears flicked once as she stared at the sheets. “I used to be one of them, but not all of those names will be lovers. Some of them…” Cloudy shrugged. “Just friends.”

“You miss her.”

“Of course,” Cloudy growled, glowering at him briefly, then dropping her head to stare at the papers again. “She wasn’t just good in bed, Collar. I mean, she was that, but she was just as fun to be around.” Cloudy chuckled, her cheeks practically glowing as she stared past the page she’d been reading. “She was a little bubble-headed at times, but shrewd enough to know when to stop pursuing somepony. Or when to avoid somepony.”

She’s still in love. Collar swallowed and flicked his tail. It wasn’t the flings she had with her comrades; nights spent entwined with another mare. This had been a year gone and still affecting her like this.

He let the silence ride for a few minutes while he read the list of names and tried to guess who’d been a lover and who’d been a friend. It was hard to believe that all of them were lovers. Even for the purported promiscuity of Merrie, he knew that it took time to get to know somepony well enough to open up to sex.

Cloudy had said as much about her ‘flings.’

“Have you found Carnation’s file yet?” He asked.

“Yes.” She looked up from reading a mix of scrolls and flat paper pages, then dragged the wooden box over. “She’s got a huge file. Some… fascinating things.”

Collar heaved the box up and started picking through it. Early life, young life. Some mentions of Rosewater and galas they’d been to together. Carnation had been Rosewater’s guardian, just as Rosewater was apparently Rosemary’s.

To call their family broken would be calling the remnants of the Crystal Empire’s legacy a ‘ruin.’ But at the same time, a broken family didn’t excuse the things Rosewater had done.

Collar read silently along with Cloudy through the trove, making mental notes of different bits of information that he hadn’t known or had only known peripherally. Carnation’s hobbies: painting and horticulture—the latter something that seemed almost universal amongst the Rosethorns of the main line branch to lesser and greater degrees. Her likes and dislikes, habits and routines dated through the years.

Things a spy would need to know in order to follow her.

Somepony in palace intelligence had clearly put a lot of effort into tracking the spare, and some bits of intelligence were important enough that he made a short note in his own notes from the expedition.

“Fascinating reading,” he murmured sometime later, his eyes straining from reading through so many different styles of hoofwriting. He tucked away the bits and pieces of the file on Carnation, checking each against his list of things he wanted to make sure he found out.

“Alright.” He settled the box back into place, putting the label facing out just as it had been when they’d come down, and pulled up the two boxes that comprised Rosewater’s file. “Ready?”

“No.” Cloudy rubbed at her eyes, groaned, and sat heavily, staring as Collar pulled out half of one box and gave it to her. “But by the stars…” She pulled down the first scroll and stared at it. “Rumors and gossip.”

“Trash. Ignore it,” Collar said with a sigh. “I’ve seen it.”

“Then why keep it?”

“Because it tells us what other ponies are talking about, even if the rumor of her—” He leaned over and read the top line. “—seducing an entire company of ponies with a single spell is a complete falsehood.”

“She didn’t do that, is what you’re saying?”

“No. That was a mutation from the ‘battle’ of Primline Park. The spell she used that ended the battle.” It had been a powerful spell, but wild and unfocused, as much rage and fear as it had been lust. She’d been nearly broken from amplifying it to the point he couldn’t contain it anymore, and it’d nearly drained him.

She’d only been saved by the fact that she stood up afterwards and walked away amid the chaos the unleashed and unchained scent magic had done to both sides—more her own side than to the Dammeguard. It’d been the first time he’d really faced her in a tense situation.

If she hadn’t cast it… if she hadn’t lost control…

“It’s bunk,” he said, shaking himself back to the present. “Ignore it. It’s not useful for figuring out what she’s likely to do.”

“I’m more worried about what Roseate told her to do.”

“Capture a pony,” Collar said with a raised brow. “That’s all Rosewater’s good at. Roseate took a risk using her in a big raid, and it didn’t pay off.”

He read through the first page atop his pile, a recent incident report from the Merrie docks. Cargo Manifest claiming he rutted her. Further reading had the full tale from one of their informants. At least what they’d been able to see through an open window. The mare had indeed seemed to get the raw end of the deal with the cretin, a smuggler of ill repute barred from doing business in Damme, but also had a contract with several harbor pilots in Merrie.

He doubted, highly, that she’d actually let that happen to her, or that she’d welcome the… ah. There it was, at the bottom. When he’d finished, Rosewater had tossed his come out the window. It must have been a mist faerie illusion. It was the only thing he could think of that fit her style.

More reports of other incidents from informants and more reliable rumors lay underneath, including a brief note about the nature of her business with a baroness from the Equestrian Highlands. The mare had gone to a ‘House of Delight’ on the docks, but apparently found no relief and nopony willing to rut her. Pipindril, the proprietor, had sent the note apparently as a warning to Damme to watch out for her.

Older reports had conflicting information on incidents purported to be her. It was hard for her to hide as a Veiled Rose, her height giving her away more than any kind of ability did.

Why do you even bother?

That would be a question he’d need to ask when they eventually captured her. One of dozens.

He read on, occasionally glancing at Cloudy’s pile when she pointed out some interesting tidbit, slowly building up a picture of what intelligence thought of her. Something, quite frankly, he should have done long before rather than relying on the impersonal suppositions and broad strokes categorizations of why.

Now, having confronted her, poked and prodded her one-on-one, he had more experience with her than almost anyone else in the intelligence service.

From the bare observations, he was able to draw a more complete picture of the mare, from her early public life at the Rose Palace, the death of her father and her subsequent living with Carnation for most of her childhood into adulthood. All things that he knew, and all things that were part of the common knowledge, but also a part of the picture of the mare drawn together with Rosemary and Carnation.

Her own actions seemed to bely what she should have done, given whom she’d been raised with, hinting that she’d been corrupted early or even born with the same affliction her mother had.

It wasn’t until he got to the latter life portions of her file, when she was only a teenager, that a radically different mare started to emerge.

“I am more confused now,” Collar confessed in his office two hours later, staring at a painting of Damme, a piece done some hundred years before, showing a city largely unchanged. The greater changes were happening in Dammehollow, upriver. He didn’t want to look at the notes scattered across his desk and onto the floor, some touched up with red ink for inconsistencies and questions he still had.

Their intelligence service was good, but Rosewater, unlike most Roses, even most of her sisters, lived the life of a reclusive paranoid. She rarely left her home or her perfumery for anything other than business, and the few times she did and had were more than six years in the past, before Carnation’s exile.

“What happened, Cloudy? She was running raids before Carnation was exiled and wasn’t this reclusive.” He wondered if there was any truth to the rumor of Rosewater and her aunt being more than only that. It was sickening, but at least one report from an informant in the Rose Palace that hadn’t yet made it into the archive said Rosary had accused her of the same… and gotten physically assaulted for it.

“Dunno.” She shrugged and rolled over onto her side, rubbing at her temple. “I am not reading another word today. My head hurts.”

“Then… I guess I’ll have to order dinner for you tonight, won’t I?”

“Having dinner at home,” Cloudy grumbled. “Your mother had harsh enough words for you taking me out to eat already, Collar.”

“Rut the Primfeathers,” Collar grunted, wishing he’d had wings of his own to show his own annoyance the way Cloudy had. “I don’t give one stars-damned whit about what they think of us.”

“Neither do I,” Cloudy said with a snort. “But she wasn’t wrong, you know.”

“I know.” He pushed that conversation back into his memory before he could remember it again, how angry he’d felt at the time listening to his mother tell him he ought to be more circumspect about how he romanced the Rosewing known for her promiscuity.

It was her culture. He couldn’t ask her to change just because he wanted…

“And there’s that face again,” Cloudy said with a sigh, reaching out with a hoof to slap at his hindquarters. “Collar, you need to talk to me when you feel that way. You can’t just hold it in and hope it’ll go away.”

“Principes van Vrije Liefde,” Collar murmured, pulling a book down from his desk’s shelf. He’d been keeping a copy of Merrie’s main philosophical work there ever since Cloudy had started making a mess of his Dammeguard’s good order by sleeping around—off duty of course—with other consenting mares who found her just as intriguing as he had. Always the mares, though. He was, as far as he knew, the only stallion she’d lain with. “I want to understand, Cloudy.”

“I know. And I’m sorry I’m bad at explaining things. But you need to tell me if you feel jealous.” She pushed herself up and nibbled along his jaw until he leaned away. “I don’t want you to feel that about me, Collar. I just want to love you.”

Am I? He held the book against his horn, as if he could absorb the knowledge, the arguments, the history inside through osmosis. “What kind of love, Cloudy?”

“Romantic,” she whispered.

The highest form of love between two unrelated ponies according to the Principes. “I want that, too.”

“I can learn to be like Dapper. I can learn the Liefdesprincipes.”

He could hear the distaste in her voice, though she hid it under the near toneless whisper. She didn’t want to. But she would if he asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “I love you, Cloudy. I can’t ask you to do something you’ll hate.”

“And I don’t want to run more afoul of your mother. I’ll be at my home tonight. You have patrol?”

“I don’t.”

“Mmm. Maybe you could,” she purred, nibbling along his jaw to his chin, capturing him with a kiss and a touch of her hoof.

He laughed softly and nipped her chin. “Maybe I misread the roster for this week.”

Author's Notes:

Shorter chapter today.

... I think this is one of the shortest chapters in the story. Second-shortest.