The box, with the spell removed, stood by my nightstand, the blinded coltec eye watching me pace through the room.

"So you're saying the spell belongs to the counsellor?" the princeling asked again.

"Yes."

"Huh." He did not seem very interested in the question, much more preoccupied with my paltry possessions. He dragged his claw along the jamb of the door, feeling out the runes of alarm-spell I put on it. "Your magic is different. Prettier," he added for some reason. He waved his wing, trying to find words. "Sharper, and hotter."

"He must have it. That’s the only way it makes sense."

"The spell?"

"No, the scroll," I explained. "He must have taken it. He would not destroy it, it's way too precious. He'd keep it and hide it somewhere close."

"Who?" he princeling turned his head to the side, clearly not following my brilliant insight. "And why?"

"He'd keep it somewhere. Somewhere close by. On him, or probably in his rooms... insurance, or ransom if he needed it, something like that."

I turned to Galad, looking for confirmation, but the eaglet just shrugged, completely lost in my mutterings. "So, what do you want to do now?"

I considered it carefully.

"I," I said, after some deliberation, "am going to sleep."

"But it's the middle of the day!"

Indeed it was — my Princess's Sun was still shining right through the window as if to illustrate his point for him.

"And yet," I pushed him insistently out, "I feel that I need a nap. I'm half-pegasus, you know."

"You are?"

"On my mother's side." I finally towed him out. "And I need my nap."

I slammed the door shut.

And then I stood there for a second, staring at it, thinking.

Something was wrong, Equestria was in danger, and that ugly creature, that arimaspi - he was in the center of it. I paced nervously through my room again, trying to piece the half-a-plan I had, into something meaningful. The creature — that creature was the odd one out, the pivot of the problem.

It tried to dissuade the Prince from the war, it seems. And yet it also prophesied things, the glory and the conquest, that would encourage it. It was in the archive, it knew of the second scroll, yet had not revealed it, it served the Prince, at Griffon King's court, but called the Drowner his master...

It made no sense. And if it did not add up, that means that I did not know something.

And the first rule of life is that if you’re not aware, if you don’t have the information - you’re worse than useless. But I was ready for this. This was what I have trained for. This is what all the deals, all the secrets, all the pain was for.

The main thing I needed was more information. So, true to my word I prepared my bed slowly, and settled in, fluffing up the pillows and blankets.

I wished I had my instruments: my hookah and the hash, nightshade, formaldehyde tincture and khalif-root to free my spirit and preserve the body. But for a short stint, this would have to do, as long as everything was comfortable enough.

I took a breath, long and deep, just as she taught me, and whispered a secret name. My magic twisted inside out, familiar vertigo had gripped me for a second, and then I was looking from outside at my body going limp in the bed.

Light as a feather, silent as a ghost, I moved on the wings of the wind towards my quarry.

It would never have worked against a griffon. Their golden eyes would see even the slightest breeze, their claws could cut even the flesh of the wind. But I did not need to use it against a griffon. Instead, I slipped under my door, turned right, seeping through the ancient masonry of Gormenghast into the web of secret passages and servants' ways, left and two flights of stairs up, towards the arimaspi's room.

I entered through the gap under the door, trying hard not to break it as I did. There were alarm-spells, like a waft of rot in my face, but I burned them away with but an effort of my power, reforming on the other side, into a shape of a flaming lioness, weaved from wind and green flames of my magic.

Nothing seemed to change since. It was quiet. Silent. The arimaspi wasn’t there, which was good, else I’d have to deal with it. Somehow.

I weaved carefully round the large armchair and dug in scattering the papers on the table - maps and documents, astronomical charts and coltec blood alchemy formulas. Not what I needed.

Seemed It would not be so easy.

I looked around, studying the layout of the room. If I were hiding something, something important, something I could not carry with me. A parchment or a scroll, so it would be small, easy enough to hide.

If I were that creature, what would I do?

I looked again, flowing along the wall, feeling with my wind-body for any draft or tickle of the air escaping a hidden compartment, the narrow gaps in the masonry or the woodwork, pulling out random drawers and throwing books and notes on the floor.

Where would I hide it?

I was so sure of my guess. The creature must have had the scroll, nopony else would know the Coltec nigrimancy to cast that spell, certainly not the proud griffons. And he'd have to keep it at close... unless he hid it somewhere else, or destroyed it entirely.

No! I pushed those thoughts down and redoubled my search. It had to be here.

Where can it be?

Nothing. There was nothing - not in the books and papers arranged on the table, not in the drawers, not under the crystals and the tools scattered about.

It had to be here.

I could not be wrong. I couldn’t.

Where is it?!

Roaring a gout of flame, I let my irritation out on a cupboard, smashing it to bits with a wave of my translucent wind-paw.

I had not the time to waste on this! Abandoning all caution, I moved like a hurricane through the room, fire and wind, breaking furniture and ripping through the precious silks, relieving my frustration on the junk that cluttered the room.

There!

There was something, something in the air I could feel with my wind-flesh, the same stench-like feel of magic, like the smell of rotten meat and maggots crawling over my skin. Something was here, close by, hidden and protected by magic. I moved slower feeling out with the whole of my body.

There was a noise at the door, a shuffling of hooves, but I was already too close, melting the stone with the claws of fire to reach for my prize, baring the secret compartment dug into the masonry of the floor.

The final stone cracked under my strike, revealing the hidden space within —an indentation clawed within the floor of the room, where few precious things were hidden: some rusty manacles of cold-wrought iron, a vial of blood, a strip of skin with something written, and that what I was looking for - a scroll, smelling faintly of daffodils and sunshine.

The door handle turned, just as I reached to grab my prize, and as I did, the manacles shifted, glowing with a rusty aura of a spell placed on the cuff, and before I could react, it struck, like a cobra, three chains locking upon where my neck and front two paws would be, two others snapping at my sides, and falling down.

Stupid. No iron could hold me in my wind form. I stretched out — and the iron held, keeping me locked in place just the same as if I was a flesh-and-blood pony. The runes along the manacle, in coltec pictogram glowed with magic, held me down, pinning my front paws to the floor, and all I could do was turn towards the door to face the creature as it came in.

“What?!” The creature’s coat was damp and matted, and his breath ragged — he must’ve ran here when the alarm-spell was triggered. Whatever he expected, he did not expect me here, not a creature of wind and fire — and that gave me an opening.

I pulled towards him, trying to reach him with my paw, but the chains, the accursed chains they held me, and my swipe came nowhere close to it. The creature flinched, and I pushed again, roaring to release a gout of heat and magic, like a dragon spitting out their flame. The arimaspi shrieked, ripping away, and raised his hands in front of his face, defending — and a shield appeared in front of him, a translucent semi-dome of golden magic.

Not just any magic - equestrian, unicorn magic, not his horn but his nails shining with dull gold aura. He wiggled his fingers, making a gesture of some sort and a beam of golden light tinged with black, shot out, surrounding my body with the same black-and-gold color.

"That's you!" he hissed, recognizing my form and my magic. "The little pony, the master's slave! What are you doing here? Why are you destroying my rooms and my tools?!"

“I, err…” It was hard to speak in this form, though possible with some concentration. The bigger problem was I had no idea what to say. I was so sure I could overpower the feeble creature, starved of his magic, that another plan never even occurred to me.

If I could shed these cursed manacles — and I knew a way to bust any bonds and to break any fetters, but it was back there in my body, left behind — then it would not even be a problem. But now, with cold iron sapping away the power of anemos I inhabited, the golden spell staunching my flames, I had to come up with something else.

Lurching again, I pulled on the chains with all my might, but there was no give — the cold iron, blood-enchanted, rune-inscribed, held fast.

“I command you to release me!” After that failed attempt to escape, that sounded feeble even to my own ears.

"No, no, I don't think so, you lying little pony." His horn grew alight again. "You smell of master, yes, yes you do, but master would not send you to break my room, to steal my scroll. You must be lying, little pony, yes, yes, you must, and I will know."

“Your master sent me!”

"So you say, little pony, and his mark, yes, yes,I feel it. The salt, the iron. But you also smell of her, yes, daffodils and sunshine."

"I'm undercover?" I suggested, but he did not seem to buy it.

"A mare can only serve one master, yes, only one you can serve. " His eyes narrowed. "I think you're a traitor, little pony, yes, I think you're a spy."

“No I’m not!” As far as arguments went — this wasn’t one.

"Tell me, then, what does tlatoani want with me? Yes, tell me of my Master's plan."

"Well," I tried desperately to come up with a lie. "Err...how dare you question me!?" I stomped my paw against the ground, singing the carpets. "I walked to the bottom of the ocean at his side. I brought him the Nightblade and won him the Coin. Release me, creature!"

There almost was a reflexive jerk, a half-bow of submission, but the moment passed.

“You don’t know, do you?” It was barely a question now, his voice becoming more sure with every word. “You weren’t really sent by him, no, no you were not. You smell of him, but that’s a lie, that’s a ruse. What are you really doing here, little pony?”

"You—! I… The Master does not trust you, creature. I'm here to take the second scroll before you fa—"

I felt a touch of cold in my mind, like a crystal alarm-bell ringing. Someone has touched the door to my room. Someone was about to enter my room. With my body entirely defenceless. “Erm... “ I lost my train of thought, “I mean… yes. That. Taking the scroll off your hooves. Hands. Claws, whatever. That’s why he sent me.” If the creature had accomplices...I pulled on the chain again, but it was just as futile as it was before. “Now give it to me! And release me!”

"You lie, little pony. Little traitor. Tlatoani believes in me, yes, yes he does, he trusts his old servant, yes!“ He pulled up his sleeves, revealing the sleek, rare fur and a lining of scars and tattoos, runics and pictograms running from his forearm to his shoulder. His hands crooked into a weird gesture, the keratin of his nails shining with the black light. “And you made a mistake coming here in this form." He licked his thin lips. "With all this raw magic, unformed and unused.”

Whatever it meant, it was not good. I prepared to try the chains again, a wave of desperate fear pushing me to pull and to rip and to do anything to get out, before the creature waved his spell, before whoever it was my door ripped away the protective charms and entered...

Control, little princess. Breathe. Her voice in my head, her advice. It calmed me down.

Brute strength would not avail me, but the manacles, they were not made to hold winds. Five manacles, with long cuffs to protect them from the claws: that design meant it was meant for a griffon, a creature of flesh and blood — and at this moment I was neither.

I breathed, even though in this form it made no sense, and concentrated on certain points within my wind-body, feeling it shift and expand, magic leaving me like air from an untied balloon.

Relax I concentrated on that thought, like a filly playing the sleepover game, Breathe I let go of my very self, and gave more and more over to the wind that was my body, and letting go of the magic.

Blood seeped through the arimaspi's sleeve, outlining some sort of Coltec pictograms, and I felt a rip of vertigo and hunger, but I pushed it down

Light as a feather.

"What are you trying to do little pony?" He noticed my shift, and his fingers danced in the air, twitching like the legs of a dying spider as he weaved a spell.

Lighter. I kept concentrating, my body becoming more and more ephemeral and lighter still, I was but a feather, a wisp of a wind, no magic, no power, no substance—

"Stop!" The spell he was weaving has shot out towards me, but it was too late, already I slipped through the cuffs and fell down, through the cracks in the floor, down the spider-web of the passages and stairs, twice to the right and once to the left, and into my room and into my body, just another series of knocks rapped against my door.

My room, my body, my bed. I breathed in, a long, ragged breath, feeling my lungs inflate like rusted bellows, the air scraping at my insides like shards of glass.

The first few seconds are always the most painful.

"Lady Shimmer?" Equestrian language, griffish accent. Prince Gwyr's voice.

I forced my muscles to move, trying to stretch the cold ligaments.

The first few seconds. Then it gets easier. I shook my head trying to chase out the cobwebs - a bad idea. Something exploded behind my eyes like a miniature thunderbolt.

"Are you alright?"

"Come - " I couldn't get words out before doubling up in a coughing fit, each cough as dry as Arabian desert, each little shake like another kick to the head. "Come in," I managed to scrounge up some spit in the dry sandbox of my mouth.

Steadier now, my body finally acclimating to being animated by me again, I tried to stand up, moving my head as little as I could. Pins and needles rolled along my limbs, but nothing too bad. I have not stayed out too long.

"Are you alright?" the Prince asked again as he entered the room, while I rummaged around the room for something for my parched throat.

"I'm fine," I dismissed his concern, finally finding the bottle that somehow rolled in the back of the cupboard. "I was in the middle of some magic I could not interrupt. What brings you here?"

"Gally.. Prince Galad had mentioned that you may have uncovered something in the library. Something regarding our situation?"

"Yes. Right. I was casting spells." I finished my drink. "And he has it." I threw away the bottle, wiping my mouth with my hoof. "I've seen it. I can fix it now."

"He who? And has what?"

"That creature, the councillor. The arimaspi. He has the second scroll, the proof that the debt of Equestria has been paid. I just need to get it."

"The creature? But why? It's been helping me to stop Gideon all this time. "

"I don't know!" I shrugged, my irritation bleeding into my voice and gesture. “But it doesn't matter. I'm going to fix it now."

"What are you going to do — just barge in there and—" he caught himself when he saw my expression. "No! Absolutely not. You can't possibly!"

"Why on earth not?"

"You cannot!" Gwyr almost jumped with the idea.

"I assure you, I am quite capable of—"

"A little pony, a guest who ate our bread, drank our wine, attacking my brother's servant — no, this would be grave disrespect, an insult. It could start a war on its own!"

"Well, you do it then! You don't even have to do anything, just command him to yield the scroll."

"I..." he floated back down to the ground. "I cannot. I will not go against my brother directly. We'll need to think of something else."

The evening found me in my quarters looking at the blank pages of the magic journal.

I needed help badly. If it were a fight or a magic problem I'd have known what to do — I've been taught by the best. In the subtler realm of politics, however, I was completely lost.

I stared at the parchment-yellow pages, quill in my magic, and then I paused.

All I had to do was to write in the journal, and Celestia would see the same writing in the twinned journal in Canterlot. That was her most precious, her last gift to me. I could call for help, and she would answer, be it with advice or with magic, or — I had no doubt that were I to ask, she'd even come in person. All I had to do was ask.

But my Princess did not wish to know of the winds. And she was, as the Count had said, very good at knowing only that which my Princess wished to know — that I have learned rather painfully.

I put the quill away and closed the journal. My Princess had sent me to Griffonstone, and that meant she had deemed it sufficient for the situation. If I needed advice, the Count would have to be enough.

"You're doing the right thing Miss Shimmer," the Count said from the door. He looked pale and tired, leaning against the jamb of the door for support. "She does not need to know."

I nodded. That was all that I needed — permission and command to do what had to be done. And though perhaps those were the last vestiges of the silly princess-y thoughts in my head, 'you're doing the right thing' did sound much better when coming from someone other than yourself.

Now, this is the cup the ponies drink   
	When they go to right a wrong, 
And that is the cup of the Old World's hate--
	Cruel and strained and strong. 
We have to drink that cup--and a bitter, bitter cup--      
	And toss the dregs away.

Fancy Pants, Count Hoofington
Unpublished