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There was a knock at Scott’s chamber door. Sharp, deliberate, but not panicked. Still, it grated on his nerves.
Scott’s quill froze mid-stroke, a blot of ink bleeding into the parchment. His jaw tightened. He had been clear with his council—unmistakably clear—that he was not to be disturbed tonight. Not for trivial updates. Not for the endless parade of reports on tariffs, border patrol rotations, or supply routes. He wanted solitude. For once.
He exhaled heavily and shoved his chair back. The long folds of his pale blue robe brushed the floor as he stood. With practiced motions, he smoothed the silk over his chest, adjusting the silver chain clasp at his throat. If someone was going to ignore his orders, he at least wanted to meet them with the full weight of his annoyance.
The knock came again, hesitant this time. Scott’s hand closed around the brass handle and yanked the door open just as the intruder’s fist lifted to knock once more.
A narrow face blinked up at him, framed by a scattering of tousled feathers that hadn’t quite grown into their full sheen. Lunta.
Scott’s irritation softened by a fraction—just a fraction. The youngest of his council, though not truly a member, Lunta had proven indispensable as an errand-runner, messenger, and organizer. A secretary without the title. A sharp-eyed little owl who had rescued him from more disasters of schedule and protocol than he could count.
Still, Scott gave them an unimpressed stare. “What is it, Lunta?”
The teen shifted awkwardly, lowering their half-raised hand and reaching into the pocket of their tunic. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I know you asked not to be disturbed.” Their voice carried that blend of youthful nerves and earnestness Scott had grown used to. They produced an envelope, lavender in color, pinched delicately between their talons. “This came from the Codlands. It’s marked urgent.”
Codlands? Urgent? Scott could’ve laughed. Nothing marked urgent by the Codlands was actually urgent. He was pretty sure Codfather marked letters urgent just so people would read them, because who would read a letter from Codfather?
Scott almost laughed. Of course it was. Everything from the Codfather came stamped with grandiose importance, even if it was only a missive about the tide being too low for fishing. He took the envelope between two fingers, shaking his head.
“Lunta,” Scott sighed, already turning back toward the glow of his desk lamp. “A letter marked urgent from the Codlands is not, in fact, urgent. Trust me.”
But Lunta didn’t retreat. Their wings gave a nervous ruffle as they gathered the courage to speak. “With respect, King Smajor,” they said carefully, voice wavering but firm, “what if—just once—it is urgent? If we ignore a message marked as such and it turns out to be real, that could place us in conflict. Even… war.” Their chin lifted slightly, though their eyes flickered downward again. “It’s careless for Codfather to overuse the term, yes. But it would be far more careless for us to dismiss it outright. It costs nothing to read.”.
Scott stared at them, brow furrowing. Bold. Too bold for someone their age, their station—or lack thereof. And yet… his lips pressed into a thin line. They weren’t wrong.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, the envelope dangling from his other hand. “Yes. Of course, Lunta. Point taken.” He forced some warmth into his tone, enough to keep their feathers from drooping too much. “You’re dismissed.”
Lunta bowed quickly, the gesture clumsy but sincere, then hurried down the corridor, small wings twitching against their back.
Scott shook his head and shut the door, looking down at the letter in his hands as he strode back to his desk. He licked his lips and sat down.
It was a lavender envelope, and when Scott ran his thumb over the stamp, the white glove came back with a green smudge. He frowned. From what he could decipher, that meant the letter, while it had been written by the Codfather, came from Katherine’s domain.
He unfolded the parchment. His frown deepened at once. The Codlands were chaotic, yes, but their written correspondence was always meticulous, oddly precise. Every line neat, every stroke clear, even though their ink is mud. This letter was none of those things. The ink clotted in bumps, the letters uneven, the sentences rushed.
Smajor,
I’m so sorry for this rugged letter. This is very last second. I’m sending this from House Blossom, I am on my way to Rivendell. I hope you have time to squeeze me in tonight, this is a very important matter to be spoken about right away. Privately, no council as of right now. I will see you soon.
—Cod
Scott read it twice. His heart gave a single, heavy thump. Shit.
He shoved back his chair and strode for the door, his footsteps echoing sharp and fast against the stone corridor.
The first person he spotted was—of course—Lunta, emerging from the post room, feathers sticking out at all angles as they muttered curses under their breath and tripped over their own boots.
Scott almost groaned. “Lumivyory!” he called, quickening his pace.
The teen spun, startled, nearly colliding with the wall before straightening. “King Smajor—!”
“I need you to gather the council. Meeting chamber. At once.” Scott didn’t slow, already brushing past. He caught their baffled look and snapped, “Immediately!” over his shoulder.
-
Minutes later, the council chamber buzzed with uneasy voices. Scott stood at the head of the long spruce table, hands braced against its polished surface, every line of his posture calm, though his pulse hammered beneath.
“Are we starting?” Polya’s clipped voice cut through the murmurs. Her tone carried that practiced blend of politeness and disdain Scott had long come to despise. “Respectfully, I had matters of my own before being summoned.”
Scott’s eyes snapped to her. “Polyaminen.” He let the name linger in the air, heavy and sharp. “You accepted this position knowing it meant being on call for matters of the realm at all hours. If that is too much for you, the door is there.” His gaze pinned her in place until she ducked her head with a forced huff of contrition.
Before the silence could settle, the chamber doors creaked open. Lunta slipped inside, feathers smoothed as best they could manage, though their cheeks were still flushed from running. “Apologies, King Smajor!” They bobbed their head quickly, guilt plain across their young features.
Scott straightened. “Lunta.” His voice softened by a degree. He stepped away from the table, crossing to meet them. His gloved hand settled on their shoulder, a light, guiding pressure. “With me.”
Confusion flickered across Lunta’s face, but they obeyed without question, letting Scott lead them back into the hall.
The door closed behind them with a solid thump. The muffled hum of the council lingered on the other side, no doubt leaning forward in hopes of catching stray words. Scott ignored it.
“First,” he said quietly, meeting Lunta’s wide eyes, “you were right.” The words tasted strange on his tongue. Admission did not come easily. “The letter was important. Ignoring it would have been dangerous. So… thank you.”
Lunta blinked, surprise giving way to a small, genuine smile. “You’re welcome, sir. Just… doing my job.”
Scott’s lips twitched faintly. “An unofficial one.” He glanced down the hall, his voice lowering further. “Second, I need you at the gates. Codfather himself is coming, and soon. Take this.” He pressed a sealed slip of parchment into their hand. “It grants my approval to let him through. Show it to the guards. No delays.”
Lunta tucked it into their pocket without hesitation and gave a sharp nod. “Of course, Your Highness.” Then they were off, boots tapping briskly against the stone.
Scott composed himself, smoothing his robe before entering the meeting room once again. Only a couple of the advisors had the decency to look guilty at the obvious listening in they were doing to Lunta’s and Scott’s conversation.
Scott rolled his eyes and sat in his seat. “I apologize for the sudden assembly,” he began, voice carrying across the room. “A letter has arrived from the Codlands. Unlike the usual… dramatics, this one is different.” He placed the parchment flat on the table, smoothing it open for all to see.
Viisaus, the eldest of his advisors, leaned forward with careful hands. “May I?”
Scott nodded. The old man adjusted his spectacles and scanned the page, his brows knitting together. “How strange. Codfather’s letters are typically precise. This is rushed. Uncharacteristic.”
Scott rubbed his forehead. “Yes, exactly. I’ve not the slightest clue as to what exactly is so important that he dropped everything to rush here.”
“Just between us,” Polya rolled her eyes. “Many things would make the codboy drop everything. King Smajor,” she sat up straighter. “I’m not questioning your judgment..however, are we really certain it’s that important? Codboy is..incompetent, as we all know.” Her eyes glazed over everyone else at the table. “It could be something utterly ridiculous that he’s come to tell us, and he’d have wasted all our time.” She scoffed.
Scott narrowed his eyes. If his parents didn’t make him take an oath to not kick her off unless she did something completely horrible, she wouldn’t be sitting there. “First of all,” he cleared his throat. “We need to take precautions, no matter how likely or unlikely it is to be as urgent as he’s said it to be. If he’s sent a letter here then it’s directed at us, me. And as King, I need to make sure my kingdom is safe. I will not write anything off.” His tone deepened. “Secondly, you will call Codfather by his royal status. Codboy is completely intolerable. While he may be…unprofessional, he is still an emperor and a ruler. You will treat him as such.” Polya sputtered as her face lost color, she nodded.
Scott leaned back, satisfied. “Now that that’s taken care of. I have sent Lunta to go collect the Codfather from the main gates, they will return soon.”
“Do you really think sending Lumivyory to get Codfather was the best idea?” Jaassa licked his lips, looking slightly nervous. “Of course, I’m not trying to step out of line—”
Scott waved his hand with a sigh, cutting the advisor off quickly. “I am aware of both of their unique skills,”
“That’s a way to put it.” Polya scoffed under her breath.
Scott ignored her. “I trust Lunta, and if whatever Codfather needed was as urgent as he said it was, then I trust he will try to keep focused.” He brushed his hair out of his face. “Now, Codfather requested privacy for this matter. That means the rest of you are dismissed for tonight.”
All of his advisors looked like they wanted to say something, but Scott was glad they kept their mouths shut. Harmel is the first out, collecting her notebooks and rushing out with labored breaths that Scott should probably look into but he won’t.
The rest of the council follow with grumbling and protests. “No listening in, or you will be severely punished.” He huffs, rubbing his forehead.
“I can’t believe I was called here for this–” He hears Polya complain as she passes him.
“Polyaminen.” He warns and she quickly leaves the room.
The doors burst open again with a clatter that rattled against the chamber walls. Scott’s heart lurched before he schooled his expression into a mask of cold composure.
In stumbled Lunta, feathers askew, boots slipping against the polished stone floor. Their face was crimson, eyes wide as they looked at Scott, guilt practically radiating from them. Behind them, nearly colliding into their back, came the Codfather—tail lashing, breath uneven, fins shivering with every hurried step.
Lunta swallowed hard, wringing their hands together. “Um—my apologies, Your Highness.” Their voice cracked on the words. They sucked in a breath, stepping hurriedly aside to give the Codfather space to enter. “We rushed from the gates. I think I may have—um—knocked over a few things along the way. I’m very sorry.” The poor teen looked as though confessing to treason.
Cod laid a hand on Lunta’s shoulder, heavy and damp. The motion made them flinch, but when they glanced up, he gave their shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and Scott would bet on there being a smile beneath that mask of his. “Don’t be so modest,” he said, turning the words into a clumsy attempt at charm. “I did most of the damage myself. Tail’s got a mind of its own when I’m in a hurry. If anything’s broken, I’ll cover the cost.”
He gave Scott a shallow bow, half-formal and wholly awkward, water droplets clinging to his scales catching the candlelight.
Scott pressed his lips together and inhaled deeply through his nose. He closed his eyes briefly, muttering under his breath, “Aeor, save me.” With a sharp flick of his wrist, he waved Lunta toward the hall. “That’s enough. Lunta, you’re dismissed.”
The teen nodded quickly, relief flickering in their eyes. They bowed low before slipping out, the heavy door swinging shut behind them.
Scott reopened his eyes, composure gathered like a cloak around his shoulders. He gestured curtly toward the empty chair beside him. “We’ll address damages later. Sit.”
Cod obeyed, easing into the chair, though instead of resting normally, he folded his hands beneath him, perched like a schoolchild caught in mischief. It was… odd. Scott resisted the urge to comment.
“I am sorry,” Cod began at once, his voice bubbling with nervous laughter. “Truly sorry, for barging in without allowing you time to prepare—”
Scott raised a hand, cutting him off with a single sharp motion. “Spare me the apologies. Get to the point.”
The Codfather’s mouth snapped shut. He nodded quickly, fumbling with the satchel he’d been clutching. His claws scraped against the worn leather as he pulled out a bundle of papers. The parchment looked ancient, edges browned, the surface warped and water-stained. His hands trembled as he unfolded it, laying it gingerly on the table between them.
Scott leaned closer, eyes narrowing.
“This,” Cod said, voice rasping with the effort to keep it steady, “was found buried in the swamp mud. An old contract. It’s been examined—validated—by Lizzie and her council.” His throat worked as he swallowed, flipping carefully through the pages.
Scott frowned, adjusting his gloves against the table. “Refer to the Ocean Queen with her title in my presence, Codfather.” His patience thinned with each circling word. “And tell me—what does this have to do with me?”
Cod gulped audibly, the sound uncomfortably wet. “It’s… a marriage contract.” He hesitated, then whispered, “Between Rivendell and the Codlands.”
Scott froze. The words struck him like ice water poured down his spine.
Slowly, carefully, he reached forward. His gloves brushed the parchment as he pulled it toward himself, treating the brittle pages as though they might shatter. His eyes swept over the writing, scanning line after line. His lips moved silently as he traced the words.
Click. Click. Click.
Scott flipped another page. His pulse throbbed in his ears, drowning out thought.
Hquk… hquk… hquk…
His fingers tightened on the edges of the parchment.
Tip-tip-tip-tip-tip—
Scott’s head snapped up, eyes blazing. “Would you stop that!?” His voice cracked sharp as a whip, his glare lancing across the table.
Cod startled, freezing mid-tap. Every sound ceased—his tail stilled, claws retracted from the wood, even his labored breathing softened. Flustered, he tucked his hands beneath himself again and coiled his tail tightly around one leg.
hquk
Scott was going to lose it. He drew a sharp breath, forcing himself back to the document. He flipped to the final page, scanning until he found what he dreaded most: the signatures.
There it was, undeniable.
Ime Kiikus-Smajor. Viivotin Smajor. His parents’ unmistakable handwriting, sealed with the royal stamp of Rivendell.
And beside them—Vinka’oval Shadowlady and Jackilen Solidarity-Shadowlady, bearing the ocean-blue seals of the Oceanpire.
Scott’s heart dropped into his stomach. His lips parted, disbelief spilling out as a whisper. “This is between Rivendell and Oceanpire.” His eyes closed briefly, a silent, desperate prayer: Aeor, let it be the Ocean Queen. I would sooner marry her than—
Cod’s claws scraped as he pulled the document back toward himself, flipping rapidly. His slimy hands left faint smudges against the fragile parchment. Scott grimaced.
“Well, actually,” Cod said, fumbling for the right page, “it specifies the youngest heir of each empire.” His claws pointed to a line of text, trembling slightly.
"Right..." Scott raised an eyebrow. Scott pressed a hand to his temple. “Which would be me and Queen Shadowlady, as she is an only child.”
“No, here's the thing.” Cod chuckled nervously. “I was the Oceanpire Prince.” His clicking and drumming are back and Scott’s pretty sure he’s going to strangle the cod.
Scott blinked. A disbelieving laugh escaped him. “I don’t understand. Queen Shadowlady is the heir. The only heir.”
Cod’s head tilted downwards. “Yeah, well—our parents are very good at concealing things. People, included.” He tried for humor, but Scott’s expression remained stone. “I… wasn’t exactly the heir my mother wanted. So she...they, pretend I don't exist.”
Scott stared. The words sank slowly, heavily, like stones in a lake.
Cod shifted. hquk…hquk… “You cannot tell anyone.” Cod pleaded and Scott just shook his head, lost for words. “Smajor, I’m trusting you with this.” The Codfather said firmly, reaching out to wrap his claw around Scott’s wrist, Scott shivered at the cold and wet feeling. “You have to promise you won’t tell anyone.”
Scott yanked his hand back, the Codfather releasing instantly. “Wonderful.” He deadpanned. “I’ll have to tell my parents you’re an heir of Oceanpire. They wrote the contract, they’ll be confused.”
Cod stayed silent, that creepy mask not showing any of his emotions or his thoughts. "Right." Is all he says, voice hesitant.
Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are we truly considering this?”
“There’s no loophole,” Cod said, his words tumbling. “Lizzie and her council spent hours combing it. If there was a way out, they’d have found it.”
Scott’s eye twitched. “Please, Codfather. Use proper titles when addressing me.”
Cod bowed his head, shame emanating from him. “Yes. My apologies.”
Scott leaned back, the weight of inevitability sinking on his shoulders. “I’ll need my own copy. We’ll convene a joint meeting—both councils, both realms. We’ll have to establish custom agreements.” His mind spun with logistics. “Is there a deadline?”
“August of next year,” Cod answered quickly, as if he’d rehearsed.
Scott cursed under his breath. “What do you know of Rivendell customs?” He questioned, eyeing Cod with judgmental eyes.
Cod, of course, noticed and bristled. “What do you know of Codland customs?” He shot back.
Scott raised an eyebrow. “You have customs?”
“Of course we have customs!” Cod growled in frustration.
“Shocker.” Scott shook his head. Such a young empire having customs already, the Codfather was trying too hard.
Cod inhaled sharply, forcing himself calm. “Listen. I know you’re not happy about this—”
“Oh, really?” Scott cut in, eyes narrowing.
Cod’s tone shifted suddenly, sharp and raw. “You don’t have to be such a jerk about it.”
Scott froze. No one—no one—spoke to him that way. His mouth opened, closed again. His thoughts scattered.
“Get out.” His voice was ice. He surged to his feet.
Cod startled, taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” Scott snapped, pointing at the door. “Now get out of my empire, Codfather.”
Cod sighed, heavy and weary. He shoved the packet back into his satchel, slinging it over one shoulder. “Don’t speak to me like that, Smajor.”
Scott’s jaw clenched, retort poised. But Cod raised a clawed hand.
“I respect you. But if this is going to work, you’ll have to respect me too.” His voice had lost its nervous quaver. For once, it was steady. Strong. “And for the record—I do know your customs. More than you think.”
Scott faltered. No reply came.
Cod inclined his head, claws curling around the satchel strap. “Reach out when you’re ready to arrange the joint meeting. Your Highness.” His emphasis was deliberate. Then he turned, tail swishing, and strode for the door.
Scott stared at the spot the Codfather had just stood, before rubbing his temples. Aeor save me.
-
The council chamber was still humming with the remnants of morning light when Scott finally took his seat at the head of the long table. The carved oak chair loomed high at his back, a subtle reminder of his authority, though today it felt more like a weight pressing down on him. The walls, lined with woven Rivendell banners, caught the late rays of sun in their threads, casting the table in glimmers of teal and gold. His gloves creaked faintly as he placed his hands flat against the polished wood.
“The Codfather wants a meeting between us and both our councils.” Scott wasted no time. His voice, firm but laced with tension, cut through the quiet. The way every eye at the table turned toward him made the weight on his shoulders heavier.
Viisaus tilted his head, his sharp gaze narrowing. “What for?” The question was casual in tone, but his frown betrayed unease.
Scott’s jaw worked. He met his advisor’s gaze, steady. “A marriage contract between our two empires.”
The words struck like a thrown dagger. Chairs creaked as people shifted. Polya inhaled sharply. Jaassa’s hand, clenched into a fist against the table, trembled faintly.
“Your parents would not have signed a marriage contract with that empire!” Jaassa snarled, his voice rumbling low, the anger in it almost feral. “Codfather must be lying to you, sir.”
Scott’s tone cooled, his reply sharp. “He showed me the contract.” He leaned forward, tapping a gloved finger against the grain of the wood. “Both of their signatures and the Rivendell stamps were there. There’s no doubt.”
Polya’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “And you’re actually going to go through with that?” Her tone dripped with disdain, as if the very thought of binding Rivendell to the Codlands was repulsive.
“I am trying to figure that out.” Scott’s fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the table, the leather muffling the sound. His blue eyes flickered across their faces, measuring their reactions. “Codfather has told me that the Ocean Queen and her council looked over the document, and while I fully trust the capabilities of Queen Shadowlady and her advisors, I do not trust the Codfather’s words.”
The room stirred with muted agreements, quiet growls of frustration.
“What are you going to do if there are no loopholes?” Jaassa asked, leaning forward, his elbows pressing into the wood as though he could physically bear down on Scott to force an answer.
Scott’s sigh was heavy, almost weary. “Talk to my parents.” His gaze slid down to the table, then back up. “I already sent a letter to them last night after our meeting, asking for them to get here as soon as they can.” He rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead, as though trying to knead away the headache pulsing there. “I’m hoping they’d be able to call it off. It depends on what the contract says, I asked Codfather for a copy.”
“Is Codfather aware of Rivendell customs?” Sarvi finally spoke, her tone pointed, one brow raised high. She leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled under her chin, watching Scott with sharp curiosity.
“I’m not sure.” Scott shook his head, lips pressed into a tight line. “He said he was, but once again, I do not trust anything that man says.”
“Are you aware of any Codland customs, King Smajor?”
The voice came not from the table but from behind Scott. He froze. His jaw clenched as he slowly turned to look over his shoulder. Lunta stood by the wall, hands shoved awkwardly into their pockets, shoulders slouched but eyes sharp.
Scott’s voice was venomous. “Lumivyory.” His tone alone made them straighten, though their defiance lingered. “You are not here on a real job. I could kick you out in a moment’s notice. Do not try anything that is well above any of your positions.”
Lunta gaze flickered around the room, catching on every advisor before they shrugged, stuffing their fists deeper into their pockets. “Well, sir, all I’m saying is that—”
“Did you not hear me?” Scott snapped, his voice cracking like a whip. His hands tightened against the table until his knuckles whitened beneath the gloves.
“No, Your Highness, I heard you perfectly well.” Lunta’s words were sharp, their face flushed red with the effort of forcing them out. “If I’m going to get kicked out, I’d rather it be for me making a point and you being too egotistical to admit I’m right, rather than me being an idiot and fumbling over my words.” Their scowl was fierce now, voice trembling but strong. “All I am saying is that if you don’t know anything about Codland customs then you have no right to be upset at the Codfather knowing nothing about Rivendell customs. While yes, they are a newer empire, that means nothing. Do you know anything about any of the other kingdoms? I sincerely doubt it, sir.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Scott—Scott was honestly at a loss for words. No one, not even the boldest of his council, had ever spoken to him in such a manner.
“You need to be taught manners, young lady!” Viisaus’ voice thundered, his face mottled red with fury. He shoved his chair back and rose to his feet, his hands clenched. The veins stood out along his neck.
“Lumivyory!” Polya’s chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as she shot up, storming toward the teen. She seized their wrist in a vice grip. “We are going to have a very serious conversation,” she hissed, her face pale with anger. “Your father will not be pleased at all. Do you know how hard he worked to get you this job?”
“You mean to get you this job.” Lunta murmured, their confidence having worn off but still feeling defiant.
Polya’s mouth opened, but Scott cut across her sharply. “Okay, okay!” He slammed his hand flat against the table, the sound echoing. “I am the king, I can deal with my own arguments!” His glare swept across the advisors like a blade. “All of you sit back down—we have an important meeting to get on with.”
Polya froze, caught between fury and obedience. Scott’s voice cracked down again, colder now. “Unhand them immediately, Polyaminen. And get back to your seat. If you’re not careful, child abuse is a perfectly good reason to be kicked off the council.” The warning was like ice.
Her jaw dropped, but before she could reply, Lunta ripped their hand free, glaring at her. Polya shot them a look of pure venom before retreating stiffly to her seat.
Scott’s gaze turned back to Lujta, sharp and heavy. “Lumivyory, I will talk to you later.” His eyes conveyed the silent promise: I did not forget. Lunta slouched against the wall, their earlier fire replaced with reluctant acceptance, their chin dipping in a regretful nod.
“We’re clear for tomorrow afternoon if you’d like to have the meeting then,” Harmel interjected quietly, glancing nervously around at the tension lingering in the room. Her quill tapped against her notebook in a rapid rhythm. “If we send a letter now, and send it through the woods instead of the paths, then it would get there in around five hours. Considering it’s Codlands we’re sending it to, they should be able to easily make it for tomorrow afternoon.”
“It’d be unprofessional to not give them at least a day’s warning.” Lumi muttered, nodding toward Harmel. Their words fell flat, ignored by most, though Harmel sent them a small, grateful smile.
“None of the animals will go through the woods.” Jaassa shook his head firmly.
“The moose easily go through the woods.” Viisaus countered immediately, one brow arched in challenge.
“The moose don’t do the mail during this time of year,” Sarvi clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes.
“Just send Lumivyory,” Polya muttered under her breath, barely loud enough, but the disdain in her voice carried. “She can fly. She’d make it there even faster than five hours.”
Scott considered it for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. At last, he straightened, brushing invisible dust from the cuffs of his gloves. “Lunta and Harmel, you two are going to the Codlands.”
There were immediate reactions—side glances, surprised frowns, a flicker of disapproval at Harmel’s name—but Scott ignored them all. He rose to his feet with quiet finality, his chair scraping back. He stepped past Lunta without meeting their eyes, lowering his voice just enough for them alone.
“I will be talking to you after the meeting tomorrow. Do not think I will forget.” His tone was a blade’s edge, but beneath it, a flicker of weariness. He paused, the weight of the chamber pressing in. “Hurry up,” he added, nodding toward the door where Harmel and Lunta were already gathering their things.
The chamber doors opened, spilling cold air into the room. Scott lingered only a moment longer before sweeping out, leaving the tense silence and muttered whispers of his council in his wake.
-
Less than an hour later, the echo of Scott’s boots carried softly along the marble halls as he strolled toward the library. A heavy tome rested open in his hand, the delicate script holding him completely captive. He barely noticed the slant of sunlight spilling across the tapestries, the hushed murmur of servants at work further down the corridor. He was, for the first time that day, in his own quiet world.
Then came the sound—sharp, staccato, clicking rapidly against the polished floor.
Scott’s shoulders tensed. He pressed his lips into a thin line and exhaled slowly through his nose. He closed the book with a quiet thud, slipping a ribbon into the page to mark his place. His free hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, steeling himself before turning.
Lunta stood there, feathers slightly ruffled from the pace of their approach, arms tucked awkwardly behind their back. Their ear feathers twitched with nervous energy, betraying what little composure they tried to muster.
“What are you still doing here, Lumivyory?” Scott asked, the irritation in his voice controlled but unmistakable. His eyes, sharp and cool, met theirs like a blade meeting a whetstone.
Lunta froze where they stood, their talons curling against the stone. “Sir—” They shifted their weight, licking their lips before continuing. “I feel the need to ask, why are you sending Harmel with me?” Their feathers twitched again, unable to stay still under Scott’s gaze. “She will only slow my flying down with the need to carry her. Not to mention, something I think is the most important thing—” Their voice faltered, but they pressed on, their words spilling out quickly. “Codlands’ known enemies are salmon.”
Scott arched an eyebrow at that, his patience straining. Of course the Codlands would have enemies as absurd as salmon.
“I’m not sure if you forgot, Your Highness,” Lunta went on, their tone careful but edged with urgency, “but Harmel is a salmon hybrid.”
Scott let his eyes fall shut for a moment, drawing in a steadying breath. When he opened them again, his gaze landed on Lunta, who looked as though they already regretted speaking. Nervousness clung to them like a second skin, though they forced themselves to stand tall.
“If I’m going to be honest with you, Lunta,” Scott said slowly, rubbing his thumb over the cover of the book in his hand, “I was not aware the Codlands even had a ‘known’ enemy.” His sigh carried more weariness than frustration. “I was sending Harmel knowing she was a fish hybrid.”
His words hung heavy in the air. Lunta shuffled, their talons tapping restlessly against the floor, the rhythm too quick to be casual.
“So…” They cleared their throat, glancing down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “Am I going alone?”
“No.” Scott’s answer was quick, clipped. “No, you are still to bring Harmel.”
“But, sir—” Lunta’s brows pinched, their voice faltering but determined.
“You are still to bring Harmel.” Scott repeated, firmer this time, his tone final. “Those are your orders, Lumivyory.” His gaze hardened, daring them to challenge him further.
“Your Highness, if Harmel is to—” Lunta tried again, desperation creeping into their tone, but Scott’s sharp voice cut through their words.
“Where are your shoes, Lumivyory?”
The abrupt question startled them. Lunta blinked, thrown off track, before realizing what he meant. Scott’s eyes had dropped to their feet, where their talons clacked bare against the polished stone floor. The source of the infernal clicking.
Color flushed across Lunta’s cheeks. Their wings ruffled and folded tightly against their back, feathers bristling in embarrassment and frustration. “In my quarters, sir. I saw you walking and needed to catch you. My apologies for not being presentable.” They bowed their head slightly, their voice quieter now.
Scott’s sigh was sharp, edged with impatience. “Get going, Lumivyory.” The hiss of his words left no room for argument.
Lunta’s wings fluttered once, an involuntary twitch of irritation, before pressing flat against their back. Their talons scraped against the floor with a shrill screech as they turned, the sound setting Scott’s teeth on edge. He winced but masked it quickly, his expression once again impassive.
“Yes, My King,” Lunta bit out between gritted teeth, bowing stiffly before clicking away down the hall, each step ringing in Scott’s ears.
Scott remained where he was, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose once more. He gave his head a small shake, muttering under his breath before resuming his walk. The library’s doors loomed ahead, promising silence, knowledge, and perhaps—if Aeor was merciful—a moment’s peace.
---
Jimmy loved the procedure of cleaning up the rough edges on Codlands’ documents. There was a strange satisfaction in it, almost meditative. They wrote in mud—thick, earthy, and stubborn—but leaving the crunchy dried mud on the soft paper was never an option. Even if it technically could be left, it would be a disservice to the empire, weakly labeled by outsiders as it was. Each cleaned edge, each smoothed line, was a small act of dignity for Codlands. A small declaration that they weren’t sloppy, that they could produce something worthy of attention.
Even though such a tedious task as this was not supposed to be a ruler's job, Jimmy has always been far from the normal ruler. He leaned forward, threading his fingers through the process of scraping and pressing, feeling the mud’s cool, gritty texture on his skin. After the week he’d had, this was paradise in comparison. The whirlwind of meetings and excavations, the stress of unearthing the marriage contract from the swamps, speaking to Fale about it, the endless rounds of council meetings, barging into Lizzie’s gatherings, coordinating with her, then traversing the continent to Rivendell, and finally negotiating with King Smajor—just thinking about it made Jimmy’s head spin.
And on top of that, there were the constant personal dilemmas—the floundering he did in his hut while trying to manage both the empire and the life he was barely keeping afloat. Sleep had been scarce, meals forgotten, and even the simplest moments of peace had slipped through his fingers like water.
So here he was, waist-deep in lukewarm mud, lost in the gentle rhythm of cleaning and restoring. It was the reprieve he desperately needed, a small corner of normalcy in the chaos that was Codlands.
And then, as always with Codlands, nothing went smoothly.
A sudden blaring of alarms tore through the village. Jimmy’s fingers froze in the mud, his head snapping upright as panic fluttered through his chest. He tugged his gloves on over wet fingers, already pulling himself out of the mud as he struggled to get his Cod Head on.
He rushed toward the source of the commotion, weaving through the narrow, muddy paths of the village.
“Codfather!”
He spun on the spot, and relief mingled with irritation as he saw one of his citizens jogging toward him, waving casually. Not exactly the chaos he’d feared.
“Spark,” Jimmy exhaled, shoulders sagging. “Do you know why the alarms went off?”
“Salmon hybrid,” Spark replied, grimacing. “Spotted with an owl hybrid, coming through the forest.” Fey shrugged, flicking a tuft of hair out of feir face. “Can’t ever be too careful, yanno.”
Jimmy frowned behind the Cod Head. “We can’t freak out every time a salmon hybrid appears,” he said gently, though his gloved claws clicked unconsciously against his armor.
“I didn’t set off the alarm,” Spark huffed, offended by the implication. “But you can’t exactly blame us either.” Fey crossed feir arms, eyes flashing slightly.
Jimmy shook his head, letting out a quiet sigh. “No, I suppose not. Are you aware of where they are?”
“Don’t speak all formal to me, Jim,” Spark said sharply, a flicker of fire crackling along feir hair, betraying feir mood.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Sparks,” Jimmy muttered, rubbing mud off his arm. “Do you know where they are?”
“Yeah, it seems they were hesitating on the bank.” Spark gestures for Jimmy to follow fem and the emperor feels bad. He promised himself he wouldn’t be like the other rulers, and treat his citizens like dirt. Well- not dirt. He wants to treat them like dirt. Dirt is a sacred thing in Codlands- He’s getting off topic. He doesn’t want to treat his people badly, like some other emperors do.
“A salmon and an owl hybrid, it’s screaming the Rose Twins, don’t you think?” Spark snorts, smoke flowing from feir nose. “Especially coming from the forest. Don’t take my word for it, though.” They stop at the harsh flowing river that separates the swamp and the jungle. “This is where they were last seen, boss.” Spark puts on a fake accent and then chortles, patting Jimmy on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Jimmy chuckles, steadying himself against the bank. “Turn the alarm off when you leave, will you?” he called after Spark. The bell continued its insistent clanging, scratching at his nerves.
Spark waved without looking back and disappeared into the shadows of the forest. Jimmy took a cautious step forward, kneeling on the moss-dampened earth, and dipped his hand into the river. The water was warm, swirling around his gloved fingers as he tested its current. He shook off the droplets, standing upright and scanning the bank.
“Codfather.”
The voice was soft but precise, just barely heard over the rushing water, and Jimmy turned toward it. Bright gold eyes stared up at him, and the slender form of a salmon hybrid bowed deeply. From the eyes alone, Jimmy could tell they weren’t from Grimlands; the hybrids over age thirteen there had dull, darkened eye sockets.
The hybrid bowed deeply and Jimmy was now sure this wasn’t someone from Count’s domain. “My apologies for barging in from the forest. I did hear the alarms, I sincerely apologize for any panic that was caused.”
Jimmy smiled, but realized the hybrid couldn’t see his face, so he gave a small nod instead. “It’s no worries.” He said sincerely. “Are you here for any specific reason?”
“Yes,” she said, her cheeks faintly tinted brown. “My name is Harmel, from King Smajor’s council. I bring a message for you.” She bowed once more, precise and careful, making Jimmy shift uneasily under her formal courtesy.
“Oh!” he straightened, concern edging his voice. “How long have you been traveling?” He glanced around nervously at the dense forest, recalling the arduous journey from Rivendell.
“Not long at all,” Harmel replied, waving off the question. “Faster than any animal could manage. I was accompanied by an owl hybrid.” Jimmy recalled Spark’s warning; that must have been the other half of the duo.
“And… where is your friend?” He asked, scanning the trees. Not even a flicker of movement.
“They’re above, keeping watch. Don’t worry about them.” Harmel stepped forward, bowing again. “I told them I could handle this myself. We didn’t have time to draft a letter, so I will relay the message directly, if that’s acceptable.”
“Yes, of course. No worries.” He tried to hum in reassurance. Wearing the cod head hid his facial expressions and it was always a challenge to show the way he felt any other way.
Harmel’s lips pressed together. “The council have spoken and we’re free for a meeting with your council tomorrow afternoon, one to six.”
Jimmy tried to mentally run through the schedule for tomorrow. He knew this was an important meeting to be had, and he wasn’t sure the next time Smajor would be free. If he had anything tomorrow, he would just cancel it.
“Yes.” He blurted the word, then shook his head at his own abruptness. “Yes, that works. Thank you, Harmel.” He bowed slightly in return, aware she seemed startled by the gesture but returned a tight-lipped smile.
“Of course, Your Highness,” she said, bowing once more. Jimmy inwardly winced at the formal address. “I must leave now, but thank you for your time.”
“No, thank you. Safe travels, and I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jimmy said, gloved claws clicking together softly in a nervous habit.
Harmel inclined her head. “May Aeor be with you, Codfather.” She spun gracefully on her heel and stepped back toward the treeline.
If she wasn’t across the aggressive river, Jimmy would’ve shaken her hand. “Cod blessed, Harmel.”
Jimmy watched as she disappeared and then watched as a blur shot down from the trees and scooped her up, taking to the skies. Must’ve been the owl hybrid.
He exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing, and turned to head back toward his village.