The sun had begun its descent, drowning in the horizon and bleeding its essence across the heavens. The greater sun slanted westward, its light stretching long fingers of gold over the room. Shadows lengthened, staining the wooden floorboards in amber lines.
Afternoonfall, I thought, finally noticing the change in the star. The word slipped into my mind uninvited, as if the world itself wanted me to name it.
I hadn't noticed Tori and Vivianna slip out. The sitting room had fallen quiet, just me, the book Miss Mary had given me, and the smell of coffee coiling warmly through the air. She had noticed earlier that I hadn't quite taken to the tea she served, and—like it was nothing—placed a steaming cup of coffee by me instead. That small kindness surprised me more than I'd admit aloud. This world had coffee. Somehow, that anchored it closer to home.
The book was heavy, its leather cover cracked and softened with age. The faint musk of paper and ink rose each time I turned a page. Dusty, but not untouched—this volume had been read often, its words worn smooth by eyes before mine.
I traced the title on the page before me:
The Age of the Pet Wars (379–411 P.S.)
From The Folly of Crowns, by Orvelian of Lysoria
"A pet war?" I muttered, brow furrowing. Why in all suns would anyone go to war over pets?
Curiosity hooked me. I leaned back into the chair, took a sip of the coffee—bitter, dark, grounding—and continued.
"Let none mistake the so-called Pet Wars for a triviality of kennels and cages. What began as Drakensport's boast with hounds grew into a cultural tide that bent courts, coin, and even diplomacy. For three decades, pets were politics."
"Pets as politics," I repeated under my breath. That's… ridiculous. Yet I kept reading, as though I'd stumbled on gossip too juicy to abandon.
"Fashion & Symbolism. Nobles reshaped their attire to mimic the beasts of their liege-lords. Verdanians embroidered canary-feathers into gowns; Thalvari merchants wore parrot-plumes in their hats; Altharic miners carried rabbit-paw charms on chains of iron. In Lysoria, owls were painted on lecture hall ceilings, staring down like mute jurors. Even Drakensport knights fastened hound-teeth to their belts, lest they be thought disloyal."
"Lyseria?" I whispered, tripping over the name. Maybe I should've started with a simpler book that explains the nations first. But no—this had already sunk its claws into me. I wanted to see just how far this madness had gone.
I flipped the page, the parchment whispering like dry leaves.
"Economy & Trade. An entire economy flowered overnight. Breeders rose to princely wealth; smugglers thrived by stealing rare stock across borders. Thalvar, ever opportunistic, cornered the trade in birdseed, selling it dearer than salt. Verdania taxed canary exports so heavily that riots broke out when prices doubled in the lower markets. For a brief span, the pet was worth more than grain."
I snorted, nearly choking on my coffee. "Now that's wild. People are weird no matter the world."
The words painted absurd pictures in my mind—markets rioting over birds, smugglers smuggling puppies like contraband gold, nobles fencing with feathered hats. I caught myself smiling, shaking my head, but the absurdity only made the history feel more alive.
Another page.
"Diplomacy. Ambassadors no longer arrived with scrolls or swords, but with crates."
"Weirdos," I muttered, though my grin widened.
"The infamous Rabbit Envoy of Altharic once sent a breeding pair to the court of Verdania—though the finches promptly ate their kits, and a trade treaty collapsed."
I slapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh. "Over that? Wow."
"In Drakensport, it was rumored a parrot overheard secrets of war, repeated them in a rival court, and nearly sparked a border raid. The lesson was clear: tongues are dangerous, feathered or no."
That did it—I laughed aloud, startling myself with the sound in the quiet room. "Alright, not bad," I admitted, sliding off my shoes, tugging off my hoodie. The sun was nearly gone now, its last embers casting the pages in bronze.
The book's final section drew me in like a curtain closing.
"Decline. As with all fads, it burned bright, then burned out. The Great Famine of 410 reminded the Five Kingdoms that grain, not finches, feeds armies. Lysoria's scholars mocked the craze in pamphlets. Thalvar merchants quietly moved on to spices. Only in Altharic do rabbits still breed in noble halls, their descendants a twitching, furry monument to stubbornness."
I exhaled, long and slow. "Ah. So normality returns. Kind of a happy ending, I guess."
But the book wasn't finished.
"Yet though mocked now, the Pet Wars left their mark. Heraldry absorbed the beasts into banners; tavern songs still jest about 'the parrot who ruled Thalvar'; and in whispers, commonfolk still say: while kings chased feathers, the Cat became king of the streets."
I leaned back, coffee cooling in my hands, letting the words linger. "Of course something lingers," I murmured. "History doesn't ever just end. It scratches graffiti in the corners, leaves pawprints where you don't expect them."
Closing the book, I felt the odd satisfaction of being in the know. Maybe tomorrow I'd tease Victoria about it. Tell her not to be surprised if nobles tried bribing her with rabbits instead of gold. She'd probably want a tiger cub, just to spite me.
The room had grown dark while I read, the greater sun swallowed and the lesser one already vanished behind the horizon. Candlelight flickered across the walls now, their glow stretching shadows like lazy dancers.
"Night already?" I muttered, blinking as though waking from the past.
Miss Mary's voice floated from behind me, calm and cool as spring water. "I let you be—you seemed rather absorbed."
I turned, guilty and grateful all at once.
"She's with Vivianna," Mary added softly. "When he gets like that, it's best to let him be."
She set down a candleholder, the flame steady in the still air. "Come now. I'll show you where you can rest for the night."
The room she led me to was clean, the bed dressed in crisp linen, the scent of lavender lingering faintly in the wood. I declined the offer of a bath—I wasn't up to it tonight. Instead, I breathed deeply, let the day drain out of me, and lay down.
The book's words still echoed in my mind, faint as whispers in the dark. Kings chasing feathers. Parrots spilling secrets. Rabbits twitching in marble halls.
I closed my eyes, smiling at the absurdity of it all, and let sleep claim me—half wondering if I'd dream of cats wearing crowns.
---
Elsewhere, in taverns, people ate, drank, talked and sang. A bard sang a tale of not that long ago
"Dogs in armor, cats with crowns,
Parrots squawking battle sounds.
Ferrets schemed in velvet halls,
Hawks took flight from gilded walls.
Kings and queens with pride did spar,
Yet beasts decided who they are.
Oh laugh, oh weep, oh raise your jar—
For pets made lords forget their war."
---
"Rabbits in halls with slippers soft,
Ferrets on thrones aloft, aloft!
Canaries taxed till markets roared,
Parrots whispered, secrets poured.
Kings did frown and lords did pout,
Yet furry beasts still ran about.
Oh laugh, oh cry, oh raise your cup—
For pets declared who rules the sup!"
---