Marron stared at the pair of sealed envelopes resting on the kitchen table. One green wax, one cream. They looked harmless, like ordinary letters, but her chest was tight, palms clammy.
"Go on, open them!" Lucy bobbed impatiently from her glass jar, glowing like a lantern.
Sometimes, Marron envied Lucy's viewpoint in life. As a kitchen slime, her responsibilities were to clean mixing bowls, appliances, and other utensils. The rest of the time, she just tagged along with herself and Mokko.
Can a slime even feel anxiety? I wish I was her sometimes.
Marron's thumb traced the edge of the first seal, then pulled back. "What if it's… I don't know. Mocking me? A polite way of saying, don't ever bother us again?"
Mokko slid a steaming cup toward her. The tea smelled faintly of honey and mint, and the warmth seeped into her shaking hands. "Drink. Then read. The Queen and Lord Jackal don't waste wax for jokes."
Marron exhaled, lifted the cup, and took a sip. It smoothed her nerves enough that she reached for the green seal at last.
The wax cracked. The parchment unfolded. Marron's eyes darted across the words, mouth parting as she read aloud.
Chef Marron,To host a feast where rival clans not only sat together but spoke without blades drawn is no small deed. Your strength is not in arms, but in flavor, and that power is rarer than gold.If you would build a place for travelers, remember that a house must have bones before it wears jewelry. Begin with water, then shelter, then fire. Paint and flourishes will follow in time.When the well is full and the roof does not leak, you will find that peace grows faster than vines.
—Her Majesty, the Serpent Crown
Marron lowered the letter slowly, her throat tight.
"She… she really thinks I did something big," she whispered.
Lucy pulsed bright yellow. "Because you did! You're officially important."
Marron let out a shaky laugh. "Important is scarier than I thought."
Mokko studied the script with the focus of someone analyzing a recipe. "She's right. Bones first. Water, shelter, fire. Build in layers, like a dish."
"Or like bread," Marron said softly, her lips tugging into the ghost of a smile. "One ingredient at a time."
The second envelope sat waiting. Marron's stomach lurched, but she slid her finger under the cream seal. The parchment inside was heavier, the script angular, each stroke like a knife.
Human,Normally, I do not waste ink on strangers. But you asked directly, and I respect directness.You built a table where rivals ate side by side. Clever. But remember this: what is given freely is forgotten freely. If you want Meadowbrook to endure, do not make it only a charity. Demand investment — effort, coin, or trade. When people put something in, they fight to protect it.Good intentions are soft. Build with stone.
—The Jackal Lord
Marron frowned, chewing the inside of her cheek. "So… make people pay? For resting? That doesn't feel right."
"Not pay," Mokko said carefully. "But maybe… share in the work. Otherwise, it's only you carrying it."
Lucy tilted her jar. "Still sounds cranky."
Marron laughed, though uneasily. "Cranky, but… maybe not wrong. Just not the way I want to do it."
She set both letters side by side on the table — one soft as moss, the other sharp as stone. "Two rulers, two philosophies. And me? Just a cook with flour on her apron. Why did they even answer me?"
Later, in the market, Marron kept her head down while Mokko bartered for lumber. Whispers followed them.
"That's her. The chef.""She got letters from both rulers.""Letters? Must've tricked them. No way a newcomer—"
The words itched across Marron's skin. She adjusted the plain cart she pushed, suddenly too aware of how unpolished it looked beside vendors with carved wheels and painted crests. Some sellers greeted her with eager smiles, pressing discounts she hadn't asked for. Others snorted, muttering that a human chef must have pulled some trick.
By the time she'd bought nails and rope, her jaw ached from clenching.
At the spice stall, a mousekin merchant with silver whiskers bowed politely.
"Chef Marron, forgive me, but… I wish to thank you," he said. His tone was earnest, not mocking. "You've done more for Snakewater than you know. And… may I give advice?"
Marron blinked, gripping her basket tighter. "Advice?"
"Join a Culinary Guild," the mousekin said, whiskers twitching. "They give recognition, trade rights, protection. You wouldn't just be a lone chef, but part of a tradition. It would guard Meadowbrook."
Marron hesitated. "That's… kind. But I don't want Meadowbrook to be about status. Just a place for travelers."
"Even so," he said gently, "a guild might help you keep it safe when kindness isn't enough."
She managed a nod. His words stayed with her long after they left the stall — heavier than the nails in her basket.
Back at the Seaglass Lounge, Lucy floated quietly, her glow dimmed. Marron set supplies on the counter, then crouched beside the jar.
"Hey," she said softly. "Look at me."
Lucy tilted reluctantly.
"You pushed me before I was ready. But… maybe I needed the push," Marron admitted. "Still, next time… let me walk there myself, okay?"
Lucy brightened, faintly hopeful. "So… we're good?"
Marron smiled and tapped the glass. "We're good."
Together, they tacked both letters above the kitchen table, where the parchment fluttered like banners. Marron stepped back, arms crossed, staring at them in disbelief.
"Two rulers gave me advice," she said. "Guess I can't keep pretending I'm just playing house."
Mokko set down a fresh loaf, the crust still crackling from the oven. "Play or not, people are already following your recipe."
Marron pressed her hand against the warm bread, inhaling its steadying scent. "One step at a time," she murmured. "Water, shelter, and fire. Maybe even my own guild, or a restaurant. But first—bread."
The kitchen filled with the smell of crust and jam, and at last, she felt her chest loosen. For now, that was enough.