Far from the palace, a vast and imposing ducal estate stood under a grey sky.
A silver-haired man in a dark cloak came up the drive, and a guard asked him politely what his business was.
"Good news from the palace," the man said. "For His Highness, Sir Theodore."
He added that communication stones were being avoided at present, on account of the recuperation, and the guard lamented that, because the stones were so convenient.
A young, light brown-haired man watched from a distance and thought that the fellow had not changed at all — still driving his own carriage, after everything.
After Lady Dorothy died and Miss Sophia disappeared, Sir Theodore's life had fallen into ruin.
There was a memory nobody in that house liked to touch: Theodore, wounded, explaining that the search for Sophia had cost him his health, and that the war against the magic beasts had cost him his right arm.
The Herman family fell into chaos after that. With the first in line collapsed, the indirect family lines grew arrogant, and the atmosphere in the palace soured year by year.
The young man was certain of one thing, though. This news — Sophia's return — would finally bring Sir Theodore out of the exile he had imposed on himself.
At a window stood a silver-haired man with a long braid.
The dark age of the Hermans was coming to an end.
The cloaked man, Milhower, hurried through the house to reach Sir Theodore, eager to hand over what he had carried all this way.
Theodore turned to listen, weary but resolute, his metal hand closing slowly into a fist.
At the Grand Herman Palace, the whispering had already started, now that another potential master had appeared.
Two maids gossiped nervously in a corridor. One of them complained that she hated being sent to the outer palace, because the outer palace was haunted. Others joined in, asking one another whether the Grand Duke was being too indifferent about all of it.
Around the corner, Sophia listened.
A maid lowered her voice and began to talk about the fate of Lady Dorothy, and Sophia's breath went thin, because what the woman said was that Lady Dorothy had killed herself in the outer palace.
Her mother. The rumour was about her mother.
The Herman family, Sophia concluded, was an absolute mess.
Two candidates stood for the position of Head. One of them, Theodore, had been crippled in the war. His first son was away in the far north and his second son, Ian, was away at school, which left — in Sophia's professional opinion — no sane people anywhere in the building.
At her desk that afternoon she asked Sylvie about all the sudden activity in the outer palace. It was interfering with her plans to steal things, and she resented it.
Sylvie explained excitedly that rumours about Miss Sophia were spreading, thanks to young master Joseph, and that everyone was terribly curious about her.
Then lunch arrived: a seventy-two-hour aged rump steak, cooked sous vide, on a golden plate.
Sophia ate it slowly, thanked the head cook with real feeling, and decided that she could tolerate a certain amount of palace drama at this price.
"You don't mind, do you? I came without an appointment."
A girl with long silver hair had walked in. She introduced herself, rather grandly, as Melody, and announced that she had come early so as to meet the new member of the Herman family.
Sophia looked up from her meal, startled.
Her cousin. Melody, the daughter of Joseph Herman — and the resemblance ran strong in that face, whatever else could be said about it.
Melody rested her chin on her hands and gave a sweet, calculating smile.
Then the smile soured into disgust. She covered her mouth. "Something is terrible."
The staff apologised at once, asking Miss Melody what it was she disliked about the meal, while Sophia watched in bewilderment.
"Figure out the problem yourself," Melody told her. "If you want to secure your place in this family."
She threatened to have them all dismissed, and Sophia was aghast at the sheer ridiculousness of the power trip.
"If you're going to complain," Sophia said, "be specific. Otherwise you just look like you're nitpicking." She thought about it. "The food is delicious, by the way."
"You dropped your honorifics."
"So did you. I assumed we were being informal. For your own good."
Melody warned her that employees would walk all over her if she permitted it.
Truly, Sophia thought, this girl is mean.
"There's nowhere for any of them to go above my head," Sophia said coolly.
Melody's argument came apart into rambling, and then into anger. She demanded gratitude — she had come all this way to visit.
"Was I ever invited?" Sophia asked.
"Melody. Show some dignity."
The white-haired man had come in without either of them hearing it.
"Gee — Grandfather."
The staff bowed and addressed him as His Highness, hurrying to his side, and Melody's eyes filled instantly with tears.
"She's been harassing me," Melody wept, and Sophia stood utterly stunned. "I was only showing concern for her, and she mocked me. My dress. Everything."
Sophia found herself remembering, of all things, her mother's lesson about framing people: whatever you say, say it with total confidence.
"She's rude," Melody added.
Sophia smirked. This was hardly her first life-or-death situation. She had already died twice.
The grandfather held the crying girl against him and called across the room. "Sophia."
"I was judging Melody's intelligence," Sophia said calmly, "by exactly the standards Melody used to judge the food."
Nobody said anything.
"Melody Herman. Did you threaten an employee over their contract?"
Melody stammered.
Then she recovered, and insisted that employees must be loyal, while the terrified maids stood against the wall and Sophia thought, with genuine admiration, that her cousin was amazing.
Absolute obedience, Melody said. That was what was owed.
"I interviewed every one of the current employees personally," the grandfather said. "I chose them myself. To call them disloyal is to insult my judgement. Apologise. To everyone here."
Defeated, Melody stood with her back turned, her long silver hair hiding whatever her face was doing.
A maid offered to escort her out.
Sophia panicked. They were leaving. They were all leaving, and she was going to be left in this room.
The second maid went as well.
"Don't — don't leave me alone!" Sophia shouted after them, and inside her head she was screaming it, because the intimidating old man was still standing right behind her.
She had been too arrogant. That was the truth of it. She was never going to get out of this palace alive.
"Were you upset by that?" he asked.
"Pardon?"
"By the quarrel. Family quarrels can upset a child. Should I send for Joseph?"
He's right about one thing, she thought. I am young.
"You cannot be a Herman if things like this bother you," he told her. "When Theodore returns, you will stand before the council of elders. As a Herman, you must protect your dignity at all times."
She shifted, and her elbow caught the table.
The teddy bear went over the edge.
It hit the floor and split at its hidden seam, and out came jewels, coins and silverware, ringing and scattering and rolling in every direction across the carpet.
Her face went white. I am done for.
The Grand Duke looked down at her — a small, terrified girl curled on the floor in the middle of her stolen treasures.