Quincey first headed for the Surral household. Master Ermes lived there with his wife, Inara, and their children. If the knight remembered correctly, there had once been eight, but now only the two youngest lived with their mother.

Master Ermes’ home had always been full of energy, despite the fact that, unlike other men of his station, he did not keep a small army of servants.

Quincey arrived at the house, dismounted, and tethered his horse to the iron ring beside the entrance before striking the heavy knocker against the main door. Almost immediately he heard footsteps behind the door, and to his surprise, it was not a servant who answered, but the widow of the archivist herself.

“Lady Inara,” the Messenger-at-Arms greeted automatically, noting how her gaze flicked to his badge. “I bear the king’s heartfelt condolences. I have come to collect the late master’s final royal documents.”

“Of course.” She nodded, though there was a trace of caution in her eyes that Quincey could not tell if he imagined. “Please excuse my children. They are mourning. They were not expecting you, and so have not come to greet you.”

The knight waved a hand. “There is no need. I have not come to disturb you. Your husband served the crown to his last breath, and you deserve your peace. I shall take the documents and depart,” he assured her.

Lady Inara stepped aside, allowing him to enter. At first glance, the household appeared like any other, yet the moment Quincey stepped inside, he felt an unusual tremor that he could scarcely describe.

The air carried the somber weight and scent of old paper, but there was also something electric. He seemed to be the only one to sense it, for the widow’s expression betrayed only sadness, as one would expect.

“I shall show you to Ermes’ study.”

The Messenger-at-Arms followed her automatically, but he barely heard her words, for an uncomfortable pulsing began in his abdomen. He concealed it, though soon he realized the unnatural sensation came from the place marked by the scar left by Cassian’s sword.

“My Lord Messenger,” a new voice spoke at his side, and Quincey turned his head to find a slender young girl with dark hair braided with a ribbon, perhaps a few years his junior.

“Lady.” He inclined his head in greeting. Her attire marked her clearly as family, not servant.

“My daughter, Edris,” the widow explained. “She has come to help me with the children since my husband’s passing.”

Quincey nodded in understanding, taking one last glance at the young woman, a younger echo of her mother. Her face bore no lines, yet the grief of losing the head of the household was anchored in her eyes. Almost, he felt there was something else about her, something that drew his attention, yet he could not linger on it.

“We are here.” Lady Inara opened the study door. “I trust you will find everything you require.”

“Thank you.” Quincey shifted his attention back to the widow and gave a respectful nod. 

She did not hesitate to leave him alone, slipping quietly from the room. He did not find it suspicious; though she was the archivist’s wife, he had been engaged in work that, in most cases, he was forbidden to discuss even with his kin. Furthermore, she was drowning in the immense grief of his passing. It was only natural she had no desire for the company of strangers during such a vulnerable time.

The knight moved straight to the desk where Master Ermes had worked and checked for any documents that might belong to the royal family. He found nothing but blank parchment and papers related to the management of the household.

“My Lord Messenger,” a female voice called from the doorway, and Quincey was again surprised to see the late archivist’s daughter. “I brought you some tea and wondered if I could be of help.”

She carried a tray with a teapot and cup, and even from across the room the fruity scent reached him.

“Thank you, Lady Edris.” He nodded, which she took as permission to enter and set the tray on her father’s desk. Unlike her mother, she seemed calmer in the knight’s presence—though appearances proved deceptive.

As she lifted the teapot to pour, her grip faltered, and when it began to slip, Quincey reacted swiftly, placing his hands over hers to steady it. In that moment, a strange sensation joined the burning in his scar, which had yet to subside despite his best efforts to ignore it.

Raising his gaze from their joined hands, he looked closely at the girl before him and felt as if the air around her rippled unnaturally. He could not put it into words, but it was as if the world itself was trying to draw his attention to something normally invisible. Almost as if it were… magical.

“I—I crave your pardon.” The girl’s voice forced him to focus on her again and not the strange aura surrounding her. He took the teapot from her hands and poured the tea into the cup himself.

“It is quite all right,” he assured her. But as he returned the teapot to the tray, he noticed her growing noticeably more tense, almost as if she wished to flee from him despite having offered her help.

“Could you guide me to your father’s chest? I would rather not rummage through more than necessary,” he asked, although he knew the only two places where someone like Master Ermes would have hidden secret documents for the royal family, and thus he could have found them himself.

“Of c-course.” She nodded more eagerly than before and moved quickly around the desk, emerging on the same side as Quincey—at least for a moment, until he stepped aside, realizing the chest lay beneath the floor under the desk, where the carpet would need to be lifted.

Lady Edris knelt and pulled back the carpet to reveal a wooden hatch with a discreet brass ring. She pulled it upward, exposing the secret compartment, and lifted out a silver chest. It was undoubtedly of palace origin, bearing the royal crest upon its lid.

She placed it on the desk and stepped back a few paces, leaving space for the Messenger-at-Arms. It was not only to give him better access to the chest but also to show that she understood her place and rights, knowing she must not see the contents.

“With your permission, My Lord Messenger, I shall leave you to your work. Should you need any assistance, do not hesitate to call me.” This time, she managed to sound firm, her voice steady, though Quincey still noted a trace of nervousness in her expression.

“Thank you, Lady Edris. You have helped me more than you know.”

She left the room, careful not to seem as if she was rushing away, yet the knight could not shake the feeling that for some reason she suddenly wished to keep her distance. 

He did not understand it—though, at the moment, he understood very little. Not the strange tension in the air, nor why his scar continued to burn and warn him, nor what he had noticed when he looked closely at the young woman. But he had no time to ponder it, for he needed to take the documents and make his next visit.

Using the silver key, he opened the chest and checked its contents before placing it into the bag he had brought.

His official task was complete, and pressed for time, he forgot the tea entirely and left the study alone, without waiting for any servants or the young lady.