The subtle shift in the Duke's Keep was palpable, like the barely perceptible tremble before a great earthquake. Duke Theron, usually a man of composed, if weary, authority, now carried an undeniable air of suppressed fury. His private discussions with Lord Arlen stretched longer, the whispers from his study growing more intense. Elias, ever the innocent observer, noted the faint lines of exhaustion etched around the Duke's eyes, and the way his gaze would often drift to the pile of ledgers, then to the heraldry book, as if seeking confirmation of an unwelcome truth.
Elias, at his tender three years, continued his elaborate charade. He spent hours in Duke Theron's study, building intricate, yet seemingly haphazard, castles from wooden blocks, his small hands moving with a clumsy grace that belied the calculating mind within. He listened, observed, and waited. The seed of doubt planted by the map had sprouted, but the plant still required careful tending.
The true change, however, manifested in Lord Valerius. His presence became heavier, more pervasive. He no longer simply observed Elias; he loomed. He would appear silently, his shadow falling over Elias's blocks, his gaze unsettlingly fixed. Elias, despite the prickle of unease, responded with exaggerated childish enthusiasm or innocent distraction. Once, while Elias was struggling (deliberately) to stack a particularly wobbly tower, Valerius's voice, a low, resonant hum, drifted down to him.
"A precarious foundation, little Elias," Valerius commented, his tone smooth, yet layered with unspoken meaning. "Such things rarely stand firm, no matter how carefully built."
Elias looked up, his wide, guileless eyes meeting Valerius's piercing gaze. He giggled, a sound of pure childish delight. "But Lord Valerius, if the bottom block is strong, the top blocks can dance!" He then deliberately wiggled the top block, causing the tower to sway precariously before righting itself. "See? Montala makes things strong from the bottom!"
Valerius's lips tightened almost imperceptibly. Elias had invoked Montala, yet subtly hinted at an underlying structure that could still be made to "dance" if its foundation was truly sound. The zealot's eyes narrowed, a flash of frustration crossing his face before it smoothed back into an unreadable mask. He merely hummed, a noncommittal sound, and drifted away, leaving a lingering chill.
The encounter affirmed Elias's suspicions: Valerius was searching for something, a tell, a weakness in Elias's disguise. The map had obviously heightened Valerius's paranoia, as the Duke's increased scrutiny of the Church's finances could hardly be coincidental to the arrival of Elias. Elias knew he had to be even more careful, to give Valerius nothing to latch onto beyond a child's innocent wit.
Later that day, Seraphina found Elias in the sun-drenched courtyard, painstakingly arranging pebbles into a miniature pathway. "Father is very busy," she murmured, her brow furrowed with concern. "He barely smiled at breakfast. Do you think he's angry about something, Elias?"
Elias shrugged, meticulously placing a flat, grey stone. "Big people have big worries, Seraphina. Maybe he needs more... iron?" He emphasized the last word, glancing briefly at Seraphina, who only nodded, thinking of the kingdom's military needs. The subtle reinforcement was made, an innocent curiosity that might, if overheard, guide Seraphina's thoughts towards the Duke's true preoccupation.
Internally, Elias felt the strain. Every interaction was a careful dance, a calculated risk. The success of the map had moved the Duke, but it had also drawn Valerius's net tighter. The kingdom was beginning to crack under its own inherent corruption, a slow, agonizing process. He understood that the current unrest, the whispers of skirmishes far in the east, were just the early tremors. By the time he was a teenager, this fragile peace would shatter entirely. He needed to prepare, to lay more groundwork for the truth, even if it meant navigating the dangerous waters of Valerius's ever-present scrutiny. The seeds of change were sown, but the ground was hard, and the harvest would be bloody.