My existence within the Duke's Keep had settled into a rhythm, one defined by constant observation and accelerated learning. I was now more adept at navigating the palace's sprawling corridors, my small legs carrying me with practiced ease. My understanding of the court's intricate hierarchy deepened with each passing day. The servants moved with a quiet efficiency, the guards maintained their vigilant posts, and the distant murmur of the Duke's council chambers often provided tantalizing fragments of political discourse.
Seraphina remained my intellectual anchor. Her sisterly affection, expressed through shared knowledge rather than physical warmth, was a constant. She treated me as a silent companion, a confidant for her own intellectual curiosities and occasional frustrations. She continued to bring me complex texts—histories, philosophical treatises, even crude astrological charts—and I devoured them, my comprehension far outstripping the pace at which she believed I was assimilating the information. I was not merely learning; I was internalizing the very framework of their world, identifying its strengths and, more importantly, its weaknesses.
"The Montala High Council has decreed a new 'Purification Tithe' on all agricultural yields," Seraphina announced one morning, her voice tight with a subtle frustration she rarely showed. She tapped a newly arrived decree with her finger, her brow furrowed. "It is an unprecedented demand, even for them. My father believes it is a direct attempt by the High Priests to assert greater economic control, perhaps even to fund their own expanding influence in the capital, away from the Prince's direct oversight."
This was precisely the kind of detail I craved. The Montala Church was not a monolithic entity acting solely on the Prince's behalf; it had its own ambitions, its own internal politics. This 'Purification Tithe' was a blatant power grab, further squeezing the populace under the guise of religious fervor. The cynicism that had been my constant companion since my rebirth only deepened.
Our sessions were sometimes interrupted by others, courtiers or lesser officials who would pause to observe "Lady Seraphina's prodigy." Their gazes were usually fleeting, polite nods of curiosity before they continued on their way. But one afternoon, a new figure entered my sphere of observation: Lord Valerius, the Duke's chief advisor and a devout Montala zealot. He was a man of precise movements and an unnervingly calm demeanor, his eyes holding a calculating gleam that reminded me, unpleasantly, of the 'System's' cold logic.
Valerius did not approach with casual curiosity. He observed from a distance, his silence more unnerving than any question. Then, as Seraphina was explaining a complex lineage chart of the Royal Family, he stepped forward.
"Lady Seraphina," he began, his voice smooth, almost silken, but with an underlying current of authority. "Your dedication to the child is commendable. The Lord Montala smiles upon those who cultivate His gifts." His eyes, however, were fixed on me. "Perhaps the child can demonstrate his aptitude for matters of faith, as well as earthly lineage."
Seraphina hesitated, a subtle tension in her shoulders. "Elias is still quite young for complex theological discourse, Lord Valerius. We are focusing on foundational understanding."
Valerius merely offered a thin smile. "Indeed. But even the simplest mind can grasp the central truth of Montala. Child," he addressed me directly, his voice dropping slightly, "who is the source of all suffering, and all salvation?"
It was a test, a trick question designed to expose heresy or immaturity. The Montala answer, the 'correct' answer, was always "The Prince, who suffers with us, and the Lord Montala, who offers salvation through our obedience." But the question was subtly loaded, implying personal culpability or a lack of understanding of suffering's 'divine' purpose.
My mind raced. I couldn't speak the 'correct' answer without revealing too much, nor could I remain entirely silent without appearing dull or, worse, defiant. I needed to convey comprehension without compliance.
I looked at Valerius, my eyes wide with a carefully feigned innocence. Then, I slowly, deliberately, reached out my small hand and pointed to the elaborate Montala symbol embroidered on his own tunic. It was a complex design, the three interlocking triangles, signifying 'Obedience, Piety, and Will.' I then pointed to the large, jeweled amulet depicting the Prince's crest that hung around his neck. Finally, I pointed back towards the hallway, towards the direction of the city outside, towards the unseen common folk.
Valerius's smooth facade faltered for a fraction of a second. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable—surprise, suspicion, or perhaps even a dawning comprehension—crossing his face. My gestures were simple, yet pointed: You (Montala symbol), and you (Prince's crest), are the source of the suffering of them (the people).
Seraphina, however, saw it differently. "He recognizes the symbols, Lord Valerius!" she exclaimed, relief and pride evident in her voice. "He truly understands their meaning! He knows the Church is the shepherd, and the Prince the protector!" She smiled at me, genuine approval shining in her eyes. My carefully ambiguous message had been perfectly misinterpreted, just as I intended.
Valerius merely nodded, his gaze still fixed on me, a new, calculating glint in his eyes. "Indeed, Lady Seraphina. He is… remarkable. A child of unique insight. My apologies for the interruption." He bowed curtly and departed, his footsteps receding with the familiar soft pad of his expensive shoes.
I remained still, my small hand dropping back to my lap. The encounter had been a delicate dance, a perilous moment of near-exposure. But I had passed the test, and in doing so, I had revealed myself as a potential asset to Valerius, rather than a threat. He would watch me now, with a deeper scrutiny. But that scrutiny, I knew, was a far better fate than a return to the hovel. My influence, however minuscule, had just begun to extend beyond Seraphina's private lessons. The gilded cage was slowly becoming a stage.