Lord Valerius's interest, once a fleeting glance, now cast a subtle, but pervasive, shadow over my days. He began to appear more frequently during my sessions with Seraphina, his presence a stark contrast to her gentle intellectual curiosity. His questions were less about demonstrating knowledge and more about testing perceived spiritual or philosophical 'truths.' He sought not comprehension, but adherence.
"Child," he would begin, his voice still unnervingly smooth, "is it not true that obedience to the Crown, and to the Lord Montala, is the ultimate virtue?" He would fix me with his calculating gaze, waiting.
My strategy was simple: feigned childhood simplicity combined with an unnerving, but ultimately ambiguous, insight. I would nod slowly, as if processing a profound truth, then point to the Montala symbol on his tunic, or perhaps trace the outline of the Duke's crest on the table. My actions conveyed a shallow agreement with authority, while subtly reminding him of the symbols of power that underpinned his questions. Seraphina, bless her innocence, would always interpret my gestures as affirmation of piety. "He understands the importance of the symbols, Lord Valerius!" she would beam, unknowingly shielding me.
Valerius, however, was not easily fooled. He never challenged Seraphina's interpretation directly, but his eyes would linger on me, a flicker of dissatisfaction, perhaps suspicion, in their depths. He suspected a deeper game, a more complex intellect than a mere prodigy child. This new scrutiny forced me to constantly refine my facade, to calibrate every blink, every movement, every carefully uttered 'Mama' or 'No.' The mental effort was immense, a perpetual war between my adult mind and the performance of infancy.
Seraphina, unknowingly, continued to be my shield and my greatest resource. She often steered the conversation away from Valerius's loaded questions, sensing his discomforting intensity. "Lord Valerius, perhaps Elias would benefit more from understanding the true history of the Montala faith before delving into its more esoteric tenets," she would suggest, her tone polite but firm. Her quiet protectiveness, rooted in her sisterly affection, was a strategic boon.
From Valerius's questions and Seraphina's explanations, I began to piece together a more complete picture of the Montala Church. It was not just an arm of the state; it was a parallel power structure, constantly vying for influence, using its 'divine authority' to gain political and economic leverage. Valerius himself was a key player in this game, his ambition thinly veiled by his zealotry. He seemed particularly interested in 'heretical' thoughts or deviations from doctrine, hinting at a darker, inquisitorial aspect of the Montala faith that was rarely spoken of in polite company.
My physical abilities continued to progress. I could now walk with purpose, albeit still occasionally stumbling. I could climb onto low stools, manipulate simple latches, and even hold a quill, clumsily attempting to mimic the characters Seraphina wrote. This increased mobility allowed me to extend my observations beyond our designated study chambers. During brief moments when my attendants were distracted, or Seraphina was deep in thought, I would explore nearby corridors, silently mapping the Keep, identifying potential escape routes or hidden nooks.
One afternoon, during one such 'exploration,' I stumbled upon a small, rarely used library. It was dusty, neglected, filled with scrolls and tomes far older and more worn than the polished ones Seraphina typically brought. My heart, usually a cold, steady drum, quickened. This was an opportunity. As the attendants called for me, I quickly, subtly, memorized a small section of a map I saw laid out on a table, its faded lines detailing parts of the kingdom Seraphina had only vaguely described.
When Valerius returned the next day, his questions had a new edge. "Child," he asked, presenting me with a small, wooden carving of a mythical beast, supposedly a symbol of chaos in Montala lore. "What path does true faith guide us from? The path of the beast, or the path of the righteous?"
I looked at the carving, then at him. He expected me to recoil, to point towards a Montala symbol, to show fear of the 'beast.' Instead, I took the carving, turning it over in my small hands, my eyes seeming to study its intricate details. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, I pointed, not to a Montala symbol, but to his own hand, holding the carving. The hand that presented the 'chaos.' And then, I pointed to my own head, before pointing back to the carvings, implying the source of understanding and control.
It was an extremely risky maneuver, a direct challenge to his premise. Valerius's eyes flashed, a cold fire in their depths. He leaned in, his voice a low growl that only I could hear. "You are more than you seem, Elias. Be wary. Even a prodigy can be broken."
Seraphina, thankfully, was distracted by a passing servant, missing the subtle exchange. She remained oblivious to the dangerous game being played just inches from her. Valerius rose, his face expressionless once more. He left without another word, his shadow falling heavily across the room as he departed.
His threat was clear. My calculated risk had gained me his increased suspicion, but also his heightened regard. I was no longer just a potential tool; I was a problem, an enigma he felt compelled to solve. This was dangerous, but also thrilling. My struggle in this gilded cage had escalated. The silent performance had just gained a terrifyingly perceptive audience, one whose scrutiny would either lead to my undoing, or, perhaps, my true rise.