The air in Duke Theron's study grew thick with unspoken tension. Lord Arlen, the Master of Coin, departed one morning with a face paler than usual, clutching a scroll tightly in his hand. Duke Theron, meanwhile, sat stiffly at his desk, his gaze fixed on a small, ornate Montala idol of Phelena, the Goddess of Life, typically a source of comfort. Now, it seemed to offer only silent judgment. Elias, observing from his perch beneath a sprawling map of the ducal lands, noted the subtle clench of the Duke's jaw. The investigations into the iron supply were clearly yielding uncomfortable truths.
Lord Valerius, as if sensing the deepening fissure, appeared more frequently. His conversations with Father Alaric in the common rooms became louder, more pointed, often revolving around the "sacred duties" of tithes and the "unwavering faith" required of the populace. Elias felt Valerius's eyes on him constantly, a cold weight attempting to pierce his carefully constructed innocence. The priest now often engaged Elias in simple lessons within the Duke's study, seemingly innocuous, but always under Valerius's watchful presence.
One afternoon, Father Alaric was teaching Elias and Seraphina about the Montala Feast of Abundance, describing how the Church ensured prosperity through offerings. "Phelena blesses us with plenty, dear children," he droned, "but only if we give generously of our first fruits."
Seraphina nodded, ever eager to please. "So, the more we give, the more we receive?"
Elias, carefully stacking small wooden animals, looked up, his voice retaining its childish lilt. "Father Alaric," he asked, his brow slightly furrowed in feigned confusion, "if Phelena makes plenty, why does the iron from Eldoria keep getting less for the Duke? Doesn't plenty mean enough for everyone, even for making swords for the guards?"
A flicker of alarm crossed Father Alaric's face, quickly masked. He glanced nervously towards the door, where Valerius stood, seemingly engrossed in a tapestry. "Ah, little Elias," Father Alaric stammered, "the ways of the Goddess are complex. Sometimes, her blessings are... distributed differently, for the greater spiritual good."
Valerius's head turned, his eyes piercing. He stepped forward. "Indeed, Father. A most perceptive question from such a young mind." His gaze settled on Elias, cool and probing. "Not all plenty is material, Elias. Sometimes, a kingdom's true wealth lies in its faith, not in its earthly possessions. Do you understand?"
Elias blinked innocently, then slowly nodded. "Oh. So, Duke Theron can't make new swords, but he has much faith instead?" He paused, then brightly added, "Does that make the swords grow from the ground like flowers?"
Valerius's composure almost cracked. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his eyes glinted with something akin to frustrated recognition. The blatant childishness of the question was irrefutable, yet the underlying implication—the absurdity of faith replacing material necessity—was clear. He merely offered a tight, forced smile. "Something like that, little one. The faith will protect us all."
Later, as Elias watched the Duke from his usual spot, he observed Duke Theron dispatching a new courier, this one heading towards the smaller, northern villages that bordered the forested areas known for their skilled smiths. These were not the Duke's central garrisons, but smaller, more independent communities. Elias had little information on them, but they represented part of the broader ducal lands. Perhaps, he mused, some independent families or minor artisans might eventually send their children to the Keep for apprenticeship or service, a subtle thought of future connections.
Internally, Elias hummed with a quiet satisfaction. The Duke was looking beyond Montala's direct supply lines, a small but significant step towards independent verification. And Valerius, despite his efforts, remained caught in Elias's childlike logic, unable to reconcile the keen questions with the innocent delivery. The cracks in Montala's facade were indeed widening, and Elias, at his tender age, was patiently, meticulously, prying them open further. The road to truth was long, but each small tremor brought the larger quake closer.