The strategy to expose Montala's economic sabotage through a "childish mistake" solidified in my mind, a delicate and dangerous gambit. The challenge lay not only in execution but in ensuring the Duke connected the dots himself, without ever suspecting the intricate web being woven by his seemingly innocent ward. The very air of the Duke's study, filled with the scent of parchment and responsibility, hummed with the potential for either triumph or utter ruin.
My target was clear: the Duke's daily ledgers, particularly those detailing the kingdom's income and expenditures, and crucially, the fluctuating figures from the eastern tithes and iron shipments. These were usually kept under lock and key, but sometimes, during the Duke's busiest hours, they lay briefly unattended on his sprawling desk.
The opportunity arose during the early afternoon, a time when the Duke often stepped away for a quick meal, leaving his study unlocked, trusting his household staff and, perhaps naively, his infant son. Valerius was nowhere in sight, likely engaged in his own mysterious duties. This was my window.
Slipping into the study, the hushed grandeur of the room felt oppressive. My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a stark contrast to my carefully practiced child-like scamper. The Duke's desk was an imposing fortress of polished oak. On it, a stack of ledgers lay open. My small stature was a significant impediment, but years of observing the Duke's habits and the room's layout provided an advantage.
I targeted the current month's treasury ledger, a thick book bound in dark leather. With painstaking effort, I clambered onto the Duke's ornate chair, then strained to reach the specific page detailing the iron shipments and Montala tithes from the eastern territories. My memory, honed by the illicit scrolls in the temple archive, already knew what to look for: the discrepancy between the expected yield and the reported intake.
My "mistake" needed to be subtle, a plausible accident. I pulled at the page, not to tear it, but to gently dog-ear the corner, making it slightly more prominent than the others. Then, with a calculatedly clumsy movement, I "accidentally" knocked a heavy brass inkwell near the ledger. It toppled with a soft thud, thankfully empty, but scattering a few loose parchments that had been tucked beneath the ledger. Among them was a small, official-looking document, a recent royal decree from the Prince, demanding an additional levy of iron for the capital's new fortifications.
I quickly scrambled off the chair, my small legs struggling to make a believable escape from the scene of my "mischief." I then busied myself with some brightly colored wooden blocks in a nearby corner, my back to the desk, humming an off-key tune. The air was thick with tension, every moment stretching.
Minutes later, the Duke returned. His familiar sigh filled the room. Then, a sharp intake of breath. "Elias!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with mild exasperation. "What mischief have you been up to now?"
He moved to the desk, his gaze falling upon the tilted inkwell and the scattered parchments. He picked up the royal decree, his brow furrowing as he read it. Then, his eyes fell on the dog-eared page in the ledger. He glanced from the decree to the ledger, and then back again, his expression shifting from annoyance to a flicker of something deeper: concern, perhaps even suspicion. He didn't connect it to me; he was too absorbed in the implications of the documents.
I continued to stack my blocks, pretending complete innocence, my internal monologue a frantic mixture of relief and anticipation. The seed was planted. The Duke had the royal demand for iron and the ledger showing lower-than-expected supply, subtly highlighted. The missing piece was the Church's siphoning, but the incongruity was there.
Later that evening, Seraphina found me diligently tracing symbols on my vellum. She knelt beside me, her kind eyes sparkling. "Father seems... preoccupied," she mused. "He was looking at his books for a long time this afternoon. I think the Prince's demands are weighing heavily on him."
I merely offered a wide, innocent smile, my secret victory a bitter yet satisfying taste on my tongue. The Duke's burden was now my lever. The true impact of my "childish mistake" would ripple outwards, forcing him to confront the truth of his kingdom's weakened state. And perhaps, just perhaps, his gaze would soon turn from the external "bandits" to the silent, more insidious thieves within the very heart of Montala.