The usual hum of the Duke's Keep felt strangely muted, a heavy quiet settling in the wake of Lord Arlen's grim reports and Elias's subtle provocations. Elias, ever watchful, noticed Valerius's increasingly frayed nerves. The glint in the Montala official's eyes, once a cold steel, now held a flicker of genuine agitation. His public pronouncements on faith became sharper, his surveillance of Elias more erratic, less calculated. The patience Elias had so carefully exploited seemed to be wearing thin.
Then, the news arrived. A lone, exhausted rider, cloaked in the black and silver of the Montala Church's high council, galloped into the Keep courtyard late one evening, his horse lathered with foam. Elias, peeking from a narrow window in his quarters, watched as the rider was immediately ushered to Valerius's private chambers. A hushed silence fell over the usually bustling courtyard.
The next morning, an air of stunned solemnity permeated the Keep. Servants moved with hushed steps, and even the guards seemed to speak in whispers. Elias caught fragments of conversation: "Lord Valerius's sister... a sudden fever... gone." Elias had never heard Valerius speak of family, but the grief, even from a man so guarded, was palpable in the sudden absence of his usual stern composure. He moved with a stiff, almost wooden gait.
Later that day, a grim-faced Valerius, draped in somber traveling cloaks, stood before Duke Theron and Father Alaric. His face, usually so composed, was drawn and pale. "My Lord Duke," his voice was hoarse, stripped of its usual smooth authority, "I must depart immediately for the capital. My sister, Eliana, has... passed. There are arrangements to be made, and family matters that require my presence."
Duke Theron, despite his recent frustrations with the Church, offered genuine condolences. "Of course, Lord Valerius. My deepest sympathies. May Phelena guide her soul to her rightful place."
Valerius merely offered a curt nod, his gaze distant. Before he mounted his waiting horse, he paused, his eyes sweeping across the courtyard. For a fleeting moment, they settled on Elias, who stood beside Seraphina, ostensibly playing with a wooden soldier. There was no direct probing this time, no calculated test. Only a flicker of raw, undisguised sorrow, quickly shuttered behind a mask of weary resolve.
"Father Alaric," Valerius stated, his voice regaining a fraction of its command, "continue Elias's instruction. Maintain diligence." It was less a request, more a final, heavy directive.
Then, with a whip of the reins, he was gone, his small retinue of guards following him down the winding road, disappearing into the distant woods.
Elias watched him go, a sense of cautious relief washing over him. The constant, suffocating weight of Valerius's scrutiny had been lifted, if only for a time. He estimated Valerius would be gone for at least a few months, given the distance to the capital and the solemnity of the occasion. It was an unexpected reprieve, a window of opportunity he hadn't dared to hope for.
A smile, subtle and private, touched Elias's lips. The cracks in Montala's edifice were indeed widening, and now, with the primary observer temporarily removed, Elias had precious time to pry them open further, to plant the seeds of truth even more deeply without the immediate threat of detection. The game had just changed.