The vellum scroll Seraphina had given me, pristine and unassuming, now felt like a conduit to my past, a tangible link to the complex thought processes I craved. It was a minuscule canvas for my vast, dangerous observations. My plan to record coded insights was fraught with difficulty; my small fingers still struggled with fine motor control, and finding true privacy in the bustling Duke's Keep was a constant challenge.
I began my clandestine work late at night, long after the household had settled into slumber. Under the meager light of a stolen candle stub, hidden beneath my blanket, I would practice. My 'drawings' were not birds, but abstract symbols: a triangle for the Church, a broken circle for the Prince's dwindling power, a jagged line for the discontent in the eastern farmlands. Key dates and land names from the archive were reduced to a shorthand of dots and dashes, meticulously etched onto the rough surface of the vellum. It was slow, painstaking work, each tiny scratch a triumph against the pervasive ignorance around me. The fear of discovery was a cold knot in my stomach, but the urge to externalize my knowledge, to build a tangible record, superseded all caution.
The following days brought a new layer of pressure from Valerius. His casual appearances in the Duke's study became more frequent, his questions sharper. He no longer simply observed; he subtly orchestrated situations.
One afternoon, during a lesson where Seraphina was teaching me basic arithmetic using small, carved wooden animals, Valerius entered. He picked up a wooden lion, turning it thoughtfully in his hand. "Seraphina," he began, his voice smooth as polished stone, "your brother is clever, indeed. But I wonder, does his understanding truly grasp the intricate order of the world, or merely its superficial patterns?"
He placed the lion on the table, then, with deliberate slowness, picked up a smaller, crudely carved sheep. "If one were to move this sheep from here," he said, pushing it across the table, "and a shepherd demanded a greater share of its wool, what would be the most efficient way to ensure compliance? Through stern words? Or perhaps... a gentle, guiding hand that leaves no marks?"
Seraphina frowned, pondering the abstract nature of the question. "I suppose, Lord Valerius, a shepherd would simply take what he needs, if he had the power. Compliance is a matter of authority, is it not?"
Valerius's eyes, however, were on me. He wasn't interested in Seraphina's answer. He was testing my reaction, probing for a flicker of recognition, an adult's cynical understanding of power dynamics hidden beneath my childish focus on the wooden animals.
I picked up the wooden sheep. With a clumsy, infantile grasp, I moved it back to its original spot, then gently placed the lion on top of it, giggling. "Lion sits on sheepy!" I babbled, making the lion "roar."
Valerius's expression remained impassive, but his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He watched me for another moment, then, with a curt nod to Seraphina, left the room. He hadn't broken my facade, but his new methods were disquieting. He wasn't merely observing; he was actively attempting to elicit a response that betrayed my true nature. His "gentle, guiding hand that leaves no marks" was a chilling metaphor for his own manipulative approach.
That night, the fear propelled my hand as I sketched a crude, jagged lion symbol onto my vellum, followed by the broken circle of the Prince and the triangle of the Church. Beneath them, I scratched a single, potent word in my evolving code: 'PRESSURE.' It was a reminder that Valerius's gaze was tightening, that the stakes were rising.
The constant performance was draining. There were moments of pure, childlike joy that broke through—Seraphina's genuine affection, the warmth of the Duke's approval—but they were fleeting. The majority of my existence was a cold calculation, a mental battle against the pervasive illusion, and the growing threat of those who sought to maintain it. The weight of these unspoken truths, of the secret plan slowly being etched onto a tiny scroll, was immense. But so was the conviction that this fragile record was my only path to freedom, and to the dawn of reason in this benighted world.