Everything was numb. Only her chest held any feeling, and even then, that was only a cold, empty hole draining her body of warmth. She wasn't even given a chance. Her voice caught in her throat as she watched them say something happily and rise to leave. And all she could do was sit there, rooted to the spot.
“I don't believe I called the meeting,” the voice of the count echoed into the room. While the nobles were cheerfully talking amongst themselves, the priest got up to leave, only to be stopped by the count just two steps from the door. They turned to face the count.
“My lord?” the taller one questioned.
“It's simple,” he scoffed in return. “This meeting is not over.” His words were simple but powerful. A note of pure superiority in his voice ensured there was no question about them.
And yet, the short priest dared to question. “Sir Ravenshield, unfortunately our time is rather precious with the need to prepare for the takeover of the orphanages and to secure their continued functionality. I am sorry, but if there is nothing else, we simply must be going.”
“That's thrice you have insulted me,” the man said, a dangerous purple hue emanating from his eyes.
A silence chilled the room, and the young raven could only watch in cold hope that perhaps, just perhaps, the man would at least force them to listen to her. A chance, all she needed was a chance.
While the shorter one took a step back, the taller one gave a courteous bow. “No insult was intended, my lord. It's just that we have been very busy—unfortunately, we lack the manpower you possess.”
“Oh, I understand,” the count's eyes shifted to the noble party to his left. “Good help is hard to find…” His words hung in the air, leaving the nobles to shift uncomfortably.
“Then may I ask why you wish to keep this meeting in play? We have already reached a consensus.”
“Have we now? That's interesting—certainly news to me. Tell me, Baron Horace Halls, what are the prevailing rules that govern overlooking and how a private appeal is made? I believe you would be better suited to answer it as, if my history is correct, the Hills Barony was one of the approving members for the Ansel-Curtis Rights On Self. Oh, better tell us the public appeals matter as members of the church are here in full representation. After all, it was your wife's maternal family, the Mannings, that presided over that, to which we have Sally Manning here as well, isn’t that right, Baroness Manning?”
Baroness Manning smiled briefly as her name was called but still seemed uneasy as Baron Halls frowned before answering. “Well, the thing is—”
“Ansel-Curtis Rights On Self, or have you forgotten it?”
With a small cough, the baron began. “Private trials are to be held to hear why the party is requesting to recant on their grant or endowment. Should such a party’s request be accepted by the other, then in the state of agreement the lands or deeds shall remain in the original owner's employ. If no agreement can be met, then the parties will request oversight and plead such cases to the presiding council and judge to settle for them.”
“Mhmm,” the count hummed in bemusement. “And the public side?”
“It is the same, my lord,” the baron began, slightly nervously. “A small trial is held to ensure that the civil war between families does not weaken the nation to foreign invasion. It's pretty standa—”
“In case of a public trial where entities of church or state are present, or when requested by either party, then the trial will be held in open view of any and all interested parties,” the count countered, “quite interesting for you to forgo that,” he mentioned.
“I— it doesn't matter; there are no interested parties.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” the priest began again, “but what does any of this have to do with the fact that a consensus was already reached? Neither party agreed, so the presiding council ruled in our favor.”
“Young people, always so quick to skip right to the end.” The count’s comment was especially egregious because both priests were a few decades older than he was, yet none of them could call him out for it.
With a strained smile, he continued, “My lord, even you agreed.”
“When?”
“My lord?”
“When did I agree?”
“My lord, you raised no objections when we brought up the conclusion of the—”
“Ah, there is that word again, conclusion. When did that ever take place?” Silence filled the room again. “Oh,” the count continued after a moment of it. “Baron Hill, if you would be so kind.”
“My lord?” the baron blinked.
“You just recited the law, did you not?”
“That’s,” the baron's brows furrowed in thought.
It was the good madam who spoke up. “The parties will request oversight and plead such cases to the presiding council and judge to settle for them,” she almost whispered as if just realizing.
“It seems there is one here who has something between their ears,” the count called in amusement.
“What are you—” the short priest began, but he was quieted by Baron Hill.
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“The parties never got a chance to plead their case,” he glanced sideways at Ravina, who was watching the scene unfold before her, hope painfully drumming in her heart.
“Specifically, the young lady was silenced,” the madam added.
“Very good,” the count added with a slight tone of mockery.
“She was never silenced,” the short priest protested. “In fact, it became an inevitable conclusion that we would choose not to accept the appeal!”
“Rules are rules,” Baron Hill continued. He gripped his hands tightly, squeezing them hard. He wore anger on his face, but it was directed at no one but himself. The Hill Barony had been one of the few families that grew well under the shadow of the raven’s wing. It supported the proud family in a way that they couldn't support themselves. Law, intellectus et cursus legem, the family’s motto. Two key elements: understanding and ensuring. There was nothing fun about law. It was something that quickly grew boring. Documents after documents and listening to the pleas of others. Unfortunately, everything became so cut and dry.
He failed twice now. Public vs private, understanding the laws to the tee. Hell, even discounting the one who came to make her plea. He disregarded the law and allowed the members of the church to reach a decision for everyone.
‘intellectus et cursus legem.’ he thought. He was not deserving of such a title. “The trial is found to be at fault,” he managed to say through his self-loathing, interrupting the priest who was saying something but stood from his seat to give his statement. “As such, the council is found to be inadvisable for overseeing and must recuse themselves from presiding over it,” he stated, looking at the lady beside him who nodded in agreement.
Only Hank raised an objection. “What, but you can't just dismiss yourselves like that! This trial can still go on!” he complained.
“We have proven ourselves to be biased and unreliable,” was Baron Hill's answer, defeated by no one but himself.
The count smiled at their reaction. “That’s good; it seems only one person has gotten a little ahead of himself,” his dark eyes fell on Hank.
With gritted teeth, the man pressed his luck. “I am still against this. Nobles have no cause to manage street trash.”
“Oh, perhaps you would like to lie with that trash, or did you forget that it was your gambling addiction that left you with no other option but to accept the job. I remember hearing the reports saying you grumbled but did a good job. Yet, perhaps I should take a closer look instead.”
“I—” the words were caught in his throat as the count silenced him.
“Enough.” The count stood now, and everyone who remained seated scrambled to get up as well. “The council will note that the representative for the orphanage is biased as well.”
“Agreed,” came the baron's quick reply. Hank looked like he wanted to say something but knew better.
Reflected in his dark eyes, the count could only note how fortunate he was to remember that much. “Then it would seem this decision comes down to me.”
“What, that can’t be right, you're biased as well!” the short priest shouted. He pointed to the young raven, whose hands were folded into each other. “It’s your daughter that wants to recall the grant!”
With a smile, the count raised a hand and used his other to count—one, two, three, four fingers—as he smiled at the church. “Well, I would have sided with the church, after all, it does seem like a waste.” He looked at his ward, daughter in name but nothing more. “Don't get me wrong, I’ve read your reports. Madam Pelman spoke quite highly of you,” he said, making her want to ask why then, why he would deny the request. But pain kept her lips sealed and her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth. “However,” the true raven of the land looked sharply at both members of the clergy and frowned. “You not only continued to indirectly insult me but blatantly did so four times.” He closed his hand into a fist, as if squeezing the number in a calm rage.
“Please Sir Ravenshield, we did no such thing,” the tallest tried to plead, but all he got was a powerful call.
“Five,” he took one step down from the platform. “You would be advised to learn the ranks that govern the land you like to preach, Deacon Ervin Lindsey.” Another step, and yet his shadow grew. The tall priest, the deacon named Ervin, swallowed. “'Sir' is to denote a member of the blade, a knight of honor and integrity. While my ancestors boast such claims, it has long been an abandoned title. I am Lord Olenbell Laroche Ravenshield.” Finally, he was off the platform and standing before them.
“F-forgive me, Lord Ravenshield, we meant no offense,” Ervin started to apologize.
“No offense? Hmm, then why, pray tell, did you speak to the land’s daughter as if she were nothing more than a pebble in your way?”
“We—”
“Enough. I’m sure that Cardinal Percy Shackley can speak for himself, or do you think I am so lowly that your pet deacon is enough for me?”
The short man, now identified as a Cardinal, widened his eyes. “How,” he stumbled but thought better of it. With a breath, he simply smiled. “No, Lord Ravenshield, I had thought to respect you. Yet, it seems you’re more hostile than we've come to know.”
“And you are both more foolish and arrogant,” the count simply replied. For a moment, the men stared at each other. Then the raven turned his head. “It would seem that this matter no longer needs mediation.”
The cardinal smiled. “Of course,” he muttered in amusement. Yet, he celebrated victory too soon.
“The church has no right to the land, and as such, the county will keep it.”
“What! You can’t do this!” Percy shouted.
The count turned.
“This court has decided to leave it be; you can't just make such a choice for yourself, there are rules!”
“That reminds me,” the count nodded. “The church has still yet to pay back the tax they owe,” he shrugged matter-of-factly, “I’ve stayed my hand out of respect, but it seems none was ever returned.”
“That's outrageous! No Ravenshield has ever taken a tax from the church!”
“Yes, quite a lot of back taxes, isn't it…”
“You dare to threaten the gods!”
“The gods?” The count smiled quite sinfully. “Pay their taxes on time.”
“Nonsense!” he screamed back. He turned to the other nobles, who watched this scene silently. Only one of them feared the aura of the count, but it was not he whom Percy addressed. “You can plainly see that the count is trying to blackmail the church!” he declared. “This action cannot go unpunished! Clearly, he has been driven mad with power.”
It was… an interesting argument, but not one the two council members cared for. “If I remember correctly, Ansel-Curtis Rights On Self only apply to nobles in reference to ownership on non-territorial land,” Baron Hill recalled. “As such, no court decision is needed to reverse a decision made between the count and the church. In fact, such a thing might be considered a… kindness. To the church, of course.”
“What!” hissed the cardinal.
“And in terms of blackmail, I believe the count was only reminding the members of the clergy that they need to pay for the protection of the land,” the madam said with a soft, subtle smile. “Such a thing has no bearing on this matter.”
“You!” the cardinal began, but it was his deacon who silenced him.
“I’m sure we can look into the matter. For now, I suggest we put everything on hold until we can all calm down a bit, yes?” His nervousness was evident by the small sweat on his face.
“Don’t bother, I’ll send a message to Archbishop Wright and discuss the matter of taxes with him.”
“But, sir—Lord Ravenshield, if—”
“Enough, I grow tired of you—leave.” With a flick of his hand, three men appeared out of nowhere. They wore the dark plated armor of the Raven’s Knights and bore a crest of an egg in the arms of an angel.
The deacon stiffened while the cardinal turned red. “How dare you!” he began but was soon subdued by the knights and dragged out, kicking and screaming. The deacon was kindly guided by a knight who made sure he followed, with a tight grip on his shoulder so he wouldn't get lost on the way out.