The town square was filled with people. It was rare for so many to drop their duties during harvest season and congregate at the square. Their interest was justified. Avis sat on his chair under the royal blue canopy in the middle of the town square, while Wilda and Gritt stood before him, opposite each other.
"We have today, a land dispute between two parties. Although the law is fairly straightforward in this matter, I am giving both sides an opportunity to argue their case. For the sake of transparency."
Wilda looked around. Del stood behind her, clutching her skirts like she used to do when she was a toddler. Mira hadn't come back to town. She knew it was rude of her, to tell the girl to leave after Mira had done nothing but support her against her cousins. Now her only friend in town was missing.
The magistrate was moving things quickly. Normally, it took a few days for a dispute to be addressed and a hearing to be held. Either Gritt had come with a plan in hand to take over her farm, or the magistrate had set aside all his other duties in order to come after her. Wilda knew it was the latter. Avis stared at her, unconcerned by the townspeople who marked his interest and suspected the reason for the hasty public hearing.
"The law is clear, but please, state your case, Wilda," Avis began, sweeping his arm out towards her.
"My father owned the farm before me, and I have lived on it all my life. My uncle sold his share of land years ago and left for the city. The farm is all I know, sir."
"Yes, yes, and you, sir?"
"The law is on my side. Our laws state that property is inherited by the nearest male relative, and that in this case is me. My cousin may have a sorry story, but she has no claim to the land."
"That is true," Avis said, scratching the coarse grey hairs on his chin. "But she is a widow, and with a young child. She is a hardworking woman, as many of our town will attest, but she has no trade or talent. She had little education, and the burden of a growing daughter."
"I can house my cousin till spring. She can earn her keep with chores and housekeeping. If she finds the work agreeable I would be willing to continue her employment."
Wilda spit on the ground. Her cousin, who she had foolishly let into her house instead of shooting at the door, sought to make her a servant in her own home.
"That seems a decent and good proposal," Avis said. "Quite generous of you, sir."
He leaned back into his high-backed chair.
"I know our townspeople might expect me to make a judgment in Wilda's favor. She is one of us, after all, but the rulers of this country have given me a post in which I must remain impartial. Regardless of how I may feel personally about the people who come before me, I must act by the fair and just laws our rulers have put in place."
Her house was lost to her. Her land, which she loved like a second child, was gone. In a second they were rendered destitute. The townspeople were people she knew. They were not her friends, but through sheer proximity they knew everything about her. All of them refused to meet her eyes as she looked around.
"Magistrate!" a sharp voice yelled.
No one noticed the phaeton that rolled into the town square silently. The occupant of the simple horse-drawn cart descended gracefully, helped by the coachman. She rapped her ivory cane against the gruond and Avis hurried to meet her. He pushed through the townspeople and reached her, his lips on her knuckles before she said another word.
"I heard there was a dispute. I was not made aware of this," Taro said. "It is the law that you must send notice of the nearest memeber of the peerage when there is a dispute. Yet I received no notice. I understand you thought it a squabble not worth my attention. But I come here and hear you speak of following the law. I have never seen such insincere statements made with such sincerity."
"Lady Carmanor," Avis begged. "I sent a courier to the manor."
"Yes, I met him at the outskirts of Ashward. He says he was told there was no hurry at all."
Taro glanced at the coachman, and the man came forward and pulled Avis's grasping away from her. She made her way to the canopy suspended over four wooden pillars and settled into the chair.
"I've heard everything I need to hear, and I pronounce that the land and house belong to the woman."
Gritt ground his teeth. Everyone around him was afraid of the old woman. She was tall and frail. There was a severe look in her eye, but in the end, she was merely an old woman.
"The land belongs to me by law!" he yelled. If the old woman rejected his claim, he could take it to one of the wardens of the region, or to the king himself.
"And which laws are those?" Taro asked, leaning forward with one eyebrow raised.
"The laws of the land," Gritt answered.
"Right you are. They are the laws of this land. And you are not from this land. You were born and raised in Cildoran, the land of our enemy. Your father left his home and his people for money, and you have done the same. Our laws do not apply for you."
Greeshma stepped forward. "Please have mercy, milady. We have nowhere to go."
They didn't have enough money to make it back to Cildoran, and travel during the winter was both more expensive and dangerous. Even if they made their way back to their sister in Cildoran, it would be a hard winter to survive. It was a truth they had hid from Wilda, and Gritt looked away from Wilda's face. He did not want to see what she felt on hearing of their hardship. Whether she felt satisfaction or sympathy, he had no interest in knowing.
Taro cleared her throat. "You made quite a generous offer to your cousin a few moments ago. If she chooses, I shall allow her to give you that same offer."
Taro turned to the woman. She was a young woman with premature grey hairs streaking through her pale blonde hair. Taro usually did not care for the peasants. They lived and died in obscurity, spending their lives in menial labor. But she saw struggle written over the woman's face. A few fine lines spread across her forehead, the remnants of years spent in worry.
"Would you do your cousins this kindness?" Taro asked. "It is understandable if you choose not to. They seem rather… mercenary."
Wilda paused. She felt Del's grip on her skirt tighten. Winter meant days and nights spent inside the house with the people who plotted to take everything away from her. Lady Carmanor was powerful, but she wasn't omniscient. Wilda knew the kind thing to do was to accept them, but she could not bring herself to accept the lady's suggestion. She could only think of winter nights with the three strangers in her home, locking her bedroom door and hiding her meager savings.
"I cannot, your ladyship. I offer my most sincere apologies for not accepting your suggestion."
Gritt glared at her across the town square. The only thing worse than being employed by his cousin, was being unemployed. It was unlikely she would let him live in the home after what had occurred. He already felt the chill in the air despite the sun shining brightly above.
The lady was old, but everyone in town was petrified of her. While they mulled around slowly when the magistrate took his seat, their heads bent in half-hearted, reluctant bows, now they stood with heads bowed and their hats gripped in their hands.
Her coachman was built like a boulder, and unlike normal coachmen, he was armed with two short swords hooked into his belt. His fingers grazed over the hilt of one of the blades as he caught Gritt looking at him.
The army of Cildaron was a skeleton compared to its previous glory, but it seemed Vazira fared better. He saw the relative stability of Vaziran lives, but the peerage looked to be back on the periphery of prosperity. The phaeton was new and well-made, an intricate letter 'c' surrounded by a wreath of leaves and berries carved into the doors of the phaeton. The horses were glossy and healthy, and the old woman was remarkably active for her age.
It was madness for an old woman to yield so much power. She could die at any moment, and the heir to the Carmanor fortune and power was a young woman who none of the townspeople had ever seen. Gritt knew the type. She was most likely the kind of woman who lived in a tower in the manor. Sheltered, soft, unknowing of the ways of the world and beaten into submission and docility by her grandmother.
"I suppose that settles it. There is an inn where you can rest the night. I expect you to find your way out of Ashward by the next full moon," Taro. "You stay any longer, and my men shall show you the way out."
"Lady Carmanor, we seek refuge!" he cried out. It was a last ditch effort, a desperate idea that might end up with the abnormally large coachman pummeling him to the ground.
Taro rapped her cane on the ground. The grimy little man was not fit to muck out the stables at the manor.
"Unless you are not able to, milady?" Gritt asked.
He was not fit to be near their horses, just as she suspected. The man was accusing her of being too poor to afford a few more servants. It was true, the three would most likely be nothing more than extra mouths to feed during the winter. He was a conniving little bastard, she had to admit. If she refused his plea in front of the townspeople, she risked looking both cruel and frugal. The man himself was not a pitiable creature, but there was something about the weak, weepy woman next to him that screamed of a life spent relying on other people.
"I expect you to be at the manor by dawn tomorrow. My groundskeeper will tell you your duties," she said.
Gritt nodded and bowed.
"And you, magistrate," she said to the shaking magistrate. "If you seek to perform duties beyond your power, I will make sure you never find work in this region again."
If the lady did not know, they could've had everything. Gritt thought back to the insolent young woman from the day before. He was sure the girl was the reason for the failure of all his plans.
She would be in the manor somewhere, and when he found her, he would make her regret opening her stupid mouth and coming in his way.