136: The rightful owner of the land

The rightful owner of the land

Three days later, the auction became the talk of the town. The news of the event spread like wildfire, captivating the attention of Emorian citizens. Conversations were filled with discussions about the lands that had once again changed hands and the potential political and economic ramifications it held for the region.1

Adela's lack of interest in such a momentous occasion was uncharacteristic of her. Normally, she would have been deeply invested in events that could shape Emorian history. But on that particular day, her mind was preoccupied with countless thoughts, leading to an overwhelming sense of detachment from the world around her.

She aimlessly wandered the Lanarkian landscape dressed in a simple long-sleeved dress made of light silk. The delicate pastel color of the fabric melded with her surroundings as the early spring sun peeked through the clouds, casting a gentle glow upon the Lady's fair face.

Despite the lingering chill in the air, Adela chose not to wrap herself in a coat, for the weighty decisions she carried concerning her own destiny and the fates of her loved ones already burdened her shoulders enough.

This marked the day when she was obligated to deliver her response to the King.

With a heavy heart, she lifted her gaze towards the heavens. Why am I even here?

Her eyes descended to the ground, a realization struck her: her battle was not with the celestial realm above, but with the earth beneath her. The soil which had soaked up a river of Emorian blood as her uncle had mournfully expressed ten days ago.

She murmured to the ground as she continued walking, "Emorian blood is being sold to the highest bidder."

The thought of Kaiser de Lanark enduring such anguish for a second time in his life filled her with rage, and the prospect of witnessing his suffering once more was unbearable. "Father..." she whispered, her voice laden with sorrow.

Her father had instilled in her the belief that she was a link in a chain, carrying forward the spirits of her ancestors in an elevated form. Yet, as she witnessed the land they had fought so hard for slipping away from her father's grasp, anger welled up within her. It was directed not towards others, but towards herself.

I am a failure for not being able to prevent this from happening...

As Adela wandered without direction, a profound uncertainty gripped her. Was it she who was relinquishing her ties to the land she had cherished as home for so long by choosing Destan, or was it the land itself that was rejecting her? She pondered why letting go only became arduous when it was her turn to do so. Her sister had already drifted away, distancing herself from their family bonds, while Egon had gradually detached himself from a connection that transcended human boundaries.

"Hmph," she scoffed at her pathetic self. 

A few of her father's knights approached as they noticed her nose and cheeks becoming red, they were prepared to remove their cloaks to provide her with warmth but she gestured for them to halt.

"Please, keep your cloaks on, gentlemen," 

"...My Lady, we have news regarding the outcome of the auction," Sir Jonathan spoke with an unusual tone.

She gazed at him with a vacant expression, wondering what news he was alluding to. Had they gone to the extent of memorizing a comprehensive list of nobles and the lands they had acquired, now poised to recite it all to her? She sincerely hoped not.

"Two mysterious bidders dressed in blue robes and masking their faces were the earliest to appear. All the lands have been procured by a sole bidder... yet again," he relayed the information to her.

The realization hit her hard—her father had once again failed to preserve their ancestral lands, but this time was even worse for they had been acquired by non-Lanarkians. She closed her eyes, trying to make sense of the situation. Questions swirled in her mind, wondering which kingdom these foreign lords hailed from and what motives drove them to pay such exorbitant prices for her father's land. 

Sir Jonathan retrieved a handkerchief from his armor and offered it to Adela with a humble gesture.

I don't even want to cry!

When the Lady realized that he had assumed her expected response based on societal norms and expectations of a woman in her position, she met his gaze with a stern expression and firmly stated, "I appreciate your concern, Sir Jonathan, but I would prefer to be alone at this moment. I urge you to remain discreet and blend in with the surroundings as per your orders."

Turning away, Adela felt a pang of guilt for directing her frustration towards a knight who had done nothing wrong except make assumptions based on gender stereotypes.

I am not weak; I am simply weary of it all... 

Once again, her feet led her to a familiar place. Standing beside the solitary hill in her father's manor, she looked up at its gentle slope, deep in thought about her next steps and the potential heartache that might accompany her chosen path.

"You're going the wrong way," a voice, rich and deep, reached her ears—one she had sorely missed.

Adela froze, savoring the familiar fluttering in her stomach, an addictive feeling she had grown accustomed to. But as she glanced over her shoulder, she made sure to banish any traces of dependency from within.

She lifted her gaze to meet Egon's face as he approached her with his characteristic grace, his footsteps silent as if he glided over the ground. Normally, her heart would have raced with surprise at his sudden presence, but now it remained steady as if it had anticipated his arrival. Her eyes took in the sight of him, dressed impeccably in an Emorian suit that accentuated his form with perfection. Truly, there was nothing that didn't suit Egon von Conradie.

"...And where is the right way? Where should I go?"

He drew a deep breath and let it out with his answer, "You should come to me,"

Her smile was faint. "In case you haven't noticed, you've been absent for ten days."

His eyes took on a warm honey hue, reflecting the late afternoon sunlight that bathed his face as he spoke. "What are ten long days and ten long nights compared to your indefinite absence?"

She averted her gaze briefly before meeting his deep brown eyes once more, for she had no response to that.

"I came here to give you this," his voice took on a deeper tone as he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a parchment. "Take a look." He unfolded the parchment before her.

Her eyes quickly scanned the list of fiefs that had been auctioned that day, each bearing the name of Duke Rauul Corvus at the end.

"Sir Rauul?!" she exclaimed in disbelief.

"Keep reading. The most important part is at the very end," he said, amusement clear in his husky voice that seemed to scratch her on the inside.

At the bottom of the parchment, there was a note. "Enfeoffment?" she murmured, her vision momentarily blurred.

"I possess a written deed that recognizes and grants land ownership and authority to a noblewoman. It is signed and sealed with your father's signet ring,"

She looked at him, her confusion evident.

Egon's eyelids lowered lazily. "Everything, all of it, has been bestowed upon the rightful owner of the land."

She heard his words clearly, but they struggled to fully register in her mind.

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