The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge

by Cheryl Koevoet

  He thought about Marisa, hating the fact that he was so far away and unable to protect her. He thought about the others—his sister, his mother, Arrie and Alessio, Tino and Cozimo. What would Savino do to them in his absence? He had never felt more helpless in his entire life.

  He rolled onto his side, pulling the blankets up over him as he thought about the bodies of his men still lying near the Mychen Forest. After they had been attacked and everyone scattered in a panic, he had lost sight of both Matilda and Bruno. One could hope that they were both still alive, but, at this point, he doubted it. Bruno had been near the front of the formation and would have been one of the first to die. He suddenly felt sick, remembering the war hero who had taught him everything he knew about self-defense and waging battle.

  And then, of course, there was Luca. The most highly-skilled knight he had ever known and his best friend since their Academy days was now dead. And it was his fault. Because Luca just so happened to be riding in Darian’s place at the front when the attack took place, his corpse was now lying in the Mychen Forest instead of Darian’s. Poor Luca. He would never know the love he had always sought but never found. Unable to think about his painful loss, he pushed them both from his mind.

  He got up and strapped his sword around his waist, creeping down the dark, cold corridors of the castle in search of some less gloomy diversion. Fully aware of the dark history of the place, he had never seen it so deserted and forgotten before. It had once been the royal, holy city of Ambrogia before it had become cursed and he wondered if remnants of that plague still dwelled within its walls.

  Limping down the hallway, he heard a strange buzzing noise coming from one of the antechambers. Pressing his ear to the door, he silently reached for his sword and grabbed the knob with his other hand, turning it slowly. He raised his sword high, peering into the dark room as the hinges of the door creaked and groaned.

  There was a flurry of chaos around the chamber as men leapt to their feet from every corner of the room. Each had his sword, dagger or knife pointed at Darian.

  “Who is there?” a man’s gravelly voice shouted at him.

  “Put away your blades,” he replied. “I have no desire to witness any more death this day.”

  “Your Highness? Is that you?”

  He lowered his sword cautiously. “Baron Porfiro?”

  “Ah, it is His Highness!” Porfiro exclaimed, motioning to him. “Lower your weapons!” He strode over to Darian and slapped him hard on the shoulder. “Sire, I am so glad to find you safe! When I last saw you, the men were falling all around us as we both rode into the forest. But then we did not see you anywhere. Are you unharmed?”

  “My leg was wounded by a stray arrow, but I was able to elude Savino’s men.” He searched the collection of haggard faces around the room. “Do you know if Matilda or Bruno made it out safely?”

  “That I cannot tell you, Your Highness. The six of us managed to escape Savino’s warriors and we all banded together.”

  “Only six of you survived?”

  He nodded. “We stopped for the night near the Crystal River to nurse our wounds. Assuming that any survivors would meet up again at Abbadon, we decided to leave at first light and came here straight away.”

  “Are there other survivors?”

  Porfiro shook his head. “I do not know. But it is possible.”

  “Who is here?”

  “There is Lord Aurelio, Count Vittore, Lord Patrizio and these other two men are Adamo and Ilario—recent additions to the civilian regiment.”

  Darian glanced around at the men. “I am so glad to see you. I learned only today that Crocetta has fallen under Savino’s control. I fear he has taken Princess Maraya and the others captive.”

  “But, Sire, do you think they are still alive?” Aurelio asked.

  “I can only pray that they are. We must return as quickly as possible.”

  “We are sworn to protect Her Royal Highness,” Porfiro said solemnly. “You need only say the word and we shall mount our horses to ride with you.”

  He clapped a hand on Porfiro’s shoulder. “The first thing you can do for me is to get some sleep. We leave for Crocetta in the morning and I want everyone properly rested. Somehow I fear that the fight of our lives still lies ahead of us.”

  Tears flooded Arrie’s eyes. He had been so happy to discover that Marisa was alive, but his joy had been short-lived. When she told him the news of Darian’s death, he dropped to his knees and buried his head in his arms.

  Her heart ached for her dear cousin as she bent down, hugging him tightly. Feeling his sturdy frame shudder in pitiful sobs, she leaned her head against his and wept softly. Jackson nuzzled up against her leg, confused by the powerful emotions of his mistress.

  “No,” he said loudly, balling his fists at his sides.

  “No what?”

  “We cannot give up. We must think of a plan.” Remembering the promise he had made to Darian to keep and protect her, Arrie steeled himself as he dried his eyes and lifted her to her feet. She resisted, pushing him away.

  “What is even the point anymore, Arrie?”

  “Your Highness, for the sake of everyone, you must be strong.”

  “I can’t do this,” she answered sadly. “I never could.”

  His voice suddenly took a sharp tone. “You are the rightful Supreme Ruler of Crocetta! Over all Carnelia!”

  “But—”

  “This is your birthright. You must not let anyone steal it from you! Your father, your mother, even Darian may be gone, but that is all the more reason to stay and fight.”

  She shook her head. “There’s nothing left to fight for.”

  “Marisa, do you not see that this is about more than just you? Can you not see ‘the bigger picture’ as you often call it? No matter what has been lost in recent days, you must fight for our future!”

  “My future was killed senselessly in the Mychen Forest.”

  “If you give up now, you shall negate everything your parents and Darian have ever fought for all their lives. You owe it to them to gather some courage and fight for your family, your heritage—and for Carnelia.”

  She looked into her cousin’s eyes. He was right. Darian would not have wanted her to give up. She couldn’t betray his memory now. Whether she liked it or not, she would fight back. For Darian.

  “Well, what do you suggest?”

  “There is the fireball I know and love.”

  “But Savino’s locked everyone in their chambers. I haven’t seen your mother anywhere and I have no idea if Eman is even still alive. On top of everything, I still have to break the awful news to Princess Helena.”

  “The others must still be alive. Savino would not have them killed quietly; it is not his manner. Tomorrow is the coronation and we must use it to our advantage.”

  “How?”

  “Do not forget that we have Talvan on our side. His loyalties have always been with the Fiore family. Darian trusted him with his very life.”

  She looked down at Jackson, petting his soft fur. The small pup had been her final gift from Darian, making him infinitely more precious. “Wait a minute,” she said, startling the puppy. “If we can sneak out of here, we can go to Celino’s house. He showed me a secret cellar where we can hide until we can get everyone out of the city.”

  “But how do you plan to get everyone out of the castle? Savino will not take any chances on the day of his coronation. He shall triple the guards everywhere.”

  “Yes, but we’ve got Talvan. If I can work out the details with him, can you get word to the others?”

  “It will be risky, but, if we stay here, we are dead anyway.”

  She smiled weakly. “Like my dad always said, if you never take the risk, you’ll never take the triumph.”

  “And a considerable risk it shall be,” he said pensively. “The difficult part will be getting everyone out and over to Celino’s house before anyone notices we are gone. Not an easy task.”

  “I hav
e an idea,” she said, twisting her hair absently. “We’ll make our move tomorrow after the coronation.” She looked up at him. “And we’re doing it for Darian.”

  “For Darian,” he echoed.

  CHAPTER 25

  CORONATION

  Marisa’s eyes opened slowly as she rolled over onto her side. Bright rays of morning sun streamed through the windows and shone onto her face. She closed her eyes again as a tear rolled down her cheek and dropped, soaking into the pillow. It was a glorious morning and one that Darian would never see.

  She had experienced a similar sort of melancholy with her father’s death only a few short months ago and knew that although the ache in her heart would ebb and flow, it would never truly go away. She was wondering how she would ever get over Darian’s death when suddenly, a strange glow outside the window caught her eye.

  She wiped her cheek, got out of bed and stared down into the main courtyard where a large bonfire raged with flames at least two stories high. Several warriors were circled around it, throwing flags and large pieces of fabric onto the enormous blaze. She hurried over to Arrie who was still asleep on the couch.

  “Arrie, wake up!”

  “Mmm.”

  “Come look out the window!”

  He opened one eye sleepily. “What is it?”

  “Just come and look.”

  Yawning loudly, he rolled off the couch and stretched his arms high above him before stumbling over toward the window. He rubbed his eyes and peered down into the courtyard, groaning at what he saw. “Oh, no.”

  “What is it? What’s going on?”

  “They are burning the coat-of-arms.”

  “I can see that. Why?”

  He paused. “Did you ever hear the expression ‘burning your bridges’?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, in Carnelia, we say ‘burning your flags’.”

  “Huh?”

  “It is an extremely old Carnelian tradition that was outlawed years ago. On the day of a monarch’s coronation, they would burn the flags of families who had fallen out of favor.”

  “But why?”

  He shrugged. “It is mainly symbolic. In times past, it was a way to enforce loyalty to the royal dynasty.”

  “How is that supposed to make people loyal?” she asked, motioning toward the flames.

  “By burning one’s coat-of-arms, you would be dissolving your recognition of that family—banishing them, so to speak.”

  “In other words, payback time.”

  He nodded. “For men of noble birth, the honor infused into their family crest is the most important asset they own. It symbolizes and defines what their ancestors once were, who they are now and who their descendants shall be.”

  “So what happens to them once their flag is burned?”

  “Everything is taken away. Their house, their land, their cattle—all gone. The worst punishment a nobleman can face is to have his title stripped from him.”

  “When was the last time anyone ever did this?”

  “On the day your aunt Sophie was crowned, Gregario forced her to burn some flags. Actually, he did it without telling her and, when she found out about it, she immediately put a stop to it.”

  “Who outlawed it?”

  “Your great-grandfather, Petrus Fiore, banned it during his reign. He saw the practice as tyrannical. He believed that the Supreme Ruler should be earning his subjects’ loyalty through charitable deeds and kindness.”

  “He sounds like a wise king.”

  “Indeed he was,” Arrie answered, watching the flames. “He knew that the bonds of trust earned through benevolence and respect were so much stronger than any false loyalty forced out of coercion and fear.”

  “Can you see whose flags they’re burning?”

  He shook his head. “It appears that they have already burned most of them, but we can be certain that the Fiore banner was the first one on the pyre.”

  “I have to get downstairs and see what’s going on.” She grabbed her dress and hurried into the closet to change.

  “Be careful, Your Highness.”

  The castle buzzed with coronation preparations as Marisa made her way down to the Knight’s Hall. Each time she heard someone approaching, she ducked behind tables, doors or whatever else she could find. It always proved unnecessary since no one was able to see her.

  Stopping at the end of the corridor, she bowed her head in prayer. Dear Garon please be with me this day and keep the enemy from discovering our plans. Help me get my loved ones to safety and keep us all from the enemy’s hands. Amen.

  Glancing up above the door to the Knight’s Hall, she noticed that the Fiore coat-of-arms had been taken down. In its place, the da Rocha banner had been prominently hung, marking its territory. Noticing that a royal crown had been added to Savino’s crest, she shook her head sadly, stunned by her cousin’s arrogance.

  Peering into the Knight’s Hall where the coronation would take place, she noticed that the throne platform on the far side had been decorated to reflect the solemn occasion of the day. The wooden benches had been draped with swags of luxurious velvet and bouquets of fresh flowers while polished silver candelabras lined the hall in symmetrical rows.

  Everything looked simply beautiful.

  As she gazed up at the crystal chandelier above her, memories of her eighteenth birthday came flooding back. It was here that she had danced with Luca Domenico at the ball and how the expression of hope in his eyes had moved her to tears. Her heart broke knowing that would never find the woman he had searched his whole life for.

  She remembered how Darian had patiently guided her through the evening as she was introduced to the Carnelian nobility. Later on, he had stepped in and saved her from Savino’s wrath when she refused his proposal. It was then that Darian had revealed that she was the lost Princess Maraya. He could have told her who she was on the very first day they met, but he never forced himself upon her. He wanted for her to come to love him on her own terms. When she thought of Darian’s selfless love, her eyes shone with fresh tears.

  Stroking the velvety softness of the swag decorating the pillar, she leaned her head against it. Savino had spared no expense for his own coronation and she took comfort in the fact that her parents weren’t alive to see him steal the throne. This should have been her coronation with Darian at her side. It seemed so ridiculous that she had postponed their wedding and now he was gone forever.

  Wishing more than anything she could turn back the clock, Marisa sank down into a pew and stared up at the circles of swords on the wall. A teardrop rolled down her cheek, splashing onto the stone floor. And in her grief, all she could think of was getting even with Savino. She might be powerless to stop him from being crowned, but King Bertoldo and his men would be arriving soon. Her father’s cousin from Terracina was their only chance at taking back the throne. It was crazy to imagine that their hope of survival was now pinned on a man she’d never even met.

  Without warning, Savino appeared at the entrance of the Knight’s Hall, surrounded by several men. Striding with confidence toward the throne, he seated himself and beckoned the men around him, drawing them into a serious discussion. Marisa moved up closer to hear what they were saying.

  “Will it be ready for the guests’ arrival?” Savino asked.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” a short man with a bald head replied. “Everything has been arranged according to your wishes. Your, uh, display, shall be set up in front before the guests arrive.”

  “Excellent. We must show that I plan to rule with an iron fist and am not a man to be trifled with.”

  She had no idea what they were talking about but somehow knew that she would find out before the day was over.

  “Savino, I want a word with you!” a woman’s voice shouted.

  Marisa shrunk behind the pillar, gasping in surprise as she spied the source of the outburst. Matilda was angrier than she had ever seen her, slamming the large oaken door and marching across the hall to confront h
er brother. The guards moved to block her but Savino waved them away.

  “Ah, dear sister! There you are. Safe back with us at last!”

  “Am I really your dear sister, Savino? Am I?” Her voice cracked with emotion as she approached him, stopping within inches from his throne.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “You know very well what I mean! Your men shot and killed the dear man that was protecting me, only missing me by a hair!”

  “Those men were on their way to attack my castle at Abbadon. I simply anticipated their next move and left before they could kill me.” His ice-blue eyes locked on hers. “The question is, why were you accompanying my would-be assassins?”

  “You provoked them by kidnapping Prince Marcus and the others!” she countered, stabbing an accusing finger at him. “You have gone too far this time, brother, and, in the end, your actions will kill you. I shall not stay here and watch that happen!”

  He leapt to his feet. “Do you realize to whom you are speaking? I am His Royal Majesty the King! And in just a few short hours, I shall be crowned Supreme Ruler! I would be extremely careful if I were you unless you want to end up on my display outside!”

  “I have seen your ghastly display, and I think you are horrible! The man I loved is now a part of that display!” She shook her head in disgust. “I shall never forget this. Never!”

  “He was a traitor that needed to be punished for his actions.”

  “You have tarnished the honor of our dear mother. She would have sooner died a thousand deaths than to see you rule the kingdom in this cruel manner.”

  “Then it is perhaps fortunate that she is no longer here.”

  She moved up to slap him, but he caught her arm and held it firmly. She wrestled it away from his grasp, shaking her head with pity. “She was a far better ruler than you will ever—”

  “Our mother was a weak woman without the faintest idea of how to rule a country!” Savino shouted, leaning toward her with his fist raised. “What this land needs is a man who sets the rules and sticks to them, punishing anyone who breaks the rule of law. And now, dear sister, I would advise you to leave my presence before you trespass one more time upon my good graces.”