The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge

by Cheryl Koevoet

  Mark and Adalina exchanged confused glances. “Do you think it was deliberate?” he asked.

  “It is possible that someone did not want His Majesty to attend the coronation,” Celino offered.

  “You mean like Savino?” Mark suggested.

  “Fortunately for us, he’s still here.”

  “Are you not hungry for some real food after your long sea journey?” Bertoldo asked, pointing them down toward an open-air corridor. They entered a large, luxurious hall where an extensive luncheon had been prepared.

  “Come. Let us eat,” he said, motioning for them to take a seat. “You can tell me all about our beloved allies of the North.”

  After they had all taken their places around the grand table filled with all kinds of fruits, breads, meats and cheeses, the king turned to Mark and touched his arm.

  “So, you are Prince Alano’s son, are you?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty, I am.”

  “I must say, if I did not know better, I would think I was looking right at him.”

  He smiled. “I hear that a lot.”

  The smile faded from Bertoldo’s lips as his eyes locked solemnly on his. “I am so sorry to hear of his recent passing. Of course, for years now, we had assumed you were all dead. We were most surprised and, of course, delighted to hear that you had survived the shipwreck.”

  “Thank you, Sire.”

  Two stately young women with long red hair and a tall young man with dark red hair entered the room and approached the table. With similar facial features as the king, Mark guessed that they had to be related somehow.

  “Ah, wonderful!” Bertoldo waved animatedly. “You are able to join us after all!”

  “Yes, papa.” The eldest girl sat without emotion, an expression of polite boredom plastered across her face. Demurely, she took her napkin and placed it in her lap, avoiding eye contact with the guests.

  “Your Highnesses, Sir Celino, I would be honored for you to meet my children,” Bertoldo said with pride. “This is Princess Caterina who shall one day inherit my throne.”

  The gloomy-looking young woman next to Bertoldo nodded to Celino and Adalina with indifference before lifting her blue eyes at Mark, giving him a cold stare. She nodded once with pointed disdain, as if he were the sole reason for her sullen mood. He countered with a warm smile, but she quickly looked away, pursing her lips in obvious disapproval.

  “Caterina will be turning nineteen this month,” Bertoldo said matter-of-factly. He motioned to the tall young man sitting across from him. “And this is my son, Costanzo. He just turned seventeen a few months ago.”

  The handsome young man sitting next to Adalina smiled shyly at them and nodded. A younger, thinner version of his father, Mark imagined King Bertoldo looking just like Costanzo at the same age.

  “And, lastly, this is my youngest daughter, Caprice.”

  “It is an honor to meet you all,” the bubbly young woman chirped, her crystal green eyes focusing briefly on each of the guests before resting on Mark. She smiled shyly at him.

  “Shall we?” Bertoldo gestured for them all to bow their heads in prayer. He thanked Garon for the food, as well as for their safe journey across the sea. He prayed for Garon’s mercy and protection in the fight against the enemies of darkness.

  When he finished, Bertoldo looked up at Mark with a somber face. “You were just a wee little one when we expected your family for a visit, but then we were told about the horrible shipwreck. And to think that all these years you have been living in another strange world.” He nibbled on a piece of cheese. “Incredible!”

  “My sister and I only recently discovered our Fiore heritage,” Mark explained. “Apparently, once we had landed in the other world, our uncle Alessio had promised our father never to reveal our true identity. Once we returned a few months ago, he started telling us everything about who we really are.”

  “How is cousin Alessio?” Bertoldo asked, taking a sip of wine. “Why did he not accompany you on the journey?”

  “Unfortunately, he was kidnapped by Savino’s warriors, Your Majesty,” Celino replied. “We can only hope that he’s still alive.”

  “And what of the mighty Prince Darian?”

  “My brother left with the Crimson Knights to rescue Alessio and Mark when he thought they had been taken to Abbadon,” Adalina answered. “But Savino attacked us in the meantime, and we have not seen him since.”

  “Your Majesty, my sister is still there, trying to hold the kingdom together in Prince Darian’s absence,” Mark said. “That’s why we need your help.”

  “As you have already discovered for yourself, the journey is long and there is much to prepare for. I shall ready my ships, crew and men and prepare to set sail on the evening tide.”

  “Sire, I would prefer that these two remain here when we return to Crocetta,” Celino asserted. “As members of the Fiore family and next in the line of succession, they are in grave danger. The Count da Rocha means to terminate them.”

  “Of course they can remain here,” Bertoldo offered. “Caterina would be happy to keep them company.”

  The prim princess bristled, dropping her fork in consternation and crossing her arms in protest. When she did not acknowledge her father’s wishes but ignored him completely, Mark stared in stunned amazement.

  “Won’t you, Caterina?” Bertoldo’s voice was stern.

  The fiery young woman hesitated. “As you wish, papa.”

  “I assure you, there’s no need for your daughter to look after me, Your Majesty,” Mark broke in. “I was planning to go back and help fight against Savino’s army.”

  “Mark, you know I can’t let you do that,” Celino cautioned. “You’re second in line to the throne. If something happens to your sister, you’re it. You have to take the fate of the country into consideration now.”

  Caterina stood abruptly and stormed out of the room. Everyone turned to look at Bertoldo with stunned faces. He simply shrugged, shaking his head as if he were dismissing it.

  “Is something wrong?” Celino asked.

  “No,” Bertoldo answered, apologetic. “You must forgive my daughter. She can be rather peculiar sometimes. Caterina is much like her mother was.”

  Mark ignored the strange girl’s rudeness, returning to the topic at hand. “My duties don’t include running away from a fight. I am my sister’s war counselor, after all.”

  “It’s not the same as running away. It’s merely being in exile,” Celino suggested. “Protecting the monarchy.”

  “Where is your brother now?” Bertoldo asked.

  “Brother?” Mark asked, puzzled. “I don’t have a brother.”

  “Yes, you do,” Bertoldo insisted, his bright blue eyes narrowing at him. “I am referring to Prince Marino.”

  “Prince Marino?”

  Mark cocked his head at the king as Celino and Adalina exchanged bewildered glances.

  It was morning when Marisa finally woke, but she couldn’t even tell. In the pitch darkness of Celino’s cellar, she’d completely forgotten where she was. She felt around in the dark, realizing that neither Helena nor Cinzia was there.

  She stood up and groped for the stairs, carefully climbing them to the top. Her hands explored, feeling around for the lever that would open the door. Finally locating it, she pushed the door open as bright light from the kitchen streamed in. She squinted her eyes, adjusting to the light and heard voices coming from the library. As she walked down the hallway and poked her head in, they all fell immediately silent.

  “Good morning, Marisa,” Cinzia said cheerfully, pouring a cup of tea and handing it to her. Jackson jumped down from the chair where he’d been laying and bounced over to her, nuzzling against her ankle.

  “I didn’t know it was so late. Why didn’t anybody wake me?”

  “We wanted to let you sleep,” Alessio said. “You’ve been through quite a lot and you needed your rest.”

  “Where’s Arrie?”

  Tino shifted in his chair. “He to
ok the late watch last night. He is catching up on his rest now.”

  “Wait a minute—where’s Eman?”

  Alessio shrugged, looking sheepish. “We don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” Marisa demanded. “Did Arrie see him leave?”

  “Risa, calm down,” Alessio replied. “Arrie didn’t see or hear him leave, either.”

  “Well, are you sure that somebody didn’t take him by force while we were sleeping?”

  “How likely is it that they would seize him and not us?” Tino asked. “One of us would have heard it. He must have left on his own.”

  “But why would he leave? Where would he go?”

  “Perhaps back to his house?”

  Alessio shook his head. “No, he knows that there are warriors watching it in case he returns. He’s not that stupid.”

  Without warning, there was a loud ruckus outside in the street. Marisa flew to the window and watched as people hurried off the streets and into their houses. The warriors were fanning out through the city streets, banging on doors and searching houses.

  “They’re here, searching door-to-door!” she cried. “Everyone to the basement!”

  They scurried into the kitchen where Alessio opened the secret door of the pantry. She lunged for the puppy, but he pulled her back. “No, don’t! Jackson will bark and give us away.”

  She hesitated, nodding in agreement and rushing down the dark stairway just as the warriors began to pound on the front door. Alessio pulled the secret door shut, and shortly thereafter, there was a loud bang as the warriors broke through.

  Jackson barked at the group of armed men who rapidly spread out to search every room of the house. Below them, the other group listened quietly as the wooden planks above them groaned under the warriors’ weight.

  “Oh no!” Marisa whispered. “Arrie’s still up there!”

  “Arrigo,” Cinzia cried.

  From the cellar, they could hear the men shouting along with some loud scuffling noises. In their rush down to the basement, everyone had forgotten that Arrie was still sleeping in the bedroom upstairs. When she recognized his muffled shouts of protest, Marisa’s heart sank. One of the warriors shouted something inaudible as Jackson barked like crazy. A few minutes later, the sounds died away as the door slammed shut.

  Everyone sat still, too afraid to move, and Cinzia wept softly. Marisa wondered how long they should stay hidden before venturing out. Alessio seemed to read her thoughts and whispered for them to stay there for a few more minutes. Straining to hear any sound that someone was still up there, they finally decided that they were gone when Jackson had stopped barking. Cautiously, they emerged from the basement.

  Jackson ran over to Marisa as Tino hastened to the window and peered out. “All clear,” he said, not seeing any sign of the warriors. “And Eman said we would be safer here than escaping the city?”

  “He’s still right,” Alessio answered. “They have their eyes on all roads out of the city, and there are even more guards watching the harbor as well.”

  “What are we going to do about Arrigo?” Cinzia whispered.

  The others fell silent, all of them afraid to admit that he didn’t stand much of a chance once he was back inside the citadel walls.

  “I’ll go after him,” Marisa said finally.

  “No, you won’t,” Alessio answered firmly. “The last place you should be is in close proximity to that monster calling himself king.”

  “Your uncle is right. For you to return would be suicide.”

  “I’ve got to at least try, Tino. Arrie saved my life twice and he nearly got himself killed in the process. I owe him.”

  “But what is your plan?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t have one yet. But I’ve got Matilda and Talvan on the inside, so it’s not like I’m on my own.”

  “If Savino has not already killed them,” Alessio said bitterly.

  “Perhaps we should wait for King Bertoldo to return with his army,” Helena suggested.

  “We can’t wait.” Marisa said firmly. “Don’t you all get it? Arrie will be dead by nightfall.”

  The room grew still as she strapped the dagger’s holster to her thigh. When the insensitivity of her comment finally hit her, she glanced up at the baroness, instantly regretting her remark.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Cinzia.”

  She nodded in silent forgiveness as Marisa’s head dropped to her chest in prayer. Garon, we need your help now more than ever. Please protect Arrie and show us the way out of this mess before it’s too late.

  CHAPTER 29

  DESPAIR

  Talvan shuddered in revulsion as he carried the tray with Deimos’ head to Savino. Trailing silently behind him was Cozimo, the poor old man’s eyes remaining downcast. Directly behind him were three other warriors, guarding the elderly man loosely in the unlikely event that he might try to escape.

  Focusing on the single gold tooth glistening in the permanently-open mouth, Savino stared at the hideous, lifeless head on the platter.

  “Well done, Talvan,” he said approvingly. “You are one soldier I need not be ashamed of.” He waved him away. “Please step aside so I may speak with the fugitive.”

  The copper-haired warrior lowered his eyes but said nothing as he backed away. When the warriors pushed Cozimo forward, Savino’s expression turned to ice.

  “As for you, I am not happy with you at all.”

  The elderly man would not meet his gaze.

  “You!” he shouted, pointing an accusing finger. “Look at your Supreme Ruler when he is addressing you!”

  Cozimo’s eyes remained fixed on the floor.

  “Foolish old man! You shall listen to what I have to say. I will make an example of you and show what happens to a person when they defy me. Your head shall adorn the gates of this castle as you join Darian, Marisa and the others in death today. I just wanted you to know that.”

  Talvan looked up at Savino with surprise. Had the princess been executed without him knowing? Or was he only lying in an attempt to break the old man’s will?

  “You have killed an innocent girl!” Cozimo shouted, his eyes hardening and his chin trembling in anger. “Garon will punish you for this, Savino! You shall never be worthy to kiss the feet of any Fiore!”

  “Soon there will be no more Fiores and the matter shall be entirely moot.”

  “If you knew the seriousness of mocking the name of Garon and going against His will, you would not be so—”

  “If I hear that blasphemous name cross your lips one more time, you shall be executed on the spot!” Savino screamed. “I shall even do it myself!” He turned to the chief guard. “Take him to the dungeons so that he may consider his transgressions against me!”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  Somewhere deep in the dungeons under the citadel, a warrior shoved Arrie into a cell. The iron bars clanged shut behind him, resonating loudly as he gazed around at his surroundings in despair. The dark, rough-hewn walls contained only one window in the chamber where light streamed in; its opening reinforced with six iron bars and did not offer much of a view. A low wooden table, a thin mat, a single blanket, a wooden bowl for washing and a chamber pot in the corner served as the cell’s meager furnishings.

  Glancing around at his dismal surroundings, he sighed in quiet resignation. He sat on the table and threw the blanket around himself, trying to keep warm in the frigid chamber. He had never been down there before and hadn’t even known that the place existed. It depressed him to know that such a dark pit would be the last thing he saw before he died.

  Equally unnerving was not knowing fate of the others. One minute they’d been peacefully chatting downstairs, but, in the next, the warriors had broken down the door. His parents had probably already been taken away by the time the warriors found him hiding upstairs. Hopefully, Marisa had been able to get away under the protection of the amulet, but he feared for his parents’ lives. Both his father and his mother were no match for Savin
o’s gigantic warriors.

  The sad events of the past several days were already weighing heavily on him. He was still mourning Darian when he had heard that Bruno had also been killed, along with most of the Crimson Knights. Cozimo had been captured and would probably be executed, and there was no sign of Eman who, in all likelihood, had been caught as well. With no knowledge of the whereabouts of his parents, Marisa or the others, his hopes sank into an irretrievable state of despondency.

  Perhaps Mark, Celino, and Adalina had been able to escape, but by the time they returned to Crocetta, it would be too late to save him. Savino wouldn’t blink an eye about killing him. It was just a matter of how and when. Knowing that death was just around the corner, he allowed his mind to wander back to a secret place where he had kept it from going in many months.

  He thought about Astrid.

  Lovely Astrid with her light blonde hair, blue eyes and a shy smile that warmed his insides. With her chic elegance, modern style and international flair, there was no justifiable reason as to why she should ever have been attracted to a provincial, simple man such as himself. And why in the world she had loved him enough to marry him he would never understand. Nonetheless, he had been grateful for the kindhearted woman who had known him better than anyone else.

  Almost.

  He remembered the day they had met in Paris nearly five years before—had it really been that long ago? He had been sitting outside of a small café on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées enjoying an espresso when she came happily strolling along. Most women in Paris were constantly hurrying to be somewhere else, and they always appeared moody. But not Astrid. One look at the slender, beautiful woman enjoying the fragrant spring air and he knew he had to say something.

  He smiled to himself, remembering how he had boldly stood up and informed her most directly that the seat next to him was not taken. Although she had been taken slightly aback by his forwardness at first, eventually her lips parted into a sweet smile and her eyes twinkled, impressed by his chivalrous manner. In a fraction of an instant, she made the decision to take a chance and sit down to enjoy a coffee with him. After that, they went for a stroll through the beautiful Jardin de Tuileries and enjoyed ice cream cones together.