The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge

by Cheryl Koevoet

  “What!” She jumped to her feet. “Where is he?”

  “He tried to assassinate Savino during the execution. But they captured him and took him to the castle. He is probably in the dungeon now.”

  “Darian’s alive?” she echoed, still processing the meaning of her uncle’s words. “Are you sure?”

  “We just saw him with our own eyes,” Tino answered.

  “But we were just there,” Arrie said with a confused look on his face. “He was not there.”

  “You were probably gone before they captured him.”

  “I’m going to him,” she said, grabbing her cloak and slipping it on. “I can’t leave him down there.”

  Alessio shook his head. “No, Risa—it’s too risky tonight.”

  “But—”

  “It’s a miracle that you were able to get Arrie out, but Savino won’t make that mistake again. Darian is his special prize. He’ll do anything to make sure he doesn’t escape.”

  “But what if—”

  “He’ll be safe there tonight, darlin.’ Nothing’s going to happen. Savino won’t have him killed quietly—he’ll want another public execution to make what happened today look like a cakewalk. Just let the dust settle for one night. We’ll go after him in the morning.”

  “How am I supposed to sleep knowing he’s down in that awful cell,” she whined, rubbing her temples. Her headache had worsened and now her throat was getting sore.

  Helena gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Dearest, your uncle is right. My son has managed to survive against incredible odds. Sitting in a prison cell for one night shall do him no harm.”

  “You need to rest,” Cinzia said, chiming in. “You are looking quite pale and you should not be taking such a big risk now.”

  “Here you are, Your Highness,” Tino said, bringing her a bowl of soup from the kitchen.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking it from him. As their eyes met, she noticed that he seemed to have aged considerably over the last several weeks since their last lesson. His mustache and sideburns had become a bit grayer and the weathered lines in his face seemed even more pronounced. But, in spite of all that, Tino Durante remained a remarkably handsome man.

  “Do not worry. Prince Darian will be safe this evening,” he reassured her.

  “I suppose you’re right. I guess we have no choice but to wait until the morning and then get him out.”

  “Wise decision.”

  There was a long silence as Marisa sipped her soup.

  “Who is Marino Fiore?” she blurted all of a sudden.

  There was an awkward silence as everyone turned to look at Alessio. “Where did you hear that name?” he asked finally.

  “I’ve heard it a couple of times now. Who is he?”

  Another pause.

  “Well?” Cinzia pressed.

  “Has the girl never been told?” Helena asked, annoyed.

  “Told me what?”

  “Well, how could I?” Alessio exclaimed. “Alano swore me to silence! It’s not my fault!”

  “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

  Alessio let out a deep sigh. “You had another younger brother. His name was Marino.”

  “A younger brother?” She stared at him blankly. “But I don’t remember him.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. He was a year younger than Mark. He died when you were only four.”

  Her jaw dropped as she sank back down onto the couch. “I don’t believe this…”

  “Your mother had been receiving death threats around the time he was born. She was terrified that the baby would be kidnapped and killed, or maybe ransomed, so your parents decided to hide him. They put him into the care of a young couple, promising to support them for the rest of their lives as long as they swore never to reveal Marino’s true identity. Then your parents announced that it had been a stillbirth.”

  She stared at him. “But, wait a minute. I don’t understand. Savino announced a bounty on his head, talking about him as if he was still alive. He even mentioned him by name—Marino Fiore.”

  Her uncle shook his head. “Savino is talking crazy. Marino and his caretakers were with us on board the Carnelian, but they were swept overboard hours before the ship got sucked into the vortex. All three were lost and drowned that night.”

  She lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips. “But isn’t that, like, a totally amazing coincidence? I mean, how is it that all three people from the same family were swept overboard and no one else? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Few things in life make any sense, darlin’.”

  “But were there any witnesses? Did anyone actually see them fall overboard? Did anyone try to save them?”

  Alessio crossed his arms. “The only person who saw them swept overboard was Raniero…”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Nuff said.”

  “Stand back,” Talvan barked.

  “Talking to the prisoner is not permitted!” the warrior replied.

  “Does it look like I am here to chat, Corporal? And keep in mind that you are talking to a superior officer!”

  The soldier stepped aside. The other men behind him stepped back as well, afraid to bear the brunt of their commander’s wrath. Talvan moved up to the cell and slid a tray of food under an open section in the bars.

  Darian glanced at the tray warily but said nothing as he picked it up and brought it back over to the table, taking a bite of the bread and cheese. He stared into space, guzzling down the entire cup of wine in one long swig.

  Talvan smiled to himself, praying that the sleeping powder would take quick effect. The prince may have been feeling like he had reached the end of his rope, but the copper-haired warrior wasn’t about to give up on him yet.

  CHAPTER 36

  SCHEMES

  Almost as soon as Gaspar knocked, he could hear footsteps approaching from the other side. Raniero opened it, bowing grandly and motioning him inside.

  “Ah, Gaspar, good morning. Do come in. Our lunch shall arrive momentarily.”

  “How is the arm?” Gaspar asked, eyeing his bandaged bicep.

  “Hurts more than anything, you know, but it is one more battle scar to add to the collection.” He chuckled, running his hand gently over the wound. “What a pity the arrow missed its intended target, eh?”

  “Indeed.” He pursed his lips into a wry smile, following his host through the luxuriously appointed chambers where he lowered himself into a plush chair. He stared out the large picture window with a magnificent view of the mountains that were covered in a thick layer of fresh snow. “Well, I see that you have taken one of the finest rooms in the castle.”

  “It is quite nice, is it not?” Raniero drawled, his eyes roaming the chamber. “Let us just say that I am finally being rewarded for all my years of loyal service to King Gregario.”

  “A bit too feminine for my taste, I daresay.”

  “Yes, mine too. I understand that these were once the private quarters of Princess Maraya.” A knock at the door interrupted them and Raniero stood to open it. “Loris my boy! You are just in time.”

  “Good morning, uncle.” He entered with a tray filled with food, setting it on the table in front of Gaspar.

  “Mmm, that smells delicious.” Raniero placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Gaspar, it is high time you met my nephew. Loris, this is Gaspar, His Majesty’s chief advisor and special envoy.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir,” Loris said, bowing awkwardly.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Loris. Your uncle has told me much about you; much indeed.” He studied the boy, scrutinizing every inch of the young man from his head to the soles of his shoes.

  “That will be all for now,” Raniero said, waving his nephew off and impatient to get down to business. “You may tidy up my room and search for something suitable for me to wear to the execution.”

  “Execution?”

  “Oh, yes, I do believe I failed to mention it to you,” his uncle answered casually.
“Darian Fiore is to be publicly executed.”

  Loris froze. “Why is he being executed?”

  “Well, among other things, he tried to kill His Majesty yesterday. Have you not heard the delightful tale of his feeble, failed assassination attempt? He missed and shot me in the arm, he did.”

  “Uh, oh—yes. I forgot that is how you hurt your arm,” Loris said, nodding to excuse himself. He disappeared into the bed chamber and closed the door, leaving it open just a crack. He grabbed his dusting rag, pretending to clean as he eavesdropped through the door.

  “Does the boy know?” Gaspar whispered.

  “No. And he will not until the others are disposed of.”

  “So, he is the one, eh?”

  “Yes,” Raniero answered, taking a sip of tea and staring out at the snow-covered mountains. “And what about His Majesty? Are you certain that he remains unaware of the plan? My master shall have my head on a platter if our scheme falls through.”

  “Are you forgetting that we serve the same master? No, Savino is quite unaware that his reign shall be of short duration. And, when it ends, no one shall mourn him for even a second.”

  “Indeed.” Raniero chortled, changing the subject. “Have you heard any news from the brotherhood?”

  “Not since we left Abbadon. But I think we can assume everything is going according to plan in the other kingdoms.”

  In the bedroom, Loris moved objects around from one place to another, pretending to clean while listening with his ear to the door.

  “Hmm, yes.” Raniero traced a lazy finger around the lip of his teacup, studying the snowy peaks in silent thought. “Once Darian is dead, only Marcus and Adalina shall be left. And once they are gone, we shall proclaim my nephew as the lost Fiore son and everything shall fall into place.”

  “But the boy is only—what, sixteen? He is far too young to assume the throne,” Gaspar said.

  “In that there lies entirely the point! The Crimson Court shall make him Prince Regent. And, as his uncle and guardian, I shall be appointed as king by proxy. Gregario was able to do it with Darian and so shall I do it with Loris—that is, Marino.”

  Loris stopped dusting, his eyes widening.

  “But how can you become the legitimate king if Loris is the one to be crowned as Supreme Ruler?”

  “Loris—er, Marino Fiore shall not live to see his coronation,” he whispered.

  Loris gasped.

  “But the law clearly stipulates that the Supreme Ruler must be of Crocine origin.” He eyed him skeptically. “You are not a Crocinian by birth.”

  “And…?”

  “I am, however.”

  “You would not dare go back on our plan, Gaspar,” Raniero hissed. “Our master decided long ago that I would be the one to ascend the throne. After all, I am the one with the perfect inroad.”

  “You have not yet addressed the issue at hand.”

  “The Capitol Kingdom does not necessarily have to be Crocetta. It could be relocated to one of the other cities.”

  “Surely you know that the law cannot be changed so easily.”

  “It can if the king wishes to change it and there is no objection from the Crimson Court. Which I practically own, I might add.”

  Gaspar mulled it over silently. “If you are the one to become king, what is my reward for helping you carry it out?”

  “You mean besides not having your head end up on a platter?”

  “Well, yes, of course—that too.”

  Raniero’s eyes locked on his. “What would you say about holding your coronation at Abbadon?”

  “Are you proposing what I think you are proposing?” A sly smile crept across his lips.

  “That we split the kingdom?”

  “What a brilliant idea. And I would make a good king of Abbadon. Yes, I believe I like your plan.”

  “Mmm, yes, that is what I thought,” replied Raniero. “So we are agreed then? Your silence in exchange for your head as well as the kingdom and crown of Abbadon?”

  “Agreed.”

  As Loris picked up the empty luncheon plates and put them on the tray, he thought about his uncle’s conversation with Gaspar. Eyeing his uncle warily, he lifted the tray up onto his shoulder.

  “I am taking these down to the kitchen, uncle.”

  “Loris, after you have removed the dishes, you should see about getting some new garments. The palace has an in-house tailor named Tonio. Mention my name and he shall ensure that you are properly dressed just as any nobleman of distinction should be.”

  “Yes, uncle.”

  “Remember—a man’s appearance determines his success.”

  Loris nodded, but said nothing. He stared at his uncle, suddenly realizing just how little he knew of this man. He had already started to question whether his uncle had told him the truth on pertinent matters, including the succession of the throne. And, after observing the sphere of influence under which his uncle was operating, Loris began to suspect that he had been told nothing but a series of lies all along.

  Balancing the tray on his shoulder, he stepped into the hallway and closed the door softly. He made his way down the steps and set the tray on the table in the kitchen. Climbing the stairs toward the tailor’s shop, he stopped in his tracks, hesitating. He spun around and descended the steps, looking for the other staircase he had seen earlier in the day.

  He had somewhere else to go first.

  Darian rolled over and opened one eye, rubbing his cheek with the palm of his hand. He had not shaven in days and a dark, scraggly beard was covering his face. But, as with everything else, he just did not care anymore. And then he realized that he had quashed his own plans by falling asleep. He had been plotting to kill himself the night before, but he became so exhausted that he drifted off, apparently sleeping quite soundly all night.

  He watched as the warriors in the corridor eyed him cautiously. He could hear them whispering among themselves that the prince was on a suicide watch and there would be hell to pay if he killed himself. The king had ordered that he would die by public execution, and if he somehow managed to kill himself, the men standing guard would pay for their mistakes with their lives. Heads would be rolling soon since nobody could stop him from ending his life.

  Hearing a commotion near the steps, he turned to see the guard speaking to someone, but he couldn’t see who it was. Nearly everyone had been turned away, unable to see or visit him. So he was surprised to see the warrior step aside and let the visitor pass.

  “Good morning, Your Highness,” a tall, lanky young man said as he shuffled over to the cell.

  “Ah, it is you, squire. I am glad to see you. At least I shall see one friendly face before I die.”

  “Mine will not be the last friendly face you see, Your Highness. You shall walk out of this dark dungeon and live to rule Crocetta for many years.”

  He smiled at the boy’s naïveté. “Ah, to be young and so full of hope! So, I do not suppose your uncle has managed to convince that snake of a cousin to stay my execution?”

  “No, he has not,” Loris said, adding slowly, “And that snake is my cousin, too.”

  He cocked his head. “What do you mean, Loris?”

  The boy bent down, whispering through the bars.

  “I overheard my uncle speaking with Gaspar and he was calling me by my real name. Marino Fiore.”

  He narrowed his eyes at him, studying the boy for a long moment before cracking a wide smile. “Now you see? That is just so typical! People make faulty assumptions based on conversations they think they overhear. My Marisa always used to do that—”

  He stopped midsentence, turning to stare at Loris.

  Reaching through the bars, he grabbed the boy’s head and turned it from side to side, examining his profile.

  Could it be possible?

  He had the same ruddy skin with freckles, but his eyes were darker. He was tall and his nose was curved just like Elyse’s. And his hair was dark reddish-brown just like Alano’s.

 
; Just like Marisa’s.

  He fell backward as the truth stared him in the face.

  “I remember you, squire,” he said slowly, pointing at him in disbelief. “I held you when you were just a baby. Baby Marino.”

  Loris stared at him blankly, unable to remember anyone except the parents who had raised him.

  “Do you know that your sister was the most beautiful woman I have ever known? And now you shall never even know her.”

  “That is long enough,” the warrior bellowed. “The boy must leave now.”

  Loris’ eyes locked on his. “Never lose hope, Your Highness. Do not give up.” The warrior ushered Loris away and returned to his post. Darian covered his face with his hands and wept softly.

  When Arrie saw Marisa’s sweat-soaked hair and flushed cheeks, his concern for her soared. “How is she?” he whispered.

  Cinzia stood up and motioned him out of the room, closing the door behind them. “She is very sick, Arrigo. I think she may need a doctor.”

  “But where can we find one?”

  “I wish Celino were here,” Alessio remarked. “Come eat your breakfast, Cinz, you’ve been taking care of her all night. Let her rest. I’ll take the next shift.”

  “The poor girl.” Helena shook her head. “She has not slept, she has not eaten and she has been running around in the cold, damp air. I am not surprised at all that she has fallen ill. We never should have let her go in the first place.”

  “She did not give us much choice, Your Highness,” Tino said, crossing his arms and sighing. “And yet, that girl has managed to accomplish more than all of us put together. It puts me to shame. She would have made an excellent queen.”

  “Will make,” Alessio corrected. “It’s not over yet.”

  “Do you truly believe there is still hope?” Tino asked.

  “I have to. If we lose hope, we’re dead.”

  CHAPTER 37

  EPIPHANY

  “Is everything ready for the execution this afternoon?” Savino asked, admiring his newest garments that had just arrived from the tailor.

  Gaspar nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”