“So, am I correct in assuming that we still have said prisoner in our possession?” He slipped on an elegant tunic of brown brocade and, after adjusting it slightly, turned to view himself in the mirror.
“Yes, Sire.”
“Ah, how refreshing to hear that after losing nearly all of our other prisoners.” He brushed a piece of lint off his sleeve before slipping his chain of office over his head. “I had heard that these warriors were the best force in the land and, yet, so far, I must say I am not impressed with them at all.”
“Yes, their performance is rather disappointing, I daresay.”
“Please ensure that the prisoner is brought to the throne room promptly at eleven. I wish to speak with him before the execution.”
“As you wish.”
“You are free to leave. But, I want no mistakes this time,” he added, wagging a finger at him. “There is no room for error today.”
“I understand, Sire.” He left the chambers, his face twisting into an angry scowl. Meanwhile, Savino continued to preen himself in front of a full-length mirror, adjusting his tunic and smoothing his hair.
Finally pleased with his appearance, he nodded at his reflection and opened the box on the dresser, removing a silver da Rocha crest pin. He gazed out at the panoramic view of the harbor below, his eyes drawn to the distant horizon as he fastened the pin to his tunic.
Turning to leave, a small white plant on the table caught his eye, and he stopped. Bending down to examine it closer, he noticed that the flower had opened slightly since the day before. Small shoots of scarlet were beginning to emerge from its center.
He straightened up with a confident shrug and strolled out of the room, heading down to breakfast. What sort of man kept a potted flower in his bedchamber? Flowers were only useful for wooing females into bed and were not meant for a man’s enjoyment.
He smiled smugly to himself. Darian Fiore was nothing but a weak, sentimental fool. It sickened him to think that he was even in the slightest way related to him.
Marisa’s head pounded as she fought to sit up in bed. The room was pitch-black and she had no idea where she was. But, as the dank, musty odor penetrated her nostrils, she realized she was in the cellar at Celino’s house. Reaching out in the darkness, she felt for the other bed, but it was empty.
Caught in a wave of dizziness, she fought to stand, fumbling her way toward the stairs. She climbed them slowly, taking them one at a time. When she reached the top, she opened the pantry door, the light of the morning sun nearly blinding her. Feeling herself beginning to fade, she collapsed on the cold, stone floor, drawing shallow breaths as her body shivered.
“Marisa!” Helena shrieked. “What are you doing?”
Hearing Helena’s voice, Alessio ran into the kitchen and hoisted his niece up into his arms. He carried her into the library, laying her down gently on the couch.
“Just what do you think you’re doing out of bed, young lady?” he asked sternly, throwing a blanket over her body.
“I woke up in the dark and didn’t know where I was.”
Tino smiled, tucking the blanket around her. “We did not want to make the same mistake with you that we did with Arrie.”
She tossed the blanket aside. “I’ve got to go get Darian.”
“No, darlin’, you’re not,” Alessio said. “You’re not well.”
“But they’re gonna execute him today.” She grabbed her holster, strapping it on under her dress. “What time is it now?”
“It’s just after ten. Now, Tino and I’ve been discussing it. One of us will go get him out.”
“But you don’t know where he is! I’ve been down there before and I can get him out.”
“True. But you’re sick. You can barely walk!”
“Someone bring me my satchel. Just give me a couple of aspirin and I’ll be okay in half an hour.” Cinzia handed her the satchel. Marisa rummaged around in it until she found the small, plastic bottle.
“I shall go get Darian,” Arrie announced finally. “No offense, Pap, but I am younger, stronger and I can move faster. I am the logical choice.”
She popped two aspirin into her mouth and washed them down with a long swig of lukewarm tea, lifting her hand in protest.
“I didn’t want to have to do this, but I’m pulling rank. As the Princess Regent and rightful Supreme Ruler of Crocetta, Abbadon and all Carnelia, blah, blah, blah, blah—I hereby proclaim that I’m the one going after Prince Darian. The subject is now closed.”
Everyone looked at Alessio.
“Can she do that?” Arrie asked, staring dumbly at his father.
He shrugged. “She just did.”
For the second time in so many days, Marisa found herself tracing the eastern face of the citadel walls. Although the aspirin seemed to have kicked in ten minutes before, she was still feeling dizzy and her face was burning up. Dressed in three layers of clothing, she felt silly in her overstuffed getup, but Cinzia had insisted on her wearing it, only letting her go if she’d agree to bundle up.
As she rounded the northeast corner of the wall, she spotted the bridge several hundred feet away. It was a particularly beautiful morning, due mostly to the mountains that had been covered with a fresh layer of snow.
Averting her gaze from the dizzying view into the deep ravine, she spun back toward the wall, stepping sideways along the narrow strip of ground. Just a few minutes more and she’d reach the gate at the northern entrance. Feeling her strength starting to wane, she prayed for fresh energy. But, when the dizziness caused the world to slowly fade to black, she knew she had to lie down or risk fainting and falling into the deep gorge below.
Sliding down against the wall, she closed her eyes and rested for a few minutes, waiting for the spinning sensation in her head to clear. After a few moments of rest, she felt as if she could continue and stood up again slowly, moving toward the bridge. She climbed over the railing and removed her key from the dagger’s scabbard just as she’d done the day before. Everything was running together now in one giant déjà vu.
She entered through the rear gate before closing it again behind her, following the exact same route as the day before when she had rescued Arrie. Descending the darkened staircase, she felt dizzy again and lowered herself to the ground, resting her head between her knees. Refusing to wait until the lightheadedness passed, she pulled herself up and continued on. In her mind, the urgency to find Darian outweighed her body’s need to rest.
Finally, she stood on the landing between the two doors, but, spotting the six towering warriors guarding Darian’s cell, she realized that she didn’t have a plan of rescue. If he should happen to see her, he might overreact, drawing unwanted attention toward her.
Her thoughts were interrupted when the door opposite her opened and a group of seven large warriors filed into the corridor. Pressing herself flat against the other door, she waited as they marched on past, gasping when she saw Talvan at the rear. He made brief eye contact with her but kept marching on with the group. When the men reached the bottom, they stopped.
“Attention!” Talvan shouted. “Guard change!”
The six fresh warriors assumed their posts along the wall while the old shift marched back up the corridor toward the stairs.
She peered around them into the dark cell, scanning the chamber to catch a glimpse of Darian. In the dim light of a single torch, she was able to make out his broad silhouette.
Little more than just a dark shadow, he was leaning forward with his back to her, his head resting in his hands. He didn’t move at all, nor did he look up when the guards changed outside his cell. However heartbreaking it was for her to see his familiar, powerful frame hunched over in defeat, at the same time her heart was also leaping for joy that he was still alive.
And soon she would be back in his arms!
She could barely contain her excitement as she lurked in the doorway of the stairwell, watching impatiently as the guards coming off their shift marched on past. As Talvan appr
oached, he took her arm, signaling for her to follow him back up the stairs. Her smile disappeared when she glanced back at Darian in disappointment. He hadn’t even noticed that she was there, but instead had remained in the same pitiful position with his back to her. She glanced up helplessly at Talvan, meeting his gaze.
Reassuring her with a gentle squeeze on her arm and a slight tilt of his head, he steered her so that she was walking behind him. The squadron exited the door into the courtyard, marching together in unison as they headed toward the south side of the citadel. There was a chill in the air and, with each gust of wind, her teeth chattered and her body shook. Talvan kept glancing over his shoulder to make sure she was still with them.
Running to keep up with the warriors’ giant strides, she fought a fog of dizziness and forced herself to keep moving. Her cheeks were burning up and her headache had gotten worse. Her throat felt swollen, making her wince with pain each time she swallowed. And, to top it all off, her body was wracked with chills. She began to wonder if she would even see tomorrow.
The group of warriors entered the main foyer and turned sharply, entering the Knight’s Hall. Talvan slowed his march, continuing straight down the corridor instead. No one would question him if he slipped away from the formation. It was one of the perks of being a high commander. He glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see her drop onto the floor.
Scooping her up into his arms, he carried her up the stairs toward the royal chambers and deposited her on Prince Darian’s bed. Pulling the covers up over her, he saw that her face was flushed and touched a calloused hand to her forehead. She was burning up with fever. They did not have the luxury of time, but one look at her and he knew she needed to rest for a while.
Minutes later, she awoke sleepily and glanced around the room, her eyes stopping at the foot of the bed where he stood.
“What am I doing here?”
“Your Highness, you fainted and I carried you.”
“Is this where Savino sleeps? What if he finds me here?”
“He shall not return until this evening. He has urgent business to attend to this morning.”
“Yes, I know.” She gazed at him sadly. “The execution.”
“Your Highness, you are not well,” he said sternly. “Why did you come back?”
“Why do you think, Talvan? I’ve come to save my fiancé.”
His lips cracked a small smile. “I admire your spirit, Your Highness, but what exactly are you planning?”
“Give me a minute. I’m working on it.”
He shook his head. “Six of the best warriors in the Guard are watching him day and night and the execution is scheduled to take place in less than ninety minutes. You are so sick that you cannot even stand and you have no weapons. I am more than willing to help, but I am only one man. How can we possibly prevail against the evil controlling this place?”
“We have Garon on our side and that’s good enough for me.” She climbed out of bed and kneeled down next to it, motioning for him to join her. “Pray with me.”
The giant warrior bent down next to her and removed his helmet, bowing his head.
“Garon, what we fight for now is not for our own gain but for your glory. We know we can’t do this alone and we place our futures into your loving hands. Give us the wisdom to discern, the strength we need and the will to carry it out. Guide our footsteps as well as our tongues so that you will rule this land once again. Amen.”
“Amen,” he whispered. “That was beautiful, Your Highness. But what do we do now?”
Suddenly, she spotted the flower blooming in the pot on the table. Her eyes lit up with joy and she smiled.
“Talvan, I believe that I’ve just had an epiphany.”
“Stop! What are you doing here?” the chief guard demanded.
“Delivering the prisoner’s last meal,” Talvan barked, lifting the tray in his hands. “His Majesty’s orders.”
“Fine, but no talking to the prisoner,” he said, cocking his head at him. “His Majesty’s orders.”
There were snickers from the other guards as Talvan moved toward the cell where the lone prisoner sat on the table, staring blankly at the wall. Setting the tray down on the stone floor of the prison, he slid it under the opening and stood.
Although he was aware of the activity in the chamber, Darian did not move. His eyes were focused on the deep crack running along the length of the wall. He wondered how many other doomed prisoners before him had also stared at that same crack. Maybe they had lost everything in their lives just as he had. And perhaps they had all wished for death just as he did.
Sensing that Talvan was still standing next to the bars, he slowly turned to look. The warrior’s eyes locked briefly on his before they dropped to the floor, motioning to the tray. He shrugged with indifference, but as the cell grew lighter with a bright red glow, he followed the warrior’s gaze down to the floor and gasped.
The food on the tray was still covered with a cloth, but next to it was a small, red and white flower with the most beautiful petals he had ever seen. Sparkling tendrils of scarlet reached out to him, undulating from its center in a hypnotic, fluid motion. The plant pulsated with color, alternating between a snowy white and blood crimson. The indescribable beauty of the flower mesmerized him as it danced before his eyes, casting shifting colors of red and white across the painfully bleak dungeon walls.
Tearing his gaze away from the flower, he looked up at Talvan and gave him a tearful nod. The warrior closed his eyes in acknowledgement, and he lowered himself in a deep bow of respect.
“What is the meaning of the flower?” the chief guard shouted.
“It is the man’s last meal. Is there a problem, corporal?”
The chief guard exchanged uneasy glances with the other men and then watched the prisoner take some food from the tray.
“No, sir,” he answered quietly.
“As you were.” Talvan turned and left.
Wiping away a tear before anyone noticed it spilling down his cheek, Darian chewed his bread, still mesmerized by the flower. His heart overflowed with joy, causing a faint smile to rise to his lips. Somehow, somewhere, she was still alive.
And she was letting him know.
CHAPTER 38
ABOMINATION
“Show the prisoner in,” Savino ordered from the throne. Flanked on both sides by Gaspar and Raniero, he smiled in sadistic pleasure as six colossal warriors escorted Darian into the Knight’s Hall.
With unkempt hair and a thick beard, his appearance was ragged and pale. His heavy manacles clanked loudly with each step he took. Looking as if he hadn’t slept in days, his loose linen shirt fell over his dark breeches that were wet and dirty from the filth of the dungeon. His soiled leather tunic hung open and his boots still had mud on them from the journey.
Savino eyed his cousin from head to toe with obvious disgust, dismissing a few of the guards with a wave of his hand. “Each of you may be excused. You two shall remain here.” Four turned to leave while the other two remained on either side of Darian.
Talvan entered the hall behind them, quickly assessing the situation. Five against three. Not the best odds that he could have hoped for, but they would not get any better than that. Marisa slipped in just behind him, taking special care to stay out of Darian’s peripheral vision.
Savino leapt to his feet, thrusting his scepter out.
“Kneel!” he shouted, pointing at the floor as orange-yellow flames shot from his tongue. Darian clenched his jaw, but he didn’t move. “I am His Majesty the King! You shall kneel before me!”
Silence.
Marisa studied the faces of the men around the room. Gaspar’s stony expression seemed to reveal nothing, but Raniero’s cocky smirk displayed a revolting degree of arrogance. Although she couldn’t see the expression on Darian’s face, she could tell by the way his fists were balled that he would have torn his cousin apart if his hands had not been manacled together.
Savino stepped down from
the platform to move closer to his prisoner. He circled his cousin, observing him from all angles before finally stopping within inches of his face.
“You have always had too much pride, Darian.”
If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black, she thought.
“You refuse to kneel before me because I suppose that you still believe that it should have been you. You and that Marisa, Maraya or whatever her name was—”
“Her name was Queen Maraya Fiore!” he spewed, almost growling through gritted teeth. “And you killed her.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot claim credit for her death, but she is dead nevertheless. And once you have been disposed of, there is, of course, your sister, Marcus and—oh yes, the elusive Marino.”
Gaspar and Raniero exchanged bewildered glances.
“Why am I here, Savino? If you want to kill me—just do it.”
“Not so fast, cousin,” he said calmly. “You shall die, I assure you. But yours shall be a slow, painful death. Not like that shepherd who only suffered for a scant six hours.” His eyes glittered wickedly as he spoke.
Talvan moved his hands slowly behind his back, opening one of his fists for Marisa to see. In his palm lay a small key. Bruno’s words drifted back into her mind.
Wise in your approach…
“That man was innocent and you know it!” Darian shouted, his voice becoming hoarse.
Her throat burned. Her cheeks were hot with fever and she almost could not stand from the dizziness. She mustered every ounce of strength she had left, took the key, and slowly crept toward Darian.
“That would depend on how one defines ‘innocent.’ But I cannot allow traitors such as he to run amok in the city, spouting their hateful propaganda against the king. I had to make an example of him, dear cousin.”
“You are not my cousin!”
“In any case,” Savino continued, “I have something truly special in mind for you. Although you shall be impaled like the shepherd, you shall be skewered from top to bottom through your two principal orifices. I shall leave it to you to figure out which ones those are,” he said with an evil chuckle.
The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge Page 35