The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge (26 page)

“My future was killed senselessly in the Mychen Fo
rest.”

“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 Carn
elia.”

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 Da
rian.

“Well, what do you sug
gest?”

“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 He
lena.”

“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 advan
tage.”

“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 everyw
here.”

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

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

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

“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 have 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 Da
rian.”

“For Darian,” he ec
hoed.

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 c
ouch.

“Arrie, wak
e up!”

“Mmm.”

“Come look out the wi
ndow!”

He opened one eye sleepily. “What i
s 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 goin
g on?”

“They are burning the coat-of-
arms.”

“I can see that.
Why?”

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

“
Yeah?”

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

“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 f
avor.”

“But
why?”

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

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

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

“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 shal
l be.”

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

“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 t
o it.”

“Who outlawe
d 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 kind
ness.”

“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 bur
ning?”

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 ch
ange.

“Be careful, Your High
ness.”

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 arrog
ance.

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 beaut
iful.

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 t
ears.

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 for
ever.

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 sa
ying.

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

“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 ar
rive.”

“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 sho
uted.

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 her 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 th
rone.

“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 assas
sins?”

“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 ha
ppen!”

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 out
side!”

“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. N
ever!”

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

“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 ma
nner.”

“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 gr
aces.”

“You do not have a single good grace within you, Sa
vino!”

She turned on her heel and stormed away. One of the
guards turned to follow her, but Savino drew him back. “Let he
r go.”

Marisa flitted between the pillars, moving back to the main door. When she exited the hall into the vestibule, she spotted Matilda near the far end of the corridor. She hurried to catch up with her and gently pulled her into an al
cove.

“Marisa!
What are you doing
here?”

“I need your help. Please keep silent and follo
w me.”

She nodded and followed Marisa down the empty corridor. The air was cold and damp as they descended the spiral steps to the wine cellars at the lowest levels of the castle. Marisa entered the vaulted storeroom first, surprised to find one of Savino’s stewards assessing the wine inven
tory.

The heavyset, graying man pushed his spectacles up onto his nose, smiling suggestively at his good fortune in finding her a
lone.

“Good morning, Your Highness. I was just checking to see what we will be needing for the coronation banquet this afternoon.” He moved closer to Matilda, his eyes taking plenty of time to roam the pleasant curves of her bodice. “How may I be of ser
vice?”

“Ah, yes, Master Frediano,” she said slowly, her gaze shifting questioningly back and forth between he and Marisa. “I would like to be a
lone.”

He blinked with disappointment. “But of course, Your Highness.” He gathered up his basket and turned to leave. Matilda hastily closed the door, staring at her in amaze
ment.

“Why was he not able to see
you?”

“Because I am wearing this,” Marisa answered, holding up the pulsing, purple amulet. Matilda’s eyes widened as she took it in her
hand.

“Is that the pretty stone Eman gave you at the p
arty?”

“Yes. Do you remember that he told me that those with an impure heart would be blinded in my pres
ence?”