The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge (31 page)

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. “Incred
ible!”

“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 jou
rney?”

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

“And what of the mighty Prince Da
rian?”

“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 s
ince.”

“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 com
pany.”

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 amaze
ment.

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

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 dismissin
g it.

“Is something wrong?” Celino a
sked.

“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 mona
rchy.”

“Where is your brother now?” Bertoldo a
sked.

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

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

“Prince Ma
rino?”

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

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 t
here.

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 si
lent.

“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 a
nkle.

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

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

“Where’s A
rrie?”

Tino shifted in his chair. “He took 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 l
eave?”

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

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

“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 h
e go?”

“Perhaps back to his h
ouse?”

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

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 ho
uses.

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

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 thr
ough.

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’ we
ight.

“Oh no!” Marisa whispered. “Arrie’s still up t
here!”

“Arrigo,” Cinzia c
ried.

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 base
ment.

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 whisp
ered.

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 w
alls.

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

“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 sui
cide.”

“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 bitt
erly.

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

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

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 re
mark.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Ci
nzia.”

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 es
cape.

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

“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 fugi
tive.”

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 f
loor.

“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 F
iore!”

“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 b
e 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 agains
t 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 furnish
ings.

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 Savino’s gigantic warr
iors.

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 despond
ency.

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 mo
nths.

He thought about As
trid.

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.

Al
most.

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 somet
hing.

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 toge
ther.

In the weeks and months that followed, they went out whenever their work and school schedules would allow and, after only six months, he knew he wanted to marry her. He would never forget the sheer happiness of the day she said yes, and they began to plan their lives together. He had managed to keep his secret of where he had come from and who he really was right up until that point. It was a secret burden and one that was his alone to
bear.

But then, on that fateful weekend only a month before the wedding, he had decided to round off his experiment. He had never meant to be drawn into the vortex, but fate decided otherwise. Once he had been returned to Carnelia, he could not stop thinking about the anger she must have felt at his abandoning her. Worst of all, for the rest of her life she would believe that the man she loved and almost married was an absolute, despicable charl
atan.

And since the day of his inopportune return to Carnelia, the hope of ever seeing her again had been completely obliterated. Knowing she was out there thinking ill of him was the worst sort of pain he would ever have to bear. He never should have continued that project. If he had left it well alone, he never would have been transported back to Carnelia. He could have stayed with her for the rest of his
life.

His head dropped to his knees and he
wept.

Garon, why, oh why, did you ever bring me back here? I was happy with her and she loved me! Why must my life end in such a horrible
way…?

In the morning, Darian led the men out of the Blue Boar Inn where they had lodged for the night. A couple of them were a little worse for wear after drinking too much ale the night before. But all were thankful that they would soon be home in just a matter of hours. And, at the same time, they also feared what they might discover upon their arr
ival.

The night before in the tavern, they had heard the rumors from the village townsfolk that since Savino had been crowned king, the entire region had suffered under a cloak of terror. When Darian had heard how much his dreadful cousin had already ruined his beloved Crocetta, his heart sank. Worst of all, no one in Andrésis seemed to know what had become of Princess Maraya. Word of the slaughter near the Mychen Forest had already spread like wildfire throughout the country and the Count da Rocha had been given the dubious title of Savino the Tyrant. Hundreds of innocent townsfolk from Crocetta and the outlying areas who dared to speak out against him had been put to death, branded as traitors and martyred in the streets by his tyrannical re
gime.

If the situation was truly as bad as he suspected, then there would be no counter offensive. With so few men and not enough arms, it would be a suicide mission to try to take back the citadel. He couldn’t risk the lives of the few men that were still left on such a foolhardy attack. He would make an appeal to the kings of the south, begging if he had to for their assistance. Most likely he could recruit Alessio’s cousin, Bertoldo, to muster his naval fleet to help them take back the
city.

The men rode on for hours in silence, stopping only to water the horses and to rest for short periods of time. Darian’s days of traveling, fighting and mourning had already taken a considerable emotional and physical toll on his body. With no knowledge of whether or not the love of his life was even still alive, his mind teeter-tottered back and forth until he felt his nerves completely unraveling. When he saw that they were less than an hour from Crocetta, he motioned impatiently to his men to pick up the
pace.

I do not know if there is any use in fighting back, Garon. I want to believe that she has somehow managed to survive, but my hope is wearing thin. Please help me; please help all of us to find a way. Som
ehow…

As they reached the iron gates of Beauriél, he knew that his soul would have no rest unless they checked the house and grounds. The men trotted their horses down the long driveway, stopping next to the dry fountain in front of the h
ouse.

Noticing that theirs were the first tracks in the snow, Darian’s shoulders sagged with disappointment. He dismounted and hurried up the steps, discovering that the door had been forced open and was slightly ajar. He pushed it open and peered inside. The holiday decorations still hung from the staircase railing and the house appeared just as it had on the night of the p
arty.

The foyer seemed darker than usual. Glancing up, he saw that snow had covered the roof of the glass atrium. “H
ello?”

No an
swer.

“Is there an
yone?”

He turned to leave, pulling the door shut behind him. But with a broken lock, it wouldn’t stay closed. He hurried down the steps and crossed the driveway to where the men waited, shaking his head sadly. They mounted again qui
ckly.

As he dug his heels into his horse’s belly, he motioned the men onward. The small company galloped back up the driveway toward the main road, and once they started their final leg to Crocetta, Darian drove Obsidian into a furious gallop, pushing them all just as hard and fast as they coul
d go.

He had to know if she was still a
live.