The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge (38 page)

“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 es
cape.”

“But wha
t 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 mor
ning.”

“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 kit
chen.

“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 deci
sion.”

There was a long silence as Marisa sipped her
soup.

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

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

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

Another p
ause.

“Well?” Cinzia pre
ssed.

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

“Told me
what?”

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

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

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

“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 stillb
irth.”

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 F
iore.”

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 n
ight.”

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 s
ense.”

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

“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 Ran
iero…”

She raised an eyebrow. “Nuff
said.”

“Stand back,” Talvan ba
rked.

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

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

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 in
side.

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

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

“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 ca
stle.”

“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 Greg
ario.”

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

“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 Ga
spar.

“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 e
nvoy.”

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

“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 s
hoes.

“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 execu
tion.”

“Execu
tion?”

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

Loris froze. “Why is he being exec
uted?”

“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 whisp
ered.

“No. And he will not until the others are dispose
d 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 thr
ough.”

“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 se
cond.”

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

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

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 p
lace.”

“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, Ma
rino.”

Loris stopped dusting, his eyes wide
ning.

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

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

Loris ga
sped.

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

“And…?”

“I am, how
ever.”

“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 in
road.”

“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 ci
ties.”

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

“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 pla
tter?”

“Well, yes, of course—that
too.”

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

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

“That we split the kin
gdom?”

“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 Abb
adon?”

“Ag
reed.”

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 shou
lder.

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

“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 shoul
d be.”

“Yes, u
ncle.”

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

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 a
long.

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 f
irst.

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 n
ight.

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 y
ears.”

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 execu
tion?”

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

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

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 F
iore.”

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 L
oris.

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

Could it be poss
ible?

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 Ala
no’s.

Just like Mari
sa’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 Ma
rino.”

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 so
ftly.