The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge Page 10

  They strolled up the half-mile driveway to the main road, followed by three bodyguards on horseback. When they reached the main road, Darian stopped.

  “Which way would you prefer to go? Right or left?”

  “Left, toward Crocetta. It’s time you met Eman.”

  “Him again?” Darian bristled, raising an eyebrow. “You are not trying to make me jealous, are you?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Of course not. He’s just a special friend. I can talk to him about anything, and he always offers great advice.” She kicked a rock down the road a few times until it finally went off into the grass.

  “What sort of advice?”

  She shrugged. “Anything. He seems so wise for his age.”

  “I have heard much about this man. Several of the Crimson knights had been talking about him for months, even before you came. They say he sells the best quality wool, every week, in the marketplace for a low price, along with a free, heaping serving of sound advice. Everyone in the kingdom seems to know him.”

  “I like the fact that he speaks English.”

  His looked at her, puzzled. “He can speak English? You never told me that. How does a poor shepherd learn to speak English?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve asked him about it, but he always gives me some vague answer. I have a hunch that he’s from Earth. He’s a little bit eccentric maybe, but real nice,” she added as they hiked up the stone walkway that led to Eman’s small house.

  She knocked on the oaken door and waited. It opened to reveal a young man in his early thirties, smiling at them as he stroked his neatly-trimmed beard. There was something mysterious in those dark brown eyes, but the broad smile he offered to them was genuine.

  “Good afternoon! Welcome, friends,” he said, smiling warmly. “I was just about to enjoy a cup of hot tea. Would you like to come in and join me?”

  “I hope we’re not intruding, Eman?”

  “Intruding? Not at all! Come in and get warm next to the fire,” he answered, closing the door behind them. “Please, do be seated.”

  The small stone dwelling was plain, stocked only with the bare necessities. There was a single bed in a corner of the room and a closet guarded by a pair of boots covered in dirt. A single stone hearth with a kettle hung over it provided warmth for the tiny house while the basic kitchen consisted of two cupboards and water pump. She wondered how a person could live such a simple life.

  As he poured the tea into three pewter mugs, Darian studied him curiously. His dark hair looked tousled, as if he had just removed his hat. His garments were simple farmer’s clothes, covered in bits of woolen lint and smelling of sheep’s dung. Although his outward appearance would not be considered by most as handsome, his pleasant face reflected a quiet, inner strength.

  “Your Highness, if you please,” he said, handing a cup to Darian.

  “You know who I am?”

  “Who does not know of the mighty Prince Darian?” he replied, his eyes twinkling.

  Marisa and Darian exchanged amused glances as Eman pulled up a chair next to them.

  “So, are you finally learning to release the things that you cannot control?” he asked Marisa.

  As Darian looked at her questioningly, she smiled at him sheepishly. “Eman has been helping me overcome my fears.”

  “Really? Do any of them involve me?”

  She laughed. “No, it’s not what you think. When I met him on the day of Gregario’s funeral, I was confused about my life. He assured me that tomorrow would take care of itself; and it did. He also told me to have faith and I’ve been trying to do that as well.”

  “That is wonderful, Your Highness,” Eman said. “I am exceedingly pleased to hear it. You must continue to grow your faith.” He turned to Darian. “And what about you, Sire?”

  “What about me?”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Sir?” Darian was taken aback by his direct question.

  “Everyone experiences it. You must fear something.”

  “I, uh—I am afraid of losing that which is most dear to me in the entire world,” he admitted finally.

  “And what is that?”

  “I should clarify that. I meant the people I care about most,” he said, looking at Marisa.

  Eman studied him for a moment. “What if you were called to sacrifice that which is most dear to you for the greater good?”

  Darian hesitated. “I would hope that I am never forced into making that decision,” he replied soberly. “But should it happen, I would have no choice but to make the sacrifice.”

  “And if you were called to sacrifice your life for another?”

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I am no stranger to putting duty first, for I have done that all my life. And there is no death more worthy than sacrificing one’s life to save another.”

  Eman lifted his chin. “Spoken like a true king.”

  Darian nodded solemnly.

  Sipping her tea in silence, Marisa suddenly remembered the reason for their visit. “Eman, I’m having a Christmas party at my house in a few weeks and we were wondering if you’d like to join us? We’ll be having a delicious meal and singing carols,” she added.

  “I would be most honored to enjoy supper with you, Your Highness.” He smiled warmly at her invitation.

  “Good! I’m so glad.” She clapped her hands with glee.

  “Your Highnesses, I have no desire whatsoever to hurry you away, but the snow has come and, perhaps, it would be wise for you to leave while you are still able.”

  She looked outside. Snow was falling in big, fat flakes, quickly covering the countryside. “Oh, he’s right. Should we go?”

  Darian stood, peering out the window. “We should return to Beauriél right away. I must return to the city before the snow covers the road. Hopefully, next time we can chat longer.”

  Eman stood, showing them to the door. “Your Highnesses, I am sad that you must leave so soon but happy that you have taken the time to visit me.”

  “Thank you so much for the cup of tea, Eman,” Marisa said, hugging him gently.

  “It is I who should be thanking you for the company. I shall look forward to seeing you again at your party.”

  “Bye!” She waved, pulling her hood up over her head.

  As they hurried off, Eman stood in the doorway for a long time, watching them walk back to Beauriél with their three bodyguards trailing behind on horseback.

  “Interesting fellow,” Darian said once they were out of earshot.

  “Yes he is.”

  “But why were you speaking English?”

  She cocked her head at him. “What do you mean? He was speaking English to me.”

  “My love, he was speaking Crocine.”

  “No, he wasn’t,” she insisted. “I’m sure it was English!”

  “Are you wearing the translator again?”

  “No, of course not,” she said, annoyed. “I can tell the difference between English and Crocine!”

  Darian shook his head, dropping the subject as they hurried down the road toward Beauriél.

  CHAPTER 12

  NOEL

  The next few weeks flew by, and Marisa tried to keep the troubling thoughts of Savino’s threats at the back of her mind. During the day, she stayed occupied with her lessons and Darian’s visits to Beauriél were always a welcome distraction. But when he had left and night descended on the kingdom, she would lay in her bed alone, fearful of the nightmares that were beginning to return with an alarming frequency. What had begun in Abbadon a few months ago as an occasional bad dream had now become a chilling experience for Marisa almost every night. The dreams always carried the same themes; death, destruction, and Savino. She would wake up in the middle of the night, panting and sweaty and after downing a glass of cool water and a short prayer, she would fall asleep again for a few more hours before the light of dawn finally broke the spell of night.

  Marisa didn’t want to trouble Darian with her terrib
le visions of family and friends perishing, so she kept them to herself. He had enough to worry about with running the rest of the kingdom and didn’t need the extra burden of wondering if her nightmares had something to do with her relationship with him.

  She tried to hide her fear until one day she visited Eman and accidently let it slip out. He encouraged her to talk about her dreams with him and became the listening, sympathetic ear that she so desperately needed. She quickly discovered that each day after she had gone to visit him and was able to release her latest horrible dream in his presence, she was filled with a sense of peace and relief. His calming demeanor soothed her, and after they had discussed her nightmare at length, his wisdom helped her put things back into perspective. In a short amount of time, Eman became one of her closest friends and a treasured confidant. He never left her with the feeling like she owed him for anything, just that he was a friend who was there for her whenever she needed it. She thought it best not to tell Darian about her daily visits to Eman in case he might get the wrong idea. It wasn’t like she was going behind his back, but there were just some things that she needed to get off her chest by discussing them with someone other than Darian. He would always be her best friend and perhaps someday she would be able to tell him everything, but with their strained relationship, she knew it was better this way.

  Planning the Christmas Eve party kept her busy, as did her days filled with royal lessons. Remembering all the things she enjoyed most about Christmases in the past, she was inspired to produce an amazing event that would be talked about for months after. She assigned Darian and Mark the task of finding the perfect tree for the sitting room while she gathered small objects around the house with which to decorate it such as ribbons, metal ornaments and bits of carved wood and colored glass. When Celino attached his homemade, glass oil lamps to the branches, she declared that she had never seen a more beautiful tree.

  She sat down with the chef and together they planned a delicious menu. He ordered the best cheeses and meats in the kingdom and Darian made arrangements for the finest vintage of Fiore wine to be brought out from the castle. He even restocked the wine cellar with a wide variety of the finest liqueurs from all the various kingdoms of Carnelia.

  Alessio helped translate an eggnog recipe for the chef. While Cinzia went into the city with a list of gifts to be purchased, Marisa spent several hours making some of the gifts by hand. Adalina and Matilda helped her decorate the house with freshly-cut boughs of cedar, satin ribbons and candles. Alessio constructed a manger scene in front of the house and, by the time it was all finished, Castle Beauriél looked like a magical Christmas wonderland.

  The day before the party, Marisa stood in the octagonal vestibule, quietly admiring the beautiful cedar boughs that adorned the railing. The strong aroma of Carnelian pine mingled with fresh cedar, bringing back memories of Christmases past with her family in Jacksonville.

  Touching a prickly cedar bough, a lump caught in her throat as she realized it was her first Christmas without her dad. The emptiness she felt from his absence was painfully acute.

  “Your father would be so proud of you, Risa,” Alessio said, descending the stairs behind her. Without a word, she walked over and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He stroked her long chestnut hair and sighed.

  “These are the times when we miss them the most. Holidays, birthdays and family gatherings without our departed loved ones just don’t seem the same somehow. But you still have me.”

  Weeping softly into his chest, she took a deep breath. She hadn’t meant to cry, but the poignancy of her father’s absence had caught her by surprise. Releasing her uncle, she saw the wet spot she had left on his tunic and tried to wipe it away.

  “Leave it,” he said, pulling her hand away. “I’ll proudly wear women’s tears on me anytime. It’s like a badge of courage.”

  She smiled weakly. “This will be a memorable Christmas for you. For the first time in years, you can finally celebrate it with Aunt Cinzia and Arrie.”

  “Actually, it’ll be my first Christmas with them. Ever.”

  “It will?” She looked at him, puzzled.

  “They don’t celebrate it here, remember?”

  She kissed her uncle softly on the cheek and they strolled together into the dining room where a delicious dinner of roast lamb and vegetables had been prepared for them.

  The next day, Marisa peeked nervously out the windows at the thick clouds hanging in the sky. All the snow that had recently fallen had finally melted, but she was concerned that it might fall again and spoil the party.

  Back home in Oregon, it was a gift from heaven if it snowed on Christmas. Nothing short of a blizzard could have prevented the annual MacCallum family gathering from taking place on Christmas Eve. Her uncle’s Land Rover could get them through anything, including two feet of snow. But in Carnelia, there was only one way into the city. And with no Rover to speak of, even the threat of snow was enough to cancel everyone’s plans. She prayed that both the weather and the roads would remain clear until everyone had gotten home safely after the party that night.

  In the late afternoon, when the smoky smell of roasted honey boar and baked cinnamon apples wafted through the house, Marisa smiled to herself. It was going to be a Christmas Eve they would never forget. Satisfied that everything was under control, she went upstairs to change.

  Stepping into a blood-red velvet gown that Cinzia had pulled from her mother’s chest of clothes, she was amazed at how the dress accentuated her body’s graceful curves, hugging her waist and bust like a glove before flaring out into a full skirt at the hips.

  She piled her hair on top of her head, pinning it loosely so that it fell to her shoulders in soft ringlets. She stepped into a beautiful pair of red satin slippers and glanced in the mirror, applying some lip gloss and admiring her festive look one last time. The sound of carriage wheels crunching across the driveway brought her to her feet.

  She lifted her skirts and hurried downstairs, trying not to trip on the hem of her dress. The guard opened the front door for her, and she hurried outside, waiting for the carriage door to open. When it did, she sucked in her breath.

  Darian stepped down from the carriage, his dark hair neatly combed back in soft waves. He was wearing a fitted black tunic that emphasized his broad shoulders, a long dark cloak, gray breeches and polished black boots. A dark blue banner pinned in place by the Fiore crest hung from his right shoulder down to his left hip, and his sword hung gracefully at his side. He had never looked more handsome.

  With a wide grin, he strode up the front steps, both hands tucked mysteriously behind his back. “Good evening, milady.”

  “What are you hiding?”

  “Happy Christmas, beautiful.” He kissed her on the cheek and placed a shiny red present in her hand.

  She giggled softly. “In America, we say Merry Christmas.”

  Removing the satiny fabric to find a small wooden box, she opened it and gasped. It was a stunning ruby choker and matching teardrop earrings. She inserted the earrings, gazing at him lovingly.

  “It’s so beautiful! How do you always know what I like?”

  He lifted the heavy, gold choker from the box and slipped it around her neck, chuckling. “Well, let us just say that I have learned enough about women to know that a man can never fail with jewelry.”

  “So you’ve given jewelry to other women?”

  “Believe it or not, there are a few benefits in being a rich prince.” He encircled his arms around her, pulling her close to kiss him. But before his lips could meet hers, she covered them with her finger. His pucker froze as he opened his eyes, staring at her with a puzzled expression. “What—?”

  Giggling and smiling coyly, she pointed to a small sprig of greenery that hung limply from the arch between the vestibule and sitting area.

  Squinting to see where she was pointing, he gazed in the general direction of the branch but did not notice it. He turned back to her with a confused expres
sion.

  “Am I not to receive a kiss from you tonight?”

  She laughed. “Of course! But first, you’ve got to get me under that.”

  His eyes narrowed at the drooping shoot. “What is it?”

  “Well, on Earth we call it mistletoe, but, apparently, you don’t have any of the real stuff around here. Uncle Al went out and found a substitute. It’s Mychenberry, but we’re pretending that it’s mistletoe just for tonight.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And people kiss under it?”

  “Yeah—it’s a tradition. Nobody gets to kiss a person unless they’re standing underneath the mistletoe.” She looked at him with her sassiest, hard-to-get expression.

  To her surprise, he swept her off her feet and rushed across the hall, sliding to a stop under the archway. She shrieked in delight as he grinned wickedly, bending down to kiss her. She held on to him tightly, wrapping her arms around his neck as her lips pressed against his.

  As they melted into each other, she forgot about the party, the guests that would soon be arriving and all the things she still had to do. Only vaguely aware of the powerful arms that cradled her effortlessly, her hand swept across the smoothness of his cleanly-shaven jaw. When his lips finally released hers, she gazed lovingly into the eyes that reminded her of a pine forest.

  “Aren’t you going to put me down now?”

  He smiled at her triumphantly, shaking his head. “I believe I prefer it this way, Your Highness.”

  “Well, that’s one way to get a lady under the mistletoe!” Alessio said, chuckling as he descended the grand staircase in his formal gray tunic.

  Marisa motioned for Darian to set her down. “Time to add a little ambiance,” she said, lighting the candles placed at different stations around the house.

  “Well, this will take some time,” Darian joked, observing the many candles she had placed nearly everywhere. “I suppose we shall see you sometime after dinner, my love.”

  Mark strolled into the hallway from the sitting room, sniffing the air. “Mmm, whatever is cooking sure smells delicious, sis. You sure know how to make a meal!”