The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge Read online

  Once in a while she missed her tee shirts and skinny jeans, but the fancy clothes were all just a part of the new life she had learned to accept. Since Darian had revealed months ago that she was the lost Princess Maraya, her life had become infinitely more complicated. And, as cumbersome and restricting as they were, her garments were the least of her worries in the complex and surrealistic world she found herself experiencing each and every day. Amidst the various crash courses in mastering the many languages, learning the royal customs and becoming acquainted with the traditions of Carnelia, she often found herself easily overwhelmed. It was Darian who had helped steer her through it all, and for that she was extremely grateful.

  In the rare moments when she was alone, she thought about her life back in Oregon before she had entered the vortex. Each time she remembered Danielle, her heart sank just a little.

  Ever since the third grade, Danielle Ortega had been Marisa’s best friend. But during their senior year when her dad’s cancer had spread and his health began to rapidly deteriorate, their friendship slowly disintegrated as most of Marisa’s extra time was spent taking care of her father. She and Danielle had long been planning a road trip to California after their graduation from South Medford High, but in the end, they were forced to cancel it. And when her father died that awful day in September, Marisa’s entire world faded to black. She spoke briefly with Danielle just after the funeral, never knowing that it would be the last conversation the two of them would ever have.

  Pulled from her thoughts as Anna lowered the golden diadem onto her head, Marisa breathed in as deeply as the corset would allow. She thanked Anna and smiled to herself, eager to invite her aunt, uncle, the extended family and their friends to Beauriél for a Christmas Eve party. She began to plan everything in her head and even started a mental “to-do” list.

  She closed the door of her chambers and quickened down the corridor toward the main vestibule, her skirts rustling elegantly as they swished across the floor.

  Upon entering the dining room, she was pleased to see nearly everyone there. Cinzia and Alessio were chatting quietly to themselves as Adalina, Matilda, Helena, Arrie and Darian were all talking about family memories. Only Mark was absent, and she guessed that he had probably slept in again. Her brother seemed to be sleeping past breakfast a lot lately.

  “Good morning, Your Highness,” Darian said, greeting her with a stunning smile as he pulled out a chair for her.

  “How are you sleeping these days, Your Royal Highness?” Arrie asked with a playful wink.

  “Very well, Lord Macario. But now that you mention it, I do miss sleeping on a cold, hard mat, eating stale bread and bathing in a cold stream.”

  He laughed. “Of course that can be arranged, cousin.”

  She shook her head. “Not on your life!”

  “Sorry I’m late,” Mark said, hurrying into the hall. His reddish-brown hair looked mussed, as if he had only had enough time to quickly run his fingers through it. Noticing the solemn faces around the table, his sheepish grin faded.

  “Mark, honestly! Do you always have to be late to everything?” She stared at him in a mock disapproval. “You’ve kept us all waiting!”

  At sixteen, Mark MacCallum was the tallest sophomore at South Medford High and the most popular guy in his class. Although his carefree, easygoing nature had endeared him to virtually every girl he had ever spoken to, he rarely got away with anything at home where his sister was concerned. With the exception of his hazel eyes that matched Marisa’s exactly, he was the spitting image of their father. Amused at her brother’s flushed face, Marisa laughed.

  “I’m only kidding. I got here two minutes before you did.”

  Mark grinned as if he had known all along it was just a joke.

  “It’s time to give thanks,” Alessio said, bowing his head.

  Everyone paused, bowing their heads as he led them in prayer for the meal. Alessio’s prayer was eloquent but genuine; extensive but sincere. He reminded Marisa so much of her father that sometimes it hurt. At the end of the prayer, she opened her eyes and gazed at him.

  Ever since they had come to Carnelia, she had begun to see her uncle in a different light, and her respect for her father’s twin had only grown once she came to understand the adversities that he had faced and overcome. For the third time in his life, the ex-real estate agent was being forced to make yet another new start. And after the death of his beloved brother, Alessio had taken responsibility for teaching Marisa and Mark all about their extraordinary legacy.

  “So, Your Highness, what is your schedule for today?” Darian asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  She sighed, turning with reluctance to the busy day ahead.

  “I have language lessons at nine, self-defense and combat training at ten, history lessons at eleven, lunch at twelve, and a break at twelve-thirty. At one o’clock, I have geography, at two o’clock, protocol and etiquette and at three a break for tea. At four, we preside over the meeting of the Crimson Court and at six we have dinner. At seven o’clock we have after-dinner drinks and a game of cards in the Jade Room and after that, I go to bed and start the whole thing again.”

  “Hmm—sounds a lot like my day,” Mark said, making a face and helping himself to the egg salad. “Yippee.”

  “Both of you know that this is absolutely necessary,” Alessio chided. “Once you’ve completed the basic lessons, then you’ll have a bit more freedom in choosing other subjects.”

  “So we’ll be able to study whatever we want?” Mark asked.

  “Hardly. Once you’ve completed the first set of lessons, you’ll be receiving instructions from Bruno about battle command.”

  “Battle command?”

  “Yes. You’ll become The Queen’s Chief Armaments Counsel someday when you’re ready.”

  “I’m gonna be advising Marisa on how to wage war?”

  “Let’s see how things progress, shall we?” He handed his nephew a basket filled with round rolls. “By the way, how are your swordfight and fencing lessons coming along?”

  “Pretty decent, I guess. With a little more practice, I’ll be fighting off the bad guys and defending the kingdom with one hand tied behind my back!”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Things may just come to that.”

  Alessio’s somber words hung in the air for a moment as everyone around the table thought about Savino’s thinly-veiled threats.

  Marisa brightened. “I want to invite you all out to Castle Beauriél for a special dinner on Christmas Eve.”

  “Why are you holding it out there?” Alessio asked, the tension rising in his voice. “What’s wrong with having it right here?”

  “Darian said I could live at Beauriél until the coronation.”

  Alessio turned to Darian. “You’re letting her stay out there alone?” he snapped. “Are you insane?!”

  Cinzia touched her husband’s arm under the table.

  “Believe me, Alessio, I understand just how you feel,” Darian said, lifting his hands in self-defense. “I, too was against it at first. But it would mean a lot to her to be able to enjoy the house before becoming saddled down with her duties.”

  “What about Savino? Do we just pretend he doesn’t exist?”

  “I have already made arrangements to reinforce the guards. Besides, Beauriél is close enough to Crocetta in case—uh, something should happen.”

  Alessio leaned back in his chair. “I think it’s a big mistake. But, then again, I seem to be overruled.”

  “You will come to the Christmas Eve party, won’t you?” Marisa pleaded. “It won’t be the same without you.”

  “Of course I’ll come,” he muttered.

  After breakfast, most of the family members left for their various appointments while Marisa, Mark, Arrie and Alessio lingered a little while longer over their tea.

  Marisa took a sip, setting her teacup down gently. “Uncle Al, Darian had never heard of Christmas.”

  “Why should that surprise you? Carnel
ia has its own past; its own history. And that history is completely different from Earth’s.”

  “But they still believe in God, right?”

  “Yes, but Carnelia is still waiting for the One to appear.”

  “One what?”

  “Also known as the Deliverer.”

  “The Deliverer?”

  He cocked his head at her. “Haven’t you learned any of this in Cozimo’s history lessons?”

  “No.”

  “Well, as you know, the Carnelian word for God is Garon. The ancient writings chronicle Garon’s interactions with man back almost to the beginning of time. But somewhere down the line, man screwed up. Civilization turned its back on religion, and people decided to live for themselves. Men began to worship the enemy of Garon, a horrible creature named Apollyon.”

  “What kind of creature?” Mark asked.

  Alessio’s blue eyes widened. “A dragon.”

  “What? There are dragons here?”

  “Just one,” Arrie corrected.

  “Cool!”

  “No, Mark. It’s not a good thing.”

  “Where is this dragon?” she asked.

  “It is believed to dwell in Mychen Province—far away from here,” Arrie offered.

  “Does it ever come here?”

  He shrugged. “Probably not.”

  “Probably?”

  “Have you ever seen it?”

  Alessio’s eyes grew distant. “I saw it once when I was still living in Terracina. I prayed I would never see it again.”

  “What did it look like?” Mark asked excitedly. “Does it actually breathe fire?”

  “Yes.” Alessio answered slowly before waving his hand as if to dismiss a horrible memory. “But now we’re getting too far off the subject. I was telling you about the Defender.”

  “I want to hear more about the dragon.”

  “I’ll tell you about that another time. Anyhow, according to the Ambrogian prophecy, this Carnelian messiah would appear during a period of tyranny. He would be sent into the world by Garon to demonstrate His love and forgiveness to all people, and sacrifice His life for them. And, He would deliver Carnelia from the oppression of the Apollyon Order.”

  Marisa stopped. “What is the Apollyon Order?”

  “So this guy’s some sort of prophet?” Mark interrupted.

  “Not just any old prophet. He would be Garon incarnate.”

  “Those of us who belong to the faith believe the time of his appearance is near,” Arrie interjected. “Many signs have been coming true that were foretold in the ancient writings—”

  The morning bells in the citadel tower pealed, interrupting.

  Marisa groaned. “Now I’m late for Tino’s language lessons!”

  She leapt to her feet, waved a goodbye behind her and ran down the corridor toward the Crimson antechamber, slowing as soon as she remembered her aunt’s instructions.

  Weeks before when Cinzia had noticed Marisa hurrying into the dining chamber, she had explained that as future Supreme Ruler, it would be expected that people wait for her, and she should not rush to meet others.

  She entered the grand Crimson antechamber to find Tino already there, sitting quietly and waiting for her. He rose to his full height and bowed.

  “Kalym id ar fornum, Haresei.” Welcome to my lesson, Highness.

  “Aur smyden, Danur.” Thank you, Teacher.

  When Marisa had first met Count Faustino Durante, she had felt very intimidated by him. But once she got to know him, she saw that the nobleman’s cool demeanor actually disguised a man of passion and deep conviction.

  With dark hair, graying sideburns, and light blue eyes that pierced straight through a person’s soul, Tino was the epitome of the strong but silent type. His intelligence astounded both friends and enemies alike, and his historic knowledge of the country surpassed nearly everyone’s except Cozimo’s. A man with a heart of gold, his greatest gift was his mastery of dialects and his amazing ability to converse in all of the known languages of the Ten Kingdoms.

  “If I were to ask you for a raimpa in Ravenna,” he asked, “What would you give me, Your Highness?”

  She smiled. “A loaf of round bread.”

  “Very good, Your Highness. But in order to honor me and not insult me, what would you offer to go with it?”

  “A tall, cold mug of gryg,” she answered proudly.

  “You have done your homework. Excellent.”

  “Aur smyden, Danur.”

  “Now comes the more challenging part. Verb conjugation.”

  She groaned.

  For the next hour, Tino helped her perfect her command of three of the Carnelian dialogues, each one at a time. When she was able to conjugate six different verbs correctly, he seemed satisfied with her progress. “You have a true gift for languages, Your Highness. A most fortunate and beneficial asset in light of your circumstances.”

  “Hearing those languages as a baby must have helped.”

  Her face fell, wistful in the knowledge that her parents had not lived to see her rule as queen. Tino seemed to read her thoughts.

  “Your mother was an excellent linguist, Your Highness. She spoke each of the ten languages like a native. And so shall you. It is just a matter of time.”

  “I would love to have known her better. Especially now.”

  He nodded to her. “You have much in common with Prince Darian. He lost his father during the most difficult time in his life.”

  “Did you know Prince André?”

  “Aye. I was his sécant, Your Highness.”

  “You were?”

  He nodded. “We were like brothers. I knew André since we were children and we even attended the Academy together.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “I was with him the day he died.”

  “You saw the avalanche?”

  “Yes.” His voice cracked. “But if you do not mind, Your Highness, I would prefer to keep that memory buried deep in the snow.”

  “Of course, Tino. I’m sorry.”

  “It is all right.” He nodded and bowed, signaling the lesson was over. “Your Highness, for now, I bid you a pleasant afternoon.”

  “Thank you, Count Faustino.”

  She exited the antechamber and crossed the Knight’s Hall on her way toward the grand staircase. As the click-clack of her shoes echoed down the empty marble corridor, she thought about Tino, imagining how awful it must have been for him to witness Prince André’s death knowing that he was absolutely powerless to stop it.

  As she rounded the corner of the main vestibule, beams of sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, causing her to gasp at their beauty. Hues of green, purple, yellow, red and blue shone onto the castle’s light stone walls, casting magical, geometric patterns and filling the corridor with color.

  She gazed up at the vaulted ceiling, marveling at the artisan quality of the hand-carved flowers in the corners that some mason had so painstakingly applied and wondered if anyone else in the palace ever noticed them. Sometimes the beauty of the palace she now called home could be almost overwhelming

  But despite the dazzling chandeliers and five-star luxury of the citadel, she still longed for the cozy simplicity of her Victorian-style home back in Jacksonville. It had already been a couple of months since she’d last seen it and was missing the simpler way of life. The illusion of normalcy that Castle Beauriél seemed to offer was one of the reasons for her wanting to move out there.

  She ascended the grand double staircase leading up to the royal chambers and thought of what Darian had told her about being a member of the royal family. He had said that the obligations often outweighed the privileges and living in a gilded cage with little to no privacy was certainly one of them.

  Closing the door behind her as she entered her chambers, she slipped out of her dress, stepped into her trousers and buttoned up her tunic. Grabbing her leather gloves and slippers, she headed back downstairs to meet Bruno in the Black Hall.

  Spotting a portrait o
f Darian’s father in the corridor, she remembered Tino’s reluctance to discuss the horrible event that had killed his best friend. She gazed up at the confident young man in the painting and shook her head, pondering the trauma that he had continued to inflict upon family and friends even years after his death.

  CHAPTER 5

  EMBROILMENT

  Marisa slipped into the Black Hall and moved to the rear wall, silently observing Bruno as he practiced with his broadsword. She watched him perform acrobatic flips and twists through the air, slashing and swiping at his invisible opponent in careful, choreographed arcs. Captivated by the grace and elegance of his lean, masculine form, she stared in awe at the man who had survived a tragic youth to become one of the most respected members of the Crimson Order.

  Bruno had first experienced the violence of battle twelve years ago when his father was brutally slaughtered right in front of his eyes. Since then, the art of self-defense had become almost an obsession for the brawny warrior, and he forced himself to train several hours a day in all weaponry at his disposal.

  As his reputation grew as the best marksman in his class at the Academy, it did not go unnoticed by the palace. Darian recruited him to serve as his military advisor and self-defense expert when he was still in his teens. Soon thereafter, the prince became one of the most skilled and respected warriors in the entire kingdom, mostly due to the young warrior’s excellent instruction.

  In a final blow to the midsection, Bruno sliced his imaginary enemy in half, smiling at her confidently. “Dead as a doorngat.”

  “Who was it this time?”

  “A Drychen sorcerer.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a cloth and strolled over to her, sliding his sword back into its sheath. “Not at all easy.”

  “No?” she replied, a smile playing on her lips. “Why is that?”

  “Because a sorcerer attacks his enemy using a lethal mix of Onyx magic and weapons, making him doubly dangerous.”

  “What exactly is a Drychen sorcerer?”

  He motioned for her to sit on the bench and peeled off his gloves. “The sorcerers belong to an ancient guild called the Apollyon Order. The Order of the Crimson Knights was established to protect the Ten Kingdoms from their dark powers.”