The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge (28 page)

“Squire, tend to the ho
rses.”

“Aye, Your High
ness.”

As Loris walked the horses down toward the stream two at a time, Darian thought about Raniero. If the traitor had indeed returned to Carnelia and was still loyal to Savino, then Marisa, Mark and Celino were all in terrible da
nger.

Watching as the lad lifted a seed bag up to one of the horses, Darian wondered if he should tell him the truth about his uncle. Clearly, he respected Lord Raniero like a second father and in order for him to believe the truth, he would first have to build up the boy’s trust. He decided to wait with telling him about his uncle until the time was r
ight.

But with only two more days before they reached Crocetta, time was running s
hort.

CHAPTER 26

ESCAPE

Less than half an hour before the coronation ceremony, Marisa crept up the spiral staircase at the rear of the Knight’s Hall. As she peered down from the organ bay high above the ceremony floor, a wave of dizziness filled her head and she quickly pulled away from the
edge.

Why did I have to pick a place so high to
hide?

She squeezed her eyes shut, took a couple of deep breaths and gripped the railing, attempting to steady herself with her shaking hands. She had yet to conquer her fear of heights, and each time she flew into a panic, it made her feel stupid and weak. Of all the things to be afraid of, why did she have to fear being in high pl
aces?

When she finally felt calm enough, she peered back down at the sea of commotion below her where the guests were searching for their places. Thirty chairs on the right side of the hall had been reserved for members of the Crimson Court, but, by the time the ceremony started, only four were occupied. The rest of them remained empty. A dark cloud of oppression seemed to have taken over the citadel, covering everything in a thin layer of g
loom.

The processional music began and the guests rose to their feet. From where she sat, the music was deafening. It wasn’t the ideal place to hide, but she couldn’t risk being seen by anyone who knew her. Most of the dignitaries and foreign guests that had arrived from the four corners of Carnelia had been surprised to discover that, in spite of the invitations they had received weeks ago for Maraya’s coronation, Savino da Rocha was the one who was being crowned. Believing that they would be celebrating their beloved princess’ installment that day, the kings, queen and members of the Carnelian nobility felt tricked and deceived, some of them even questioning the legality of the ceremony. When one prominent guest in particular was conspicuously absent, rumors spread of treachery and wrongdoing. If King Bertoldo Macario of Terracina had not come to Crocetta for the coronation, then something was clearly w
rong.

Marisa wondered herself why King Bertoldo never showed up for the coronation. She prayed that something hadn’t happened to him and that his fleet could still rescue them from Savino’s clutches. If Bertoldo failed them, theirs was a lost cause. He was her only
hope.

Arrie, Alessio, Cinzia, Helena, Tino and Eman were escorted into the Knight’s Hall by a group of Savino’s warriors, dressed in their finest robes and soberest faces. They trudged toward their seats with less enthusiasm than if they were being led to the gallows. With great ceremony, Matilda rose from her seat in the royal box and weaved her way around the rows of candelabras to sit down next to Ci
nzia.

Good girl,
she thought, wondering what Savino would do once he saw that his sister had chosen to sit with the Fiores and Macarios. What should have been a solemn, joyous and dignified occasion had been reduced to a cheap dog-and-pony show. It was a taste of things to come under Savino’s r
eign.

Observing them all from a distance, Marisa pinked away a tear, lamenting the fact that it should have been her coronation instead of Savino’s. She fought against the sobs rising in her throat, missing Darian as she pondered his untimely demise. Perhaps it was a good thing he wasn’t alive now to see her cowering in the organ bay like a frightened ki
tten.

When several men in dark, hooded cloaks strolled down the aisle into view, a chill rippled down her spine. Floating in the air above them were more of the same ghastly creatures that she’d seen hovering around Savino, snarling and swiping at each other as they each jockeyed for the best position. The ugly beasts controlled the men with their tangled masses of strings and directly behind them was Ga
spar.

Dressed in strange black garb that covered his body all the way to the floor, he clamped his hand securely over Cozimo’s shoulder as if to prevent the elderly man from escaping. A wave of anger spread through Marisa at seeing the kindly old man who had aided generations of Fiore monarchs before her being forced to crown Crocetta’s illegitimate r
uler.

Savino marched solemnly down the aisle, his tall frame towering above the crowd as his ceremonial robes brushed across the ancient stone floor. Ascending the altar, he stopped abruptly as the cloaked men took their places in the Crimson chairs and removed their hoods. Marisa gasped, recognizing Raniero’s face among
them.

After the guests had sat down in the pews, Gaspar began to speak in a strange, mystical language. For the next several minutes, she watched the proceedings below her with a peculiar detachment, almost as if she were watching a movie on television. Although it should have been her being crowned, in her mind, this was not the end. Savino would not win this
war.

As long as she still had fight in her body, she would do all she could to stop his evil reign. Living from one moment to the next, she wasn’t thinking about weeks, months or years from now, but only how to survive. All of her plans for the future had been flung out the window. Her only hope was to trust that Garon would give her the strength she needed each day. Desperately wanting to believe her life would turn out all right in the end, she couldn’t stop doubt from creeping in. How could Garon possibly turn the situation around for her and her family now that an evil man was being crowned? She hadn’t even had the chance to mourn Darian’s death and yet she sensed that she would be forced to move on much sooner than she was r
eady.

Gaspar droned on in a dull monotone, causing the ceremony to drag on. Finally he turned toward Cozimo and held out the crown, but the old man refused to accept it. Whispers flew around the hall as Cozimo stood with his hands clasped behind his back and his jaw set in defiance. Gaspar angrily pushed the crown into his chest, but still Cozimo ref
used.

Without warning, Savino stepped forward, ripping the crown from Gaspar’s hands and placing it on his head amongst an explosion of horrified gasps from the gu
ests.

When the music began once again and Savino sat down on the golden throne of Carnelia, Helena and Cinzia dotted their eyes. Gaspar stood before him, handing him a long, silver scepter and a cobalt crystal ball. Savino lifted his chin, an expression of triumph written across his
face.

Marisa wiped away the hot tears that streamed down her cheeks, bowing her head in defeat. It seemed like a bad dream. The only thing that brought her comfort was the fact that she and her family members would be getting out of there soon. She needed to leave before the guests trickled out
side.

Slipping down several flights of the stairs, she finally came to the servants’ back steps. The route down to long corridor past the cellars was all too familiar now, and she was able to reach the far end of the stables within just a couple of minutes. She rushed over to Siena, slipping her arms around the horse’s
neck.

“Hey, girl.” She stroked Siena’s glossy mane, pressing her dampened cheek against the horse’s velvety fur. “You’ve been cooped up here for far too long, it just isn’t
fair.”

The mare blinked softly as if agreeing with
her.

After waiting for more than half an hour, at last Marisa heard Talvan’s booming voice outside the stables. She peeked out and saw the others hurrying ahead of
him.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d sho
w up!”

“We had a difficult time slipping away,” Helena replied. “There were so many questions about why Savino was being crowned instead of
you.”

“What did you tell
them?”

“I said that all would be explained at the ban
quet.”

“You mean the one we’re skip
ping?”

“They shall not even notice that we are missing for at least another half hour or so,” Cinzia assured
her.

“That doesn’t give us much time,” Alessio voiced lo
udly.

“Quickly, everyone! Get into the carriage,” Talvan urged, handing Marisa the basket that contained Jackson. “I shall hitch up the horses.” He slid the stall door open and walked the horses
out.

“Tino, if you can climb into that space under the seat, I think Arrie will fit in the other,” Marisa said, opening the storage spaces under the plush velvet seats. “I hope you’ll both
fit.”

“But it is filled with coverlets,” Arrie
said.

“Here, give them to me.” She took the woolen blankets from him and placed them on a crate next to the stall. As Helena, Cinzia and Alessio all piled into the carriage, they quickly realized that they weren’t all going to
fit.

“I guess I ride up front with Eman,” Alessio said, climbing up next to the shepherd sitting comfortably in the driver’s
seat.

“Wait a minute—where’s Matilda?” Marisa asked, glancing around. “We need her to pull this whole thing
off!”

Just then, she raced into the stables, her faced flushed and breathing heavily. “Sorry—I am late. I was stopped by some of Savino’s old fri
ends.”

“Mattie, hurry—get in.” She spun around. “Wait a minute! Where’s Cozimo? We can’t leave without
him!”

Cinzia’s expression was grim. “Cozimo was taken away right after the ceremony, and I fear that they have locked him in the dungeon. I heard the guard saying something about his execu
tion.”

“Execution!”
Marisa gulped down a sob. “We have to get him out!” Searching the small circle of sympathetic faces, it was obvious that there wasn’t anything she could do for Cozimo until she’d gotten the others safely out of the citadel. She pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head and squeezed in next to Mat
ilda.

“Move out!” Talvan shouted at Eman. “We must leave now with some of the other carriages that are depar
ting.”

Eman cracked the whip and the carriage lunged forward with a start. He handled the reins, steering the horses out of the stables and down the sloping courtyard toward the tunnel under the rampart
wall.

When they lined up behind the other carriages, stopping just inside the darkened tunnel, Marisa felt an overwhelming need to pray. She bowed her head, whispering softly under her breath. Cinzia took her hand, closing her eyes and praying as
well.

Talvan walked alongside the carriage, and as it passed under the portcullis of the outer wall, he shouted up at the guards stationed on the rampart. “Attention! Salute Her Royal Highness Matilda da Rocha and Her Highnesses’ royal gu
ests.”

The carriage occupants plastered expressions of boredom on their faces, masking the anxiety that raged underneath. Marisa peered out the window at the twenty guards who stood at attention, saluting as the carriage pulled away. She smiled to herself, satisfied that the plan seemed to be working. Her smile quickly faded as she beheld a horrible sight that was enough to make her blood run
cold.

Lining the citadel walls were rows upon rows of ghastly-looking human heads that had been stuck onto tall wooden poles. Their bluish-colored faces were scrunched up in agony, their mouths gaping in horror. Unseeing eyes bulged out in a morbid state, permanently staring in expressions of ang
uish.

“No!” she cried. “These are the men that marched on Abbadon! Why are their heads stuck onto poles?” Cinzia and Matilda remained silent, cringing at the gruesome s
ight.

“Savino,” Helena whispered fin
ally.

Everyone fell silent as the carriage continued down the street past Celino’s house. It turned the corner and double-backed down a side street before coming to a stop in the cobblestone alle
yway.

Without a word, they climbed down and entered the house through a side door, making sure not to be spotted by Savino’s guards. Matilda remained in the carriage, waving a somber farewell as Talvan climbed up into the driver’s seat. He turned the horses around and started back toward the ca
stle.

As soon as they were inside, Marisa led everyone through the house, showing them the secret staircase behind the kitchen pantry. After a short discussion, they decided to have one person standing guard at all times, just in case any warriors showed up at the house. Helena and Cinzia hastened into the kitchen, setting some water to boil for
tea.

Minutes later, they brought it into the library where they discussed what they had seen. “I just can’t get that horrible sight out of my head,” Marisa whispered. “Those were people we
knew.”

“The face of evil is never pretty,” Eman ag
reed.

She slipped her cloak over her shoulders. “I should be getting back up to the castle. I need to find Co
zimo.”