The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge (37 page)

He strode across the room and took his bow, pulling three arrows from the quiver. When he returned to the balcony, he saw that another man had taken her seat and was whispering in Savino’s
ear.

It was Ran
iero.

“I do not understand,” Aurelio said, watching the grisly scene below them. “To what purpose does the water s
erve?”

“It controls the depth of the stakes,” Lord Patrizio answ
ered.

“But what difference does that
make?”

“It makes a tremendous difference to the one who is being executed,” Porfiro answered. “By emptying the water, the pressure on the prisoner is increased. The weight of gravity pulls him down, driving the stakes deeper. Right now, he is floating on the surface, causing him to die a slow death. If they need to hurry things along, they will start emptying out the w
ater.”

Aurelio shudd
ered.

Crashes of thunder struck with high frequency as light drops of rain began to fall. The noblemen sitting under the canopy stayed dry, but the people in the crowd were beginning to get wet. The warrior at the pit glanced up at Savino, motioning to the dark skies above them. The king gave a nod of approval, and the warriors began emptying the water from the pit with wooden buc
kets.

“Your Highness, it is time,” Porfiro
said.

Darian’s face was somber as he placed an arrow across the bow and slowly raised it. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to steady his nerves. His heart pounded in his chest as he shut his right eye and focused on the target with his
left.

Drawing back the string, he perfected his aim at the royal box, holding his breath and clearing his thoughts. Upon the string’s release, he winced as the arrow shot across the rooftops and missed Savino, piercing Dastar Raniero in his right
arm.

Raniero shrieked in pain. A second or two later, Savino’s eyes flew across the rooftops and up to the balcony, locking on Dari
an’s.

At first, Savino appeared shocked to see that his archenemy was still alive. But as an arrogant grin spread across his face, Darian knew that with that smile, his cousin was branding him as the biggest fool who had ever l
ived.

Lifting his arm above him to shield himself from the rain that had begun to pour, Savino motioned to the warriors to go and capture Darian. Then he stood up, and without as much as a backwards glance, he gathered his billowy, blue robes and strode up to the citadel amongst an entourage of bodygu
ards.

The men on the top floor of the inn quickly scattered, each of them making their way toward the door. Darian, however, remained rooted to the spot. He clenched his jaw, watching in stony silence as the man who killed his beloved strolled away, unha
rmed.

Yet again, he had failed another mission. He had been given the opportunity to kill Savino but had blown it. And now that his cousin knew that he was still alive, attempting to hide in the city would be fu
tile.

The warriors stormed the inn and charged up the stairs. One of them ripped the bow from Darian’s hand while another clapped iron manacles around his wrists. They led him down the stairs and out into the street where crowds parted and people stared in astonishment. Traveling the short distance up the main road toward the citadel, Darian’s shoulders sagged and his head hung in de
feat.

The rain was starting to pour down in sheets, drenching everyone that had not yet found shelter. Helena turned toward the commotion coming up the road and ga
sped.

“
Dari—”

Tino clapped a hand over her mouth, pulling her tightly into his chest. He turned with his back toward the warriors, waiting for them to pass before releasing her a
gain.

“I apologize for my abruptness, Your Highness. But you would have drawn attention t
o us.”

“Darian is alive,” she whispered in disbe
lief.

“Yes, but for how long?” he remarked so
ftly.

Cinzia and Alessio said nothing, exchanging sad gla
nces.

Rain fell over the streets, rushing down the gutters in small rivers as claps of thunder rippled through the city. Consecutive flashes of lightning created a strobe-like effect as the rain turned into hail, pelting the heads of those who were foolish enough to still be outside. The soldiers were moving quickly with their buckets, furiously trying to empty the water from the pit that was replenished with rain that continued to
fall.

The warriors pushed Darian along until they neared the pit where Eman lay impaled. He broke away from the soldier and fell to his knees at the edge of the pit. When a warrior moved to pull the prisoner back up, Talvan motioned him
away.

“Forgive me,” Darian whispered, his eyes focusing on the bloody spikes protruding from his hands and
feet.

Tears spilled from his eyes, mingling with the rain on his face as he observed the way an innocent man was so cruelly being put to death. With great effort, Eman turned his head slowly, his body shaking from the cold and loss of b
lood.

“I f-f-forgive you, my
son.”

“Move along!” the warrior shouted, forcing Darian to stand. Then he shouted at the people still lingering on the streets. “That is all! Everyone go back about your busi
ness!”

The few people still witnessing the execution turned to go back to their homes and shops. Tino, Helena, Alessio and Cinzia decided to stay with Eman until the end and moved up closer. When one of the warriors moved to block them, Talvan steppe
d up.

“Let these people be,” he barked. “They are not a th
reat.”

“Are you taking responsibility for this?” the warrior a
sked.

“Indeed,
I am.”

He stepped aside. “As you wish,
sir.”

As Eman’s body shook in the chilled water with nothing to keep him warm, the four of them gathered around the pit and knelt down beside it. Nobody spoke; there were no w
ords.

Eman turned his head, his droopy eyes shifting between each of their pale, weary faces. And, as he tried to reassure them with his gaze, he seemed to know what was in each of their hearts without them even saying a word. It was as if he had known them all their l
ives.

Marisa and Arrie raced up the stone steps of the dungeon with renewed energy, both of them ecstatic to discover that the other was still alive. Just as they were clearing the landing with the two doors, the handle on the left side began to
turn.

As they bolted up the remaining steps, Marisa looked back and saw a warrior emerging from one of the doors they had just passed. With a great sense of urgency, she pushed Arrie out the door at the top of the stairs and jumped through it herself, quickly slamming it behind them. She stuck the small key into the lock and turned it to buy them a little more time. Once the unconscious guard had been found and they discovered that Arrie was gone, the entire castle would be on lockdown. If they were lucky, they had a two-minute head start at most before the warriors were put on high a
lert.

They jogged through the loading bay towards the large wooden door on the far side. Marisa opened it just a crack and peeked outside. There was no one. The rain coming down was near-torrential as they entered the courtyard on the northern side. Within seconds, their hair and clothes were completely so
aked.

“Hurry! Over t
here!”

Shouting over the din of the pouring rain, she pointed toward the northern gate, and they sprinted across the courtyard. She pulled out the small key and fumbled to open the lock. Arrie pushed it open, and once they were both through, she shut it again, locking it from the outside. Arrie moved hastily along the wall with Marisa following, both of them sidestepping their way toward the eastern ram
part.

Navigating the muddy pathway was more difficult than it looked and they decided to slow down. One wrong step could send one or both of them tumbling down into the deep ravine far below. Arrie traced the northeastern curve of the wall, the strip of ground at the base of the wall widening the further they
went.

Suddenly a warrior popped his head up over the gate, glancing both ways. Marisa stopped and raised a finger to Arrie, signaling him to be still. The warrior retreated behind the wall, shouting to another man across the court
yard.

As boots splashed up the stone steps on the opposite side of the wall, she quickly scanned the brush around them. There wasn’t enough foliage to hide Arrie. The light from the amulet caught her attention and suddenly she had an
idea.

“Get down on your knees,” she shouted. “H
urry!”

Arrie dropped into a ball against the wall. She shielded him with her body, spreading her cloak to cover him just as a soldier appeared on the wall above them. She held her breath, praying silently as the warrior scanned the bushes below, peering down past them into the ra
vine.

“Do you see him?” a guard called out across the court
yard.

“No, nothing,” replied the warrior. “He must be heading to the southern gate. Or he slipped and fell down into the g
orge.”

Marisa smiled faintly to her
self.

“Well, he could not have escaped through the northern gate. It is locked and no one is getting out this way.” He moved along the wall, away from
them.

When she couldn’t see him any longer, she stood up, shivering and feeling her temperature soaring. “C’mon, Arrie—let’s get you
home.”

CHAPTER 35

SURRENDER

The sound of a door slamming in the corridor above them made the group of warriors flinch, but Darian didn’t move a muscle. Nothing could phase him
now.

Their leader turned to the two soldiers immediately behind him, motioning to the top of the steps. “You two—go check that out. The rest of you—escort the prisoner down to his
cell.”

Two of the men raced up the stairs and tried to turn the handle, but it wouldn’t
open.

“The door is locked!” one of them sho
uted.

“Here,” the leader replied, lobbing a tangled mess of keys up to him. The man at the top tried several of them before finding the right one. The door finally opened and he quickly tossed the keys back to the le
ader.

“Sir! You had best get down here right away!” shouted one of the warriors below in the dun
geon.

“What i
s it?”

“Orfeo is out cold, and there is no sign of the pris
oner!”

The leader groaned, hurrying down the s
teps.

“Alert the palace guards and let them know. I shall inform Commander Talvan.” He turned to the guard holding Darian’s arm. “And throw the prisoner into a cell. I want six guards posted with him at all times. No more taking cha
nces!”

“Yes, sir!” The warrior shoved him into the cell and slammed the bars shut, making sure it was lo
cked.

Shivering in his wet clothes, Darian moved over to the table and sat down on it, covering his face with his hands and contemplating the different ways in which he could be put to death. Wondering whether he would die quickly or slow and painful, knowing his cousin, he had to assume it would be the la
tter.

As he leaned back against the wall, he looked back on his life as one colossal failure. Years of training and a small fortune had gone into the forging of a man strong enough to lead Carnelia, but in the end, it had all come to nothing. There had been plenty of opportunities to stop Savino in the past, but for one reason or another, he had never been able to do it. Worst of all, he had not even been able to protect the woman he had loved more than life it
self.

Staring up at the only window and watching as the rain poured down, his thoughts wandered back to Marisa. The fact that she had been spared the knowledge and horror of Eman’s death gave him little comfort. It would have devastated her to see it ha
ppen.

His eyes moistened remembering the day that he and Arrie had discovered her in the forest. Finding her once again after all those years could not have been sheer coincidence. So why did their time together have to end so quickly? Why would Garon even bother to bring them back together if their lives were destined to end so tragic
ally?

I have served You all my life while most of my friends have long since abandoned the faith! I have been ridiculed for my beliefs when I just as easily could have chosen the same path as Savino! So why are you now punishing me for my faithfulness? I have done nothing to deserve such a horrible end to my
life!

He closed his eyes and wept. And as the weeping turned into sobbing, the warriors eyed him with pity, but he no longer cared. He knew exactly what they were thinking;
the mighty Prince Darian has at last been toppled from his high h
orse.

He had been completely humiliated and put down by no one other than Savino. Realizing what a fool he had been, he pounded his fist angrily against the table. He would not allow his cousin the satisfaction of ending his life. And he absolutely refused to let his death serve as a spectacle for the king’s pleasure. He would die at his own h
ands.

And it would happen ton
ight.

“Enter,” Raniero said, glancing up from his wri
ting.

“Hello, u
ncle.”

“Loris my boy! What are you doing here?” Raniero leaned back in his chair, staring at him in surprise. “You are supposed to be taking care of Abbadon Ca
stle!”

“Abbadon is quite safe in Terzo’s hands,” he answered, avoiding his uncle’s stare. “I, uh—that is, when I heard there was war and bloodshed in Crocetta, I just had to come and see it for my
self.”

A shady smile crept across Raniero’s face. “So, you wanted to see bloodshed, did you? Well, my boy, there shall be plenty of it in the days to
come!”

The surviving members of the former Fiore royal house kept their vigil next to the execution pit while the tragic fate of an innocent man slowly etched itself into each of their weary faces. Eman’s chest no longer rose and fell in deep heaves as he inhaled and exhaled, but, instead, his breathing started to become very shallow. Tino, Cinzia, Alessio and Helena remained by his side, praying for the man whom they had only briefly known, but who had touched them all for
ever.

The sun that had refused to shine that day had already disappeared behind the horizon once again. The skies were rapidly growing dark as the clock on the citadel tower struck six o’clock. Although Savino had not yet imposed an official curfew, the townspeople of Crocetta had all disappeared from the city streets, afraid of being arre
sted.

Impatient to hurry the process along, three warriors quickened their pace in emptying the water from the pit. Slowly Eman’s body dropped down, driving the stakes deeper. As he moaned, Helena’s eyes filled with fresh tears. He turned to gaze at them, his bottom lip quive
ring.

“I—shall be—with you always, even—until the end of
time.”

“No,” Cinzia c
ried.

“Tetel Estai,”
he breathed in a voice only something above a whisper. His eyes rolled back and his chest heaved one last time until, finally, his body went
limp.

He was
gone.

In a bright flash, a bolt of lightning shot down from the sky, striking the deserted royal box. The ground shook as houses and buildings swayed on their foundations. Clay-baked tiles rattled loose from the rooftops and clattered to the ground. A window across the street shattered as bricks from a dilapidated shop gable tumbled onto the cobblest
ones.

Tino, Helena, Cinzia and Alistair huddled together as buildings around them shook. Tino looked up in time to see the flagpole flying the da Rocha standard snap like a twig. He dragged Cinzia and Helena backward just before the pole came crashing down, barely missing Eman’s motionless body still floating on the
raft.

They peered into the pit, watching as the bloody water quickly soaked through the white flag bearing the da Rocha family crest. One of the warriors approached the pit, staring down at the body for a moment. He unsheathed his sword and drove it into Eman’s ribs. Blood poured from the wound, further clouding the w
ater.

Cinzia buried her face in her husband’s shoulder as the warriors lifted his limp, pale body off the stakes and placed it on a white sheet. Folding his arms across his chest, they wrapped him in the sheet. A wagon emerged from the rampart tunnel and stopped next to them. Two warriors loaded his body into the wagon, with four more taking their places to escor
t it.

Helena gazed down into the pit. The white flag that had been stained by Eman’s blood slowly sank below the surface, disappearing from sight. Alessio hurried over to the comma
nder.

“Where will you bury
him?”

“By His Majesty’s order, he shall receive a criminal’s burial—with no ceremony,” the warrior replied, shoving past him. “The body is to be dumped at
sea.”

Alessio watched sadly as the driver cracked the whip. The wagon rumbled down the street away from them, escorted by four warriors on all sides. As it pulled out of sight, the four of them walked back to Celino’s house in silence, completely unprepared for what they would find once they ent
ered.

The mood in the house was somber as Marisa huddled under a blanket, stirring soup over the fire. Arrie was resting on the couch in the library as the delicious scent wafted out into the hallway. He got up and walked down to find her in the kit
chen.

“Are you all right?” he asked, slipping an arm around
her.

“I’ll live,” she answered quietly. Her dizziness made her sway as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. Just then, the handle on the back door tu
rned.

“Mother!” Arrie exclaimed, rushing over to meet
her.

Cinzia’s face brightened. “Arrie—thank Garon you are alive!” She threw her arms around him, hugging her
son.

“Where have you two been hiding out?” Alessio asked, hugging his niece and staring at them both in disbe
lief.

“I was in the dungeon,” Arrie said, “but she rescue
d me.”

“Jailbreak, huh?” Alessio laughed. “That’s my
girl!”

The smile faded from her face. “I
s he—?”

“
Eman?”

She no
dded.

Alessio shook his head sadly. “We just came from there. He died just a little while ago. He’s being buried at
sea.”

Without a word, she turned and walked slowly down to the library. She collapsed in a chair and closed her eyes, remembering the man who had saved her life by giving up his
own.

“Cozimo is dead, too,” she announced s
adly.

Alessio lowered himself onto the sofa, his head hung in de
feat.

Helena began to cry softly and, for a few quiet moments, they all remembered the men who had been important parts of Crocetta’s history. After a few minutes of silence, Alessio took his niece’s hands, gently coaxing her next to him on the c
ouch.

“Risa, I have something to tell
you.”

“What?” She blotted her forehead, hot from fever as chills caused her body to s
hake.

Alessio exhaled a deep breath. “Darian is still a
live.”

“What!”
She jumped to her feet. “Where i
s he?”

“He tried to assassinate Savino during the execution. But they captured him and took him to the castle. He is probably in the dungeon
now.”

“Darian’s alive?” she echoed, still processing the meaning of her uncle’s words. “Are you
sure?”

“We just saw him with our own eyes,” Tino answ
ered.

“But we were just there,” Arrie said with a confused look on his face. “He was not t
here.”

“You were probably gone before they captured
him.”

“I’m going to him,” she said, grabbing her cloak and slipping it on. “I can’t leave him down t
here.”

Alessio shook his head. “No, Risa—it’s too risky ton
ight.”