The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge (4 page)

He studied her face. “I can see how much this means to you. Perhaps there is no harm in celebrating at Castle Beauriél if we post extra guards. I shall make the necessary arrangem
ents.”

“Oh, Darian—thank you!” She hugged him. “Thank
you!”

“But remember—it is only tempo
rary!”

Grateful to him for saving her life in so many ways, she gazed lovingly into his eyes. When the warm softness of his lips met hers, she sighed inwardly. As they kissed, soft white snowflakes began to drift down around them, sticking to the freezing surface of the bal
cony.

Feeling tiny bits of cold hitting her face, she opened her eyes and squealed in delight. “Look, Darian!” She twirled around in circles, her arms swinging freely as her face tilted up toward the
sky.

“You are the most beautiful winter princess I have ever
seen.”

Big, fat flakes continued to drift down, covering the landscape in a blanket of pure white. She stopped twirling to gaze at him. His stunning grin made her heart stop, and the way his crystal eyes held hers warmed her
soul.

Never wanting to forget this special moment, she took a memory snapshot of Darian’s handsome, masculine form against the beautiful backdrop, imprinting it on her brain for
ever.

CHAPTER 4

HERITAGE

The next morning, Marisa got dressed with a minimum of help from her ladies-in-waiting. She had decided from the first day she had officially become known as the Princess Regent that she did not want to be shadowed by a group of women. Although each royal before her had multiple ladies-in-waiting and handmaidens to help them bathe, dress, and whatever else was requested of them, she would have none of it. Her first official decree had been for her handmaidens to report in the morning to help her dress and from then on out, to only appear when they were summoned. Some in the castle did not approve of this decision, but since she was soon to be queen, no one dared to oppose
her.

After the ladies had fastened the tight corset around her and helped her get into the multiple layers of thick undergarments, they lowered the rich gown of indigo satin over her head. Edged with crystal beads, the low square neckline showed just a hint of the upper curves of her breasts, flattering her youthful décolleté. The dress accentuated her trim waist that was made even smaller by the corset, and the bodice was decorated with a thin layer of aqua lace. Choosing a pearl choker and drop earrings to compliment her look, she ran her fingers over the silky sheen of the fabric and sm
iled.

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 grat
eful.

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 li
ttle.

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 f
loor.

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 la
tely.

“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 st
ream.”

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

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 f
aded.

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

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 lau
ghed.

“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 le
gacy.

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

She sighed, turning with reluctance to the busy day a
head.

“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 a
gain.”

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

“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 subj
ects.”

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

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

“Battle com
mand?”

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

“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 a
long?”

“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 thr
eats.

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 corona
tion.”

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

Cinzia touched her husband’s arm under the t
able.

“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 du
ties.”

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

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

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

“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 mutt
ered.

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 Chris
tmas.”

“Why should that surprise you? Carnelia has its own past; its own history. And that history is completely different from Ear
th’s.”

“But they still believe in God, r
ight?”

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

“One
what?”

“Also known as the Deliv
erer.”

“The Deliv
erer?”

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

“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 Apol
lyon.”

“What kind of creature?” Mark a
sked.

Alessio’s blue eyes widened. “A dr
agon.”

“What? There are dragons
here?”

“Just one,” Arrie corre
cted.

“
Cool!”

“No, Mark. It’s not a good t
hing.”

“Where is this dragon?” she a
sked.

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

“Does it ever come
here?”

He shrugged. “Probably
not.”

“Prob
ably?”

“Have you ever see
n it?”

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

“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 Defe
nder.”

“I want to hear more about the dr
agon.”

“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 O
rder.”

Marisa stopped. “What is the Apollyon O
rder?”

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

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

“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 writ
ings—”

The morning bells in the citadel tower pealed, interrup
ting.

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

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 instruct
ions.