The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge (5 page)

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 ot
hers.

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

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

“Aur smyden, Danur.”
Thank you, Tea
cher.

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 convic
tion.

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 King
doms.

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

She smiled. “A loaf of round b
read.”

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

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

“You have done your homework. Excel
lent.”

“Aur smyden, D
anur.”

“Now comes the more challenging part. Verb conjuga
tion.”

She gro
aned.

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 circumsta
nces.”

“Hearing those languages as a baby must have he
lped.”

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

“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 A
ndré?”

“Aye. I was his
sécant
, Your High
ness.”

“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 avala
nche?”

“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 s
orry.”

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

“Thank you, Count Faus
tino.”

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 sto
p 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 c
olor.

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 t
here.

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 of 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 d
eath.

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 O
rder.

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 disp
osal.

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 instruc
tion.

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

“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 dange
rous.”

“What exactly
is
a Drychen sorc
erer?”

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 po
wers.”

“Should I be conce
rned?”

He sat down next to her, shrugging. “A bit of healthy concern is normal, but do not lose sleep over it, Princess. Our fathers have been battling the sorcerers for hundreds of years. And although that is not likely to change during our lifetime, we must be ready when they
come.”

“When will tha
t be?”

“The Apollyon Order has been threatening to invade Crocetta for years now, but their numbers have always been too few,” he answered, his tone serious. “Until now, tha
t is.”

“What do you
mean?”

“Lately there have been rumors of a significant increase in their numbers. Our sources are telling us that some of the ten kings have even fallen under their influ
ence.”

“How does that ha
ppen?”

“The sorcerers wield an evil, powerful source called The Onyx. It involves calling upon supernatural beings of darkness that usually exist outside of our realm, in another dimension. They use these spirits to control the minds and bodies of the rulers of the w
orld.”

A shiver ran down her spine. “If they are trying to take control of the kingdoms, then they must have their eye on Crocetta
too.”

“Indeed. Many years ago, the sorcerers tried to conquer the Crocine Kingdom with their powers, but they were unsuccessful. Now, there might finally be enough of them to take over the kin
gdom.”

“This isn’t making me feel any be
tter.”

“My apologies, Princess, but as your Chief War Counselor, it is my duty to offer you a correct assessment of the situation, however grim it ma
y be.”

“So what do these sorcerers look like? Long beards, pointy hats, long dresses, and walking sticks that act as magic wands, I sup
pose?”

He shook his head. “Most of them appear as ordinary men. At first glance, you would not even know they are a sorcerer. But on the inside, they are merciless, pure evil. Possessed by messengers of Apol
lyon.”

“As future Supreme Ruler of Carnelia, don’t you think someone should have told me about this so
oner?”

“Prince Darian does not wish to worry you needlessly,” he answered. “The sorcerers are a concern that will be dealt with eventually, but not
now.”

“And yet, the threat is always there,” she said gloo
mily.

He grinned slowly. “Ah, but you have Lord Domenico, Prince Darian and I to protect you, my lovely prin
cess.”

“
True.”

“You are safe as long as the Fearsome Trio is
near.”

“Oh, that reminds me…” She reached down and pulled out the dagger that Darian had given to her at the edge of the Mychen Forest. “Darian wants me to learn how to fight with this. Can you teac
h me?”

Taking the dagger from her and studying it closely, his brown eyes widened. “Your Highness, do you know what thi
s is?”

She shook her
head.

“This is an extremely rare Crimson Paladin blade. It was forged in the early days of the Fiore dynasty—perhaps even before. It must have seen battle during the Chalcedonic Wars many years ago.” He pointed to its long, razor-thin edge. “Do you see the way it tapers here at the end with the special engraving at its base? Only a nobleman could have commissioned such a we
apon.”

“Do you recognize the engra
ving?”

He laughed. “As should you, Princess. It is the Fiore coat-of-arms. That could only mean that this dagger had been forged for none other than King Petrus Fiore him
self.”

“It belonged to my great-grandfa
ther?”

Nodding, he slid the blade back into its sheath. “It is old but still in excellent condition.” Solemnly, he placed the dagger in the palm of her hand and closed her fingers around the hilt. His voice lowered an octave as his eyes sought
hers.

“A very valuable object, Princess, and certainly a treasure worth keeping. It is a rare man indeed who would relinquish such a, uh—priceless object of beauty.” He leaned in close, stroking her hand with his finger as his voice became husky. “Some would even be willing to fight another just to posses
s it.”

Feeling the weight of his stare, she avoided his eyes and drew her hand away, blushing. “Oh, I’ll never get rid of it. Especially now that I know it’s a piece of his
tory.”

“In
deed.”

“So, can you teac
h me?”

“Of course, Your Highness. But we shall practice with something, eh—less le
thal.”

Taking the dagger from her, he walked over to the box of practice weapons and dug around until he found a fake, wooden replica. “Use this
one.”

“Why can’t I use the Paladin
one?”

“The blade is so sharp that it could sever your finger if it but brushed the edge.” He smiled. “We would not want that now, would we, Prin
cess?”

“Oh, I guess
not.”

In a swift, fluid movement that reminded her of a panther, he backed away from her, lowering himself into a half-squatting position with his arms extended out from his sides. He clasped the wooden dagger in his hand, poised to st
rike.

“Now, Princess, come at me as if you were attackin
g me.”

She gripped the fake weapon in her fist and exhaled. With all the energy she could muster, she rushed at him, lunging at his midsection with her blade. In a lightning-fast move, he grabbed her arm and twisted her around, knocking the wooden dagger from her hand. It flew through the air, hitting a stone pillar before clattering to the f
loor.

“
Never
open your defenses when attacking your opponent,” he shouted. “Your eyes need to be everywhere, all the time. A
gain!”

Dismayed that he had beaten her so easily, she brushed the hair out of her eyes and walked over to retrieve the we
apon.

“Attack!
Now!”

She rammed him again. In a flash, he pried the dagger from her fist and held it against her
ribs.

“Oops.” She smiled sheepi
shly.

“Your Highness, you are already dead!” he shouted. “The entire kingdom is mourning your death and planning your funeral! Without a monarch, the Apollyon Order now feels emboldened to attack Croc
etta.”

“I’m never gonna get
this.”

“Always strike at your opponent when he least expect
s it.”

Without warning, he lunged forward and grabbed her arm, twisting her around to face him. Holding her tightly against his chest in a vice-like grip, he pressed the fake dagger against her jugular, his eyes locking on
hers.

“Now what will you do, Prin
cess?”

“Cry u
ncle?”

Gazing up into his face, she noticed that their lips were almost touching. The musky scent of his sweat surrounded her as he held her so tightly that she couldn’t move. His eyes were stern, but the intense longing in them made her uncomfort
able.

“I have a knife to your throat, Your Highness. How do you gain the upper hand before I sli
t it?”

“Pray for m
ercy?”

“I am a Drychen sorcerer. I do not grant mercy.” He released her. “Come, we shall do it again. You must learn to act — not r
eact!”

“But how?” She threw her hands into the air. “How am I supposed to defeat a sorcerer, let alone a warrior, or even some guy off the st
reet?”

“You must steal the advantage from your opponent. And there is just one way to do that.” He closed the distance between them, slipping a sinewy arm around her waist and pulling her against him until his face was only an inch or two from
hers.

“How?” she asked, startled by his near
ness.

“Approach with stealth.” He leaned in, whispering against her ear. “Do not let your presence be known until it is too late for him to st
rike.”

She shuddered. “That’s imposs
ible.”

“No, not impossible. You are better off being small and smart than dominating and
dumb.”

“Mea
ning?”

“Winning a fight has more to do with using your wit than using your muscles, Princess.” His lips parted into a broad smile, displaying a row of perfect, white t
eeth.

She stared at him, not knowing how to an
swer.

“Battles are not won or lost based on the size or might of the army, but on the wisdom or foolishness of the men fighting
them.”

“Oh.”

“If you are wise in your approach, you shall own the edge. Even if your opponent is twice as powerful. Even if you are outnumbered. There is always a way out, you must simply fin
d it.”

“Wise in your approach, own the
edge…”

“Come, Your Highness—we practice a
gain.”

Over the next hour, Bruno trained her to defend herself with the wooden dagger, showing the primary target region to make a lethal stab into an opponent. She listened to his instructions carefully, concentrating on perfecting her technique. When the lesson was over, he sunk into a low bow, taking her hand to kis
s it.

“I hope that my instructions today will be of use to you in the future, Prin
cess.”

“Thank you. I won’t forget this,
interesting
lesson.” She gathered her gloves and turned, nodding to him before closing the door of the Black Hall behind
her.

“Neither shall I, my lovely princess,” he whispered. “Neither sha
ll I.”