The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge (7 page)

She pondered his question for a moment. “Well, I can feel it blowing through my
hair.”

“But you cannot se
e it.”

“I can see it moving the branches in the trees. I can watch the birds as they fly against it. I can observe the clouds being blown across the land during a s
torm.”

“Precisely. And so is it with Garon. You cannot see Him, and yet His presence is evident in the way He moves over, around and through pe
ople.”

“But how do you know the scriptures are
true?”

“When I was young, I received a prophecy from a holy man that I have clung to my entire
life.”

He dug down into the pocket of his cloak and removed an old piece of brown woolen fabric with thick and thin white stripes, about three inches square. He held it up for her to
see.

“What is it?” she asked, taking it from
him.

“A pro
mise.”

“This is a pro
mise?”

“Yes. The man who gave it to me told me that I would not cross death’s door until I came face-to-face with the Deliverer. So, you see, the prophecy must come true in my life
time.”

“And if it doe
sn’t?”

He shrugged his shoulders, folding it back up again and tucking it away. “If it does not, then my life has all been for na
ught.”

“But what does that cloth have to do with the Deliv
erer?”

He shrugged. “I do not know. But it represents a vow made to me more than sixty years ago.” He slowly rose to his feet, reaching for his walking stick. “And I do not take it lig
htly.”

Marisa jumped to her feet, helping to steady
him.

“Well, I am afraid our time is up for today, my
dear.”

“Thank you, Cozimo. I always enjoy your les
sons.”

“As do I, Your Highness,” he said, his eyes twinkling. He bowed slowly, his wobbly legs struggling to keep him upright as he opened the door and headed down the corr
idor.

Marisa watched the oaken door close behind him and sank back into her chair, thinking about everything that he had said. She stared down at the jar of sugar for a moment before lifting the cobalt glass to her eye. Had she been viewing life through a warped lens for the past eighteen y
ears?

Gently placing it on the table, she got up and strolled down toward the dining hall. Upon entering, she saw that the others were already seated around the table. She quietly took her seat across from Darian who eyed her carefully as she
sat.

Amidst the light luncheon conversations she remained silent, her thoughts still lost in the morning’s lessons. She toyed absently with the gleaming cutlery, staring into the burgundy depths of her wine goblet and daydreaming about the battles of her ancestors many years be
fore.

Lost in deep thought, she didn’t notice the concerned expression on Darian’s face as he quietly studied her from across the t
able.

After lunch, Marisa stood up and pushed her chair into the table. Her eyes met Darian’s, but he was engaged in deep conversation with her uncle and couldn’t readily escape. She gave him a small smile and left the dining chamber, making her way down to the Jade Room. There hadn’t been much time for her to practice playing the piano in recent weeks and she had misse
d it.

Entering the luxuriously-appointed lounge with walls and furniture covered in varying shades of the forest, she sat down at the hand-carved, rectangular-shaped piece of furniture that resembled an antique pianof
orte.

As her fingers tentatively brushed the dark wooden keys, the rich notes began to fill the room. She loved the way music lifted her spirits, especially on the days when the pressures of palace life seemed to close in on her. It was the method of escape that she preferred most, second only to riding out to Beauriél on Siena. During the last movement of the song, Darian’s tall frame filled the doorway as he stood and listened to the haunting me
lody.

When the final notes melted into silence, he approached the piano and leaned over it, carefully studying her
face.

“You were uncommonly quiet during lunch and you seemed in a hurry to leave.” His rich baritone voice soothed her. “Is something the ma
tter?”

She pulled the lid down over the keys, resting her hands in her lap. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I had an intense philosophy lesson with Cozimo and I can’t stop thinking abou
t it.”

“What did you two talk a
bout?”

“Abbadon and the awful things that happened there. Petrus Fiore defeating Lord Berengar and the people losing their f
aith.”

He nodded. “Oh,
that.”

“I didn’t have a clue about the dark history of that place. It creeps me out to think I slept in that haunted ca
stle.”

He moved around the instrument and sat next to her. “Yet another reason why I argued for you to stay in Andr
ésis.”

She gave him a gentle shove. “Okay, that’s enough of the ‘I told you so.’ I can see I’m never gonna live that one
down.”

“But we still made it out a
live.”

“Yeah, I sup
pose.”

He nudged her playfully. “Because you had me protecting
you.”

“True.” She reached under her skirt, pulling the dagger from its holster. “Speaking of protection—where did this come
from?”

He stopped, his eyes locking on the dagger. “My father gave it to me just before he
died.”

“Where did he ge
t it?”

“It belonged to Petrus F
iore.”

“Is it
the
da
gger?”

“Are you referring to the weapon that killed Lord Bere
ngar?”

She no
dded.

“Yes, it is. One and the
same.”

She shook her head adamantly. “If it was your father’s, it must mean a lot to you. Please take it
back.”

“No.” He lifted his hands, refusing to accept it. “Your safety is far more valuable than some old dagger. Besides, King Petrus was your great-grandfather. That makes it
your
heirloom as
well.”

“I don’t deserve you. And I don’t think I ever
will.”

“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you,” he said, kissing the top of her head and pulling her closer against
him.

CHAPTER 7

IMPRESSIONS

When Marisa entered the grand library, Arrie was sitting in a large chair in front of the fire, examining his fingernails and waiting patiently for her. On the table in front of him was a large map of the Carnelian world rolled out in anticipation of their geography lesson. On the floor was a heavy basket filled with books and charts that he never failed to bring to each of their sess
ions.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said, panting. “I was with Darian, and we just, sort of—lost track of
time.”

He grinned amusedly, his blue eyes shimmering. “Yes, that is not entirely uncommon when one is in the presence of one’s fi
ancé.”

She blushed. “It’s not what you think, A
rrie.”

“No, of course not,” he said, smirking. “Shall we begin, Your High
ness?”

“I liked it better when you called me co
usin.”

“You shall always be my cousin, dearest. But since you also happen to be the Princess Regent and soon-to-be Supreme Ruler, we must at least make some attempt to maintain the appearance that we are adhering to the rules of prot
ocol.”

“Whatever.” She plopped down in a chair, watching him carefully surveying the map and thinking about how much more he was than just a cousin to
her.

Since the day she had first tumbled into Lord Arrigo Macario’s life, he had quickly become her closest and most trusted friend. And although there was an age gap of more than six years between them, his infectious smile and baby blue eyes made him appear much younger than his true age of twenty-
four.

While Arrie’s rugged good looks, dark reddish hair and witty sense of humor had definitely come from the Macario side of the family, he had been fortunate enough to inherit his pragmatic, intelligent and down-to-earth nature from his mo
ther.

Watching him stroke his goatee as he studied the map, Marisa could easily imagine both her father and her uncle when they were younger. The Macario men were a good-looking bunch, but it was their unique brand of charisma that attracted only the best sort of women. Both of the Macario twins had possessed it, as did their sons Mark and Arrie. It made her wonder about Arrie’s beautiful fiancée, Astrid. Now that she was no longer on Earth, she would probably never get the chance to meet the beautiful Parisian, she thought sadly. She didn’t dwell on it long as Arrie soon interrupted her thou
ghts.

“Now, before we study the stretch of land between Crocetta and Abbadon, please name the ten king
doms.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “I
hate
pop qui
zzes.”

“Come, come. Let us hear
them.”

She closed her eyes. “Uh, okay—Crocetta, Abbadon, Terama, Rav
enna…”

“Correct. Those are the northern and central kingdoms. Now name the southern king
doms.”

She stared at him bla
nkly.

“Where does the illustrious Macario family hail
from?”

“Terra
cina.”

“Very good. And Terracina forms the southern region together with which other kin
gdom?”

“Serran
tina.”

“Very good, Your High
ness.”

“Arrie—not to change the subject, but I’ve been wondering what the word Crocetta
mean?”

“It means ‘the way of the c
ross.’”

“Why is it called
that?”

“There are different theories as to the meaning of the name, but the most commonly-held belief is that it is derived from its geographic posi
tion.”

“Where is it on this
map?”

“Here.” As he pointed to a flourished asterisk at the center of the map, she bent down closer to examine the details. Scrawled in beautiful penmanship was the ancient spelling for Croc
etta.

“Now, imagine each of the ten capital cities is connected to the city at the opposite
end.”

With his forefinger, he drew four bisecting lines across the map between each of the cities. “If you drew lines between them, it would look something like a star. Crocetta is situated at the exact point where all the kingdoms intersect. In other words, at the point where they all
c
ross
.”

“
Okay…”

“Now, name the two western kingdoms. And no peeking on the
map!”

She turned around, facing the other direction. “Bandaline, and—oh, I forgot the other
one—”

“It starts with
a T.”

“Trampoline?” She smiled sheepi
shly.

“Close; it’s Tantaline. And the two eastern king
doms?”

Marisa sighed. “I can’t remember those at
all.”

After weeks of lessons about the ten kingdoms, she was starting to feel overwhelmed. The countries seemed to blend together, and she had a hard time keeping them all stra
ight.

“Your Highness, those two are the most impor
tant.”

She stared at him helple
ssly.

“Turn around and look at the map,” he answered finally. “The two eastern kingdoms are Drychen and My
chen.”

“They were right on the tip of my to
ngue!”

“Of course they were,” he added drolly, rolling up the map and placing an even larger scroll on the table. “Now, you have already seen much of these lands, but you may have forgotten some of the regional names. Let us see if you can identify them corre
ctly.”

He rolled out the parchment and placed lead paperweights on either side, revealing a detailed map of the Crocine Kin
gdom.

“Sho
w me.”

“This is Castle Beauriél here.” She pointed to a dot on the map. “There’s the lake where we found the Wounded Hearts, so the Styrian Ice Caves must be somewhere here in these mountains.” She traced her finger along the main road between Crocetta and Abb
adon.

“Good, very
good.”

“This is the Mychen Forest where those horrible beasts chased us and I’m guessing that this green area here is the forest where you and Darian found me.” Her finger circled back around towards Crocetta in a wide arc. “This must be Andrésis right
here.”

“Excellent. You have correctly navigated Crocetta proper. Now, your task for this evening will be to study this map, and the other one, memorizing all the place names, roads and landmarks by tomorrow. Do you have any quest
ions?”

“Yes,” she replied, staring at him pointedly. “How is any of this supposed to help me rule the cou
ntry?”

He smiled. “If one is to rule a country successfully, then one must have a solid knowledge of its people. And how does one obtain this knowledge? By studying the land where the people live. Land is everything to a man and, for many of us, it is the most valuable asset we will ever own. If you know the land, you have the edge. Know the land, know the people, have the p
ower.”

“Got it. I t
hink.”

She gazed back down at the map, studying it carefully for the next hour. Concentrating on the place names, she retraced their entire journey from Andrésis to Abbadon and back to Crocetta. Arrie rolled up the parchment, satisfied with her prog
ress.

“Your Highness, I shall have both maps delivered to your chambers, so please remember to study them again this eve
ning.”

A soft knock at the door interrupted him. It was his mother standing in the doorway. “I see that it is time for your protocol lesson,” he said with a wink. “From the best teacher in the kingdom, I might
add.”

Baroness Cinzia Macario smiled at him. The graceful, salt-and-pepper-haired woman waited patiently as her son gathered the maps together and placed them into the ba
sket.

“Good day, Your Highness,” Arrie said, nodding and bowing. Carefully heaving the basket up onto his shoulder, he stopped briefly to kiss his mother before heading out the
door.

In the years that she had grown up in Oregon, Marisa had been made to believe that her uncle’s wife was dead. She had often wondered why he had never remarried. It was only after she had returned to Carnelia that she discovered that her uncle had chosen to remain faithful to Cinzia even though they had been separated by different wo
rlds.

For much of her life, Marisa had missed having a mother and an aunt, but Cinzia was quickly becoming both to her. The gentle-spirited woman was the polar opposite of Alessio. Her uncle’s hot-headed temperament always managed to get the better of him, but since he had returned to Carnelia, Marisa had already noticed a significant change in her uncle. And she had no doubt that Aunt Cinzia was the re
ason.

Although her aunt tried to make her lessons as pleasant as possible, she still found the etiquette and protocol training to be tedious and boring. But she also knew that, with one small faux pas, diplomatic relations could be severed, even by accident. Some of the relationships between the kingdoms were so strained that one small breach of protocol could quickly escalate into
war.

In the few short months since she’d been living in Carnelia, the necessity to understand the complex structure of Carnelian society became important to her. Protocol was a vital tool that provided the groundwork for kingdoms to interact with mutual respect and understanding. Without it, diplomacy would simply come to a
halt.

“Now then, Your Highness, how would you address an official representative of Terra
cina?”

“That’s easy,” Marisa answered. “Ambass
ador.”

“And?”

“His or Her Excell
ency.”

“Very
good.”

“I learned that on my first day in Carnelia.” She smiled, remembering the first time she saw Da
rian.

“Indeed,” Cinzia replied. “You shall not forget that day for the rest of your life. I still remember the day I met your uncle. It was the same day your parents met as
well.”

“Ooh, tel
l me!”

Her aunt’s dark eyes sparkled. “Your mother was still a young princess back then. I was her lady-in-waiting and her dearest fr
iend.”

“I didn’t realize the two of you were so c
lose.”

Cinzia nodded. “We were very close. So close that your Aunt Sophie became jea
lous.”

“Matilda’s mo
ther?”

“I never meant to come between them, but, somehow, I
did.”

“So how did you meet Uncl
e Al?”

“Well, although your parents had been betrothed from birth, they did not actually meet until just a few months before the wedding. For your mother’s eighteenth birthday, King Cerrino and Queen Anna decided that they should be introduced, so they invited Prince Alano and Baron Macario to attend your mother’s royal birthday ball. In the week before the planned celebration, they made the journey across the sea from Terra
cina.

“Elyse loved playing practical jokes, so naturally she decided to play one on her future husband. She said that we should pretend to be peasants picking berries in the Marken Meadow, knowing full well that your father and his men would have to pass through there on their way up to the ca
stle.

“As the delegation of knights approached, we smiled and curtseyed, flirting at them with our baskets full of berries. We knew that it was your father, Prince Alano, riding out in front because of the palm crest on his breastplate. He nodded politely but did not stop until your uncle leaned over and whispered something to
him.

“Alano suddenly stopped his horse and dismounted. Then he approached us and asked us where we were from. We told him that we lived in the city. Your uncle introduced himself as well, taking my hand and bowing politely but not removing his he
lmet.

“Then Alessio took your mother’s hand and just stared at her, completely mesmerized. He said nothing, those clear blue eyes unwavering as they studied her
face.

“We chatted for a few minutes, your mother and I both fighting to keep a straight face. Then, Alano smiled at something I said and I lost my heart to him right there. He was so handsome and das
hing.”

“Wait—you fell in love with my
fa
ther?”

“Just wait, dear; let me finish the story,” Cinzia said, laughing. “When your uncle finally spoke, he asked your mother for her name. She smiled smugly at him, telling him that she would never reveal it—he would have to discover it for him
self.

“Your uncle laughed under his helmet and said most confidently that not only would he discover her name, but that he would marry her as
well.”