The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge (11 page)

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s
him.”

Mark spoke slowly. “But if Raniero is back in Abbadon, does that mean
that…”

“That Savino knows? Yes. We must assume that Raniero has told him everything. Or soon will if he hasn’t alr
eady.”

“Oh no,” she moaned, leaning back into the c
ouch.

“I’m sorry to have to break the bad news. Believe me, I had never intended for either of you to find out about this. But now that Raniero has returned to Carnelia, you need to know what we’re up aga
inst.”

“You were right to tell us,” she said so
ftly.

“It’s getting late now and you both should get to bed. We’ll continue this discussion in the mor
ning.”

Marisa kissed her uncle on the cheek. She and Mark trudged slowly up the stairs, the news that their uncle had told them weighing down their thou
ghts.

Alessio downed the rest of his wine, gently setting the goblet on a side table. Staring somberly into the soft glow of the flames, he pondered the dark days that his family would almost certainly be facing very
soon.

CHAPTER 11

EMAN

The next morning, Darian, Arrie, Tino, Cozimo, Bruno, and Cinzia were conveyed to Castle Beauriél in two carriages to continue the royal training sessions. In between the classes, Marisa spent her breaks with Darian, and when all her lessons had been concluded, he kept his promise to take her out for a long walk. It hadn’t snowed in several days, but from the look of the heavy clouds above them, more was soon on the way. If the weather turned, she and Darian would be forced to return to Castle Beauriél right
away.

They strolled up the half-mile driveway to the main road, followed by three bodyguards on horseback. When they reached the main road, Darian sto
pped.

“Which way would you prefer to go? Right or
left?”

“Left, toward Crocetta. It’s time you met
Eman.”

“Him again?” Darian bristled, raising an eyebrow. “You are not trying to make me jealous, are
you?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Of course not. He’s just a special friend. I can talk to him about anything, and he always offers great advice.” She kicked a rock down the road a few times until it finally went off into the g
rass.

“What sort of ad
vice?”

She shrugged. “Anything. He seems so wise for his
age.”

“I have heard much about this man. Several of the Crimson knights had been talking about him for months, even before you came. They say he sells the best quality wool, every week, in the marketplace for a low price, along with a free, heaping serving of sound advice. Everyone in the kingdom seems to know
him.”

“I like the fact that he speaks Eng
lish.”

His looked at her, puzzled. “He can speak English? You never told me that. How does a poor shepherd learn to speak Eng
lish?”

“I don’t know. I’ve asked him about it, but he always gives me some vague answer. I have a hunch that he’s from Earth. He’s a little bit eccentric maybe, but real nice,” she added as they hiked up the stone walkway that led to Eman’s small h
ouse.

She knocked on the oaken door and waited. It opened to reveal a young man in his early thirties, smiling at them as he stroked his neatly-trimmed beard. There was something mysterious in those dark brown eyes, but the broad smile he offered to them was gen
uine.

“Good afternoon! Welcome, friends,” he said, smiling warmly. “I was just about to enjoy a cup of hot tea. Would you like to come in and joi
n me?”

“I hope we’re not intruding,
Eman?”

“Intruding? Not at all! Come in and get warm next to the fire,” he answered, closing the door behind them. “Please, do be se
ated.”

The small stone dwelling was plain, stocked only with the bare necessities. There was a single bed in a corner of the room and a closet guarded by a pair of boots covered in dirt. A single stone hearth with a kettle hung over it provided warmth for the tiny house while the basic kitchen consisted of two cupboards and water pump. She wondered how a person could live such a simple
life.

As he poured the tea into three pewter mugs, Darian studied him curiously. His dark hair looked tousled, as if he had just removed his hat. His garments were simple farmer’s clothes, covered in bits of woolen lint and smelling of sheep’s dung. Although his outward appearance would not be considered by most as handsome, his pleasant face reflected a quiet, inner stre
ngth.

“Your Highness, if you please,” he said, handing a cup to Da
rian.

“You know who
I am?”

“Who does not know of the mighty Prince Darian?” he replied, his eyes twink
ling.

Marisa and Darian exchanged amused glances as Eman pulled up a chair next to
them.

“So, are you finally learning to release the things that you cannot control?” he asked Ma
risa.

As Darian looked at her questioningly, she smiled at him sheepishly. “Eman has been helping me overcome my f
ears.”

“Really? Do any of them involv
e me?”

She laughed. “No, it’s not what you think. When I met him on the day of Gregario’s funeral, I was confused about my life. He assured me that tomorrow would take care of itself; and it did. He also told me to have faith and I’ve been trying to do that as
well.”

“That is wonderful, Your Highness,” Eman said. “I am exceedingly pleased to hear it. You must continue to grow your faith.” He turned to Darian. “And what about you,
Sire?”

“What abou
t me?”

“What are you afrai
d of?”

“Sir?” Darian was taken aback by his direct ques
tion.

“Everyone experiences it. You must fear somet
hing.”

“I, uh—I am afraid of losing that which is most dear to me in the entire world,” he admitted fin
ally.

“And what is
that?”

“I should clarify that. I meant
the people
I care about most,” he said, looking at Ma
risa.

Eman studied him for a moment. “What if you were called to sacrifice that which is most dear to you for the greater
good?”

Darian hesitated. “I would hope that I am never forced into making that decision,” he replied soberly. “But should it happen, I would have no choice but to make the sacri
fice.”

“And if you were called to sacrifice your life for ano
ther?”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I am no stranger to putting duty first, for I have done that all my life. And there is no death more worthy than sacrificing one’s life to save ano
ther.”

Eman lifted his chin. “Spoken like a true
king.”

Darian nodded sole
mnly.

Sipping her tea in silence, Marisa suddenly remembered the reason for their visit. “Eman, I’m having a Christmas party at my house in a few weeks and we were wondering if you’d like to join us? We’ll be having a delicious meal and singing carols,” she a
dded.

“I would be most honored to enjoy supper with you, Your Highness.” He smiled warmly at her invita
tion.

“Good! I’m so glad.” She clapped her hands with
glee.

“Your Highnesses, I have no desire whatsoever to hurry you away, but the snow has come and, perhaps, it would be wise for you to leave while you are still
able.”

She looked outside. Snow was falling in big, fat flakes, quickly covering the countryside. “Oh, he’s right. Should w
e go?”

Darian stood, peering out the window. “We should return to Beauriél right away. I must return to the city before the snow covers the road. Hopefully, next time we can chat lo
nger.”

Eman stood, showing them to the door. “Your Highnesses, I am sad that you must leave so soon but happy that you have taken the time to visi
t me.”

“Thank you so much for the cup of tea, Eman,” Marisa said, hugging him ge
ntly.

“It is I who should be thanking you for the company. I shall look forward to seeing you again at your p
arty.”

“Bye!” She waved, pulling her hood up over her
head.

As they hurried off, Eman stood in the doorway for a long time, watching them walk back to Beauriél with their three bodyguards trailing behind on horse
back.

“Interesting fellow,” Darian said once they were out of ear
shot.

“Yes h
e is.”

“But why were you speaking Eng
lish?”

She cocked her head at him. “What do you mean? He was speaking English t
o me.”

“My love, he was speaking Cro
cine.”

“No, he wasn’t,” she insisted. “I’m sure it was Eng
lish!”

“Are you wearing the translator a
gain?”

“No, of course not,” she said, annoyed. “I
can
tell the difference between English and Cro
cine!”

Darian shook his head, dropping the subject as they hurried down the road toward Beau
riél.

CHAPTER 12

NOEL

The next few weeks flew by, and Marisa tried to keep the troubling thoughts of Savino’s threats at the back of her mind. During the day, she stayed occupied with her lessons and Darian’s visits to Beauriél were always a welcome distraction. But when he had left and night descended on the kingdom, she would lay in her bed alone, fearful of the nightmares that were beginning to return with an alarming frequency. What had begun in Abbadon a few months ago as an occasional bad dream had now become a chilling experience for Marisa almost every night. The dreams always carried the same themes; death, destruction, and Savino. She would wake up in the middle of the night, panting and sweaty and after downing a glass of cool water and a short prayer, she would fall asleep again for a few more hours before the light of dawn finally broke the spell of n
ight.

Marisa didn’t want to trouble Darian with her terrible visions of family and friends perishing, so she kept them to herself. He had enough to worry about with running the rest of the kingdom and didn’t need the extra burden of wondering if her nightmares had something to do with her relationship with
him.

She tried to hide her fear until one day she visited Eman and accidently let it slip out. He encouraged her to talk about her dreams with him and became the listening, sympathetic ear that she so desperately needed. She quickly discovered that each day after she had gone to visit him and was able to release her latest horrible dream in his presence, she was filled with a sense of peace and relief. His calming demeanor soothed her, and after they had discussed her nightmare at length, his wisdom helped her put things back into perspective. In a short amount of time, Eman became one of her closest friends and a treasured confidant. He never left her with the feeling like she owed him for anything, just that he was a friend who was there for her whenever she needed it. She thought it best not to tell Darian about her daily visits to Eman in case he might get the wrong idea. It wasn’t like she was going behind his back, but there were just some things that she needed to get off her chest by discussing them with someone other than Darian. He would always be her best friend and perhaps someday she would be able to tell him everything, but with their strained relationship, she knew it was better this
way.

Planning the Christmas Eve party kept her busy, as did her days filled with royal lessons. Remembering all the things she enjoyed most about Christmases in the past, she was inspired to produce an amazing event that would be talked about for months after. She assigned Darian and Mark the task of finding the perfect tree for the sitting room while she gathered small objects around the house with which to decorate it such as ribbons, metal ornaments and bits of carved wood and colored glass. When Celino attached his homemade, glass oil lamps to the branches, she declared that she had never seen a more beautiful
tree.

She sat down with the chef and together they planned a delicious menu. He ordered the best cheeses and meats in the kingdom and Darian made arrangements for the finest vintage of Fiore wine to be brought out from the castle. He even restocked the wine cellar with a wide variety of the finest liqueurs from all the various kingdoms of Carn
elia.

Alessio helped translate an eggnog recipe for the chef. While Cinzia went into the city with a list of gifts to be purchased, Marisa spent several hours making some of the gifts by hand. Adalina and Matilda helped her decorate the house with freshly-cut boughs of cedar, satin ribbons and candles. Alessio constructed a manger scene in front of the house and, by the time it was all finished, Castle Beauriél looked like a magical Christmas wonder
land.

The day before the party, Marisa stood in the octagonal vestibule, quietly admiring the beautiful cedar boughs that adorned the railing. The strong aroma of Carnelian pine mingled with fresh cedar, bringing back memories of Christmases past with her family in Jacksonv
ille.

Touching a prickly cedar bough, a lump caught in her throat as she realized it was her first Christmas without her dad. The emptiness she felt from his absence was painfully a
cute.

“Your father would be so proud of you, Risa,” Alessio said, descending the stairs behind her. Without a word, she walked over and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He stroked her long chestnut hair and si
ghed.

“These are the times when we miss them the most. Holidays, birthdays and family gatherings without our departed loved ones just don’t seem the same somehow. But you still hav
e me.”

Weeping softly into his chest, she took a deep breath. She hadn’t meant to cry, but the poignancy of her father’s absence had caught her by surprise. Releasing her uncle, she saw the wet spot she had left on his tunic and tried to wipe it
away.

“Leave it,” he said, pulling her hand away. “I’ll proudly wear women’s tears on me anytime. It’s like a badge of cou
rage.”

She smiled weakly. “This will be a memorable Christmas for you. For the first time in years, you can finally celebrate it with Aunt Cinzia and A
rrie.”

“Actually, it’ll be my first Christmas with them.
Ever.”

“It will?” She looked at him, puz
zled.

“They don’t celebrate it here, reme
mber?”

She kissed her uncle softly on the cheek and they strolled together into the dining room where a delicious dinner of roast lamb and vegetables had been prepared for
them.

The next day, Marisa peeked nervously out the windows at the thick clouds hanging in the sky. All the snow that had recently fallen had finally melted, but she was concerned that it might fall again and spoil the p
arty.

Back home in Oregon, it was a gift from heaven if it snowed on Christmas. Nothing short of a blizzard could have prevented the annual MacCallum family gathering from taking place on Christmas Eve. Her uncle’s Land Rover could get them through anything, including two feet of snow. But in Carnelia, there was only one way into the city. And with no Rover to speak of, even the threat of snow was enough to cancel everyone’s plans. She prayed that both the weather and the roads would remain clear until everyone had gotten home safely after the party that n
ight.

In the late afternoon, when the smoky smell of roasted honey boar and baked cinnamon apples wafted through the house, Marisa smiled to herself. It was going to be a Christmas Eve they would never forget. Satisfied that everything was under control, she went upstairs to ch
ange.

Stepping into a blood-red velvet gown that Cinzia had pulled from her mother’s chest of clothes, she was amazed at how the dress accentuated her body’s graceful curves, hugging her waist and bust like a glove before flaring out into a full skirt at the
hips.

She piled her hair on top of her head, pinning it loosely so that it fell to her shoulders in soft ringlets. She stepped into a beautiful pair of red satin slippers and glanced in the mirror, applying some lip gloss and admiring her festive look one last time. The sound of carriage wheels crunching across the driveway brought her to her
feet.

She lifted her skirts and hurried downstairs, trying not to trip on the hem of her dress. The guard opened the front door for her, and she hurried outside, waiting for the carriage door to open. When it did, she sucked in her br
eath.

Darian stepped down from the carriage, his dark hair neatly combed back in soft waves. He was wearing a fitted black tunic that emphasized his broad shoulders, a long dark cloak, gray breeches and polished black boots. A dark blue banner pinned in place by the Fiore crest hung from his right shoulder down to his left hip, and his sword hung gracefully at his side. He had never looked more hand
some.

With a wide grin, he strode up the front steps, both hands tucked mysteriously behind his back. “Good evening, mi
lady.”

“What are you hi
ding?”

“Happy Christmas, beautiful.” He kissed her on the cheek and placed a shiny red present in her
hand.

She giggled softly. “In America, we say Merry Chris
tmas.”

Removing the satiny fabric to find a small wooden box, she opened it and gasped. It was a stunning ruby choker and matching teardrop earrings. She inserted the earrings, gazing at him lovi
ngly.

“It’s so beautiful! How do you always know what I
like?”

He lifted the heavy, gold choker from the box and slipped it around her neck, chuckling. “Well, let us just say that I have learned enough about women to know that a man can never fail with jew
elry.”

“So you’ve given jewelry to other w
omen?”

“Believe it or not, there are a few benefits in being a rich prince.” He encircled his arms around her, pulling her close to kiss him. But before his lips could meet hers, she covered them with her finger. His pucker froze as he opened his eyes, staring at her with a puzzled expression. “
What—?”

Giggling and smiling coyly, she pointed to a small sprig of greenery that hung limply from the arch between the vestibule and sitting
area.

Squinting to see where she was pointing, he gazed in the general direction of the branch but did not notice it. He turned back to her with a confused expres
sion.

“Am I not to receive a kiss from you ton
ight?”

She laughed. “Of course! But first, you’ve got to get me under
that.”

His eyes narrowed at the drooping shoot. “What
i
s
it?”

“Well, on Earth we call it mistletoe, but, apparently, you don’t have any of the real stuff around here. Uncle Al went out and found a substitute. It’s Mychenberry, but we’re pretending that it’s mistletoe just for ton
ight.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And people kiss unde
r it?”

“Yeah—it’s a tradition. Nobody gets to kiss a person unless they’re standing underneath the mistletoe.” She looked at him with her sassiest, hard-to-get expres
sion.

To her surprise, he swept her off her feet and rushed across the hall, sliding to a stop under the archway. She shrieked in delight as he grinned wickedly, bending down to kiss her. She held on to him tightly, wrapping her arms around his neck as her lips pressed against
his.

As they melted into each other, she forgot about the party, the guests that would soon be arriving and all the things she still had to do. Only vaguely aware of the powerful arms that cradled her effortlessly, her hand swept across the smoothness of his cleanly-shaven jaw. When his lips finally released hers, she gazed lovingly into the eyes that reminded her of a pine fo
rest.

“Aren’t you going to put me down
now?”

He smiled at her triumphantly, shaking his head. “I believe I prefer it this way, Your High
ness.”

“Well, that’s
one
way to get a lady under the mistletoe!” Alessio said, chuckling as he descended the grand staircase in his formal gray t
unic.

Marisa motioned for Darian to set her down. “Time to add a little ambiance,” she said, lighting the candles placed at different stations around the h
ouse.

“Well, this will take some time,” Darian joked, observing the many candles she had placed nearly everywhere. “I suppose we shall see you sometime after dinner, my
love.”

Mark strolled into the hallway from the sitting room, sniffing the air. “Mmm, whatever is cooking sure smells delicious, sis. You sure know how to make a
meal!”

“Mark, I didn’t cook and you kno
w it.”

“Lucky for us,” he rep
lied.

She punched him playfully in the arm just as the sound of carriage wheels rolling down the driveway interrupted their
fun.

Arrie and Cinzia arrived in the first carriage as Helena, Adalina, and Lady Matilda pulled up in the coach after them. Cozimo, Bruno, Tino and Celino arrived in the third carriage and Lord Domenico had arrived behind them on his own horse. Eman showed up last, having traveled the short distance on
foot.

“Eman, it’s so lovely to see you. Thank you for coming,” Marisa said, opening the door and giving him a warm hug. Although she knew it wasn’t proper protocol for a future queen, she couldn’t help herself. Eman didn’t appear to mind, either, as his expression warmed into a broad smile when they pa
rted.

“Milady, the pleasure is all mine. I thank you for your warm invitation.” He turned, entering the living room to join the others who were already enjoying a cup of eg
gnog.

“You are the shepherd Eman, are you not?” Tino a
sked.