The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge by Cheryl Koevoet Page A

Lord Brizio, I believe you have an update on these mat ters?”
    A dark-haired man in his mid-thirties with a long nose, a mustache and a beard rose to his feet. “Your Royal Highnesses,” he began. “Our spies have delivered some grave news. They have informed us that the Count da Rocha is planning an assassina tion.”
    He placed a small wooden box on the table and unlatched the lid, dumping the contents onto the table. “A few days ago, the count dispatched a courier to deliver these torn pieces of the treaty to the palace. No message was incl uded.”
    “May I ask how your informant obtained this news?” Darian a sked.
    “He overheard the Count da Rocha himself, discussing it at a secret meeting at Abb adon.”
    “Do we know when it will ha ppen?”
    “No, Your Highness,” Brizio said. “Our spy was unable to provide us with specific information about the attack. However, the most logical time to strike would be some time before the coronation three weeks h ence.”
    “And Savino’s primary targe t is…?”
    Brizio looked apologetically at Marisa. “We must assume it is Her Royal High ness.”
    “I see. Is that all?”
    “Not quite, I am afraid. We have also learned that Savino is planning to eliminate the Order of the Crimson Paladin Knights. And not just in Crocetta; in all of the ten king doms.”
    The room burst into chatter as the men discussed the alarming development amongst themselves. Marisa stared at the torn pieces scattered across the table, struggling to come to terms with the fact that someone wanted her dead.
    Weeks earlier at her birthday ball, she had seen the venom in Savino’s eyes when she rejected his marriage proposal and knew that nothing would prevent him from carrying out his th reat.
    She studied the faces of the men gathered in the Crimson Antechamber. Each of them exhibited a great amount of influence in the city, but they could only offer a limited amount of protection if Savino had put a price on her head.
    Her eyes rested on a portly, middle-aged man with dark reddish hair and a handlebar mustache. He was sitting quietly in his chair, listening to the other knights as they discussed the action that should be t aken.
    “What is your recommendation, Lord Drago?” she asked as the room fell si lent.
    “Your Highness?” Drago asked, glancing up in surp rise.
    “How do you suggest we thwart Savino’s plans, Sire?”
    “Ah, Your Highness, it would be—uh, most wise to split Your Highnesses up into separate locations. In the event of an attack, at least one of you would survive. If the count were to succeed in killing one of you, tragic as it may be, there would still be another Fiore left to rule.”
    “I see. If Prince Darian were to remain at Crocetta Castle, where would you suggest that I hide?”
    “But, Your Highness—” Darian b egan.
    She held up a hand to silence him.
    “Your Highness, if I may,” Drago interrupted, “the estate at Castle Beauriél is an excellent location. It has controlled access and with extra guards posted around the perimeter, we could sufficiently safeguard Your Royal Highness. The count is yet unaware of your intent to reside there, so, in that respect, we would have the edge.”
    “Does anyone have any other suggest ions?”
    Count Vittore stood. “I concur with Lord Drago’s assessment. The most acceptable solution would be for you to remain within the confines of Castle Beauriél. It is the only place outside of the citadel walls where we can guarantee your sa fety.”
    Baron Porfiro stood. “Your Highnesses, I must object to Lord Drago’s proposal. I do not believe it would be an acceptable location for Her Highness, nor do I believe that her safety can be guaranteed outside of the citadel. I would recommend an armed retreat to Terra cina.”
    Marisa and Darian exchanged gla nces.
    “Your Highnesses,” Drago said quickly. “I would recommend a hasty move to Beauriél—the sooner the be tter.”
    “The advice of this