Sacrum - 3. Chapter 3: The Carandini Monarchy

3. THE CARANDINI MONARCHY

“Why was I created?” I asked Vinicius once. He thought about it for a moment. His ancient eyes clouding over with an emotion I couldn't decipher. A fleeting glimpse into a past I knew nothing of.

“You were created," he finally said, his voice raspy with age, "to act as a force of good, in a world that can be shockingly ugly and cruel."

Uncertainty flickered in my chest.

“And what if… what if I don’t turn out to be so good?” I stammered, the weight of expectation threatening to crush me.

Vinicius offered a small smile. “That is your choice, of course,” he replied.

“It is?” I asked, confused.

“Of course. Nobody can force you to be good. Not even me,” he said. His old blue eyes kindly gazing into mine.

“I’m not always good. Sometimes I’m lazy about my work,” I confessed, and his smile got wider.

“Nobody’s always good. You’re a Special, not a Saint.”

“You’re always good,” I replied. A flicker of something akin to pain crossed his features, a fleeting glimpse of a darkness I couldn't reconcile with the gentle mentor I knew.

“That is far from the truth, my boy. But if I appear to be good, it’s only because I’ve had hundreds of lifetimes to practice goodness, while you’re just starting out.”

I didn't have time to swell on my dreams upon waking up, with the looming dread of Maratoni's assignment crashing down on me. I scrambled to rewrite the first three pages, but there was no way I could get it all done on time.

I walked to his office, the unfinished paper a lead weight in my hand. Three measly pages. It wouldn't even qualify as a napkin in Maratoni's eyes.

“You really dare to come in here with this?” he asked, his voice a harsh rasp. He didn't even bother to take the pages from me.

“I’m sorry sir, I wasn’t feeling well yesterday,” I stammered.

“Get out of my sight, and don’t come back until you have the finished assignment,” he replied.

Great, another day wasted, I thought. How in the world was I going to learn anything, when this man refused to mentor me. The library offered a refuge of sorts, but even surrounded by knowledge, I felt lost. I took out my notebook and started working on the assignment yet again, trying to decipher his chicken scratch on the original paper.

“Too vague!” one scathing comment screamed. “I need more info!” another bellowed.

Frustration clawed at me. How was I supposed to provide information I was never taught. Vinicius didn’t believe in sitting down and cramming facts and dates into my memory. Most of our days were spent having long stimulating conversations about random things, exploring philosophies and delving into the complexities of history.

I strained my brain trying to think of something that could appease Maratoni, but nothing came to mind. Minutes bled into hours until the bell rang. With a defeated sigh, I gathered my things and headed for the cafeteria, where I met with Laura, Angelo and Kyle.

The lunchroom buzzed with the usual chatter, punctuated by the occasional clinking of glasses filled with a new trend – vibrantly colored blood juices. Laura spotted me first and snagged a blood orange juice from a passing cart, thrusting it into my hand.

"Rough morning?" she asked, already launching into questions about Maratoni.

I filled her in on the latest, frustration coloring my voice. I also recounted Boeriella's refusal to switch mentors.

Laura's response was a terse, "No surprise."

“Yeah, he’s no ray of sunshine, but Trusting has his back,” Angelo chimed in.

Their words hung heavy in the air. Before I could respond, Laura's brow furrowed. "Also, Angelo mentioned you met Vincent the other day?"

I shot Angelo a look. Did he really have to blast my private business? He shrugged sheepishly.

“I did,” I replied. “And strangely enough, Trusting also told me to stay away from him,” I confessed hoping someone would illuminate me as to why Vincent was such a supposed bad influence. But nobody at the table even looked remotely surprised.

"Speaking of the devil," Kyle muttered, gesturing towards the entrance. I followed his gaze until my eyes landed on Vincent, who had just walked in.

And just like the other day, like a wave parting before a ship, students subtly shifted to give him space as he walked. He moved with an air of quiet confidence, his presence demanding attention. He joined a group near the back, but his gaze seemed to lock onto me. I offered a hesitant smile, but Vincent's expression remained unreadable.

The silence at the table was thick.

“Why does everyone seem so afraid of him,” I finally asked, pushing my blood juice aside. It was strange the way people tip-toed around the dark-haired boy.

But apparently, I had asked something dumb. A flicker of amusement crossed Laura's face. Then, to my surprise, everyone at the table, even the stoic Kyle, erupted in laughter.

“Why does everyone seem afraid of Vincent? Is that what I just heard you say?” Angelo asked in-between stifled chuckles.

“Yes, why is that so funny?” I demanded. It seemed that everyone knew something I didn’t, and I was tired of it.

“You Specials are hilarious. Always unaware of what's going on around you. In your own little world,” Angelo mused, as if he knew a multitude of other Specials beside me. That was impossible. There were only five of us in the world. But then again, Maratoni’s Special attended Baritone High, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for Angelo to have known him.

“Are you going to tell me or not?” I asked, growing irritated.

“Dang, you really are bad at our people’s history, aren’t you? I cannot believe that your old mentor didn’t teach you about any of this,” he said. “Let me put on my Captain Nerd crown,” he announced, and went through the motions of putting on an imaginary hat, then cleared his throat, ready to take me on a trip down memory lane.

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Remember back in the good old dark days when our people didn’t have a modern government, but were instead ruled by a ruthless monarchy? And those tyrants just happened to have no respect for human life whatsoever, and pretty much did any unspeakable acts they wanted to do, whenever they felt like it?”

I nodded vaguely. History hadn't been my strong suit. Thankfully, Angelo didn’t wait for me to answer.

“Yeah, neither do I. But I read about it in a couple books, and some of my family members who date back to that time period have told me how it was. So, anyways, after the Rebellion of The Clans War, the monarchy, AKA the Carandini family, were mostly killed off. But not all,” he said, his voice getting more excited by the second. He really was a history nerd. Some of what he was saying rang a bell, but I wasn’t a great student, so the memory refresher was useful. “Some escaped, some turned themselves in and were punished, and some were given clemency, mostly women and kids.”

“Okay,” I replied, slowly losing focus. None of this seemed like it was relevant to my question.

“Anyway, seeing as I’m quickly losing you, let me fast forward. At the top of the Monarchy food chain, in those wonderful olden days, was King Romero Carandini and his wife, Queen Rosalia. They had three children, two of them were killed during the revolt, only the youngest survived. Princess Alessandra Letizia Carandini, who had two kids of her own. An infant, and a two-year-old."

"Her two boys were now the sole heirs to the Carandini throne. She went into hiding with the infant, while her husband took the older boy, Gianni, and escaped into a different part of the city. The idea was that if one of them were killed, there would be a spare heir remaining. But the person tasked with hiding Gianni and his father got scared, and secretly informed the opposition of the hiding place. The angry mob broke in, and violently murdered Gianni and Alessandra’s husband,” I gasped, imagining how scared the child must have been. The violence of it all made me nauseous.

Angelo leaned back, a flicker of morbid fascination in his eyes. “That’s when Princess Alessandra decided to take a gamble. She knew that if the mob found her, the infant would be killed. So instead of waiting for the inevitable, she turned herself in to the men leading the revolt and begged for the life of her only son."

"The men did unspeakable things to her in return for granting her request. Things I won’t even repeat here. But they kept their word, and afterwards the Princess and her baby boy were given regular names and integrated back to society as inconspicuously as possible. Seventeen years later, and now here we are,” Angelo finished off. I raised my eyebrows, still not understanding.

Angelo sighed and rolled his eyes. He then stole a glance at Vincent as he spoke.

“Vincent is not just any Vincent. The boy you know as Vincent is the child that was granted life. He is the surviving son of Princess Alessandra, and the rightful heir to the throne — if there was a throne. He is Salvatore Vincenzo Romero Carandini,” he said, almost as if he was speaking the name of a celebrity. “That’s why everyone is so afraid of him.”

I stared back at Vincent in wonder, shuddering at the image of the small infant so close to being brutally murdered.

“I still don’t get it. That was years ago, isn’t he just a regular Joe like you and I now? Why are people scared?” I finally managed.

“Not exactly, no,” Angelo snorted. “Some among us haven't forgotten the old ways, Dani. They yearn for a return to power, a world where humans are subservient once more. There’s been rumors that many of the aristocratic families aren’t happy with the progress we’ve made in our relationships with humans. They think it’s shameful, as they consider humans to be a lesser species. So they’ve been plotting to revert back to the old system. Back when we were the rulers and humans served as food and entertainment. And who better to lead them than a Carandini?"

“That’s ridiculous!” I exclaimed. “Didn’t you say that most of them were killed?”

Angelo, his voice steady, continued, “Most, yes. But some are said to have escaped and went into a deep slumber within hidden sanctuaries, asking to be awakened only when it’s time for the rightful heir to take back the throne,” Angelo completed his tale, and the hair on my neck stood up. I couldn’t imagine such a brutal world. It made no sense to me.

"The Specials program was born from fear," Angelo offered, his gaze lingering on my face. "Fear of a Carandini resurgence."

I sat in silence. Of course, it had to be my luck to develop some sort of strange feelings for the one vampire whose evil family’s existence directly led to mine. I spent the next few hours digesting the information while trying to take notes in class. I wrecked my brain for anything Vinicius might have said about the family. Had he ever uttered the name 'Carandini'? The silence on that front was deafening. Strange, to not mention the family that fueled his life's work.

“Power," Vinicius had once mused, "is a strange thing, Dani. It can breed a lot of delusion, and a lot of damage." Frustration gnawed at me. Unfinished fragments, cryptic metaphors - was that all he left me to unravel?

The library felt like a tomb after class. Trapped with my half-written paper, I waged war on a blank page for an hour, my head completely devoid of any ideas, until I nodded off on top of the desk.

In theory, vampires didn't need sleep, but the modern diet disagreed. Raised on a blood supply that came from the freezer and sometimes from animal sources, it was natural for us to sleep more frequently in order to feel our best.

“Not making much progress,” Vincent's voice startled me awake. How long had he been there?

"Why didn't you tell me?" I mumbled, accusingly.

“Tell you what?” he said, even though his face revealed he already knew what I meant.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a Carandini?”

“Does it matter?” he asked. I thought about it for a moment.

“No. But it would have been nice to know.”

A wry smile played on his lips. “It should matter, you know,” he said. “I mean, if we’re being honest Dani, you were pretty much created to kill me, if I ever decide to... get out of line or something,” he said so casually that I almost missed the implication.

"Well, then let's hope you stay in line," I replied, our eyes locked in a silent battle.

He leaned closer, his voice a husky whisper. "What if I don't?"

“I guess I’ll just have to... reel you back in,” I replied. A laugh escaped him, light and playful.

"Despite it all," he confessed, a sudden vulnerability flickering in his eyes, "I'm glad you're here."

“Me too, Vincent,” I replied. “Or is it Salvatore now?” I asked with a smirk.

His gaze held mine, intense. "That's up to you," he said, a hint of seriousness creeping back in. He slid a book across the table. "This might help you stay on Maratoni's good side. Highly illegal, mind you, both by school and government standards, so don't get caught with it." Before I could argue, he vanished like smoke.

I opened the book and my eyes couldn’t believe it. It was part of a manual. A forbidden intricate manual on the creation of the Specials program. Vincent just handed me something akin to a live grenade and walked off. He could have been arrested and tried just for touching this book.

My supposed enemy knew more about my origins – and potentially my weaknesses – than I did. How did he acquire this knowledge, and more importantly, what did he intend to do with it?