Eric Flint - This Rough Magic

The Doge looked at him with a mixture of irritation and surprise. "What are you doing here, Benito? Aren't you are supposed to be at dancing classes or something?"

Best to dodge that one. He was in fact supposed to be at an elocution and poetry class that Dorma's mother insisted he take "to get rid of that working-class accent." Neither poetry nor dandified dottori from the Accademia, nor a desire to speak like the Case Vecchie motivated him. Besides, he'd been sleeping off last night.

"Came to support Marco," he said stoutly. "He's my brother, after all, and Grandfather said I was to look after him."

That was true enough, and when your grandfather was Duke Enrico Dell'este, one of Venice's greatest allies… it carried influence. Even if Benito had not spent much time with the old man since he'd been eight years old.

"Humph. Stay then. Even though this really has nothing to do with you." Dorma tapped the inlaid desk in front of him. "This is a document of the annulment of your marriage from the Grand Metropolitan in Rome. You will both sign it now. Angelina, I have arranged for you to take up the novitiate in the Carmelite sisterhood with the Cloister of Santa Lucia Della Monte outside Verona. Your escort will leave with you before Terce bell."

He said it like he meant it. He said it in a way that Petro Dorma, Angelina's indulgent brother, had never spoken before. Benito blinked.

"What!" squawked Angelina, rage flying banners in her cheeks. "I won't!"

"You agreed to," said Petro, calmly but implacably.

I'd keep my mouth shut if I were you, Angelina, Benito thought warily. Or he might send you to some Pauline sisterhood in Sweden.

Angelina pinched her lips. "I've changed my mind. I don't want to be a nun. And certainly not in the backcountry!"

"I don't want Angelina to do something that she doesn't want to, either," said Marco, though his eyes spoke volumes of despair.

Benito raised his eyes. That idiot brother of his! His own marriage and happiness in the balance, and he worried about this selfish, spoiled brat.

Petro turned to face Marco and Benito. "Marco, this is no longer a matter of what you or Angelina want; it is a matter of pledges and honor, the honor of the Dormas and the honor of the Dell'este. I have promised your grandfather that I will see you married, with all due pomp and ceremony, in the Doge's palace, within three months. This is not an option-not for you, not for Angelina."

Marco blinked, and Petro turned to Benito. "Benito, see that he signs that paper. You invoked your grandfather's name. See that his will is done."

"He can sign anything he pleases," snapped Angelina. "I'm not going to. I'd rather stay in town as the Doge's sister. Marco might be worth absolutely nothing as a husband, but he's mine. I've decided."

Petro stood up. He was not very tall. He was definitely plump. He still dominated the room.

He picked up a scroll of parchment from the desk, and handed it to her. "Sworn affidavits about your participation in the black lotos trade."

Angelina's blossoming cheeks went white. "It's… it's not true!" She tried to tear the parchment in two. The vellum resisted.

"The Signori di Notte and the Council of Ten also have copies." Petro said grimly. He picked up a second scroll. "This is a warrant for your arrest."

Benito, watching his brother, saw Marco take a deep breath. With deliberate intent Benito stamped on his brother's toes. Hard. Having got Marco's attention he shook his head, fiercely.

Angelina began to produce the beginnings of tears. She wept, as Benito had reason to know, very prettily. There was an artful hint of a sob in her voice. "You wouldn't dare let them do this to me. You control the Signori di Notte and the Council. Besides, mother won't let you."

Petro Dorma shook his head. "I would prefer you to go to a convent, far from here. Verona is not as far off as I'd like, the truth to tell. I have been considering Spain, but I cannot be seen to be partisan. The people of Venice will accept your exile or your imprisonment and nod and forgive me as a slightly foolish brother; they won't accept my condoning your actions. And you forget, our mother was addicted to that same drug."

Marco was not going to listen to Benito. "Petro…"

The head of the house Dorma turned on him. "Stay out of this, Valdosta. She's my sister, and only your wife by my insistence, to give the baby legitimacy. Besides, I have agreed with Duke Enrico to send you off to Ferrara, today, under armed guard, if you don't do this my way. Now, Angelina, sign this."

Tears abandoned as a weapon that no longer served, cheeks white with anger, Angelina Valdosta stepped forward, snatched up a quill, and signed.

"Good," said Petro. "You have until terce. I suggest you spend the time saying farewell to our mother. I'd say you should spend it with your child, but I know you have not been into her nursery since you arrived in Venice three days ago."

"I didn't want her!" snapped the beauty.

Petro Dorma smiled wryly. "We do. So we will keep her. Good-bye, Angelina." He stepped out from behind his desk, his arms beginning to reach for her.

She evaded them. "I hate you."

Marco stepped forward too. "Angelina…"

"And you too! You're so boring!" She turned on her heel and stormed out.

Marco turned to follow, but Benito grabbed his sleeve. Petro took the other. "I'm sorry, Marco," said the head of Casa Dorma, with more sympathy than Benito had expected. He had to wonder if Petro wished he'd had Marco as a brother rather than Angelina as a sister. "Stay. There are still things I need to say, and I need your signature on that document before Angelina can go to that convent."

"I don't think I should sign," said Marco, seriously. "I made my promises."

Petro shook his head. Benito noticed that there was a tear trickling down the man's face. "I love her very much, Marco. She'll always be my little sister. We spoiled her after Papa's death, Mother and I, and perhaps that is why things turned out this way. But there are two reasons, both compelling, why this is the best thing for her. First, she has been experimenting with black lotos herself. She's been spending time over at the estate of a sister of Count Badoero. The Council of Ten have spies watching it. The Badoero house suffered what should have been punitive financial losses when their attack on Venice failed, yet there is money and lavish entertainment at Contessa Mirafioro's estate again. Badoero himself is dead, but the trade he set up in that narcotic continues, and my sister is in the thick of it."

Marco's mouth opened, then closed again. He looked as if he'd like to deny it; he also looked as though he knew that he couldn't.

Petro rubbed his eyes with a weary hand. "Angelina was drawn into the wild set the contessa cultivates. She is implicated in bringing some of the drug here, to Venice. We both know how addictive lotos is; the sisters are healers, and specifically are skilled in the rehabilitation of addicts. It really is the best thing we can do for her. Besides, there is a large force of Schiopettieri going to raid the Mirafioro estate soon. I really don't want her taken, or possibly injured. There's only so much that even I can keep quiet."

Marco bit his lip. "I can't believe she'd use the stuff-after your mother, and the difficulty we've had weaning her off it. I should think anyone with two eyes in her head would know better."

Petro shook his head. "It does seem insane, doesn't it? But Angelina always believed she was special, different from other people. Superior, maybe, and immune to their problems-despite her pregnancy proving that there was one thing she wasn't immune to. Besides, it is a popular myth among those who buy and sell the stuff that the addictiveness is totally exaggerated, and she was always readier to believe the people she wished to emulate than she was to believe people who love her."