This Rough Magic

wouldn't surprise her to discover one would be his friend Rafael. Two more . . . interesting choices.

But at least this way, none of the Case Vecchi can be offended, because we won't have chosen any of them. Or if they are offended, they can all be offended equally.

* * *

There had never been any question of what dress she would wear. 'Your grandmother's,' her grandfather had said with pride and a tear in his eye. There was no choice, really. The dress would reflect Casa Montescue, and that dress was, perhaps, the only piece of clothing in the entire house that reflected the fortune that had been in possession of the old House of Montescue.

She had gone to the storeroom with no doubt in her mind that one thing, at least, would be as it had been in those happier times. After all, hadn't she rummaged out her mother's old gowns to remake for Francesca, and hadn't they been as sound as a bell? The gown she'd found to remake into Maria's attendant's dress had been a glory of scarlet brocade, still, despite all these years.

So the ruin that met her eyes when she opened the chest that contained her grandmother's wedding gown came as a total shock.

Silk had discolored, rotted in some places; the brocade was tarnished, the bullion dulled and blackened, the pearls—

She burst into tears, there on her knees beside the chest in the storehouse, and that was how Francesca had found her.

Francesca had taken one look at the contents of the chest and gathered her into her arms to let her sob, rocking her a little, and making hushing sounds while she stroked Kat's hair.

The last person to hold me like this was mother . . .

'Here, now,' Francesca murmured. 'This isn't as bad as you think.'

'But it's ruined!' Kat wailed.

'Not . . . quite.' Francesca took her chin in one hand and tilted her face to look up. 'First, I don't think this is as bad as it looks. And second—' Her eyes twinkled, and Kat gulped down her sobs and sniffled 'I've been casting about for a gift that you won't already have three dozen of. Unless you really, truly, desire another incomparably, grandiosely hideous silver saltcellar?'

Kat shuddered. 'A twenty-third? None of which I dare have melted down?'

Francesca's silvery laugh startled a moth up out of the chest. 'You clothed me—now allow me to clothe you. Madame Louise has, as you may have noticed, a very accomplished suite of seamstresses working for her. She still is very obliged to me.'

'I had noticed,' Kat said, a little embarrassed by the envy she felt for the wonderfully, flatteringly fashionable gown that Francesca wore—and for the air with which Francesca wore it. Next to the former courtesan, she felt as ungainly as a calf.

'Just close up the chest and we'll have it taken down to the gondola. I just came to thank you for the invitation to be your attendant, and to explain that it would be better for a certain party if I declined it.'

Francesca's raised eyebrow and one finger tapping a ring with an elaborate crest gave Kat the hint.

'Oh. Oh.' She sighed. 'Oh, bilgewater. I suppose it wouldn't be a good idea, would it? Your—friend—'

'Shouldn't be too publicly associated with me,' Francesca agreed cheerfully. 'Now, if you still want to name someone who will provide everything I can without the shock value . . .'

She shook her head.

'Never mind, then. Let's get this down to my gondola, and we'll salvage every scrap that we can from it—and what can't be salvaged, we'll replace. We,' she added, again with that significant tap on her ring, and Kat found herself having to stifle a slightly hysterical giggle at the idea that Manfred of Brittany was going to find himself paying for the dress of a lady he barely knew and had not the slightest chance of finagling into his bed.

* * *

It was the both of them, she and Marco together, who approached the last possibly difficult bit of the wedding plans that deviated from Petro Dorma's orchestrations.

Marco tapped on the door, at precisely the time of their carefully made appointment. One no longer sought the quarters of Eneko Lopez unannounced, not now that he was openly the Grand Metropolitan's representative and quartered in the palace of the Doge.

'Come in,' came the harsh voice. 'I assume it is you, Marco Valdosta.'

Marco pushed open the door. Lopez sat at a desk where he had been writing. He pushed his work away, and raised an eyebrow when he saw that Kat was with him. 'I had wondered if you felt the need of spiritual counsel,' he said dryly.

'Actually, we had a favor to ask of you,' Kat said, hesitantly. 'The Patriarch is conducting the Nuptial Mass, of course, but . . .'

She couldn't get the words out; Marco squeezed her hand and supplied them. 'We'd like you to be the officiating priest for the marriage.'

Kat saw the imperturbable Eneko Lopez at a complete loss for words, at least for a moment or two.

'I . . . would be very pleased,' he said at last. 'In fact, quite honored. But why? Why me?'

'For a great many reasons,' Kat said. 'But it just seemed to us that—as a priest, as the kind of priest you are, you have to do so many things that are so difficult, so dangerous—and no one ever asks you to do anything that is, well, pleasant.' She hesitated; corrected herself. 'Joyful.'