'WHAT!?'
Alessandra prattled on. 'They say she's getting married to the Valdosta boy. Lucrezia said it has to be pretty soon, because she's already carrying his baby.'
The roaring in Katerina's ears refused to be stilled. Even Alessandra noticed. 'What's wrong?'
'Nothing.' Lead was lighter. 'I feel sick.'
'Are you pregnant?' said Alessandra, eager for more fuel.
This was enough to penetrate Kat's armor of confusion and misery. 'No!' she snapped. 'But if I left it to you, half the town would say I was. And I'll bet all this gossip is just as true as my pregnancy.'
Alessandra shrugged and turned her shoulder. She sniffed. 'And I suppose Grandfather isn't talking about finding a decent assassin to get rid of the brat.'
'Be real, Alessandra,' said Katerina a terrible sinking feeling in her gut. . . . He could. He hated the Valdosta name bitterly. 'Like we need to open warfare with Dorma. Or even Duke Dell'este.'
Alessandra shrugged an elegant shoulder. 'I suggested he hire Aldanto. He could do it quietly.'
'Caesare! Ha! He knows Mar . . . Valdosta too well,' a curious mix of fear and misery betrayed Kat into speaking before she thought.
Alessandra pounced on her. 'And how do you know Caesare Aldanto? You keep away from him Katerina.' She laughed. A humorless, bitter sound. 'He's too strong a meat for you.'
Alessandra turned and walked out, with a parting snort.
It took Kat a few minutes of mulling to suddenly wonder. How did her sister-in-law--married at seventeen from a cloistered background into a sheltered and restrictive Case Vecchie family--know someone like Caesare Aldanto at all?
Sleep was not going to come tonight. She got up and put on a dressing gown, and went up to her grandfather's study.
He was sitting there staring at his tallies. He wasn't looking, just staring. He didn't even see her come in. She had to put an arm around his shoulder before he noticed her.
He sighed. 'Ah Katerina, cara mia. I had begun to see some small hope from the Casa Montescue. A future for you, a dowry.' He sighed again. 'Now . . . Valdosta.'
She hugged the hunched shoulders. 'Grandpapa . . . I know they are our enemy . . . but I've never asked . . . why?'
He snorted. 'Never wanted to make me angry by even mentioning the name, is what you mean.' He rubbed his face wearily. 'The two houses were once allies--even friends. We go back far into the history of the Venice. Luciano--that was Luciano Valdosta--he used to joke that it was a Valdosta and Montescue that witnessed the meeting between Saint Mark and the winged Lion. He said the Montescue was busy stealing Saint Mark's fish and the Valdosta, not to be outdone, was stealing the whole boat . . . Luciano and me. We were like that.' The old man twisted his fingers over each other. 'People used to say 'Luci and Lodo'--here comes trouble.'
Lodovico Montescue sighed. 'It wasn't really like that. I used to get us into trouble and Luciano would get us out. He was a good man . . . deep down. Not like his son, Fabio.' The old face was contorted into a scowl. 'Luciano would have married my sister: your great-aunt Fiorenza. But he got involved with the Montagnards from Milan. He and I had a fight. The first time ever . . . It's a long story. But then he married Viviana. And there was bad blood between us and the two houses didn't speak.
'But I missed him, truth to tell. There wasn't a day when I didn't think I'd been stupid. I even sent a message over once. It came back, torn up. Then, when Luciano was killed in a freak accident over at the boatyard . . . I went to the funeral. To pay my respects to a man I loved. And that little pig Fabio screamed at me and denounced me for killing his father. Right there in the church! He swore revenge. I was angry, true. But--out of respect for the Church and for Luciano--I didn't throttle him right there. I should have. He paid us back with black magic. You can put the death of your mother, your aunt Rosa, your brother, and even my grandson down to him. Even a baby at his door.
'He fled to Ferrara with that silly foreign-born wife of his before I could take action. The Signori di Notte and the Doge claimed it was plague, but I didn't believe it for a moment. Then Fabio got himself killed in a fight with some mercenary. But that wife of his continued the vendetta when she came back here, I'm sure of it. Very low she was then, thinking she could get away with her Montagnard activities by pretending to be a mere shopkeeper. She and her Montagnard friends organized against our house. I'm sure they're responsible for your father's disappearance.'
Even as angry as Kat was at anything remotely 'Valdosta,' her grandfather's theories seemed . . . well, insane.
