His head throbbed and the room spun as Nicco waited in the antechamber—a space much like any other in the palace with its gilt frescoed ceiling and dark paneled walls—to gain audience with the Council of Ten. At least he hoped it was the door of the Ten's chambers that would eventually open. He'd received only a short, but direct order early this morning to assemble here, the Doge's guard ultimately finding him in the tavern he'd been patronizing since the previous morning.

He cradled his face in his hands and massaged his temples, wanting nothing more than to go home and sleep. In spite of his lingering drunkenness—or perhaps because of it—the situation didn't make sense. The fire at the Arsenale warehouse that cost the bulk of his recent profits and led him to drown his misery in pitcher after pitcher of Tuscan wine could in no way be publicly linked to him. His other business dealings were just as discreet. So what reason did the Great Council's judicial arm have for calling him here now?

Sitting in a pew along the back wall of the sala della bussola, the doge's son briefly considered how he'd react if it were the second door that would instead beckon his entry. Even the fire roaring in the hearth on his right couldn't warm him enough to get the chill out of his mood as he imagined stepping in front of the three Chief Magistrates presiding in that other room.

The work of the Inquisition Court was so secretive, they even had a special revolving door installed in the corner to shield those waiting from catching an unauthorized glimpse of what went on inside. And those on trial there—usually for treason or espionage—had good reason to fear, for most often than not, they'd end up being escorted directly across the raised walkway connecting the palace and the New Prison on the other side of the canal. It was through that bridge's barred windows that prisoners could take one, last look at Venice before getting locked in their cells for days, weeks, or perhaps even months.

Lost in thought, Nicco jumped when the door to the council chamber opened with a bang and a guard stepped out.

"Signore," said the armored man with a respectful nod, planting his ceremonial pike and stepping aside to let Nicco enter.

The room was cold and unusually empty. To the left and at the center of a raised platform, his father sat on the Ducal throne with his dogs at his feet. A young nobleman stood in front of him, while a girl of equal age, but of more modest dress stood by the wall. As Nicco crossed the room to face his father, he noticed that they were both disheveled, as if recently in a tussle. The young man also held his left arm against his chest, perhaps in pain.

"Who's this?" he asked after a quick bow to his father. While the Doge occasionally held private meetings in this chamber, the presence of a complete stranger—much less two in such a state—was unexpected, if not disconcerting.

The young man squared his shoulders before also bowing in greeting. "I am Matteo Barozzi, Don Niccolo," he said.

"Procurator Barozzi had requested this audience with his son who has brought information that I am assured will be of interest to both of us," the Doge said, breaking his own silence to add slightly more context to the situation.

Somewhat intrigued, but not yet enough to truly care, Nicco sighed. "I doubt there is anything that happens in Venice you would know that I don't, but go ahead. Let's hear it," he said, ignoring the slight nausea bubbling in the pit of his stomach from last night's wine .

"Well, do you know who burned down the barracks you used for smuggling two nights ago? Because I do," Matteo said without breaking eye contact, his steely blue gaze as determined as his tone.

The boy's disrespect—in both manner and word—was infuriating. "How dare you insinuate—"

"That was your warehouse?" The Doge didn't let Nicco fully manifest his anger, instead diverting the focus on to a part of the revelation that his son would have rather left unexamined. "I heard there was extensive damage, even the loss of life."

Turning away from the Barozzi boy, Nicco addressed his father. "I told you that I had some new undertakings in the works. You said you didn't want to know the details," he said, recalling the conversation they had just days earlier in the ducal residence, which had left him disappointed, as usual.

The Doge scratched one of his hounds between the ears, the dog raising his snout and closing his eyes in enjoyment. "That only applies when others stay just as ignorant of the facts. How did someone like the procurator's son find out about your dealings?" he asked, keeping his focus on the animal instead of his own flesh and blood.

Nicco obviously didn't know the answer. He thought he'd covered his tracks, but there must have been an untrustworthy fellow in his inner circle. Looking at Matteo again, he crossed his arms and punted the question. "Well?"

The boy looked unfazed. "I had business in the area, and I stumbled onto a crew loading goods into a foreign ship. It looked suspicious, so I ventured closer," he said as casually as though he'd been relaying the details of a simple trip to the market.

"He lies! It was well after curfew so there was no reason for Don Matteo to be out-and-about, let alone in the deserted shipyard," Nicco vehemently countered. An eyewitness account from a fellow noble was harder to dismiss than a lowly sailor's betrayal, but he had to undermine Barozzi any way he could. "Tell me who tipped you off, and maybe you'll get a lighter sentence for breaking the Doge's orders."

Before the boy could answer, their attention was drawn away by the creak of a door. As it opened, a man in procuratorial garb entered.

"So you admit that you and your associates were also out after sundown, Don Niccolo?" Lorenzo Barozzi asked as he approached the ducal dais.

Momentarily confused by the new arrival, Nicco quickly composed himself and pointed a shaky finger. "What's the meaning of this? You cannot put anyone on trial like this, even as Procurator," he said, realizing that the elder Barozzi must have been waiting for a queue to interject himself into the conversation at the agreed upon time. And if that were true, then this was a setup!

"I believe I have every right to come to my son's aid as you are doing for your own, Your Grace, do I not?" Barozzi asked with a bow, directing his answer to the Doge instead of Nicco. "And, please, forgive me for my tardiness. I had to exchange a few words with an old friend on the way."

The Doge looked to Nicco and then back at the Procurator. "Very well. You may stay, as it looks like your son will need all the help he can get. He was about to tell us who set fire to a warehouse containing goods belonging to the Ducal family, were you not?"

Nicco wrung his increasingly clammy hands in front of him. When the boy didn't immediately provide an answer, he became impatient. "Well, go on."

Matteo dropped the smile that had been lingering on his face and cleared his throat. "I did."

Apart from a gasp from the girl, an eerie silence consumed the chamber as its occupants absorbed the words.

The Doge leaned forward on his throne, inadvertently pushing the dog away with his knee. The hound jumped up and ran to his brother on the other side before flopping onto the ground once more. "Pardon me? Did you just admit that you started the fire?" Pietro Grimani asked with a slight tilt of his head, which made his ducal hat skew.

"Yes, Your Grace," Matteo said humbly. "But it was an accident, I swear to you."

The Doge scowled. "Accident or not, you still caused the destruction of valuable property—"

"And what property was that, Your Grace?" Matteo asked, spreading out his arms and looking around in emphasis. "If I were to stand proper trial in front of the full Council, you—or your son—will have to enter the contents of the destroyed warehouse into the legal ledgers."

"That will not be a problem. I have nothing to hide," Nicco said, for once thankful for all the time and effort he put into creating false ledgers and forged tariff documents for even the smallest matters.

Instead of a rebuttal, Matteo nodded to the girl and she pushed down the handle of the door. As soon as it was opened a crack, a Moorish merchant well known to him entered.

"And who are you?" asked the Doge.

The merchant clasped his hands together, closed his eyes, and tipped his head downward. "I am Siraj al Ameda, a frequent trader of goods from the Mediterranean."

The Doge tapped his fingers on the throne's armrest. "Why is it that you are here, Signore?"

"I have done business with Don Niccolo for years, and per Signore Barozzi's request, I have brought records of our recent transactions," al Ameda said.

Having begun to pace out of vexation, Nicco abruptly stopped. "So?" He questioned the Moor to explain his purpose. "There is nothing in those documents that are out of order."

Matteo stepped forward. "Can you show His Excellency the inventory of goods you sold to Signore Grimani on December tenth?" he prompted the merchant.

Al Ameda pulled a document out from among his stack, stepped up on the dais, and handed it to the Doge who in turn motioned for his son to join him.

"Is this your notation regarding the subpar quality of Egyptian wool in the shipment, followed by your signature?" asked the elder Grimani.

Nicco scanned the paper and nodded. "It is. I remember that transaction quite clearly. Five crates out of the offered forty contained discolored and moldy wool. I refused part of the lot, but I can provide a receipt showing that I paid all necessary taxes on what I did purchase," he said.

"You see? The accusations that you dare make against my son are blatantly false," the Doge said with a shrug. "Now if that is all, Signore, then let me call my guards to escort you to the prison to await your own trial for arson and destruction of property."

Matteo smiled. "No. That is not all, Your Serenity." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a slip of paper. Something else also made it out, falling with a soft clank onto the marble floor. The boy quickly bent down and picked it up, dangling what looked like a round pendant on a silver chain. "My apologies. That wasn't what I—"

"May I see that?" Nicco asked, stepping closer before the jewelry could make it back into Matteo's pocket. He seriously doubted it was what he thought it was, but for some reason, he still felt compelled to verify.

"This?" Matteo held the necklace by the chain and turned it toward Nicco. "Are you familiar with it, Don?"

Nicco stared at the silver medallion with overlapping etched stars surrounded by circles of mystical symbols: the Sigillum Dei. Otherwise known as the seal of God, it purportedly gave its bearer power over all creatures, the only exception being Archangels. "No. I thought it looked familiar, but I was mistaken," he lied, feeling the air in the room become heavy and suffocating.

"Oh, that's unfortunate," Matteo said, slipping the object back into his pocket. "Because we took it off the neck of the preacher who was well known in Piazza San Marco. His corpse was floating in the lagoon this morning."

Suddenly, Nicco could breathe again. "Is that so? What could have happened to him?" he asked with both relief and genuine curiosity. If the prior owner of the sigil was dead, there was no risk in him revealing the nature of their acquaintance.

The procurator's son held his gaze. "I thought maybe you would know."

"Me? Why would I?" Nicco scoffed, his patience at the theatrics wearing dangerously thin. He'd been accused with stronger evidence before and even then he'd come out unscathed. If this was the boy's only rebuttal, then Matteo might as well have prepared himself for a long jail sentence for arson. "I just told you that I didn't recognize the pendant."

"Because from your reaction, now I know that you were lying," Matteo spat, thrusting a finger into his face.