There were only two ways of dealing with lotos dreams--direct the dream, or break it--
And somehow Marco knew if he directed the dream from the nightmare she was in into something pleasant, she'd never leave it again.
"Ernesto is dead, Rosanna," he said savagely. "He's been dead more than a year. You know he's dead. And you can't change the past. You think you can, but the past you create is a lie. And Ernesto doesn't like lies, Rosanna."
Her eyes widened, and she whimpered in the back of her throat. He continued on, as stern and unyielding as Saint Chrysostom, his morning's religion lesson giving him another weapon to break her out of her hallucination. "He's very angry with you, Rosanna. You're muddying his trip through purgatory, trying to hold on to him like this. He sent me to tell you that if you really loved him, you'd let him go!"
She cried out in denial, freed her hands from his, and tried to push him away. At the end of the corridor another door opened and closed, and there was the sound of a footstep--two. Marco didn't dare look up--he had Rosanna's attention now, and if he broke eye contact with her, he'd lose it.
"No--" she moaned, as a gasp from the direction of the door reached him; he heard running footsteps. "No, Ernesto would never say that! Ernesto wouldn't--"
"He would, and he did--you're hurting him, Rosanna, you're holding him back."
Angelina's voice, sharp and shrill. "What are you doing with my--"
"Shut up, Angelina," he hissed, regaining Rosanna's wandering attention by shaking her again. "Get the doctor--"
She at least had enough sense not to argue with him. Running feet retreated, and the door slammed against the wall as witness to her hasty passage.
Rosanna beat at his face and chest with hard, bony fists; her blows were wild, but she got him a good one in the nose and just under the left eye. Marco tried not to wince; ghosts feel no pain.
"I don't believe it!" She was crying. "I don't believe you! Ernesto would never believe such--"
"Ernesto is in purgatory. Do you want to be responsible for dragging him down?" The religion lesson having given him the barb to use on her, and forced to be cruel by desperation, he dug it in. "Do you want to be the one who forces him to stay there longer? If you die, if you lose yourself in opium dreams, Rosanna, that's what will happen, and it will all be your fault."
"NO!" She shoved him away, hard enough that he lost his hold on her, and he lost his balance as well. He hit his head on the wall with a sickening crack, and saw stars.
He struggled against the darkness, still not able to see but fighting off the dazzle, and more footsteps pounded up the corridor. As his eyes cleared he was shoved summarily out of the way by Doctor Rigannio, and a wiry woman he recognized as Rosanna's maid. A hand grabbing his elbow helped him to stand; when he turned to render thanks, he found himself staring into Angelina Dorma's profoundly unhappy, dark-circled eyes.
He froze, unsure of what to say, as behind him he could hear her mother's muffled sobs, and the comforting murmur of her maid.
He stood that way for an eternity. Angelina reached out toward his face, as if to touch his swelling nose, then stopped herself. She seemed at as much of a loss as he was.
"Marco--"
He turned, grateful for a chance to look away.
"Marco, whatever you did, it was right," Doctor Rigannio said, getting painfully to his feet, while the maid held Rosanna against her shoulder, letting her cry herself into calmness. "You broke her out of her hallucination--"
"She thought I was someone she knew," Marco said carefully, not sure how much of his background the House had been told. "My mother, I guess, and she knew that my mother is dead. I guess she never got a good look at me before this. I think I might have thrown her into the hallucination in the first place. I--I'm sorry. I certainly didn't mean it."
"Of course you didn't," the doctor said smoothly, one eye on Rosanna as her maid helped her to rise. Rosanna turned a tear-streaked face toward the sound of their voices, and blinked.
"Who are you? she asked, voice hoarse with strain.
"This is Marco Valdosta, Rosanna," Doctor Rigannio interposed smoothly. "You remember; Petro told you. He's going to the Accademia under Dorma sponsorship. He is a grandson of Duke Dell'este of Ferrara. The duke has made some trade agreements with us in return."
She turned away from her maid and looked at him with wondering eyes. "Marco Valdosta--you must be Lorendana's boy. She had two, I heard."
He bowed to her. "Yes, milady." The mention of Benito made him nervous.
"It's uncanny," she said, "you look just like her."
"So I've been told, milady."
"I--" Her eyes clouded for a moment, then cleared and she drew herself up, taking on a dignity and poise that reminded him sharply of his grandfather, and a beauty that had nothing to do with tear-swollen eyes, blanched cheeks and trembling hands. "I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude."
He interrupted her gently. "Milady, you owe me nothing. You were ill, I simply stayed with you until Angelina could bring the doctor. That is, or will be, my duty--I'm studying medicine after all." He was amazed at himself; he sounded years older and he wondered where the words were coming from.
They were evidently the right ones. She flushed a little and lowered her gaze.
"Rosanna, you should go rest," the doctor prompted.
"Yes," she replied vaguely. "Yes, I should. Forgive me."
As the corridor door opened and closed behind them, Doctor Rigannio cursed savagely. "Angelina, where is she getting it?" He stopped then, as if only now realizing that there was an outsider not of Dorma standing awkwardly at his elbow, privy to every word he said.
Marco cleared his throat. "It's none of my business, Doctor Rigannio, but--that looked like a lotos flashback to me."
The doctor pivoted, face blank with surprise. "Lotos flashback? What in the name of God is that?"
Marco flushed and stammered: "If y-you take enough lotos, it changes your head. Even if you never t-take it again, you can get thrown into hallucinations by any strong stimulus." He shrugged. "That's why a lot of Jesolo-marsh folk are crazy. Stuck in lotos dreams."
Doctor Rigannio closed his eyes and cursed again. "So that's why--thank you, Marco. Again. I trust we can rely on your discretion?"
Marco managed a feeble smile. "What discretion, milord? Milady Rosanna had a dizzy spell and I just stayed with her until you came. Nothing terrible and she certainly didn't say anything except to thank me."
"Good boy." The doctor clapped him on the shoulder and he staggered a little. "I'll go see what needs to be done."
That left him alone in the corridor with Angelina.
Now she wouldn't look at him.
"You've heard enough that you might as well know all of it," she said bitterly, staring at the polished wooden floor, twisting the hem of her shawl in white hands. "When Father died she took it badly--she'd been in love with him, really in love, and she couldn't bear to be without him. She started taking lotos so she could see him." Angelina looked up finally and gestured her helplessness.