“Do we need to focus on any other fortifications?” Nicolae asked. “The city walls here could use some attention.”
“We will not win anything by barricading ourselves in.”
“Defending a well-fortified location is easier than meeting in the open.”
Lada put her feet up on the table. “Tell that to Constantinople. No. We will fight in ways no one has ever seen. That is how we will hold our land.”
“If the sultan comes after us.”
“He will come,” Lada said, her voice dark with memories of the last time she had seen Mehmed in person.
The gentleness in Nicolae’s voice was as false as a warm day in February. “Do you think maybe you are provoking him because you want him to come?”
Lada snarled, “Say what you mean, Nicolae.”
“I mean you are going out of your way to antagonize him. Bulgaria was unnecessary.”
Lada dropped her feet to the floor. “They killed my people!”
“In one village. You killed his envoy in response. I think that was more than enough of a message, but you keep stabbing deeper and harder. I am trying to understand why.”
“I do what I do for Wallachia.”
Nicolae smiled ruefully, his face twisting around its old scar. “Do you? Mehmed cares about you. You could leverage that, get him to agree to different terms of vassalage. Lower payments. No boys for his armies. He would do it. You could create the best, most powerful, most stable position for Wallachia in generations.”
“As a vassal state to the Turks!”
“Then so be it!”
Lada burst out of her chair, throwing Nicolae from his own and pinning him to the floor with one forearm pressed against his throat. She bared her teeth, her heavy breaths mingling with his increasingly labored ones. He did not move, did not attempt to push her off.
“I will not be anyone’s vassal,” she hissed. “Wallachia is mine. Mine. Do you understand?”
Nicolae blinked, his dark lashes moving over his brown eyes. Something that had been there longer than his scar, as long as Lada had known him, had disappeared from his gaze. She did not know what it was, had never noticed its presence, only registered it now that it was gone.
“I understand,” Nicolae said, his voice strained.
“Lada?” Daciana asked.
Lada stood and turned her back on Nicolae. Daciana stood in the doorway, hesitantly regarding the scene. She held several bundles in her arms.
“Yes?” Lada demanded.
“Your new clothes. We were going to make certain I cut everything correctly?”
“Very well. You may go, Nicolae. Speak to Bogdan before you leave. He has been scouring the prisons for likely new soldiers.”
She expected Nicolae to argue—he always argued—but he bowed and exited.
Daciana took his place, wordlessly helping Lada disrobe. She was a better seamstress than Oana, whose eyes were not good anymore. So Oana had taken over the kitchens, and Daciana the clothing of Lada. When she had Lada stuck in place while she measured, Daciana finally spoke. “Is there a problem with Nicolae?”
“No.”
“Good. I like him.”
“I did not ask your opinion.”
Daciana made a small noise, looking up at Lada from where she was marking cloth with chalk. The new coat would have a fur collar and cuffs. It was dyed deep red to match Lada’s hat. “Then perhaps you do not want to hear my next opinion, which is that you should be careful not to let Bogdan get you alone any time soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“He is going to ask you to marry him.”
Lada jerked away in surprise, leaving a long trail of chalk along the hem of her would-be tunic. “What?”
“He talks to me sometimes, after church. This last time he looked around and mentioned how nice it would be to be married there. Asked whether I thought a girl would prefer to be married in that one, or the monastery on Snagov Island. And since I know he was not coyly trying to get my attention, I can safely assume he was thinking of the only woman he realizes exists.”
Lada sat, ruining the shape of the unsewn tunic. “Why can none of the men in my life simply do what I ask them to?”
Daciana gathered up the fallen cloth, then gently unwrapped the rest from around Lada. “Have you asked Bogdan not to be in love with you?” Her tone was teasing.
“I cannot understand what possesses him to be in the first place. Or why he would imagine I am ever going to marry him.”
“He is a little boy.” Daciana set the cloth to the side, then pulled out a comb and began working on Lada’s hair. She was much gentler than Oana had ever been. Lada did not mind it so much when Daciana groomed her. “He sees in you what he wants to see. Be kind when he asks you.”
Lada looked up through her heavy lashes at Daciana and raised an eyebrow.
Daciana laughed. “Well, not kind, then. But do try not to be cruel. He is a fragile soul.”
“He is twice your size. I have seen him break necks with his bare hands.”
“Ah, but you will break his heart with yours.”
“I never asked for his heart.”
Daciana finished, stroking her hand through Lada’s hair. “That is the thing with giving your heart. You never wait for someone to ask. You hold it out and hope they want it.”
The door burst open and two small children toddled inside. Stefan followed, a brief flash of surprise disrupting his plain face upon seeing Lada. “I am sorry, I thought you were gone.” He leaned down to scoop up the children, but they squirmed away.
“They want their mother,” Daciana said, laughing. She held out her arms and both ran to her, collapsing against her.
Lada was confused. Given how often she was away from the castle, she did not see Daciana much. And she had not seen Daciana’s baby—named for Lada herself—since she was an infant.
But Lada was absolutely certain there had been only one of them.
“Who is that?” she asked, pointing to the other child.
A furtive look passed between Daciana and Stefan. Lada only caught it because she was so used to Stefan being expressionless. That shared look cut straight through her confusion. Suspicion bled out instead.
“Our son.” Daciana smiled pleasantly, as though such a thing went without saying.
“And where did he come from?”
Daciana pulled her hair free from the little boy’s dimpled fist. “Where all babies come from, of course.”
Lada would not play along. She stood. “Whose child is that?”
Stefan picked up the boy, holding him close. “Mine,” he said. He took the little girl in his other arm and walked out of the room.
Daciana gathered her things, keeping her eyes anywhere but on Lada. “There are a lot of orphans,” she said, shrugging. “We thought our little Lada would like a brother.”
“Hmm.” Lada watched as Daciana fumbled the comb, dropping it on the floor. She picked it up, then dipped her head and hurried from the room. She had not finished her work, which was unlike her.
Daciana had been a wet nurse to a boyar family after she had her own baby. A Danesti boyar family.
Lada had killed all the Danesti boyars. And ordered all their heirs killed as well.
She found Nicolae’s sheet of carefully taken notes and added two of her own at the end.
Watch Nicolae.
Watch Stefan.
Constantinople
RADU AND HIS MEN rode out to the gates of Constantinople, accompanied by Mehmed. Mehmed rode in the center of a ring of guards. His turban gleamed and sparkled in the sun, woven through with pure gold threads. His horse stepped high, a head taller than the rest of the horses, white and gleaming. Mehmed’s purple cloak cascaded behind them. Radu imagined he was a citizen on the side of the road, watching, daz
zled. The sultan was certainly everything he should be. Power and glory personified.
They stopped just outside the city, and Mehmed allowed Radu to approach him. “Bring her home.” The quiet urgency in his voice was in contrast to his confident posture.
Radu nodded, but he could not pretend at confidence. Lada was already home. And Radu did not feel at home in Constantinople. But he would get Lada, and he would bring her back. And then…
He did not know where he would go. But his duties to both Mehmed and Lada would be discharged, and he knew what he would do: spend the rest of his days looking for Nazira.
With a hollow pain in his body that was familiar and dull around the edges now, Radu spurred his horse forward. Away from Mehmed.
Kumal drew close to him a few miles outside the city. “Thank you for coming,” Radu said with a more genuine smile than he had been able to muster for Mehmed.
“Of course. It will be good to get out of the city.”
“Do you dislike it?” Radu had never heard a word of complaint from Kumal. But he had also never heard a word of remonstration for losing Kumal’s only sister. Radu wondered if Kumal was capable of cruelty. He hoped so, actually. It gave him hope to think that men like Kumal were the same as everyone else—they simply chose to be better.
Kumal looked surprised, then shook his head. “No. I am happy with my position close to the sultan. He is a good man, and I respect him. It is an honor to serve our people. But it is difficult not to feel like we are doing nothing while waiting for word of Nazira.”
Radu hunched his shoulders reflexively. He knew Kumal did not bring up Nazira to chastise him, but he could not escape his guilt over her continued absence.
Kumal noticed his discomfort and drew his horse even closer. “You made the best decision you could have at an impossible time. I know you did everything in your power to protect her. I meant that staying in one place waiting will drive a man insane. It is good to be going out, being active, defending the empire. We will continue to hope and pray for word of Nazira’s safety. But that can be done just as well from the road.”
Radu nodded, feeling slightly less burdened. “Thank you. You have always been a friend to me.”
“You are my brother.”
Radu laughed. “You are certainly the brother I chose. My own brother was never a friend.”
“Speaking of your siblings, what is the plan for your sister? Will you try to negotiate first?”
“I am sending word ahead for her to meet us at our outpost in Giurgiu. She will come to see me, I think, even without specific promises. When she arrives, we separate her from her men and bring her back to Constantinople.”
“How much force are you prepared to use?”
Radu shifted uneasily in his saddle, hunching deeper into his furs. It had seemed like a good plan when discussing it with Mehmed and Mara. But Radu had not thought through the specifics. Lada would not want to come. That much was obvious. Would he have to kill her men? What if Bogdan was with her? Radu had never liked Bogdan; he encouraged the worst in Lada through his dogged loyalty. But Radu did not want to kill him. Or Nicolae. He had always thought Nicolae superior to the rest of Lada’s men. Funny and smart, even kind sometimes.
And then there was Lada herself. Radu imagined tying her up, bringing her back in one of their supply wagons. She would fight them the whole way, otherwise. And once they got her back, what then? A prison cell?
Radu sighed, rubbing his eyes. “As much force as it takes.” He could not see a happy resolution to this plan, but he could not leave Lada to her continued aggressions.
“Is that the right thing to do? Bring her in under false pretenses of peace, and then kidnap her?” Kumal did not sound angry, but there was disapproval in his soft tone. He had not contributed much during their planning. He still deferred to Mehmed and would not disagree with him, but with Radu, he was more comfortable.
“It will save lives in the long run.” Radu held out his hands, then dropped them helplessly to his sides. “And it will save her life, too. Mara was right. She cannot go on like this. Someone will kill her. I would rather her safe in Constantinople in prison than in an unmarked grave next to our father and brother.”
Kumal nodded. “Very well, then. If you think this is the best course of action, I will do everything in my power to support you. Sometimes we must work in subterfuge. Though I must admit, it fits me like a too-small tunic. I have no skill or taste for it.”
“That is because you are a good, honest man.” Radu could not smile this time. He slipped into subterfuge as easily as sliding into a warm bath. It had always been his greatest skill, saying and doing whatever it took to survive.
Now he would say and do whatever it took to make sure his sister survived. Even if she never forgave him for it.
* * *
Two days into their journey north toward the fortress at Giurgiu that marked the edge of Ottoman-controlled land, a messenger caught up with them.
“I was sent by Mara Brankovic,” he said, covered in dust and holding out a letter.
Radu took it, puzzled. What would Mara need to communicate with him so desperately? He broke the seal and opened it. One of the sheets was a note from Mara. The elegant lines of her writing cut him apart. He could not catch his breath, could not manage to look at the next letter.
“What is it?” Kumal asked.
“Mara. She found word of Nazira. I cannot— Kumal, I cannot read it.” Radu trembled, too terrified to learn what had happened to Nazira. Not knowing had been awful, but holding her fate in his hands was worse. He could not bear it if she was dead.
Kumal gently took the letters from Radu. Radu kept his eyes fixed on the ground. Watching Kumal for a reaction was the same as reading the letter. He wanted to pause time here, forever, where he did not have to know if his truest friend was dead and it was his fault.
Kumal let out a sharp, relieved breath and praised God. Radu was pierced through with hope and dared to look up. Tears shone in Kumal’s eyes, and he smiled. “She is alive.”
A gasp tore free from Radu’s chest, loosing all the months of torment and fear. “She is alive?”
“She is.” Kumal scanned the letter again. “They were shipwrecked on an island in the Sea of Marmara. Nazira was unharmed. Cyprian and the servant boy were badly injured. She had to stay to care for them and did not have a way to send word until she could travel to a more populated area.”
Nazira was alive. Cyprian and Valentin were hurt. “Are they…? Did Cyprian and Valentin recover?”
“It does not say. This is not written by Nazira herself. It is from one of Mara’s contacts. The writer says he can escort Nazira as far as the port city of Bursa, but that she will need someone to meet her there.”
Radu was already turning his horse. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and lifted his face toward the heavens. Breathing in gratitude, breathing out fear. Breathing in hope, breathing out worry. Nazira was alive and well. He had not killed his truest, dearest friend. He would bring Fatima’s wife home to her.
And Cyprian.
If Cyprian and Valentin were dead, the letter would have noted it. Surely they were well, which was all he could ask for. Anything more was too selfish on his part after everything he had done.
“You should go to her.” Radu smiled at Kumal.
Kumal’s warm eyes were filled with tears. He shook his head, a smile lighting his face. The same kind, gentle smile that had been a lifeline to Radu as a terrified and lost young boy in a foreign land. “You are her husband. Go and get her.”
“But Lada…”
“I will see to everything. I promise I will treat her with respect and as much gentleness as I can. Let me take care of your sister while you go take care of mine.”
Radu laughed, reaching out and clasping Kumal’s hand. “Thank you, my brother. I will bring her home.”
Radu turned his horse toward the route that would take him to Bursa and Nazira. He paused. “Please be careful with my sister.”
“I promise I will be kind.”
“No, I mean, be cautious. For yourself.”
Kumal’s expression turned colder and decidedly grimmer. “I have read the reports. I will not underestimate her.”
With another shared nod, Radu and Kumal parted ways to retrieve sisters who needed to return to the empire. One as a rescue, the other as a prisoner.
Tirgoviste
“WHAT DID THIS ONE do?” Lada asked, sharpening daggers while a motley group of prisoners waited in front of her throne, surrounded by her own soldiers.
“Rape,” answered Bogdan.
“Kill him.” Lada did not look up as the man was dragged away and the next was brought up. “And this one?”
“Theft.” She felt Bogdan staring at her, willing her to look at him. She had avoided him since Daciana’s warning. She did not have time to be careful with his feelings and resented having to accommodate them in any way.
“Why?” she asked.
“My family was starving,” the prisoner growled. “I would do it again.”
Lada paused, considering him. He was lanky and thin, but with the potential to be strong if well fed. “You may join my army. You will be on the front lines of any conflict and will most likely be killed. If you survive and distinguish yourself, your crimes will be forgiven and you will have the opportunity to get land for yourself and your family. If you steal again, or you disappoint me in any way, you will be killed. Otherwise you will go back to a cell. Do you agree?”
The man hesitated, his brow furrowed in thought. Lada appreciated that. The men who agreed without taking time to weigh the offer were lying either to themselves or, more likely, to her. She always had them put back in prison or had them killed, depending on their crimes.
Bright We Burn Page 7
