There.
A lone figure, standing, a longbow at his side.
Radu lifted a hand and waved. Dazed and in shock, Lada lifted hers and waved back.
The first cannonball struck the fortress. The resounding crack of stone on stone jarred Lada from her dreamlike state. He was not waving. He was signaling his men.
“There!” Lada pointed. “Aim anything we have up there!” She ducked, jumping from the inside of the wall down to the floor. The landing was a shock she felt through her whole body. She needed it. She needed to focus.
Bogdan, spinning away from her forever.
“Cannons! Arrows! Crossbows! And watch the paths to make certain they are not sneaking up from our side, too!” Lada shouted directions at men. Men she did not know, men whose faces she barely recognized. They scurried around her, rushing into action, and she stood.
Alone.
Bogdan, the first man she had chosen. The last one to leave her.
A man screamed as an explosion blew tiny missiles of stones and debris into the air and sent Lada to her knees. She wiped away blood trailing into her eyes to see half the outer wall blown apart—the half that was one side of the room where their cannons and gunpowder were kept.
“God’s wounds.” She had always thought getting married would be the death of her. She had not expected that fear to be realized quite so literally.
One of the towers groaned, rocks raining down. The fortress had gone up fast, speed and secrecy being Lada’s main goals. She had not designed it to withstand artillery, assuming no one would be able to haul massive, heavy cannons up mountains without being noticed. It had been a tremendous failure of imagination on her part.
Radu did not suffer the same lack.
Lada’s men found openings wherever they could, firing off crossbows and arrows. She clutched her locket, a sensation that she was forgetting something, missing something vital plaguing her. But she knew what was missing, and he would never return. Then, another tiny flutter in her stomach. She felt as though she were the one tumbling down the mountain.
She had to focus. She ran to the other side of the fortress and climbed a ladder up the wall, peering down over the gate at the path that wound treacherously down.
“You!” She grabbed a man—Grigore—as he huddled next to the wall and whatever protection it offered. “I am sending you for help. They are not on this side of the mountain yet.”
Lada threw a rope over the wall. She tied it off, then gestured to it.
“But—” He looked desperately around, hesitating.
“Would you rather be out there with them, or in here with me after disobeying my order?”
Grigore threw himself over the wall, scrambling down the rope. He was nearly to the bottom when a crossbow bolt sank into his belly and he dropped, screaming.
“Burn the bridge!” Lada shouted, ducking. The fortress was built on a jutting slab of peak, and a wooden bridge spanned the ravine between the peak and the rest of the mountain. It was another natural defense. For all the good it would do them under this barrage.
Lada climbed back down to the fortress floor as men dumped pitch over the wall onto the bridge, then lit arrows and fired them.
For all she knew, there was only a single Janissary on her mountain. If they all ran for it, they could possibly overwhelm whoever was out there. Many of them might make it. But Radu had more resources than she did. He could have ten thousand men waiting in the trees.
He could not bring down the entire fortress in one day. He could pick away at it, but it would be at least a week before the small cannons he could have hauled that far up the mountain would do enough damage to bring the whole thing down. He had been lucky with the shot taking out her gunpowder stores. The rest of the process would be slower.
Generously, Lada estimated they had one defensible week. They could fight their way down the mountain, but there was no way to do it in secret. So even if Radu did not have many men waiting, he would see them fleeing and have enough time to move his men to the bottom and wait.
If Lada waited out the slow cannon death of the fortress, the villagers would eventually notice. But they would have no idea who to go to for help. And she had not yet sent out any instructions to her men. As far as her soldiers hiding throughout these mountains knew, they were doing precisely what they were supposed to: waiting.
Thousands of willing fighters, and no one to help.
Bogdan was dead. Lada kept remembering that anew. But this time she felt a wash of relief that Oana had been abandoned. That she had not seen this. It had been a mercy, after all, leaving her behind. One good thing to come of Lada’s betrayal.
She stood in the tiny courtyard, listening to men shouting, watching them running around her.
Seeing Bogdan fall, again, and again, and again.
She was alone. For the first time she could remember, she was well and truly alone. She had thought herself strong and apart, but that had been a lie.
As a child, she had had her nurse. Her Bogdan. Her worship of her father. And Radu.
Then she had had Radu and Mehmed.
Then she had had Nicolae and her men, and in her mind she had still had Radu and Mehmed, though she knew now that it was a lie and always had been.
She had even gotten her Bogdan and her nurse back, and built a small army of people around her. But one by one they had left, or been taken from her.
The fluttering sensation in her lower abdomen came back, and she could not catch her breath, could not stop her racing heart. She was not alone.
She was alone.
“Fire everything we have left, and then abandon the fortress!” she shouted. The men stopped, disbelief freezing them. And then, as they followed her orders, their actions became frenzied.
She walked, numb and heedless of the surrounding chaos, to the nearest door. Inside the room was an old well covered with planks of wood that they had built around. Lada picked up a length of rope against the wall and tied it to a metal loop fixed into the stones. Then she pushed aside the planks, dropped the rope inside, and climbed into the well.
The rope burned her hands and her arms trembled, weak from her time in prison. She went as slowly as she could, sliding down the last few feet and only just catching her toes on the footholds that led to the bottom of the well.
Last year she had found the cave at the bottom of the peak. During construction of the fortress, she discovered the well when bats flew out of it. It had to be the upper exit of the mountain’s secret passage. But she had no idea if the handholds and footholds continued all the way to the bottom, or if time had worn them away.
If only they had found the well that summer they discovered the peak. She would have explored it. She would have forced Bogdan down. Or more likely Radu. Then she would know for certain whether it was possible to descend all the way to the secret passage. Her youthful exploration had failed her, as had everything from her childhood. Her mother. Her father. Bogdan. Radu. What use were memories if they could not save her now?
She was tormented by thoughts of Bogdan, of Radu. By the time the three of them had spent here. A summer of laughter and scraped knees, soaked in sunshine, the memory mocking her now that she was clinging blindly to cold, wet stone.
Radu had taken Bogdan from her.
Radu.
Who did she have now? Where was the strength and assurance that had sustained her? She should put her trust in her true mother, Wallachia, but she kept seeing Bogdan falling. Bouncing off her mountain. How could this, too, be taken from her?
The rocks were slick with moisture, portions caked with layers of bat droppings or moldy growths. She felt them beneath her fingernails, was glad she could not see their blackness clinging to her. It was completely dark now, the opening above her so far she could no longer see its light. Beneath her, her goal too far to even see a glimmer of hope.
&
nbsp; Alone, stone pressing in, she knew: there was no heart in this mountain.
Wallachia was not her mother. Wallachia did not care what happened to her. And every single person who might have was either dead or trying to kill her.
Her feet slipped, and she hung by the tips of her fingers. Pain burned through them. “I am a dragon,” she whispered. It echoed around her, her own words coming back haunted and empty of meaning or strength.
She fell.
Poenari Fortress
RADU SAT IN THE dim lantern light, his head leaning against the cold stone. In his hand he held one of Lada’s knives. Wrist, wrist, waist, ankle, ankle. He had taken them all.
Lada’s head rested in his lap, her eyes closed. Her breathing was even. Her arm had been bent at an impossible angle when he found her in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the long, dark tunnel leading to the fortress. She was not bleeding anywhere that he could see, but she had been sleeping for hours now.
He shifted, working circulation back into his legs.
Lada’s eyelids fluttered. Radu stroked her forehead, brushing away one of her tangled curls. She sat up with a start, then cried out in pain, grabbing her shoulder and scooting away from him. She tried to stand but one of her ankles gave out. Dragging herself away, she hit the far wall only a few feet from Radu and stopped, leaning back against it and breathing heavily.
“Hello, Lada,” Radu said.
With her good hand, Lada reached for her other wrist.
Radu held up the knife. In the lamp’s golden flicker, Lada’s black eyes looked dead, no reflection coming back to him. It was as though the light was sucked in, devoured whole, and disposed of.
“How did you know about this place?” Lada put her good hand on her ribs and grimaced.
“Did you think all I did that summer was cry because you and Bogdan would not let me play with you?”
Lada blinked, still dazed. “Actually, yes.”
Radu laughed, the sound ringing brighter through the space than the lamp’s light. “I did do a fair amount of that. But I also explored. I found this cave, and climbed all the way up to the fortress. As soon as I got out up there, I knew it was the secret you had been keeping. I did not dare climb back down, though. It took me until dark to hike back. You never noticed I was gone the whole day.” Radu smiled.
“Father did not notice when I found the fortress ruins the first time, either. I was so excited to tell him. But all he wanted to do was leave us.”
“That never changed.” Radu sighed, a soft noise lost in the breeze that wound its way back to this part of the cavern. “When I heard rumors of your fortress in the mountains, I knew this was where I would find you.”
Lada closed her eyes, another grimace passing over her face and then resolutely dismissed. “So you came down here after you missed.”
“After I missed?”
“Your shot. With the arrow.”
“I did not miss.”
Lada opened her eyes, narrowing them at him. “And yet here I am, free from arrow holes.”
“I hit my target.”
Lada struggled for words. “You—you meant to kill Bogdan?”
It had not been an easy decision. Radu had sighted Lada first. But Cyprian’s belief in him made him pause. If he had Cyprian at his side, he knew he could do anything. And if Lada had Bogdan at her side, he knew she would never give up. She would have to be stripped of everything she had claimed over the years. And so Radu had killed Lada’s oldest friend. The son of their beloved nurse. Not an innocent man by any measure, but still, Radu would carry his murder with him until the end of his own days.
He had to break Lada before the end. And so Bogdan died. “I needed you to understand the cost of this. To feel loss.”
“Or you simply hated Bogdan.”
Radu rubbed his ear against his shoulder self-consciously. It was true. He had hated Bogdan. But hate had not motivated his actions. “You have to lose.”
“You took him from me.”
Radu’s own anger flared at her accusations. “You murdered my brother-in-law!”
“He took you from me!” Lada lurched forward, then gasped in pain, collapsing back again. “I am not sorry.”
Radu fought back his anger. She was trying to provoke him. “I know.”
“You can tell Mehmed that. Tell him I was not sorry. Tell him my only regret was that he did not die under my knife.”
Radu held up a hand and mimicked writing a letter. “Dear Mehmed,” he said, his voice singsongy. “My sister sends her regards, and wants you to know how much she admires your blood and wishes she could have seen more of it. All of it, in fact.”
Lada let out a shocked burst of laughter, holding her ribs and doubling over in pain. She panted, easing herself back up. “Finish it. I always said I would kill you. I never imagined you would kill me.”
Radu did not take his eyes off his sister. “So you see, then. The result of your struggle. You are alone, in the dark, with no allies and no friends and no weapons.”
Lada’s face was as fierce and proud as it was drawn and pinched from pain.
“Was it worth it?” Radu whispered.
Lada lifted her chin. “Yes.”
Radu scratched the knife against the damp stone beneath him. “Do you remember the story of Shirin and Ferhat?”
“We are in the center of my mountain, Radu, and I see no heart.”
Radu smiled. “You are wrong. There are two. Yours, and mine.”
Lada let out a deep, shaking breath, and some of her pride fell with her shoulders. On her face was an expression Radu had never seen before.
Sadness.
“I wish it was not you,” she said. “I could take a blade happily from anyone but you.”
“You will never stop, though. Even now. If there was a way to go on, alone, stripped of everything, you would do it.”
Lada nodded, hand drifting up to the locket Radu had given her. “As long as I have breath, I will fight. Even when it feels like my own country does not want me to, I will fight. I cannot stop.”
“That is what I thought.” Radu stood, shaking out his legs, which were sore and numb from sitting so long. “You and Mehmed. I was always trying to protect you two, trying to shift your courses. I wish I had been able to. But if I had, you would not be the people you are, and I cannot begrudge you that.” Radu closed the distance between them. Lada looked up at him with fierce defiance.
He tucked the knife into the waist of his breeches. “You really tried to protect me during our childhood. To make me stronger. Every time you let me be beaten. Every time you were the one beating me. It was because you could see no other way to protect me.”
Lada lifted an eyebrow in confusion. “Yes.”
“Then let me protect you in the way that I know how. I will not stay with you forever—I cannot, and I do not want to. But I can help you for a little while so that you can continue making Wallachia free. I think you deserve each other.”
Lada frowned. “Is that an insult?”
Radu laughed. “I do not know. But you have seen what your methods have produced. Let me help you long enough to get you on stable ground. I can give you a throne without turmoil or threat so you can make your country healthy.”
“And then?”
“And then I will leave.”
“What about Mehmed?”
“Let me worry about him. Please. Let me worry about all the other leaders and nobles and boyars. I insist.”
“I do not need—” Lada stopped, shaking her head. “I do need your help. I always did. But you were not here. You did not choose me.”
Radu knelt in front of her, holding the knife out. Knowing that he had just killed her best friend. Knowing that he had stripped her of everything. Knowing that an injured, cornered wild thing was the most dangerous type.
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Knowing that this was his choice. That it was not what Lada would do, or Mehmed. And that was why it was right.
Lada reached out, her fingers closing around the knife. She held it up, playing with the reflections of light. “You are mine again?”
“For a time.”
“And then?”
“And then I am retiring to live out a happy, peaceful life far from thrones and rulers and impossible decisions.” He paused. “Or we could do that now. Come with me. Leave it all behind.”
Lada’s hand tightened reflexively around the knife.
“I did not think so, but I had to try.” Radu held out his hand. Lada sheathed her knife, and accepted his help.
“You do know,” Radu said, his voice as gentle as his arm around her waist, “that this will be the death of you. Not today. Not tomorrow, if we have any luck. But eventually they will end you for daring to demand power.”
“I know. But Wallachia is worth it.” In his sister’s voice, Radu heard her acceptance of the end. There was no defiance. Her words were almost tender, as though spoken to a lover.
Together, they walked out of the dark cave and into the light.
“Also,” Lada said, blinking as her eyes adjusted, “do you want a baby?”
Tirgoviste
LADA LAY ON HER back, staring up at the tree branches. They were entwined like fingers, the blue of the sky fighting through. Late autumn had left them bereft of their leaves save for a few sad stragglers. It was cold enough that their company was wrapped in furs, but no one had argued with her when she suggested they meet in the forest. Nazira avoided her, always finding somewhere else to be when Lada was involved in meetings. Lada did not hold it against her. Fatima the silent maid had come instead, along with Radu and Cyprian.
Somewhere nearby Radu’s men silently and invisibly guarded the group. She often suspected their attention was turned more toward her than toward other possible threats. Which proved they were good men. When Radu had brought Lada out and declared a treaty had been agreed upon, Radu’s men had been wary. But Radu still excelled at using his silver tongue to convince others that his way was the best.
Bright We Burn Page 27
