“It was not easy in Constantinople,” Radu said, “trying to hide how you affected me. And trying desperately not to be affected.”
Cyprian laughed. “I am glad you suffered, too! Do you know how often I tried teasing some sort of reaction out of you?”
“That night in the forge…”
Cyprian slid his hand along Radu’s waist, letting it rest where Radu’s hip bone jutted out. “I would have leapt over the table at the slightest indication from you.”
“There is a reason I kept the table between us! I was trying so hard not to love you.”
Cyprian nodded, his face still against Radu’s neck. “It was an impossible situation.” Someday they would talk more about it; they had time. Right now what they needed was closeness.
“I always feared that this,” Radu said, kissing Cyprian’s forehead, “was an impossible situation.”
Cyprian scooted back, taking Radu’s face in his hands and peering at him in the dark. Radu could just make out the details of his expression. Cyprian looked worried. “Is it? For you? Orthodoxy is my religion the same way my father is my father. Distantly, and only because I was born to it. In Constantinople I saw too much damage done by people wielding the will of God like a weapon. But in Islam, can we…can you…”
Radu smiled. He had agonized over these things enough. “I believe that God is merciful and great and beyond our comprehension. And Nazira always told me she feels closest to God when she feels love. I think she is right. In a way, love is the highest expression of faith—in ourselves, in others, in the world. I can expand my faith to allow myself happiness in this life, and trust in God’s love and mercy after this life.” He paused. “Though…I would like to follow as many rules as I can. The structure of Islam is important to me. It has been a scaffold of protection and comfort.”
Teasingly, Cyprian lowered his hand, tracing his way down Radu’s abdomen but stopping just shy of…where Radu would have liked him to continue toward.
“So what you are saying is that we need to be married very soon,” Cyprian said, his lips right against Radu’s ear.
“Yes,” Radu gasped. “Very, very soon.” His marriage to Nazira was legal. Her marriage to Fatima was spiritual, but even more binding. Radu would do the same with Cyprian.
Cyprian moved his hand back up, resting it over Radu’s heart. It was both a relief and a disappointment. But as Cyprian moved closer and they breathed together, drifting toward sleep, Radu knew they had time to explore desire. There was no fear or desperation here. Only happiness and the incredible grace of loving and being loved.
All his life, it was the only thing he had ever truly wanted. He had found it in Islam. He had found it in his connection with Nazira. And now he had found the fullest form of it here. He rested his head on Cyprian’s chest, falling asleep to the music of the heart that beat with everything Radu needed in this life.
Hunedoara
TWO WEEKS INTO HER captivity, Lada was fairly certain Matthias was poisoning her. She could barely eat what they gave her. As often as not, she threw it up. Though why he was choosing poison, she did not know.
No, she did. It was a coward’s way out. She only wished he would increase the dosage and finish her off instead of this lingering torment. Perhaps it was God’s punishment. She had given him the tools to take the throne, and he had poisoned the sickly child prince to get there. Now she would die the same way.
Though if God were interested in punishing her, she had a great many sins worse than enabling Matthias. Had she reached too far? Killed too many? Disregarded the advice of those who truly cared about her?
Sometimes she felt them, here, with her. Nicolae in particular. He said nothing, but when she awoke from her dreams of the bloody banquet when she had killed all the Danesti boyars and begun the journey that led to this cell, she could only remember the way he had looked at her. The way he had watched.
He had known, even then. And he had warned her. Radu had warned her, too. Everyone had warned her, and she had defied them. And she had won!
And now she was here.
All her rage had bled away, leaving her perpetually cold. She followed the small patch of sun that made it through to the floor. It was her only companion. She tried to move as much as she could, afraid of losing her strength and fighting ability, but a heavy lethargy of both body and soul pulled at her.
The eighteenth morning she lay on the floor, curled into a ball to fit as much of her body in the square of sunlight as was possible.
“Child, why are you in your underclothes?” Oana exclaimed.
Lada stood and rushed to the door. Oana stared back at her through the hole.
“You are alive!” Lada grabbed the bars. She had lost track of her nurse when they had been ambushed in the throne room. She had not allowed herself to dwell on that, but her relief at seeing Oana’s wrinkled and worn face was almost overwhelming. Now that she knew Oana was not dead, she felt how deeply that death would have wounded her. She took a deep breath, pushing her fingers over her eyes, then reaching back to the window.
Oana put her hands over Lada’s. “I am alive, yes. They tried to get information from me, but I am an old woman who knows nothing and can barely speak Wallachian, much less understand Hungarian. All I know how to do is sew. I have certainly never been privy to any of your plans.”
Lada grinned, relieved that at least Oana was doing well in captivity.
“And now?”
“Now, at the insistence of Mara Brankovic, who has written several times, I have finally been permitted to bring you your food. Matthias says you are not eating much.”
“He is poisoning me.”
Oana peered down at whatever she carried. “I will eat some of it. Then we can know for certain.”
Lada shook her head. “No reason for us both to die.”
“Lada, my child, I have been with you since you were born and I do not want to live after you die.” She leaned against the door and picked at Lada’s food.
“Tastes fine,” she said.
Lada wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Do you have any weapons? Those will serve me far better than food, poisoned or otherwise.”
“They checked me very thoroughly. Actually, it is the most interested any man has been in my body for nearly twenty years now. I invited him back to my chambers, but he did not seem to understand.”
Lada laughed, unable to help it. She was more profoundly grateful for Oana, here in the midst of her despair, than she had thought possible. She would even consent to having her hair combed if such a thing were possible through the door.
Oana glanced casually to the side. “Good. The guard does not speak Wallachian. He did not so much as flinch at my filthy implications.” She began passing the food to Lada. “I feel fine. I will let you know immediately if I die, though.” Oana stopped, staring into the dim cell. “What the devil is that?”
Lada followed Oana’s gaze to the tableau she had built along the edge of her cot.
“Oh. The guards think it is funny to bring them to me. They say it will remind me of home and keep me from getting too sad.” Several rats had been impaled on tiny stakes and pinned into grotesque positions. The stakes, unfortunately, were too small and flimsy to serve any practical purpose. “They are trying to upset me, so I display them instead.”
Oana wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Pass them here. I will get rid of them.”
Lada leaned against the door to rest. She needed to move more, to be active even in these confined conditions. “I will keep them. I can show no weakness to these worms. But enough about my cell. Tell me what is happening out there.”
“You will not like it.”
“Tell me.”
“Radu is in Tirgoviste. He has put Aron Danesti on the throne.”
Lada’s jaw ached, but she could not unclench it. “Our men in the mountains?’<
br />
“We hear nothing of them, which is good. It means they have not been found or betrayed us.”
“And what of the rest of Europe? How do they respond to Matthias’s bold move in taking me prisoner?”
“No one knows.”
Lada sighed. She had hoped that Mara would tell Radu, or someone who would spread the news. But Mara was Mehmed’s, and would do what she was told because that was how she stayed free and powerful. How different the world would be if only merit and skill were rewarded, if only ambition created results. Instead, it was a tangled mess of threads. Lada had tried so hard to stay out of that web, to owe her power to no one. But the closer she got to transcending the strands that had bound her throughout her whole life, the more the web tightened around her.
Oana continued. “As far as everyone else knows, you are still hiding in the mountains. Or underneath the beds of small children who refuse to obey their parents. But at least Matthias cannot kill you and risk the ire of your fan the pope.”
Lada pushed her head against the wood door, wishing the planks would part and allow her through. “Does the pope know where I am? Is there help there?”
“No. He thinks you are hiding as well.”
“How do you know all this? Have you taken a lover here? Are you playing spy?” Lada could not imagine such a thing, but then again, Oana was always surprising her.
Oana laughed, a deep, guttural burst like Bogdan’s. Lada was hit anew with longing to be anywhere but here. To be back in the mountains with Bogdan. At least she had made him stay there. He would have died, otherwise. She clutched the locket, which they had let her keep. It comforted her, knowing Wallachia was waiting. Bogdan was waiting.
Comforted and drove her mad in equal measures. What good was she to anyone here?
“I did not find any of this out myself.” Oana shifted to the side, cocking her head subtly to the left. Lada leaned against the opening and looked at where a man was sweeping the floor under the dispassionate gaze of a guard. She did not spend much time looking out the window, feeling it made her appear weak, but she should have paid more attention to who was out there.
Unlike most people, Lada had trained herself to notice that bland, blank face.
Stefan.
“He began working here two weeks before you were captured. They suspect nothing. I should go now,” Oana said with a smile. “You hold tight.” She reached a hand through the opening and rested one dry palm against Lada’s cheek. Lada watched her leave, careful to pay no further attention to Stefan.
For the first time since she had been locked up, hope fluttered in her chest. It was as small and fragile as the rodents twisted in macabre death by her bed.
Tirgoviste
WHILE RADU WAS GRATEFUL for Cyprian’s help, having him sit in on meetings was distracting. Pleasantly so, but distracting nonetheless. With all the upheaval, no one had questioned Cyprian’s presence. Radu had merely introduced him as a close friend and advisor. Radu’s men had accepted Cyprian without question. And Aron and Andrei were too busy scheming to wonder where he had come from. Fortunately the meetings were conducted in Turkish: Radu’s men did not speak Wallachian, and Aron and Andrei were fluent in Turkish.
“Radu!”
Radu tore his eyes from the teasing smile on Cyprian’s lips. “What?”
Aron frowned. “I said, how many do you think we should plan on for the celebration?”
Radu leaned back in his chair, struggling to keep his expression neutral. “I thought we agreed paying for that much food and drink as well as furnishing all the guest rooms in the castle was not the best use of resources right now.”
“We agreed on nothing,” Andrei said. “You said we need to get the boyars on our side. How else can we prove to them that we are in control?”
Radu strained to keep the incredulity he felt off his face. “The best way we can show them the country is under control is to actually get the country under control. My men are still in the mountains hunting down Lada’s forces. We have heard no word of her or her location for weeks, meaning any gathering of boyars is inherently risky. It is not like her to give us this much time to fortify. It makes me wonder what she has planned.”
“Perhaps she is dead,” Andrei said.
“She is not dead,” Radu snapped.
“How can you be sure?”
He was not sure. Or at least there was no way for him to be sure. But he could not imagine that Lada would die alone and in secret. Or that she could be dead and he would not somehow know. Surely her death would be marked by something. A comet. A great hole opening in the earth. A tempest, a flood, a fire. A force such as Lada could not depart this world without leaving one last mark.
Radu rubbed his forehead. “Regardless, until we discover news of her, we must operate as though an attack is imminent. And if we want to avoid mass starvation in the coming year, we need to plant and rehabilitate the fields as soon as possible. People have started returning to the villages. Any resources not needed for protection should go toward rebuilding.”
Aron smoothed his vest. “I think my brother is right. A show of strength is called for.”
“Thus the forces in the mountains hunting down enemies,” Cyprian muttered in Greek. Radu coughed to cover up his answering laugh.
“This is the way things are done,” Aron said. “It is what my father would have done.”
“Your father is dead, as are many of the boyars.” Radu did not mean for it to be harsh, but Aron flinched. Andrei sat straighter, a protective glare sharpening his eyes. Radu held up his hands in placation. “What I am saying is, my sister has pushed things so far past what they were, we will have to be very careful in how we put them back together. If you had a horse that got free and lived wild for a year, you would not immediately saddle it and expect to safely ride. You would bring it back, feed it, make it feel safe, and remind it why you are a good master. Lada destroyed all the stables. We need to bring everything back to its place before we can expect a return to normalcy.”
“You are the one who told us we need to act like things are normal in order for them to be so!” Aron again smoothed his vest, fixing a button that never seemed to stay fastened. “I am diverting funds for the celebration. I will repay the sultan by adding boys to the Janissary tribute. As vaivode of Wallachia, I do not need your permission.” He held Radu’s gaze firmly. “For anything,” he added.
Radu opened his mouth to argue, then closed it and pasted a smile in place. “Whatever you feel is best. I will release the funds designated to you and then continue my work as directed by the sultan. Please let me know if you require anything further.”
Radu stood, bowed stiffly, and walked from the room. He was followed by Kiril, his other lead men, and Cyprian.
“Aron is a fool,” Cyprian said with a sigh.
Radu did not disagree, and it was disheartening. “I had hoped he would do better. He is pretending like he simply inherited the throne from his father. Everything is different, though. We cannot continue on as things were. And I do not think we should.” As much as Radu had loved training with the Janissaries and valued the men he led, he also thought trading more Wallachian youth in order to throw parties was not the best footing for Aron to start on.
“How many people have come back to the city?” Radu asked Kiril.
“A hundred, perhaps? A few more come every day, but it is a trickle, not a flood.”
Radu shook his head. “And Aron wants to celebrate. We cannot even be sure that some of the citizens are not working with Lada. She may be reviled by the boyars, but we should not underestimate how much she did for the peasants of this country. We will have to work hard to earn their support, or even just their complacency.”
Kiril bid them farewell, and Radu and Cyprian walked alone toward their rooms.
“Do you think Aron is up to the task?” Cyprian asked as th
ey joined Nazira and Fatima.
“I hope so.” Radu could not help the fear that the cycle of bloodshed over the throne of Wallachia would continue indefinitely. Nothing ever changed.
No. Some things changed. Radu looked at his hand, his fingers laced with Cyprian’s. It did not seem possible that those were his fingers, that this was his life. How could something so simple as holding hands with another person feel like a miracle?
As though sensing his thoughts, Cyprian lifted their hands and put his lips against the back of Radu’s hand, then rested his cheek there.
Nazira frowned as she listened to Radu’s report of the situation, not looking up from playing with Fatima’s hair. Fatima lay on the floor with her head in Nazira’s lap. Cyprian and Radu were across from them in the sitting room that connected their two bedrooms. For the first time in his life, the castle felt like home. Not because of the place, but because of the people.
“I cannot believe he thinks a party is the solution. I have hinted very strongly he should focus on preparing marriage offers.” Nazira sighed. “He only asks my advice on clothing styles.”
“You should have heard him,” Cyprian said. “He offers the boyars a dinner party as evidence of his right to be prince.”
Nazira lifted her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “I do not think he is suited to this. He is not the type of leader capable of transitioning a country in so much turmoil.”
“He is the only real choice.” Radu closed his eyes, imagining them all back at home in Edirne, or, better yet, the country estate where Nazira and Fatima usually lived. It felt within grasp. He and Cyprian would marry soon, in the same way Fatima and Nazira had, and then…
And then they would simply be. And it would be enough. More than enough.
“There is another heir far more suited to this work,” Nazira said.
“Andrei worries me as well. I do not think—”
“Not him.” The nagging tone of Nazira’s voice forced Radu’s eyes open. She was giving him a look full of meaning. “The Draculesti line has just as much claim to the throne.”
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