“They remain loyal?”
“Most of them. The Hungarians left long before we got there.”
It was as much as Lada could hope for. “How many do we have now?”
“Counting the women? Two thousand, maybe three. It is hard to know how many are still waiting and how many have fled. Are we going to kill King Matthias?” Bogdan’s words were as rough and strong as his fists. He wanted it as much as she did.
Lada rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. “We are going to kill all of them.”
“Good.”
Lada smiled, reaching out a hand. Bogdan put his in it, hesitantly.
“Never leave me,” she said.
“I never will.”
As she slipped toward sleep, Lada finally felt safe again. She did not know what she would have done without Bogdan. She knew she should tell him how she felt—knew that he would treasure that knowledge more than the woman in the village had treasured this scrap of red cloth in her hair—but she could not bear to part with the words. He was no Mehmed. But perhaps he was something better. He would never challenge her, never demand she yield to what he wanted. He was hers.
Instead of thanking him, she decided that she would marry him. It meant nothing to her, but it was a reward for his loyalty. And it served the double purpose of removing her marriageability from anyone else’s political machinations.
She would tell him in the morning. They would marry, and then they would begin the work of destruction.
Carpathian Mountains
RADU HAD NO DESIRE for pageantry, for tradition, for celebration. And so his coronation took place in the middle of the twenty thousand graves that marked his sister’s rule.
Amid the settling dirt and sprigs of trees growing around them, Radu knelt. He bowed his head, and a simple iron crown was placed there by the only priest who had returned to the capital. It felt far heavier and more restrictive than Radu’s turbans ever had.
He thought of Mehmed’s coronation. The weeks of celebration. The sense that it was the beginning of something truly great, of history on an unimaginable scale. Radu wondered what Mehmed would think of his new role. There had not been time for Mehmed to have received word and written back yet. Radu felt the distance between them keenly. But he also appreciated it. Because if he was being forced to do things he had no desire to, at least he could accomplish them however he saw fit.
Radu had but five witnesses: the priest, Nazira, Fatima, Cyprian, and Kiril. A few dozen citizens stood respectfully nearby, more out of curiosity than any sense of duty or excitement.
When the priest was finished, Radu stood. He was prince, like his sister and father before him. The grave dirt clung to his knees. He did not brush it off.
* * *
A week after the coronation, after making certain the city’s defenses were set and the crops were well managed, Radu and Cyprian went into the mountains with Kiril and a select group of Janissaries. The sooner they finished this, the sooner Radu could lure back the boyars. Including someone—anyone—who could take over as vaivode. He was only prince because of Lada’s violence. He considered it his singular princely duty to put a stop to that violence. And then his responsibilities would be fulfilled.
After two days of careful travel, they stopped to take stock. The mornings and evenings were growing chilly, but the afternoons still held the powerful, lingering heat of late summer. Radu and Cyprian sat in the shade of an enormous evergreen with Kiril, going over what they knew.
Kiril frowned, looking out over the steep ranges surrounding them. “We should find her hidden reserves of men. They are here somewhere.”
They could wander for weeks and never find so much as a soul, much less carefully hidden people who knew this land like it was part of them. Radu shook his head. “We do not need to find them. Not if we find Lada. She has made certain that everything depends on her. Everyone owes their power and their hopes to her. If she falls, her entire system of government and leadership will, too. They will disband and drift back to their old lives.”
Kiril scratched his clean-shaven cheek. Radu would not mind if he wanted to grow facial hair, but the Janissaries did not abandon their discipline for anything. “We still do not know where she is hiding, or if she is in these mountains at all. There are rumors of a hidden fortress, but there is no record of it being built, and no one can tell us where it is.”
“Is it on a peak?” Radu asked, suspecting he knew his sister’s exact location. How could he not have thought of this sooner?
Kiril raised his eyebrows, surprised by the question. “I heard that the mountain was her fortress. That is why it made no sense.”
Radu felt more bleak dread than triumph. Some part of him had hoped they would never find her. That she would simply be gone. Oh, Lada. “Gather our men and the cannons. The lightest ones we have. It will not be an easy trek.”
“You know where she is?”
“We share the same childhood. She forgets that, I think.” Radu remembered the pouch his sister had carried all these years. She had filled it here. Held it like a talisman against the pain and distance they endured. And, when the pouch was ruined by blood, Radu had placed the dusty contents in a silver locket for her. She never took it off.
Lada’s heart had always stayed here.
And it would stop here, too.
* * *
Radu had learned his lessons well. He had left Nazira and Fatima behind in Tirgoviste, in a small home on a side street, with nothing special to mark it as containing something truly precious. Radu did not know if Lada would try to kill his wife, but she had already killed his brother-in-law. He would never leave Nazira’s life to chance.
Whatever happened here, Nazira and Fatima would be safe. And if Radu did not come back, he knew Mehmed would take care of them. Both to honor Radu’s memory, and to honor Kumal’s. All the pieces of his life had been settled. His friendship with Mehmed, finally released of pain and tension. His duty to Nazira and Fatima. With the exception of Cyprian at his side reminding him how desperately he wanted to live, Radu was as ready as he could be to face his sister.
As they rode deeper into the green and gray of the Carpathians, Radu felt the weight of the dead pressing closer than the looming peaks on either side.
Everyone with him thought he was the good Draculesti. The noble one. But did he not have as much to answer for as Lada? All the lives that had come into contact with them had, in one way or another, been forever tainted. Bloodied. Ended. And now they were on opposite sides, with so many more lives in the balance. For the sake of this country and all the countries around it, for stability and safety—not just for Mehmed, but for all the people protected under the empire’s rule who would only prosper if the empire did—Radu needed to win.
He knew that.
But he did not know whether he deserved to win.
“What are you thinking of?” Cyprian asked, nudging his horse closer so the men’s legs brushed.
“All the blood that has led me to this point.”
Cyprian grimaced exaggeratedly. “I was thinking of what we might expect for dinner.”
Radu tried to offer a smile, but with Cyprian he did not have to. He did not have to pretend or force pleasantness. Cyprian never demanded that he perform. Radu looked at him with all the tenderness he felt. And part of him whispered to cling to every glance, every moment, because an end was coming.
Radu swept his hand to encompass the ancient, towering mountains. Their horses clung to the path beside the river. The valley was so narrow that in certain places the sun shone only a few hours every day. One could climb halfway up the northern mountains and hit the southern peaks with an arrow, or perhaps even a well-thrown rock. “These are the paths of my childhood, but the boy I was then does not know the man I am now. And I think—I fear—this is the final step to becoming whatever I
will be. I do not want to find out what that is.”
Cyprian did not force a smile, either. He nodded resolutely. “We will find out together.”
* * *
Radu crept up the side of the mountain across from Lada’s fortress. The Arges was a black line beneath him, separating the two peaks. The two siblings. The night was as dark and thick as oil, heavy clouds cutting them off even from the stars. It felt portentous, as though all of nature knew what the future held.
Radu had spent a summer here. A happy summer, one of the happiest of his childhood. And not long after, his father had sold him and Lada for the throne of Wallachia.
Lada had traded a life with Radu and Mehmed—a safe life, a life Radu still suspected could have been a happy one, somehow, at least for her—for blood and struggle and violence, had once again sold herself for the throne of Wallachia.
Radu, it seemed, was doomed to sacrifice for the same thing. Could no Dracul escape this cursed throne and what it asked of them? At least Lada and their father had been willing victims. Radu did not want to offer up what it would take to keep the throne.
He had no choice.
They made as little noise as possible, which was no small feat when one hundred men and ten small cannons made their way up the side of a mountain with no path. But Radu had been right about the location. A flicker of candle on Lada’s peak guided them. On their side was a flat patch of rocky meadow about twenty feet above the fortress opposite them. From there they had a perfect vantage point—and point of attack.
Launching a siege against the fortress would be nearly impossible. Lada had made certain of that. It was as though the fortress had sprung from the very rocks of the peak, growing up around her.
Maybe it had. Maybe Wallachia loved his sister as much as she loved it.
But she made the same mistake everyone who went against Mehmed did. Because it did not matter how clever they were. Mehmed had the money, the men, and the weaponry to be cleverer. All they had to do was sit here, safe behind the cover of rock and trees, and fire cannonball after cannonball at his sister’s fortress. Ten years ago, this attack would have been impossible. But Lada had not been at Constantinople. Had not seen an artillery designed by the deadly genius of Urbana.
A dozen men were making the trip back down to bring up even more cannonballs and gunpowder. Radu had several hundred more who would set up a position at the base of the peak once the bombardment began and the element of surprise was past.
Eventually the fortress would fall. Lada’s men could not run without being picked off—just as Radu’s men could not have attacked on foot without being picked off. The fortress’s strengths were also its greatest weaknesses.
Just like the girl who built it.
“We watch and wait. We need to be certain she is there,” Radu whispered. But he knew. Just as he had felt that she was not dead, he could feel her, heavier and darker than the night. She was there.
His men dispersed silently into the trees, the cannons covered with foliage so nothing could be seen. Radu lay on his stomach, only his head peering over the side of a large boulder on the edge of his mountain. Beneath him, only darkness.
Cyprian joined him, and they waited to see what the dawn would reveal.
“If she is there,” Cyprian said, but then he paused, shifting to lie on his back and look straight up. Radu imitated him. In the silence and the night it was easy to pretend it was only the two of them. That they were not surrounded by men and machines made for killing. That his sister was not asleep only a small chasm away.
That last fact was harder to ignore. Lada was stubborn that way, always claiming space that did not belong to her, whether in reality or in Radu’s mind.
“If she is there,” Cyprian began again, “what will you do?”
“What I have to.”
“And what do you have to do?”
Radu closed his eyes, the blackness behind his lids offering no more comfort than the night. “What she would do. What Mehmed would do. I have tried so hard to escape this, but my path was always leading here. I took every turn I could. I found faith and God. I found a new home and country, even new tongues and a new name. But I cannot escape becoming a Dracul. The cruelty, the willingness to destroy everything else in pursuit of a goal. I know what she would do. I know what I need to do. But I do not want to do it.”
Radu felt Cyprian’s long fingers reach for his, felt them link together. Felt the way they fit as though they were always meant for each other.
Cyprian lifted Radu’s hand and pressed it to his lips. “Lada and Mehmed can only move forward. They have one path and cannot branch from it. But you underestimate yourself. You are not your sister, nor should you be. You have always had strengths she did not. If you want to go back down this mountain tonight and leave Wallachia forever, I will be at your side. And if you decide that killing your sister is the right decision, I will be at your side. But do not do something because she would, or because Mehmed would.”
“But they were capable of greatness. Destined for it, even.”
“Then do not aim for greatness. Aim for goodness. And however you get there will be the right path for you, my sweet Radu.”
Radu felt warm tears track down his face. How could he find good in all of this? “She will never stop. She cannot. I cannot think of any way to save her and Wallachia.”
“You survived a cruel childhood. You built a safe space for your heart and your soul. You navigated an enemy court and made it your own. You rose to power when you should have been a captive. You made friends with the most powerful man of our age. You went into an enemy city and helped turn the tide for your people—and managed to show tremendous mercy at the same time. If anyone can figure out a way, Radu, it is you.”
* * *
At dawn, Radu prayed.
There were men in the fortress. They were small and insignificant from this distance, milling idly about. They had no idea they were being watched.
Radu had been right, had known they would find her here. Lada walked out onto the fortress wall and leaned over the edge. At her side was Bogdan. Though the distance was great, Radu would recognize that block of a man anywhere. He recognized none of the other men, a few of whom stood with Lada and Bogdan.
Bogdan tried to take Lada’s hands, but she batted his away.
Radu knelt and reached for a longbow. Nocking an arrow onto the string, he breathed out, looking down the length of the shaft to his sister. He had always been a better shot than she was. It was the only physical thing he could beat her at.
Everything else about her had always been stronger. Including her heart.
Radu would break it. He took a deep breath, and aimed.
Poenari Fortress
LADA SLAPPED BOGDAN’S HAND away as he once again reached for hers. “We are getting married. You are not a child walking too close to the riverbank. I hardly think you need me to hold your hand.”
Bogdan smiled, joy softening his blocky features and turning him back into the boy she had shared a childhood with. “Do you remember when you told my mother that I was your brother, and Radu a worm? Now I will be your husband. This is where we married the first time, too.”
Lada rolled her eyes, but she remembered. And though she did not feel the joy Bogdan so evidently did, it still felt right. She had always wanted Bogdan at her side. It was a renewing of that bond made in blood during their childhood.
A renewing of her bond both to Bogdan and her country. She had not done enough yet. Had not pushed hard enough or far enough. But she would. And Bogdan would support every step, as he always had.
The crooked, gray priest from the village continued his part as though they were not talking over him. Lada wore chain mail and a tunic embroidered with her crest. She had left the red cloth in her hair. The old woman had worn it at her own wedding. It felt nice to honor her. It also felt
disloyal, because the woman Lada should actually honor had been left behind in Hunedoara. Would Oana be happy about this official union? Lada hoped so.
The priest asked Bogdan a question. Lada was not paying much attention. She felt a flutter of nerves in her lower stomach. It made no sense. She was not nervous. She did not care enough about this ceremony to be worried or fearful.
The flutter came again. It was something new. Something foreign.
Lada put her hand on her stomach and looked up at Bogdan in horror. He was staring solemnly at the priest.
“Bogdan,” Lada hissed.
He turned toward her, holding out his hands again. She reached up to take them, needing an anchor, needing something to hold on to against the sick dread that had opened like a pit inside of her. She needed her nurse. She needed Daciana.
But all she had now was Bogdan.
Concern erased his happiness like a cloud passing over the sun. “Oh,” he said, frowning at the arrow that had appeared, embedded deep in his side.
He looked back up at Lada, then lurched heavily toward the wall. Lada reached out for him, but she was too late. His weight and momentum tipped him over the edge.
Lada watched as Bogdan spun through the air before finally hitting stone, bouncing with a thick snap off and down the steep cliff face toward the river far beneath. His limbs moved without resistance, Bogdan already reduced to a mere body.
Bogdan was gone. And this time there would be no miraculous reunion, no finding each other again after years of separation. Bogdan was gone. Bogdan was not allowed to be gone. Bogdan could not be gone. He belonged to her.
Lada stared at where he had fallen. Around her men shouted, and someone tugged on her arm. If an arrow had found Bogdan, an arrow could find her, too. She looked up, searching the mountain opposite them.
Bright We Burn Page 26