And I Darken

by Kiersten White

  She continued. “Mehmed is our only protection. Do you think I want to see him powerless? Without Mehmed in charge, we face execution for our father’s crimes.”

  “So we help him! We figure out how to beat Halil Pasha!”

  “We would be gambling with Mehmed’s life. The next assassination attempt will not fail.” She leaned heavily on top of him, easing her knee off his back. “Our lives were forfeit the moment Father brought us here. I cannot…” She paused, and her voice got softer. She tangled her fingers in one of his curls, tugging like she used to when they were small, but with no force. “I will not risk Mehmed’s life on the chance that it will work out in our favor.”

  “It does not matter. Mehmed will never give up the throne.” If Lada had seen him that day in the baths—seen his joy and his determination—she would understand. Mehmed was the sultan now, with as much passion as he had for everything he set his sights on. Lada moved, her back against the door. Radu joined her, shoulder to shoulder. “If we ask him to abdicate, if we tell him he cannot stay sultan, he will never forgive us. We will lose his friendship and his trust.”

  “Then we arrange for the throne to be taken from him. It is that, or his death. The throne and his pride, or his life, Radu.”

  Radu thought of his friend, thought of the fire in his heart that was burning ever brighter as he worked to claim his destiny. He thought of it all being taken away in the most humiliating way possible.

  He thought of Mehmed’s spark being taken from the world forever.

  He leaned his head against the heavy wood of the door. It would break Mehmed. But it would save him. “How do we do it?”

  Lada rested her hand where a sword would be sheathed if she were practicing with the Janissaries. “I think I have an idea.”

  “You want me to what?” Huma asked. Laughter teased her voice, but there was violence behind her eyes.

  “Get the Janissaries to revolt.”

  “Why would I do that? It would destabilize the whole city.”

  “Exactly.” Lada sat perfectly still and spoke calmly. Radu knew it was taking great effort—he could tell by the way one of Lada’s feet, not quite hidden beneath her skirts, bounced up and down. “They are already primed for revolt. If you can bribe someone high enough up to ignite it, the soldiers will follow. When Mehmed comes to you for advice on how to handle it, tell him to raise their pay.”

  Huma frowned. “I know the Janissary commander, Kazanci Dogan. He would do it. But it is a dangerous precedent. That money comes out of taxes we take from very wealthy, important people. They will not be happy about Mehmed caving to the demands of the Janissaries, rather than ruling them.”

  “If enough unhappy viziers, pashas, beys, and valis demand Murad come back to the throne, even he will have to listen.”

  Huma’s elegant hand cut through the air between them. “No. I will figure out another way. I do not want Murad back. There is only unrest because the Janissaries have another option. If Murad were dead, they would have to accept Mehmed.” She stood, pacing. “With Murad dead, I could be declared regent until Mehmed is older. I would have to get support. I think I could have Kazanci Dogan behind me, but Halil Pasha…” She sat down heavily, all grace gone out of her movements. “No. He would never support me. If anything happened to Murad, Halil Pasha would arrange to be declared regent. And once he has the throne, we will all be dead.”

  Lada pointed emphatically. “We need Murad. If he does not come back, Mehmed will die.”

  “No! With time, everyone will see that he will make a good sultan.”

  Radu handed her the letter, which felt far heavier than the parchment could account for. “We do not have time.”

  As Huma scanned it, her mouth drew down at both corners. Lines appeared between her eyes. “Constantinople. That damnable city.”

  “It is the heart of everything,” Lada said. “The Janissaries do not want to fight there, and they fear Mehmed will lead them against its walls. Halil Pasha is obviously in contact with Constantinople, and the city itself is seeking Mehmed’s death. And Mehmed will make no secret of his goals, so it is impossible to persuade his enemies that his life should be spared.”

  Huma’s voice came out in a whisper. “There must be another way. I have worked so long and so hard to get here.”

  “This is not about you,” Lada snapped.

  Huma’s face hardened. Radu leaned forward, desperate. He had to persuade her. “A dethroned son is of more value to you than a dead one. We keep him safe now so that when he comes back to the throne, he can truly rule. With you as the most powerful valide sultan the empire has ever seen.”

  For a few eternal moments, Huma stayed exactly as she was. And then the stone left her face. Her eyelids were heavy with resignation. “Very well. I will set this in motion. Get out.”

  Relief engulfed Radu. He and Lada stood to leave.

  Huma’s tone resumed its normal lingering, teasing state. “You two are very good friends to my son.”

  Radu beamed. They had made the right choice. But then Huma continued: “And very, very bad ones. Pray he never finds out what you have done today.”

  Two weeks later, Lada and Radu rode beside Mehmed in the carriage, past the smoldering remains of buildings burned in the revolt. Out of Edirne. Toward Amasya.

  As one, they stared at the passing countryside, carried away from all of Mehmed’s dreams.

  Murad was back on the throne. Radu and Lada had not seen him or even mentioned his name, each too terrified to even whisper about what he might do if he remembered what he owed their father. All they had to do now was disappear into anonymity and hope no one realized that they should be dead.

  And so Radu and Lada sat next to their one friend. Radu was relieved to be free of pressure. At least they were returning to Amasya. They had been happy there. Maybe they could be again.

  But they were both silent in the shared secret of their escape, the truth that Mehmed could never know. Their secret was deeper and darker than the pool in the woods. Lada took her brother’s hand and squeezed it, a grip as painful as their new bond.

  They had betrayed Mehmed.

  1451: Amasya, Ottoman Empire

  LADA SCREAMED, HER VOICE ripped away by the wind to trail behind her. She pushed her horse harder. Her quarry was close, nearly within reach, but they were fast approaching the trees and she would lose him once they got there. That could not happen.

  One last burst of speed and she drew to within a hand’s length of the other horse. She threw her leg over the saddle, balancing on the side. With a battle cry, she launched herself from her horse and slammed into Radu.

  He shouted in surprise, and she scrambled for a handhold. With her hand wrapped in his cloak for leverage, she threw her upper body over the saddle and grabbed the reins. Thrown off-balance, the horse veered wildly to the side, skidding to a stop so sudden both Lada and Radu tumbled to the ground.

  “What is wrong with you?” Radu shouted, shoving her away. She rolled onto her back, the brilliant blue sky spinning above her.

  She laughed.

  “Have you lost what little wits you had to begin with? You could have killed us both!”

  Still gasping with laughter, Lada patted Radu on the cheek, the force of it making a light slapping sound. “But I won.”

  “You—” He jabbed a bruising finger against her arm. “You—” Finally, getting his breathing under control, Radu shook his head and smiled. “You cheated.”

  “There is no such thing as cheating. There is only winning or losing. I won.”

  “And if we had both died?”

  “As long as you died first, I still would have counted it as winning.”

  With an exhalation that might have been a laugh, Radu hurried to his horse, who stood nearby, eyes still wide with fright. He talked to it in low, soothing tones, stroking its long velvet nose. Lada looked around for her own steed. It was also nearby, under cover of the trees, peering out at them.

  Pr
obably hiding from her, smart beast.

  Radu calmed and gathered both horses, and then held out a hand to Lada. She experienced her usual jolt of surprise and jealousy at finding his hand was larger than hers. She came to his chin, if she stood on the balls of her feet. Somewhere in the last two years, her baby brother had become a man. He had grown fast and straight and strong, the cherubic roundness of his cheeks slowly fading to reveal cheekbones and a jaw of stone. With no baby features to balance his large eyes, they were striking, a dark sweep of lashes framing them beneath thick brows. He wore his long, lazy curls tied at the base of his neck.

  “Ugh,” she muttered, tugging his hair. “You are so pretty. Like a delicate butterfly beneath my boot.”

  “Ugh,” he replied, pulling one of her own curls, which were thick and coarse. “You are so mad. Like a rabid hound that needs to be put down.”

  Their ride back to the keep was leisurely, meandering along the banks of the river. As they passed through the city, various storekeepers and merchants waved happily to Radu, who paused to inquire about sick children, hoped for crops, and various other mundanities that made the space behind Lada’s eyes go soft and blank with boredom. No one said hello to or even acknowledged Lada.

  Without Radu, she would have gone mad living here. In the two years since they left Edirne, some of the distance between them had closed. They shared blood and secrets enough to know that without each other, they had no one.

  It was something.

  Mehmed was the third part of their bond. He considered them his truest friends and only allies. The guilt of knowing better made Lada softer, broke down the anger she had kept up for so long.

  They were safe here. That was also something.

  The last six months, though, had been the dullest she had ever known. With another war against Hunyadi, everyone who mattered was gone. Even Mehmed had been called up.

  Someone shouted her name, making her startle and pull her horse to a quick stop. She turned to find Nicolae riding toward her, his familiar grin quick and easy despite the large gash that ran from the center of his forehead to the bridge of his nose and onto his left cheek.

  “Lada! Did you miss me?”

  She frowned, tapping her chin. “Have you been gone? I had not noticed.”

  “You cried yourself to sleep every day.”

  “I luxuriated in the blessed quiet that you left in your wake.”

  He clapped a hand on her shoulder, still beaming, and she finally allowed herself a smile in return. In truth, she was overjoyed.

  “Tell me everything. Including how that happened.” She nodded toward his scar.

  “This? Alas, my beautiful face. Is it not tragic?”

  “You should be grateful. For the first time in your life you have two eyebrows instead of one.”

  Nicolae threw his head back, laughter roaring through the square. “My little dragon, always finding the bright side of life. Come. We drink.”

  Radu caught up to them, pulling his horse alongside Nicolae’s. His eyes scanned the street, body tense as he stood with his feet in the stirrups as though by standing tall he could make what he wished for materialize. “Is everyone returning?”

  Lada and Nicolae met one another’s eyes with a knowing look. She feigned annoyance, but in truth she desperately wanted to ride through town to catch the very first glimpse of Mehmed. Where was he? Was he safe? Had he been wounded like Nicolae?

  Nicolae tried to pat Radu on the head, but he could no longer reach high enough. “Mehmed stopped in Edirne. I do not know when your master will return, young pup. Tell me, Lada, have you been able to house-train him while Mehmed was away?”

  “Alas, all attempts have failed. He wets his mat nightly with both piss and tears.”

  “Always so nice to have you safely returned, Nicolae,” Radu said, his tone as dry as the crops beneath the unseasonably warm autumn sun. He waved and rode away, leaving Lada and Nicolae to their own devices. He would not admit it, but he left to avoid what they were going to do next, and so he could hide the fact that he was preparing to observe Ramadan. As though Lada did not know.

  Lada and Nicolae settled in the back of a small shop the Janissaries frequented because, with a little extra coin, the owner conveniently forgot the prohibition against alcohol. Lada waited through several stories, including the disgraceful flight of Hunyadi, before finally broaching the only subject she wanted to hear about.

  “How did Mehmed do?” She feigned innocent curiosity. They had spent so much of their time the last two years studying tactics, examining old battles, gathering what information they could of the various threats to the Ottoman Empire. After his humiliating ejection from the throne, Mehmed had been determined to never fall short again.

  And after her betrayal of Mehmed and her own father’s betrayal of her, Lada had done everything she could to help him.

  “The little zealot surprised us all.” Nicolae raised his drink, his cheek distorted by the livid scar when he smiled. “Those of us in the right flank under his command suffered the fewest casualties. He knew his part, and he played it well. Better even than our father the sultan.”

  Lada hid her traitorous smile behind her heavy mug. “Careful, Nicolae. That sounded almost like praise.”

  “I will be damned if I ever call him father, but your Mehmed may yet make a decent sultan. Until he bleeds us all out against the walls of Constantinople.”

  Relieved and buoyed by news of Mehmed’s triumph, Lada relaxed into her seat, enjoying Nicolae’s tales of the campaign and exaggerated stories of mayhem, gore, and personal heroics. They were joined by several other Janissaries who were not devout and loved to imbibe, each settling into the dim space. Soon the room was packed shoulder to shoulder, everyone silly with drink and post-travel lethargy.

  “But you still have not told me how you finally got two eyebrows,” she said, after a comic reenactment of Nicolae’s struggles to pull his sword out of a Hungarian soldier’s stubborn ribs before a screaming Transylvanian reached him.

  “Oh, that. I ran afoul of the camp seamstress.” Nicolae gestured to his groin. “She always has to adjust the standard uniform to account for my massive manhood, and she finally tired of all the extra material required. Her shears are very sharp.”

  The room roared with laughter. Lada rolled her eyes, glad it was dim enough to hide her blush of discomfort. Though she usually avoided this talk with the men, worrying what it might encourage, she had missed them too much to let them exclude her from their bawdy jokes. She sniffed derisively. “More likely she mistook your manhood for one of her delicate needles.”

  She got a louder laugh than Nicolae had, along with several slaps on her shoulders. She leaned back, stretching out and taking up space the way the men around her did, and grinned at her friend.

  “I could show it to you, if you like.” Nicolae held his arms out wide. “Are you prone to fainting?”

  “My eyesight is quite poor. We would need some sort of lens for me to be able to see something so small.”

  Several soldiers banged on the table, and one fell off his chair, either from drunkenness or laughing so hard. Ivan, who had disliked Lada since the day she bested him when she first met Nicolae, leaned forward. “But some things are not so small in here.” He reached out and grabbed Lada’s left breast, squeezing painfully.

  Before she could react, Nicolae spun Ivan away, slammed his head against the table, and threw him to the ground. Grinding Ivan’s face into the hard-packed dirt floor, Nicolae growled, “Lada is one of us. And we do not treat our own that way. Understand?”

  Ivan groaned his assent. Nicolae sat down again, easy smile back in place, but a weighted silence had poisoned the atmosphere. This had never happened to Lada before, but she suspected she had Nicolae to thank for that. How long had he been deflecting things like this? How much had been said when she could not hear it? Nicolae’s defense had proved the exact opposite of his claim that she was one of them. She felt it, like a curdled m
eal threatening to come back up out of her stomach: the knowledge that she could never be their equal. She would always be separate.

  Ivan’s glare as he pushed himself off the floor promised a future of violence.

  She met his stare with an unflinching one of her own.

  RADU WAITED, BREATHLESS WITH excitement as he watched the caravan approach the keep. There was a fine carriage in the center, with twenty Janissaries and a couple of mounted eunuchs, which Radu thought odd. However, the presence of the eunuchs was explained when the carriage opened to reveal a different member of the sultan’s family than the one Radu was desperate to be reunited with.

  Huma stepped out, distaste written across her features as she took in Amasya clinging to the river beneath them. The sight of her after two years—knowing what their last meeting had been about—filled Radu with fear.

  “Radu! Look how you have grown.” She held out her arms and Radu took her hands in his, unsure of how to greet her.

  “You look well.”

  She laughed, the sound low and itching, like a breath full of smoke. “Appearances are deceiving. He is not with me, so you can stop watching over my shoulder.”

  Radu gave a false smile. “What brings you to Amasya, if not returning with Mehmed?” He wanted nothing more than to ask her when Mehmed would be returning, what the delay was. But he felt it important to appear calm.

  “I am here on family matters.”

  “But…Mehmed is still in Edirne? What family matters do you have here without him?”

  Huma watched his face for a few heartbeats and then laughed again. “You really do not know much about my son’s life, do you? Sweet boy.” She patted his cheek, her hand dry and soft. “Come, take me inside. We will catch up. Call for your charming sister so we can reunite our happy band.”