Now I Rise

by Kiersten White

  “Run!” Nazira screamed.

  The man dropped to his knees and began praying instead. Behind them, they heard the sounds of conflict drawing closer. There were no Byzantine soldiers in the city—no one left to fight—but the Ottomans surging over the wall did not know that. They would come ready to fight in the streets, and when they realized there was no one left to bar their way…

  “We have to get Cyprian out,” Radu said, gasping for air. “Valentin, too.”

  “How?”

  The way to Galata would be closed. The Ottomans would anticipate that. The bells on the seawall began clanging a warning. If the Ottoman soldiers in the galleys knew the city had been taken, they would be eager to join the pillaging. The seawalls were barely manned now, and with word spreading through the city that the walls had fallen, everyone would abandon their posts, leaving the sailors free to climb over. No one wanted to miss out on the looting. Nothing was off-limits—gold, jewelry, people. Anything that could be moved and sold would be.

  But if the seawalls were not manned, and all the sailors rushed into the city—

  “The horn,” Radu said. “We make for the horn. There are still the Italian ships. We may even be able to steal one of the Ottoman galleys.”

  “Are you certain we will meet no resistance?” Nazira asked.

  Radu could not be certain of anything. “It is our best chance.”

  “What about Mehmed? You could ride out to meet him.”

  They collapsed against Cyprian’s door. His home was deep enough in the city that no sounds of fighting had reached it yet. “I will not leave you and Cyprian here, not for anything,” Radu said. “I can come back when the three days of looting are over and everything has settled.”

  Nazira squeezed his hand; then they ran into the house. “Valentin!” Nazira shouted.

  The boy rushed down the stairs, nearly falling. “We heard the bells. Cyprian is getting dressed to fight. I told him not to, but—”

  Nazira handed Valentin his cloak. “The city is falling. We are running.”

  Radu looked up to see Cyprian standing at the top of the stairs. His injury had left him unable to get out of bed for more than a few minutes at a time without becoming dizzy. He was as pale and bleak as the dawn. “My uncle?”

  Radu shook his head. “It is over. If we do not run now, we will not get out alive.”

  Cyprian closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Then he nodded, resolve hardening all his features. “Where do we go?”

  “The horn.” Radu turned to leave, then paused. “Wait!” He sprinted up the stairs, throwing open the chest in the room he had shared with Nazira. At the bottom, carefully folded, were the clothes they had worn on their journey to Constantinople. Radu yanked his robes on over what he already wore, then hastily wrapped a turban around his hair. Better to look like friend than foe to the invading army.

  Cyprian nodded. “Like the flags,” he said. For a terrible moment Radu thought Cyprian knew what they had done at the palace. But then he remembered the flags on the boats to help them sneak past the Ottoman fleet.

  “Yes. Speak in Turkish,” Radu cautioned. “Valentin, you say nothing.”

  The four of them paused on the threshold of the house. They had been happy here, after a manner. As much happiness as could be found in the slow, agonizing death of a city falling around them. Then they ran. Cyprian was in the lead, taking them on a winding route around the edges of the city, skirting populated areas in favor of abandoned ones. They were nearly to a gate on the seawall when they came across the first group of Ottoman soldiers.

  A clump of citizens had been caught in the alley, and the soldiers ran at them, screaming and brandishing swords. Half of the group had been cut down before the soldiers realized there was no resistance and stopped. Radu thought nothing could be more horrifying than watching unarmed people hewn down.

  Until the soldiers began claiming them. One young woman, her clothes already torn, was being tugged between two men. “I had her first!” one shouted.

  “She is mine! Find your own!”

  “There will be plenty,” their commander said, going through the bags of the dead. He did not even look at the girl as the soldiers pulled off what remained of her clothes, arguing over who could keep her and how much she would be worth. The girl stared at Radu, her eyes already blank and dead, though she still lived.

  If Radu were truly good, if he were not a coward, if he valued all life the same, he would risk drawing the soldier’s attention and kill her right now. But he had to save Nazira, and he had to save Cyprian. “Come on,” Radu whispered. They slipped back the way they had come.

  At a gate to the thin shore of the horn, two remaining Greek soldiers huddled, debating whether or not to open it. Cyprian stalked up without pausing. “They are already in the city,” he said.

  “We will drive them out!” A small soldier, barely past his youth, stood in Cyprian’s way. “The angel will come! We must hold them off until then.”

  “Does he have the key?” Cyprian asked the lanky soldier next to the boy. He nodded. Cyprian punched the boy in the face, then pulled the key from his vest. “The city has fallen. Do what you see best.”

  Crying, the young soldier stumbled away. The lanky soldier slipped out the gate as soon as Cyprian unlocked it. They followed him onto a narrow stretch of rocky beach lining the seawall. No boats were docked here. The Venetian boats had not fled yet, but from the movement onboard, they would soon. And, just as Radu had predicted, several Ottoman galleys were drifting not far from shore, completely abandoned. Someone had dumped logs into the water, where they floated by the hundreds, bobbing gently on the waves.

  No.

  Not logs.

  Radu watched as a man who had managed to swim as far as the Venetian ships attempted to climb up the side. A sailor on the deck reached down with a long pole, pushing him off into the water.

  “Why? Why not help him?” Nazira whispered, her hands covering her mouth.

  Cyprian leaned back against the wall, the hollows beneath his eyes nearly as gray as his irises. “They fear being swamped. There are too many people trying to get on the boats.”

  Valentin shook his head in disbelief. “All these people. They could have saved them.”

  Many of the bodies in the water had wounds no pole could cause, though. The Ottomans must have gotten here at the same time as those people who had figured out the horn was a means of escape. The delay to get Cyprian and Valentin had likely saved all their lives.

  “What do we do?” Nazira asked, turning to Radu.

  “Can you swim?”

  “A little.”

  He looked at Cyprian, who nodded. Valentin nodded, too, eyeing the corpse-strewn water with resigned weariness that had no place on such a young face.

  “The smallest galley. We can row it out until we catch the wind. Once we have that in our sails, we can slip down and away.”

  “And then?” Cyprian asked.

  “And then we keep going.”

  The bells of the Hagia Sophia, deeper and older than any others in the city, began clanging. Radu bade the church a silent farewell. Valentin slipped his hand into Radu’s.

  And Radu remembered two young boys. Still in the church, where he had left them. You will protect us, John had said.

  Radu looked at Nazira, and Valentin, and Cyprian, and he knew then that the scales would never be back in his favor. But he could do this one thing. He could die trying to save two boys who meant nothing to him. Who meant everything to him.

  “I am staying,” Radu said.

  “What? No!” Nazira grabbed his free hand, tugging him toward the water. “We need to leave now.”

  “I have to go back.”

  Her full lips trembling, Nazira nodded. “Fine. We go back.”

  Radu kissed her hand, then held it out to Cyprian. “No woman is safe in the city. Not today, not for the next three days. I cannot let anything happen to you. I promised Fatima. You have to go home.�
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  Nazira stamped her foot, tears streaming down her face. “We have to go home together.”

  “You cannot go back in.” Cyprian stepped past Nazira. He ignored her hand and grabbed Radu’s, the intensity of his gaze overwhelming. “You will die.”

  “I know where John and Manuel are. I can save them.”

  Cyprian looked as though he had been struck. He closed his eyes, then stepped even closer, pressing his forehead to Radu’s. “Their fate is in God’s hands now.”

  “It was never in God’s hands.”

  “No, it was in my uncle’s, damn him and his pride. He has killed them, not you. Not us. If you stay, Mehmed will find you, and he will kill you.”

  Radu’s final punishment was announced by a new bell pealing nearby, harsh and unyielding. He would not be allowed any mercy for the things he had done. He could not escape, and he could not keep anything he hoped to. Radu shifted his face, resting his cheek against Cyprian’s for the space of one eternally breaking heartbeat. “He will not kill me,” Radu whispered. Then he pulled back, forcing himself to look Cyprian in the eyes. Those eyes that had caught his attention even when Mehmed was his whole world. Those eyes that had somehow become the foundation of a hope that maybe, someday, Radu could have love.

  “He will not kill me,” Radu repeated, waiting for Cyprian to understand. The foundation in Cyprian’s eyes crumbled like the walls around them.

  Cyprian stumbled back, shaking his head. “All this time,” he whispered.

  “Will you still keep her safe?” Radu asked.

  Cyprian stared at the rocks beneath them, as mute and stunned as he had been when lightning nearly killed him. “You could have escaped,” he finally whispered. “You did not have to tell me. I would have— We could have—we could have been happy. We could have?” he asked.

  Radu knew what Cyprian was asking, and if he had not already lost all hope it would have ended him. “I do not deserve happiness.” The bells of the Hagia Sophia rang out more insistently. “John and Manuel are running out of time. Will you still keep Nazira safe?”

  A single tear ran down Cyprian’s face. He did not look at Radu. But he nodded. “I will,” he said.

  This one good thing, then, Radu had managed to do. He had not broken all his promises. Nazira threw herself forward, hugging him fiercely. “You come back to us,” she hissed in his ear.

  “Be safe,” he answered. Then, his heart breaking all the more for knowing that he could trust Cyprian even now, Radu fled back into the city.

  The street was slick beneath Radu’s boots. He slipped, going down on his hands and knees. When he rose again, his hands were bloody. He had not felt them get cut, had not thought he had fallen hard. Then he realized that the blood was not a result of his fall, but rather the cause of it. The streets ran with it.

  And so he, too, ran. He ran past soldiers throwing everything portable out of houses. He ran past women and children being dragged screaming from hiding places. He ran, and he ran, and he ran. He tried his best not to look, but he knew that what he saw that day would be seared in his memory.

  Today, he saw the true cost of two men’s immovable wills. He saw what happened when men were forced to fight each other for months on end. It was not merely sickness of the body that plagued sieges, but sickness of the soul that turned men into monsters.

  Radu was nearly at the Hagia Sophia when he saw a boy thrown to the ground. A soldier flipped the boy onto his back, reaching down to undo his trousers. Radu slit the soldier’s throat from behind.

  He reached down and hauled the boy up, only to see the tearstained face of Amal. “Why are you back here?” Radu asked, shocked and despairing.

  Amal shook his head, unable to answer. Radu dragged him along. That, with his turban, bloody clothes, and sword, were enough to make him blend in with all the other soldiers dragging people and things through the streets.

  In the square outside the Hagia Sophia, soldiers not interested in immediately partaking of spoils secured their prizes. Beautiful children, girls and boys, were highly prized as slaves, as were young women. Anyone who looked wealthy was also carefully bound for future ransom. All around them were the bodies of those deemed too old or too sick to be of any worth.

  Radu dragged Amal through the center of the fall of Byzantium, through the center of prophecy. Everything was profaned and ruined. There was nothing holy in this victory. God had truly left the city.

  God was not here, but Radu was. And he still had a mission. His suspicion that Mehmed would send men ahead to protect the Hagia Sophia had proved correct. Several Janissaries stood in front of the church’s barred door. But a growing mob of irregulars and other soldiers shouted and screamed for their right to three days’ pillaging of everything. The guards and the bar would not last long. If Radu was not in the first wave of men inside, he did not want to think what would happen to two small, beautiful boys. There was the side door he had broken in through, but there were too many soldiers around to do anything unseen.

  He shoved directly through the mob to the Janissary guards. One lowered his sword at him, but Radu brushed it impatiently aside. “Do you know what is in this building?” he asked.

  The Janissary hesitated. “We are to leave it unspoiled. Mehmed does not want anything burned.”

  “All the wealthiest people in the city are hiding behind those doors. All the gold, the silver, the riches we were promised are behind those doors. We are not here to burn.” He raised his voice to a shout. “We are here to grow rich on the fat of these unholy infidels!”

  The mob behind him roared, pushing forward. The Janissaries, smart enough to know when they were going to lose, ran. Radu himself hacked through the bar, then pushed the doors open. The looters were greeted with screams and shrieks of despair. The mob fanned out, running to be the first to grab someone or something worthwhile. Radu scanned the faces, looking for the two he had come for. Amal stayed on his heels.

  In the corner near the stairs leading up to the gallery, Radu saw the two boys. They stood in front of their nurse with straight backs. Radu ran, shoving several others out of the way to get there first.

  “Please.” The nurse pushed the two boys forward. “Spare me. These are the heirs! Constantine’s heirs. I give them to you.” The boys lifted their chins bravely.

  A man nudged Radu. “They yours?” he asked, breathing heavily over Radu’s shoulder.

  “The boys are. You can do whatever you want with that woman.” He reached out a hand to either boy, crouching down so he was eye level with them. Recognition dawned on their faces. Manuel burst into tears. John threw himself forward, looping his arms tightly around Radu’s neck.

  “Come on,” Radu whispered. “We do not have much time. I know you are both very, very brave, but pretend you are scared and do not wish to go with me.”

  John released him and took Manuel’s hand. Amal tentatively reached out and took John’s other hand. Radu walked behind them, pushing them toward the stairs. “Why are we going up?” John whispered as they climbed past the gallery.

  “There is no way out of the city now,” Radu said. “I am going to hide you.”

  Fortunately no one had made it past the main floor. With so many people in the Hagia Sophia, the soldiers were busy grabbing as many of them as they could. Radu ushered the boys down the hall, then up the familiar ladders until they passed through a trapdoor and onto the roof.

  Once they were on the roof, Radu jammed his sword into the trapdoor’s hinges. It would not hold against any serious attempt to break through, but he doubted that men looking for the spoils of war would think to check the roof of a cathedral.

  He led the boys away from the edge, where they could be seen from the street—and where they could see what was happening. John and Manuel, at least, had been spared those memories so far. Radu would keep it that way. They found a sheltered area and sat together. One heir huddled against each of Radu’s sides, with Amal curled by his legs.

  “Thank
you for saving us,” John said, trembling.

  Radu looked up to heaven and closed his eyes, because he could not accept those thanks. He had not saved them. He had no way to get them out, no way to leave the city unnoticed. All he had done was delay the inevitable.

  But unlike him, they were innocent. And so he would keep them safe for as long as he was breathing.

  And he prayed that, somewhere out there, Cyprian would do the same for Nazira.

  IN THE WEEKS AFTER her ascension, Lada spent as much time as possible outside. They were waiting for the end of May, when all the Danesti boyars had been invited to a feast. Anticipating it was a burden. Toma had taken over most of the planning, for which she was both grateful and annoyed. She knew she needed the boyars’ permanent support if she was to keep her throne, but she did not know how to get it. If only she had Radu.

  Radu.

  She had received word that the siege against Constantinople was in progress. Where was he? Was he safe? Of all the things she held against Mehmed, jeopardizing Radu’s safety was the greatest. If Radu was hurt, she would never forgive Mehmed. Radu was not an acceptable sacrifice, not for any city.

  Though Lada herself had sacrificed her relationship with him to come here. Wallachia was different, though. Wallachia was hers. It was bigger and more important than any city. Besides, she had not put Radu directly in harm’s way. Other than leaving him with a man he loved who would never love him back. Who would willingly send Radu into danger, never seeing that Radu would give up anything and everything for what Mehmed could never return.

  If Radu had been harmed, she would avenge him. She would kill Mehmed. Thinking about that made her feel slightly better. She spent nearly as much time dreaming of killing Mehmed as she did of doing…other things to him.

  But she needed Radu. She still did not know what to do with the boyars. There were some already in Tirgoviste. The ones who had supported her had come to pay their respects, but she suspected all the payments were forgeries, imitations of actual respect.

  She often rode in the poorer parts of the city. Always she had men with her—the ones she knew, the ones she trusted. Bogdan and Nicolae. Petru. Stefan, if he could be found, and others of her old Janissaries when needed. She told herself it was because the Wallachian men who had joined her were not as well trained, but the truth was she still felt more at home among Janissaries than Wallachians. That preference filled her with gnawing guilt, but she reassured herself that it was because all her Janissaries had been Wallachian first. Just like her.