Bright We Burn

  “The pope?” His threatened throat forgotten, Matthias leaned forward, eyes narrowed shrewdly as the conversation turned to something he was interested in. “What makes you think the pope will give us money?”

  “He fears Islam invading Europe. I wrote him about my victories in Bulgaria, and he likes me very much.”

  Matthias laughed meanly. “That is because he does not know you.”

  “Exactly. I have neither the time nor the temperament to pursue that advantage. Will you?”

  The Hungarian king steepled his fingers. “You will have to convert to Catholicism.”

  “No.”

  “He will not support you if you are still Orthodox.”

  Why were men always trying to claim different parts of her? Her body, her name, her soul. Why should they care where its allegiances lay? She waved a hand crossly. “Then I have converted. You can inform him.”

  “I think it is rather more complicated than that,” Nicolae said.

  “If the king of Hungary writes to the pope that I am Catholic, I am Catholic.” Lada had converted to Islam in much the same way, thanks to Radu’s political maneuverings. That had been to save their lives. This was to finance war.

  Besides, they could not touch her soul in the end, despite all demands on its loyalties.

  “Your people will not like your conversion.” Stephen raised his eyebrows meaningfully. Lada followed his gaze to find Bogdan aghast. Bogdan held his Orthodox faith almost as dearly as he held Lada.

  “My people,” Lada said, glaring at Bogdan, “will like it because I choose it, and everything I choose is for the good of Wallachia.” Bogdan looked down at the floor, chastised.

  Matthias’s eager hunger had not quite left his face, though he tried to smooth it away. Lada was struck with a sudden, powerful longing for Matthias’s father, Hunyadi. An honest man. A true man. A man who would have been invaluable on the battlefields to come.

  But all she had was Hunyadi’s son, so she would use him if she could.

  He smiled tightly. “It may work. With the loss of Constantinople so fresh, I think I can convince Rome to send us gold. Perhaps a lot of it.”

  “Good. We all know what our duties are, then.”

  Stephen grinned rakishly, holding his goblet out to Lada in a toast. “Disrupt stability. Petition for gold. Provoke the greatest empire on the face of the earth.” He paused. “This is going to be fun.”

  Constantinople

  OVER THE NEXT TWO weeks, Radu kept to the palace—the least haunted part of the city for him. He spent his time writing letters and consulting with Mara on where they could look for Nazira. Mara’s smiling patience nagged at him; the calm and soothing way she spoke terrified him that there was, in fact, no hope.

  He would not give up hope. Not for Nazira. Not ever.

  Radu was invited to sit in on all the meetings that involved Europe. He wondered if it was to give some legitimacy to his place in Mehmed’s court, though he felt useless. Unlike Mara, he had not kept up any of his ties with his home country aside from Aron and Andrei Danesti, whom he met with occasionally. Theirs was a relationship destined for discomfort. His sister had murdered their father; their father had murdered Radu’s father. And now his sister sat on the throne they had equal claim to. He avoided them, and everyone else, as much as was polite.

  The only peace Radu found was in prayer, but even his studies of Islam could not distract his itching, straining heart. Every time Radu thought he had found a place in the world, the world changed around him, and he was once again left alone.

  Today, Mehmed was at the head of the room on an elevated platform. Along with several other of Mehmed’s advisors, Radu sat nearest to him. But no one was allowed on the platform. Not even Radu, despite how close they were behind closed doors. Some things never changed.

  He rubbed his eyes wearily. He did not know how much longer he could stand playacting. It had kept him alive through his cruel childhood, navigating the Sultan Murad’s capricious court, and behind the walls of Constantinople during the siege. But when Nazira and Cyprian left, he had lost the one person who truly knew him. And he had lost the other person whom he would have liked to let try.

  He tried to pay attention to the council going on around him, but he had a hard time focusing. Mara was detailing some nuance of diplomacy to give Mehmed more trading advantages with the Venetians. It felt deeply unimportant.

  “What about Nazira?” Radu asked when there was a lull in the discussion.

  “What about her?” Mehmed asked.

  “Has there been any word? Can we send out more men to search? We know they left the city in a boat. Perhaps if we looked up and down the coastline…”

  Mehmed shook his head. “It would be a waste of resources. She left with a nephew of the emperor. He knows what value Nazira has. If we go searching, they will only see our desperation and increase the eventual ransom demand. Our best course of action is to wait and see what they ask for.” He noticed Radu’s horrified expression and held up his hands in placation. “We will pay it, of course! Whatever they ask. But we have to be smart about how we portray her value.”

  “Cyprian would never do that.”

  Mehmed’s face was carefully neutral. “Cyprian. Ah yes. I had forgotten his name.”

  Radu did not believe him. And he could not accept that this was Mehmed’s solution. To simply wait and see what happened. Radu had been waiting for months. “If we have had no word of Nazira, they must have run into trouble. If you would give me the men, I can—”

  The door burst open, and Kumal Pasha, Radu’s beloved brother-in-law, hurried in. Radu wondered if he had somehow been drawn by discussion of his sister. Radu stood, grateful. Kumal would support his petition for more resources.

  Kumal bowed. “I apologize for interrupting, but we have just received word from Bulgaria.” He held out a sheaf of paper. A servant took it, then shuffled toward Mehmed, bowing and holding it out. Radu itched to keep pressing about Nazira, but Kumal was here on other business. Radu would speak with Mehmed later. And he would bring it up again when next they were alone. Mehmed had been so evasive about expanding the search that Radu wondered now if it was because of Cyprian. Could he be jealous?

  Mehmed looked over the papers, his normally composed expression shifting as his eyes widened the more he read. When he looked up, it was directly at Radu.

  “Lada. She has attacked Bulgaria and killed tens of thousands.”

  Radu’s heart raced as though he were the one attacked. “Why?” She had murdered the envoy, and before they had even sent a response she had done this?

  Mehmed stood. “Kumal Pasha, Mara Brankovic, Radu Bey, stay. Everyone else, get out.”

  There was a rush and flutter of robes, and soon the four of them were alone, save Mehmed’s guards. “Come.” He retreated into his private room.

  Radu followed, the space feeling oddly larger with more people in it. Perhaps because Mehmed alone was so much more overwhelming than Mehmed with other people present. Radu leaned against a wall as Mehmed paced. Kumal and Mara both sat on a long, low bench.

  “You cannot let this stand,” Mara said, breaking the silence.

  Mehmed looked as though he wanted to throw something. But everything in the room was expensive, exquisite, his own property. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. “I do not understand this. I gave her the throne.”

  Radu shifted uncomfortably. “But you did not. Not really. You never sent her men or aid. She took it on her own. You can see how she feels that she is not a vassal.”

  “Wallachia is a vassal state! She knows this.”

  “You did not respond to her murder of the envoy, either.”

  Mehmed gave Radu a pointed and wary look. “You think I invited this?”

  “Of course not!”

  Mara shook her head. “It does not matter.
She has to be held accountable.”

  Radu ran his fingers along the edge of his turban. Normally the cloth felt soothing, but he found no comfort now. Tens of thousands. Bulgarians, no less. It made no sense. What was she trying to accomplish? “Did she take any land?”

  Kumal had been whispering to Mara, filling her in on details. He looked up and shook his head. “Just a fortress at Chilia that has traditionally been Wallachian.”

  “So she is not expanding. But why would she attack Bulgaria? It destabilizes the entire region.”

  Mara snapped a fan open and waved it in front of her face even though the room was cool. “She swept through and attacked all the Ottoman fortresses. Our forces there must be in utter chaos. I do not think the Bulgarians will use it as an opportunity to rise up against us—Serbians would not, we would fight alongside you—but it will make everyone in the region bolder. Moldavia, especially. Does she have a relationship with King Stephen? He is your cousin, is he not?”

  Radu shook his head, feeling worthless. “I do not know. I have not been home—” He stopped on the word, wondering how it had slipped out in relation to Wallachia. “I have not been there since I was a child. The relation is on my mother’s side, and she left when we were very young. If Lada has contacted him, it is recent.”

  “How did she even accomplish this much damage?” Kumal asked. “It should not have been possible.”

  “You never really knew her. The impossible is where my sister excels,” Radu said. “That, and never backing down.”

  Mara was still toying with her fan, opening and closing it. “What does she want? Can we buy her?”

  Mehmed laughed darkly. “If being empress could not tempt Lada from Wallachia, nothing can.”

  Radu inhaled sharply. Empress? When had Mehmed offered that? He had not mentioned having seen or communicated directly with Lada since she left. Mehmed always kept her secret, kept her in a portion of his heart Radu had no access to. Radu lowered his head. All their hours in here alone. All the confidence and closeness. All the work Radu had done for him while Lada was far away and actively working against Mehmed. And still she held him. She always would.

  Kumal stood, walking to a map displayed on the wall. “If she gets Hungary, Moldavia, and Transylvania on her side, they may be able to shift the whole region out of our control. We would lose the Danube as well. We can fight Wallachia without any real loss, but I do not like spreading so thin between more regions.”

  “Wallachia is not well liked. It will take her time to get traction within Europe. You should attack her,” Mara said. “Immediately.”

  Radu opened his mouth to disagree, but then he paused. His own hesitation had cost so many lives in Constantinople, on both sides of the wall. He had not acted aggressively, and was haunted by what might have been if he had. If he had assassinated Constantine when he had the chance, perhaps he could have saved tens of thousands. He had not because he cared about the emperor, and because he cared about Cyprian. He still did not know whether he had made the right decision.

  He suspected he had not. Could he stand idly by while more innocents died? It was not his fault this time, but—

  Or was it? Lada had asked him to join her. Without him by her side, there was no one to temper her, no one to guide her from her first impulses. Without Radu to gently push her in new directions, she was turning into the most brutal version possible of herself.

  He had chosen Mehmed over Lada, and this was the result. More death. Always death.

  There had been no response to Mara’s suggestion of attack. Radu looked up. Everyone was watching him. Kumal with compassion, Mara with expectation, and Mehmed with agitated turmoil. Finally, his fists relaxed and his shoulders slumped.

  “I do not want to,” Mehmed said, his voice soft. “I do not want to destroy her.”

  Radu nodded, his head leaden. “I will go speak with her, then.”

  Mara jumped in, still as poised and elegant as a painting, though a line had formed between her brows. “What good will speaking with her do? You cannot release Wallachia from vassalage. It sets a terrible precedent. If we can think of nothing short of total independence that she might be willing to bargain for, we have nothing to offer.”

  “If she continues to push on this, she will be killed.” Kumal lifted his hands as though weighing two choices. “I do not mean that as a threat. I mean it as truth. You have said yourself that she will never back down. Her actions threaten everyone in our empire. Instability creates cracks through which death seeps in. Our responsibility is to keep our people safe, and to address threats to their well-being. Radu, I know she is your sister, but if she will not compromise, this necessarily ends in her death.”

  Radu felt a pressure behind his eyes like tears he would not release. Kumal was right. Lada was courting death, and would drag untold numbers down with her on her bloody journey. He had failed her before. He would not fail her this time. But to protect her, he would have to betray her. Betrayal was quickly becoming the only skill he had to offer anyone.

  Radu nodded. “She will not compromise. When she comes to meet me—as she must, because I am her brother and it aggravates her that I have belonged to someone else these last years—I will bring her back here.”

  “She will never come back,” Mara said.

  “Not willingly.” Radu waited as his meaning sank in.

  “No,” Mehmed said. “I cannot make her a prisoner. Not like my father did. It would…” His voice broke as he trailed off.

  “It would kill whatever love she has left for both of us.” Radu crossed the room and took Mehmed by the shoulders. He saw his own sadness and exhaustion reflected in his friend’s eyes. He hated this decision, even as he felt it was the right one. The only one. “Maybe, someday, we can fix it. But right now, people are dying because of her. Your people. Our people. Can we let them die because of our history with her?”

  Mehmed’s eyes tracked back and forth, as though tracing potential futures. Doubtless he searched for one in which he might have Lada the way he wanted her. The future he was seeing did not revolve around Radu. “Bring her back,” Mehmed said. “Bring her home.”

  Whatever they had here, whatever they might possibly move toward, it would end if Lada was back, no matter how unwilling she was. She always came first. But it did not matter. Radu had not known what to hope for, but all hope had disappeared when Mehmed did not hesitate to send him away again if it meant getting Lada back.

  It was the door, swinging shut. Radu knew the momentum had started the day he ran away from Edirne with Cyprian and discovered that some hearts were more worth breaking for. And very soon, he sensed, the door would close forever. He could still acknowledge his feelings for Mehmed while knowing they were nearly done.

  Radu dropped his hands from Mehmed’s shoulders, smiling because he did not know what else to do. He had held on to his love for Mehmed for so long. It had been his first, and he could not imagine anything ever taking its place. He had been wrong.

  He would let this impossible love slowly end, then. Forever.

  Tirgoviste

  LADA WAS HIDING.

  She preferred to think of it as a strategic retreat, but the truth was she needed a few minutes surrounded by the warm scent of baking bread and nothing else. She stuck her finger in a jar of fruit preserves, taking out a glob and licking it off.

  “Have some manners,” Oana chided, but her words had no sting. She hummed, bustling around the cavernous kitchen. Lada was transformed into a child again, and for once in her nineteen years, she did not mind. She crawled under a table and huddled close to the warm ovens, closed her eyes, and finished off the jar of preserves.

  “Have you seen Lada?” Nicolae asked. He had stayed with her after Bulgaria, his presence needed more at the castle than at the training grounds. Lada froze. She could not see him, but that did not mean he could not see her. “There i
s a dispute between two landowners, and they are here demanding she settle it. We also have several petitioners asking to be granted land before the planting season starts, and a few dozen recruits for her forces to be approved, and we need to discuss how we will collect taxes from the regions without boyars. And we have had more letters.”

  Oana shifted so that her skirts were blocking Lada’s nest. “Maybe she is out riding.”

  “In this cold?”

  Oana harrumphed. “I am not her nurse anymore, as she is so fond of reminding me. I do not know where she is. Now get out of my kitchen or start helping. Damn castle cannot feed itself.”

  Nicolae beat a hasty retreat. Oana’s hand appeared beneath the table, holding another jar of preserves and half a loaf of still-steaming bread.

  Lada would be prince again in an hour. But for now, she allowed herself the luxury of letting her former nurse take care of her. “Thank you,” she murmured. Oana’s happy humming indicated Lada’s presence was all the thanks she desired. Perhaps they never really grew out of their roles. Oana would always be a nursemaid. Lada, her charge. Bogdan, the loyal playmate. Radu…

  She pressed the warm bread against her cheek and decided not to think about anything at all.

  * * *

  Her older brother, Mircea, had been buried alive in dirt. Sometimes Lada feared she would be buried alive in parchment.

  She shuffled through a new mound, squinting against a headache, missing the warmth of the kitchens. Spring kept promising it was coming, only to be met with a frost icing the stones of the castle.

  “The fortress at Bucharest is almost done,” she said. Nicolae wrote it down, waiting for further information. “Poenari Fortress on the Arges is almost complete as well. I wish I were there right now.” Lada rubbed the back of her neck, dreaming of the cold stone of the peak, the deep green of the trees, the sparkling ribbon of the river far below. Of anywhere in Wallachia, her mountaintop fortress felt the most like home. But Tirgoviste demanded her presence with the nagging insistence of a hundred daily petitioners and dozens of urgent letters.