“I would place all my bets on you and your gossip, then. You are a terrifying creature.”
Curtsying prettily, Nazira left. Radu was restless and itchy with anticipation. Alone for the first time since he had come to the city, he slipped out of Cyprian’s home and into the evening-dark streets. He drew his cloak close against the bite of the cold drifting up from the stones beneath his feet.
Terrifying thoughts nipped at his heels. Nazira already had plans in motion. All Radu had was one meeting with Constantine in which he had merely told the truth. The fear he had been avoiding wrapped itself around him even tighter than his cloak.
He had no idea what he was doing.
This whole thing had been a mistake. Even if he got crucial information, pulled from Cyprian or Constantine, he had no way of communicating it to Mehmed. They had no code, no ways of trading messages. Unless Radu found some brilliant form of sabotage within the city, his being here as a spy was almost pointless. He did not want to fail Mehmed, but he could not shake the worry that Mehmed had failed him. Why had he sent Radu here with so little instruction, so little preparation? Radu would have been much better used at his side.
Or maybe that was simply what Radu was desperate to believe, because Mehmed’s side was the only place he wanted to be. Was he really so expendable?
Or…had Mehmed suspected Radu’s true feelings, and deliberately sent him far away? Radu knew he should not feel the way he did about another man. There were many things that could be justified. But he did not know of anything that allowed for what he wanted from Mehmed.
Would this love separate him both from the most important person in his life and from the God that brought him solace in his loneliness?
He had meant to wander and get a better idea of the lay of the city, but he found himself back at the dark Hagia Sophia. Even now, he followed Mehmed’s requests without conscious thought.
No one was in the streets. Radu removed some tools from a secret pocket in his vest and carefully picked the lock. After a few patient minutes, he was rewarded with a click. He slipped inside. It took his eyes some time to adjust to the darkness. He jumped at a rustling noise, fearing discovery, but it was the clacking of pigeon wings. They, too, had come to the empty church to worship.
Releasing all his exhaustion and fear with a long exhalation, he prayed. He had not been able to fully pray since arriving in Constantinople. Going through the movements was more comforting than slipping into a warm bath, and equally cleansing. He released everything he had been holding. His focus was singular, his faith a bright point in the dark building.
Reluctant to leave when he was done, he climbed the stairs to the gallery where the women would stand during services. Eventually, he found a small door that led to another flight of stairs, and then to a ladder. Pushing against the trapdoor at the top, he emerged onto the roof. Constantinople unfolded beneath him. He could see the palace, a hulking structure where Constantine worked into the night.
It would be enough to be here, waiting. He would get close to Constantine, and trust that a way to help Mehmed would reveal itself. He would trust that Mehmed had a plan for him. He would trust that God would help him in this mission.
Radu tried to draw that trust closer than the fear. Looking out over the city, he wondered at each of the lights. Who lived there? What were they thinking? Were they, too, praying for peace? For direction? For protection?
And whose god was listening?
He sat on the edge of the roof, his feet dangling in the void beneath him. It echoed the one that had opened up inside him. He felt close to falling—or to flying. He did not know which it would be, but had no doubt time would tell.
MEHMED LAY WITH AN ease so complete he seemed like a different person. Lada wondered…No, she would wonder nothing. Think about nothing. If he could exist in this space like he needed nothing more in the whole world than what he had just had, she could do the same.
That lasted about two minutes. She squirmed, pushing him away from her. “Do you always sweat this much?”
He laughed, pulling her close and nuzzling his face against her neck. His hand found somewhere else. “Would you like me to make you sweat more?”
She shrieked, half from delight, half from the shock of his wandering fingers, and pushed him. Before she could realize her mistake in making so much noise, the tent’s front flap opened and two Janissaries rushed in. Mehmed shifted so that Lada was hidden behind him.
“Leave,” Mehmed said, his voice coldly imperious and so different from the one he had been using moments before.
“We heard—”
“Leave.”
The Janissaries bowed. One paused. “Your grace, we have reports of a skirmish, with Hunyadi, on the Serbian-Hungarian border.”
“Reports that can wait until the morning! Do not come back in here for any reason.”
The Janissaries nearly fell over as they bowed low and backed out in a rush.
Lada propped herself up on an elbow and drew the blanket up over her bare chest. “You do have troops there, then?”
Mehmed tried to pull her back down. “You are letting all the cold air in.”
She scooted farther away. “Why do you have men on the Hungarian border?”
There was a studied casualness to Mehmed’s voice that made the hairs on the back of Lada’s neck rise. “As a reminder to Hunyadi that he is still needed in Hungary.”
“But I persuaded Hunyadi to stay out of Constantinople. I told you I had. Do you not trust me?”
“Of course I trust you! But I cannot risk anything. It was extra assurance, is all.”
It made sense, Lada supposed. But the fact that he felt he had to double up on work she had already done bothered her. And she worried for Hunyadi’s safety. He was one of the few people in the world she considered family.
Family. Lada had not even thought to ask about Radu yet. “Where is Radu? Did he come?” He had not come with the ambassadors, but where Mehmed was, Radu would be, too.
Mehmed stopped trying to coax her back down. He flopped flat onto his back, raising an arm over his face as though tired. “No, Radu did not come.”
“He did not come,” she repeated, her voice flat with disappointment and shock. She needed her brother. He had a way with people like the boyars. Hunyadi had been right—she did not have the weapons for that kind of combat. Radu did. How dare he reject her again. “Did he say why?”
Mehmed shook his head.
“Where is he now?” What was important enough to keep him away from both Lada and Mehmed?
Mehmed shrugged. He was avoiding answering her. She grabbed the arm that covered his face and pulled it down so he could not hide his expression from her. “Where is my brother, Mehmed?”
He looked at the ceiling of the tent. “Constantinople.”
“The siege has already started?” The siege had started, and Mehmed was here. With her. She was warm with pleasure over finally outranking that stupid city.
“No.”
Her pleasure fled, leaving her cold. “Then what is he doing in Constantinople? Did you make him an ambassador? You know how dangerous that is!”
“I needed someone there, inside.”
Lada sat up, the blankets dropping. He had not answered her question about Radu being an ambassador. He had dodged it with something that sounded like an answer, but obviously was not. Not an ambassador, then. “You sent him as a spy!”
“I needed someone I could trust absolutely.”
“I do not care what you needed! He was supposed to be here, with me! Or at the very least at your side during the siege, where he would no doubt be perfectly safe.”
Mehmed sat up, too, eyes flashing dangerously. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that wherever you are during the siege will be the safest place in the world. Which is where my brother should be as well! How could you throw him into so much danger?”
“It was the best choice.”
“For him,
or for you?”
“For the empire.”
“Oh, for the empire! Well, that makes everything better.” Lada threw back the blankets and got out of bed. She began tugging her discarded clothes on.
“Radu will be fine. He is smarter and stronger than you have ever given him credit for,” Mehmed said.
Lada jabbed a finger against his bare chest. “Do not dare tell me you know my brother better than I do.”
Mehmed laughed. “But I do.”
Words she knew she would always regret saying halted on the tip of her tongue. If Mehmed did not know how Radu felt about him, he would not learn of it from her. “You ask too much of him.”
“I ask only what he is willing to do. Nothing more.”
“Then I do know him better, you fool. Radu would do anything for you.”
Mehmed looked away, a dark flush spreading across his cheeks.
“You know…” Lada’s eyes narrowed to thin slits, her fists clenched so tightly they ached. “You know that he is in love with you.”
Mehmed tilted his head to the side, as though brushing something off his shoulder. “Your brother is very important to me.”
“But he will never be as important to you as you are to him. Mehmed, release him. You must release him from this false hope he carries.”
He shook his head. “I cannot. I care for Radu. And I need him.”
“But you will never love him the way he loves you.”
Mehmed stood, reaching for Lada’s fisted hands. “How could I? I love you.”
Lada closed her eyes against the way his words struck her. Radu felt like a ghost in the room, looming in the whisper of a breeze against the back of her neck. She had what he wanted, and she did not even know what to do with it.
“Bring him back. He could die.”
Mehmed released her hands. “I have no one else better suited to the task. It is a risk, yes. But it is an acceptable risk. He knows the dangers, and he agreed. He cares as much as I do about Constantinople.”
Lada let out a harsh bark of laughter. “No one cares about anything so much as you do that accursed city.”
“You care about Wallachia that much.”
“Because it is mine! What claim do you have to Constantinople that justifies risking Radu’s life?”
Mehmed shook his head. He sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders curved inward as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I promise Radu will come out unharmed. And then we will all be together.”
“You cannot promise that. And how will we be together? He will always choose your side over mine.”
“Not if my side is your side as well.” He smiled up at her, exhaustion pooling in the hollows beneath his eyes. “I cannot do this alone. You were right to leave before. I did not know your value, and I would have left you behind. But I know now.” His smile turned tender. “And you know now, too. I need you with me. I want you with me. Stand by my side at the walls. Help me claim my destiny. And then…rule it. With me. As empress of Rome.”
Lada took a small step back, overwhelmed. “Empress.”
Still naked, Mehmed stood before her, completely open and vulnerable, with his hands out, palms up. “Take the city with me. Take the crown. Take me, Lada.”
A memory long since forgotten played out in front of her. Huma, Mehmed’s terrifying mother, telling her the story of Theodora. The actress, the prostitute, the powerless woman who found the love of the emperor and rose to be emperor with him. Saving him and the city, changing everything to her vision of how it should be based only on her strength.
And the strength of the man who loved her.
Could Lada be that woman?
But Mehmed had not said emperor. He had said empress. Emperor consort. She would still owe her power and her position to a man. And she was no lowly prostitute, no actress. She already had a birthright of her own.
“What about Wallachia?”
“Forget about Wallachia! Why be vaivode of a worthless country when you can be empress of the greatest empire in the world?”
She stepped back from him. “Because if I do not lead Wallachia, no one will.”
Mehmed brushed a hand through the air. “We will make certain Wallachia is always taken care of.”
Lada shook her head slowly. The offer was tempting. But she was so close to Wallachia. She could feel it nearby, just as she had Mehmed. She could not turn her back on her country now. “Where are the troops? I can—we can discuss this after. When I have Wallachia secured, and you have Constantinople, then…then, I do not know. Maybe there will be a way for us. After we have accomplished what we need to.”
Hurt reshaped Mehmed’s face into something younger, softer. “Is that the only reason you came?”
“Of course it is!” Lada snapped.
His vulnerability was replaced with cold, stony features and imperious brows. He grabbed his nightshirt and pulled it over his head. “There are no troops.”
“What do you mean?”
“I need every man I have. I cannot spare them to destabilize a country I already control. I have a treaty with the Danesti prince.”
Lada staggered back. “But you could spare men to harass Hunyadi. You did not need to do that. You could have trusted me and given me those forces instead. Were there ever any troops? Did you ever mean to help me?”
“I am helping you! You are destined for bigger things! With me.” He stepped toward her and she put her hands up.
“You did not write me. Not once, not until after I wrote Radu about having Hunyadi’s trust. You saw an opportunity, and you used me. I betrayed Hunyadi for you.” In all her life, Lada had never felt as small and miserable as she did then. She had sold Hunyadi’s kindness for nothing. All her justifications and rationalizing amounted to nothing. She was no closer to Wallachia in spite of all her sacrifices. “You tricked me.”
“I did you a favor! Even if I sent you the troops, even if you took the throne, you could never keep it. They would never follow a woman as prince. Abandon this delusion, Lada. It will destroy you. Come with me. Fight at my side. I trust only you with my life.” He pointed at the slit in the tent wall. “I could die without you.”
Lada raised an eyebrow. “I suppose that is an acceptable risk.”
Mehmed threw his hands in the air and started pacing. “I am offering you so much more. I am offering you the world. I am offering you myself.” He pointed angrily at the bed. “You were happy enough to accept it a few minutes ago.”
“That was different! You promised me soldiers.”
Disgust squeezed his words. “Was this merely a transaction for you?”
Lada slammed her fist into his stomach. He doubled over, and she spoke right into his ear. “Do not ever talk to me that way.” But his words had struck too close to home. Angry tears filled her eyes. She had not sold her body to him, and she hated him for thinking she had used it to manipulate him. But she had sold her determination to gain the throne on her own, as well as her relationship with Hunyadi. All for the false promise of a few hundred men.
Mehmed caught her hand and pressed it against his cheek. “Whatever else you believe, know that what I did, I did out of love. I love you. I have always loved you. Will you still choose Wallachia?”
Lada yanked her hand away and retrieved her knife from the floor. “You betray my brother with your feigned ignorance of his feelings. You betrayed me. But I will never betray Wallachia.” She lifted the knife, pointing it at him. “If you set foot on Wallachian soil again—my soil—I will kill you.”
Ignoring Mehmed as he shouted her name, she left the tent through the same cut she had entered it. This time it seemed much deeper.
IN THE CLAMMY MORNING fog, Radu sweated. He leaned against the stone steps for a few breaths, then continued climbing. The awkward shape of the tombstone chunk he held made his fingers cramp. When he finally reached the top of the wall, he staggered to the mound of stones and added his own.
“Funny, using tombstones of the dead t
o repair the walls.”
Radu looked up into the well-worn but cheerful face of Giovanni Giustiniani, the Italian man from his first, and so far only, meeting with Constantine. Giustiniani was tall, broad-shouldered, even powerful in the way he moved. A deep line between his brows made them look set in a permanent scowl, but all his other wrinkles told of smiling and laughter.
Radu wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and straightened. He was only a couple of inches taller than the older man. “Well, it is the least those citizens could contribute to the city’s defense.”
Giustiniani laughed, a sound like a cannon shot. He clapped a hand on Radu’s shoulder. “I remember you. You brought us news of the infidels’ preparations.”
Radu nodded. It was always jarring to hear the Ottomans referred to as the infidels, since that was what they called the Christians. “I wish I had come armed with better tidings.”
“All information, good or bad, helps us.” Giustiniani sighed and turned toward a group of men shouting at each other. “The dead contributing their tombstones may yet do more than the living who cannot stop fighting with each other.” He strode away, toward the fight.
Radu leaned over the edge of the wall and looked out onto the plain beneath. It had been cleared of anything that could hide the Ottoman forces. In front of them was a fosse, a large, deep ditch meant to slow down attackers and make them easy to pick off. Constantinople’s defenses of a fosse, the outer wall where Radu stood, and an inner wall had repelled all attackers for more than a thousand years.
But none of those attackers had been Mehmed.
“Radu!” The voice triggered a wave of happiness even before Radu realized who had called to him.
Radu turned to find Cyprian walking next to the emperor. Radu bowed deeply, trying to look surprised, as though he had not overheard Cyprian saying that he would be touring the walls with Constantine today, as though Radu had not deliberately stationed himself at one of the weakest points of the wall, knowing that the two men would end up here sooner rather than later. Cyprian had been so busy that he and Radu barely saw each other, even living in the same house.