The empire was settled on a course of action. But there were still three Wallachians present. And Radu wanted to make his intentions clear when it came to their throne. “When we take Tirgoviste, Aron will be crowned prince.”
Aron inclined his head, and Andrei nodded. Radu knew, as they did, that his claim to the throne was as strong as theirs. The Draculesti and Danesti lines had violently traded the throne between them for decades, and neither family had more right to it than the other. In fact, Radu’s claim was stronger, since he had the favor of the sultan. But he wanted their support and confidence. That would happen only if they did not view him as a threat. Perhaps that was why they had been cruel to him as a child. He had not yet understood the nature of their rivalry, but they had grasped it early on. The fights in the forest were a reflection of reality, played out on a child-sized scale.
Radu had not won those fights, but neither had Aron and Andrei. Lada had.
Still, the Danesti brothers had grown into intelligent adults. He had no qualms about giving them the country. He certainly did not want it.
“You should know,” Mara said, her voice soft, “my reports indicate that Lada has killed nearly every Danesti left in Wallachia. Those still alive have fled to surrounding countries.”
“We know.” Aron did not sound angry or vengeful, just tired and sad and a little frightened. Radu met his eyes and they shared a moment of understanding. They were not men driven by rage. Aron wore his family name as a mantle of responsibility, not a cloak of entitlement.
Mehmed stood. “We go in hard and we move fast. We give her no opportunities. We take the capital, secure the country, and show the rest of Europe we tolerate no offense or aggression toward—or from—our vassal states.”
“And what about the girl prince?” Ali Bey asked.
“I want her alive,” Mehmed said without explanation. “At all costs.”
Radu told Nazira and Fatima the plans with a heavy heart. He was relieved that Lada would not be killed—even now—but he did not expect Nazira to feel the same. Regardless, he did not think he would be able to see his sister or speak with her again. He would leave that to Mehmed.
Radu glossed over the specifics of the campaign, focusing on the timeline. “I do not want to leave you again so soon, but this is my responsibility.”
“We will come with you,” Fatima said, already standing to pack their belongings.
Radu smiled affectionately. “You do realize I am going to war.”
Nazira stood, too. She looked dazed, unable to focus. Fatima guided her gently back to sitting. “Then we will meet you there,” Fatima said.
“Mehmed has asked me to stay for a while after we have set Aron up on the throne.”
“Why Aron?” Nazira snapped. “I know another heir much more deserving.”
Radu reached for the bundle of clothing that Nazira held. Nazira was staring at it as though she could not account for its being in her hands. She passed it to him. Rather than putting it in her trunk, he put it back down on the bed. “You know I do not want that. But it means I will stay in Tirgoviste for some time after the conflict is over. You two should go back to Edirne or to the countryside to wait for me. Unless you would rather stay here.”
“I cannot wait to get out of this accursed city.” Nazira’s words were clouded with the memories they shared. And now this city had brought her news of the death of her brother.
Fatima took the clothes Radu had set down on the bed and moved them to the trunk. “We will meet you in Tirgoviste when the fighting is over. It will be nice to see where you came from.” She said it so convincingly Radu almost believed she did not mind that much travel. He raised an eyebrow and she looked away, blushing at her lie.
“You do not have to,” Radu said.
Nazira stood to join Fatima but then hovered next to the bed, swaying and directionless. Radu knew how hard she was trying to be brave. How hard she was trying to function through the overwhelming grief. It would be good for her to get out of this city. Radu would try to persuade them to go home, instead. Regardless, Nazira needed to be taken from Constantinople.
Fatima spoke for them both. “But we want to join you in Wallachia.”
“You would not want to if you had ever been before.”
“We will come and discover how much we would rather not have come, then. Will your sister … will she stay there, in Tirgoviste, when you are done?” Fatima asked. Nazira went stiff at the mention of Lada. Radu hated that his place in Nazira’s life had also introduced Lada into it, and all the accompanying loss and bloodshed. He loved his sister, but …
But did he? Knowing that she had finally become the worst of what she had always had the potential to be?
“No,” Radu said. “They will bring her back here. She will never be free again.” It was the cruelest fate for Lada. He knew she would rather die fighting. But she would not be allowed to. Radu felt something sharp and mean inside hardening as he anticipated how it would destroy his sister to be powerless and captive once more.
Good. Let it.
17
The Danube, Ottoman Territory
LADA LAY ON her stomach, peering over the cover of rocks at the wide expanse of the Danube. She could make out a flurry of activity on the other side, though she was too far to see specifics. But she was close enough. Close enough to know they were there. Close enough to know he was there.
Mehmed.
And probably Radu as well.
Lada scooted back, standing when she reached the trees that hid Stefan, Bogdan, and the men she had handpicked to lead her soldiers. “They are out in the open. Which means they do not expect trouble until they are within the borders of Wallachia. If they cannot cross the Danube, all the men in the world will not be enough for them to invade.”
“Eventually they will make it across.” Doru scratched the side of his nose with one blunt, dirty finger. He was smart and brutal and good at leading men, but every time Lada looked at him, she saw who was not there: Nicolae. She tried not to hate Doru for it. She did not always succeed.
“Not if it costs them too much. Mehmed values stability over all else. He will not risk upsetting that just to punish us. If we hit them hard enough here, he will retreat.”
Doru squinted doubtfully. “How do you know—”
“Do not question her.” Bogdan’s tone was flat. His eyes, however, were dangerous. Doru bowed his head contritely.
“We will set up a line along this bank.” Lada had four hundred men here. The rest of her forces were deeper in the country, forming line after line of defense. But four hundred men well used on a river crossing could hold back thirty thousand men on the other side.
“Alert the archers to be ready to pick them off as they try to float across. And keep hidden at all costs. We would not want to ruin the surprise.” Lada smiled in the direction of the Danube. It was the first of any number of surprises she had planned, but, if it worked, it would be the only one she needed.
That night, even though Lada was well hidden among the reeds on the bank, a man slipped in and got down next to her.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
Stefan shrugged.
“Well?” She waited for his report. He had crossed the river several leagues down to scout the enemy camp. Lada had not expected him back this soon.
“Sixty thousand.”
Lada choked on her breath, muffling her cough with the dark-green hooded cloak she wore to blend in with the shadows. “Sixty thousand? How many fighting men?” Mehmed normally traveled with one person in support of every man actually fighting. So that meant thirty thousand. She had expected fewer than that, but—
“Sixty thousand fighting men.”
“God’s wounds,” she exhaled, letting the number wash over her like the waves lapping at the shore in front of her. “Sixty thousand? Are you certain?”
“Another twenty thousand in support, but judging from the supply trains, they do not expect this to be a long campaign.”
“Sixty thousand.” Lada lowered her head. And then she started laughing. It was snorts and exhalations, her shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping silent.