“I wish we were reuniting under happier circumstances,” Mehmed said. “Though Lada did not excel at creating happy circumstances.”
Theodora looked at Radu. “I wish I had known her. Instead of only through stories.” She grinned then, something a bit wicked there. “Though the stories are quite good. Lada Tepes, the Lady Impaler. No one else has such a remarkable aunt.”
Mehmed and Radu laughed, but it was uncomfortable. Theodora had never been told the worst stories. Including how that aunt had killed her uncle.
“I will give you two a few moments alone before I pay my respects.” She bowed her head. The silver locket she always wore around her neck fell forward. Mehmed stared at it as though seeing a ghost. He turned to Radu, but Radu did not show any emotion.
“Thank you,” Radu said. “We will not be long.”
“Of course.” She spun with her arms wide, breathing in deeply. “Take as long as you want. There is something special here. I like the way Wallachia feels—warm and welcoming. Like a mother, is it not?” She walked away down the path, her steps assured and confident. She did not stomp and prowl as Lada had, but moved as though she owned whatever land she was on.
Radu felt his purpose here with a keener pain than he had before. They walked slowly toward the church.
Mehmed was still frowning. “Theodora is not Nazira’s, is she?”
Radu’s only answer was a sigh.
“I suspected. For years. But just now, the way her eyes narrowed in annoyance at my patronizing gift! I could scarcely breathe. It was like looking at the past. I see why you have avoided the capital all these years. Kept her away.”
Radu paused with his hand on the door. “She is my daughter.”
Mehmed’s smile was both kind and sad. “I am glad. Would that we all had had fathers such as you.” Mehmed’s adult life had been tumultuous, filled with tragedy and violence, even in his own family. He turned and looked at the gardens, apparently unwilling to go inside just yet. Radu did not begrudge him the delay. “How is Nazira?”
“She is well. She is having more difficulty with her vision, but she manages it with grace.” They were homebound now, but Fatima did not mind. The only place they had ever wanted to be was with each other, after all.
“And Cyprian?”
Radu’s heart ached. He hated being away from him, even now. “We finally made it to Cyprus two years ago. It was lovely. But I think our traveling days are over. His ankle bothers him now from his old injury.”
“You know, I thought of having him arrested.”
“What?”
Mehmed leaned against the doorway, putting his hand on the stones as though admiring the work. Radu realized he was tracing the name carved there. Lada Dracul, the patron of this particular church.
Mehmed grinned, Radu’s childhood friend once again peering through the beard and wrinkles. “Oh, it was years ago. And I was only going to hold Cyprian as a political prisoner. Just to make him stay in the capital so you would come back.”
“You and my sister always had such odd ways of expressing affection. She used to hit me and let others beat me. You considered kidnapping my loved ones to spend more quality time together.”
Mehmed smiled, but it was strained. “It was not the same once you left. There has never been anyone quite like you.”
“Or her.”
Mehmed’s expression was pained. “Or her. Which is probably for the best.” His gaze grew far away and misty. “I would have made her empress. You would think for a woman with her ambition …”
“She got exactly what she wanted.”
Mehmed pulled at his thick beard. “She did.”
And, in the end, she had gotten exactly what Radu predicted.
“Whose head was it?” Radu asked. “That you had brought to the capital and displayed on the wall? I have been wondering.”
“I have no idea. It did not much matter. A severed head is a severed head.” Mehmed had been fighting battles since he was twelve; Radu felt a little differently about severed heads, but they had lived very separate lives in the past twenty years.
Finally, with nothing else between them to delay the reason for their visit, they entered the main room of the chapel. Statues of saints stood sentry, and elaborate paintings told stories from the Bible. Radu noted the paintings were all especially violent ones, which was fitting, as this was the chapel Lada had paid for.
A monk stood, inclining his head. He led them to a portion of the floor with newer flagstones. A small marker at the top said simply PRINCE.
“No name?” Mehmed asked.
“I was afraid someone would desecrate it,” Radu said. Even in death, Lada had many enemies. They stared down in silence at where his sister slept, forever entombed.
“Was it your men?” Radu asked. There was no accusation in his tone, merely curiosity. Lada had been killed as she stood on a field ready to meet Mehmed and his men in battle, their first direct conflict since those horrible days outside Tirgoviste.
Mehmed shook his head. “I have tried to find out who it was. Some suspect Matthias sent an assassin. Most think it was one of her own guards. No one knows for certain.”
“The killing blow?”
“A knife to the back. They brought her body to me on the field. I think they expected a reward.” Mehmed shifted, an abashed expression. “I killed those poor men on the spot. It was foolish, considering I was there to fight her myself.”
Radu put a hand on Mehmed’s shoulder. “Thank you for sending her body here.”
Mehmed nodded, then eased himself down to his knees, resting a hand against the stones over Lada’s body. “Even after all these years, I cannot quite believe she is gone.”
“I cannot quite believe she managed to stay alive so long.” Radu knelt next to Mehmed. “But you are right. It feels wrong to be in Wallachia, knowing she is not here anymore.”
“She was a strong prince.”
Strong and terrible and fair. “I suspect the name Dracul will not soon be forgotten.”
“I am sorry for how things ended with us. All three of us. I wish it had turned out differently. That we had stayed together.”
Once, Radu would have wanted nothing more. But his joyful life had worn away the sharp edges of the past’s pain. In its place was something like Lada’s silver locket: smooth, cold, filled with the much-loved dust of history.
“The two of you never had any choice but to conquer and lead.”
“And you?”
Radu smiled, kissing his fingers and laying them against the stones. He had wanted so much less than they had—and so much more. They had chosen the hard paths, the lonely paths, the paths of blood and struggle.
“I am returning home to my family.” He moved to stand, then, thinking better of it, took out a knife and carefully scratched two additions onto Lada’s marker.
PRINCE
SISTER
DRAGON
It was enough.