Cyprian’s gaze darkened. “Someone must have tried to get through the blockade. This is the sultan’s warning that the strait is closed.”
They rode on, silent and disturbed. Radu remembered all too well his first lesson in Mehmed’s father’s court. He and Lada had been forced to watch as the head gardener had impaled several men. It was the beginning of many such lessons in the absolute rule of law. Radu had been able to forget them—mostly—since being taken under Mehmed’s wing. But apparently Mehmed had received the same tutelage.
It was not long before they saw the patrol riding from Rumeli Hisari. One of the ironies of a secret mission was that Radu was as liable to be killed by his own side as he was the enemy.
Cyprian drew his sword.
“No,” Radu said. “Let me talk to them. I think I can get us past.”
He scanned the soldiers’ faces desperately as they got closer, but he knew none of them. Radu sat as straight and commandingly on his horse as he could manage after three days on the road. They were not in open war with Constantinople yet. He could make this work.
He had to.
“Who is your commander?” he asked, his tone both lazy and imperious, as though he had nothing to fear and every right to make demands.
The men slowed, fanning out to surround the small group. Their horses trotted a slow circle around them. “What business do you have in the city?” asked a man in front. Missing teeth beneath his clean-shaven lip gave him a lisp. Under other circumstances, it might have struck Radu as funny. But the man had his sword drawn, which dampened any humor.
Radu lifted an eyebrow. “I bring a message to Constantine from our glorious sultan, the Hand of God on Earth, the Blessed Mehmed.”
“What message?”
Radu curled his upper lip, channeling Lada. “I was not aware you had been made emperor of Constantinople.”
The man jutted out his chin angrily. “How do I know you are telling the truth?”
“By all means, detain me and take the time to send word to the sultan. I am sure he will look kindly on you interfering with his express wishes.”
The soldier looked less sure of himself and pulled his horse back sharply. “Who are you, then? I will send a message that we have seen you.”
“My name is Radu.”
The man frowned, then a mean smile revealed all the gaps in his teeth again. “Radu the Handsome? I have heard of you.”
Radu pretended he was not surprised by this unusual title. “Then you know you should get out of my way.”
The man gestured to the other soldiers, and they moved to the side. The gap-toothed soldier spoke in a low, ugly tone as Radu rode past, “Are you sure you are not a gift for the emperor? Maybe he has a taste for pretty boys, too.”
The soldiers laughed, the sound hitting Radu’s back like blows. But he did not cringe and he did not turn around, riding straight and steady toward the city.
“Well done,” Cyprian said, alongside him. “I thought we were all dead.”
“There are some benefits to being notoriously handsome, after all,” Nazira said. She tried to pass it off as a joke, but Radu heard the strain beneath her voice.
He was more troubled by the soldier’s insinuation. How had he heard of Radu? And what did he mean, that the emperor might have a taste for beautiful boys, too? The implication was that Radu had been the beautiful pet of another man.
He could think of only one man this rumor might be directed at. He tried to shake the thought off, but it lay heavier across his back than his winter cloak.
“Look,” Nazira said, pointing. “Ships.” The road curved and a view of the Bosporus strait opened up. Seven large, beautiful ships were sailing at a brisk clip toward the twin fortresses. Radu wondered where they were going, and envied the sailors’ obvious skill. He had not seen such masterful maneuvering among their own navy. It planted a seed of doubt deep inside.
Cyprian cried out. “No!”
“What? What has happened?” Radu whipped around, certain his lie had been revealed and the gap-toothed soldier was coming for them. But the road was empty. Cyprian looked out at the water.
“Those are Italian ships. They must have hundreds of men aboard. They flee the city.” Cyprian’s shoulders fell, his head hanging heavy. “They abandon us. News of war has outpaced us. Come. We must hurry to console my uncle.”
They spurred their tired horses forward. The wall, so long at the forefront of Mehmed’s mind, and therefore Radu’s, was … anticlimactic. Miles and miles of stone, worn and patched with jumbles of mismatching rocks, cut through farmland. Radu could not fathom how anyone was able to man the wall. It was too long. But it was also too high—easily five times taller than him. Any advance could be seen and met. There was nowhere to hide, no point more vulnerable to attack than any other. And behind the outer wall was another one.
“Stop gaping so,” Nazira said, elbowing him. “You look like a slack-jawed boy from the country.” Her smile was a tight warning. He had been scanning the walls as an invader. He was fortunate Cyprian focused only on the path ahead.
Radu had waited so long to be here, but he had never anticipated being escorted through a gate with a salute from soldiers posted there. Just like that, they were within the outer walls. Radu risked one look back as the gate closed behind them. He did not know when—or if—he would leave again.
He glanced at Nazira, who rode tall and proud on her horse, a hopeful smile pasted onto her face. He copied her confidence. Cyprian was far enough ahead that he dared speak. He leaned closer to her. “How are you so good at this?”
She lifted a hand in the air, gesturing toward herself. “When you spend your whole life learning how to show people only what you want them to see so your truest self remains safe, you become quite adept at it.” She smiled sadly at Radu. “You understand.”
He nodded. She was right. He knew how to do this. It would work. “I am glad to have you with me.”
She laughed. “Of course you are. Now put on a sorrowful but curious expression, and let us go see the city that is our sultan’s destiny.”
Radu faced forward again as they drew closer to the smaller wall that barred the way into the city. It felt like his whole life had been leading him here. If this was not how he had expected to enter, well, he would simply make the best of it. After all, Constantinople was the greatest city in the world.
Constantinople was not the greatest city in the world.
Compared with Edirne, it was a city of ruins. A city of ghosts. More than half the narrow, crowding houses they passed had an air of dereliction about them. Refuse filled the streets and pushed against foundations. Doors hung askew on some houses or were missing altogether from others. They passed entire blocks without seeing a soul. Unless scraggly stray cats and mean-looking mangy dogs had souls, in which case they passed many souls.
As Radu’s group moved from the outskirts, things improved slightly. More of the homes appeared lived-in. A few stalls with vendors popped up here and there, the men halfheartedly soliciting them as they passed. Women hurried through the streets, dragging children and darting furtive glances at their mounted procession.
Radu had expected more soldiers patrolling, especially if word of war had already reached the city, but they had seen no one aside from the guards at the gates.
And he had seen nothing of the fabled wealth of Constantinople. He had always known, rationally, that the streets were not paved in gold, but he had expected something more. Even Tirgoviste had glittered brighter than this.
Finally they came to a quarter that showed more life. They pulled to an abrupt stop as a priest crossed their path, swinging a censer and trailing scented smoke in his wake. He sang hauntingly in Greek. Behind him was a parade of people. It took several minutes before the citizens, eerily silent save for the singing priest, finally passed and their way was clear again.