“You always look lovely. Are you going somewhere?”
“Oh, yes. I met the wife of one of Emperor Constantine’s advisors today in the market. She felt very sorry for me when I confessed I did not know how to cook with the food here. I am invited to supper with her.”
“But we just had supper—and it was very good.”
Nazira’s smirk grew. “But she does not know that. And at this supper, I will meet all the other wives of important men, and they will gossip about all the mistresses of the important men, and in such a way I will soon have a larger net than you.”
“I did not realize it was a competition.”
Nazira laughed, rising up on her toes to kiss Radu on both cheeks. “It is. It is a competition to see who can find out the most the fastest so that we can go home.”
She said it lightly, but Radu could hear the longing in her voice. Nazira never spoke of Fatima, and he was too ashamed of having separated them to bring her up. But if he missed his aching, one-sided relationship with Mehmed every day, how much more must she miss the woman who loved her back?
“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.
22
Early April
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?”