“That sounds like Nicolae shouting. We should let them in.”
“No! If the fighting has gotten to us, they need to defend the door. We should position ourselves in Mehmed’s bedroom in case someone tries to come in that way.”
“Stop.” Radu pulled his arm free. “We need to think this through. We should get Mehmed to a better location. The room they are in has a balcony, too. It is not safe, and only Lada and Ilyas are in there with him.”
The pounding turned into rhythmic slamming. Someone was trying to break down the door. Radu could still hear Nicolae shouting. It made no sense. If they had been overpowered, he would be dead, not shouting.
In the sitting room, Lada shrieked with rage and pain, the wall shaking as something smashed against it.
Mehmed.
Radu ran to the door, wrenching at it, but to no avail.
“Help me!” he said, casting about for some tool to unlock it. The hall was filled with plush furniture, everything padded and soft. There were no utensils, no pens, nothing that was not gold and delicate. Radu had a knife in his belt, but it was too thick to jam into the keyhole.
“Radu.”
“We have to break it down!”
“Radu.”
“Why is there nothing useful in this whole damn room?” Radu shouted, kicking over a cushioned footstool.
Lazar grabbed his wrist, yanking Radu around to face him. “Please listen to me.” His voice was low, too calm. Lazar did not understand the trouble they were in—even Radu did not understand it. There was so much noise from so many places. He needed to get to Mehmed.
Lazar did not release him. “There is nothing you can do.”
“What are you talking about? We can do something! We have to, we—” Radu stopped. Lazar did not look panicked—he looked sympathetic. Sorrowful.
It was definitely Nicolae yelling, accompanied by Petru. They were shouting for Lada, screaming to be let in. They would never do that if enemy forces were outside.
“You pulled me out of the room,” Radu said, his stomach sinking as the truth settled like lead. “You do not expect help to come. You are counting on it not to.”
“Let me explain.”
Radu twisted his wrist free, darting for the door where Lada’s men were trying to get in. It was blocked by a bar easily lifted from the inside.
Lazar tackled him from behind, Radu’s head meeting the tile in a blinding flash of lights. “Please,” he said, knee digging into Radu’s back. “I was trying to keep you safe.”
Radu spat blood from where his lip had been cut open. “Keep me safe?”
“You were not supposed to be here tonight. You were supposed to be with your bride. When Ilyas told me you were back, I begged him to let me come along, to keep you out of it.”
Radu squeezed his eyes against the pain and despair, arms trembling as he tried and failed to push himself up. “Why is Ilyas betraying us?”
“He is protecting us. You are not a Janissary. You cannot understand. All we have is each other. No one else cares about us, no one else values us as anything other than bodies to be thrown at enemies in the name of the sultan.”
The muted sound of blades from Mehmed’s room drew a sob from Radu.
Lazar leaned his head down, resting it against Radu’s back. “I am sorry. I know you care about him; I know. But he would spill our blood against the walls of Constantinople. Ilyas will not let that happen to us. He is our father, not Mehmed. It has to be like this.”
“No!”
“Tell me. Tell me that Mehmed will not kill us.” Lazar waited, but Radu could not. He knew Mehmed’s heart was set on Constantinople. “He wants it as a dragon wants a jewel—merely to possess, merely to feed his hunger. He will never be satisfied. You saw what the siege of Kruje was. It will look like a holiday compared with Constantinople. We will all die, and no one will mourn us. These are my brothers, Radu.” Lazar’s voice cracked, and his warm tears found their way through Radu’s tunic. “They are the only family we have. If you think about it, you will understand. You will forgive me. I love you, Radu. Please. Please forgive me for this. I would sacrifice anything for my family. You would, too.”
Radu stopped fighting and released himself to the floor. Lazar’s weight was heavy against his back, the same as that patrol night in Kruje when Lazar had tackled him to save his life.
Lada would die defending Mehmed. Mehmed would die. But Lazar was right. If Mehmed lived, so many of the Janissaries—his friends and companions—would die. All to take a city that threatened nothing. Only because it was their dream, because the Prophet, peace be upon him, had declared it so long ago.
Radu turned his head, trying to look back at Lazar. Still keeping Radu pinned, Lazar shifted his weight, so their eyes could meet.
“I am so sorry,” Radu said. Lazar had saved him so many times—saved him with kindness as a child, saved him on the battlefield, saved him tonight. “I love you, too, my friend.”