“He does not deserve to be reassured. Let him think he has killed us. Let him be poisoned with whatever guilt he has the capacity to feel.”
“That is fitting. Though I am glad for your father’s weakness. Without it, I would have been denied your friendship. And Lada’s.”
Radu beamed. “I am glad, too.”
He had only a split second to register the shift in Mehmed’s expression from sincere to mischievous before Mehmed’s ankle hooked around Radu’s own and Mehmed pushed his head beneath the surface.
Radu rose, coughing, as Mehmed cut through the water away from him, laughter trailing in his wake. As he gave chase, the steam, so thick it looked like a living creature, parted briefly to reveal a man sitting, unnoticed, in the corner of the baths.
Watching them.
The steam once again hid the man just as Radu was able to place his face. Halil Pasha. Mehmed’s laughter rang through the room, disembodied as it bounced from wall to ceiling and back again, sounding like a warning bell.
“AND HUNYADI FLED,” Lada said, riding beside Nicolae.
“Like a rabbit before a hawk.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “With the Hungarian king dead, everything is in turmoil. Hunyadi might even have an avenue to the throne.”
“You think he wants to rule Hungary?”
Lada snorted. “No, he wants to defend Europe out of pure love for the cause of Christ. Of course he wants to rule.” She leaned back in her saddle, closing her eyes against the sun. It was a relief to have the Janissaries back. While they had been out fighting, she had worried she would lose her mind with idleness. She had never known what outcome to hope for, either. A win for the Ottomans? A triumph for Hunyadi and hated Mircea?
It did not matter now, as everything was decided. And due to several key deaths, Ilyas had been promoted to lead a larger group, including the Janissary troops who had accompanied Mehmed from Amasya. All together there were several thousand Janissary troops spread throughout the empire, with only a couple hundred regularly stationed in Amasya with Mehmed. It was a nice promotion for Ilyas, but she knew he was destined for bigger things.
“I wish I had been there,” Lada said.
Nicolae laughed darkly. “I wish I had not. But if you had been there, little dragon, whose side would you have fought for?”
“My own.”
“And which side is that?”
Their father had killed Lada and Radu twice over—first by leaving them here, and next by breaking the treaty that protected their lives. She would not fight for him. And certainly not for Mircea, contemptible worm. Hunyadi she would kill on sight.
No. She rolled her head around on her shoulders, stiff neck straining against jacket collar. It was not Hunyadi’s fault her father left Wallachia weak enough that Hunyadi had found a foothold there and forced her father to turn to the sultan.
Mehmed, then? He was her ally in a world straining at its bit, bristling for her death. A laugh, a flash of his dark eyes, a tug on her hair. He was her friend.
He was also ruler of the country holding her captive.
She finally fixed her hooded black eyes on Nicolae. “My own side.”
She tethered her horse while the Janissaries—Ilyas’s men and a few other groups—drilled their horses, practicing formations. Lada was never invited to participate in those, as her participation served no purpose. Weapons training and sparring were individual skills, but hundreds of men moving and reacting as one was something she had no part in. She settled against the roots of a tree at the edge of the open space, in the shade and facing away from the troops.
“…seems fair enough,” said a man walking close by.
“I like him more than the last commander we had. He was a Bulgar. I cannot stand Bulgars.”
“I am a Bulgar, you cur.”
“And I cannot stand you, either.”
They laughed, then the first spoke again. “Are they really leaving the brat on the throne?”
Lada tried to see who was speaking, but the tree blocked her view. Her first impulse was to stand and defend Mehmed. But what would she say? That Mehmed was her friend? She doubted they would accept that as evidence of his leadership qualities.
“As far as I hear, yes. Murad has returned to his retirement.”
“Barely on the throne and we have already fought one crusade. How many more are we to fight to defend him?”
“They do not pay us enough to shoulder the burden of the brat.”
“They simply do not pay us enough. Last week Ismael openly spoke of protesting in front of the sultan’s own bodyguards.”
“What do they say?”
“They say nothing. They also do not prevent anyone from saying it. If we could get a few higher-ranking officials on our side, we would be able…”