“Why would I do that? It would destabilize the whole city.”
“Exactly.” Lada sat perfectly still and spoke calmly. Radu knew it was taking great effort—he could tell by the way one of Lada’s feet, not quite hidden beneath her skirts, bounced up and down. “They are already primed for revolt. If you can bribe someone high enough up to ignite it, the soldiers will follow. When Mehmed comes to you for advice on how to handle it, tell him to raise their pay.”
Huma frowned. “I know the Janissary commander, Kazanci Dogan. He would do it. But it is a dangerous precedent. That money comes out of taxes we take from very wealthy, important people. They will not be happy about Mehmed caving to the demands of the Janissaries, rather than ruling them.”
“If enough unhappy viziers, pashas, beys, and valis demand Murad come back to the throne, even he will have to listen.”
Huma’s elegant hand cut through the air between them. “No. I will figure out another way. I do not want Murad back. There is only unrest because the Janissaries have another option. If Murad were dead, they would have to accept Mehmed.” She stood, pacing. “With Murad dead, I could be declared regent until Mehmed is older. I would have to get support. I think I could have Kazanci Dogan behind me, but Halil Pasha…” She sat down heavily, all grace gone out of her movements. “No. He would never support me. If anything happened to Murad, Halil Pasha would arrange to be declared regent. And once he has the throne, we will all be dead.”
Lada pointed emphatically. “We need Murad. If he does not come back, Mehmed will die.”
“No! With time, everyone will see that he will make a good sultan.”
Radu handed her the letter, which felt far heavier than the parchment could account for. “We do not have time.”
As Huma scanned it, her mouth drew down at both corners. Lines appeared between her eyes. “Constantinople. That damnable city.”
“It is the heart of everything,” Lada said. “The Janissaries do not want to fight there, and they fear Mehmed will lead them against its walls. Halil Pasha is obviously in contact with Constantinople, and the city itself is seeking Mehmed’s death. And Mehmed will make no secret of his goals, so it is impossible to persuade his enemies that his life should be spared.”
Huma’s voice came out in a whisper. “There must be another way. I have worked so long and so hard to get here.”
“This is not about you,” Lada snapped.
Huma’s face hardened. Radu leaned forward, desperate. He had to persuade her. “A dethroned son is of more value to you than a dead one. We keep him safe now so that when he comes back to the throne, he can truly rule. With you as the most powerful valide sultan the empire has ever seen.”
For a few eternal moments, Huma stayed exactly as she was. And then the stone left her face. Her eyelids were heavy with resignation. “Very well. I will set this in motion. Get out.”
Relief engulfed Radu. He and Lada stood to leave.
Huma’s tone resumed its normal lingering, teasing state. “You two are very good friends to my son.”
Radu beamed. They had made the right choice. But then Huma continued: “And very, very bad ones. Pray he never finds out what you have done today.”
Two weeks later, Lada and Radu rode beside Mehmed in the carriage, past the smoldering remains of buildings burned in the revolt. Out of Edirne. Toward Amasya.
As one, they stared at the passing countryside, carried away from all of Mehmed’s dreams.
Murad was back on the throne. Radu and Lada had not seen him or even mentioned his name, each too terrified to even whisper about what he might do if he remembered what he owed their father. All they had to do now was disappear into anonymity and hope no one realized that they should be dead.
And so Radu and Lada sat next to their one friend. Radu was relieved to be free of pressure. At least they were returning to Amasya. They had been happy there. Maybe they could be again.
But they were both silent in the shared secret of their escape, the truth that Mehmed could never know. Their secret was deeper and darker than the pool in the woods. Lada took her brother’s hand and squeezed it, a grip as painful as their new bond.
They had betrayed Mehmed.
1451: Amasya, Ottoman Empire
LADA SCREAMED, HER VOICE ripped away by the wind to trail behind her. She pushed her horse harder. Her quarry was close, nearly within reach, but they were fast approaching the trees and she would lose him once they got there. That could not happen.