Ilyas’s eyes narrowed with the weight of her proposition. He had to agree. Lada deserved this. She needed it. Finally, when she thought she would have to pull out her sword and hit Ilyas upside the head with it to get him to speak, he nodded.
“Very well. You can have your pick of Janissaries. Take as long as you need to gather them. You will report to me quarterly, but you can house and train your men wherever and however you see fit.”
Shaking his head and laughing in disbelief over what he had agreed to, Ilyas turned and rejoined his men.
“You never smile at me like that,” Mehmed said, watching Lada.
She turned to him, putting a hand to her mouth, which had betrayed her by bursting with her happiness. Over Mehmed’s shoulder, she noticed the crowd of observers included several delicate flowers from the harem, complete with eunuch guards. When she lowered her hand, she took the smile with it. Raising an eyebrow, she said, “You never earn it.”
He put a hand over his heart, staggering two steps as though wounded. Then he straightened, and his gaze became heavy with promise. “Come to my rooms.”
She leaned toward him, closer than was appropriate, fully aware of the weight of the stares on them from everyone on the field. Including women who knew Mehmed in a way she had yet to. “I have work to do.”
Turning, she lifted a hand and motioned for her men to follow her. Nicolae fell into step at her side. “We did it,” she whispered, the smile creeping back onto her face.
“You did it.” He elbowed her armored side. “Where do we start?”
“I want Wallachians. Only Wallachians.”
Nicolae raised his eyebrows. “And why would that be?”
“If Ilyas asks, explain it is so that I can give commands in a language attackers will not understand.”
“And if I ask?”
“Because I do not trust men who fail to remember they were not born to this.”
Nicolae looked over his shoulder to where Mehmed was watching them walk away. His voice was as easy as a summer breeze, but it carried a hint of wildfire smoke. “And what of the man who was born to all of it?”
Lada did not look back. Because part of her did trust Mehmed, more than anyone. Part of her wanted to abandon Nicolae and meet Mehmed in his rooms. To take him as a lover instead of existing in this between state that was agonizing for both of them. To accept an easy life of being his.
And part of her wanted to stab him for that.
“I have no answer,” she said, speaking the truth.
RADU FLED THE CITY.
It was half a day’s travel to Kumal’s home, and the farther Radu got from Edirne, the easier it was to breathe. But he knew Kumal had been right when he had said going somewhere else was not the solution. When Radu returned to Edirne, everything would be waiting for him. Any peace he found would be a dream, ephemeral and temporary.
Still, riding through the rolling fields and past groups of clean, organized cottages, it was easy to pretend that Huma had not offered him the impossible, that he would not have to figure out a way to kill Halil Pasha, that Lada had not broken his heart once again, that Mehmed would never be his the way Radu wanted him to be.
Or, even more painful to think about, that there was a chance that someday Mehmed might be his.
Though Radu had not sent word ahead in his haste to get away from Edirne, Kumal was waiting at the gate to his land. He greeted Radu as a brother, kissing his cheeks and leading the horse as Radu walked beside him, stretching his weary legs.
Kumal’s home was beautiful, built around a center courtyard with a fountain. While everything in Edirne competed for the eye, demanding attention, Kumal’s home was simple and clean. Wood paneled the walls, woven rugs lined the tiled floors, and only in the long gathering room was there ornamental decoration: along the tops of the walls, gold Arabic script of a verse from the Koran.
It was time for prayer. Kumal laid out two mats, and they prayed together. Radu stayed on his knees afterward, trying to hold on to the feeling.
“I have a few matters to attend to,” Kumal said. “Feel free to explore. We will meet back for the evening meal after it gets dark.” With a friendly squeeze of Radu’s shoulder, Kumal left.
Radu wandered through the one-story house, respecting closed doors. He sat for a while in the courtyard, enjoying the lingering low rays of the afternoon sun bouncing off the whitewashed stone walls. Then he strolled behind the house to the gardens. They were as carefully tended as everything else, but unlike the rest of the house, they were elaborate. High, trimmed hedges formed a maze, with plots of brightly bursting flowers greeting the spring. In the center, towering over everything, was a large tree.