And I Darken (The Conquerors Saga #1)(7)

Already Lada understood, in a vague and fearful way, that her own future revolved around marriage. With her mother having long since returned to Moldavia—or fled there, depending on which gossip Lada was unable to avoid overhearing—there was no one she could ask about such things. Even the nurse simply clucked her tongue and told her sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof, from which Lada could only understand that marriage was evil.

Sometimes she imagined a shadowy figure standing at a stone altar. She would hold up her hand, and he would take everything she had for himself. She burned with hatred at the very idea of that man, waiting, waiting to make her crawl.

But this was Bogdan. She supposed if she had to marry anyone, it would be him. “Fine. But only if we agree that I am always in charge.”

Bogdan laughed. “How is that any different from now?”

After delivering a sharp punch to Bogdan’s shoulder, Lada was seized with a sudden and urgent need to eliminate the nightmare of the shadowy man. Here, on this mountain, everything was perfect. “We should marry right now.”

“How?”

“Give me your hand.”

He obeyed, hissing with pain as she drew her knife across his palm. She did the same to her own hand, then grasped his in hers, the warm wetness mingling between their small, dirty hands. “On this mountain, with my mother Wallachia as witness, I marry Bogdan forever and no other.”

He grinned, his big ears glowing red, backlit by the setting sun. “On this mountain, with Lada’s mother who is made of rocks and trees watching, I marry Lada forever and no other.”

She squeezed his hand harder. “And I am in charge.”

“And you are in charge.” They released each other and, with a puzzled and disappointed frown, Bogdan sat on the ground. “What now?”

“How should I know? I have never married anyone before.”

“We should kiss.”

Shrugging with indifference, Lada put her lips against Bogdan’s. His were soft and dry, warm against her own, and this close his features blurred, making it look as though he had three eyes. She laughed, and he did, too. They spent the rest of the afternoon with their noses smashed together, telling each other how monstrous they looked with one eye, or three, or whatever other tricks their vision played.

They never spoke of their marriage again, but it took weeks for their palms to heal.

When, after an infinite passage of golden and green days, they finally returned to Tirgoviste, it felt like the opposite of a homecoming. Lada ached for what they had left behind. Someday she would go back to the Arges and rebuild the fortress on that mountain, to live there with her father and Bogdan. Maybe even Radu.

It would be better than Tirgoviste. Anything would be better than Tirgoviste.





1447: Tirgoviste, Wallachia




RADU, ELEVEN YEARS OLD and still small for his age, kicked at the hard-crusted snow. He was cold and bored and angry. Lada and Bogdan screamed joyfully as they flew past him, the old metal shield barely holding the two of them. They tumbled off at the bottom of the hill, careering to a stop on the banks of the river. It had taken them ages to hike out here, with the heavy, stolen shield dragged behind them. Even though Radu had helped bring it, they would not give him a turn.

As Lada and Bogdan carried the shield back up the hill for another round, they jabbered in their secret language. The one they still thought Radu could not understand.

“Look at him.” Bogdan laughed, his doltish ears violently red in the cold. “I think he will cry.”

“He always cries,” Lada answered, not even bothering to look at Radu.

This, of course, made Radu’s eyes sting with tears. He hated Bogdan. If that stupid oaf were not here, it would be Radu going down the hill with Lada, Radu who shared her secrets.

He stomped off through the snow, the reflected sun dazzlingly bright. If they caught him with tears in his eyes, he would claim it was the light. They would know the truth, though. On the banks of the river, the water was frozen for as far as he could see. Several children played nearby, some around his age. He edged closer to them, trying to appear as though he were merely going in that direction anyway.

He wanted them to ask him to join.

He wanted it so badly it hurt more than his frozen fingers.

“I have a honey cake for whoever dares go to the middle of the river,” the oldest boy declared. His shoeless feet were wrapped in cloth, but he held himself as straight as any boyar child.

“Liar,” answered a little girl with long braids trailing from the shawl clutched around her head. “You never have any food, Costin.”

The boy lifted his chin, pride and anger visible in the set of his mouth. “I can go farther out than any of you. I dare you. Who is brave enough?”

“I am,” Radu said. He immediately regretted it. Cautious by nature, ever fearful of being hurt, Radu shied away from risk. It was part of what Bogdan and Lada mocked him most for. Going out onto a frozen river was not something he would ever choose to do.

He nearly backed away when he heard Bodgan’s loud whoop of joy behind him. He stepped forward instead.

The group looked over, only now noticing him. Costin’s eyes narrowed as he took in Radu’s fine clothes, lingering on his leather boots. Radu wanted to be his friend. More than that, in a way Radu did not even understand, he wanted to be Costin. He wanted to look others full in the face, unafraid, unashamed, even with nothing to his name.