Bright We Burn (The Conqueror's Saga #3)(23)

“Why are you here, Nicolae? You should be training our new recruits.”

“There has been a letter.”

“Oh, a letter. That is new. Is it a proposal of marriage? Perhaps a careful admonishment to keep to my own borders and stop antagonizing our enemies? Or would someone like to congratulate me on my actions but do nothing to actually help us? I do so love these letters.” Lada sheathed a razor-sharp dagger at her wrist and pulled out the next one to be sharpened.

“It is from your brother.”

Lada sat up. “Clear the room.”

The soldiers pushed the remaining prisoners out, leaving only Bogdan and Nicolae.

“Where is Stefan?” Lada asked, holding out her hand.

“I do not know.” Nicolae passed her the letter. Radu had a new seal, something in swirling and stylized Arabic script. She crumbled the red wax to pieces before opening the letter.

Beloved Sister,

I write on behalf of his magnificence, the Hand of God on Earth, the emperor of Rome, the sultan of the glorious Ottoman Empire, Mehmed the Conqueror.



Lada marveled at the sheer weight of titles Mehmed had attached to himself. How did he walk with all those words trailing from his shoulders?

Recent events require a renewing of terms of Wallachia’s vassalage to the Ottoman Empire. To avoid a conflict you cannot hope to win, please attend to me at Giurgiu, where we can come to an agreement for how to go forward with friendship and peace. Preferably a friendship that includes significantly fewer impaled bodies.



Lada snorted a laugh, surprised by the flare of delight. There was her brother. There was the Radu hiding behind a new title, behind an empire that was not his own. She was hit with a pang of both melancholy and anger. She missed him. She had asked for his presence so long ago, but he was only coming now at the insistence of Mehmed, who correctly guessed that Radu was the only envoy not at risk of being sent back in a wooden box.

It was clever of him.

I will be awaiting your arrival. It has been too long, Sister. We have much to discuss, and I have missed you. Until we meet again soon,

Radu Bey



His handwriting, always elegant and meticulous, wobbled a bit around the words I have missed you. Was it because he was lying? Or because he was admitting a difficult truth?

Lada passed the letter to Nicolae and began pacing.

“Interesting,” he said upon finishing. “Far more civil than I expected, to be honest. Perhaps the little zealot still holds some affection for you, even now.”

Lada did not react, suspecting Nicolae was baiting her again.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I will meet my brother.”

“And will you accept new terms? Between your brother’s influence and the sultan’s leniency, I think we can secure the greatest terms Wallachia has ever had.” Nicolae sounded excited, his words rushing together. He had suggested the same thing in her rooms. This letter was proof that his ideas were correct. “Everything you have worked for will be rewarded. And all your people will benefit.”

Lada smiled, twisting her dagger to catch the light. “I will meet Radu. And I will bring him home.”

Nicolae sounded significantly less excited and far warier. “He said nothing about coming back to Tirgoviste.”

“No, he will not wish to.” Her grin spread. “We are going to kidnap my brother.”

“What?” Bogdan asked. “Why?”

Because he should have been hers regardless.

Because she missed him, and she hated him for that.

Because Bogdan wanted more than she could ever give him. Because she mistrusted Stefan. Because Nicolae’s questions festered under her skin. Because Petru, young and thickheaded but hers, was dead, killed by the boyars she had then eliminated in the dining room of this very castle. Because even after all this, she knew in the blood that flowed through her veins that she could trust Radu.

And because … Nicolae had been right. Lada was trying to pick a fight with Mehmed, even if she had not realized it before. She was not doing it for Wallachia. She did it for herself. For everything he had been to her. For all the ways he had failed her. She had Wallachia, and she would do everything she could to protect it, but she wanted to punish Mehmed. Kidnapping Radu—taking back the first, and the last, thing Mehmed had taken from her—might be enough to make him come to her when tens of thousands of bodies had not.

Just three bodies mattered. The same three that had always mattered.

Radu’s.

Lada’s.

And Mehmed’s.





12





Bursa


RADU COULD NOT get off the boat fast enough. For once it was not because he was sick, but because of who was waiting for him. He had been at the bow, searching the horizon since dawn. As soon as he saw Bursa in the distance, it was all he could do not to jump out and swim. Knowing he would be far slower than the boat kept him onboard.

They drew closer, alongside the city—one he had visited with Nazira, before Constantinople—and the wind whipped at Radu’s face, as frenzied as his anticipation. Finally, they approached the dock.

Radu saw a familiar figure, as bright and welcome as spring.

He jumped over the side of the boat, landing hard on the dock. Nazira met him halfway. He threw his arms around her, lifting her off the ground and spinning her in a circle. He did not know whether he was laughing or crying. After a few minutes of embracing, Radu released her. He cupped her face in his hands and studied it. She was browner than she had been—evidence of more time in the sun than usual—and her clothes were in colors she would never have picked out for herself, but she looked healthy. There were no haunted hollows beneath her eyes, no suppressed terrors in the full sweet circle of her lips.