Bright We Burn (The Conqueror's Saga #3)(45)

Radu walked from the tent, his steps light and confident. But his shoulders fell along with the flap behind him. Why was he still playing this game? What did he care about a stupid pasha questioning his value and his place in the empire?

Mehmed had said nothing when Hamza Pasha challenged Radu. Radu understood on an academic level the need for a sultan to hold himself separate. But Mehmed had had no problem commenting when Lada was the topic. Radu was tired of his place in all of this. He had been making these same desperately calculated plays for power all his life.

It came easily to him now, but that did not mean he enjoyed it.

He made his way past the borders of the camp, where they kept those who were sick. There were a startling number of them. Mehmed’s insistence on sanitary methods of camp order usually kept sickness to a minimum. Maybe there was something about Wallachia that made people ill.

Radu covered his mouth with his cape, walking slowly. A feverish man lay on the ground on a worn bedroll, covered in sweat and mumbling to himself. Radu paused, listening. The man was mumbling to himself not in Turkish, but in Wallachian.

Radu grabbed one of the attendants. “This man. Where did he come from? Is he a Janissary?”

The attendant shook his head. “No, just a worker. Most of the sick are not soldiers.”

“That is good,” Radu said.

The attendant gave him a witheringly dismissive look. “It is good until you need support for sixty thousand soldiers. And then it is devastating.”

Embarrassed at the rebuke, Radu crouched closer to the sick man. The language had given Radu a terrible suspicion he needed to disprove. “What did the prince promise you?” he asked in Wallachian.

The man had his eyes closed, but his mouth twitched in a smile. “My family. Land for my family.”

Radu stood, dizzy. He had not expected to be right. He strode back to camp and found Kiril, the Janissary he used most among his group of four thousand. “Get me your whole unit. We have to go through the camp and interview everyone who is not a soldier.”

“Why?” Kiril asked, but with curiosity, not judgment.

“Because my sister is full of surprises. None of them pleasant. Look for Wallachians. And look for anyone who is ill.” There was no telling how many Wallachians had slipped in among the chaos of the massive camp. They had to check the cooks, the servants, the—oh, God’s wounds, the women who followed the camp to service any needs the men had.

They had been dragging Lada’s weapons along with themselves the entire time.

She really was clever. Radu could not blame Mehmed for admiring her still. He could, however, wish that cleverness did not create so much extra work for himself and suffering and death for everyone else.





23





One Day South of Tirgoviste


LADA ADJUSTED HER stolen Janissary cap. She had not worn one in years. It was like revisiting a favorite story from childhood and realizing that while the details were the same, the entire meaning had changed. She looked over the group of twenty handpicked men, checking any last details. But they knew what they were doing. Other than Bogdan, they were her last remaining Janissaries.

She realized with an unexpected pang that someday soon these twenty would die, too, and she would be left without any Wallachians trained by the Ottomans. An unexpected urge to leave them behind and out of harm’s way was pushed down as she cleared her throat.

“All we are after tonight is information. How the camp is laid out. Where the pack animals are kept. Where the food and especially where the weapon stores are. How many men. Pay attention to everything, but do not be conspicuous. Tomorrow night, each of you will lead men back into camp.” Lada smiled, her teeth white as bones in the moonlight. “Tomorrow night is the fun. Tonight is the work so our fun will be fruitful.”

Bogdan grabbed her arm as everyone scattered to enter the camp at different points. He stood too close, letting in little darkness between them. “I want to be with you.”

“And I told you,” Lada said, pulling away, “I need you out here to signal if anything goes wrong. We can still send enough men down from the hills to create a distraction and get out. But only if you are waiting to give them the signal. Otherwise we will all be dead if any of us are caught.”

Bogdan moved in front of her, blocking her path. “Are you going after him?”

Lada did not have to ask whom Bogdan was referring to, but she wanted to punish him for daring to demand an answer. “No. Radu can stay there for his betrayal. I have no use for him.”

“That is not who I meant.”

Lada pushed forward and past Bogdan. “I am going to find where the sultan is sleeping. Perhaps I will murder him in his bed. Perhaps I will do the same to you later.”

“Be careful,” Bogdan said, puncturing her meanness with his constant care.

She kept walking.

The benefit of such a massive force was that there were any number of entry points into camp, and no way for anyone to know she did not belong there. They were prepared to fend off hundreds or thousands. Not one. She slipped in among the tents, then walked with purpose. Just another Janissary who knew exactly where to go and had a job to do. The camp was well lit with torches and campfires. There was less activity than she had counted on, though. All the soldiers were, as far as she could tell, confined to their tents unless actively on patrol. And the service portion of the camp she skirted was even quieter. Perhaps they had discovered her contributions to Mehmed’s forces.