Bright We Burn (The Conqueror's Saga #3)(63)
Matthias sat back on the throne, tilting his head to one side. “You really are a remarkable creature. I still cannot believe what you managed to accomplish.”
Lada held out her goblet for the servant to take. She tried to shake off the premonition of doom. It was just a crown. He had probably convinced Poland to give it to him. She could not risk losing his aid. She needed to leverage his newfound esteem into action. She cleared her throat. “Now imagine what we will accomplish together. For Europe. For Christianity. For our peoples.”
“Yes.” He smiled. “I have not forgotten the services you provided the last time. Please know how grateful I am for the service you provide me now. And accept my apologies, in advance.”
Matthias gestured. Dozens of men swarmed into the throne room, quickly overwhelming and killing Lada’s. Lada drew her sword with a scream of rage, but already there were too many men between her and Matthias. She killed two, three, four before they had her on the floor, her face smashed against the tile as her hands were bound behind her back. She could hear Oana screaming curses in Wallachian, but none of her men cried out. None were alive to do so.
Matthias’s voice rang through the room, bouncing off the floor she was smashed against and the ceiling she could not see. “You helped me to my throne, and now you will help me keep it. Such a little thing, to trade your freedom for my security. I know you may not think it, but I truly am grateful.” Her last glimpse of him as she was dragged away was a warm smile and a goblet lifted in a toast.
34
Tirgoviste
RADU ONCE AGAIN found himself hiding in the castle.
It had been his main childhood occupation. Back then, he had hidden from his brother, Mircea, and, for a period of time, from the same men he avoided now. Though they had been boys back then, looking to hurt him.
Today they wanted money. At every opportunity, they pressed him for more. Radu struggled to remain civil and pleasant. He had stayed behind to help them. It was growing increasingly difficult.
He did his best to be impossible to find. He did not sleep in the castle, moving from manor house to manor house under the guise of making certain they were well maintained for when the boyars returned. He frequently patrolled with Kiril and Simion, and spent as much time on the outer walls as possible.
Today an argument between his Janissaries and Aron’s men had forced him to return. Aron’s men were insisting any horse stabled there necessarily belonged to the prince. The Janissaries were not as inclined to politeness as Radu was.
After firmly informing Aron’s men that the sultan would not take kindly to his horses being stolen—and then arranging for Simion to transfer the horses to stables away from the castle, where they were apparently too great a temptation—Radu retreated to the castle wall to catch his breath. He leaned out, looking over the still-empty city.
A mounted procession making its way toward the castle caught his eye. Radu could not imagine who would be arriving this soon. Surely the boyars would wait until they knew things were safe, even after receiving Radu’s invitations. Then he realized the guards all wore Ottoman-style clothing. One, riding in back, struck Radu as deeply familiar, though from this distance he could not identify why.
In the center rode two women. One dressed simply in dark blue robes, the other dressed like a flower in springtime.
Like the ghost of his father, a Wallachian curse came unbidden to his lips. “God’s wounds,” he whispered. Nazira must not have received his warning not to come!
Her route here would have taken them directly through the freshly covered graves. Radu cringed, thinking of the thousands of stakes that were piled on the sides of the road while they debated whether to burn them or use them to build another layer of defense around the city. The first was more respectful to the dead, the second more practical. Radu hated that these types of decisions fell on him.
He was grateful, at the very least, that Nazira had been delayed enough to miss the burials. He could not imagine what the original state of the city would have done to her. Or to sweet, delicate Fatima. They should not be here.
He raced down the wall, nearly bumping into Aron.
“I was looking for you. I would like to—”
Radu held up his hands. “So sorry, I cannot. My wife has just arrived.”
Aron did little to hide his annoyance, though his words belied his tone. “Oh, by all means! Go and see to her comfort first. I can wait. But I would like a detailed update of all the efforts to fortify the city and find your sister.”
Radu had neither the time nor the desire to pretend to involve Aron in the military business going on all around him. But if the country were to be Aron’s, he would have to take over at some point.
“Yes, of course.” Radu inclined his head respectfully, then ran.
He made it out of the gate just as the horses arrived. Radu was nearly knocked over by the flurry of yellow silk that threw itself at him.
“Radu!” Nazira hugged him tightly around the neck. “I am so glad you are well. We did not hear good reports of the fighting. We had to wait an extra two weeks at the Danube before they thought it was safe enough for us to continue. We even passed the whole army going the other way! Hamza Pasha said you remained to help.”
Radu squeezed her back, holding her close, then pulled away so he could look her in the eyes. He wondered what else Hamza Pasha had told Nazira, and prayed that he had had the decency not to mention Kumal. “Why did you keep coming? You should have gone back with them!”