Bright We Burn (The Conqueror's Saga #3)(66)
Lada did not move.
“Back away from the door!”
Lada still did not move.
He shrugged, turning the bowl sideways and shoving it through the hole. It clattered to the rough stone floor, spilling its contents in a mess. “Next time I can bring something to make you feel more at home.” With a dead-eyed smile, he left. The other two settled into their chairs against the wall.
Lada stood in front of the door, watching them.
Hours later, her feet aching but her back still straight, someone she had never expected to see in a prison in Hunedoara came into view.
“Hello, Lada.” Mara Brankovic smiled with bland formality as though this were a routine social call.
“What are—” Lada took a deep breath, steeling herself against showing emotion. “Mehmed bought Matthias.”
“He does not come cheap, this replacement king.” Mara wrinkled her nose, whether in distaste for Matthias or as a reaction to the odors of urine and despair that permeated the prison, Lada did not know. “I am sorry for this. You always insisted on taking the more difficult path. Think of how different your life would be if you had married Mehmed, as I advised long ago.”
“You are not married, and here you are, free, while I am imprisoned,” Lada accused.
“It took me many years and many sacrifices to get here. But I did it in an acceptable manner. I am sorry to see you like this. You may not believe me, but I sincerely hope this is the beginning of a new path for you. One that will not end in your death.”
“All paths I take involve a tremendous amount of death.”
Mara arched one elegant eyebrow. “I suppose you have only yourself to blame, then.”
“I am perfectly capable of blaming you. And Mehmed. And my brother. And Matthias.”
“Be that as it may, you were given opportunities. It did not have to end like this. It still does not.” Mara leaned closer, her voice dropping lower. “Matthias cannot kill you outright. You still have goodwill in Europe for your success against Mehmed and for your willingness to fight. He is keeping your imprisonment a secret, so no aid will come. Only Mehmed knows that you are here. I am not to tell even your brother. As far as Wallachia is concerned, you disappeared into the mountains and abandoned them. Matthias will keep you for as long as he feels necessary. Play your part, be demure, at least pretend to be tamed, and eventually you may be able to arrange an advantageous marriage that will get you out of here. Not to Moldavian nobility—that would be viewed as a threat. Your odds of marrying anyone important in Transylvania are quite small. I assume you want no Hungarians. I can make inquiries among Serbian nobility.”
“Is that what Mehmed wants for me?” Lada asked, incredulous.
“No, silly girl. That is what I want for you. It makes me sad to see you locked up. You are so young. You have an entire lifetime ahead of you. Do not waste it on this. Be good, marry. And then use that to secure more power. I am leaving this afternoon, but I will start looking for prospects and suggest to Matthias that an eventual arranged marriage for you is in his best interest. But you must do your part.” She passed a tightly wrapped bundle through the hole. Lada took it, feeling its weight.
“No weapons,” she said, disappointed.
“It is a dress, which is a subtle sort of weapon you will have to learn to use.”
Lada tossed the bundle aside. “I have never been good at subtlety.”
“I hope you will change your mind. Please know I wish only the best for you.”
Lada opened her large eyes as wide as they went, tilted her head, and smiled. “Come in here and let me embrace you for your kindness.”
Mara backed up a step, shaking her head. “Yes, you will certainly need to work on your acting skills. I have no desire to be anyone’s hostage. Goodbye, Lada. Good luck.”
Mara disappeared, and Lada stared at the empty space the other woman had so fully occupied. She had often imagined what she could do with Mehmed’s resources. The money and the land, yes, but especially minds as clever and ruthless as Mara’s at her disposal. Mehmed did not deserve Mara.
No man did, as Mara well knew. And still her advice was for Lada to marry. Did everything really come back to that?
Matthias waited an entire day before coming to see her. “Why have you not changed?” he asked, eyeing Lada’s dirty, bloodstained tunic, which she still wore over her chain mail. The dress Mara had given her lay on the floor, half in the mess from the dumped porridge.
Lada did not answer. She had slept only a few hours, preferring to let rage sustain her. The tapestry of power that she had spent so many years collecting threads for had once again been pulled apart by a man. A stupid man. He would pay.
“I cannot let you out looking like that. And you will get a chill wearing your chain mail in there.”
Lada neither moved nor changed her expression, continuing to stare at Matthias with hooded eyes.
He shifted, shoulders twitching as though trying to shrug off some unseen irritant. “Did you consider I am doing this for your own benefit? Many people want you dead, little prince.” He spat out the last word as a mockery. “You are safer here than you would be in Wallachia. Consider it my penance to the Dracul line. My father killed your father. I am keeping you alive.” He waited. For what, Lada could not imagine. Gratitude? Weeping? He would get nothing from her.