Bright We Burn (The Conqueror's Saga #3)(76)

Radu could not argue with that. He said nothing, and studiously avoided Nazira’s pointed look.

The monk stood. “Would you like us to do anything for you before you leave?”

Radu did not want to tell the monk that this religion had nothing he wanted any longer. They were good people—and he wished them all the best in living their faith—but it was only a childhood memory for him. He felt nothing for it, either good or ill. That, he supposed, was a blessing of sorts. It was nice to have something in Wallachia that he was neutral toward, something that caused no pain.

“Will you tell me if my sister visits again?” His own visit had given him the clarity that he was not only fighting his sister—he was fighting the very idea of her. And that was just as, if not more, elusive and difficult to target. Aron was not likely to inspire devotion or encourage a change of loyalties in anyone who had responded to his sister.

The monk gazed up at the same mural. “She did say she enjoyed being here. She found something as close to peace as a creature like her ever can, I think. I hope she will come again. And if she does, she will be welcomed, and none of her enemies will be warned.” The monk looked at Radu, lifting an eyebrow. “Are you her enemy?”

Though Radu had no attachment to this religion, it was more than he had in him to lie to a man who had devoted his life to God. “I do not know. I think I might be.”

The monk nodded, no reproach in his face. “You should spend the night. See if you can find some of the peace here as well.”

No matter what he did, this country still belonged to Lada. He had never been able to take away something once she claimed it. Not their father, not Mehmed, and now not Wallachia. “Maybe,” Radu said, but he knew there would be no peace for him here. Lada had seen to that.





41





Town of Arges


LADA HAD BEEN too miserable during their escape to think about much of anything. Stefan had gotten horses somewhere, and it had all been accomplished silently and swiftly. No one looked twice at a man riding next to a hunched-over, shawl-wrapped woman. Even if she was dirty and barefoot.

Once out of the city, it was all countryside and farmland. Summer had passed its zenith and was slipping from its muggy, warm haze toward autumn. Lada should have been overwhelmed with joy to be outside again, but she found herself aghast and resentful. How dare the seasons change, how dare nature continue its trek forward, when she had been so cruelly stalled? And how dare anything be so soul-nourishingly lovely when she had left behind her nurse in order to save herself?

She rejected the beauty of the Hungarian landscape, ignored the vibrant green warmth of Transylvania, and let herself take in only a little relief and happiness when they finally crossed into Wallachia. Even in this state, she could not resist loving her country. But she feared what she would find when she got there. Ahead of them loomed the mountains along the Arges, where she would return to her fortress. To Bogdan.

Without his mother.

Lada did not think Matthias would kill Oana. Or at least she hoped he would not. He seemed the type of person to think a servant woman inconsequential enough that he might not have truly noticed her. Besides, Oana had been nowhere near when Lada had escaped. Surely that would be in her favor. Still, Lada had to add one more name to the list of those who were not at her side.

Matei. Traitor, still missed as her first meaningful Janissary loss.

Petru. Murdered, avenged.

Nicolae. Died for her, which was perhaps why he haunted her most.

Oana. Sacrificed, which would doubtless haunt her.

And always, ever, the phantom presences at her right and her left: Mehmed and Radu. Someday she would grow old enough that she would no longer care about the two best companions of her childhood.

She hoped.

Both that she would no longer care, and that she would grow old. Neither seemed likely on that dazzling summer afternoon. Huddled and hunched in the saddle, Lada was bothered not only by what nature was flagrantly displaying but also by what it was not:

Farmland. They rode through acres and acres of unplanted land. Last fall, this very stretch had provided ample crops. This fall, there would be nothing. Which meant that the coming winter would be far deadlier than the previous spring. The Ottomans could be tricked, defeated, turned away. Starvation was the world’s most patient and unrelenting foe. What had she done? How could she fix it?

Stefan drew his horse to a stop. “I am not going to Poenari.”

Lada sighed. Another name to add to the list of those she had lost, and with him, Daciana. He had warned her; apparently that time was here. “Are you certain?”

He nodded gravely. “My debt to you is fully paid.”

Lada lifted an eyebrow. “Well, not quite.”

“Oh?”

“My debt for freeing you from the Ottomans, yes. But do not forget it was my choice to allow Daciana to remain with our company. If I had refused her, you would still be a shadow of a man, untethered, mine.” Lada scowled. “I should not have let her stay.”

Stefan rewarded her with the barest of smiles, and she looked away so she would not get emotional. At least this one friend she was losing to life, not death.

Lada brushed off her heavy emotions and made her tone befitting that of a prince. “Do one more task for me, and then I will tell you where Daciana is.”

“What task?”