Bright We Burn (The Conqueror's Saga #3)(87)

“We are in the center of my mountain, Radu, and I see no heart.”

Radu smiled. “You are wrong. There are two. Yours, and mine.”

Lada let out a deep, shaking breath, and some of her pride fell with her shoulders. On her face was an expression Radu had never seen before.

Sadness.

“I wish it was not you,” she said. “I could take a blade happily from anyone but you.”

“You will never stop, though. Even now. If there was a way to go on, alone, stripped of everything, you would do it.”

Lada nodded, hand drifting up to the locket Radu had given her. “As long as I have breath, I will fight. Even when it feels like my own country does not want me to, I will fight. I cannot stop.”

“That is what I thought.” Radu stood, shaking out his legs, which were sore and numb from sitting so long. “You and Mehmed. I was always trying to protect you two, trying to shift your courses. I wish I had been able to. But if I had, you would not be the people you are, and I cannot begrudge you that.” Radu closed the distance between them. Lada looked up at him with fierce defiance.

He tucked the knife into the waist of his breeches. “You really tried to protect me during our childhood. To make me stronger. Every time you let me be beaten. Every time you were the one beating me. It was because you could see no other way to protect me.”

Lada lifted an eyebrow in confusion. “Yes.”

“Then let me protect you in the way that I know how. I will not stay with you forever—I cannot, and I do not want to. But I can help you for a little while so that you can continue making Wallachia free. I think you deserve each other.”

Lada frowned. “Is that an insult?”

Radu laughed. “I do not know. But you have seen what your methods have produced. Let me help you long enough to get you on stable ground. I can give you a throne without turmoil or threat so you can make your country healthy.”

“And then?”

“And then I will leave.”

“What about Mehmed?”

“Let me worry about him. Please. Let me worry about all the other leaders and nobles and boyars. I insist.”

“I do not need—” Lada stopped, shaking her head. “I do need your help. I always did. But you were not here. You did not choose me.”

Radu knelt in front of her, holding the knife out. Knowing that he had just killed her best friend. Knowing that he had stripped her of everything. Knowing that an injured, cornered wild thing was the most dangerous type.

Knowing that this was his choice. That it was not what Lada would do, or Mehmed. And that was why it was right.

Lada reached out, her fingers closing around the knife. She held it up, playing with the reflections of light. “You are mine again?”

“For a time.”

“And then?”

“And then I am retiring to live out a happy, peaceful life far from thrones and rulers and impossible decisions.” He paused. “Or we could do that now. Come with me. Leave it all behind.”

Lada’s hand tightened reflexively around the knife.

“I did not think so, but I had to try.” Radu held out his hand. Lada sheathed her knife, and accepted his help.

“You do know,” Radu said, his voice as gentle as his arm around her waist, “that this will be the death of you. Not today. Not tomorrow, if we have any luck. But eventually they will end you for daring to demand power.”

“I know. But Wallachia is worth it.” In his sister’s voice, Radu heard her acceptance of the end. There was no defiance. Her words were almost tender, as though spoken to a lover.

Together, they walked out of the dark cave and into the light.

“Also,” Lada said, blinking as her eyes adjusted, “do you want a baby?”





47





Tirgoviste


LADA LAY ON her back, staring up at the tree branches. They were entwined like fingers, the blue of the sky fighting through. Late autumn had left them bereft of their leaves save for a few sad stragglers. It was cold enough that their company was wrapped in furs, but no one had argued with her when she suggested they meet in the forest. Nazira avoided her, always finding somewhere else to be when Lada was involved in meetings. Lada did not hold it against her. Fatima the silent maid had come instead, along with Radu and Cyprian.

Somewhere nearby Radu’s men silently and invisibly guarded the group. She often suspected their attention was turned more toward her than toward other possible threats. Which proved they were good men. When Radu had brought Lada out and declared a treaty had been agreed upon, Radu’s men had been wary. But Radu still excelled at using his silver tongue to convince others that his way was the best.

He had written to Mehmed, too. Lada did not ask what Radu said, or how Mehmed responded. All she knew was that Radu was on her side, which was worth more than she had imagined, and she would not jeopardize it.

“What about King Stephen?” Lada asked, continuing their conversation about threats and allies. “He still has the cities he took from me when he was supposed to be helping. I want to kill him.”

Radu sighed, rubbing the side of his nose and leaving behind a trace of ink. Cyprian, the tall young Greek who was always at her brother’s side, laughed and wiped it away. Cyprian was nothing like Mehmed. He was joyful and open, wearing his emotions so clearly even Lada could read him. Mehmed had always been so careful with what he showed the world. And where Mehmed was never satisfied with anything, always wanting more knowledge, more power, more control, Cyprian seemed deeply content as long as he was with Radu.