Bright We Burn (The Conqueror's Saga #3)(88)

Lada had once questioned whether anyone could pull Radu’s heart from Mehmed. She would not have thought someone so different from Mehmed would be the one to do it. She supposed she ought to be happy for Radu, but he was being very aggravating.

“You cannot kill the king of Moldavia,” Radu said.

“I was not planning on doing it personally.” Lada gestured down at her ever-expanding stomach. “Obviously I would send someone else.”

“No, I mean, we cannot kill Stephen. He is still an ally. I have had good responses from my envoys to him. Besides, I thought you liked him?”

“I do. But that does not mean he should live after what he did. What kind of example does it set if I allow him to keep the land he took?”

“We are not going to let him keep it. We are going to give it to him as a gift to thank him for being our ally, and as a gesture of future goodwill and cooperation.”

Lada sat up with a grunt. “That is terrible.”

“That is diplomacy. I cannot do much right now for our relations with Transylvania and Bulgaria, but we will not damage one of our only friendly borders.”

Lada scowled, kneading her lower back with her knuckles.

“Let me.” Fatima settled on the blanket next to her and rubbed Lada’s sore muscles. Back in the castle, whether meeting with envoys or directing land management, Nazira wore a dress padded to imitate Lada’s condition.

“You are only nice to me because you want this baby,” Lada said.

Fatima did not pause or respond. She never did. She treated Lada with distant kindness that Lada knew she did not deserve, and it rankled her. Fatima should hate her, as Nazira rightfully did.

Sometimes Lada wondered if she should apologize to Nazira for murdering her brother. But she was giving her a baby, which apparently Nazira wanted very much. And Lada could not find the words—or the sentiment—to say she was sorry. She liked Nazira in spite of herself, though. Much as she had suspected and doubted the marriage, she saw now that Nazira was fierce in her own right, with a clever mind always looking for opportunities.

It seemed a loss to Lada that she and Nazira could not be friends. But there was nothing she could do to fix what she had done. She would not try. Nazira still had far more than Lada did. Radu had managed to build a formidable family around himself. And, unlike Lada, he got to keep all of them.

A twig snapped, and she reached for a rock before realizing that Bogdan was not trying to sneak up on their lessons in the forest.

It was Oana, hiking through the forest toward them, lugging a large basket.

“We will kill Matthias, though,” Lada said. The words hung in a frozen cloud of breath. She willed them to become a solid reality. “He betrayed me. Kept me locked in prison for three months. He also betrayed the pope and his European allies by taking the gold intended for our crusade against Mehmed and using it to buy his stupid crown back. He cannot be trusted. Besides, we cannot be sure he will not try to harm me again.”

“We are not going to kill Matthias,” Radu answered.

“He took me prisoner!”

“But he did not kill you. Or Oana. He even sent her back as a gift.”

Oana grunted, unpacking their afternoon meal. “He could have sent something more valuable.”

“There is nothing more valuable,” Radu said, but he could not quite meet their nurse’s eyes. Only he and Lada knew the source of his guilt. The closest Lada had come to apologizing for leaving her behind was not telling their nurse who it was that had killed Bogdan. As far as Oana knew—or would ever know—Bogdan went into the mountains to get help and never returned.

Oana should not have to live with the truth. It was enough that Lada and Radu did.

Oana’s gaze shifted down to Lada’s swollen stomach and her eyes misted with tears. Lada resisted the urge to growl. If she could remove the damned thing and have it over with, she would. It was like a parasite, foreign and intrusive. And Lada knew when others looked at her stomach, they saw what they wanted to.

Nazira and Fatima saw their futures as mothers. Radu, a secret to hide to protect Lada. Oana, her own flesh and blood mixed with her claimed daughter.

“Is it his?” Radu had asked one night as he helped Lada exercise her injured arm to get full movement back.

“You mean Bogdan’s?” Lada had answered.

“We both know that is not who I meant.”

Lada had not answered again. Nor would she ever. She knew that the child could be considered a legal heir—knew that in Mehmed’s mind and in the eyes of Ottoman law, Lada was part of his harem. He would never have any of her again. Certainly not whatever beast was currently taking up residence over her bladder.

Radu was still talking. “… because we know what he wants, he is easy to deal with. And he is our connection to the pope and the rest of Europe. It is a fine line to walk, but I think we can manage to keep him on our side, or at the very least not directly against us.”

“It would help if we had money to send Matthias,” Lada said. “He is deeply loyal to money.”

“A lot of things would be helped if we had money. First we need to survive this winter.”

Lada knew that they would, and only because of Radu’s foresight in employing his Janissaries as farmers. She had destroyed her own land. He had healed it.

Again, he was annoying her. “If you will not let me kill Stephen or Matthias, who can we kill?”