Now I Rise (The Conqueror's Saga #2)(106)

“You buried him alive,” she said.

The soldier shook his head frantically. “I had nothing to do with it. It was Hunyadi’s men and the Danesti prince.”

“But you were there.”

The man shook his head, then nodded, foolish tears of desperation leaking from his eyes. “But I did not kill him!”

Lada sighed, kicking the corpse of her brother back over so he could not see her. It was a terrible way to die. She imagined him twisting and turning, the weight of dirt suffocating him as he grew more and more disoriented. In the end, he had been clawing deeper into the earth, instead of toward the sun and freedom.

She wondered how her father had died. No one in Tirgoviste knew where he had been killed. Or, if they did, they were smart enough to say nothing. And she wondered about her own loyalty—and disloyalty—to Hunyadi, the man who had helped the Danesti boyars kill both her brother and father. The boyars whose support she was still courting. Guilt and regret warred with resigned exhaustion. She did not know how to feel about this. Why could she have no easy relationships? Why was there no man in her life she could feel only one way about?

“I did not kill him, I did not kill him,” the soldier whispered, chant-like, as he rocked back and forth.

Lada did know how to feel about the soldier. She latched onto it with a startling ferocity. It offered her a lifeline, something solid and secure to react against. “I do not care if you killed him. He is dead. That problem is past us.”

The soldier slumped in relief. “Thank you, my lady.”

Lada sheathed her knife. “I am not your lady. I am your prince. And while the death of Mircea is not our problem, your lying to me is.”

The soldier looked up, fear curling his lips to reveal his teeth, sticking out just like those in Mircea’s agonized skull.

“Bogdan, a rope.”

Bogdan took a rope out of his saddlebag. Lada tied it tightly around the soldier’s wrists. She tossed the free end to Petru. He nodded grimly, then tied it to his saddle.

“What are you going to do to me?” the soldier asked through clattering teeth.

“We are taking you back to Tirgoviste as an example of what happens to those who do not honor the truth.”

“What if he cannot keep up with the horses?” Petru asked.

Lada looked at the open grave of her brother, where his corpse once again faced the dirt that had claimed him. “That is what the rope is for.”

She spurred her horse forward, going too fast for any man to run long enough to keep from being dragged to his death.

She did not look back.





47





May 29




DAWN CAME AT last. Birds circled overhead, dark silhouettes against the sky, drawn by the carnage beneath. Soon they would descend.

Nazira and Radu ran as quickly as they could. The streets had filled with groups of citizens, clustered together and panicking. “Is it true?” a man shouted as they sprinted past. “Are they in the city?”

“Run!” Nazira screamed.

The man dropped to his knees and began praying instead. Behind them, they heard the sounds of conflict drawing closer. There were no Byzantine soldiers in the city—no one left to fight—but the Ottomans surging over the wall did not know that. They would come ready to fight in the streets, and when they realized there was no one left to bar their way …

“We have to get Cyprian out,” Radu said, gasping for air. “Valentin, too.”

“How?”

The way to Galata would be closed. The Ottomans would anticipate that. The bells on the seawall began clanging a warning. If the Ottoman soldiers in the galleys knew the city had been taken, they would be eager to join the pillaging. The seawalls were barely manned now, and with word spreading through the city that the walls had fallen, everyone would abandon their posts, leaving the sailors free to climb over. No one wanted to miss out on the looting. Nothing was off-limits—gold, jewelry, people. Anything that could be moved and sold would be.

But if the seawalls were not manned, and all the sailors rushed into the city—

“The horn,” Radu said. “We make for the horn. There are still the Italian ships. We may even be able to steal one of the Ottoman galleys.”

“Are you certain we will meet no resistance?” Nazira asked.

Radu could not be certain of anything. “It is our best chance.”

“What about Mehmed? You could ride out to meet him.”

They collapsed against Cyprian’s door. His home was deep enough in the city that no sounds of fighting had reached it yet. “I will not leave you and Cyprian here, not for anything,” Radu said. “I can come back when the three days of looting are over and everything has settled.”

Nazira squeezed his hand; then they ran into the house. “Valentin!” Nazira shouted.

The boy rushed down the stairs, nearly falling. “We heard the bells. Cyprian is getting dressed to fight. I told him not to, but—”

Nazira handed Valentin his cloak. “The city is falling. We are running.”

Radu looked up to see Cyprian standing at the top of the stairs. His injury had left him unable to get out of bed for more than a few minutes at a time without becoming dizzy. He was as pale and bleak as the dawn. “My uncle?”