Now I Rise (The Conqueror's Saga #2)(15)
Or herself, for having so many miserable failures to write of?
Matei’s betrayal cut deep, though. She had chosen Wallachians precisely because she assumed they would be as eager as she was to sever their Ottoman ties. But apparently Matei’s hunger had extended beyond what Lada could provide. “I did not know he reported to Mehmed.”
“I thought as much from the contents of the letter. So you are not working for the sultan. But you call him by his name. You know him, his temperament, his tactics.”
This felt both dangerous and promising. “Better than anyone.”
“In that case, I have another letter for you.” Hunyadi dropped Matei’s letter in the fire. Lada’s fingers reflexively stretched toward it. She wanted to know how her life would read when being looked at by Mehmed. But it was too late.
Hunyadi reached into his vest and withdrew an envelope. He tossed it in front of Lada.
Puzzled, she picked it up. The seal was broken.
“We got this one off a Turk asking around for your whereabouts. It is from your brother.” Hunyadi spoke as pleasantly as if they were discussing the weather over a meal. “He wonders how you fare, and fears for your safety. He even suggests returning to Edirne. He says they are having the most wonderful parties under Mehmed’s rule.”
Lada snorted. “He says that only because he knows nothing could keep me farther away than the promise of parties.” Still, Lada tucked the letter into her shirt, against her heart. Beneath the necklace Radu had given her. Did he know everything, too? Were none of her humiliations private?
Hunyadi stood, holding out a gloved hand. He was close enough to strike. One quick thrust of her knife and she could avenge her father. And her older brother Mircea. Blood for her blood.
For his betrayal, Matei could go unavenged.
“Come,” Hunyadi said. “I have an offer for you.”
Lada’s knife paused. Her father had died doing what he always did—running—and she had never cared for Mircea anyway. She took Hunyadi’s hand.
7
February–March
EVERYONE WHO MATTERED in Edirne was around the massive table: valis, beys, pashas, viziers, and a smattering of their wives. Even a few daughters, hopeful of catching the eye of someone important. One such daughter had been trying to attract Radu’s attention all evening. But he knew her father was already firmly in support of Mehmed, so there was no reason to be cruel and indulge her.
Salih, too, was here. Halil’s second son. The only person Radu had ever kissed. But Salih had long since given up trying to speak to Radu. Radu could not even look at him without feeling a sick twist of guilt, and so he had gotten very good at letting his eyes pass over the other man’s head.
They all reclined on pillows, a sumptuous spread laid out in front of them. Next to Radu, Urbana kept shifting, trying to get comfortable in her stiff European clothing. She stood out terribly, scowling and muttering to herself in Hungarian. If she caught anyone’s eye, it was definitely not in a flirtatious way. She looked like she wanted to strangle someone. It made Radu miss Lada.
“Sit still,” Radu whispered, looking toward the head of the table. He was seated far from where Mehmed lounged on a higher level than anyone else. A servant fanned the sultan, while behind him lingered the lonely stool attendant. And on the sultan’s right, Halil Vizier.
Radu waited, anxious to the point of giddiness.
“What is this?” Urbana complained, dipping a finger in one of the cool, creamy sauces for the meat. “I am tired of these parties. Why do I have to be here when I could be working?”
Radu hushed her as Mehmed stood. “My friends,” Mehmed said, extending his arms to take in the entire room, “this is a night for celebration! Tonight, I honor three of my greatest advisors. Their wisdom gives me strength. Their guidance builds my legacy. And tonight, I dedicate that legacy to the world. Zaganos Pasha. Sarica Pasha.” He nodded at the two men to his immediate left, men Radu knew to be deeply loyal and committed to the cause of taking Constantinople. Kumal was gone, already on-site. “And my most important advisor, Halil Vizier.”
Halil flushed a deep red, his expression that of a child who has gotten away with some feat of naughtiness. He bowed his head and put a hand over his heart.
“To honor you, my three wisest, I am building a fortress with a tower named for each of you. Your might will reach up to the very sky. Your wisdom will watch over our land forever. You three will be my towers of strength, my sentinels.”
The three men bowed even deeper.
“For this honor, I would pay everything I own,” Zaganos Pasha said.
Mehmed laughed brightly. “Well, that is good to hear, because you will each be in charge of financing and constructing your tower. I would not trust your legacies with anyone else.”
Halil Vizier looked slightly less pleased, but displeasure marred his visage only briefly. This was a tremendous honor, and further proof that his hold on Mehmed was tighter than ever. That Mehmed announced it in front of every important person in the empire doubtless did not escape Halil’s notice. Halil nodded. “Of course, my sultan.”
“Yours will be the most vital tower, and the largest.” Mehmed took Halil’s hand, squeezing it warmly. For him to touch another man was a gesture of the highest regard. Halil swept his eyes across the room, exulting in the moment.