Now I Rise (The Conqueror's Saga #2)(16)

Mehmed released Halil’s hand and sat. His tone became less formal. “We begin construction immediately. The fortress will be called the Rumeli Hisari.”

Halil’s eyebrows drew together. “Rumeli Hisari. Like your grandfather’s fortress on the Bosporus Strait, the Anadolu Hisari.”

“Yes, precisely!” Mehmed gestured to a servant to refill his glass. “I have already moved the men into place, and the stones are being brought in as we speak. Kumal Pasha is there to direct construction.”

“Where—” Halil wiped at his forehead, where sweat was beginning to bead beneath his turban. “Where will the Rumeli Hisari be built?”

Mehmed waved dismissively with the flatbread in his hand. “Across from the Anadolu Hisari.”

“Across— But that is Constantinople’s land.”

Mehmed let out a burst of laughter. “It belongs to a few scrappy goats. There is nothing there. Yet. But soon the foundation of a fortress honoring you will displace those goats! The fortresses will wink at each other from across the water of the Bosporus Strait. Their cannons could meet in the middle, I think.” Mehmed laughed again. “We will have to try it out after your tower has been built.”

This time, the deep flush on Halil’s face was not one of pleasure. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled to find a way out of the trap Radu and Mehmed had set.

But it was too late. He had agreed to the fortress in front of everyone, had shown nothing but support. He had even agreed to pay for it. If he backed out now, he would have to say why. And he could not challenge Mehmed on Constantinople outright. He had no solid proof that Mehmed meant to attack, and he had to keep his own connections to Emperor Constantine secret.

Halil’s options were dwindling, and would dwindle further when his allies in Constantine’s court heard that a tower built on their land bore Halil’s name.

Secrets made information more powerful and suspect. The best way to keep the fortress safe from Halil’s machinations was to make him intimately—and inescapably—involved in its construction. It was the same method Radu was applying to the artillery, inspired by Nazira and Fatima’s relationship. Hiding in plain sight.

“What is so funny?” Urbana said, scowling. “I did not understand any of that. Why are you smiling?”

“Because I am pleased with tonight’s events.”

She sighed, picking at the bones of the unfortunate fowl on her plate. “I still do not understand why I have to be here. We never even speak to the sultan.”

“You are here so that everyone sees you are my special project. I want the whole city gossiping about how foolish I am, hiring a woman to make the largest cannon in the world to try to impress the sultan. I intend to subject us both to ridicule.”

Her scowl deepened. “Why would you do that?”

“So that no one pays any attention until we succeed.”

For the first time that night, Urbana smiled. She snapped a bone off the chicken.

Radu nudged her with his elbow. “Imagine how surprised they will be when the sultan has the most advanced artillery in the world, built by a woman and the most handsome and useless foreigner in the empire.” He stood. “Come. I need to introduce you to everyone, and tell them how we are designing a cannon so big it could puncture a hole in the bottom of the Black Sea and drain it dry.”

Urbana grimaced but nodded. “Lead on.”



Later that week, Radu pulled aside the tapestry to leave his update on Urbana’s progress and the navy’s readiness. He was so shocked to find Mehmed sitting in the room that he barely stifled a cry.

“Radu.” Mehmed grinned. “You are very late.”

“I— What is wrong?”

“Nothing. I have something for you.” Mehmed held out a letter.

It was addressed to Radu in a hand like someone had taken a blade and dipped it in ink. The part of his heart that was permanently vacant hurt as it beat again. He turned the parchment over to find it had been sealed by a knife tip pressed into wax.

“Lada,” he whispered, running his fingers over the red seal.

“It arrived this morning.” Mehmed’s voice was carefully neutral. “Did you write her?”

“Yes, after I found out she was not on the throne. I had given up hope that the messenger would ever find her.”

Radu would have preferred to read privately, but he could not bear to leave this gift of time with Mehmed. But the way Mehmed’s eyes were fixed on the letter, like a starving man on a circle of bread, hurt. All this time they had spent apart, all these times he had never been waiting for Radu.

Mehmed was here only for Lada.

He was still in love with her. They never spoke of her, but it was inescapable. Perhaps, since she left before Mehmed could claim her, he would long for her forever. The same way he was fixated on Constantinople, simply because it was not his but he felt it should be.

According to Islam, though, Mehmed could not consummate his relationship with Lada. It was forbidden outside of marriage or official concubines. Lada had been inside Mehmed’s harem, though, which legally made her part of it.

There was always a way forward for Mehmed and Lada.

Radu hung his head. What did he hope his future would be? To stand forever at Mehmed’s side, beloved friend, trusted advisor? He had told Nazira it would be enough. It would never be enough.