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

Radu ran the fingers of his free hand along the edges of his turban, tugging at it. Nazira reached up, taking his fingers in her own. Her sharp eyes softened. “I worry about you.”

“You do not need to worry about me.”

“I do not worry because I need to. I worry because I care about you. I want to see you happy. And I do not think Edirne holds any happiness for you.” She emphasized Edirne, making it clear that it was not the capital she spoke of, but what—or rather, whom—that capital held.

“Nazira,” Radu hissed, “I cannot talk about this right now.”

He almost wished he could. He was desperate to talk to someone, anyone. But no one could help him with that problem. Radu wondered, sometimes, what Lazar could have told him if they had ever talked openly about what it meant for one man to love another. Lazar had been anything but discreet about his openness to something … more … with Radu. And Radu had rewarded Lazar’s loyalty and friendship with a knife. Now he had no one to talk to, to ask these desperate questions. It was wrong, was it not? For him to love this way?

But when Radu looked at Nazira and Fatima, he did not feel anything other than happiness that they had found each other. Their love was as pure and true as any he had ever observed. Thoughts like this made his mind turn around in circles upon itself, until not even prayer could calm it.

Radu looked down at Nazira’s hands on his. “The palace may not hold my happiness. But I cannot look anywhere else.”

Nazira released him with a sigh. “Will you come back with me? Spend some time at home? Fatima misses you. It might do you good to be away.”

“There is too much to do.”

“Too much dancing? Too many parties?” Her voice teased, but her eyes lacked an accompanying sparkle of sincerity. Her words stung him.

“You know I am more than that.”

“I do. I simply worry you might forget. You do not have to do this to yourself.”

“I am not doing it to myself, or for myself. I— Damn. Damn, damn, damn.” Radu watched as a man in naval uniform—a sturdy cape, a tighter, smaller turban than the ones worn by ordinary soldiers, and a sash of Mehmed’s colors—walked past. He was accompanied by one of Halil Vizier’s trusted friends.

“What?” Nazira followed Radu’s gaze.

“I need to talk to that man. Without anyone else being able to hear. It is the only reason I am here.”

She was suddenly excited. “You do? Is he—” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“No! No. I just need to speak with him. In secret.”

Nazira’s smile turned into a thoughtful frown. “Can you be seen together?”

“Yes, but it cannot look like we met on purpose or are discussing anything of importance. I was hoping to find some quiet moment, but there are so many people here. He has not been alone since he came to the capital. Halil Vizier has seen to it.”

“Your party attendance is more complicated than I thought, then.”

Radu gritted his teeth. “Much.”

“Well, you are very fortunate you married so well.” Nazira put a hand on his arm and steered him onto the walkway. “Tell me about him.”

“His name is Suleiman, and he is the newly promoted admiral of the navy.”

Nazira laughed. “This will be easy.”

She danced effortlessly from group to group with a coy smile and a word of greeting for all. Radu was on the fringes of these parties lately, a contrast to when he had been a shining focal point. But with Nazira on his arm, more people were willing to stop for a moment of conversation. He craned his neck for a view of Suleiman. Nazira pinched his arm, hard.

“Patience,” she whispered.

After several more stops to chat with the uncle of her deceased father’s best friend, the cousin of Kumal’s deceased wife, and any number of other people Nazira treated with delight and deference regardless of their place in the Ottoman social hierarchy, they plowed directly into Suleiman. Somehow Nazira had managed to turn and walk so that Radu knocked the man over.

“Oh!” Nazira squeaked, putting her hands over her veiled mouth. “I am so sorry!”

Radu held out a hand to help the man up. They had never met before, but Suleiman’s eyes lingered on the boat-shaped gold pin on Radu’s cloak. “Please forgive me.”

“Of course.” Suleiman bowed. “I am Suleiman Baltoghlu.”

Radu bowed as well. “Radu.”

“Radu …?” Suleiman paused expectantly.

“Simply Radu.” Radu’s smile was tight. Lada had left him behind under the mantle of the Draculesti family. But Radu had rejected his father’s name. He would not take it up again, ever. “This is my wife, Nazira.”

Suleiman took her hand, bowing even deeper. “They make wives prettier in Edirne than they do in Bursa.”

Nazira beamed. “That is because the wind blows too hard in harbor cities. The poor women there have to expend all their energy merely staying upright. There is no time left for being pretty.”

Suleiman laughed, a loud burst of sound that drew attention. But the attention was focused on him and Nazira, not on him and Radu.

“Tell me, what do you do in Bursa?” she asked.

“I am an admiral.”

“Boats! Oh, I adore boats. Look, did you see?” Nazira pointed to the collection of delicate boats bobbing in the river. They were carved in fanciful shapes. One had a prow like the head of a frog, and its oars had webbed feet carved into their ends. Another looked like a war galley, tiny decorative oars sticking out both its sides. “Radu is afraid if we take a boat out, he will not make it back to shore. But surely if we had an admiral with us …” Nazira looked up at Suleiman through her thick eyelashes.