Now I Rise (The Conqueror's Saga #2)(41)

Cyprian’s house was not far. It was a handsome, well-maintained building. The houses in Constantinople practically shared walls, narrow gaps between them sometimes disappearing where the roofs met. He pulled out a key and opened the front door. They were greeted with a wall of frigid air.

“Valentin, go start the fires.” The boy nodded and ran inside. Cyprian frowned. “I have a maid. Where is that girl? The main room should have a fire going already. Maria? Maria!” There was no response. “Well, come in. It will warm up soon enough.” He led them to a small sitting room, where Valentin had already succeeded in lighting a fire.

They heard footsteps on the stairs. “Maria?”

“Just me,” Valentin called out. “No one else here.”

Cyprian looked troubled. Nazira put a hand on his. “Your home is lovely. Thank you so much. I hope you know your kindness is not unappreciated.”

“Of course!” Cyprian covered her hand with his other hand. “I am sorry. I have been so caught up in my own worries and fears, I have scarcely thought how you must be feeling. You have left your home, your country, all your possessions.” He turned to Radu. “Both of you have.”

Radu thought of what Lada might have said in response. “Edirne was my prison, not my home. Nazira’s is the true sacrifice.”

She nodded, looking down. “I will miss my garden. But I no longer recognize the landscape of the empire under this new sultan. And I do not think I belong there anymore.” She stood straighter, brightening. “And I have my Radu.”

Radu tried to imagine what Fatima must be doing right now, alone in the home that she shared with Nazira. How she must worry. If his separation from Mehmed was agony, how much worse to be separated from someone with whom you shared everything, including your heart?

He held out his arms. Nazira met him, resting her head against his chest. Cyprian watched them with the same look of longing Radu had seen before. Then he cleared his throat. “I will see to some food and send a message to the palace to find out when the emperor can meet with us.”

He left them alone. Radu stroked Nazira’s back one last time, and then they sat, side by side, staring into the fire.

“I like him,” Nazira said, and it sounded like a eulogy.

“Me too,” Radu echoed.





18





Late March




LADA’S MEN HAD nearly finished breaking camp when Hunyadi rode up. His horse pranced and shifted beneath him, picking up on his agitation.

“You have heard, then?” he asked Lada.

She paused in tightening her saddle straps. “Heard what?” she asked, careful not to reveal anything by her tone.

“Rumors of Ottoman troops massing in Belgrade, with designs on our Serbian border. You were right about Serbian loyalties. Housing the infidels in their own capital!”

Lada whipped around. How had Mehmed been this stupid? They were to meet in southern Transylvania. Surely he would not have come close to the Hungarian border. She had accepted that she needed Mehmed’s help, but she would be damned if she let Hunyadi know what she had done.

“Are you certain?”

Hunyadi shook his head. “One report. And the scout saw nothing himself. But I cannot risk this. Not with Matthias so close to the throne. You were wise to counsel me to stay.” He smiled at her, his eyes sad. “My duty is here. I cannot turn my back on Matthias for Constantinople. When will your men be ready to ride?”

Lada was seized with a sudden need to recheck every strap on her saddle. “You want us to ride into Serbia?”

“No. I want you in Transylvania. Protect the passes in case the Ottomans try to go through Transylvania and come into Hungary that way.”

Hunyadi had aided her yet again, giving her the simplest way to disguise her true goals: Mehmed and Wallachia. She nodded. “We will go to Transylvania. But after, we are not coming back. We will continue on when the way is clear.” She let her words imply that she would continue after the Ottomans were gone, though she meant she would continue once the Ottomans had cleared a way for her. “We go to Wallachia.”

Hunyadi put out his hand to stop Lada’s frantic tugging on an already-tight buckle. His voice was soft with concern. “What awaits you there?”

“I do not know what will happen. But I know that it is my country. I spent too many years in exile. I cannot continue to exile myself. We go back to whatever fate holds for us. Live or die, I want it to be on Wallachian ground.”

“Give me more time. Let me secure our borders, address this rumor of a threat. Once Matthias is on the throne, we can help you.”

Lada shook her head. Though a few weeks ago she would have clung to that offer, now she knew better. A promise of help that might never materialize was worth less than a sultan already waiting with troops. She had to do this. For Wallachia.

Her thoughts lingered on Mehmed. Her Mehmed, waiting for her. She pretended that was not a factor in her desperation to go, but her heart knew her to be a liar of the worst sort.

“Wallachia,” she whispered firmly to herself.

Before she could think better of it, she threw her arms around Hunyadi. “Thank you,” she said, “for everything.”

He patted her back. “Be careful, little dragon. You and I were made for battlefields, not royal courts. Do not start fights you have no weapons for.”