Now I Rise (The Conqueror's Saga #2)(42)

He kissed her forehead, then got back on his horse. “May God be with you.”

Lada smiled, and this time it was genuine. “God only sees me when I am in Wallachia.”

Hunyadi laughed. “Give him my regards, then.” He turned his horse and rode away, much slower than he had come. Lada watched him go, her smile disappearing. Her nurse, carrying their bedrolls, caught her eye and gave her a sharp nod.

It was time to go home.





19





Late March




CYPRIAN RETURNED, CARRYING a basket of bread and cheese and a skinny chicken with its neck already snapped. He motioned them to follow him into the kitchen. Radu and Nazira had been sitting in silence in front of the fire, both consumed with private strife. Radu had no doubt Nazira’s revolved around thoughts of Fatima, but his was an endless cycle of worrying over what Mehmed was doing and how Radu could prove his worth to him.

Nazira gently edged Cyprian out of the way. “Show me where the dishes are and make a fire in the stove.”

Cyprian nodded and gave her a tour of the kitchen. It appeared to be his first tour as well. “Oh, look! That is a lot of pots. Why do we need so many pots?”

Laughing, Nazira pointed at the table. “Go sit, you oaf. I can figure it out better on my own anyhow.”

Cyprian did as he was told. “I solved the mystery of my missing maid. Apparently word of my death has spread far and wide. She considered it notice of termination of her employment, and fled not only my house but also the city. So many have. I hope she will be all right.” He sighed, rubbing his face wearily. “I will try to find a replacement, but I do not think it will be easy.”

“We can manage quite well,” Nazira said. She smiled at Valentin, who had materialized and was helping stoke the fire in the stove. “Valentin is more than capable, and I am not unfamiliar with kitchens. I think we will do very nicely without extra bodies in the house.” She caught Radu’s eyes. She was right, of course. The fewer people watching them in close quarters, the better.

“Thank you,” Cyprian said. His relief was visible, a relaxing of the tightness around his eyes and the strain in his shoulders.

There was a knock at the door. Valentin left and then returned, accompanied by a liveried servant wearing a vest with the double-headed eagle crest of the emperor. “The emperor wishes to see you immediately.”

Radu stood. “I am at his disposal. We will go at once.”

Radu and Cyprian fastened their cloaks as they stepped out into the chilly afternoon. The servant walked at a pace so brisk he was almost running.

“Is there anything I should know before I go in?” Radu asked, seized with nerves. This first meeting was the most important. If he could gain the emperor’s trust now, he would be positioned perfectly. If he could not …

Well, that would be a much more unfortunate position.

Cyprian put a hand on Radu’s shoulder. “You have nothing to fear.”

Radu could not agree with that.



Constantine, just like the city he ruled, was not what Radu had expected. He was older, nearer to fifty than forty. His hair had thinned on top. In place of an elaborate crown, he wore a simple metal circlet on his head. Though every other man adhered to the fashion of layers, the emperor did not follow suit. His white shirt and purple breeches were simple, even austere. He seemed utterly devoid of pretense.

What a luxury honesty was.

Radu and Cyprian stood at the back of the crowded room. Constantine paced near the front, his tall, thin body leaning into the movement so that his head led the way with every step. With a start, Radu realized the emperor’s feet were bare. He stifled a surprised laugh at the absurdity of the emperor of Rome walking around without even stockings.

“What of the Golden Horn and the seawall?” the emperor asked.

“We have nothing to fear there,” a man said, waving dismissively. He was tall and broad, his body a blunt instrument of war. “A handful of poorly trained ships against my Italian sailors is nothing. We are perfectly safe on the seawall.”

Radu saw his opportunity. Telling Constantine the truth, and about something easily confirmed, would solidify his status. Knowing what they faced would not magically replace the seven ships that had already fled, or line their walls with men that were not coming.

“You are not safe there,” Radu said. Every face turned to him with curiosity. “When I left, Admiral Suleiman had six large galleys. Ten regular. Fifteen small. Seventy-five large rowboats for transporting men and navigating small spaces. Twenty horse transports.”

The change in the air was palpable. “Who are you?” the Italian man demanded.

“Radu of—” Radu paused, again not knowing what name to give himself. “Radu most recently of Edirne, where I served at Mehmed’s—the sultan’s—side these last several years. Most particularly overseeing the secret development of his navy.”

Cyprian put a hand on Radu’s shoulder. “This is the man who saved my life, Uncle.”

Constantine pointed at a man near the door. “Send word to the governor of Galata. Tell him we are drawing the chain across the horn to block all entry.” No one moved. “Now!” he shouted.

The man stood, bowing, and ran from the room.

“Is that to be his main point of attack, then?” Constantine asked.