Now I Rise (The Conqueror's Saga #2)(49)

And the strength of the man who loved her.

Could Lada be that woman?

But Mehmed had not said emperor. He had said empress. Emperor consort. She would still owe her power and her position to a man. And she was no lowly prostitute, no actress. She already had a birthright of her own.

“What about Wallachia?”

“Forget about Wallachia! Why be vaivode of a worthless country when you can be empress of the greatest empire in the world?”

She stepped back from him. “Because if I do not lead Wallachia, no one will.”

Mehmed brushed a hand through the air. “We will make certain Wallachia is always taken care of.”

Lada shook her head slowly. The offer was tempting. But she was so close to Wallachia. She could feel it nearby, just as she had Mehmed. She could not turn her back on her country now. “Where are the troops? I can—we can discuss this after. When I have Wallachia secured, and you have Constantinople, then … then, I do not know. Maybe there will be a way for us. After we have accomplished what we need to.”

Hurt reshaped Mehmed’s face into something younger, softer. “Is that the only reason you came?”

“Of course it is!” Lada snapped.

His vulnerability was replaced with cold, stony features and imperious brows. He grabbed his nightshirt and pulled it over his head. “There are no troops.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need every man I have. I cannot spare them to destabilize a country I already control. I have a treaty with the Danesti prince.”

Lada staggered back. “But you could spare men to harass Hunyadi. You did not need to do that. You could have trusted me and given me those forces instead. Were there ever any troops? Did you ever mean to help me?”

“I am helping you! You are destined for bigger things! With me.” He stepped toward her and she put her hands up.

“You did not write me. Not once, not until after I wrote Radu about having Hunyadi’s trust. You saw an opportunity, and you used me. I betrayed Hunyadi for you.” In all her life, Lada had never felt as small and miserable as she did then. She had sold Hunyadi’s kindness for nothing. All her justifications and rationalizing amounted to nothing. She was no closer to Wallachia in spite of all her sacrifices. “You tricked me.”

“I did you a favor! Even if I sent you the troops, even if you took the throne, you could never keep it. They would never follow a woman as prince. Abandon this delusion, Lada. It will destroy you. Come with me. Fight at my side. I trust only you with my life.” He pointed at the slit in the tent wall. “I could die without you.”

Lada raised an eyebrow. “I suppose that is an acceptable risk.”

Mehmed threw his hands in the air and started pacing. “I am offering you so much more. I am offering you the world. I am offering you myself.” He pointed angrily at the bed. “You were happy enough to accept it a few minutes ago.”

“That was different! You promised me soldiers.”

Disgust squeezed his words. “Was this merely a transaction for you?”

Lada slammed her fist into his stomach. He doubled over, and she spoke right into his ear. “Do not ever talk to me that way.” But his words had struck too close to home. Angry tears filled her eyes. She had not sold her body to him, and she hated him for thinking she had used it to manipulate him. But she had sold her determination to gain the throne on her own, as well as her relationship with Hunyadi. All for the false promise of a few hundred men.

Mehmed caught her hand and pressed it against his cheek. “Whatever else you believe, know that what I did, I did out of love. I love you. I have always loved you. Will you still choose Wallachia?”

Lada yanked her hand away and retrieved her knife from the floor. “You betray my brother with your feigned ignorance of his feelings. You betrayed me. But I will never betray Wallachia.” She lifted the knife, pointing it at him. “If you set foot on Wallachian soil again—my soil—I will kill you.”

Ignoring Mehmed as he shouted her name, she left the tent through the same cut she had entered it. This time it seemed much deeper.





23





Early April




IN THE CLAMMY morning fog, Radu sweated. He leaned against the stone steps for a few breaths, then continued climbing. The awkward shape of the tombstone chunk he held made his fingers cramp. When he finally reached the top of the wall, he staggered to the mound of stones and added his own.

“Funny, using tombstones of the dead to repair the walls.”

Radu looked up into the well-worn but cheerful face of Giovanni Giustiniani, the Italian man from his first, and so far only, meeting with Constantine. Giustiniani was tall, broad-shouldered, even powerful in the way he moved. A deep line between his brows made them look set in a permanent scowl, but all his other wrinkles told of smiling and laughter.

Radu wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and straightened. He was only a couple of inches taller than the older man. “Well, it is the least those citizens could contribute to the city’s defense.”

Giustiniani laughed, a sound like a cannon shot. He clapped a hand on Radu’s shoulder. “I remember you. You brought us news of the infidels’ preparations.”

Radu nodded. It was always jarring to hear the Ottomans referred to as the infidels, since that was what they called the Christians. “I wish I had come armed with better tidings.”