Now I Rise (The Conqueror's Saga #2)(55)

Radu avoided Jesus’s gaze yet again and found himself staring at an equally mournful mosaic of Mary. Her head was tilted down and to one side, a miniature Christ child solemn and staring on her lap. Will you protect your city? Radu silently asked her. He knew there was one God. But in this city of mysticism steeped in so much religious fervor, he could not escape the fear that the other god, the god of his childhood, lurked in the mist and the rain and the tremors of the earth. Radu was trapped behind these walls, separated from who he had become. With his tongue he cursed Muslim infidels and with his heart he prayed for constant forgiveness.

Surely the true God, the God of his heart, knew what Radu was doing here. Even if Radu himself did not.

When the liturgy finally ended, Radu wanted nothing more than to go back to Cyprian’s house and sleep for a day. But Cyprian grabbed his arm and pulled him toward a group that was milling about near Constantine.

“I wanted to introduce you to—ah, here they are!” Cyprian clasped hands warmly with two boys who shared the round-eyed, mournful faces of the mosaics around them. Radu half expected them to tilt their heads and lift their hands in various saintlike poses. Instead, they smiled shyly.

“This is John, and his brother, Manuel. My cousins. Their father was John, the emperor before Constantine.”

The older boy looked to be around eight, the younger five. They wore purple robes and gold circlets. The clasps of the chains securing their robes glittered like jewels, but as Radu looked closer, he saw they were made of glass.

Radu bowed. “I am Radu.”

The younger boy, Manuel, perked up, his round eyes growing even rounder. “From the sultan’s palace?”

“Who told you about me?” Radu asked, with a puzzled smile.

“Cyprian has told us all about you!”

Cyprian cleared his throat. “Not all about you. Just … that you saved me.”

Manuel nodded. “Is it true what they say about the sultan?”

Radu smiled to hide the pit that had opened up in his stomach. Had even this small boy heard that Radu was the sultan’s shameful plaything? Why would Cyprian have told him that? “They say many things. I am afraid you will have to be more specific.”

“That the sultan kills a man before every meal and sprinkles his food with the blood to protect himself against death.”

Radu was so relieved he had to choke back a laugh. He covered it by pretending to cough. “No, unless things have changed dramatically since I left. He prefers his food without blood, like most men.”

“I heard he is so wealthy that he had all his teeth replaced with jewels.” John, the older boy, said it with a studied casualness, but he leaned forward just as intently as his brother.

“That would make eating all his blood-sprinkled meals quite a task! But no, that is not true, either. Though he does sometimes wear a turban so large it nearly brushes the ceiling!” That was an exaggeration, but both boys nodded in wonder. “He has fountains of clear water in all his rooms, and his fingers are so heavy with jewels that he cannot sign his own name without removing his rings first.”

Manuel scowled. “I do not know why he wants our dumb city, then.”

John elbowed him sharply in the side. “You are just jealous because I am the heir to the throne and you are not.”

Manuel stuck out his tongue. “Not if you die first!”

Cyprian put a hand on both their shoulders. “No talk like that, boys.” They deflated, looking shamefacedly at the floor. “And I am going to have a word with your nurse about the rumors she is letting you hear.”

John looked up first. He lifted his chin bravely, but it trembled slightly. “Is the sultan as cruel as they say?”

Radu wanted to deny it, but he had to remember he was playing a part. “He is … very smart, and very focused. He will do whatever it takes to get what he wants. So, yes, he can be cruel.”

John nodded, then set his jaw determinedly. “Well, it does not matter. The walls will save us. And even if he gets past them, an angel will come down from heaven with flaming swords before they can pass the statue of Justinian. The infidels will never have my city.”

A loud, deep laugh sounded next to them. Constantine ruffled the boy’s brown curls, skewing the circlet to the side. “Your city? I am fairly certain it is still mine.”

John smiled, blushing. “I only meant—”

“Have no fear, John. I will take good care of it until it is your turn.”

They turned their smiles on Radu. The combined weight of their love and hope with the heavy gaze of Jesus above them nearly knocked Radu to the floor. He bowed to cover his feelings, then straightened.

“Will you join us for a meal?” Constantine asked. “It will be nice to have someone else to answer their infinite questions for once.”

“I would love to,” Radu said, still exhausted but with a spike of excitement. This was his first personal invitation to spend time with the emperor. It was a good thing. A step in the right direction. A way to feel like he was actually accomplishing something, even though he feared there was no point.

Then a tiny hand slipped into Radu’s own, and he looked down into the saintly eyes of Manuel. The little boy beamed up at him, and Radu felt his soul wilt as he smiled back.



Everything had been so normal at dinner. Even Radu had managed to relax, enjoying the food and laughter and stories. All his hopes to hear something useful were dashed in the middle of bread and meat and preserved fruit.