Now I Rise (The Conqueror's Saga #2)(68)

Matthias laughed. “Are you giving me commands now?”

“It was Ulrich’s last request.”

“I will do as I see fit.” He handed her a letter, sealed with his coat of arms, in which a raven figured prominently. That morning, Lada had seen a raven pull a pigeon from its own nest in the castle eaves, tearing it apart methodically and efficiently.

“This is an introduction to Toma Basarab. He will instruct and help you on your way to the throne. No one knows the Wallachian boyars better than Toma.”

“And men?”

Matthias shook his head. “I have no men better than the ones you already possess, and besides, I cannot part with any. If my men were to accompany you and you failed, it would destroy relations between Hungary and Wallachia.”

Lada smiled tightly. “So regardless of whether I win or if I die, you still have an ally on the throne.” Matthias was born to this. The young king might have a core of kindness, but Matthias knew what it took to gain and keep power.

“You understand perfectly,” he said. “I do hope you succeed, Lada Dracul. I am very curious to see what you can do. I look forward to a long and fruitful relationship.”

Lada wanted no such thing from him. But he had given her another knife, and she would use it to cut her way to the throne.

She inclined her head, unwilling to bow or curtsy. “I will pay my respects to your father before I leave.”

Matthias’s expression turned briefly wistful before resuming its usual sharpness. “He is dead. His final act was rooting out the traitor Ulrich. I do not expect you to stay for the funeral.”

Lada flinched. She had betrayed Hunyadi to his downfall, and then she had falsely betrayed a good man in his name. This was the thanks she gave Hunyadi for his love, for his trust, for his support.

She clutched the locket around her neck so tightly her knuckles went white, drained of blood.

“You are a strange girl,” Matthias said fondly.

“I am a dragon,” she answered. Then she turned and left the toxic castle for what she hoped was the last time.





31





April 12–19




AS RADU AND Nazira prayed in their room in the predawn light, the end of the world began.

They felt the rumblings beneath their knees, cutting off their prayer. The church bells began pealing with all the urgency of angels ushering in the end of times. Radu heard screaming in the streets.

“The cannons.” He turned to Nazira. “The cannons are here.”

“Go,” she said.

Radu yanked on his boots, nearly falling over in his haste. Before he had finished fastening his cloak, there was pounding on the bedroom door. Radu opened it to find Cyprian, as pale and worn as the limestone walls. “The cannons,” he said, shaking his head. “We are finished.”

“We must go to the walls.” Radu grabbed Cyprian’s arm and turned him around. “Have you been yet? What has fallen? Are the Ottomans in the city?”

“I do not know what has happened since I left. I was with my uncle and Giustiniani. They have requested you. I think they finally believe your account of the Turks’ guns.”

Radu almost laughed as they raced out of Cyprian’s home and through the streets. They had to push past several mobs that had gathered outside churches, everyone trying to press in at the same time. Concussive blasts shook the whole city, bursts that punctuated the still-clanging bells and the desperate wailing.

“You!” Cyprian grabbed a monk by the collar. The man looked at Cyprian as though he were the devil himself. “Where are you going?”

“To the church!”

“You will do no one good there!”

The monk’s conviction that Cyprian was the devil solidified. He glared, aghast. “That is the only place we can do any good!”

“Gather citizens, have them haul stones and material to the walls. We will need everyone’s help if we are to survive the night. You can pray while you work.”

The monk hesitated but nodded at last. “I will spread the word.”

“That was good,” Radu said as they continued their sprint toward the walls.

“It will not be enough. Promise me that if they get through, you will run.”

“I must get Nazira first.”

Cyprian nodded. “Go to Galata, if you can. You may be able to slip out undetected.”

“What about you?”

“I will stay with my uncle.”

Radu stopped. The walls were in sight. They could see plumes of smoke, and the dust of shattered stone hanging in the air like a vision of the future. “You do not owe this city your life. It is not even your city.”

Cyprian stopped, too, and they stood side by side, chests heaving from their run. “My uncle has shown me every kindness.”

“And you should be and are grateful. But if it comes to staying and dying, or running and living, choose the latter. He would want that for you.”

“Would he?”

“If he does not, he should. The city will stand or fall depending on the whims of fate. It would be a tragedy if you fell with it.” Radu realized as he said it how true it was. He could not bear the thought of Cyprian dying with the city.

Cyprian’s gray eyes shifted from troubled to thoughtful. Then his smile, the one that nearly shut his eyes with its exuberance, the one Radu had not seen in some time, erased everything else. Cyprian shook his head as though trying to physically shift the smile into a more appropriate expression, but it lingered. “Thank you,” he said. Radu had never really noticed Cyprian’s mouth before, but for some reason he could not look away from it now.