Now I Rise (And I Darken Series, #2)(65)

Matthias shook his head. “No, that will not do. My father is in seclusion for his health, but while he rests, he has entrusted you with his most private concerns and important charges.”

Lada caught his meanings like the beginning of a cold. “Yes,” she said. “He has left me in charge.”

“And he tasked you with rooting out threats to the throne. Such as treason.”

“Treason.” Lada had expected to argue with Matthias, to convince him of her utility. She had underestimated his willingness to grasp at any advantage.

“Yes. It would appear that Ulrich, the protector of the king and my chief rival, has been committing treason. You and your men will go to his home and find all the evidence you need.” Matthias smiled, teeth stained dark with wine. “And then you will execute him on behalf of my father.”

Lada raised an eyebrow. “Without trial?”

“You are Wallachians. Everyone knows how vicious you are.” He watched Lada for her reaction. Balking at being asked to commit murder. Taking offense at being called vicious. He would get no such reactions from her. She met his look with a hint of a smile. He seemed to think she would dislike her people being spoken of this way. Instead, it filled her with pride.

Satisfied with her lack of objections, Matthias continued. “After Ulrich is dead, the king will need a new protector and regent.”

Lada nodded. It was simple enough. “And then?”

“And then the king will succumb to his weaknesses, and the protector will be the most obvious choice for king. A king who can connect you with those who will secure your own throne.” Matthias held out his hand. It hung in the air between them like a chain. The chain was weighted with the deaths of two innocent men. Ulrich, whom Lada did not know, but whose reputation was one of fairness and morality. And the child king, who had done nothing wrong but be born to power he could not wield.

Two deaths. Two thrones.

Lada took his hand.





29





April 9




RADU CREPT INTO the kitchen, a knife in his hand. The noise that had awakened him in the middle of the night was revealed by a candle, which threw the room into sharp relief. A few golden glows, a multitude of black shadows.

One of the glowing points was Cyprian’s face, but it did not have its usual light. “What is wrong?” Radu crossed the room to him and felt his forehead, fearing Cyprian was ill.

Then he smelled the alcohol, and Cyprian’s malady was explained. “Come on.” Radu took Cyprian’s elbow to steady him. “You should go to bed.”

“No. No! I cannot sleep. Not now. I fear what dreams will dance before me after tonight’s meeting with my uncle.”

The withered part of Radu that still hoped to make some difference jolted alert. “Then we should go for a walk. The night air will help sober you.”

Cyprian mumbled assent. Radu found the other man’s cloak discarded on the floor and helped Cyprian fasten it. Cyprian stayed close to Radu, one hand on his shoulder. The weight of it suggested Cyprian could not quite stay upright without Radu’s support. “What about Nazira?”

“She will not miss me.” Radu opened the door and helped Cyprian navigate the short distance to the street. They walked in silence for some time, Cyprian leaning against Radu for support. The night was bitterly cold and as still as the grave.

“You love Nazira,” Cyprian said.

“Yes.”

“Like a sister.”

Radu stopped, causing Cyprian to stumble. Radu forced a quiet laugh. “You have never met my sister if you think I could ever adore her as I do Nazira.”

Cyprian gestured emphatically. “But there is no passion.”

Radu began walking again, his mind whirling. Cyprian saw too much. They should never have agreed to live with him. If someone suspected Nazira was anything other than his beloved wife, they were in more danger than ever. She had come to sell his story beyond doubt. But if people doubted the marriage itself … “She is my wife, and my concern. And now you are my concern, too. What is wrong? I have never seen you like this.” In the weeks that they had known him, Cyprian had never been drunk. Even when he had learned of the deaths of his fellow ambassadors, he had remained focused and collected in his grief. Something must have happened tonight to effect such a change.

“Eight thousand,” Cyprian said, his voice a whisper.

“Eight thousand what?”

“Eight thousand men. That is all we have.”

Radu paused, causing Cyprian to stumble again. Radu caught him and held his arms. “Eight thousand?” That was fewer than Radu had suspected. He had seen how bleak the city was, but not even that was enough to indicate just how few men they had to call on.

“Eight thousand men for twelve miles of wall. Eight thousand men against sixty thousand.”

“But surely more help will come.”

Cyprian shook his head, listing to the side with the movement. “My uncle holds out hope, but I have none. The Turks are already here. You told us they have a navy on the way. Who will send aid? How will they get here? Who will look at the hordes at our gates and dare stand with us?”

“But you heard Giustiniani on the walls. You are still fighting from a place of strength.” Radu did not know whether he was trying to press Cyprian for more details on the city’s defenses or to comfort him. “You were able to repel that attack yesterday!”