Kumal’s beatific smile lit up their dim corner. “And I have just returned from umrah in Mecca.”
Radu leaned forward, drawn by the brilliance of Kumal’s smile. “You made the pilgrimage to Mecca? And for umrah, not hajj. So you have been before!” The hajj, traveling to the birthplace of the Prophet at Mecca, was one of the five pillars of Islam. Along with prayer, fasting during Ramadan, giving charity to the poor, and declaring that there is no God but God, it made up the simplest base of being Muslim. It was the one that Radu knew the least about and doubted he would ever be able to fulfill. But here, in front of him, was the man who had helped him truly find himself in Islam, who had filled the hajj and returned to worship further. “I do not know enough about the umrah. Tell me everything.”
Kumal described the long journey, exhaustion and excitement warring with each other. The city of Mecca where the Prophet, peace be upon him, had walked, and where pilgrims participated in the circling of the Kaaba. It was the most sacred site in the world, the place that all prayers were physically directed toward. And Kumal had been there! During the umrah, he performed further rituals to honor Ibrahim, his wife Hajar, and their son, Isma’il.
By the time Kumal had finished speaking, Radu was once again overcome with weariness. “Perhaps that is what I need. Maybe if I went to Mecca, if I saw it…”
Kumal smiled kindly. “Someday you will go, and your life will be blessed for it. But it will not fix you—all your troubles will still be here, waiting. First you should strive to find peace where you are, and then you can make the pilgrimage to celebrate that peace.”
Radu shook his head. “I do not know where peace can be found in this city.”
“That is your problem, then. Peace is not to be found in this city, or any city. Not even Mecca. Peace is to be found here.” He pointed to Radu’s heart.
Radu put a hand over his chest, feeling the beat of his life beneath it. The pulse that thrummed for so long to the name of Mehmed. “I think my heart is the problem.”
Kumal paid for their meal, then stood. “I want you to visit my vali. Perhaps we can help your heart there.”
Radu found a eunuch waiting in his chambers with a message from Huma, demanding he visit her. The eunuch stood, silent and impassive, and Radu suspected that being too tired was an excuse neither Huma nor the eunuch would accept. So he followed the other man into the harem.
Huma’s chambers were no longer the luxurious rooms she had occupied before. They were in a side wing and had narrow windows and scarcely space for two. Radu sat on a cushioned bench against the wall. Huma, her skin tinged a sickly yellow, sat on a higher chair across from him, their knees nearly touching.
“Are you well?” Radu asked.
“I want you to kill Halil Pasha.”
Radu choked on his surprise. “You want me to what?”
Huma shifted in her seat, eyes narrowing in direct contradiction to her innocent smile. “I know how you feel about my son.”
Radu resisted the urge to turn away or to tense his body defensively. He had no doubt Huma could divine meaning from the slightest movement. “He is my friend.”
“Do not lie to me. You love him like a flower loves the sun.”
“I do not know what—”
She sliced her hand through the air, cutting off his protest. “These things happen. It is not without precedent. Did you know that some sultans have had harems with male members?”
Too late Radu realized his eyes had betrayed everything.
Huma settled back in her chair, self-satisfied. “I can help you. You do not have to despair that your love is impossible.”
Radu shook his head, protests on his lips warring with the dark hope she had introduced. Could he have more with Mehmed?
Huma took a sip of water from a plain white ceramic cup, eyeing it with disdain. “I will help you,” she said, not looking up, “when Halil Pasha is dead.”
NEWS OF LADA’S TEST had spread throughout the city. Spectators lined the far edge of the field, sitting in the shadows of the looming trees on chairs brought by servants, or on the ground if they had no servants, which was most of them.
“This is ridiculous.” Lada folded her arms tightly in front of her armored chest. She wore mail beneath a tunic; the heavy links rippled down her body. She had left her head bare, though the men behind her all wore Janissary caps.
Mehmed smiled, waving at the gathered crowds. He spoke to her out of the side of his mouth. “Please do not make this worse than it must be. You know I am not the ultimate authority. If Ilyas decided to go to my father about this, my hands would be bound. That Ilyas even agreed to give you a trial of merit speaks volumes of your reputation among the local garrisons.”
Lada gazed across the broad field to where she could see Ilyas Bey, the leader of Mehmed’s personal garrison. He had been a good addition to their forces here and had given her permission to train with the Janissaries. She respected him, admired him even.
But apparently he questioned whether she could command men. He had allowed her to pick a regiment of twenty to skirmish with his own twenty-man team. Each side had dull swords and blunted arrows with cloth-wrapped tips covered in flour to prove that they hit their marks. However, Ilyas’s side had a light cavalry, mounted to represent the challenge Janissaries were often up against.
She caught laughter drifting her way from the spectators as Mehmed walked to join them, signaling the start of the skirmish. Ilyas remained where he was, immobile, waiting for Lada to make the first move.
“It is time,” she said.
Nicolae threw up his arms in disgust. “This is insane, Lada! I will not put my reputation on the line for this.”
“You promised!” she screamed, grabbing his shoulder.
He jerked free, throwing his sword to the ground. He walked back toward the fortress. Half of her men followed him, swallowed by the dappled shadows of the trees.
“Cowards!” She picked up Nicolae’s sword and threw it after them. “Dogs! Crawl on your bellies after your own vomit!”
Breathing hard, she turned to the rest of the men, who shuffled in place, looking over their shoulders. “Shields up,” she said, mouth a grim line. They formed, shoulder to shoulder, shields held in front of them as they marched slowly forward. A smattering of arrows hit, bouncing to the ground. The crowd laughed, jeering.
Ilyas shook his head, lifting an arm halfheartedly to command his men forward to slaughter.
He was interrupted by a rain of arrows from behind the spectators, thunking against the sides of nearly all the horses. Before Ilyas had time to process what had happened or remove the men who were out of play, another volley hit, striking him in the chest, taking out the remaining horses, and leaving only a handful of men. While they debated whether or not to fire over the spectators’ heads toward the hidden assailants, Lada’s forces dropped their shields to reveal their own bows, firing at the “survivors” until none were left unmarked.
The spectators were no longer laughing.
Ilyas walked forward, meeting Lada in the middle of the field, face impassive but something like pride shaping his eyes. His mustache twitched over his lips. “That was…surprising. You played on our expectations.”
Nicolae strode out from the cover of the trees, grinning. He turned and gave a sweeping bow to the spectators. “Many thanks for your help!”
“We were not planning on the crowd.” Lada nodded toward them.
“And yet you still managed to use them as a shield. Admirable. And also questionable. What if I had no qualms about firing into innocent bystanders?”
Lada shrugged. “That would be on your shoulders, not mine. Besides, I know you, Ilyas. You are a man of honor.”
He laughed. “And you?”
“Not a man.”
Mehmed reached them, beaming. “That was brilliant!”
With a nod, Ilyas frowned. “But now to the larger question: You can command these men. But they know you. They trust you. Do you
really think that a garrison would willingly follow you in battle if they did not? Or a group of ajami cadets, fresh from training? I say this not to insult you, but to question the practicality of giving you a command. I fear it would be setting you up to fail, and embarrass the Janissaries.”
“I agree.” Lada smiled tightly at Mehmed’s surprise at her cooperation. “Give me charge of a frontier group of Janissaries. Let me pick them by hand—men who will not question my orders, who are not afraid to follow a woman. Let me train them how I see fit to be Mehmed’s personal guards. Twice now I have seen Mehmed’s life threatened. It would be advantageous to have a group that thinks differently and functions outside of normal Janissary movements. We will see things no one else does. And if people dismiss my soldiers because they are led by a woman, well”—she gestured to the men cleaning flour off their horses—“I can use that to my advantage.”
Ilyas’s eyes narrowed with the weight of her proposition. He had to agree. Lada deserved this. She needed it. Finally, when she thought she would have to pull out her sword and hit Ilyas upside the head with it to get him to speak, he nodded.
“Very well. You can have your pick of Janissaries. Take as long as you need to gather them. You will report to me quarterly, but you can house and train your men wherever and however you see fit.”
Shaking his head and laughing in disbelief over what he had agreed to, Ilyas turned and rejoined his men.
“You never smile at me like that,” Mehmed said, watching Lada.
She turned to him, putting a hand to her mouth, which had betrayed her by bursting with her happiness. Over Mehmed’s shoulder, she noticed the crowd of observers included several delicate flowers from the harem, complete with eunuch guards. When she lowered her hand, she took the smile with it. Raising an eyebrow, she said, “You never earn it.”
He put a hand over his heart, staggering two steps as though wounded. Then he straightened, and his gaze became heavy with promise. “Come to my rooms.”
She leaned toward him, closer than was appropriate, fully aware of the weight of the stares on them from everyone on the field. Including women who knew Mehmed in a way she had yet to. “I have work to do.”
Turning, she lifted a hand and motioned for her men to follow her. Nicolae fell into step at her side. “We did it,” she whispered, the smile creeping back onto her face.
“You did it.” He elbowed her armored side. “Where do we start?”
“I want Wallachians. Only Wallachians.”
Nicolae raised his eyebrows. “And why would that be?”
“If Ilyas asks, explain it is so that I can give commands in a language attackers will not understand.”
“And if I ask?”
“Because I do not trust men who fail to remember they were not born to this.”
Nicolae looked over his shoulder to where Mehmed was watching them walk away. His voice was as easy as a summer breeze, but it carried a hint of wildfire smoke. “And what of the man who was born to all of it?”
Lada did not look back. Because part of her did trust Mehmed, more than anyone. Part of her wanted to abandon Nicolae and meet Mehmed in his rooms. To take him as a lover instead of existing in this between state that was agonizing for both of them. To accept an easy life of being his.
And part of her wanted to stab him for that.
“I have no answer,” she said, speaking the truth.
RADU FLED THE CITY.
It was half a day’s travel to Kumal’s home, and the farther Radu got from Edirne, the easier it was to breathe. But he knew Kumal had been right when he had said going somewhere else was not the solution. When Radu returned to Edirne, everything would be waiting for him. Any peace he found would be a dream, ephemeral and temporary.
Still, riding through the rolling fields and past groups of clean, organized cottages, it was easy to pretend that Huma had not offered him the impossible, that he would not have to figure out a way to kill Halil Pasha, that Lada had not broken his heart once again, that Mehmed would never be his the way Radu wanted him to be.
Or, even more painful to think about, that there was a chance that someday Mehmed might be his.
Though Radu had not sent word ahead in his haste to get away from Edirne, Kumal was waiting at the gate to his land. He greeted Radu as a brother, kissing his cheeks and leading the horse as Radu walked beside him, stretching his weary legs.
Kumal’s home was beautiful, built around a center courtyard with a fountain. While everything in Edirne competed for the eye, demanding attention, Kumal’s home was simple and clean. Wood paneled the walls, woven rugs lined the tiled floors, and only in the long gathering room was there ornamental decoration: along the tops of the walls, gold Arabic script of a verse from the Koran.
It was time for prayer. Kumal laid out two mats, and they prayed together. Radu stayed on his knees afterward, trying to hold on to the feeling.
“I have a few matters to attend to,” Kumal said. “Feel free to explore. We will meet back for the evening meal after it gets dark.” With a friendly squeeze of Radu’s shoulder, Kumal left.
Radu wandered through the one-story house, respecting closed doors. He sat for a while in the courtyard, enjoying the lingering low rays of the afternoon sun bouncing off the whitewashed stone walls. Then he strolled behind the house to the gardens. They were as carefully tended as everything else, but unlike the rest of the house, they were elaborate. High, trimmed hedges formed a maze, with plots of brightly bursting flowers greeting the spring. In the center, towering over everything, was a large tree.
Radu followed the twists of the hedge, trying to find his way to the tree. There was a rustling sound, and then two girls burst onto the path in front of him, laughing and holding on to each other. Their hair was messy, their eyes shining.
“Oh!” Nazira laughed. She straightened, letting go of her companion. The other girl took a step away, looking at the ground, quickly tucking her hair back into the wrap it had fallen out of. “Hello! There was—” Nazira was out of breath, a smile stretching apart her round lips. “There was a bee. We were running from it.”
“Were you stung?”
“Yes! Repeatedly! It was wonderful!” Nazira said, then she held her lips shut before bursting into a peal of laughter. Her companion elbowed her sharply in the side, then, bowing her head, walked quickly away.
Radu had not remembered her being quite this strange, but her happiness was contagious.
“That was my maid, Fatima.” Nazira leaned to look past Radu and watch the other girl leave. “Come, I will show you more of the garden.” She took Radu’s arm and guided him around, chattering happily. They found a bench in the very center of the courtyard, in front of the tree. A swing hung from two branches, its wood seat too small for an adult.
Radu realized with a start that he had no idea if Kumal was married or had children. He asked Nazira as much.
Her sweet mouth turning down, she shook her head and stood to put a hand on the rope of the swing. “He did. His son, Ibrahim, loved this swing. He died four years ago. He was only three. And then the next year his wife, Ine, died in childbirth. A little girl. We only got to keep her for three days before she followed her mother.”
Radu closed his eyes against the pain of sympathy. Kumal had lost so much. But three years past had been when they first met. “When he found me in Edirne…”
“We were there to pay respects to Ine’s family.”
“So he was deep in mourning.” And still Kumal had found the time to show compassion and kindness to a lost little boy. “Your brother is a good man.”
“The best I have ever known.”
They sat in companionable silence, observing Kumal’s loss, before winding their way back to the house. Nazira had a manner of teasing that made Radu feel bigger than he actually was, unlike Lada’s teasing, which made him feel smaller.
The meal was the best he had eaten in ages. The food was plain, but there were no politics, no fear, no lies or p
retending at being something he was not to secure an advantage.
“I am glad you have come, Radu,” Nazira said, her voice uncharacteristically solemn. “It is good for someone to be here to show my poor brother what clothes are supposed to look like. I try to help him all the time, but it is not enough.”
Kumal raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Save me from such a helpful sister.”
“I would gladly take her from you,” Radu said, then blushed as he realized how that sentiment might be misconstrued. “I mean, as a sister. She is much preferable to my own. Not once has she wrestled me to the ground, twisted my arm, or beaten me in a contest of strength.”
Nazira waved her hand. “Oh, we save all contests of strength for after supper.”
But mentioning Lada had removed Radu from the moment, and he now participated in dinner as an observer, the dessert fruit on his plate turned bittersweet.
After they had eaten, Fatima appeared in the doorway. Nazira excused herself, and Kumal and Radu retired to his sitting room.
“I see now why you never come to Edirne.”
Kumal smiled. “I am very happy here. Though I worry about Nazira. She is getting older. I should make more of an effort to find a match for her, but she expresses no interest and I, selfishly, wish to keep her here with me for as long as I can. Still, I know it will be better for her to be happily married and have a family of her own. If I were to die, my estate would pass back to the empire, and she would be left with nothing. And yet she insists she never wants to leave.”
Radu nodded. “I do not blame her. If I could have your counsel forever, I would never want to leave.”
“What counsel would you ask?”
Radu sighed, thinking of all that weighed on him and how paralyzed he felt. “What do you do when faced with a problem that has no good solution?”
Kumal frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, in some situations, there is no easy choice. What, then, is the right choice? Commit evil for a good end, or avoid evil, knowing that you have allowed a worse end to come to pass?” Radu did not even know which evil he was referring to. Killing Halil Pasha, certainly. Lying and deceiving in his position in the capital in an effort to help Mehmed. Even the way he felt about and thought of Mehmed, which did not feel evil, but he suspected it was because no one spoke of it, and Huma acted as though it gave her power over him.