On this trip into the city, they stopped at a well to get a drink. Lada had noticed that none of the wells in the city had cups or ladles. Many of them did not even have buckets for drawing up water. Her bag clinked metallically at her side.
“Why is there no cup here?” Lada asked, projecting her voice.
A tiny girl, whose curiosity won out over others’ wariness, sidled closer. “No cups, Prince.” She smiled shyly around the title, obviously delighted to address a girl that way. “People always take them.”
Lada frowned. “You cannot even keep a cup here for the good of the people?”
The little girl shook her head. Lada knew all this. She had counted on it. Turning to the men with her, she continued talking, loud enough for the people lingering on the edges to hear. “Interview everyone. Discover any thieves. People cannot prosper if they cannot so much as get a drink without fearing theft.”
“And when we find them?” Bogdan asked.
Lada jerked her head toward the castle. “Then they can go in the courtyard and join the soldier who represents dishonesty and the imposter prince who represents theft.” There had been a steady parade of citizens come to gawk at the impaled bodies. Lada knew word of the prince’s fate and the soldier’s punishment had spread through all Tirgoviste. It had been the right thing to do.
She pushed the soldier’s face from her mind. It mingled now with Mircea’s rotting, dirt-covered face, staring at her in accusation.
She was doing the right thing.
“That seems a bit harsh,” Nicolae said, his voice soft. He moved closer so no one could hear him. “These people are poor. They have nothing.”
Lada raised an eyebrow. “They have me now. And they should know that things are changing.” She reached into her bag, pulling out one of ten silver cups. The treasury at the castle was as sparse and depressing as everything else in this city. But she had no need for fine things. Out here they served a purpose.
They had attracted quite a crowd, people come to look at their new prince and whisper of her ascension and promises. Lada held the cup in the air. “This is from my treasury. My wealth is your wealth. I give you a cup for your well.” The people gasped, murmurs of curiosity—and derision—rippling through them. Lada smiled. “This cup belongs to everyone. It is everyone’s responsibility. I will not tolerate theft in my land, nor anyone who supports theft.”
The grumbling grew louder. Lada held up a hand to silence it. “Theft cannot flourish in a country that cuts it out with swift and sharp vengeance. Thieves prosper among you because you allow it, which makes you complicit. I am tired of seeing Wallachia weak. We are better than that. Together, we are stronger than anything. We are stronger than anyone.”
There was more nodding than grumbling now. Lada smiled bigger. “This cup stays at this well.” She handed it down to the little girl, who took it reverently. “It is everyone’s responsibility to ensure it remains safe to serve your community.” Lada’s smile turned sharp and cold as steel. “I will come back to check on it. I expect it to be here the next time I want a drink.”
There was no denying the threat in her words or her eyes. She saw it settle on the people. Some met it with fear. Some stood straighter, nodding, her own fierceness catching in their eyes.
As they rode away, Nicolae leaned close once more. “That was…dramatic.”
Lada turned to him, exasperated. “Say what you mean, Nicolae.”
“You know that cup will be stolen.”
“No, it will not.”
“What will you do if it is?”
“Make an example.”
Nicolae scowled, his scar puckering where it separated his eyebrows. “You cannot fix a whole country in a few days, Lada. It will take time.”
“Have you seen how long the average reign of a prince is? We have no time. I have to change things now.”
“If you are so certain we have no time, why bother? Someone else will come and undo everything you have done.”
Lada shook her head, tightening her grasp on the reins. She thought of Mehmed, all his careful planning. He had taken power and immediately made sure his empire was streamlined, efficient, and safe. He knew everything had to be settled at home before he could look outward.
Lada did not want to look outward. But she had to have safety and security here before she could hope to defend Wallachia—and her throne. If she could make the country stable for the common people, they would be hers. She did not understand the subtlety and machinations of the boyars. She did understand swift, assured justice. Her people would, too.
“Everything has to change now so that I do have time. We cannot go on as we always have. And the only way I know to shift our course is through severely fulfilled promises.” She closed her eyes, remembering all her lessons at the hands of her early Ottoman tutors. The head gardener. The prisons. The corpses hung for everyone to see their crimes and learn from their punishments. If that was how her country would move toward prosperity, then so be it.
Mercy and patience were not options, not for her. The blood of a few would water the land for the bounty of many. Some lives are worth more than others, she thought. How many lives until the balance tips out of our favor? Radu whispered back.
They found the castle’s stores of wine. Nicolae presented them to her, with none of his usual good humor. “Should we sell it?” he asked. “Or keep them for when the boyars come?”
Lada stared at the barrels in front of her. It had taken them so long to get here, and now that they were, nothing felt the way it should. She was tired of being in control all the time, tired of worrying, tired of waiting. Tired of making hard decisions and wondering if they were the right ones.
“No,” she said. She smiled at her friend. “We should get very, very drunk.”
For the first time since they had arrived, Nicolae’s smile was the same that had greeted her all those long years ago in a Janissary practice ring in Amasya. With Stefan, Petru, Bogdan, and a handful of Lada’s other first Janissaries, they dragged the barrels up to one of the towers. It was the same tower from which Lada, with Radu at her side, had watched Hunyadi ride into the city. That day had heralded the end of her life as she knew it. This one, she hoped, would herald the beginning of her life as she demanded it to be.
Lada cleared her throat, holding a cup full of sour liquid. “I wanted to thank you. You rode with me. You stayed with me. And we won.”
Nicolae cheered, raising his cup high, sloshing wine on Petru’s arm. Petru laughed and licked it off, then hit Nicolae roughly so that even more wine spilled. Stefan almost smiled at her, which made Lada embarrassed at his effusiveness.
Bogdan gave her a heavy, meaningful stare. She raised her cup to cut it off, drinking deeply. She did not know if he knew how she really felt about him, but it was obvious what he felt was more. Longer. Deeper. Truer. That made her feel powerful, and she would not give it up.
The more they drank, the louder they got. Everyone traded stories, most about Lada and some outrageous thing she had done.
“Do you remember when we were outside Sighisoara, the goat I found?” Nicolae asked.
“Yes! That thing was so mean, and its milk was sour. But at least we had milk.”
Nicolae tipped his head back, scar puckered and pulled tight as his cheeks shifted into a delighted smile. “I did not steal it like I told you I did. Well, not exactly like I told you. Though I suppose I did end up stealing it.”
Lada knew he wanted her to demand he tell the real story. Normally she would have avoided asking just to tease him, but she was too warm and happy to pretend. “What really happened?”
“Do you remember the old farmer we ran into earlier that day? The one with the—”
“The long fingernails!” Lada finished, finally remembering. It took a lot to stand out in her memory of that time. But that particular man had had fingernails nearly as long again as his fingers. Each nail was twisted, yellowed, and cracked. He had offered to sell them food, bu
t she could not stop looking at his nails and imagining what something they had touched would taste like. They had ridden on and camped nearby.
“Yes! I ran into him again as I was hunting. He had a goat with him that he had no need of.”
“So he gave it to you?” Petru asked.
Nicolae shook his head, his smile growing even bigger. “He had no need of a goat, but he did have need…of a wife.”
“No,” Lada said, finally seeing where the story was going.
“Yes!” Nicolae doubled over with laughter. “I sold you to him! For a single goat! I told him I would take the goat back to camp and get you ready to be his bride!”
Lada shuddered, imagining being touched by those hands. “If I had known, I would have stabbed you.”
“That is why I never told you. I think of him sometimes, staring forlornly out of his shack, still holding out hope that someday his bride will come.”
“I cannot believe you sold me for a single goat.”
Bogdan huffed indignantly. “Lada is worth all the goats in the world.”
She knew he meant it sweetly, but she really would rather not be valued in terms of goats. “Next story,” she said, throwing her empty cup at Nicolae. He ducked just in time, and it shattered against the stone tower.
Nicolae refilled Bogdan’s cup. “What was she like as a child?”
“Smaller,” Bogdan replied.
Lada laughed until her stomach hurt. “Tell them about the time Radu—” She stopped, cutting herself off. Because saying his name, bringing him into this space, made her realize that she would trade any of these men—her men, her friends—for Radu to be here with her.
Nicolae filled in the space her silence created, recounting the abuse she had hurled at the Janissaries in the woods to distract them from Hunyadi’s forces. But soon they ran out of stories from the past year. When they had finally circled so far back in their history that the stories started taking place in the Ottoman Empire, everyone got quiet.
They had left it behind, but they still brought it with them everywhere. What they had learned. What they had done. What they had lost. Lada knew that was why she kept these men closest. Not because they were better trained, but because they had been hardened in the same fire she had. Only they understood the strange space of hating what a country made them, while being grateful for it at the same time.
Lada looked at the Radu-sized hole next to her. Then she looked up at the stars beginning to shine above them. “We are never going back to the Ottomans,” she said.
“They will come for us,” Bogdan said. “They always do.”
Mehmed would not come. She had made it very clear what she would do if he did. But now, with the softening and dulling of the wine, she doubted her rash declaration. If he came to her, maybe she would not kill him. No one made her feel the way he did. He haunted her dreams. If he came to her, she would make him make her feel those things Bogdan could not manage.
And then she would kill him, if she still wanted to.
“Let them come,” she said. “I will drink their blood and dance on their corpses.”
Petru raised his cup. “I will drink to that!”
Nicolae was staring at the horizon, frowning. “Either I am far, far drunker than I thought I was, or something is wrong with the moon.”
Lada was about to tell him to stop criticizing the poor moon, when she realized he was right. The moon had been almost full the night before. But tonight it rose as a slender crescent, barely there. The rest of the moon was washed darkest red.
“You see that, right?” Nicolae asked.
“It looks like blood,” Petru whispered.
They sat on the tower and watched the moon in silence. Lada wondered what it meant, that the night she chose to herald the beginning of her new life was bathed in the light of a moon stained with blood.
THAT EVENING, WITH THE boys sleeping curled up around each other like puppies, Radu went to the edge of the roof and watched. He could tell from the activity in various neighborhoods that something was changing. Someone was coming.
Mehmed.
But Radu did not know the way he used to, when Mehmed had felt like a current running through his body pulling him swiftly in the right direction. He knew now because he saw the effects of the man rippling outward. Soldiers coming through, clearing the streets, dragging bodies to the side.
Finally, Radu could see him. Mehmed rode straight and proud through the city, his horse sidestepping occasionally around a remaining body. Perhaps Mehmed was not riding so straight-backed out of pride, but rather out of stiff revulsion. His triumphant entry into the city of his dreams was paved with bodies and decorated with death.
Mehmed picked his way slowly toward the Hagia Sophia, and Radu wondered what to do. Go down and appeal to Mehmed’s mercy? Wait and try to sneak the boys out of the city once things had calmed down? Find Cyprian and Nazira and live a fantasy life where they could all forget and forgive everything they had seen and done?
Sick and exhausted, Radu decided to sleep instead. He walked past the trapdoor—only to find his sword placed to the side. Horror clawing through his chest, he raced to where he had left the boys. Manuel and John were still there, sleeping.
Amal was gone.
Radu had not spoken with Amal, had not given him any instructions. But Radu had not been the one to send Amal into the city in the first place. Radu finally felt the tugging sensation of his connection to Mehmed return, and he walked slowly back to the edge of the roof.
Mehmed had entered the square. The soldiers there lifted their swords, cheering and yelling, praising God and Mehmed. Then a boy darted between them, running directly to Mehmed’s horse. Mehmed’s guards drew close, but Mehmed waved them off.
Amal pointed, and Mehmed looked up at Radu. Mehmed smiled, a look of relief and joy lighting his face. Once, Radu would have given anything to have Mehmed look at him that way. Now, Radu had given everything, only to find he was still empty. He sat on the edge of the roof, dangling his legs over the side. Doubtless Amal would have told Mehmed about the heirs, too. Radu could not hide them from Mehmed. He had saved them for nothing. They would meet the same fate as Mehmed’s infant half brother, sacrificed for the security of the future.
Radu should do what he should have done to Constantine. He should get up and swiftly kill them as they slept.
Instead, he hung his head and wept.
Small fires burning throughout the city gave it a cheery glow as, sometime later, the trapdoor opened. Radu did not turn around when Mehmed sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder.
“I am glad you are here,” Mehmed said.
Radu smiled bitterly. “That makes one of us.”
“The flags in the palace—that was brilliant.”
Radu imagined himself before his time in Constantinople, how that person would have exulted in this moment. How he would have been filled to the brim with joy and pride to be recognized by Mehmed, to be truly seen. To be the more valuable Dracul.
He could not answer.
Mehmed put a hand on Radu’s shoulder. It felt cold. “You turned the tide. You saw exactly what was needed, and you did it. As you always have, my dearest, my truest friend.”
Several men climbed onto the roof behind them, bringing lanterns that cast sharp shadows.
“Where are the heirs?” Mehmed asked, standing and offering Radu a hand.
Radu did not take it. “What will you do with them?”
“Get them off this roof, to start with. It is no place for children.”
Radu looked up at Mehmed, raising an eyebrow. “And down there is?”
Uncertainty turned Mehmed’s expression angry. “Where are they, Radu?”
Radu stood on his own, then crossed the roof to where the boys still slept. Mehmed gestured, and one of the men handed him a bag. He reached in and, to Radu’s immediate relief, pulled out a loaf of bread and a leather canteen. Mehmed knelt in front of the boys, who were now sitting up, blinking again
st the lantern light.
“Hello.” Mehmed’s voice was gentle as he held out the food. He spoke Greek. “You must be very hungry and thirsty after being up here all day. That was clever and good of you to stay out of the way. You are very smart boys.”
Manuel looked up, finding Radu, his eyebrows drawn tight in concern. John, too, searched Radu’s face. Radu put everything he had left into giving the boys a smile of reassurance. He had no idea whether or not the smile was the most damning lie he had ever told.
John reached out and took the bread, then handed it to Manuel. “Thank you,” he said.
Mehmed sat across from the boys, passing the canteen after taking a small drink himself. “John, is it? And Manuel?”
The boys nodded, still wary.
“I am so glad I have found you. I sent my friend Radu to keep you safe.” Mehmed smiled up at Radu. Radu looked off into the night, unable to play along. “You see, our city is hurting. I need your help. I want to rebuild Constantinople, to make it into the city it was always meant to be. To honor its past and bring it into its glorious future. Will you help me do that?”
John and Manuel looked at each other; then John nodded. Manuel followed his example, his head bobbing with enthusiasm. Mehmed clapped his hands. “Oh, thank you! I am so glad to have you on my side.” He stood, holding out a hand to help them stand. Each boy took his hand in turn, smiling up at their new savior.
Radu knew precisely how they felt. He knew how much they must worship Mehmed now, for coming in the darkness and saving them from it. Radu had been them, many years before. He wished he could accept Mehmed’s hand with the same warm relief again.