“My sister and I converted to Islam years ago. It has been the greatest source of light and joy in my life, and I would have been left in the darkness without the generosity of our father, the sultan. I speak for both of us, of course.”
Lada’s face turned a deep, angry red. Radu smiled at her, twitching his eyes narrower for a split second. If she messed this up, they would both die.
Murad turned to Lada, and for a breathlessly terrifying second she did nothing. Then, every muscle strained, she bowed her head in acknowledgment.
“But what of their father?” Halil Pasha’s voice sounded like that of a child stamping its feet in rage.
Radu grinned. “You have not communicated with him since his betrayal three years ago?”
Murad shook his head, expression still wary.
This time, Radu let his laugh ring through the room, showering his delight on everyone listening. “Then he will have assumed us dead this whole time! What a just punishment for the slithering infidel. I hope every day has been agony and every night a torment! Will you tell him now that we are alive, happy and settled in our home? Imagine how his heart will swell. And then you could inform him of our conversion, cutting his joyful heart right out.” Radu clapped his hands together gleefully. “I am sorry. I overstep. Of course it is up to Your Magnificence to decide how to deal with that man. I am simply so grateful to finally have an opportunity to thank you myself for all you have given us. Your grace and benevolence have shaped my entire life.” He bowed again, even deeper, then looked up reverently.
Murad was smiling. And Mehmed looked relieved and grateful as he met Radu’s eye. Radu dared not look at Lada and draw anyone’s attention back to her. He needed them to focus on him, on his grand performance.
But it was an easy one to act. Because, while he hated Murad, he did consider this home. And he had converted, with Molla Gurani as his witness. Islam had given him a home, given him a place to belong, given him peace when nothing else had.
Well, almost nothing else. He looked away from Mehmed. He still had God.
Murad’s smile was thoughtful, not cruel. “I will not forget you again.”
“It is the deepest honor imaginable to be remembered by you.” Radu bowed yet again as Murad walked past him. Murad placed a hand on top of his head, then exited the room. Radu straightened, meeting Halil Pasha’s calculating gaze.
“It would appear,” Halil
Pasha said, so quietly only Radu could hear, “that the sultan has entirely forgotten the matter of your sister murdering a guest at the party.”
Radu smiled knowingly, as though he and Halil Pasha shared the same concerns. He knew only a few things about Halil Pasha, and he would bring them all into play. “Perhaps it is for the best that no one looks closely into what happened.”
The other man’s voice grew wary. “What do you mean?”
“Simply that it is a wedding. A celebration. We should move past this unfortunate incident, pray for the poor man’s soul, and anticipate the day when Mehmed once again returns to the countryside, far away and forgotten.”
With a grunt of what could have been assent, Halil Pasha swept from the room, followed by the remaining attendees, who were now certain that nothing of interest would happen. If any of them were concerned over the lack of resolution regarding the matter of the murdered man, no one mentioned it.
Lada called Radu’s name, brows furrowed, hands reaching out toward him. Mehmed looked toward Radu, waiting for him to join them and discuss what had happened.
Radu turned and left.
LADA PUT ON HER boots with a sigh of relief. Their tenure here had been interminable. After last week’s debacle, she had kept a low profile. Mehmed was constantly surrounded by guards. Perhaps Murad had not entirely forgotten that someone had tried to kill Mehmed.
If that was, in fact, what had happened.
Lada had been certain she had seen the flash of a weapon, but no one could identify the man, and the guest list had been conveniently misplaced. It was part of the reason the matter had been dropped. No one would claim the murdered man, which pointed to the fact that he should not have been there, whatever his purpose.
But it remained that she had killed him before being sure that he was, in fact, after Mehmed.
She frowned, tying a sash around her tunic. If the man was innocent, she was sorry, but she knew she would make the same choice again. What did that say about her?
Leaving the rest of her things for servants to pack, she crossed the hall to Radu’s room. He had kept the opposite of a low profile, suddenly becoming even more a darling of the court. Lada had not been able to so much as speak to him all week. No longer did he keep company with second sons and minor officials. At last night’s feast, he had spent most of the night at Murad’s side, paraded around like a long-lost son. Meanwhile Lada had stood in the corner, and Mehmed had remained banished in his silken prison with wilting Sitti Hatun.
Lada pounded on Radu’s door. He opened it, still in his bedclothes.
“Hurry up! We leave in an hour. Back to Amasya at last.” She pushed past him and sat on his rumpled bed. “I will be so happy to have this nightmare behind us.”
Radu looked at her with an intensity she was unaccustomed to. Usually he smiled or said something funny to deflect her bad moods. But now he stared expectantly and unkindly.
Lada shifted on the bed, scowling. “You are the one who has been avoiding me. I was going to thank you. It was very well handled with Murad. But how dare you say I have converted to Islam! I could have killed you.” It was the most she could bring herself to say, because in truth she knew she would have been dead without Radu’s brilliant intervention. She could muster some gratitude, but more than that she was annoyed, angry, even jealous. Radu was in his element among these people, while Lada could not be further from hers.