“You are my best, my truest friend. Will you return with me? Come home!”
Radu nearly said yes—could not have said no—when Mehmed continued: “Lada needs you, too.”
Radu dropped his head, pressing it harder against Mehmed’s, then straightened, pulling away. “How is my sister?”
“She breathes fire and pisses vinegar.”
“So, the same.”
Mehmed laughed darkly. “The same. I fear she will never forgive me for leaving her behind, but this is no place for a woman.”
“Lada is no woman.”
“Be that as it may, I could not bring her into so much danger. But you! I could have had you by my side this whole time.”
Radu sat back onto his heels, putting more distance between them. He did not know whether to rejoice that Mehmed would have brought him over Lada, or to despair that Lada was too precious to risk, while Radu would have been welcomed. Everything that Radu had been through, all the things he had done while here. He could never go back to what he was before. He had lost too much. But Mehmed could not see that.
“I have to stay with your father.” Radu stood, his knees nearly betraying him by sending him back down to the ground, to Mehmed. He locked them in place, standing as tall and straight as the impregnable city behind them. “Otherwise…” Otherwise he would be unable to repair the vicious rubble this night had made of the walls around his heart. “Otherwise all my work will be for naught, and I intend to be the more useful Dragwlya for you.” He forced a smile and a light tone. “Lada is already two assassination attempts ahead of me. I have some catching up to do.”
Mehmed stood. “You say you have to do these things. But what do you want to do?”
Radu stretched his fingers, reaching toward Mehmed, touching just the hem of his tunic. Behind Mehmed, he saw a group of Janissaries running toward them.
Radu smiled his best, most innocent smile. The smile without guile, the smile that said, Tell me your secrets, no harm will come, the smile that said, There is nothing more to me than what you see, trust me, trust me. “What I want does not matter. What matters is preparing the way for you to be the sultan we both know you can be. You will be the hand of God on Earth, and I will do whatever I can to see that come to pass.”
Radu walked back to camp alone, wondering if maybe he did understand Skanderberg, after all. Because there was nothing he would not sacrifice for Mehmed.
Including himself.
Lazar stood, alarmed, when Radu entered the tent. Radu had not expected to see him again tonight.
“What happened? You look as though you have seen the devil.”
Radu shook his head as he sat, wishing Lazar were not here so he could think about Mehmed and indulge this exquisite pain in private. “Not the devil. Mehmed.”
Lazar smiled bitterly. “I see little difference. How was he?”
“He looked ill. The siege has not been kind to him.”
“As it should be.”
When Radu curled up and turned away, Lazar put a hand gently on his shoulder. It did not burn as Mehmed’s did, did not sear where it touched. “You still feel the same for him?”
“I always will.”
“And your sister?”
Radu flinched, remembering Mehmed’s careful protection of Lada. And regretting having confessed to Lazar that Mehmed and Lada had something between them that he craved. “Please, Lazar, stop speaking.”
Lazar’s hand moved, and Radu heard him rummaging through items in Radu’s chest nearest his small writing desk. “I am writing up the reports for you. It will be a while. Do you mind?”
Radu grunted and waved. He wanted to be alone, but he did not want to have to write the reports himself. Lazar often did it for him, collecting the information. All he needed was Radu’s signature. After several minutes, Lazar knelt in front of Radu, holding a sheaf of papers so that only the bottom, where Radu needed to sign, showed.
Radu signed them all without hesitation. And then, finally, Lazar left. Radu buried his face in his blanket, heart beating to the sorrow and joy of Mehmed, Mehmed, Mehmed.
“WHAT I WOULD NOT give for a roving band of Huns right now.” Nicolae sighed, lying flat on his back in the middle of the training ring. The dirt beneath him was packed hard by decades of feet. The low wooden walls of the ring were lined with pegs that held the equipment of the men who practiced there.
Like all days the last six months, the pegs were empty.