What had they done to her?
She was struck with a sudden horror of what the Lada who had first come here would think of the one who existed now.
Bogdan regarded her without expression. “So, this is the life you have built for yourself.” Though his tone lacked judgment, Lada felt herself bristle. She did not have to apologize. Not to Bogdan, and not to her old self.
“Yes. I lead the finest troops in the whole empire.”
“So I see. And you answer to the sultan.”
She folded her arms. “I answer to myself.”
“Then why are you still here? Why not take what you can and leave?” He searched her face as though looking for something no longer there.
“I— It is not that simple.”
Nicolae’s scar twisted around his wry smile. “We were going to, once. And then she changed her mind.”
“I did not change my mind! There were other considerations. And besides, if we had left, you would be here and I would be gone. How would we have found one another again?”
Bogdan nodded, accepting the truth of that as easily as a dog thrown a bone. “So we go now.”
“Where?”
“To Wallachia.”
“I cannot go back there. My father sold me, Bogdan. He brought me here and he used my life to buy his throne. There is nothing for us there. I will never go back to my father.” No matter how much she learned—how strong she was, how clever or brutal or loved—her father still dictated her life. “Better a sultan than my father,” she whispered.
“Fathers do not live forever,” Bodgan said, shrugging. But he used the Turkish word for father. The word Janissaries used to refer to the sultan.
BACK IN THE CITY after his brief postnuptial leave, Radu passed the dough-faced youngest member of Lada’s band of soldiers. Something about him nagged at Radu. His face was so soft looking, his body so hulking. He did not match.
Radu did not care for most of Lada’s men, but he could not deny they were the best at protecting Mehmed. They each had a portion of that feral, ruthless determination that made up his sister’s core. Sometimes Nicolae or one of the friendlier ones would greet him in Wallachian. He always responded in Turkish.
Mehmed sat listening to Ishak Pasha speak on the status of finances in the Amasya and Anatolia regions, where he would soon be sent as the beylerbey, a local governor. Radu had told Mehmed they needed to separate Ishak Pasha and Halil Pasha, and Mehmed trusted his judgment. Radu wondered what had been decided in the few days he had been gone. He had been so anxious to return that Nazira and Fatima had teased him for constantly looking over his shoulder at the road to Edirne.
Mehmed caught Radu’s eye. Some trouble betrayed itself in the sudden tightening of his eyes. But it was gone as soon as it appeared, and he went back to nodding.
On Mehmed’s right was Halil Pasha. Grand Vizier Halil, Radu reminded himself.
As soon as Ishak Pasha finished speaking, Mehmed stood. “Radu! Back so soon? How could you bear to leave your lovely bride?”
It was not difficult to flush with embarrassment. The sheepish, knowing smile was more of a stretch, but Radu had had much practice. “Thank you, Sultan, for the beautiful estate. She is overjoyed with the process of making it home. I am afraid I was quite in the way, and have already been banished until she has everything precisely the way she wants it.”
The men laughed knowingly. Kumal’s smile was soft. Not for the first time, Radu wondered if he knew the true nature of his marriage to Nazira. But he did not have the courage to ask. If Kumal did not know, what would he think of Radu if he found out?
Mehmed gestured toward a chair near his. Radu s
at, wishing he could sink down and close his eyes.
The home was lovely. A secluded estate, large enough to support a woman and her maid, a village within easy distance to purchase what their gardens and livestock did not supply. Nazira could not stop crying as she went from room to room, holding hands with Fatima. Radu had the spare bedroom, a warm and bright space. He did not anticipate visiting much. He held Nazira dear, but hers was a happiness so complete that it threatened to canker his soul. He did not want jealousy to cast any shade on her life with Fatima. And it had been agony for him to be that far from Mehmed.
Just as it was now agony to be this close.
A page came to the door, interrupting the conversation, which had shifted to crop plans. The boy bowed, trembling, and announced the arrival of an envoy from Constantinople.
Mehmed’s eyebrows rose, though it was his only discernable reaction. Other men in the room gasped or whispered in hushed tones. Though many countries had sent envoys with gifts and elaborate proclamations of congratulations, they had not expected one from Constantinople.
Mehmed gave Radu an imperceptible glance. Radu nodded toward Halil.