“You said there was another contender for the throne?” Lada asked Stefan.
One man had not moved forward to greet Hunyadi. He stood alone, dark eyes calculating as he watched everyone who mattered in Hungary clamoring for a moment of Hunyadi’s attention. Though he was far leaner than Hunyadi and dressed in more finery than Hunyadi would ever wear, Lada saw the same determined jaw, the same confident brow. But where Hunyadi’s eyes were bold and honest, his son’s were calculating and secretive.
“Matthias,” Stefan said.
Lada watched Matthias throughout the evening. He never so much as glanced her way, so she had ample time to study him without fear of being caught. He wore a smile as ostentatiously as he wore the gold chain at his neck and the jeweled pins on his vest. It was ornamentation, meant to dazzle. But always his eyes were narrowed and shrewd as he spoke to this person or another or, in many cases, did not speak to them.
Hunyadi had been drawn into a corner, trapped by an impassable wall of dresses. Lada did not envy him. He was a widower, and the most powerful man in the country. The fact that he had no family name paled in comparison to his wealth. She wished he could break free so they could speak. Of what, it did not matter. But he was her only ally here, and she might as well have been alone.
Nicolae sidled up to Lada. He had secured some clothes nice enough to gain him access. She did not know where or how he had obtained the clothing, and she did not care. It was a relief to see him.
“You should dance. Or at least speak to someone,” he said.
Lada shook her head. “It will do no good. I belong here as much as a pig in a dress does, and everyone will know as soon as I open my mouth.”
“I actually saw several pigs in dresses as I came in. Not a single one got past the door. You are definitely doing better than they are.”
Shaking her head, Lada let Nicolae lead her away from the wall. “Look, no one is speaking to the king.” Nicolae nudged her in that direction. “Talk to him.”
“No one speaks to him because he does not matter. I have pledged my loyalty for nothing.”
Something in Lada’s tone must have warned Nicolae, because he immediately turned them both around and steered Lada out of the throne room and into the freezing night air of the courtyard. He smiled and nodded to everyone they passed, quickly taking them through the gate and across the bridge. Lada leaned heavily against one of the stone pillars.
“I knelt in there and swore fealty to another king—a foreign king—for nothing, Nicolae. He will not help me get my throne. He cannot even get his own crown. What have I accomplished?”
Nicolae took her hands in his. “You do what you must. It is no different from what the little zealot does, making treaties and creating alliances that mean less than the paper they are written on. Your brother would have done the same. You must survive, and Hungary has welcomed you. Take advantage of it. Hunyadi is a powerful ally. In spite of your best efforts, he cares about you. This is a good situation. It is certainly better than hiding in the woods, picking on Transylvania.”
“But it is not what we came for.”
Nicolae shrugged, stamping his feet against the cold. “I came to get away from the Ottomans. We all did. You gave that to us.”
“Matei was spying on me,” she said. She had told no one, holding the information close out of sham
e, anger, and, perhaps, a bit of guilt over his death. “He was reporting to Mehmed.”
Nicolae uttered a sad oath, his breath fogging into the night air. “Matei was a fool, then. I will keep a sharper eye on everyone. But I know this—you have done many things for us already. We are in a good position. You fight at Hunyadi’s side. Foreign kings accept your allegiance. Your men respect and are loyal to you.” He smiled. “That is quite a bit for a little dragon from Wallachia.”
Lada knew he was trying to help her, and she was comforted that her men were satisfied. She had gotten them out of slavery. Led them successfully in battle. Earned the respect of one of the greatest men of her time.
She stared numbly into the night. The Hungarian night. Not the Wallachian night.
It was not enough.
Never enough.
RADU HAD ONLY AN hour before the party, before he would need to persuade Cyprian that he was ready to betray Mehmed and join Emperor Constantine’s cause. He hurried to Kumal’s house. Kumal was not there, but he was not whom Radu needed to speak with.
“Nazira?” he called, bursting through the front door. “Fatima? Nazira?”
Nazira rushed into the front room, Fatima close behind her. Nazira held a cloth in her hands, dripping water along the floor. Concern pinched her face. “What is it?”
“I am leaving. For Constantinople.”
“They march already? So soon?”
“No. No. I—” Radu paused, looking around the room. “Are we alone?”
“Yes, of course.”