Now I Rise (The Conqueror's Saga 2)

Constantine spoke. “We have over two hundred prisoners. They have no use of their uniforms in our dungeons.”

“Send out three boats tonight under cover of darkness. Small, unthreatening ones. I will teach their crews a few common greetings in Turkish. Have them fly the Ottoman flag and sail as close to the Ottoman galleys as they can.”

“Slip by in disguise.” Constantine tugged at his beard thoughtfully.

“Three small boats could get out where one large ship cannot. Task them with finding the aid we need, and then they can return, heralding the ships that will follow so we can be prepared to welcome them.”

Giustiniani stretched in his chair, leaning back. “It is a good plan. Coco, select the men. They leave tonight.”

The Italian captain nodded. Orhan excused himself to get the flags, and Giustiniani went to find suitable uniforms.

“Well done.” Cyprian beamed at Radu.

Radu could not meet that smile full on, so he looked at the floor. He would not have time to send word to Mehmed. He did not need to, though. He wanted the boats to escape. Because if they could escape, they could return.

And when they did, Radu would have first warning of a Venetian force. Then he could warn Mehmed, and find some sort of redemption.

THIS TIME, STEFAN DID not return alone from scouting. He walked with a peculiar guilt, slinking back into camp with a girl.

“What is this?” Lada barely glanced at the girl. “

You were supposed to bring information on Silviu’s land and men.” Toma Basarab had sent them here first. Silviu did not have much in the way of soldiers, but he was a Danesti and in the path of all their future goals. They could not leave a close blood relative of the prince behind. Lada was to negotiate his support. If that was not possible, she was to place him under house arrest and leave precious men here to watch him. Toma Basarab would hear no arguments against it.

“Well?” she demanded.

Stefan shrugged, clearing his throat at the same time, as though he could force the words out. Lada had never seen him like this. Fear seized her—was he injured? She looked him up and down, but he did not appear harmed.

His face flushed a deep red. “She caught me.”

Lada finally looked at the girl. She was Lada’s height, perhaps younger than her, but not by much. She met Lada’s stare with a bold, unflinching one of her own. Her narrow jaw was set and her dark eyes burned. Rough cloth wrapped her hair, and her clothes seemed made for someone else. They hung all wrong on her body, loose in the shoulders and pulled tight across her stomach, which—

“Oh,” Lada said, frowning.

The girl’s hands jerked instinctively in front of her pregnant belly. Then she deliberately moved them away. “Caught your man spying. Told him I would turn him in unless he brought me here.”

Lada raised her eyebrows at Stefan. He shrank farther into his cloak. No one ever noticed him. He drifted invisibly, a weary traveler no one wanted. That was his entire purpose.

“Well.” Lada turned her attention back to the girl. “Here you are. What do you want?”

“You are that woman, right? I thought you would be taller. And older. You are very young.”

Lada gave her a heavy look. “I assume there are many women in this country. You will have to be more specific.”

“I heard rumors. You are staying with Toma Basarab. Took in men for soldiers. Peasants talk.”

Lada shifted uneasily. Thanks to Toma’s men—both his trained soldiers and the farmers they had conscripted—her ranks had swelled to over one hundred men. The peasants were poorly trained and poorly fed, but they had a gritty eagerness that could not be undervalued. And they did not eat much, which was good.

The girl leaned forward, burning with intensity. “Are you going to do that in more places? Take men for fighting the prince?”

“Yes,” Lada said.

“Good.” The girl’s hands fisted over her stomach. “I want the Danesti dead.”

It was a dangerous sentiment to voice aloud. Lada wondered at her daring. “Does your husband want to join? He should have come himself.”

The girl let out a harsh laugh, a burst of bitterness more than humor. “I have no husband. Tell her what you saw, Stefan.”

To Lada’s surprise, he followed the girl’s order without question. “Lots of girls. In the fields. Most—” He paused, then nodded toward the girl’s stomach. “Most like her.”