Now I Rise (The Conqueror's Saga 2)

“Halil Vizier,” Mehmed said, not waiting for an answer from Radu, “you have worked against me from the beginning. I sentence you to death for your crimes. I will grant you this one kindness: you may choose whether your family dies before you, or whether they watch you die before dying themselves.”

Halil hung his head, then lifted it, his eyes staring straight ahead. “Please kill them first so they have less time to be afraid.”

Mehmed nodded in approval. “A noble choice.” He gestured and the guards moved forward, taking Halil away. Mehmed watched until the door closed, and then he spun around, robes and cape flaring. “One more enemy defeated! Your reputation is restored, Radu Pasha!” He beamed with pride, waiting for Radu to thank him.

“No,” Radu said.

“What do you mean?” Mehmed’s eyebrows drew together. He looked at Radu as though looking upon a stranger. And perhaps he was. Radu was not the same person Mehmed had sent into the city.

“Do not kill his family. They should not be held accountable for his guilt.” Radu knew Halil’s second son, Salih. Had used him. Had taken advantage of Salih’s attraction to him to get what he needed. He looked at the floor in deepest shame. He was no better than Mehmed in this matter.

“But if I kill Halil, his family will be against me.”

“Send them away. Banish them. Strip them of their titles and forbid anyone in power to marry into that family. But if you do this for me, spare them.”

“If that is what pleases you,” Mehmed said, waving his hand with a puzzled expression. He spared their lives as easily as he had condemned them.

Radu bowed to hide his expression of sorrow. Sorrow for Halil’s family. Sorrow for Constantine and Constantinople. Sorrow for the person he had left behind when he crossed the wall for the first time. Sorrow for leaving Lada to pursue her own fate, while he stayed with someone who saw it as a gift to protect Radu’s “reputation” against the truth of his actual affections.

Mehmed put his hand on Radu’s head, like a benediction. Then with one finger under Radu’s chin, Mehmed lifted Radu’s face to look searchingly in his eyes.

“Do you still believe in me?” he asked, suddenly the boy at the fountain again. His brown eyes were warm and alive, the cold distance of the sultan gone.

“I do,” Radu answered. “I always will.” It was the truth. He knew Mehmed would build something truly amazing. He knew that Constantinople needed to fall for Mehmed to hold on to his empire. He knew that Mehmed was the greatest sultan his people had ever known. But, like his love for Mehmed, it was no longer simple.

Radu had seen what it took to be great, and he never again wanted to be part of something bigger than himself.

“LET ME HANDLE ANY talk of the prince,” Toma Basarab said. He eyed Lada critically.

Lada had dressed for battle. Over her black tunic and trousers, she wore chain mail. It rippled down her body, the weight familiar and comforting. At her waist, she buckled the sword she had ripped free from the wall. On her wrists, she slid knives into her cuffs. The daughter of Wallachia wants her knife back.

She shuddered. She was not her father. She would not become him.

Her only concession to finery was a bloodred hat in the style of the courts. In the center of it, she pinned a glittering star, with a single fea

ther sticking up from it. Her comet. Her omen. Her symbol.

Her country.

“Do you have a dress?” Toma asked.

She did not answer him, so he continued. “They will demand reparations, and of course we will make them. Every Danesti boyar will be at this meal. It may be overwhelming for you. I will handle everything.”

“I do not need you to do that.”

He smiled and set his dry, warm hand on hers. Lada pulled her hand away. “I have also had word from Matthias. He is very pleased with your success. The king of Hungary has taken ill, and Matthias has stepped in to make all decisions.”

Lada felt a small stab of guilt. She had promised Ulrich that the boy would have a quick and painless death. Another promise broken.

“I am drafting our letter to the sultan right now. We feel it is best to continue in the vassalage—appraising Matthias of any developments or troop movements.”

“Continue in our vassalage? I have no intentions of paying anything to Mehmed, or anyone else.”

“Oh, that will not work. We already owe money to the throne of Hungary and several Transylvanian governors. They will expect to collect soon.”

“Do you have debts to them?” Lada raised an eyebrow. “You keep saying ‘we,’ but I have no debts to those countries.”

“I believe you burned a church and slaughtered sheep? If you want good relations with our neighbors, we must make amends. Just like tonight is for making amends to the Danesti families.” Toma opened the door. “Come, they should be eating now. We cannot keep them waiting.”