Now I Rise (The Conqueror's Saga 2)

Toma insisted a show of wealth was as necessary as a show of strength, and so the food they served was finer than any Lada had swallowed since Edirne. Finer than any her starving people ate. She resented every mouthful she imagined going into the boyars’ privileged bellies. The smells of roasted meat and sour wine assailed her as she walked into the room. Somehow Toma had managed to enter before her.

The massive table, lined with Danesti boyars, stretched from one end of the room to the other.

Lada had expected cold glares and hard looks as she threw her shoulders back and strode through the room behind Toma. Instead, she was met with a few curious, even amused glances. Most of the boyars did not stop eating or speaking to their neighbor.

She had dressed for battle and was met with indifference. Would she have to fight the battle to be seen her whole life?

The walk to the head of the table took an eternity. She wished she had not insisted she be alone for this. She wanted someone trusted by her side. Nicolae, with his incessant questions? Bogdan, with his dogged loyalty? Petru, or Stefan, or even Daciana?

She realized with a pang whom it was she missed. She wanted Radu on her right. And she wanted Mehmed on her left. They had made her feel strong, and smart, and seen. They had made her feel like a dragon. Without their belief in her, who was she?

She stood at the head of the table and waited. And waited. Nothing changed. No one ceased conversation, or bowed.

“Welcome,” she said. Her voice was lost among the general buzz of activity. She cleared her throat and shouted it, the meaning of the word probably lost with her angry tone.

Finally, taking their time, the boyars’ chatter quieted and then stopped. All eyes turned toward her. Eyebrows lifted. Corners of mouths turned up or down. Nowhere did she see the anticipated anger. Most of the boyars looked…bored.

She looked desperately to a side door, where Nicolae stood smartly at attention. He mouthed Thank you for coming.

“Thank you for coming,” Lada blurted, then immediately regretted it. She cleared her throat again, standing straighter. “We have much to discuss.”

“I want compensation for the death of my cousin,” a boyar near her said, his tone flat.

“I— We will get to that, but—”

“Yes, of course,” Toma said. He sat next to the head of the table, on her right. “I think we can work out payments, and extra land as redress.”

Lada froze, grasping for words. Why had he answered for her? Already they had put her on the defensive. This was not how it was supposed to go. How could they come in here, demanding compensation for the deaths of their relatives, while her own father and brother rotted because of their betrayal?

Toma smiled encouragingly, as though nudging her. “That is how you will answer for the deaths, right?”

Lada closed her eyes, then opened them, smoothing her expression to match Toma’s tone. “I will answer the same way they will answer for my brother lying facedown in a grave outside the city. Or my father, who has no grave.”

Toma cleared his throat, giving her a minute shake of his head and a small, disappointed frown. “This is all very bleak talk for the dinner table. We should speak of something else. How will you disperse your men?”

“You mean to clear the roads?” She had not had a chance to finalize her plans for making the roads safe for travel and commerce. Why was Toma pushing her to talk about those ideas now? “I had thought we would divide it by area, and—”

Toma held up a hand to cut her off. “No. You misunderstand. As prince, you are not allowed to have a standing military force. It is part of our treaties with Hungary and the Turks both. Matthias Corvinas specifically mentioned it in his most recent letter.” He smiled patronizingly. “I know this is all very new, and you were so young when you left us. Of course you did not know, but your men far outnumber a traditional guard. You may keep…” He paused as though thinking, stroking his beard. “Oh, twenty? That should more than meet your needs. The rest we will divide among our estates. Since I already have a relationship with them, I volunteer to house the bulk of your forces.”

Lada had more than three hundred men now. Good men. Men who had given up everything to follow her. “They are my men,” she snapped. “I have made no promises to Hungary or to the Ottomans, but I have made promises to my men.”

A dark-haired, rat-faced boyar near the middle of the table spoke up. “Promises you were never entitled to make. Princes,” he said with a sneer that made it clear what he thought of a woman holding the title, “cannot defend themselves. It is not done. A prince is the servant of the people. It is the duty of the boyars to hold soldiers to be called upon in times of need. If we decide the need is urgent, we will organize our men.”

Toma nodded, reaching out to pat Lada’s hand. “You have been gone too long. A prince is a vassal, a figurehead. Any attempt to build an army or even so much as a tower to defend yourself is seen as an act of aggression. You have nothing to fear now, though. The boyars are your support.”

“So your strength is my strength,” Lada said, eyes half closing as she let the sea of faces in front of her blur. “That is comforting.”

Some of the men and women laughed. Many went back to their conversations. None of this had gone as she thought it would. She had expected opposition, challenges, arguments. Instead, they all seemed perfectly willing to accept her as their prince.

And then she realized why. They were happy to have her because they were happy with weakness. The more pliable the prince, the more power they had. And who could be more pliable than a simple girl, playing at the throne? No wonder Toma had supported her. He could not have designed a better avenue to power for himself than a female prince. If Lada died, the Danesti line would put their own back on the throne. And until then, they would do whatever they saw fit.

If she had Radu, if she had a way to manipulate them, then maybe she could manage all this. But they worked with weapons she had no training in. Despair washed over her.

Toma leaned forward conspiratorially. “You did very well. I will stay on as your advisor. No one expects you to understand everything.”

All the change she saw sweeping the country in the shadow of her wings had been an illusion. These people ran everything, and nothing had changed for them.

“Which one will she marry?” a woman a few seats down asked.