Bright We Burn (The Conqueror's Saga 3)

“So she will have no help besides Hungary, and even that is in question.” Mehmed sounded pleased.

“Ten thousand men should be more than enough,” Mahmoud Pasha said.

Mehmed raised an eyebrow. “We go in with sixty thousand.”

Ishak Pasha coughed, sputtering. He opened his mouth in outrage to argue, then remembered his place. He lowered his eyes to the table. “Whatever Your Grace thinks is best. It will be done.”

The two pashas did not look pleased. Because they kept their own armies, they were not funded by the sultan like the Janissaries were. Going to war was an expensive endeavor. In contrast, Ali Bey smiled as though anticipating an afternoon of sport. He was in charge of the best-trained fighting units in the world. Doubtless he saw this as a good time to remind Mehmed of their value.

The empire was settled on a course of action. But there were still three Wallachians present. And Radu wanted to make his intentions clear when it came to their throne. “When we take Tirgoviste, Aron will be crowned prince.”

Aron inclined his head, and Andrei nodded. Radu knew, as they did, that his claim to the throne was as strong as theirs. The Draculesti and Danesti lines had violently traded the throne between them for decades, and neither family had more right to it than the other. In fact, Radu’s claim was stronger, since he had the favor of the sultan. But he wanted their support and confidence. That would happen only if they did not view him as a threat. Perhaps that was why they had been cruel to him as a child. He had not yet understood the nature of their rivalry, but they had grasped it early on. The fights in the forest were a reflection of reality, played out on a child-sized scale.

Radu had not won those fights, but neither had Aron and Andrei. Lada had.

Still, the Danesti brothers had grown into intelligent adults. He had no qualms about giving them the country. He certainly did not want it.

“You should know,” Mara said, her voice soft, “my reports indicate that Lada has killed nearly every Danesti left in Wallachia. Those still alive have fled to surrounding countries.”

“We know.” Aron did not sound angry or vengeful, just tired and sad and a little frightened. Radu met his eyes and they shared a moment of understanding. They were not men driven by rage. Aron wore his family name as a mantle of responsibility, not a cloak of entitlement.

Mehmed stood. “We go in hard and we move fast. We give her no opportunities. We take the capital, secure the country, and show the rest of Europe we tolerate no offense or aggression toward—or from—our vassal states.”

“And what about the girl prince?” Ali Bey asked.

“I want her alive,” Mehmed said without explanation. “At all costs.”

* * *

Radu told Nazira and Fatima the plans with a heavy heart. He was relieved that Lada would not be killed—even now—but he did not expect Nazira to feel the same. Regardless, he did not think he would be able to see his sister or speak with her again. He would leave that to Mehmed.

Radu glossed over the specifics of the campaign, focusing on the timeline. “I do not want to leave you again so soon, but this is my responsibility.”

“We will come with you,” Fatima said, already standing to pack their belongings.

Radu smiled affectionately. “You do realize I am going to war.”

Nazira stood, too. She looked dazed, unable to focus. Fatima guided her gently back to sitting. “Then we will meet you there,” Fatima said.

“Mehmed has asked me to stay for a while after we have set Aron up on the throne.”

“Why Aron?” Nazira snapped. “I know another heir much more deserving.”

Radu reached for the bundle of clothing that Nazira held. Nazira was staring at it as though she could not account for its being in her hands. She passed it to him. Rather than putting it in her trunk, he put it back down on the bed. “You know I do not want that. But it means I will stay in Tirgoviste for some time after the conflict is over. You two should go back to Edirne or to the countryside to wait for me. Unless you would rather stay here.”

“I cannot wait to get out of this accursed city.” Nazira’s words were clouded with the memories they shared. And now this city had brought her news of the death of her brother.

Fatima took the clothes Radu had set down on the bed and moved them to the trunk. “We will meet you in Tirgoviste when the fighting is over. It will be nice to see where you came from.” She said it so convincingly Radu almost believed she did not mind that much travel. He raised an eyebrow and she looked away, blushing at her lie.

“You do not have to,” Radu said.

Nazira stood to join Fatima but then hovered next to the bed, swaying and directionless. Radu knew how hard she was trying to be brave. How hard she was trying to function through the overwhelming grief. It would be good for her to get out of this city. Radu would try to persuade them to go home, instead. Regardless, Nazira needed to be taken from Constantinople.

Fatima spoke for them both. “But we want to join you in Wallachia.”

“You would not want to if you had ever been before.”

“We will come and discover how much we would rather not have come, then. Will your sister…will she stay there, in Tirgoviste, when you are done?” Fatima asked. Nazira went stiff at the mention of Lada. Radu hated that his place in Nazira’s life had also introduced Lada into it, and all the accompanying loss and bloodshed. He loved his sister, but…