Bright We Burn (The Conqueror's Saga 3)

“No, silly girl. That is what I want for you. It makes me sad to see you locked up. You are so young. You have an entire lifetime ahead of you. Do not waste it on this. Be good, marry. And then use that to secure more power. I am leaving this afternoon, but I will start looking for prospects and suggest to Matthias that an eventual arranged marriage for you is in his best interest. Bu

t you must do your part.” She passed a tightly wrapped bundle through the hole. Lada took it, feeling its weight.

“No weapons,” she said, disappointed.

“It is a dress, which is a subtle sort of weapon you will have to learn to use.”

Lada tossed the bundle aside. “I have never been good at subtlety.”

“I hope you will change your mind. Please know I wish only the best for you.”

Lada opened her large eyes as wide as they went, tilted her head, and smiled. “Come in here and let me embrace you for your kindness.”

Mara backed up a step, shaking her head. “Yes, you will certainly need to work on your acting skills. I have no desire to be anyone’s hostage. Goodbye, Lada. Good luck.”

Mara disappeared, and Lada stared at the empty space the other woman had so fully occupied. She had often imagined what she could do with Mehmed’s resources. The money and the land, yes, but especially minds as clever and ruthless as Mara’s at her disposal. Mehmed did not deserve Mara.

No man did, as Mara well knew. And still her advice was for Lada to marry. Did everything really come back to that?

* * *

Matthias waited an entire day before coming to see her. “Why have you not changed?” he asked, eyeing Lada’s dirty, blood-stained tunic, which she still wore over her chain mail. The dress Mara had given her lay on the floor, half in the mess from the dumped porridge.

Lada did not answer. She had slept only a few hours, preferring to let rage sustain her. The tapestry of power that she had spent so many years collecting threads for had once again been pulled apart by a man. A stupid man. He would pay.

“I cannot let you out looking like that. And you will get a chill wearing your chain mail in there.”

Lada neither moved nor changed her expression, continuing to stare at Matthias with hooded eyes.

He shifted, shoulders twitching as though trying to shrug off some unseen irritant. “Did you consider I am doing this for your own benefit? Many people want you dead, little prince.” He spat out the last word as a mockery. “You are safer here than you would be in Wallachia. Consider it my penance to the Dracul line. My father killed your father. I am keeping you alive.” He waited. For what, Lada could not imagine. Gratitude? Weeping? He would get nothing from her.

“Change your clothes!” he snarled. “I have prepared a house for you, but you will not disrespect my hospitality by looking like an animal.”

Lada finally let a hint of a smile break the flatness of her expression. But still she did not answer.

“Guards!” Matthias yelled. He turned back to her. “If you will not accept my generosity gracefully, we will help you.”

Matthias moved out of her view. A lock clicked, and the bar to the door slid free. The guards were ready when they rushed her.

Lada was readier. She ducked under the arms of the first, kicked the knee of the second so hard that it popped. The third caught her wrist, but she twisted and threw her elbow into his nose. She was almost to the door when it was yanked shut. The lock clicked again.

“Now you cannot get out.” The first guard, the one with the turnip face, held his arms out as though he expected her to run past him, to the other corner of her cell.

Lada bared her teeth at him in a smile. “Neither can you.”

A flicker of uncertainty passed over his face. Then Lada launched herself at him. She knocked him to the stone floor. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down with him as he tried to pin her. Their faces smashed against each other’s. She opened her mouth and bit down, hard, on his throat. He screamed, and her mouth filled with blood.

She was tackled from behind, her forehead bouncing hard off the floor. A knee dug into her back, then she was grabbed by her hair, and her head slammed into the floor twice more for good measure. Lights spun in her vision, and she did not know how much of the blood in her mouth was her own now.

“You stupid little bitch,” the guard on top of her said, out of breath. He shifted to the side to get a grip on her clothes. Lada planted her palms on the floor and pushed with all her strength, knocking him off-balance. He fell to the floor. She stood and stomped with every scrap of strength she had.

His windpipe collapsed beneath her foot. As he grabbed at his throat, desperate for air that would never again fill his lungs, she turned to the remaining men.

Judging by the amount of blood on the floor from the turnip-faced man’s torn throat, only one guard remained. He was pressed against the wall, balanced on one leg because of his damaged knee, banging on the door.

“Please! Please let me out!”

Lada looked past him at the door’s viewing hole. Matthias stared back at her, aghast. “If you would stop behaving like a rabid beast, I could help you,” he said.