“Your father will be pleased,” Halil Pasha said, giving Lada a thin-lipped smile. “It is a great honor to the Draculesti line for you to marry here.”
Radu’s would-be brother-in-law signed his name, the ink scratching out along the paper in blotchy lines like the veins on his face.
Lada spoke with a quiet, clear voice, and the room hushed in surprise. No one expected a girl to speak. She was probably not allowed to. Radu knew Lada would not care either way. “On our wedding night,” she said, “I will cut out your tongue and swallow it. Then both tongues that spoke our marriage vows will belong to me, and I will be wed only to myself. You will most likely choke to death on your own blood, which will be unfortunate, but I will be both husband and wife and therefore not a widow to be pitied.”
Lada’s intended dropped the quill. A single spot of ink bled onto the marble floor. Halil Pasha stared at her, his thin smile transformed into an expression of dangerous consideration.
Radu stumbled toward them, trying desperately to think of a way to ease this situation. Then someone laughed, puncturing the silence of the room. Radu turned, surprised to find the weeping boy from the garden standing near the door beside a gaunt, bespectacled man.
Radu had looked for the boy whenever they went out or were near a court function. In the two months since, he had never seen him again, but it did not stop his eyes from hoping to find a friend.
Now, however, Radu had no hope left to give.
The boy whispered something to his companion, whose brows came down around his glasses. He murmured something back, but the boy shook his head, watching Lada with merriment dancing across his face. She stared coolly back.
Radu wondered whether Lada or himself would be killed first. Would it be worse to watch it happen to Lada and know what was coming, or to…no, it would be worse to be second. He hoped they killed him first. Perhaps that was ungenerous, but this was all Lada’s fault.
The gaunt man motioned to two soldiers who wore cylindrical brass hats with a long flap of white cloth to show their rank as Janissaries. Radu always looked closely at Janissaries, hoping to find Lazar, but this city determinedly refused him friends. Then the man and the boy from the garden turned and left. Radu’s
eyes followed them until they disappeared.
Lada’s intended looked like one of the fish they had kept in the fountains circling the castle at Tirgoviste. Mouth open, then closed, then open. He shrugged at Halil Pasha, clearing his throat. “Perhaps the sultan— Perhaps another arrangement could be— I would never question the sultan’s judgment, but—”
He was flustered, a bit outraged, but it was apparent from the faces around them that no one took Lada’s threat seriously.
Radu knew she had meant every word.
The soldiers appeared at her side. “She is to come with us.”
Lada leveled a flat stare at her intended. He began to smile—a dismissive, smug smile—but something about the intensity of her gaze froze it halfway, so he looked imbecilic. The way his eyes widened showed that, at last, he realized her threat had not been idle.
He took a small step back.
Lada followed the soldiers out of the room without even glancing at Radu. Halil Pasha watched them leave, and something in his gaze told Radu that he knew more about what was going on than they did. And he was not pleased.
“Wait!” Radu ran to catch up. He held out his hands in supplication. “Please, she did not mean any harm. She was teasing. In Wallachia, it is customary for…betrothed couples to…threaten each other. As a sign of affection. When our parents were betrothed, our mother told our father she would disembowel him and wear his intestines around her neck as jewelry.”
The two soldiers stared at Radu, believing every ridiculous lie coming out of his mouth. Lada stifled a laugh. How could she be so calm?
Stop it, he begged her every night. Stop making them angry. Stop making them hurt us. It is your fault. You will get us both killed.
Finally, she had snapped at him, No one will kill you.
But if they kill you, I will be alone. And I will want to die.
He did not want to die at all, but he definitely did not want to die second. Radu met his sister’s eyes, sending her all his heartbroken betrayal. She could not even pretend to be civil to save their lives.
She spoke in Wallachian, voice calm and unconcerned about her armed escort to what was likely her death. “Halil Pasha is the reason I am a prisoner here. I will not let him take any more of my freedom. I cannot accept that a political marriage is my fate. It would mean I was set aside and forgotten, and I would rather die than be forgotten.”
“I would never let that happen,” Radu said, but he did not know if he meant he would never let her die, or he would never let her be forgotten.
He wished he had more options than those two.
“We have orders to take her to the south wing,” one of the Janissaries said. “You can come along if you would like.”
Radu snapped his attention back to the soldiers, giving them a smile as brilliant as the summer sunshine. He walked next to them, asking what region they were from, getting them to talk to him. Very soon he knew their names, their various duties, and what they hoped to eat for supper that night. Their hands never drifted toward the swords at their side, and his chatter remained light, friendly, focused on keeping them calm so they would not provoke his sister into doing another stupid thing.
Lada walked behind them, thankfully silent.