His voice broke at the end of the sentence, and Lada realized with a pang that he had been thrown to the wolves just as she and Radu had. His father had abandoned him, sacrificed him, as assuredly as their own had. If this war did not devour him, men like Halil Pasha would.
Lada sighed, sitting down near Mehmed and leaning back to look at the grandeur of the ceiling’s carved geometrics. “Your father says you are the sultan.”
Mehmed clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Yes, that is the problem.”
“That is the solution. If you are the sultan, he must obey your command to come and lead your armies. And if you are not the sultan, he must come back and lead his armies.”
A slow smile spread across Mehmed’s face. “Lada, I think I love you.”
She slammed her fist into his shoulder, and he slouched away, looking at her in outrage. “How dare you strike me!”
“I dare perfectly well. Now go write your missive. The crusade is not waiting, and neither should you.”
While Mehmed went to gather his writing tools, Radu stood in the middle of the room, wringing his hands. “What about our father? What should we say?”
“We say nothing. We do nothing. You do not poke a sleeping bear to ask what it will do when you wake it up.”
“I think I have an idea, though. To keep us safe.”
Lada let out a dismissive puff of air between her lips. “I keep us safe. Remember what I told you in the stables when Mircea was torturing you?”
A smile finally broke through Radu’s concern. It lit his face with a beauty to rival the ceiling. “You would not let anyone else kill me.”
“That honor is mine and mine alone.”
Radu finally relaxed, sitting back on a pillow and flinging his arms wide. He was still such a child in so many ways, and Lada wanted to keep him that way.
Or force him to leave it behind forever.
She never could decide which, and it nagged at her.
Only when Radu was no longer looking did Lada let her smile fade into a calculating frown. She had to keep them safe from Murad’s wrath. She had to turn Mehmed’s rule to their advantage, but she did not know how.
“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” Radu asked, though he knew the answer.
Lada finished tugging on her boots. She wore trousers beneath her skirts, the skirts ill-fitting and put on almost as an afterthought. “To train.”
“Even with all the Janissaries gone to fight?”
“There are a few left.”
Radu scowled. “You are such good friends with the Janissaries. I never see you.” He tried to keep the pleading out of his voice, but he was lonely. Mehmed was always busy, and Radu dreaded ever becoming the nuisance he had been viewed as by Lada and Bogdan growing up. When Mehmed wanted him, he was there without question or delay. But if Mehmed did not call for him, Radu drifted, listless.
Lada did not respond, and Radu could not resist digging at her. “Do you remember when we came here?”
“Of course I remember. It has only been a few weeks. Are you stupid?”
“No, I mean the first time we came here. With Father.”
She got quiet, then. They never spoke of their father, not to each other nor to anyone else. Tension pulled around Lada’s eyes that Radu felt, too, as though merely by invoking their father’s memory someone would realize that his contract with the Ottomans was broken and Lada’s and Radu’s lives were the price.
“You were angry with me the whole time.”
“I am always angry with you, Radu. Say what you mean.”
“You were angry with me because I befriended the enemy. Riding with the Janissaries, talking with them. I simply find it…amusing that now they are your dearest companions.”
A flurry of emotion descended on Lada’s face. Guilt, Radu suspected, though the rage that followed was more familiar. She finally settled on derision. “I do not have to answer to you. Go crawl on your belly in front of their god. At least I have a sword in my hands.”