She stayed there, arms folded tightly across her breasts, hoping that someone would say something damning very quickly so she could leave.
The water did feel nice on her exhausted, tight muscles, but she felt more than naked. She felt exposed and vulnerable. She longed for a weapon, for chain mail, for something between her skin and the rest of the world.
Lada inched closer to the other women, her hair trailing behind her. But instead of speaking of Radu’s favor in the capital and his connections to Mehmed, the women spoke of his eyes. They spoke of his smile. They spoke of his charm and his kindness. Each one had an anecdote, a story of something Radu had done for them or for someone they knew. Some perfectly timed joke, some utterly captivating tale, some startling moment of generosity.
A pang in her chest made Lada aware of a strange sense of loss. Of missing Radu. Because she did not know the man they were speaking of, and she thought she might want to.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Radu did love Nazira. Maybe whatever he felt for Mehmed had been siphoned off and given to this sweet-faced nothing of a girl. Lada obviously did not know him as he was to this city.
But no. The way Radu watched Mehmed, the way he could not escape the current left in Mehmed’s wake—that had not altered. The rest of the world was an afterthought to Radu. Only Mehmed mattered.
Lada had once mattered to him. How had she lost that?
Nazira laughed, and Lada remembered. Kumal had given her brother prayer and taken him away. And now Nazira was claiming him as well. She drifted closer to Nazira, who was partially blocked by two broad-shouldered aunts.
“We will tell you some secrets,” one said, a lisp coming from where one of her front teeth was missing, “so Radu’s handsome looks do not go to waste.”
The other aunt gave a bawdy laugh. “Looks will count for little if he is not a good learner.”
“Hush!” Nazira said, her skin flushed from the heat of the bath or from embarrassment. She put her hands over her face, shaking her head.
“Oh, come now, you are to be a wife. You must know that husbands are useless in all things unless properly instructed. Particularly in the pleasuring of their women.”
Lada inched away, intensely uncomfortable. If they were going to speak of snakes and gardens, of a woman’s responsibility to provide safe haven for a man’s seed…
“Please, aunties, you are scandalizing her,” one of the married cousins said, though she laughed, too, comfortable with the topic. “Wait until after her wedding night when she is no longer terrified. Then tell her how a woman can be pleased as well as a man.”
“Bah,” the lisping aunt said. “How long was it after your marriage until you came to me, crying, complaining of your unhappiness with his nightly ministrations?”
The cousin laughed. “Five miserable years. Two screaming infants I had given him and gotten not one evening of joy in return. You are right, I would not wish that on my poor Nazira.”
Nazira splashed water at them. “No more! If I have questions, I will write you a delicately worded letter. I have faith in Radu’s generosity and abilities.”
Lada choked, and every head whipped around to face her.
“Oh, Lada! I am sorry,” Nazira exclaimed. “We should remember Radu is your brother.”
Spluttering something that resembled an excuse, Lada fled to her mat, her skin not even dry before she tugged her clothing on and gripped the pouch safely back around her neck. She would find out nothing she wanted to in the bath.
But as she ran to her rooms, trousers clinging to her legs, she kept hearing the phrase that was more of a revelation than any political plotting: A woman can be pleased as well as a man.
“He married her? Already?” Mehmed stood, then sat back down, then stood again. “But we spoke of it only three days ago! And he did not even want to marry her! He asked for a modest estate, but when I agreed I did not think…Married?”
“Things change, apparently.” Lada had tried to corner Radu to talk to him before the wedding, but he had barricaded himself behind his big eyes and empty smile, simply saying over and over that Nazira would make a wonderful wife. She had been forced to watch as they were married in Turkish. Radu gave his life away in another tongue sealed by another god.
Nazira had blushed her way through the ceremony, a maid standing by her shoulder. And when it was over, the couple had barely touched, all the passion of two innocent children playing at marriage between them. Lada had been invited to a feast at Kumal’s city house afterward, but she feared she would not be able to be civil. Not to that man. Not ever.