The Danesti was saying something, but she had not bothered to start listening. Her eyes were caught on the curved length of the Ottoman sword still hanging above the throne. It was framed by two torches, flickering hypnotically. She guided her horse closer, entranced.
“I said, explain yourself!”
Startled, she looked down at the sputtering prince. His face was red, a sheen of sweat making his skin glow. She did not remember him from her time here as a girl. He had not mattered to her then, and he did not matter to her now.
She glanced around the room. There were several guards, but none moved toward her. She heard voices in the hall, someone swearing about a horse. She was alone.
It did not matter.
She addressed the sword. “I have delivered my terms already.”
“I have heard no terms!” the prince huffed.
“They are not for you. They are for the Wallachians in this room. Land and wealth for those on my side. Death for those opposed.”
“You have no right to offer them such things!”
She nudged her horse forward so that the Danesti had to scramble to the side of the throne to avoid the horse’s long, velvety nose. Lada stood in the stirrups, reaching for the sword on the wall. She tugged it free, pulling it out of its sheath. It was dimmed by age but sharp enough. The sword of their enemies. The sword of their vassalage. The sword of their weakness.
Her sword now. She lifted it in the air, turning it to play with the torchlight. “I have the only right there is.” She put the sword through the usurper’s chest before he could answer her. He had nothing to say she cared about. She turned her horse, pulling the sword free.
“It is going to be a nightmare to clean that throne,” Nicolae said as he walked into the room, followed by Bogdan and the rest of her men.
Lada smiled. “I am the throne. Put his body on a stake in the square as proof that I keep my promises. Loyalty rewarded. Cowardice cut down.”
The gate guard ran forward eagerly, dragging the body from the throne. It left a trail of blood, black in the dim light. The only legacy this prince would ever have, his weakness written across stones as testament to Lada’s superiority.
Bogdan took a knee, his deep voice booming through the room. “All hail Lada the dragon, prince of Wallachia!”
Lada’s horse shifted, putting her directly in line with one of the narrow, high windows. Through it, perfectly framed, the falling star finally burned out. She lifted her face, closing her eyes, as her mother blessed her. A warmth settled deep inside, and she clutched the locket she always wore.
She was home.
43
May 25–26
“DO YOU THINK he will recover?” Radu asked, pacing anxiously. He had half carried, half dragged Cyprian back to the house. Though Cyprian did not appear to have suffered any significant visible damage, a cut on his head bled freely, and he had not yet woken up.
“Time will tell.” Nazira finished cleaning up the blood. She gave Radu a concerned look that managed to pull her full lips nearly flat. “Sit down. You cannot worry him back to health.”
Radu collapsed into a chair and put his head in his hands. “I know we greased the poles of the icon. But the way it refused to be picked up again—and then the storm. I have never been in a storm of such sudden fury. They brought out the Hodegetria to guide them, and instead they were swept away, carried off in the middle of a tempest.”
“This city is getting to you, Radu. Even you see signs in everything now.”
Radu nodded, rubbing his eyes and leaning back. “I know. I feel sorry for them. To see your own destruction reflected in everything around you—the moon, the weather, the shaking of the earth itself—I am amazed that anyone remains in this city. Why could they not leave?”
Nazira smiled sadly. “I persuaded Helen to. I know there was no reason for me to continue my friendship with her, but she was so sad and lost. I gave her the last of our money. Yesterday she slipped into Galata, where she has distant relations who can help her get to Athens.”
“That was a good thing.”
The door opened and Valentin appeared with a bowl of water and some clean rags. Nazira took them; then Radu held up a hand to keep Valentin from leaving. “Do you have any family in the city?”
Valentin shook his head. “My parents died two years ago. My sister, too.”
“Aunts? Uncles?”
“No, sir.”
“What about outside the city? Do you have anywhere to go?”
Valentin stood straighter, puffing up his chest. “No, sir, and if I did, I would not go anyway. My place is serving Cyprian, and I will stay where he is until the end.”
“What if I needed to send a letter to my sister in Hungary? One that I could send only with someone I trust absolutely?”
Valentin smiled, with an expression too knowing and weary for a boy as young as he. “Then I would say I suspect you of tricking me, and anyway, I have heard your stories of your sister and would rather take my chances here.”
Radu laughed, shocked at how much the boy had picked up on. “Very well. But promise me one thing: If the city is falling around you, you do everything you can to get out. Do you understand? And if I am not here, you help Nazira and Cyprian get out.”
Valentin stood even straighter, giving a dignified nod. “I will protect them with my life.”
“Good boy.”
Valentin left, closing the door softly behind him.
Cyprian moaned. Radu rushed to the bedside. “Cyprian? Can you hear me?”
Cyprian tried to lift a hand to his head, his eyes squeezed shut. “Radu?”
“Yes! You are safe, at home.”
“I think—” he croaked, his voice cracking.
“I will get him something to drink!” Nazira hurried from the room.
Cyprian swallowed, still not opening his eyes. “I think the city fell down on my head.”
Radu laughed in relief. “It did. But you Byzantines are remarkably hardheaded.”
Squinting, Cyprian looked at Radu. “Radu! You are here!”
“Yes. I am right here.”
Cyprian lifted a hand, searching in the air. Radu took it in his own.
“I went back for you.” Cyprian’s eyes drifted shut again.
“No,” Radu said, gently. “I was not hurt. I brought you home. Remember?”
Cyprian shook his head, then cringed, crying out in pain. He squinted again. “No, I went back to Edirne for you.”
What if the blow had permanently damaged Cyprian’s mind? “We are not in Edirne. We are in Constantinople.”
“I know that,” Cyprian snapped, rolling his eyes. “You are very confused.”
Radu tried not to smile. “You are right. I am the confused one.”
“We never spoke, but your face … The look you shared with him about the book. I never stopped thinking of you.”
“What book?” Radu wanted to keep Cyprian awake and talking, even if it was nonsense.
Cyprian waved his free hand. “The book we gave the sultan. You understood how funny it was. The dragon book. I wished so much I could laugh with you. Even then I knew you would have a wonderful laugh. He did not want me to go back, you know.”
Radu searched his memory, trying to figure out what Cyprian was talking about. Books and dragons? And then it rushed back. Last year. The delegation from Constantinople after Mehmed’s coronation. It was the first time Radu had seen Cyprian. Back when Cyprian was a nameless ambassador delivering a book on Saint George and the dragon as a gift. Radu remembered that moment perfectly, too. That startling jolt when he had met Cyprian’s clear gray eyes and seen the hidden laughter there.
“Who did not want you to go back to Edirne?” Radu asked, suddenly very interested in the conversation.
“My uncle. Too dangerous. I insisted, though. I wanted to speak to you.”
Radu’s heart was racing. “To ask me to come here and give information on Mehmed?”
“No.” Cyprian’s voice went far away and quiet. “I just wanted to speak to you. I wanted to hear you laugh.” He smiled, lifting their clasped hands toward Radu’s cheek. Radu leaned his head down, letting Cyprian’s fingers brush against his skin. Though his fingers were cold, the touch felt like fire.