Kumal led Radu through the streets to a section of tall, narrow stone homes. They were close enough to the palace to be important, but not so close to be part of the palace compound. Radu realized Vali was not the man’s name but rather his title. Clearly he was someone valued, maybe even a friend of the sultan’s.

A servant met them at the door, bowing and taking Kumal’s rug. “My friend Radu will be joining us,” Kumal said. They followed the servant to a room at the back of the house. Glass panes lined the walls, opening up to a modest but well-tended garden. There was a low table with cushions surrounding it. Kumal sat, gesturing for Radu to do the same.

Sitting across the table from Kumal, a stranger, Radu suddenly wondered if this had been a terrible idea. No one knew where he was. Worse, he did not know if he was even allowed to leave the palace. And Kumal was an official. Would Radu be punished? Killed?

Kumal ripped off a piece of warm flatbread and passed it to Radu. He did not look up as he started talking. “I would like to know who has hurt you, and whether there is anything I can do to help.”

Radu shook his head, standing. “I should go.”

“Please stay. If you cannot speak of what has happened, then let us speak of other things. How did you like the prayer?”

Radu slowly sat back down, closing his eyes, trying to recapture how he had felt. “It was…wonderful.”

“Yes, I think so, too. I always look forward to being in the city and joining so many of my brothers in prayer.”

“You do not live here?”

“No, I have an estate in the countryside. I am not often in Edirne, as my responsibilities at home keep me quite busy. I leave tonight, in fact.”

Radu wilted. He had no right to expect more from Kumal, but the brief moments of hope he had had in his presence seemed like a cruel tease now.

“You are not Ottoman.”

Radu shook his head. “I am from Wallachia.”

Kumal frowned thoughtfully. “Yet you are not a Janissary.”

“My father is Vlad Dracul, vaivode of Wallachia. He left my sister and me here for…our education.”

Understanding settled into Kumal’s face, but where Radu feared seeing anger or derision, there was only sympathy. “Ah, I see. It would appear your education has been less than kind.”

Radu lifted a hand to his face, self-conscious.

Kumal took the hand, squeezing it, then putting it down so Radu would look at him. “Please do not judge my country by the cruelty of a few. Though there is one God and one Prophet, peace be upon him, not everyone interacts with him in the same way. There are varying levels of faith and practice, just as in everything in life. But you have a choice.”

“I do not feel like I have any choices left to me.”

Kumal nodded. “It may seem that way. But you always have a choice. You can choose to find comfort and solace in God. You can choose to be brave and compassionate. And you can choose to find beauty and happiness wherever they present themselves.” He smiled. “I think you already know this, though. I hope you can hold on to that through the coming years, because you have much to offer the world, Radu.”

A girl slipped onto a cushion across from Radu, her eyes bright and her mouth a perfect full-lipped circle. Her clothes were as pretty as she was, and a cheerful yellow scarf covered her hair. She smiled shyly at him, then took a piece of bread. “Is my brother lecturing you?”

Radu shook his head, looking down at his plate. “No.”

“Good. He does so love to lecture. I am Nazira.”

Kumal put a hand on her shoulder. “Nazira is my youngest sister.”

“And his favorite.”

“And my favorite.” Kumal laughed; and then the servant returned, setting out a spread of roasted fowl, vegetables, and a cooling sauce. Kumal promised to take Radu back to the palace after the meal. Then he and Nazira traded stories, enveloping Radu in their laughter and shared history as though he were a natural part of it.

The warmth between them should have made Radu feel cold in comparison, but he stole a portion of it, tucking it away for the coming days when he knew he would need it.

LADA DID NOT KNOW how much longer she could get away with stealing bedsheets. Radu had complained that his bed was stripped of everything but a single blanket. She had to sit with her back against the door to guard against discovery as she ripped his sheet into manageable pieces to staunch the flow.

Her room was stifling. The smell of burning cloth had lingered through the month, and now the blood was back.

When her nurse had told her she would not have to worry about marriage until her monthly courses started, it had been a comfort. Until the morning Lada awoke covered in blood, in her enemy’s house. She lived in terror of the day she was discovered. Servants were turned away from her chamber door with screaming fits or, when that failed, with her fists. No one could know.