Hunyadi pulled his horse alongside hers. “It might be good to have someone to help.”

“I do not see your nursemaid following you around, combing your hair.”

Hunyadi ran his fingers through his thick auburn locks. “I would not object!” His tone softened. “All leaders need help. Let someone do the mundane tasks so you can focus on the bigger ones. Surely Mehmed does not do anything himself.”

Lada rolled her eyes. “He has a man whose only role is to follow after him carrying a stool.”

“Does he even clean his own ass, I wonder?”

Lada grimaced. “Why would you put such an image in my mind?”

Hunyadi laughed loudly. Then he settled more deeply into his saddle, sighing happily. “This is a beautiful part of my country.”

“It reminds me of the forests outside Tirgoviste. I used to make our tutor take us out there to study. The castle was an oven in the summer and an icebox in the winter. I always suspected the architect was a cook.”

“Do you miss it?”

Lada frowned as she followed the trail of a dark bird across the pale blue sky. “Miss what?”

“Tirgoviste.”

“I never cared for Tirgoviste. I prefer the mountains.”

“But you still want the throne.”

“I want Wallachia.”

Hunyadi huffed a laugh. “Is that all?”

“It is far less than what Mehmed—” She stopped, biting off the rest of the sentence. How dare he slip out of her mouth uninvited.

Hunyadi leaned closer to Lada, his horse following the movement and nearly brushing its flanks against her legs. “So he does mean to go for Constantinople, then.”

Lada had avoided talking about Mehmed’s plans. It felt disloyal, which made her angry. He had shown no loyalty to her by entertaining the usurper Danesti prince.

Hunyadi pressed on. “The general opinion is that he is young and easily swayed. More interested in lavish parties and well-stocked harems than expansion.”

If Lada flinched at the mention of the harem, Hunyadi pretended not to notice. He continued. “Everyone has solidified advantageous treaties with him. No one fears him. Murad’s death was seen as the end of Ottoman expansion. But I wonder. I think the sultan is settling us all down so his way to Constantinople is clear.”

The word harem still rang in Lada’s ears. Obviously Mehmed was not loyal to her. He spied on her. He supported her rivals. She owed him nothing, and would cut this traitorous impulse to protect him out of her heart. “Constantinople is his only desire. Everything he does, however innocent seeming or counterintuitive, is to achieve that goal and that goal only. He will not stop until it is his capital, until he is both sultan of the Ottoman Empire and Caesar of Rome.”

Hunyadi breathed out heavily, slumping in his saddle. “Do you think he can do it?”

“If any man can, he will.”

“I feared as much.” He rubbed his face, tugging on the ends of his graying mustache. “When do you think he will move?”

“As soon as possible. This spring or next.”

“That changes everything. We will head to Hunedoara tonight. I have letters to write and a crusade to plan.”

“You would defend Constantinople?”

“Of course.”

“But it is not your city, not your people. And it is no closer to Hungary’s borders than the Ottomans already are, so there is no increased military threat.”

Hunyadi smiled. “I am Christian, Lada. It is my duty to rally to Constantinople’s cause. It is the last we have of the mighty Roman empire. I will be damned if I let the Turks take it.” He pulled his horse to a stop, then paused before turning. “I would be honored if you were at my side. I think together we could hold off the very forces of hell.”

Lada was glad he was not facing her. The warm flush of pride at his words was something she wanted to keep private.

11

Late March

“WHEN WILL IT be ready?” Radu demanded, the air shimmering with heat.

“When it is ready!” Urbana wiped sweat from her forehead as she used giant bellows to adjust the temperature of the flames in the nearest furnace.

“I need it now!”

She laughed, a sound like a hammer ringing against an anvil. “You need it now? I have needed it my whole life! The Basilica is my legacy, my genius. I will not risk blowing us all up with a faulty cannon so your schedule can be maintained!”

Radu wiped the sweat that was dripping into his eyes. “Can you at least show me? We have both invested so much in it.”

Huffing, Urbana led him to the back of the sweltering building. She pointed to a pit of sand that stretched more than four times longer than Radu was tall. “There it is.”

“When will it be cool enough?”

“Two days.” Urbana leaned against the wall, staring at the sand as though she could succeed by sheer force of will. “If there are no cracks or fissures—if, God willing, it actually worked this time—we can demonstrate it for your precious sultan in two days.” She patted a six-hundred-pound stone cannonball with the tender affection of a mother.

“It will work,” Radu said. It had to. It would prove, once and for all, that he was the better Dracul sibling. The more valuable. The more deserving of love. And it would prove to himself that he had made the right choice in staying.

The ambassadors from Constantinople arrived the next day. Radu no longer stood next to Mehmed in the receiving hall, but near the back and off to the side.

Normally, Radu would have liked to see the ambassadors squirming. Mehmed was still acting the silly, spoiled sultan. But it was all so tiresome. He was ready for this interminable waiting period to be over. Constantinople needed to fall. When they marched, then everything would be better. Everything would be revealed. Radu would reclaim his place next to Mehmed. They would take the walls together.

And Lada would be nowhere near, either physically or in Mehmed’s thoughts. When Constantinople fell, Mehmed would have what he wanted most. He would forget the girl who had left them behind. He would know who had been with him, helping him every step of the way.

He would finally see Radu’s whole worth.

Radu refocused on what was being said. Though the ambassadors kept trying to steer the conversation back to the fortress Mehmed had built on their side of the strait, Mehmed could not be trapped.

“We should have a feast! A party.” He smiled distractedly, leaning over to whisper to a man taking notes, “Fish. No, lamb. No, fish. Both!”

The lead ambassador cleared his throat. “But we must discuss the matter of the land. You killed citizens from a nearby village.”

Mehmed waved dismissively. “Our men defended themselves against attack. It is nothing. Tell me, do you like dancing? What style of dance do they favor in Constantinople now?”

The lead ambassador, who wore a blue coat that was open to reveal a bright red vest, shifted from foot to foot. “At the very least, we must demand payment for the land you took.” The other five ambassadors remained perfectly still.

Mehmed’s smile chilled even Radu. “Yes. Payment. We would say a great deal is owed Constantinople. Very soon every debt will be erased.”

A silence as thick as blood had descended on the room.

Mehmed laughed, suddenly the bright, happy young sultan again. He clapped his hands. “A party! Tonight. You can show us how they dance in Constantinople. We will make you all dance.”

Mehmed leaned toward Kumal, engaging him in conversation and effectively ignoring the ambassadors. They stayed where they were, shuffling their feet or clearing their throats. Mehmed had not dismissed them, so they could not leave. Radu could not see their faces from where he stood, but he did not imagine they looked happy.

Then one, the nearest to him, turned. It was the ambassador with the gray eyes who had delivered a gift—a book—to Mehmed upon his coronation. Radu was surprised at how easily he recognized the young man after more than a year. And it appeared the ambassador recognized him as well. His eyebrows lifted in shock, and then he smiled grimly, shrugging his shoulders toward the throne.

Radu answered with a similar smile.

To Radu’s surprise, the ambassador took it as an invitation. He left his companions and made his way to Radu’s side.