Radu shook his head, then nodded, then shook his head again.
“Would you like to join me for prayer?”
Radu had never prayed before, not like this. He had seen his tutor do it, but it felt strange and intrusive to watch, so Radu usually looked away. But he had wanted to enter a mosque since they had arrived in Edirne.
“I do not know how,” Radu said, face burning, eyes on the ground.
“We will put our rugs in the back. You can watch me.” He guided Radu up the stairs. There was a fountain with clear water. The man stopped, washing his hands with particular movements. He smiled and nodded toward Radu’s own hands. Self-conscious, Radu carefully imitated the man’s actions.
When they were done, the man unstrapped a rug from his back. Radu panicked because he did not have one, but the man handed his own rug to Radu and took a worn rug from a stack in the back for himself. Eyes still on the floor, Radu followed him into a massive room where men were setting up in lines with practiced, calm efficiency.
The man led Radu to a corner, where he pointed for Radu to put down the rug. Radu copied the man’s posture and knelt, nervous and regretting his decision to come. There was a wide variety of men in the room, old and young, wearing the finest clothes to patched and worn ones. But everyone belonged, everyone had a place. They would know he did not have a right to be here. Maybe they, too, would beat him.
And then the prayer started.
Radu watched in wonder as the men closed their eyes, following the same movements, praying together, their bodies and voices in perfect unison.
He had never seen anything so beautiful.
For once in his life, he did not want to observe. He wanted to be a part of it. Keeping one eye open to follow his friend’s motions, Radu joined in. Before long he was lost to the rhythm of it, the peace of becoming one small part of a whole, the words he could only partly understand nonetheless making him feel, tugging his worn and bruised soul upward.
When the prayer was over, he looked up, up, up. The ceiling soared above him, interlocking, many-pointed stars drawing the eye inward until finally releasing the gaze into the open minaret. Toward heaven.
“Are you well?”
Radu looked at his friend, startled, then wiped his eyes. He smiled. “Yes. Thank you.”
The man held out a hand, helping Radu to his feet. They returned the borrowed mat and then walked back out into the day.
“What is your name?” the man asked.
“Radu Dragwlya.”
“I am Kumal Vali. Come, take a meal with me. You look as though you need someone to talk to.”
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.
But it was only a matter of time. The door to her and Radu’s tiny joint rooms had no lock.