“You cannot get in,” Lada said. “Stefan, did you recognize the guards on duty?”
He shook his head.
“Good. Then they will not recognize you. I need skirts, an entari, and a veil.”
Petru’s mouth hung open, making him look like the fish Nicolae had hoped to catch. “Skirts? But why?”
Lada motioned for them to follow. “Because a tremendous amount of weaponry can be hidden in skirts, and because Stefan is about to drop off a gift from the sultan.”
Nicolae caught up to her as she made her way swiftly toward the outer building she had been given for her garrison. It was another impediment to Mehmed meeting her—she lived in the makeshift barracks with her men. She was never alone. Because if she was alone, then there was no barrier, no impediment, nothing stopping them from…
He was in the harem.
“Lada,” Nicolae’s voice was low enough that the others could not hear him. “Is this really a good idea? I think we should wait. We can catch him coming out. We have plans for that.”
“And they are good plans, which mean they are obvious plans, which means Ilyas may have already anticipated them. This is a better plan.”
He grabbed her arm. “Lada, stop.”
She wheeled on him, fury blazing, making her feel taller and stronger. “Do not tell me what to do.”
He lifted his hands in the air. “I merely wonder if the harem is the best place for you to be.”
The concern in his expression made her want to tear out her hair. And then strangle him with it. She sneered, “Do you think I do not know what happens in there? Are you worried for my tender sensibilities?”
“No! I would never think any of you tender, I promise.” He grinned, scar puckering. “But I wonder about…your reputation. Women who go into the harem do not come out. It is a permanent position.”
She batted the suggestion out of the air with a wave of her hand. She knew he was trying to say something bigger, and she would not acknowledge it. “I am not going in as a woman. I am going in as an assassin. So we have nothing to fear.”
A few minutes later she was covered from head to toe in leftover finery from Mehmed’s wedding. She had never worn half the clothes prepared for her, but an industrious servant packed them all to be sent back with her. Other than the wrinkled garments that would have had any maidservant beaten, she looked like a woman. And, veiled, she looked nothing like herself.
It was decided that only Stefan should accompany her. Any more guards would look suspicious. So, without fanfare, he brought Lada to the gate of the harem and handed her to the closest eunuch.
“A gift from Mehmed’s mother,” he said.
The eunuch nodded, uninterested, and led Lada straight past the two Janissary guards and into the harem.
She jumped in spite of herself as the door clanged shut. It sounded so formal, so final. Her heart was racing and her breathing shallow and unmeasured as she followed the eunuch down several twisting hallways, trying to memorize them. Everything was bright and clean. Elaborately patterned and gleaming tile beckoned them farther inside.
The eunuch opened a door to a small waiting chamber. “Someone will be with you within the hour to determine your placement and get you situated.” He left her there without another word, closing the door behind him.
He did not lock it.
Not that it would have mattered if he had, but the principle of it made Lada burn with rage. It was only about the door, she told herself. About the eunuch’s utter inability to see a woman as a potential threat.
She took out one of her daggers and stabbed it into the sofa. Tugging it along the length of the sofa, she created a jagged gash. Then she sheathed her dagger and fixed her veil. She stepped out into the hallway. She was perfectly capable of carrying out this mission without letting the fact that she was inside Mehmed’s harem distract her.
Her only guess was to go farther in, so she picked up a large vase with a fragrant bouquet, holding it carefully in front of herself as though she had a purpose. Carrying a bunch of flowers around seemed like a rational occupation in this gilded birdcage.
After passing several closed doors and turning down three separate hallways, Lada was hit with a wave of despair. Mehmed would probably finish with his business here and leave before she ever found him, and then what would she tell her men?
The sound of a baby crying tugged at her ears. She swerved, following the shrill donkey-like braying until she came to a room with its carved wooden doors thrown open.
She slipped inside and immediately moved to the left, where a delicately painted screen stood in front of a large, open window. She managed to slide between the screen and the wall, the sound of her movements masked by the screaming infant.
Mehmed’s laugh rang through the room, falling on Lada’s shoulders like a blow.
“Am I holding him wrong? He does not like me.”
“Of course he likes you!” The woman’s voice was sticky sweet. Lada could feel it settling in her ears and knew that no amount of scrubbing would rid her of its residue. “He is strong, see?”
“My little Beyazit. Be strong while I am gone. I will be back soon.”
Mehmed’s words effused tenderness, and Lada wished for any other scenario. She had thought the worst that would happen would be finding him with another woman, but this…
She did not know how to be angry over this.
But still she managed.
“How long will you be gone?” the woman asked.
“However long it takes to defeat Skanderberg. Will you need anything?”
“No, no, we are very well taken care of. Be safe.”
“Goodbye, my boy!”
Lada noted with some mean satisfaction that Mehmed’s tone speaking to his concubine was the same he used when addressing any servant. But he clearly felt something for the child. And the concubine had given him that.
The baby’s cries left the room. Lada heard someone stand. She stepped out from behind the screen, still holding the vase.
Mehmed barely glanced at her as he walked straight for the doorway. She threw the vase to the right of his head. He ducked as it shattered against the wall, water and flowers scattered among the sharp shards of glazed pottery.
He looked at her, face red with fury. “What in the name of—”
She ripped off her veil. For a moment his anger stayed frozen in place, then dissolved into a smile. He laughed, shaking his head. “What are you doing here, Lada?”
She closed the door. Hope lit his eyes, and he moved forward.
She twisted out of his reach. “I could have killed you.”
“By all means, kill me.” His smile was anything but concerned as he reached for her. It had been days since they had stolen a private moment.
Not here, she thought. Anywhere but here. “Skanderberg?” she asked, changing the direction of their interaction. Iskander Bey had been one of Murad’s favorite Janissaries, and now he was one of Lada’s favorites. He had been a thorn in the empire’s side for years, using what he had learned from them to keep them at bay.
Lada had studied every account of his fights with the same devotion Mehmed gave to Islam.
Mehmed’s expression closed off. “Yes, my father has declared a new campaign. I will ride with him and command a flank in the siege.”
Lada’s chest welled with excitement. She could prove herself, her men, and…she could go, finally see somewhere else, even if it was not home. “When do we leave?”
Mehmed did not meet her eyes. He leaned down and picked up several of the flowers, carefully avoiding the sharp edges of the broken vase. “I leave this afternoon.”
Lada hurried to the door. “We can be ready within the hour, I—”
Mehmed grabbed her arm, pulling her back. “You are not coming.”