It was agony.
All her men picked up on the change in her demeanor, but none could account for it. Nicolae in particular seemed nervous, and Lada feared he had received word of Mehmed’s demise in his own letter, or that he suspected she would flee.
While she glared at the sun, willing it to set faster so she could escape, Nicolae put a tentative hand on her shoulder. The other Janissaries had left for a meal. She had not noticed him staying. “We can talk,” he said, voice strained. “About what is bothering you.”
She turned to him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why would you think something is bothering me?”
“This last week, you have been…”
“What?” What had he noticed? Had he told the other men? She did not know whom she could trust, and the fewer people who knew of her plans, the better.
He shrugged. “You nearly broke Petru’s arm sparring. And then you missed yesterday’s training entirely. You either fail to respond to what we say, or you snap so sharply it wounds. I am sorry. I thought— I did not realize you were serious.” He shifted on his feet, tugging at his collar. “If you want, I mean, if it is important to you, I— We could try kissing.”
Lada stared at him in disbelief. Then, the strain of the last week being too much, she threw her head back and laughed. It bubbled out of her like a mountain stream from dry rock, cascading from her lips in a cold, unstoppable rush. She laughed so hard she fell to the ground, clutching her stomach, which soon began to ache.
Nicolae nudged her with his foot, scowling. “This is the most offensive rejection to an offer of romance I have ever received. And that is saying something, as I have had many rejections.”
“You idiot,” she gasped. “You tremendous, arrogant ass. You thought I would be so distraught over you?”
He sat beside her. “Yes, right. While I still have some dignity, can you tell me what is really wrong?”
She sighed, wiping beneath her eyes where tears had leaked from them, and sat up so their shoulders were touching. She knew Nicolae. She could trust him. “I am leaving.” With a grimace, she added, “Running away.”
“Why?”
“Radu wrote from the siege. Mehmed is—was—sick.” She swallowed the pain that built like a cancer in her throat, but it would not move. The letter, folded and tucked into her chemise, sat right beneath the pouch around her neck and poked into the skin above her heart. “Dying. Or already dead. He is the only reason I have any freedom or power. If he is gone, I will lose this.” She gestured at the practice ring, toward the small building she had been allowed to claim as private barracks. “Murad loves Radu but still wants me dead, and no one will stop him. No one will care. So I am leaving.”
“God’s wounds, it is about time.”
Lada turned to him, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“I only marvel that it took you this long to decide to run away! I always wondered what was keeping you when clearly you had the intelligence and ability to escape years ago.”
“I—I could not have. If I could have, I would have!”
Nicolae lifted his eyebrows, scar wrinkling across his forehead. “You have had access to money and horses. You can hunt, you can track, you can fight. With a little planning, you could have been across the border and on your way home at any time.”
Lada leaned back against the wall, mind churning. He was right. There was nothing that made now different from any time in the last two or three years. Except…
Mehmed.
She had stayed because he gave her a reason to.
“I have no home to return to,” she said, avoiding Nicolae’s gaze lest she see the truth reflected back at her. “Our father betrayed and abandoned Radu and me, twice. Once when he left us here, and once when he signed our death warrants by breaking his treaty. He was—” She closed her eyes, sick with remembering how she had looked up to him, how she had craved his approval. “He was never a great man, and now I know that. If I return to him, he will find some other way to barter me for scraps of power to be squandered.” It was true. If she went home to Wallachia, she would be married off before she could show her father she had grown into so much more than he could have dreamed.
“Then we go somewhere else.”
Lada opened her eyes, looked at Nicolae. “We?”
“This place was no fun before you got here, and it will be even less so in your absence. I told you I meant it—I will go with you to the ends of the earth. Though I would prefer the ends to be closer rather than farther, as riding makes me quite sore in a very treasured spot.”
“I cannot ask you to come.”
“You cannot ask me to stay.”
“You have a position here. Money. Value.”
“I am a salaried slave. We both know it.”
Lada nodded, relief warming her like a hearth in wintertime. It would be good to have Nicolae with her.
“You should ask the other men,” Nicolae said.
She shook her head. “The more we take, the greater the odds of discovery. I will not risk their lives. And I doubt they will come.”
“I think you would be surprised. You chose well.”
“I will consider it. We have two days. Prepare what you need to.”
He stood, offering a hand to help her up, then kept his hand clasped tightly with hers. “To the ends of the earth,” he said.
“To the ends of the earth.” With a tight smile, she turned to leave.
“And, Lada? I am sorry about Mehmed. I know what he was to you.”
She missed a step, nearly stumbling. “That is strange,” she said, eyes burning. “Because I do not think I know.” All she had was how she felt, and that was such a mixture of anger, bitterness, jealousy, desire, and affection that she knew she would never untangle it to see what was at the center.
She went to her old room in the fortress to see if there was anything worth taking. It was as she had left it, untouched, a layer of dust over everything. Empty. An empty past, an empty future, and no one left to care about her in either.
“The devil take you, Mehmed!” she screamed, filled with sorrow poisoned by rage. This was his fault. She had stayed for him, had let him lull her into feeling like she had security, safety, a future. But, as always, she was at the mercy of the men in her life. And, just like her father, Mehmed had abandoned her.
“And where is the devil to take me?”
Lada whirled around, heart racing. Mehmed leaned in the doorway, mirth twisting the new form the siege had carved his weary face into. He looked haggard, his cheeks stubbled, dark circles beneath his eyes showing weeks of poor sleep. He crossed the room to her, arms open.
“You died!” She pushed him away, staring at his face. He was changed, but it was him. Alive. Healthy.
“Did I? That is disappointing. I was very much looking forward to being alive for our reunion. Though I feared you would kill me.”
She pulled him close, letting him hold her, shaking in disbelief over her miracle. “I had a letter. It said…I thought you were dead.” She dug the letter free and held it out. Frowning, Mehmed took it. The line between his brows deepened.
She loved that line. She had thought it lost forever. Relief and joy warred with anger. Because when he was gone, she had been left with nothing. She could no longer pretend that she had a life of her own here. But now he was back. And it left her…confused.
“This is not Radu’s writing, but the signature is his. Whoever wrote this, it was not him. Someone wanted you to leave.” Mehmed frowned at the letter as though it would reveal its secrets. “Who would wish this?”
For a few dark moments—the darkest of her life, even worse than thinking Mehmed dead—Lada wondered if Radu had been behind it, after all. She had what he wanted. It would have been a perfect way to get rid of her without killing her.