Once they were on the roof, Radu jammed his sword into the trapdoor’s hinges. It would not hold against any serious attempt to break through, but he doubted that men looking for the spoils of war would think to check the roof of a cathedral.
He led the boys away from the edge, where they could be seen from the street—and where they could see what was happening. John and Manuel, at least, had been spared those memories so far. Radu would keep it that way. They found a sheltered area and sat together. One heir huddled against each of Radu’s sides, with Amal curled by his legs.
“Thank you for saving us,” John said, trembling.
Radu looked up to heaven and closed his eyes, because he could not accept those thanks. He had not saved them. He had no way to get them out, no way to leave the city unnoticed. All he had done was delay the inevitable.
But unlike him, they were innocent. And so he would keep them safe for as long as he was breathing.
And he prayed that, somewhere out there, Cyprian would do the same for Nazira.
48
Late May
IN THE WEEKS after her ascension, Lada spent as much time as possible outside. They were waiting for the end of May, when all the Danesti boyars had been invited to a feast. Anticipating it was a burden. Toma had taken over most of the planning, for which she was both grateful and annoyed. She knew she needed the boyars’ permanent support if she was to keep her throne, but she did not know how to get it. If only she had Radu.
Radu.
She had received word that the siege against Constantinople was in progress. Where was he? Was he safe? Of all the things she held against Mehmed, jeopardizing Radu’s safety was the greatest. If Radu was hurt, she would never forgive Mehmed. Radu was not an acceptable sacrifice, not for any city.
Though Lada herself had sacrificed her relationship with him to come here. Wallachia was different, though. Wallachia was hers. It was bigger and more important than any city. Besides, she had not put Radu directly in harm’s way. Other than leaving him with a man he loved who would never love him back. Who would willingly send Radu into danger, never seeing that Radu would give up anything and everything for what Mehmed could never return.
If Radu had been harmed, she would avenge him. She would kill Mehmed. Thinking about that made her feel slightly better. She spent nearly as much time dreaming of killing Mehmed as she did of doing … other things to him.
But she needed Radu. She still did not know what to do with the boyars. There were some already in Tirgoviste. The ones who had supported her had come to pay their respects, but she suspected all the payments were forgeries, imitations of actual respect.
She often rode in the poorer parts of the city. Always she had men with her—the ones she knew, the ones she trusted. Bogdan and Nicolae. Petru. Stefan, if he could be found, and others of her old Janissaries when needed. She told herself it was because the Wallachian men who had joined her were not as well trained, but the truth was she still felt more at home among Janissaries than Wallachians. That preference filled her with gnawing guilt, but she reassured herself that it was because all her Janissaries had been Wallachian first. Just like her.
On this trip into the city, they stopped at a well to get a drink. Lada had noticed that none of the wells in the city had cups or ladles. Many of them did not even have buckets for drawing up water. Her bag clinked metallically at her side.
“Why is there no cup here?” Lada asked, projecting her voice.
A tiny girl, whose curiosity won out over others’ wariness, sidled closer. “No cups, Prince.” She smiled shyly around the title, obviously delighted to address a girl that way. “People always take them.”
Lada frowned. “You cannot even keep a cup here for the good of the people?”
The little girl shook her head. Lada knew all this. She had counted on it. Turning to the men with her, she continued talking, loud enough for the people lingering on the edges to hear. “Interview everyone. Discover any thieves. People cannot prosper if they cannot so much as get a drink without fearing theft.”
“And when we find them?” Bogdan asked.
Lada jerked her head toward the castle. “Then they can go in the courtyard and join the soldier who represents dishonesty and the imposter prince who represents theft.” There had been a steady parade of citizens come to gawk at the impaled bodies. Lada knew word of the prince’s fate and the soldier’s punishment had spread through all Tirgoviste. It had been the right thing to do.
She pushed the soldier’s face from her mind. It mingled now with Mircea’s rotting, dirt-covered face, staring at her in accusation.
She was doing the right thing.
“That seems a bit harsh,” Nicolae said, his voice soft. He moved closer so no one could hear him. “These people are poor. They have nothing.”
Lada raised an eyebrow. “They have me now. And they should know that things are changing.” She reached into her bag, pulling out one of ten silver cups. The treasury at the castle was as sparse and depressing as everything else in this city. But she had no need for fine things. Out here they served a purpose.
They had attracted quite a crowd, people come to look at their new prince and whisper of her ascension and promises. Lada held the cup in the air. “This is from my treasury. My wealth is your wealth. I give you a cup for your well.” The people gasped, murmurs of curiosity—and derision—rippling through them. Lada smiled. “This cup belongs to everyone. It is everyone’s responsibility. I will not tolerate theft in my land, nor anyone who supports theft.”
The grumbling grew louder. Lada held up a hand to silence it. “Theft cannot flourish in a country that cuts it out with swift and sharp vengeance. Thieves prosper among you because you allow it, which makes you complicit. I am tired of seeing Wallachia weak. We are better than that. Together, we are stronger than anything. We are stronger than anyone.”
There was more nodding than grumbling now. Lada smiled bigger. “This cup stays at this well.” She handed it down to the little girl, who took it reverently. “It is everyone’s responsibility to ensure it remains safe to serve your community.” Lada’s smile turned sharp and cold as steel. “I will come back to check on it. I expect it to be here the next time I want a drink.”
There was no denying the threat in her words or her eyes. She saw it settle on the people. Some met it with fear. Some stood straighter, nodding, her own fierceness catching in their eyes.
As they rode away, Nicolae leaned close once more. “That was … dramatic.”
Lada turned to him, exasperated. “Say what you mean, Nicolae.”
“You know that cup will be stolen.”
“No, it will not.”
“What will you do if it is?”
“Make an example.”
Nicolae scowled, his scar puckering where it separated his eyebrows. “You cannot fix a whole country in a few days, Lada. It will take time.”
“Have you seen how long the average reign of a prince is? We have no time. I have to change things now.”
“If you are so certain we have no time, why bother? Someone else will come and undo everything you have done.”
Lada shook her head, tightening her grasp on the reins. She thought of Mehmed, all his careful planning. He had taken power and immediately made sure his empire was streamlined, efficient, and safe. He knew everything had to be settled at home before he could look outward.
Lada did not want to look outward. But she had to have safety and security here before she could hope to defend Wallachia—and her throne. If she could make the country stable for the common people, they would be hers. She did not understand the subtlety and machinations of the boyars. She did understand swift, assured justice. Her people would, too.
“Everything has to change now so that I do have time. We cannot go on as we always have. And the only way I know to shift our course is through severely fulfilled promises.” She closed her eyes, remembering all her lessons at the hands of her early Ottoman tutors. The head gardener. The prisons. The corpses hung for everyone to see their crimes and learn from their punishments. If that was how her country would move toward prosperity, then so be it.
Mercy and patience were not options, not for her. The blood of a few would water the land for the bounty of many. Some lives are worth more than others, she thought. How many lives until the balance tips out of our favor? Radu whispered back.