Page 19 of Bright We Burn

“In one village. You killed his envoy in response. I think that was more than enough of a message, but you keep stabbing deeper and harder. I am trying to understand why.”

“I do what I do for Wallachia.”

Nicolae smiled ruefully, his face twisting around its old scar. “Do you? Mehmed cares about you. You could leverage that, get him to agree to different terms of vassalage. Lower payments. No boys for his armies. He would do it. You could create the best, most powerful, most stable position for Wallachia in generations.”

“As a vassal state to the Turks!”

“Then so be it!”

Lada burst out of her chair, throwing Nicolae from his own and pinning him to the floor with one forearm pressed against his throat. She bared her teeth, her heavy breaths mingling with his increasingly labored ones. He did not move, did not attempt to push her off.

“I will not be anyone’s vassal,” she hissed. “Wallachia is mine. Mine. Do you understand?”

Nicolae blinked, his dark lashes moving over his brown eyes. Something that had been there longer than his scar, as long as Lada had known him, had disappeared from his gaze. She did not know what it was, had never noticed its presence, only registered it now that it was gone.

“I understand,” Nicolae said, his voice strained.

“Lada?” Daciana asked.

Lada stood and turned her back on Nicolae. Daciana stood in the doorway, hesitantly regarding the scene. She held several bundles in her arms.

“Yes?” Lada demanded.

“Your new clothes. We were going to make certain I cut everything correctly?”

“Very well. You may go, Nicolae. Speak to Bogdan before you leave. He has been scouring the prisons for likely new soldiers.”

She expected Nicolae to argue—he always argued—but he bowed and exited.

Daciana took his place, wordlessly helping Lada disrobe. She was a better seamstress than Oana, whose eyes were not good anymore. So Oana had taken over the kitchens, and Daciana the clothing of Lada. When she had Lada stuck in place while she measured, Daciana finally spoke. “Is there a problem with Nicolae?”

“No.”

“Good. I like him.”

“I did not ask your opinion.”

Daciana made a small noise, looking up at Lada from where she was marking cloth with chalk. The new coat would have a fur collar and cuffs. It was dyed deep red to match Lada’s hat. “Then perhaps you do not want to hear my next opinion, which is that you should be careful not to let Bogdan get you alone any time soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is going to ask you to marry him.”

Lada jerked away in surprise, leaving a long trail of chalk along the hem of her would-be tunic. “What?”

“He talks to me sometimes, after church. This last time he looked around and mentioned how nice it would be to be married there. Asked whether I thought a girl would prefer to be married in that one, or the monastery on Snagov Island. And since I know he was not coyly trying to get my attention, I can safely assume he was thinking of the only woman he realizes exists.”

Lada sat, ruining the shape of the unsewn tunic. “Why can none of the men in my life simply do what I ask them to?”

Daciana gathered up the fallen cloth, then gently unwrapped the rest from around Lada. “Have you asked Bogdan not to be in love with you?” Her tone was teasing.

“I cannot understand what possesses him to be in the first place. Or why he would imagine I am ever going to marry him.”

“He is a little boy.” Daciana set the cloth to the side, then pulled out a comb and began working on Lada’s hair. She was much gentler than Oana had ever been. Lada did not mind it so much when Daciana groomed her. “He sees in you what he wants to see. Be kind when he asks you.”

Lada looked up through her heavy lashes at Daciana and raised an eyebrow.

Daciana laughed. “Well, not kind, then. But do try not to be cruel. He is a fragile soul.”