Page 53 of Bright We Burn
Lada’s smile deepened and darkened. “You have no idea what is coming.”
“Are you certain about that?”
Unease crept into Lada’s face. Her deep-set, hooded eyes narrowed, and her full lips pressed together. Radu had a shameful thrill that she now respected him enough to question herself. He would have given anything for a moment like this as a child, even more for a moment where she looked on him with pride for besting her. But he would never get that.
“Enough,” Mehmed said. “I am taking you prisoner.” His face was etched with anger, something cold and hard growing beneath the softness of his cheeks. “I should kill you right here for this.”
Lada tilted her head, gazing up at him through her thick lashes. “You really should.” She gave him a banal, blank smile as though she were the woman she should have been, a woman like their mother. “Make Radu do it.”
Radu balked, stepping back. He glanced at Mehmed, seized with a sudden fear that Mehmed might be angry enough to demand that. But his friend shook his head. “I would never ask that of him.”
Lada’s smile turned coy. Radu saw a hint of himself there, as though she were imitating him. “You would, if you thought it was your best option. Do not pretend to put his feelings ahead of your own. You never have. You cannot.”
“Just as you cannot release your insane fixation on this country!” Mehmed took a deep breath, trying to get his anger under control. The men around them shifted uncomfortably. This was not the aloof, self-possessed sultan they were used to serving under. “I offered you the throne.”
“You offered me nothing I do not already have.” Her upper lip curled in defiance, returning her to the Lada that Radu knew. “And you have given me nothing I cannot find elsewhere with far less hassle and far more pleasure.”
Mehmed’s eyes widened in shock and hurt. Then he shifted from Mehmed to sultan with a lift of his chin and a firming of his jaw. “Bind her and take her to the wagons. We will make quick work of the rest of this campaign while she is sent ahead to Constantinople.”
Lada smiled at Radu, showing all her sharp little teeth. “Tell the Danesti boyars their kind does not live long in my Wallachia.”
Radu wanted this to be over. He wanted to sleep. He knew he would not be able to, not tonight. He would change his plans and request to escort Lada back to Constantinople. Knowing her, she would goad the guards into killing her. She would never admit it or even realize it, but she needed his protection now. He would see her to prison—safe, at last, once and for all—and then he would be finished. “Lada, I am—”
“How long would you say I have been in here?” she asked, her expression thoughtful.
Radu gestured for the Janissaries to take her. “Be careful.”
“We will not hurt her,” Kiril said, nodding respectfully.
Lada widened her stance and bent her knees. “That is not what he is afraid of.”
“I—” A deafening explosion rocked through camp, cutting Radu off. The tent shook, several panels detaching from their stakes and blowing inward. Radu ducked, covering his head as the chandelier came crashing to the ground. By the time he straightened, the two Janissaries closest to Lada were already dead.
“Protect the sultan!” he shouted, pushing Kiril toward Mehmed instead of toward the fight with Lada. “All of you, around the sultan!”
Radu drew his sword. Lada paused, two bloody daggers in her hands, three bodies on the floor. The other Janissaries had rushed Mehmed out of the tent.
“Will you really fight me?” she asked, pointing one red blade at his sword. Then she ran right for him. Radu twisted to the side, holding his sword to block her blades, not to strike her.
She stopped just short of him, giving Radu a look that made him feel like the child he had been, crying himself to sleep at night and never measuring up. “I thought not,” she said. Then she darted out of the tent and into the night.
Radu dropped to his knees, hanging his head. He had a sword to her daggers. He could have won. Again, he had had a chance to end things. Again, he had not made the choice Lada or Mehmed would have in his place. How many lives would pay the price this time?
Struggling to his feet, he followed Lada into the burning night.
One Day South of Tirgoviste
LADA KNEW IT WOULD be impossible to find Mehmed in the dark and the chaos. Though there was significantly less chaos than she had been counting on. Nearly all Mehmed’s men were staying in their tents rather than rushing out into the fight. It made things harder. She should have known better than to count on a lack of discipline in Mehmed’s men, though. He always controlled everything. Why would his men be any different?
The gunpowder stores had already been attacked—the explosion was good timing, too, as it allowed her to escape. She knew she would find a large group of her men attacking the pack animals and wagons. There were five thousand already here or on their way, every soul she could muster streaming out of the hills and attacking from the darkness. She heard their shouts, their music playing, using the Janissary’s own tactics against them. As soon as there was enough chaos in camp, Lada would send up the signal for the rest of her troops in the hills to attack. Five thousand more. It was only ten thousand against fifty thousand, but it could work. If everything fell into place, Wallachia could defeat the most powerful army in the world.
She could beat Mehmed.
Of course, things were already off schedule. The biggest tipping point into mayhem and despair was supposed to be the death of their sultan and leader. She had not accomplished that. She ground her teeth in frustration. Radu had beaten her.
Then again…
“The sultan is dead!” Lada grabbed a torch and set the nearest tent on fire. “The sultan has been murdered!” She continued thus, running through camp screaming about the death of the sultan while ensuring as many men as possible could not stay in their tents.