Page 80 of Bright We Burn
Radu felt the words as though they had struck him. “Aron is dead?”
“So is Andrei.”
In a daze, Radu stumbled past the Janissary toward the royal chambers. The castle was waking up, various servants moving about unaware that, once again, they were without a prince. Several Janissary guards stood watch outside Aron and Andrei’s apartments. Kiril moved aside to let Radu by. The prince’s body was on the bed. Radu moved as quietly as he could, as though worried that loud footsteps might disturb Aron. If only they could.
Aron was lying on his side, a tiny wound at the back of his neck where someone had slipped in a dagger and severed his spine at the base of the skull. It would have been a quick way to die. From the position of Aron’s body, he had not even woken up.
“Andrei, too?” Radu asked, hushed.
Kiril answered in the same tone. “The same manner. Both in their sleep. The bodies are cool, but only just. It could not have been more than an hour or two ago.”
“And no one saw anything?”
Kiril shook his head.
Radu stared down at Aron’s body. He felt sorry for the other man, but a competing feeling of resentment churned beneath the surface. With Aron murdered in his own bed, in the middle of the castle, in the middle of the capital, how could Radu possibly convince any boyars they would be safe?
And who would be prince now?
* * *
Radu was too overwhelmed to pretend at decorum or tradition. Around the table he had Kiril, Cyprian, and Nazira.
“It was her, right?” Kiril asked.
Radu pulled off his turban. He felt trapped, constrained. “It had to be. Aron and Andrei have no enemies. They did not have enough time to make any. Bulgaria, Moldavia, Hungary, Transylvania—it is in all their best interest that Wallachia is stable and under control. No one would have sent an assassin for them.”
“But why now? Why did she wait this long, doing nothing?” Nazira asked.
Radu shook his head. “I have no idea. Any word from the scouts?”
“A few have returned,” Kiril said. “The rest I fear never will. Simion’s men found bodies in a pit. They did not know who they were, but the clothing suggested boyars. There was some evidence of a large camp, but the trail was cold.”
“The Basarabs,” Radu said. “My guess is Lada found them.”
“So, where do we go from here?”
Radu rubbed the back of his neck where a tension headache was building. He imagined a slender dagger sliding in. How precise, how surgical, how tiny a cut that separated one forever from life. “We need a prince. I do not think the remaining Basarabs have anyone of age, but I will look at the records. What few Danesti are left will likely be wary of coming anywhere near the country. They have all fled to distant relatives. Perhaps there is a good candidate for prince among the—”
“Why are you looking for a prince?” Nazira asked.
“We need someone on the throne.”
Nazira’s look somehow managed to be both hard and pitying at the same time. “Radu, my husband, we have an heir already. One we know is not afraid to come to Tirgoviste, or to face Lada.”
Radu deflated. He had been hoping, pretending there was another option. “I do not want the throne.”
“I know. We have spoken of it. But sometimes for the good of the people, we must do things we do not wish to.”
“They are not my people!” Radu stood, surprised by the force of his declaration. He began pacing the room. “I do not want this. Any of this. I stayed as a favor to the empire. I cannot be prince.”
“You have seen what state the country is in.”
Radu laughed. “Precisely! Putting it back together will be the work of a lifetime.”
“Hard work,” Cyprian said, smiling sadly. “Important work.”
Radu looked at the faces around the table, then collapsed back into his chair. “I want to go home,” he said, knowing he sounded like a child, and not caring.