Maybe it had. Maybe Wallachia loved his sister as much as she loved it.
But she made the same mistake everyone who went against Mehmed did. Because it did not matter how clever they were. Mehmed had the money, the men, and the weaponry to be cleverer. All they had to do was sit here, safe behind the cover of rock and trees, and fire cannonball after cannonball at his sister’s fortress. Ten years ago, this attack would have been impossible. But Lada had not been at Constantinople. Had not seen an artillery designed by the deadly genius of Urbana.
A dozen men were making the trip back down to bring up even more cannonballs and gunpowder. Radu had several hundred more who would set up a position at the base of the peak once the bombardment began and the element of surprise was past.
Eventually the fortress would fall. Lada’s men could not run without being picked off—just as Radu’s men could not have attacked on foot without being picked off. The fortress’s strengths were also its greatest weaknesses.
Just like the girl who built it.
“We watch and wait. We need to be certain she is there,” Radu whispered. But he knew. Just as he had felt that she was not dead, he could feel her, heavier and darker than the night. She was there.
His men dispersed silently into the trees, the cannons covered with foliage so nothing could be seen. Radu lay on his stomach, only his head peering over the side of a large boulder on the edge of his mountain. Beneath him, only darkness.
Cyprian joined him, and they waited to see what the dawn would reveal.
“If she is there,” Cyprian said, but then he paused, shifting to lie on his back and look straight up. Radu imitated him. In the silence and the night it was easy to pretend it was only the two of them. That they were not surrounded by men and machines made for killing. That his sister was not asleep only a small chasm away.
That last fact was harder to ignore. Lada was stubborn that way, always claiming space that did not belong to her, whether in reality or in Radu’s mind.
“If she is there,” Cyprian began again, “what will you do?”
“What I have to.”
“And what do you have to do?”
Radu closed his eyes, the blackness behind his lids offering no more comfort than the night. “What she would do. What Mehmed would do. I have tried so hard to escape this, but my path was always leading here. I took every turn I could. I found faith and God. I found a new home and country, even new tongues and a new name. But I cannot escape becoming a Dracul. The cruelty, the willingness to destroy everything else in pursuit of a goal. I know what she would do. I know what I need to do. But I do not want to do it.”
Radu felt Cyprian’s long fingers reach for his, felt them link together. Felt the way they fit as though they were always meant for each other.
Cyprian lifted Radu’s hand and pressed it to his lips. “Lada and Mehmed can only move forward. They have one path and cannot branch from it. But you underestimate yourself. You are not your sister, nor should you be. You have always had strengths she did not. If you want to go back down this mountain tonight and leave Wallachia forever, I will be at your side. And if you decide that killing your sister is the right decision, I will be at your side. But do not do something because she would, or because Mehmed would.”
“But they were capable of greatness. Destined for it, even.”
“Then do not aim for greatness. Aim for goodness. And however you get there will be the right path for you, my sweet Radu.”
Radu felt warm tears track down his face. How could he find good in all of this? “She will never stop. She cannot. I cannot think of any way to save her and Wallachia.”
“You survived a cruel childhood. You built a safe space for your heart and your soul. You navigated an enemy court and made it your own. You rose to power when you should have been a captive. You made friends with the most powerful man of our age. You went into an enemy city and helped turn the tide for your people—and managed to show tremendous mercy at the same time. If anyone can figure out a way, Radu, it is you.”
At dawn, Radu prayed.
There were men in the fortress. They were small and insignificant from this distance, milling idly about. They had no idea they were being watched.
Radu had been right, had known they would find her here. Lada walked out onto the fortress wall and leaned over the edge. At her side was Bogdan. Though the distance was great, Radu would recognize that block of a man anywhere. He recognized none of the other men, a few of whom stood with Lada and Bogdan.
Bogdan tried to take Lada’s hands, but she batted his away.
Radu knelt and reached for a longbow. Nocking an arrow onto the string, he breathed out, looking down the length of the shaft to his sister. He had always been a better shot than she was. It was the only physical thing he could beat her at.
Everything else about her had always been stronger. Including her heart.
Radu would break it. He took a deep breath, and aimed.
45
Poenari Fortress
LADA SLAPPED BOGDAN’S hand away as he once again reached for hers. “We are getting married. You are not a child walking too close to the riverbank. I hardly think you need me to hold your hand.”
Bogdan smiled, joy softening his blocky features and turning him back into the boy she had shared a childhood with. “Do you remember when you told my mother that I was your brother, and Radu a worm? Now I will be your husband. This is where we married the first time, too.”
Lada rolled her eyes, but she remembered. And though she did not feel the joy Bogdan so evidently did, it still felt right. She had always wanted Bogdan at her side. It was a renewing of that bond made in blood during their childhood.
A renewing of her bond both to Bogdan and her country. She had not done enough yet. Had not pushed hard enough or far enough. But she would. And Bogdan would support every step, as he always had.
The crooked, gray priest from the village continued his part as though they were not talking over him. Lada wore chain mail and a tunic embroidered with her crest. She had left the red cloth in her hair. The old woman had worn it at her own wedding. It felt nice to honor her. It also felt disloyal, because the woman Lada should actually honor had been left behind in Hunedoara. Would Oana be happy about this official union? Lada hoped so.
The priest asked Bogdan a question. Lada was not paying much attention. She felt a flutter of nerves in her lower stomach. It made no sense. She was not nervous. She did not care enough about this ceremony to be worried or fearful.
The flutter came again. It was something new. Something foreign.
Lada put her hand on her stomach and looked up at Bogdan in horror. He was staring solemnly at the priest.
“Bogdan,” Lada hissed.
He turned toward her, holding out his hands again. She reached up to take them, needing an anchor, needing something to hold on to against the sick dread that had opened like a pit inside of her. She needed her nurse. She needed Daciana.
But all she had now was Bogdan.
Concern erased his happiness like a cloud passing over the sun. “Oh,” he said, frowning at the arrow that had appeared, embedded deep in his side.
He looked back up at Lada, then lurched heavily toward the wall. Lada reached out for him, but she was too late. His weight and momentum tipped him over the edge.
Lada watched as Bogdan spun through the air before finally hitting stone, bouncing with a thick snap off and down the steep cliff face toward the river far beneath. His limbs moved without resistance, Bogdan already reduced to a mere body.
Bogdan was gone. And this time there would be no miraculous reunion, no finding each other again after years of separation. Bogdan was gone. Bogdan was not allowed to be gone. Bogdan could not be gone. He belonged to her.
Lada stared at where he had fallen. Around her men shouted, and someone tugged on her arm. If an arrow had found Bogdan, an arrow could find her, too. She looked up, searching the mountain opposite them.