Page 72 of Bright We Burn

He was not sure. Or at least there was no way for him to be sure. But he could not imagine that Lada would die alone and in secret. Or that she could be dead and he would not somehow know. Surely her death would be marked by something. A comet. A great hole opening in the earth. A tempest, a flood, a fire. A force such as Lada could not depart this world without leaving one last mark.

Radu rubbed his forehead. “Regardless, until we discover news of her, we must operate as though an attack is imminent. And if we want to avoid mass starvation in the coming year, we need to plant and rehabilitate the fields as soon as possible. People have started returning to the villages. Any resources not needed for protection should go toward rebuilding.”

Aron smoothed his vest. “I think my brother is right. A show of strength is called for.”

“Thus the forces in the mountains hunting down enemies,” Cyprian muttered in Greek. Radu coughed to cover up his answering laugh.

“This is the way things are done,” Aron said. “It is what my father would have done.”

“Your father is dead, as are many of the boyars.” Radu did not mean for it to be harsh, but Aron flinched. Andrei sat straighter, a protective glare sharpening his eyes. Radu held up his hands in placation. “What I am saying is, my sister has pushed things so far past what they were, we will have to be very careful in how we put them back together. If you had a horse that got free and lived wild for a year, you would not immediately saddle it and expect to safely ride. You would bring it back, feed it, make it feel safe, and remind it why you are a good master. Lada destroyed all the stables. We need to bring everything back to its place before we can expect a return to normalcy.”

“You are the one who told us we need to act like things are normal in order for them to be so!” Aron again smoothed his vest, fixing a button that never seemed to stay fastened. “I am diverting funds for the celebration. I will repay the sultan by adding boys to the Janissary tribute. As vaivode of Wallachia, I do not need your permission.” He held Radu’s gaze firmly. “For anything,” he added.

Radu opened his mouth to argue, then closed it and pasted a smile in place. “Whatever you feel is best. I will release the funds designated to you and then continue my work as directed by the sultan. Please let me know if you require anything further.”

Radu stood, bowed stiffly, and walked from the room. He was followed by Kiril, his other lead men, and Cyprian.

“Aron is a fool,” Cyprian said with a sigh.

Radu did not disagree, and it was disheartening. “I had hoped he would do better. He is pretending like he simply inherited the throne from his father. Everything is different, though. We cannot continue on as things were. And I do not think we should.” As much as Radu had loved training with the Janissaries and valued the men he led, he also thought trading more Wallachian youth in order to throw parties was not the best footing for Aron to start on.

“How many people have come back to the city?” Radu asked Kiril.

“A hundred, perhaps? A few more come every day, but it is a trickle, not a flood.”

Radu shook his head. “And Aron wants to celebrate. We cannot even be sure that some of the citizens are not working with Lada. She may be reviled by the boyars, but we should not underestimate how much she did for the peasants of this country. We will have to work hard to earn their support, or even just their complacency.”

Kiril bid them farewell, and Radu and Cyprian walked alone toward their rooms.

“Do you think Aron is up to the task?” Cyprian asked as they joined Nazira and Fatima.

“I hope so.” Radu could not help the fear that the cycle of bloodshed over the throne of Wallachia would continue indefinitely. Nothing ever changed.

No. Some things changed. Radu looked at his hand, his fingers laced with Cyprian’s. It did not seem possible that those were his fingers, that this was his life. How could something so simple as holding hands with another person feel like a miracle?

As though sensing his thoughts, Cyprian lifted their hands and put his lips against the back of Radu’s hand, then rested his cheek there.

Nazira frowned as she listened to Radu’s report of the situation, not looking up from playing with Fatima’s hair. Fatima lay on the floor with her head in Nazira’s lap. Cyprian and Radu were across from them in the sitting room that connected their two bedrooms. For the first time in his life, the castle felt like home. Not because of the place, but because of the people.

“I cannot believe he thinks a party is the solution. I have hinted very strongly he should focus on preparing marriage offers.” Nazira sighed. “He only asks my advice on clothing styles.”

“You should have heard him,” Cyprian said. “He offers the boyars a dinner party as evidence of his right to be prince.”

Nazira lifted her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “I do not think he is suited to this. He is not the type of leader capable of transitioning a country in so much turmoil.”

“He is the only real choice.” Radu closed his eyes, imagining them all back at home in Edirne, or, better yet, the country estate where Nazira and Fatima usually lived. It felt within grasp. He and Cyprian would marry soon, in the same way Fatima and Nazira had, and then…

And then they would simply be. And it would be enough. More than enough.

“There is another heir far more suited to this work,” Nazira said.

“Andrei worries me as well. I do not think—”

“Not him.” The nagging tone of Nazira’s voice forced Radu’s eyes open. She was giving him a look full of meaning. “The Draculesti line has just as much claim to the throne.”

Radu recoiled. “I do not want this throne. I never have.”

“Which is why you are the right person.” Nazira’s gaze was intense with the confident assurance that carried her through life. “Not because you feel like it is owed you. You would take the throne as a true servant to your people. The prince they both desperately need and deserve. Not a violent warlord, and not a spineless noble. An actual prince.”

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