Lada stared at the barrels in front of her. It had taken them so long to get here, and now that they were, nothing felt the way it should. She was tired of being in control all the time, tired of worrying, tired of waiting. Tired of making hard decisions and wondering if they were the right ones.

“No,” she said. She smiled at her friend. “We should get very, very drunk.”

For the first time since they had arrived, Nicolae’s smile was the same that had greeted her all those long years ago in a Janissary practice ring in Amasya. With Stefan, Petru, Bogdan, and a handful of Lada’s other first Janissaries, they dragged the barrels up to one of the towers. It was the same tower from which Lada, with Radu at her side, had watched Hunyadi ride into the city. That day had heralded the end of her life as she knew it. This one, she hoped, would herald the beginning of her life as she demanded it to be.

Lada cleared her throat, holding a cup full of sour liquid. “I wanted to thank you. You rode with me. You stayed with me. And we won.”

Nicolae cheered, raising his cup high, sloshing wine on Petru’s arm. Petru laughed and licked it off, then hit Nicolae roughly so that even more wine spilled. Stefan almost smiled at her, which made Lada embarrassed at his effusiveness.

Bogdan gave her a heavy, meaningful stare. She raised her cup to cut it off, drinking deeply. She did not know if he knew how she really felt about him, but it was obvious what he felt was more. Longer. Deeper. Truer. That made her feel powerful, and she would not give it up.

The more they drank, the louder they got. Everyone traded stories, most about Lada and some outrageous thing she had done.

“Do you remember when we were outside Sighisoara, the goat I found?” Nicolae asked.

“Yes! That thing was so mean, and its milk was sour. But at least we had milk.”

Nicolae tipped his head back, scar puckered and pulled tight as his cheeks shifted into a delighted smile. “I did not steal it like I told you I did. Well, not exactly like I told you. Though I suppose I did end up stealing it.”

Lada knew he wanted her to demand he tell the real story. Normally she would have avoided asking just to tease him, but she was too warm and happy to pretend. “What really happened?”

“Do you remember the old farmer we ran into earlier that day? The one with the—”

“The long fingernails!” Lada finished, finally remembering. It took a lot to stand out in her memory of that time. But that particular man had had fingernails nearly as long again as his fingers. Each nail was twisted, yellowed, and cracked. He had offered to sell them food, but she could not stop looking at his nails and imagining what something they had touched would taste like. They had ridden on and camped nearby.

“Yes! I ran into him again as I was hunting. He had a goat with him that he had no need of.”

“So he gave it to you?” Petru asked.

Nicolae shook his head, his smile growing even bigger. “He had no need of a goat, but he did have need … of a wife.”

“No,” Lada said, finally seeing where the story was going.

“Yes!” Nicolae doubled over with laughter. “I sold you to him! For a single goat! I told him I would take the goat back to camp and get you ready to be his bride!”

Lada shuddered, imagining being touched by those hands. “If I had known, I would have stabbed you.”

“That is why I never told you. I think of him sometimes, staring forlornly out of his shack, still holding out hope that someday his bride will come.”

“I cannot believe you sold me for a single goat.”

Bogdan huffed indignantly. “Lada is worth all the goats in the world.”

She knew he meant it sweetly, but she really would rather not be valued in terms of goats. “Next story,” she said, throwing her empty cup at Nicolae. He ducked just in time, and it shattered against the stone tower.

Nicolae refilled Bogdan’s cup. “What was she like as a child?”

“Smaller,” Bogdan replied.

Lada laughed until her stomach hurt. “Tell them about the time Radu—” She stopped, cutting herself off. Because saying his name, bringing him into this space, made her realize that she would trade any of these men—her men, her friends—for Radu to be here with her.

Nicolae filled in the space her silence created, recounting the abuse she had hurled at the Janissaries in the woods to distract them from Hunyadi’s forces. But soon they ran out of stories from the past year. When they had finally circled so far back in their history that the stories started taking place in the Ottoman Empire, everyone got quiet.

They had left it behind, but they still brought it with them everywhere. What they had learned. What they had done. What they had lost. Lada knew that was why she kept these men closest. Not because they were better trained, but because they had been hardened in the same fire she had. Only they understood the strange space of hating what a country made them, while being grateful for it at the same time.

Lada looked at the Radu-sized hole next to her. Then she looked up at the stars beginning to shine above them. “We are never going back to the Ottomans,” she said.

“They will come for us,” Bogdan said. “They always do.”

Mehmed would not come. She had made it very clear what she would do if he did. But now, with the softening and dulling of the wine, she doubted her rash declaration. If he came to her, maybe she would not kill him. No one made her feel the way he did. He haunted her dreams. If he came to her, she would make him make her feel those things Bogdan could not manage.

And then she would kill him, if she still wanted to.

“Let them come,” she said. “I will drink their blood and dance on their corpses.”

Petru raised his cup. “I will drink to that!”

Nicolae was staring at the horizon, frowning. “Either I am far, far drunker than I thought I was, or something is wrong with the moon.”

Lada was about to tell him to stop criticizing the poor moon, when she realized he was right. The moon had been almost full the night before. But tonight it rose as a slender crescent, barely there. The rest of the moon was washed darkest red.

“You see that, right?” Nicolae asked.

“It looks like blood,” Petru whispered.

They sat on the tower and watched the moon in silence. Lada wondered what it meant, that the night she chose to herald the beginning of her new life was bathed in the light of a moon stained with blood.