The bells began ringing an hour before dawn. Radu acted as surprised as everyone, looking up and down the wall as though he, too, suspected the attack was on this side.

As soon as relief came, Radu joined the other men heading to the seawall. Brief flashes of cannon fire illuminated the end of a battle. A small galley burned. Radu’s stomach dropped. But as the galley drifted slowly in the water, its flames revealed one of the big merchant ships half sunk and listing heavily. The merchant ship dragged itself away, flanked by two others.

“What happened?” Radu asked a guard on the wall. “Did they try an attack?”

The man shook his head. “We did. Somehow they knew we were coming, started firing before our ships had gotten close enough to surprise them. They sank one of our small ships.”

Radu could have laughed with relief. Mehmed would know now that Radu still had use. The Italians would not risk another attack on the galleys, not after this. The Golden Horn was effectively neutralized.

Dawn broke, illuminating the remains of the battle. Though several galleys smoked, there were no significant losses on the Ottoman side. Radu saw more masts than should have been in the water though.

And then he realized they were not masts. The wooden poles reaching up to the sky to greet the dawn were stakes. And on each of them, slowly revealed as the light touched them, an Italian sailor was impaled. In the middle, on the highest stake, Radu recognized Coco himself.

On the hill above them, surrounded by Janissaries, a white-turbaned figure in a purple cloak sat on a horse.

Radu could not understand the scene in front of him. The Ottomans had won! They had decisively defeated the sneak attack. There was no reason for this, none, except to torment the city. It felt needless.

It felt … cruel.

Troubled, Radu watched the bodies as though his vigil could bring them peace. Or bring him peace. This seemed less like war and more like murder. And it was all because of him.

A commotion farther down the wall finally drew his attention away from the stakes. He leaned out just in time to see the first battered Ottoman prisoner dropped over the side. A length of rope secured around the prisoner’s neck went taut, and the body swung limply.

Before Radu could shout, another prisoner had been hanged. And then another. And then another. He watched in horror as Ottoman prisoners were dropped like decorations, a tapestry of terror along the wall in response to the brutality across the horn.

Unable to stand it, he ran toward the hanging men. Someone had to end this. These soldiers would be held accountable for such cruelty to prisoners.

He stopped, though, when he saw the line of Ottoman prisoners waiting their turn. They were on their knees, some praying, some weeping, some too bloody and broken to do either. And standing behind them, staring out as tall and still as a pillar directly across from Mehmed, was Constantine.

Radu had been wrong. There were no good men in this city.

And there were no good men outside of it, either.

36

Mid-April

LADA EMERGED FROM her tent to find her fire already lit and a pot of water boiling. She had forced Oana to stay behind to help run their base at Toma’s estate, in part because she trusted Oana to do it well, and in part because she did not want anyone fussing over her wretched hair. Since then, Lada had not woken to a fire.

“What are you doing?” Lada asked Daciana.

Daciana pointed to the pot. “Your options are weak pine tea or weak pine tea. You really need better provisions.”

“You know what I meant.” Lada sat, taking a cup of blisteringly hot pine tea. It was weak, as promised. “I am not riding through the country, charitably adopting all those who want to join my merry band. I am taking men who can fight. Besides, it is important that the land be tended to.”

“Why do you care so much about the land?”

“Because it is mine. I have no desire to be prince of a country with no crops. People need to eat.”

Daciana laughed. “You will be prince, then?”

Lada did not share her mirth. “There is no other title. I will be vaivode, prince of Wallachia. And I will make the land into the country my people deserve.”

Daciana eased herself down, moving awkwardly with her swollen belly. “Very well, then. You take the men for soldiers and you leave the women to plant so that we do not all starve. And what will you do with the boyars?”

As though summoned, a letter from Toma Basarab was delivered at that moment by a smooth-faced boy.

Lada read the letter with a scowl. Nicolae sat next to her, trying to read over her shoulder. “What does he say?”

“He disagrees with my negotiating tactics.” Her temper bubbled hotter than the tea. “And he says he is joining us to make certain I do not negotiate like that with any more boyars.”

She threw the letter to the ground, standing and pacing. “Who is he to tell me what to do? You saw Silviu! You saw his land, what he was doing. Was I not right?”

Nicolae read over the letter with a resigned expression. “I am not saying you were not right. But … perhaps more thought and care should be taken with future boyars.”

“Why?” Daciana said.

“We need them.”

Lada snorted. “We need them? No one needs them. They are maggots, feeding on my land and doing nothing for it!”

Nicolae wore a long-suffering expression. “They are necessary for organization. They collect taxes. They run the farmlands. They muster troops from the men living in their provinces.”

Lada leaned forward. “Tell me, Nicolae. Does it look like they are doing a good job?”

Nicolae smiled. “The roads are impassable with thieves. The fields are fallow or untended. The boyars are fat and wealthy while the people starve. The prince has no military support unless they decide to give it—which they never do. But the fact remains, that is how the country runs. Figure out how to use them better. Control them better. But you cannot get to the throne without them.”

Lada sat in disgust. “Why not?”

“You are already using Toma Basarab. Trust that he knows what he is doing.”

“I do not trust him at all.”

Nicolae rubbed his scar. “Did you think he could just hand you the throne? You need allies. You need the boyars. You cannot skip past them, and to get them, you need him.” Nicolae put an arm around Lada, drawing her close. “Make a deal with the devil until you are both over the bridge.”