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Mehmed’s black eyes gone permanently dark.
Lada knew no one would ever look at her the way he had. If she lost that…
“Either they are already in the room and we are too late,” she said, gasping for breath, “or they have not yet reached his apartments and we can still stop them. Here.” She shoved open a secret door that led to the grand hall outside Mehmed’s apartments. “Secure his door!” She did not wait for Nicolae or Bogdan to agree before ducking back into the hallway and running for the entrance to Mehmed’s rooms. If he was dead, she had to know. She had to make them pay. She slammed her shoulder into a door hidden behind a tapestry in one of Mehmed’s sitting rooms. Then she ran through, ripping the tapestry free from its hanging rod.
Mehmed stood, mouth open in shock.
Radu was barely visible in the next room, a tall, lean Janissary’s hand on his arm and the man’s mouth next to his ear. No one was panicking, no one was dead.
And Ilyas, not Kazanci Dogan, was standing beside Mehmed.
Lada slumped against the wall, relief robbing her of the fire that had chased her here. Other than the door that connected them to the hall containing Radu and the Janissary, the only other entrances to the sitting room were the one she had come through and the balcony. They would need to move to a more secure location. She closed the hidden door, barring it with the tapestry rod.
“What is this about?” Mehmed asked, incredulous.
“Revolt. Janissaries. I thought—I feared it was a distraction. That they were trying to assassinate you.”
“God’s wounds,” Ilyas said, but he did not sound shocked. He sounded tired. He walked over and nodded to the Janissary with Radu before closing and locking the heavy door to the sitting room.
Lada crossed over to it, shaking her head. “We should move to a more defensible room. One without a balcony. Someone could climb in, or jump over from Mehmed’s bedroom balcony.”
Ilyas sighed, pulled out a dagger, and slid it into Lada’s side.
“THE JANISSARIES ARE REVOLTING?” Radu asked, shock robbing him of coherent thought.
“It would seem so.” Lazar’s voice was bright, his eyes darting to the locked door between them and Mehmed.
“But we are raising their pay!”
Lazar raised an eyebrow. “We?”
Radu shook his head. “Mehmed. He met with Kazanci Dogan before Murad died. It was all arranged.” It made no sense for the Janissaries to revolt now. They were being paid more than ever before. What had Radu missed? How had he failed to anticipate this move by Halil Pasha?
“Doubtless it will work itself out.” Lazar licked his lips, then startled as banging echoed down the hall from the palace entrance to Mehmed’s apartments.
“Is that Petru?” Radu stepped toward the door. Ilyas had sent Petru and Matei to the outer hall so he could discuss confidential plans with Mehmed. “Why is the outer door barred?”
“Ilyas must have locked it after they left. Smart. Safer that way.” Lazar bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, gaze flitting between the two locked doors like a moth against a lamp’s glass. “Maybe we should check Mehmed’s chambers. Look out over the balcony to see what is going on in the city.”
There was more banging, louder now and accompanied by shouts. Panic seized Radu. “Do you think the revolt has made its way here? What should we do?”
“Help will arrive soon.” Lazar took Radu’s elbow, pulling him toward the other end of the apartments. “We really need to check Mehmed’s bedroom.”
“That sounds like Nicolae shouting. We should let them in.”
“No! If the fighting has gotten to us, they need to defend the door. We should position ourselves in Mehmed’s bedroom in case someone tries to come in that way.”
“Stop.” Radu pulled his arm free. “We need to think this through. We should get Mehmed to a better location. The room they are in has a balcony, too. It is not safe, and only Lada and Ilyas are in there with him.”
The pounding turned into rhythmic slamming. Someone was trying to break down the door. Radu could still hear Nicolae shouting. It made no sense. If they had been overpowered, he would be dead, not shouting.
In the sitting room, Lada shrieked with rage and pain, the wall shaking as something smashed against it.
Mehmed.
Radu ran to the door, wrenching at it, but to no avail.
“Help me!” he said, casting about for some tool to unlock it. The hall was filled with plush furniture, everything padded and soft. There were no utensils, no pens, nothing that was not gold and delicate. Radu had a knife in his belt, but it was too thick to jam into the keyhole.
