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The soldiers instructed them to wait on a gilded bench outside two massive copper doors. Then they left.
Radu sank onto the bench, wiping his hands over his eyes in relief. “If they are leaving us here, you might live after all.”
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make people talk to you. Is it because you are a boy?”
Radu knew she envied him his ability to persuade people to trust him. She looked sharp, contrary, and sly. Hers was the face of a fox raiding the livestock. Radu’s was the face of an angel. But it hurt Radu that she thought it was a trick. Did anyone ever truly like him, or was she right? Did his face and tongue merely fool them into thinking they did?
Radu gazed at the gilded ceiling in exasperation. “People respond to kindness, Lada. They trust a smile more than a promise that you will leave them choking on their own blood.”
Lada snorted. “Yes, but my promise is more sincere than your smiles.”
She was right, of course. It had been a lifetime since his smile felt like anything more than a desperate and false ploy. He sniffed, trying to keep the mood light, keep his sister calm. “But no one knows that.”
“Someday they will, Radu. Someday they will.”
They both startled as the door beside them opened. The gaunt man swept into the hall, his robes a bland brown, oddly austere for the court. Even his turban looked functional rather than ornate. He considered them both with a penetrating stare magnified by his spectacles. Radu had never seen any like them. The glass pieces were perfectly cut and polished, balanced on the bridge of the man’s nose by a thin length of metal that connected the two pieces and fitted to his face.
“You may go in,” he said, gesturing to the door behind him, then leaving.
Radu and Lada entered. These apartments were to their sparsely furnished rooms what Edirne was to Tirgoviste. The ceiling soared overhead, painted in bold, clear blues with gold script swirling around the edges. Chandeliers hung down, glowing even during the day. The windows, taller than Radu, were peaked at the top and framed by scrolling metal lattices. Silk in blues, reds, and purples—the colors of wealth—draped everything. The floor beneath them shined so clearly that Radu could see his face in it. A fountain of water bubbled in the middle of the room, and the walls were lined with low cushioned benches. Sitting near the fountain on one of a dozen lush pillows was the boy.
He clapped delightedly and stood. “Here you are!”
“Where are we?” Lada asked.
“In my chambers!”
“And who are you, to earn such esteem from the devil?”
Radu elbowed her. The boy’s smile turned wicked. “Why, I am the son of the devil himself. Mehmed the Second, son of Murad.”
“God’s wounds,” Radu gasped, clutching at his stomach. He swept into a deep bow. He had hoped to see the boy again, had thought of him often since their meeting, imagining what friends they would be. And now this. Lada had threatened him, had insulted his father, and would doubtless continue to do both. Radu’s fear was replaced with weary resignation. Lada would be the death of him, and that death would be swift and soon.
“I had you brought here.” Mehmed waved an arm dismissively. Radu peered up through his lashes, where he could see another massive room behind this one and several doors.
“Yes, congratulations,” Lada said. She had not moved since finding out they were in the chambers of the sultan’s son. There was no indication of respect, no deference in her wide-legged stance. “But why are we here?”
“Because I hate Halil Pasha, and I hate my cousin.”
Lada shook her head in exasperation. “And who is your cousin?”
Radu flinched at her tone. He straightened. No point in continuing to bow if Lada was going to get them both killed.
“Why, your beloved, of course! The man whose tongue you are going to cut out and devour.” Mehmed collapsed back onto a velvet pillow as large as a horse, overcome with laughter. “I thought he would piss himself, he was so humiliated! By a girl! Oh, he is a loathsome, foul man. I have never been so delighted as I was today.”
“I thought Lada would be punished.” Radu took a hopeful step forward.
Mehmed shook his head, putting his feet up on another pillow. “No. I requested that she—and you, too, I suppose—be brought to me. I am being sent back to Amasya to govern. I suspect it is more to get me away from here, because my father has no use for me, and my mentor, Molla Gurani—he is the one who sent you in—does not get along with Halil Pasha.”
Lada tapped her foot impatiently. Radu pinched her, and she slapped his hand away.
Mehmed snapped his fingers. “Yes! The reason you are here. I have requested that you come with me to Amasya as my companions.”
Lada sat on a pillow nearest the door and sighed. “So I am being punished.”
