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“Yes,” Nazira said, puncturing Radu’s fantasy. Which was just as well. It was poisonous, dwelling on such things. “Fatima does not— You see, when she was very young, she—” She paused, frowning. “I do not think it is my story to tell.”
“I understand.” He took Nazira’s hand, which felt nothing like Mehmed’s had in his imagination. “I wonder if anyone gets through childhood without being broken. I certainly did not.”
“Oh, I had a wonderful childhood! Our parents died when I was too young to understand it. Kumal made certain that my life was filled with love and joy. And then, when I discovered Fatima shared my feelings, I had even more love and joy. And then, when you married me, even more. I sometimes think I am the most blessed woman in all of creation. I pray God gives me an opportunity to repay all the kindness He has shown me.”
They had entered the city. The buildings rose around them like guests at a party—familiar, all of them, but hiding so much.
Radu squeezed Nazira’s hand. “You have nothing to repay. Your life is filled with the goodness you attract because of your own goodness.”
Nazira laughed, then grew solemn. “I do wish to do more, though. Be more. Maybe, someday…” She looked down, blushing, holding her stomach.
“Are you feeling ill? We have been in the carriage too long.” They had left Bursa earlier than anticipated. They were back in the city a full day before planned. He was heading straight for the foundry to check in on Urbana.
She looked up, blinking rapidly. “Ill? No. No, I am well. Radu, I wondered…” She paused, sucking in her round lips. “Would you join us for a meal, a special family meal, next week?”
The carriage stopped in front of the narrow street leading to the foundry. Radu gave Nazira a quick kiss on the cheek. “Of course. Give my love to Fatima.”
“And give mine to Urbana?”
Radu laughed. “Urbana would not care in the slightest for your love, unless it came with extra supplies of bronze, or a new furnace.”
Though Radu did not like the intense heat of the foundry, he visited as often as he could. And it was a good thing he had come back when he did. Urbana was screaming in Hungarian at several confused workers. Radu jumped in as translator, though he left out most of what she said. He did not think telling the workers that they were “more useless than the rotting carcasses of a thousand dead dogs” would help morale.
Later that afternoon, he leaned against the entrance and watched a small caravan approach. Urbana had told him they were expecting a delivery, but Radu did not anticipate the grizzled woman who showed up with the gunpowder.
She climbed down from her cart, her back arched like a crescent moon. Radu moved to help her, but she waved him away. “I can manage, you young fool.”
A bit stung by her dismissiveness—older women usually loved him—he directed two men to begin unloading the barrels of gunpowder. The woman watched warily. Another cart pulled up behind hers. A man jumped out to aid the unloading process.
“How many, Mother?” he called.
“All of it.” She shook her head. “That ass cannot keep a number greater than three in his head.”
Radu frowned at her lack of maternal softness. She turned her critical eye on him, taking in his robes. He had taken to wearing jewel tones lately, bright and bold colors to combat how he felt on the inside.
“Who put you in charge of so much gunpowder?” she asked.
Radu tried on his best smile, but it slid off his face. It would make no difference with this woman. “We are building the largest cannon in the world. It could take down the walls of Babylon itself.”
The woman snorted. “Nothing quite so useful as an imaginary cannon to defeat a city that no longer exists. I can see all my work and travel has been useless. One of these days I will be asked to do another stupid thing, and I will finally hit my limit on idiocy. I have a husband and three sons, so my limit is very high, but even I cannot bear all things. And on that day, there will be an explosion to take down the walls of every actual city in the world.”
Radu shifted on his feet, wishing the men would hurry up so this horrible woman would leave.
“You are not Turkish,” she said.
Radu shook his head. “Wallachian.”
She nodded, toying with several long white hairs on her chin. “Not a lot of Wallachians in the empire. Too stupid to be useful. But I met a good Wallachian a few years ago. Made an impression on me. I never forgot her.”
With a shock like a cannon burst, Radu tuned in to the woman’s words. “?‘Her’?”
“Mean little bitch.” The woman smiled with tenderness, an emotion that looked out of place on her. “Clever as anyone. It was out in— Where was it? I forget.”
“Amasya,” Radu said softly.
“That was it. You know her?”
“Lada. My sister.”
