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Did Mehmed know the rumors and Radu’s true feelings, and had he sent Radu here to end both of them?
Radu collapsed into bed next to Nazira. He had spent a long day helping repair the walls. The irony of being sent behind the walls to undermine them while physically repairing them was not lost on Radu’s aching muscles.
Sighing heavily, he put an arm over his face. “You first.”
Nazira shoved him onto his stomach, then began kneading the muscles in his back. Radu sank deeper into the uneven mattress, not caring about the feather spines that jabbed into him. Simple human contact with someone who cared about him did more healing than Nazira’s small hands ever could. He realized how little
anyone had actually touched him over the last few years. Lada had never been physically affectionate, unless he counted her fists. Lazar had frequently accidentally touched him, but Radu tried his best not to think about his dead friend. He could remember every moment of physical contact with Mehmed, but each was too short, too formal, never enough.
And then there had been the horrible kiss with Halil’s son, Salih, a kiss that still filled Radu with self-loathing for how much he had liked being wanted, even when he did not return the feeling.
So this friendly intimacy with Nazira had its benefits. Of course, the downside to being married was that they were given the same room, and same bed, to share. Sometimes Radu woke up from dreams—aching, desperate dreams in which his mind somehow knew the sensations his actual body had yet to experience—in a state he really did not want Nazira to witness. Frequently, in spite of his exhaustion, he could not fall asleep for fear of what he might dream about while lying next to her.
Nazira worked on a tender knot and Radu grimaced. “Let me think of what I heard today,” she said. “Mehmed is the Antichrist.”
“Yes, I heard that one, too.”
“Did you hear about the child who dreamed that the angel guarding the city walls abandoned his post?”
“No, that is a new one. I heard about a fisherman who drew up oysters that dripped blood.”
“Good thing I never cared for oysters. And fish! So much fish in this city. If I never eat fish again when we leave, I will be happy. What else. Hmm. Oh! Helen, one of my new friends, is very bitter. Apparently the first emperor of the city was Constantine, son of Helen. And now this emperor is Constantine, son of Helen, which means the circle of history is closing and the city is doomed. It also means the name Helen is deeply unpopular, and she is taking it quite personally.”
“Why are you friends with her?”
“She is currently entertaining one of the Venetian ship captains, a man named Coco. She talks about him constantly.”
“Well done,” Radu said, wincing as Nazira hit another particularly sore area of his shoulders. “Word from the walls is that with the relic of the true cross in the city, it cannot be taken by the Antichrist. On the other hand, they do not like the patterns of birds flying in the skies. However, Mary herself is protecting the city. Unfortunately, someone’s uncle finally decoded the secret messages scrawled on a thousand-year-old pillar that declares this the last year of Earth. But the moon will be waxing soon, and the city cannot be taken on a waxing moon, so there you have it. The city is both utterly doomed and cannot possibly fall.”
“These people are insane,” Nazira said sadly.
“At least it saves us the trouble of trying to foment chaos within the walls. They need no help with that.”
“How are you doing with getting close to Constantine?”
Radu shrugged, rolling back over. Nazira lay on her side, propped up on an elbow. He had not told her the real reason why Constantine accepted his loyalty without question; he was too humiliated to speak it aloud. “I see him only in passing. He is everywhere in the city, constantly on the move to inspire people.”
“I have seen him a few times. Helen hates him. I think he looks nice. What about the other important men?”
“Right now they are trying to organize, and waiting for further aid before they decide where to commit. I do not see much of them. I never knew waiting could be such a wearying task.”
“What about Cyprian?”
Radu shifted uncomfortably. “He is close to Constantine. He takes notes for him. I am sure he knows most of the organization of the city. But…”
“But what?”
Closing his eyes, Radu rubbed his face. There was a bigger issue where Cyprian was concerned, a nebulous one, the contours of which Radu had not yet traced out. He did not know if he wanted to or even could. “We are living with Cyprian. We eat meals with him, sleep next to his room.” And they liked him. Nazira had not said it, but Radu could see in the smiles she gave Cyprian, the easy way she laughed at his stories over meals. Radu was not the only one with complicated feelings toward their enemy. But he rationalized them anyway. “It would be dangerous to abuse any information we get through him. Too immediately suspicious.”
“True.” Nazira drew the blanket up to her chin and snuggled into Radu’s side. “We carry on, then.”
Radu patted her arm, waiting for her breath to go steady and deep. Then he rolled away, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.
The only thing coming here had accomplished was getting Radu far away from Mehmed and the rumors spread about them. Radu knew if that was what Mehmed needed, he should be glad. He should be willing to sacrifice himself to protect Mehmed’s vision, to protect his reputation. But he could not—would not—be willing to sacrifice Nazira.
He would stay the course. He would make something of their time here. And he would get her out alive, no matter what.
OANA—THE ONLY ONE WHO knew about Lada’s meeting with Mehmed—said nothing as Lada commanded her men to pack up camp the next morning. Lada was grateful to her for that. She could not have handled questions about the soldiers she should have returned with.
