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Lada’s knife paused. She looked down at it as it trembled in her hand. This was the first time she would kill a man outside of battle. It was not a reaction to save her own life. It was a choice. She could let Ulrich—a good man—live. He would take this attack as proof of Matthias’s treachery and use it to drive him out of the castle. The young king could grow into a man shaped by the strength of his genuine protector.
Lada looked up into Bogdan’s face—the face of her childhood. It held no judgment. He simply watched her, waiting. The locket around her neck pressed heavy against her heart.
Wallachia.
She took a deep breath. When she plunged the knife into Ulrich’s heart, her hand was steady.
The “evidence” was enough to justify Ulrich’s death with only moderate outcry. And since Elizabeth had chosen him as the king’s protector, her decisions were suspect as well. She was removed to a far distant castle, to be kept there in seclusion. Matthias was named regent—and heir, should the king die without issue.
Lada did not doubt that would be the case, and sooner rather than later. When she watched Matthias put a hand on the trembling child’s shoulder, Lada remembered Ulrich’s request.
“Kill him gently,” she said when Matthias met her in a quiet hall of the castle that would be his. Lada hated Hunedoara, hated this castle, hated her ally. She needed to be free of Hungary.
Matthias laughed. “Are you giving me commands now?”
“It was Ulrich’s last request.”
“I will do as I see fit.” He handed her a letter, sealed with his coat of arms, in which a raven figured prominently. That morning, Lada had seen a raven pull a pigeon from its own nest in the castle eaves, tearing it apart methodically and efficiently.
“This is an introduction to Toma Basarab. He will instruct and help you on your way to the throne. No one knows the Wallachian boyars better than Toma.”
“And men?”
Matthias shook his head. “I have no men better than the ones you already possess, and besides, I cannot part with any. If my men were to accompany you and you failed, it would destroy relations between Hungary and Wallachia.”
Lada smiled tightly. “So regardless of whether I win or if I die, you still have an ally on the throne.” Matthias was born to this. The young king might have a core of kindness, but Matthias knew what it took to gain and keep power.
“You understand perfectly,” he said. “I do hope you succeed, Lada Dracul. I am very curious to see what you can do. I look forward to a long and fruitful relationship.”
Lada wanted no such thing from him. But he had given her another knife, and she would use it to cut her way to the throne.
She inclined her head, unwilling to bow or curtsy. “I will pay my respects to your father before I leave.”
Matthias’s expression turned briefly wistful before resuming its usual sharpness. “He is dead. His final act was rooting out the traitor Ulrich. I do not expect you to stay for the funeral.”
Lada flinched. She had betrayed Hunyadi to his downfall, and then she had falsely betrayed a good man in his name. This was the thanks she gave Hunyadi for his love, for his trust, for his support.
She clutched the locket around her neck so tightly her knuckles went white, drained of blood.
“You are a strange girl,” Matthias said fondly.
“I am a dragon,” she answered. Then she turned and left the toxic castle for what she hoped was the last time.
AS RADU AND NAZIRA prayed in their room in the predawn light, the end of the world began.
They felt the rumblings beneath their knees, cutting off their prayer. The church bells began pealing with all the urgency of angels ushering in the end of times. Radu heard screaming in the streets.
“The cannons.” He turned to Nazira. “The cannons are here.”
“Go,” she said.
Radu yanked on his boots, nearly falling over in his haste. Before he had finished fastening his cloak, there was pounding on the bedroom door. Radu opened it to find Cyprian, as pale and worn as the limestone walls. “The cannons,” he said, shaking his head. “We are finished.”
“We must go to the walls.” Radu grabbed Cyprian’s arm and turned him around. “Have you been yet? What has fallen? Are the Ottomans in the city?”
“I do not know what has happened since I left. I was with my uncle and Giustiniani. They have requested you. I think they finally believe your account of the Turks’ guns.”
