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“I care nothing for my mother.” She did not want to bring that woman—and her weakness—into this discussion. Stephen needed to see she was nothing like the woman who had given birth to her. Lada took the chair opposite the two men. She sat as a man did, back straight, legs apart, arms crossed over her chest.
Matthias sat back down, anger in his stiff posture. He had probably hoped for more of a reaction from her. She was determined to give him nothing that he hoped for. When they had last been together, he had been almost a king, and she, fighting for the chance to be prince. Now she was prince. She would not let him forget it.
“I assume you got the same letter I did,” Matthias said to Stephen.
Raising an eyebrow, Stephen pulled out his own sheaf of parchment. He cleared his throat, then read aloud. “?‘I have killed peasants, men and women, old and young, who lived at Oblucitza and Novoselo, where the Danube flows into the sea, up to Rahova, which is located near Chilia….’?” He paused, looking up. “How is Chilia this time of year?”
“Quite pleasant,” Lada said, not failing to notice Stephen’s pointed question. Nor had she forgotten that Moldavia had a vested interest in Chilia. She had mentioned it specifically for that exact reason. Over the years it had shifted between Bulgaria, Wallachia, and Moldavia. Now it was hers, because she had taken it.
Stephen lifted an eyebrow in amusement. “I am happy to hear it. Continuing, more locations, following the Danube, ah yes, this is my favorite part: ‘We killed twenty-three thousand, eight hundred and eighty-four Turks without counting those whom we burned in homes or the Turks whose heads were cut off by our soldiers. Thus, your highness, you must know I have broken the peace with Mehmed.’?” Stephen lowered the letter, laughing. “I should say you have.”
“Why would you do this?” Matthias demanded. “We cannot afford a war with the Ottomans!”
Lada met his intensity with a cool gaze. “We cannot afford not to have war with them. They take our fortresses, they take our villages, they take our land, they take our children. I, for one, cannot bear the cost of their stewardship any longer. I will have Wallachia free of them. And I have proved it is possible. They rule because we allow it. No more.”
Stephen tapped the letter on his knee. “Your numbers are impressive.”
“I did it all with only three thousand men of my own.”
Matthias grunted in disbelief. “You exaggerate on one end or the other.”
Lada pulled out a dagger and cleaned her fingernails with the tip. “We moved fast and surprised them, fortress by fortress. We never faced more than a thousand men at a time. So, no, I do not exaggerate, and you know it is the truth. Do not pretend you are not aware of precisely how many men I have at my disposal, Matthias. And do not do me the dishonor of implying I would falsify my accomplishments. Those of us who actually do things have no need of falsehoods.”
Matthias rose like a storm once again. Stephen stood, too, holding out a hand. “Calm yourself. Think it through. She has handed a devastating loss to the Turks. And, as she pointed out, she has proved that such a thing, however surprising, is possible. So tell me, Cousin: Why are we here? What else do you have planned?”
“We are going to crusade,” Lada said.
Matthias sat yet again. His chair groaned in protest of so much movement. “Constantinople has already fallen. Even you cannot be so delusional as to think you can take it back.”
“I care nothing for the woes of Greeks and Italians. Let Mehmed have wh
at he has taken from them. But let him never again take anything from us. We crusade for Europe. We crusade to prove our borders are our own, immovable, inviolable, that never again will he take Christian land from us.”
Matthias was listening, his eyes narrowed. “I will not fight for Wallachian land.”
“I am not asking you to fight for Wallachian land. I will fight for my own land. I am simply asking you to fight your own battles for once in your pathetic life.”
Matthias’s sword was half drawn before Bogdan was at his side with a knife pressed against the king’s neck.
Lada let the knife stay there for the time being. “This is what we do. Antagonize Mehmed. Harass him. If Stephen does the same, we give Mehmed three fronts, three battles he does not want. His empire depends on stability. He will not risk everything for borders he does not need. We force him to withdraw from our lands.” Lada waved one hand, and Bogdan moved the knife but did not back away from looming over Matthias.
“So you want to work together? Coordinate?” Stephen asked.
“No. If we give him a single front, it is that much easier for him to defeat us. I want us to do everything separately. No clear target, no attainable path for defeating us. I used a small, unexpected force to slaughter his men up and down the border. Our best plan is to defy plans.”
Matthias rubbed his throat, his glare as sharp as Bogdan’s blade. “But Mehmed is not in Hungary. I am not going to attack other countries. What good will I do you?”
“Deal with the Transylvanians. Convince them to work with me. I need their numbers.”
Stephen laughed, idly spinning an empty wine goblet on the arm of his chair. “I have read some of their work on you, Lada Dracul. Very creative.”
“Did you see the one about the picnic?” Nicolae asked.
Stephen nodded. “Oh, yes. Charming. King Matthias will have his work cut out for him.”
“I am certain he is up to the task,” Lada said. She was certain of no such thing. “And your other role is far more important, Matthias. We need money. The only person who can give us the funds we seek is the pope.”
“The pope?” His threatened throat forgotten, Matthias leaned forward, eyes narrowed shrewdly as the conversation turned to something he was interested in. “What makes you think the pope will give us money?”
