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Another group of scouts came riding from the direction of the road leading to Bucharest. “Take these two away,” Radu said, waving. He did not want to order their deaths—they had not killed any of his men that he knew of—but he did not know what to do with them. He would worry about it later.
Radu recognized a short, stocky Janissary named Simion whom he had sent out as soon as they crossed the Danube. “What is it?” Radu asked, seeing the scouts’ white faces and furrowed brows. “Is someone coming? You had more men when you left. Did you encounter resistance?”
“No,” Simion said, dismounting and bowing. “Just traps. We lost three. No one is coming to fight us because they do not need to. Everything as far as we rode looks like this. The wells are poisoned. There are no animals or crops or even people. If we send men to Bucharest, we had better take the city, or we will starve.”
Radu thanked Simion, then rode slowly back toward Mehmed, with Aron at his side.
“What has happened in our country?” Aron asked, horrified. Radu realized that aside from Constantinople, where Aron had only been outside the walls, the Danesti had never seen combat.
“Lada knows what it takes to lay siege. She wants it to cost Mehmed as much as possible. Losses of men and gold and morale.”
“No, not that. I mean, yes, that is awful. But the way that man and woman spoke to us. I have never been thus addressed in my entire life. He wears a beard! She speaks as though she is our equal—or our better!”
Mara had not bothered getting reports out of Wallachia itself. They had focused on who Lada’s outside allies would be. But it was obvious now they should have focused more on whom she would have on her side within the country. Lada had always believed Wallachia was the greatest place in the world. Apparently her pride in her homeland had extended to her people. They had not factored this much sheer devotion into their plans.
Radu watched as the two Wallachians were hauled toward the camp. How many more like them were lying in wait? Radu needed to find support inside the country. “We will send out riders to search in secret for boyars. I cannot imagine many of them support her, not after the Danesti deaths.”
Radu stopped his horse at a distance, a momentary thrill of pleasure coursing through him as he saw Mehmed shift with impatience on his own horse. Watching him. Waiting for him.
But still in pursuit of his sister. Radu smiled at himself, knowing how much this campaign would have bothered him even a year ago. Instead, he missed Nazira.
He missed Cyprian.
That one hurt more, because it was a missing with no purpose. As many times as he told himself he would think no more on Cyprian now that he knew the other man was alive and safe, those gray eyes and that soul-searing smile were never far from Radu’s thoughts.
“Everything has changed,” Aron said.
“Nothing ever changes,” Radu answered, finally urging his horse toward his friend so they could worry about his sister together.
Outside Bucharest
LADA SAT, THE TEPID spring sun still too hot for her taste. It had been an arduous climb, getting all her soldiers and their remaining cannons up the steep, rocky hillsides. She stared down into the canyon beneath them. It was the only logical path for an army to take to reach Bucharest.
She had already tested this particular canyon strategy once before. Hunyadi continued to help her from beyond the grave. She had, the year before, rescued him during an ill-fated fight in a canyon by unexpectedly attacking from above and blocking the exits. It would be on a larger scale here, but she was confident. She had to be creative in avoiding direct combat with Mehmed’s massively superior numbers; this was perfect.
And, as she kept reminding herself after their loss at the Danube, they did not need to win. Not outright. They simply needed to make this attempt cost more than Mehmed was willing to spend in every way possible. Men. Gold. Time. Pride.
She liked chipping away at that last one, especially.
“Are we certain they will come for Bucharest?” Bogdan asked, clearing the top of a rock for Lada to sit on. After giving instructions, she had left the rest of the soldiers to set up at their various positions. They were all loyal and good at what they did, but increasingly they aggravated her. She could only see who they were not.
She clutched the locket she wore around her neck, as much a part of her now as her daggers. If lost, she knew she would constantly reach for them, and every time be surprised that they were gone. Just like mentally she kept reaching for Petru and Nicolae, only to remember they were forever out of her grasp.
How many more would she lose? How many could she afford to?
She dropped the locket beneath her tunic. “They have to come for Bucharest. It is too important to leave behind their lines. And it is the first major city past the Arges, with no more river crossings to bar their way to Tirgoviste. They will need to use it as a staging point.”
“And if they take the city?”
Lada shrugged. “Then they take it. But we make them pay dearly. It will take time and supplies and give them nothing in return. We will not come back for it, so the men they leave here will be idle and wasted, fewer that we have to fight elsewhere.”
Bogdan nodded, satisfied. He was playing with something, too. Lada peered closer. Prayer beads. She bit back her instinct to belittle him. She would take all the help she could get, and if Bogdan’s god was interested in aiding them, he was welcome to help.
There was nothing to do now except wait for the Ottomans to arrive.
It was boring. Lada hated it.
Far too late, as usual, Lada noticed Stefan approaching them. She would be dead if he had been there to kill her. But he brought only information, not death.
