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“And be fierce.”
Snagov Island Monastery, Seventeen Years Later
RADU WATCHED THE APPROACHING boat grow larger. He was grateful he had arrived first so that he did not get out on the shore heaving for their first greeting in ten years.
Theodora fidgeted impatiently beside him. She wore clothes suited to travel, but with Fatima’s excellent sewing and Nazira’s love of color. And she always wore knives, too, her favorite being the one she had inherited.
Theodora was not elegant, but she was strong and undeniably lovely. She had adopted Nazira’s clever optimism, Fatima’s kindness, and, unfortunately, Cyprian’s sense of humor. At twenty, she was still the brilliant center of their lives. Radu was grateful that she had demanded to accompany him. Making this trip alone would have left him with too many ghosts. Theodora was so brash and delightful, there was no room for melancholy.
She was also impatient. They had been waiting nearly an hour. As Mehmed disembarked, helped by a retinue, Theodora carefully reworked her face into something acceptable. Not demure, by any means, but at least respectful.
Mehmed did not appear to suffer any ill effects from the voyage. Radu smiled, but did not rush to greet his old friend as once he might have. Age had been hard on Mehmed. He was heavier and walked with a pronounced limp. A full beard obscured the lines on his face, but his eyes were as sharp and intelligent as they had ever been.
Mehmed waved away his attending guards.
“No stool carrier?” Radu said with a smile, unable to help himself.
Mehmed let out an exhalation that might have been a laugh. “He participated in an assassination plot. I had to have him killed.”
“Really?” Radu said, his eyebrows rising in horror.
Mehmed’s face split in a mischievous grin, taking him from forty to fifteen in a single expression. “No.”
Radu laughed, shaking his head. “You remember my daughter, Theodora.”
Mehmed smiled warmly at her. “Rumors of your beauty reach us even in Constantinople. I am glad to see you again. Last time you were far shorter than me.”
Radu felt a spike of anxiety. Radu could not look at her without seeing Lada and Mehmed. But if Mehmed suspected it, he said nothing. He patted Theodora’s hand, slipping her a pouch that sounded suspiciously heavy with coins.
“For all the birthdays I have missed, little one,” he said.
Theodora’s eyes twitched. “Thank you.”
“I wish we were reuniting under happier circumstances,” Mehmed said. “Though Lada did not excel at creating happy circumstances.”
Theodora looked at Radu. “I wish I had known her. Instead of only through stories.” She grinned then, something a bit wicked there. “Though the stories are quite good. Lada Tepes, the Lady Impaler. No one else has such a remarkable aunt.”
Mehmed and Radu laughed, but it was uncomfortable. Theodora had never been told the worst stories. Including how that aunt had killed her uncle.
“I will give you two a few moments alone before I pay my respects.” She bowed her head. The silver locket she always wore around her neck fell forward. Mehmed stared at it as though seeing a ghost. He turned to Radu, but Radu did not show any emotion.
“Thank you,” Radu said. “We will not be long.”
“Of course.” She spun with her arms wide, breathing in deeply. “Take as long as you want. There is something special here. I like the way Wallachia feels—warm and welcoming. Like a mother, is it not?” She walked away down the path, her steps assured and confident. She did not stomp and prowl as Lada had, but moved as though she owned whatever land she was on.
Radu felt his purpose here with a keener pain than he had before. They walked slowly toward the church.
Mehmed was still frowning. “Theodora is not Nazira’s, is she?”
Radu’s only answer was a sigh.
“I suspected. For years. But just now, the way her eyes narrowed in annoyance at my patronizing gift! I could scarcely breathe. It was like looking at the past. I see why you have avoided the capital all these years. Kept her away.”
Radu paused with his hand on the door. “She is my daughter.”
Mehmed’s smile was both kind and sad. “I am glad. Would that we all had had fathers such as you.” Mehmed’s adult life had been tumultuous, filled with tragedy and violence, even in his own family. He turned and looked at the gardens, apparently unwilling to go inside just yet. Radu did not begrudge him the delay. “How is Nazira?”
“She is well. She is having more difficulty with her vision, but she manages it with grace.” They were homebound now, but Fatima did not mind. The only place they had ever wanted to be was with each other, after all.
