“Ugh,” she muttered, tugging his hair. “You are so pretty. Like a delicate butterfly beneath my boot.”

“Ugh,” he replied, pulling one of her own curls, which were thick and coarse. “You are so mad. Like a rabid hound that needs to be put down.”

Their ride back to the keep was leisurely, meandering along the banks of the river. As they passed through the city, various storekeepers and merchants waved happily to Radu, who paused to inquire about sick children, hoped for crops, and various other mundanities that made the space behind Lada’s eyes go soft and blank with boredom. No one said hello to or even acknowledged Lada.

Without Radu, she would have gone mad living here. In the two years since they left Edirne, some of the distance between them had closed. They shared blood and secrets enough to know that without each other, they had no one.

It was something.

Mehmed was the third part of their bond. He considered them his truest friends and only allies. The guilt of knowing better made Lada softer, broke down the anger she had kept up for so long.

They were safe here. That was also something.

The last six months, though, had been the dullest she had ever known. With another war against Hunyadi, everyone who mattered was gone. Even Mehmed had been called up.

Someone shouted her name, making her startle and pull her horse to a quick stop. She turned to find Nicolae riding toward her, his familiar grin quick and easy despite the large gash that ran from the center of his forehead to the bridge of his nose and onto his left cheek.

“Lada! Did you miss me?”

She frowned, tapping her chin. “Have you been gone? I had not noticed.”

“You cried yourself to sleep every day.”

“I luxuriated in the blessed quiet that you left in your wake.”

He clapped a hand on her shoulder, still beaming, and she finally allowed herself a smile in return. In truth, she was overjoyed.

“Tell me everything. Including how that happened.” She nodded toward his scar.

“This? Alas, my beautiful face. Is it not tragic?”

“You should be grateful. For the first time in your life you have two eyebrows instead of one.”

Nicolae threw his head back, laughter roaring through the square. “My little dragon, always finding the bright side of life. Come. We drink.”

Radu caught up to them, pulling his horse alongside Nicolae’s. His eyes scanned the street, body tense as he stood with his feet in the stirrups as though by standing tall he could make what he wished for materialize. “Is everyone returning?”

Lada and Nicolae met one another’s eyes with a knowing look. She feigned annoyance, but in truth she desperately wanted to ride through town to catch the very first glimpse of Mehmed. Where was he? Was he safe? Had he been wounded like Nicolae?

Nicolae tried to pat Radu on the head, but he could no longer reach high enough. “Mehmed stopped in Edirne. I do not know when your master will return, young pup. Tell me, Lada, have you been able to house-train him while Mehmed was away?”

“Alas, all attempts have failed. He wets his mat nightly with both piss and tears.”

“Always so nice to have you safely returned, Nicolae,” Radu said, his tone as dry as the crops beneath the unseasonably warm autumn sun. He waved and rode away, leaving Lada and Nicolae to their own devices. He would not admit it, but he left to avoid what they were going to do next, and so he could hide the fact that he was preparing to observe Ramadan. As though Lada did not know.

Lada and Nicolae settled in the back of a small shop the Janissaries frequented because, with a little extra coin, the owner conveniently forgot the prohibition against alcohol. Lada waited through several stories, including the disgraceful flight of Hunyadi, before finally broaching the only subject she wanted to hear about.

“How did Mehmed do?” She feigned innocent curiosity. They had spent so much of their time the last two years studying tactics, examining old battles, gathering what information they could of the various threats to the Ottoman Empire. After his humiliating ejection from the throne, Mehmed had been determined to never fall short again.

And after her betrayal of Mehmed and her own father’s betrayal of her, Lada had done everything she could to help him.

“The little zealot surprised us all.” Nicolae raised his drink, his cheek distorted by the livid scar when he smiled. “Those of us in the right flank under his command suffered the fewest casualties. He knew his part, and he played it well. Better even than our father the sultan.”

Lada hid her traitorous smile behind her heavy mug. “Careful, Nicolae. That sounded almost like praise.”