Lada gazed across the broad field to where she could see Ilyas Bey, the leader of Mehmed’s personal garrison. He had been a good addition to their forces here and had given her permission to train with the Janissaries. She respected him, admired him even.

But apparently he questioned whether she could command men. He had allowed her to pick a regiment of twenty to skirmish with his own twenty-man team. Each side had dull swords and blunted arrows with cloth-wrapped tips covered in flour to prove that they hit their marks. However, Ilyas’s side had a light cavalry, mounted to represent the challenge Janissaries were often up against.

She caught laughter drifting her way from the spectators as Mehmed walked to join them, signaling the start of the skirmish. Ilyas remained where he was, immobile, waiting for Lada to make the first move.

“It is time,” she said.

Nicolae threw up his arms in disgust. “This is insane, Lada! I will not put my reputation on the line for this.”

“You promised!” she screamed, grabbing his shoulder.

He jerked free, throwing his sword to the ground. He walked back toward the fortress. Half of her men followed him, swallowed by the dappled shadows of the trees.

“Cowards!” She picked up Nicolae’s sword and threw it after them. “Dogs! Crawl on your bellies after your own vomit!”

Breathing hard, she turned to the rest of the men, who shuffled in place, looking over their shoulders. “Shields up,” she said, mouth a grim line. They formed, shoulder to shoulder, shields held in front of them as they marched slowly forward. A smattering of arrows hit, bouncing to the ground. The crowd laughed, jeering.

Ilyas shook his head, lifting an arm halfheartedly to command his men forward to slaughter.

He was interrupted by a rain of arrows from behind the spectators, thunking against the sides of nearly all the horses. Before Ilyas had time to process what had happened or remove the men who were out of play, another volley hit, striking him in the chest, taking out the remaining horses, and leaving only a handful of men. While they debated whether or not to fire over the spectators’ heads toward the hidden assailants, Lada’s forces dropped their shields to reveal their own bows, firing at the “survivors” until none were left unmarked.

The spectators were no longer laughing.

Ilyas walked forward, meeting Lada in the middle of the field, face impassive but something like pride shaping his eyes. His mustache twitched over his lips. “That was…surprising. You played on our expectations.”

Nicolae strode out from the cover of the trees, grinning. He turned and gave a sweeping bow to the spectators. “Many thanks for your help!”

“We were not planning on the crowd.” Lada nodded toward them.

“And yet you still managed to use them as a shield. Admirable. And also questionable. What if I had no qualms about firing into innocent bystanders?”

Lada shrugged. “That would be on your shoulders, not mine. Besides, I know you, Ilyas. You are a man of honor.”

He laughed. “And you?”

“Not a man.”

Mehmed reached them, beaming. “That was brilliant!”

With a nod, Ilyas frowned. “But now to the larger question: You can command these men. But they know you. They trust you. Do you really think that a garrison would willingly follow you in battle if they did not? Or a group of ajami cadets, fresh from training? I say this not to insult you, but to question the practicality of giving you a command. I fear it would be setting you up to fail, and embarrass the Janissaries.”

“I agree.” Lada smiled tightly at Mehmed’s surprise at her cooperation. “Give me charge of a frontier group of Janissaries. Let me pick them by hand—men who will not question my orders, who are not afraid to follow a woman. Let me train them how I see fit to be Mehmed’s personal guards. Twice now I have seen Mehmed’s life threatened. It would be advantageous to have a group that thinks differently and functions outside of normal Janissary movements. We will see things no one else does. And if people dismiss my soldiers because they are led by a woman, well”—she gestured to the men cleaning flour off their horses—“I can use that to my advantage.”

Ilyas’s eyes narrowed with the weight of her proposition. He had to agree. Lada deserved this. She needed it. Finally, when she thought she would have to pull out her sword and hit Ilyas upside the head with it to get him to speak, he nodded.

“Very well. You can have your pick of Janissaries. Take as long as you need to gather them. You will report to me quarterly, but you can house and train your men wherever and however you see fit.”