“Give it to me,” she begged, picking up her small child and holding him in front of her as proof of her desperation.

“I have my own hungry children.”

Cyprian and Radu stepped forward, unsure what to do but knowing something needed to be done. “You should be at the walls,” Cyprian said to the man.

The man’s face shifted into something ugly and brutal. “So you can take this food for your own? I will go back to the wall when I know my family is eating.” He shoved past them, nearly knocking Nazira down. He did not so much as look back at the women he had stolen the food from. The one still standing stomped away, one child in her arms and the other hurrying after her.

Radu reached out to help the fallen woman up. She took his hand and stood, brushing off her skirt and using a clean section to wipe her child’s face.

“You should go to Galata,” Radu said, as gently as he could. “They have more food there, and your children will be safer.”

“God will protect us,” she said, and Radu did not know if it sounded like a prayer or a condemnation.

“But God is not feeding you.”

She looked at him, aghast, then bundled her child into her skirts and hurried away, as though Radu’s blasphemy were contagious.

She might as well have carried off all their easy happiness, too. But at least they knew this night was worthwhile. Necessary. “One more,” Cyprian said, sounding tired. He pointed the way. “The monastery where they house the Hodegetria.”

“What is that?” Nazira asked, linking one arm through Radu’s and the other through Cyprian’s. It did not feel quite right, with her in the middle. Less balanced. Radu had preferred when he was between them. But he carried the now-heavy bucket.

“The Hodegetria is the holiest icon in the city,” Cyprian said. “A painting of the Virgin Mary holding the child Jesus at her side. Said to be brought back from the Holy Land by the apostle Luke. They parade it around the walls sometimes as protection, though the monks have been withholding it as punishment for my uncle’s dealings with the Catholics.”

“Do they really think a painting will save them?” Nazira asked, no sting in her criticism, merely curiosity. Radu cringed at her choice of words—them instead of us—but Cyprian took no notice. At least Radu was not the only one too comfortable around Cyprian.

“They say it has saved the city before,” Cyprian said.

“Do you believe it?” Nazira asked.

Cyprian looked up at the stars peeking through the low cover of cloud and smoke that never really cleared. “I believe that the Virgin Mary would rather see us take care of our own than take care of a painting of her. Which is why I am going to go distract the guard so you two can sneak in and take what silver you find.” He bowed jauntily, trying to recapture some of their fun, then walked around the corner of the monastery.

Radu leaned up against a small outer door, working the lock as quickly as he could. They entered through a pitch-dark back hallway. Feeling their way along the wall, they came to another door. It was locked.

“That is promising,” Nazira whispered.

Radu picked this last lock. The air inside stung his nose with the remains of censer smoke. Radu dared to light a candle in the windowless room. As the light flared to life, the image of the Virgin Mary appeared in front of them. The icon, nearly as tall as Radu, was mounted on a pallet with poles extending for carrying.

“Too bad we cannot melt it down,” Nazira said thoughtfully, looking at the heavy gold frame. Radu searched for silver. There were a few small pieces, and he pocketed them. Nazira stayed where she was, staring at the icon.

“I think that is Constantinople’s problem,” she said. “They look to a painting to save them, instead of to each other. They argue and debate over the state of their souls for the afterlife, while letting the needy in this life go hungry. No wonder this city is dying.”

Radu put a hand on her shoulder. “I have what we came for.”

Nazira did not move. Her eyes shone heavy with tears in the candlelight. “I hate them. I hate everyone in this city. I walk among them, I talk to them, and it is like conversing with ghosts. I want to wear mourning clothes every day.” She was crying now. Reaching into one of the jars in the bucket, she pulled out a glopping handful of grease.

Radu grasped her hand before she could fling the grease at the icon. “No,” he said softly.

“We should burn it. We should punish them.”

“They are being punished enough.”

“Your sister would burn it to demoralize them.”

“My sister would do much more than that.” He smiled, imagining what Lada would do if she were here in his place. Nothing in the city would be safe. “But Cyprian is outside. He would know.”

Sniffling, Nazira nodded. She rubbed her hands along the pallet handles, trying to wipe off the grease. “I am sorry. I miss Fatima so much it feels like ice has entered my soul. And it is hard remembering not to care about these people. I was so sure when we came that it would not be a problem. I wanted— I wanted them to suffer. I wanted to watch them fall.”

Radu had never heard her talk like that. “To protect Islam?”

“For revenge,” she whispered. “For Fatima. Her family was killed by crusaders when she was very young. They did horrible things. Things she cannot talk about even now. I wanted Constantinople to be ours to prevent more crusades, yes. But also to punish them.” She dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her shawl. “I know it is not rational. None of the people here were responsible for what happened to Fatima. But their mindless hatred of us, their demonizing of Islam, is what let those men do what they did. It was wicked of me to come here with so much hatred in my heart. Hatred makes monsters of us all.”

Radu pulled her close, hugging her tightly. “You could never be a monster,” he said, as the Virgin Mary pointed solemnly at her son. Her face betrayed no emotion, no hint of judgment or mercy.

“I still think we are doing the right thing.” Nazira fixed her shawl. “And I am trying to set my heart in line with God.”

Radu nodded, taking her hand. Together, they left the monastery.

Cyprian met them outside. “The foundry is not far. No one will be there.”

When they got to the foundry, the forge’s fires were cold. It would take a while for them to be hot enough to melt down the metal. Nazira excused herself to go home and sleep.