The two men had been talking in low, comfortable voices the whole time. “Have you noticed the new animal in here?” one asked. His back was to Radu.
The other Janissary, a young man with pockmarked skin and dark eyes, shook his head.
“A shy creature. I should think he’s very valuable, but I have yet to see anyone take him out for a ride. Pity.”
“Oh, do you mean the pale one? Big eyes? Curly hair? Hides in a corner?”
Fear seized Radu. They knew he was here. What would they do to him?
“Yes, that one! Seems a sad little thing. Perhaps if he made friends with some of the other animals…” The Janissary straightened, and turned his head, smiling with kind eyes at Radu’s hiding spot. “Would you like to help us with the horses?”
Radu did not move.
“This one is very gentle. See?” The Janissary nuzzled the horse’s head with his own. The horse huffed right in his face, and both soldiers laughed. “Come on, come meet your stablemate.”
Radu shuffled forward, pressed against the stall doors, eyes darting to the entrance.
The Janissary held out a stiff-bristled brush. “Here now, make yourself useful. We have to bend over so far to reach the lower spots. Help save our poor aching backs.”
The brush was heavy in Radu’s hand. He reached out with it, hesitant, barely touching the horse. He had been trained to ride, but Mircea had been in charge, which meant Lada became wild and competitive and Radu got yelled at the whole time. He still had a mark on the back of his neck from where Mircea whipped him once. Mircea claimed he had been aiming for the horse.
The kind-eyed Janissary put his hand over Radu’s, showing him how to stroke, how much pressure to use. “I take it you are not a stableboy.”
Radu shook his head, keeping his eyes down.
“Oh, I know who our little creature is!” The pockmarked Janissary grinned, a gap-toothed smile. “Do they keep all the little princes in the stables? What odd customs Wallachia has! I trust you like eating oats?”
Radu knew he was being teased, but it felt kind. Playful. He ventured a smile. “I prefer cake.”
Both Janissaries laughed, one patting him on the shoulder. Unlike when Mircea did it, it was simply a pat on the shoulder, and not a disguised blow.
Radu helped the soldiers with the rest of their chores, asking a few questions but mostly listening. When they were finished, they told him to meet them there earlier the next day to help exercise the horses. He practically skipped back to his rooms, breathless and flushed with happiness. Lada, thankfully, was nowhere to be found. His nurse was in her usual spot. Radu climbed onto her chair and snuggled into her side, putting his hand on the back of her neck. She sighed, not looking at him.
“Did you know,” Radu said, as carefully as he had set the spider down, “that Janissaries are very prestigious in Ottoman society?”
His nurse frowned, and looked at him for the first time in days.
“They are educated and trained and even paid. Everyone admires them. I was talking to one today who told me his mother gave him to the Janissaries to save him from a life breaking himself to bits against the rocky soil. He said…” Radu paused, his voice getting softer. “He said he was grateful. That it was the best thing that could have happened to him. He always has enough to eat, and he has plenty of friends, and money to spend when he wants to. He said he is smarter and stronger than he ever would have been. He says he prays every day, out of gratitude to and love for his mother.”
The Janissary had not actually said any of that. But his nurse held Radu’s hand so tightly it hurt. He did not move away. She nodded, wiping at her eyes. “Be a good boy, hand me my sewing basket.”
Radu settled in and watched her trembling hands get surer with every stitch.
The air was heavy and thick with humidity as Radu dragged a stick along the cobbled path behind the castle that led to the stables. He hummed happily to himself, but the humming was cut short when someone cuffed him on the back of his head.
“Where are you going?” Mircea asked.
Radu did not answer. Silence was the best tactic with Mircea.
Their father came sweeping along behind Mircea, and Radu shrank back even further. He had not spoken to his father in…he did not know how long. His father’s black eyes passed over him as though he were not even there. Then Vlad blinked, and finally focused on his youngest son.
“Radu.” He sounded vaguely questioning, as though reciting some fact he could not quite remember.
Behind him came several boyars, mostly from the Danesti family, their long-simmering rivals. Andrei was with them, skittering and withdrawn as he always was now. Dressed for riding, they all paused, staring at Radu.