Mehmed threw his arms in the air, splashing them both. The gesture was childlike in its joyful abandon. Ever since they had returned to Edirne, with its politics and demands and war, Mehmed had held himself as unyielding and straight as a stake. Radu laughed to see him relax back into himself.
“My father has triumphed at Varna. The crusade is defeated. Hunyadi fled like a dog, and the Hungarian king’s head travels here now on the end of my father’s spear!”
Radu smiled as best he could, but his mind worried away at what this meant and how it would affect him.
Mehmed’s expression turned thoughtful. “Your father was not there.”
Feigning a casual, joking tone that could not be further from how he actually felt, Radu put a hand to his chest. “My father, the coward? Miss a battle where he has tepidly supported both sides? I am shocked.”
“I have no word on Mircea’s fate.”
“His fate is nothing to me.” Radu’s pretense of disinterest was betrayed by the bitterness that curdled his words.
Mehmed put a hand on his shoulder, the weight of it there both a comfort and a strange thrill. It made Radu feel real in a way he often struggled to. “It will work itself out,” Mehmed said. “There will be a new treaty. And my father wishes me to remain on the throne. I…think I am ready. I know that was not our plan, but the last few weeks have changed my mind. I want this. I think I can be the sultan.”
His voice raised at the end, a hint of a question lingering there.
“I think,” Radu said, putting his own hand on Mehmed’s shoulder, “you will be the greatest sultan your people have ever seen.”
“Lada does not believe in me.” Mehmed’s mouth twisted wryly. “She believes in no one but herself.”
Radu shook his head, so aware of the space between them, the water connecting their bodies. He felt secure and happy and closer to Mehmed in this moment than he had ever felt to anyone. “I believe in you enough for both of us.” Radu knew Mehmed could do this. And he would be at Mehmed’s side, helping him. Lada would, too, even if she pretended at hating life in Edirne. The world and their future opened up before him like the soaring ceiling of the mosque. Upward.
Mehmed nodded solemnly. “And you do not have to worry about your father. As long as I am on the throne, you are under my protection. I will make sure no one hurts you.”
Radu closed his eyes in relief. Finally, someone cared enough to keep him safe. Someone who actually had the power to do so. It was a very different reassurance than Lada’s promise that no one would kill him but her. Blinking away the emotion that had pooled in the corners of his eyes, Radu nodded. “But…perhaps you could make certain that no one lets my father know we are safe.”
Mehmed’s eyebrows lifted quizzically.
“He does not deserve to be reassured. Let him think he has killed us. Let him be poisoned with whatever guilt he has the capacity to feel.”
“That is fitting. Though I am glad for your father’s weakness. Without it, I would have been denied your friendship. And Lada’s.”
Radu beamed. “I am glad, too.”
He had only a split second to register the shift in Mehmed’s expression from sincere to mischievous before Mehmed’s ankle hooked around Radu’s own and Mehmed pushed his head beneath the surface.
Radu rose, coughing, as Mehmed cut through the water away from him, laughter trailing in his wake. As he gave chase, the steam, so thick it looked like a living creature, parted briefly to reveal a man sitting, unnoticed, in the corner of the baths.
Watching them.
The steam once again hid the man just as Radu was able to place his face. Halil Pasha. Mehmed’s laughter rang through the room, disembodied as it bounced from wall to ceiling and back again, sounding like a warning bell.
“AND HUNYADI FLED,” Lada said, riding beside Nicolae.
“Like a rabbit before a hawk.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “With the Hungarian king dead, everything is in turmoil. Hunyadi might even have an avenue to the throne.”
“You think he wants to rule Hungary?”
Lada snorted. “No, he wants to defend Europe out of pure love for the cause of Christ. Of course he wants to rule.” She leaned back in her saddle, closing her eyes against the sun. It was a relief to have the Janissaries back. While they had been out fighting, she had worried she would lose her mind with idleness. She had never known what outcome to hope for, either. A win for the Ottomans? A triumph for Hunyadi and hated Mircea?
It did not matter now, as everything was decided. And due to several key deaths, Ilyas had been promoted to lead a larger group, including the Janissary troops who had accompanied Mehmed from Amasya. All together there were several thousand Janissary troops spread throughout the empire, with only a couple hundred regularly stationed in Amasya with Mehmed. It was a nice promotion for Ilyas, but she knew he was destined for bigger things.