And I Darken (The Conquerors Saga #1) - Kiersten White Page 0,110

a sister,” he said. “Like a brilliant, violent, occasionally terrifying sister that I would follow to the ends of the earth, in part because I respected her so much and in part because I feared what she would do to me if I refused.”

She nodded. “I would do awful things.”

Nicolae laughed. “The most awful.”

“And then I would steal your horse lover, to spite you.”

“Your cruelty knows no bounds.”

Lada stood, stretching, wishing she had somewhere to go. She could no longer retreat to the forest like she used to. A phantom voice followed her there now, whispering whore in her ear, the smell of dirt conjuring memories she preferred to leave buried.

“I am going to patrol the grounds,” she said.

Nicolae nodded, then his jovial face turned serious. “I mean it, you know. I will follow you to the ends of the earth.”

An unusual warmth spread through her chest. She looked away, trying to twist the smile off her lips. “Of course you will.”

She made her way to the massive front gate of the fortress, feeling more buoyant than she had in weeks. Whatever else happened, she had her men. She had her command. And that was something, at least.

A messenger, wearing the dust of leagues on his cloak, rode a weary horse up to the gate. He pulled a bag off his shoulder and held it out. “Letters from Albania.”

“I will take them.” Lada grabbed the bag and called a servant. They sorted through the letters. Most were for servants who had family attending the soldiers, a few for her men from friends in the siege. It had been over a month since they had had any news, and it was all she could do not to open those letters.

Then she came to a letter addressed to her. Her heart twisted, squeezing up too high and making it difficult to breathe. Had Mehmed finally written her?

Leaving the servant without a word, she retreated to her room in the barracks. She set the letter on her desk, pacing around it, eyeing it with suspicion as though it might disappear. What would it say? What did she want it to say? After all this time, what could he say to make her forgive him?

Nothing. He could say nothing.

She broke the seal, ripping the edge of the paper with her force, and opened it, scanning the contents quickly. It was not from Mehmed.

The hand was unfamiliar, but the signature at the bottom was undeniably Radu’s.

She sat heavily, shock making it difficult to focus on the words. Radu was at the siege? How? Why? Was he with Mehmed?

A strange sensation seeped through her, a writhing jealousy that Radu was there, where she had been forbidden, with Mehmed. Mehmed must have taken him, must have rescued him from Edirne. Gritting her teeth, Lada started at the beginning. The letter was brief, only a few lines long. He greeted her without preamble or explanation, stating merely that the siege was a disaster and would soon end. Then…

Lada stopped, dropping the letter to the floor. Then she picked it up, reading each word with care as though she could change what it said.

“ ‘Sickness is rampant. This is a secret to remain between us, but Mehmed has fallen ill. I do not expect him to recover or survive the journey back. When he dies you will be at the mercy of Murad, who still wishes you dead. Without Mehmed’s protection I fear for you. Whatever else has transpired between us, I could not live with myself without warning you. Gather what you can and flee while no one is there to take note.’ ”

When he dies.

Not if.

When.

Lada looked at the date on the letter—it had been written more than a month before. Which meant that Mehmed might already be dead, might have been dead all this time. All the poison she had nurtured, the bitterness, the anger. Her last words to him. Her thought that if he did not come back he would have deserved to never know how she felt about him. She doubled over, holding her midsection, a wail threatening to tear free from her throat.

She had sent Mehmed to his death with nothing but cruelty, and, worse, it was a death that even she could not have prevented. She could not fight the plague with a sword, could not stop the assassin illness with a dagger, no matter how clever and sharp.

She dropped to her cot and curled into a ball, incapable of imagining a world without