The door slammed behind her, punctuating her exit. Radu sighed and rubbed his face, wondering what he had hoped to accomplish by needling his sister. Did he want her to stop training with the Janissaries? Or did he want her to admit that she had accepted this as their home? Because if she admitted it, then he finally could, too.
The unfairness pricked at him—that she could hate them and enjoy them at the same time. If anyone deserved to be friends with the Janissaries, it was him. He had never found Lazar again and wondered about his fate, wishing he were here to joke with and to help Radu find a place he belonged, as he had so long ago in the stables.
His soul sputtering like a candle at the end of its wick, Radu went in search of Molla Gurani. The tutor was in his chambers, studying. He weighed Radu with his eyes and stood. “Let us walk.”
Lada loved to make comments about how dull Molla Gurani was, claiming he was the bastard son of a shepherd who had become too amorous with the sheep. She used to repeat his lessons at night in a bleating monotone until Radu begged her to stop, worried her version would replace the real lessons in his mind.
Radu found Molla Gurani deeply comforting, his ascetic demeanor restful and safe. When they were standing in front of a fountain, Radu blurted out what he could not admit to Lada. He had come so close, had even thought that if he presented it as a secret plan to save their lives she might agree. But he was alone in this, as always. “I want to convert.”
Molla Gurani simply blinked and nodded, as though Radu had commented on the weather.
“No one can know. I mean, would that be acceptable? If it was just between God and me?”
“A true conversion is always only between a man and God.”
Radu wiped his brow, relieved. If Lada found out that he had made it official, he worried it would break what remained of their bond. Whatever else she was, Lada was his family, his childhood, his past. They had to stay together.
A man walked past them, his robes formal but unfamiliar. He was slender with a pronounced belly, like his middle was a bulb anchoring slender branches. His face was devoid of hair. Not clean-shaven, but hairless. Molla Gurani inclined his head, and the two men exchanged a greeting. The hairless man looked toward Radu as though expecting an introduction.
“Radu is one of my students. Radu, this is the chief eunuch,” Molla Gurani said.
Radu knew it was a title of some sort, but he did not know what level of respect he was supposed to show. Embarrassed, he asked, “What is a eunuch?”
For the first time he could recall, Molla Gurani looked ill at ease.
The chief eunuch smiled, though, and gestured for Radu to join him. “Walk with me and I will tell you.”
Radu stood neck-deep in the water, then bent his knees to leave only his nose and eyes above the surface. The steam rising all around him obscured the patterns of blue and white tile, everything a dizzying blur of heat and color. In Wallachia, they had only bathed during the summer when they stayed on the banks of the Arges. The rest of the time they washed with cloths and basins. Baths were a luxury of the Ottomans he savored.
Lada enjoyed no such comforts. Though the palace bath had certain hours set aside for women, Lada refused to use them. There was a permanent private bath for women, but it was in
the harem complex. Lada, of course, could not and would not set foot there. Radu had heard tales of women who entered the harem as a method of divorcing their husbands. The chief eunuch had more stories than anyone in the whole city, and Radu loved hearing them.
But no matter. Lada could spend her free time with the soldiers and their crude jokes and their worse smell. Radu spent his studying the scriptures and the teachings of the Prophet. The feeling he found in holy words was one he could only compare to the long afternoons he had spent with his nurse, sitting by the fire, safe and separate from the rest of the world. He could not quite describe it, and hid it as well as he could from Lada, but when he listened to the call to prayer it felt like home inside his heart.
He wanted to ponder this more, and to practice the words of conversion he said so many times in his heart but never aloud, so he was glad for the solitude of the baths today. He always went at odd times to avoid a crowd. He had begun sprouting hair in new places, his legs aching every night with the stretching pull of time finally claiming his childhood. Besides, there was the curious effect the warm water had on his developing manhood, which he quite enjoyed and preferred to experience alone.
Poor eunuchs. Though the chief eunuch said being castrated and sold was the only future his parents had been able to offer him, Radu did not think it was very kind. The chief eunuch was powerful, yes, in charge of the entire harem and privy to the inner workings of the empire, but what a sacrifice!
Radu closed his eyes, let his arms float, felt all the tension swirl away from him.
Then someone grabbed his ankles and dragged him under the water.
He kicked out, terrified and frantic, remembering the times Mircea would hold his head beneath the fountain until his vision went dark and his lungs nearly burst for want of air. A horrible thought clawed through Radu’s panic. Had Mircea been killed in battle and sent his spirit to drag Radu down with him?
As his scream bubbled out around him, Radu’s foot connected with a shoulder and he twisted free. He surfaced, spluttering.
Mehmed popped up next to him, water streaming down his face, white teeth shining. No ghost. Mehmed teasing, not Mircea tormenting. Mehmed’s laughter echoed around them, filling the room until they were completely cocooned by it.
Radu felt as though he were breathing in Mehmed’s laughter, warm and heavy as it filled his lungs and settled on his skin. “You scared me.” His tongue was thick and clumsy in his mouth. He had not seen Mehmed for days, had not seen him alone for weeks.
“Yes, that was apparent.” Mehmed’s lips twisted into a playful grin. “You looked like you were about to fall asleep. I was worried you would drown.”
“Well, thank you for preventing my drowning by pulling me under the water in an attempt to drown me.”
Mehmed bowed with a dramatic flourish. He was giddy, cheeks flushed brighter than the heat could account for. The war had not been going well, even with Mehmed’s father reluctantly taking the lead.
“Do you have good news?” Radu’s chest twisted tight with bands of hope. It was a strange sensation, and one he did not know what to do with. Did he hope Mehmed’s forces were winning? Was that traitorous, knowing that his own brother led troops in the conflict? Did the Ottomans winning make it more or less likely that Radu and Lada would be killed for their father’s betrayal? And then, seeing the relief shining in Mehmed’s black eyes, Radu knew what he hoped for: He hoped for the best for his friend. Regardless of what that meant for himself.