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She bit harder, and he cried for help. “If she wants to eat your leg, she is allowed,” the nurse said. “Quit screaming or I will let her eat your supper, too.”
“What of their instruction? She does not speak Saxon.” “No, my lord.” That was not quite true. Lada had picked up Saxon obscenities and frequently yelled them out the window at people in the busy square.
She nodded, then held out her hand. “The daughter of Wallachia wants her knife back.” Vlad smiled and gave it to her.
For once in his life, he was grateful for her vicious temper, for her strange instinctive knowledge of the best way to hurt someone with the least amount of work.
Muffled screams caught her attention. She knew that sound well, as she was usually the one causing it. A fierce possessiveness welled in her chest and she stormed through the garden,
“Everyone dies sometime. And I will not let Mircea kill you. If anyone is going to kill you, it will be me. Understand?” Radu nodded, snuggling into her shoulder. “Will you protect me?” “Until the day I kill you.”
“You should see her when she has had enough sleep.” “Is she nicer?” “Oh no, far worse.”
Occasionally she informed her tutors when a torture method appeared to be less effective than others. They ground their teeth and whispered that she had no soul. She had a soul. At least, she was fairly certain she did.
Radu wondered whether Lada or himself would be killed first. Would it be worse to watch it happen to Lada and know what was coming, or to…no, it would be worse to be second. He hoped they killed him first. Perhaps that was ungenerous, but this was all Lada’s fault.
He did not want to die at all, but he definitely did not want to die second.
Lada soured at the notion that a mysterious god hovered above everyone, singling out a sultan to spread the Muslim religion to the world. She had never seen such a god, nor any evidence of him. The Ottomans were successful because they were organized, because they were wealthy, and because they were many.
Lada amused herself by lying on her back, throwing a knife straight up to try to snag an apple. Sometimes she did. Sometimes the knife came back down and nearly stabbed her. She was equally entertained by both outcomes.
Radu finally relaxed, sitting back on a pillow and flinging his arms wide. He was still such a child in so many ways, and Lada wanted to keep him that way. Or force him to leave it behind forever. She never could decide which,
Admirable. And also questionable. What if I had no qualms about firing into innocent bystanders?” Lada shrugged. “That would be on your shoulders, not mine. Besides, I know you, Ilyas. You are a man of honor.” He laughed. “And you?” “Not a man.”
“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 wondered whether her own head or the tiles would break first if she began smashing her skull into them.
“If I understood anything you were saying, I absolutely would endeavor to obey. As it is, I think I will steer us toward a merchant who has a stock of juice that has been kept far too long and turned sour in the best possible way.”
He opened the door, grabbed the top, and wrenched the entire thing from its hinges. “I think he is a very different type of Wallachian than I am,” Nicolae noted.
