He was about to see Mehmed.

And Lada.

Nicolae opened a door on the second floor to a sitting room filled with men like trees growing too close together. As one, they looked in his direction, hands on weapons. The men relaxed when they saw Nicolae, and the door closed behind them. Radu could not see any of them, not really, not with how hard he was looking for—

Mehmed. Leaning over a roughly made table, a lamp’s light catching his face so that even his eyes seemed to glow soft and warm. He pointed at a piece of parchment spread against the table and weighted down with various weapons, long fingers tracing intrigues and plots in the air over the map.

And next to him was Lada, scowling, shortest in the room and still somehow taking up the most space. She wore women’s clothing, which seemed incongruous on her.

She glanced up first. Something flashed across her face, and Radu instinctively curled his shoulders inward, bracing for a blow. Only after she looked back down without acknowledging him further did he have time to process that her expression had been one of rage, and then of sadness.

But everything else was forgotten when Mehmed straightened up and caught sight of him. A relieved smile transformed his face as he crossed the distance between them and hugged Radu. Radu closed his eyes, answering the embrace for only the briefest moment. He feared if he held on longer, he would betray himself. Instead, he pulled back, keeping his hands on Mehmed’s shoulders to separate them. “Are you well?”

Mehmed nodded, gesturing to a low bench built along one entire wall of the room. He sat, and Radu followed, turning toward him.

“My father?” Mehmed asked.

“I will be surprised if he is still alive by the end of tomorrow. He has not been conscious for three days.”

“What are we fighting?” Lada asked, standing nearby. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, and she looked over Radu’s head when she addressed him.

“Halil Pasha’s forces are scattered through the city, watching all the entrances. The palace is guarded as always. It will be a problem getting Mehmed inside without being noticed.”

Lada’s frown deepened. “What does Halil think he can do? He has no claim. Even if the people here are wary of Mehmed’s rule, they will not hand the throne to a pasha.”

“There is the brother,” Radu said.

“He is still an infant!”

“If something were to happen to me,” Mehmed said, “Halil Pasha could designate himself the grand vizier and rule as regent on my brother’s behalf until he came of age. Probably after he came of age as well. I do not know the boy’s mother well, but she is not powerful enough to make herself his regent.”

“But if Halil Pasha cannot kill you, he is out of options,” Lada said.

Radu shook his head. “No. He will have another way.” He leaned back, closing his eyes, scouring his memory for any hint of what Halil Pasha’s larger plan could be. And then he remembered—that night, that horrible night with Salih. There had been a letter from Constantinople. What was the name it mentioned? Radu put a hand to his forehead, trying to re-create the words when all he could think of was the kiss he had wanted but not received, and the kiss he had not wanted but gave anyway.

Then it came to him. “Orhan! Does the name Orhan mean anything to you? I saw it in a letter from Constantine to Halil Pasha.”

Mehmed’s eyes tightened. “He is a pretender, allegedly an heir to my throne from another line. We suspect he is not even related, but Constantine has held him against us for years. My father pays a yearly tax for his upkeep so that Constantine does not send him here to stir up trouble. Halil Pasha means to set the city against me and bring in Orhan as sultan. If he can keep things unbalanced enough, he can hold Edirne and trigger a civil war, and keep Constantinople out of harm’s way. I wonder how much they have paid the snake.”

Radu blanched. “So many Ottomans would die. How can he not care what the cost of a civil war would be?”

Lada picked up a dagger from the table. “The solution is simple. We kill Halil tonight; Ilyas arrives with his Janissaries in two or three days, and the city is ours.”

“It is not that simple,” Radu said.

Lada let out a derisive huff, but Mehmed had turned away from her to face Radu. Lada recoiled as though struck, her face darkening.

“Tell me, then,” Mehmed said. “What do you think we should do?”

Radu rejoiced. “I have an idea.”

“I have always thought red was a better color for me than blue,” Nicolae said, his mouth and nose obscured by a veil as he plucked at his flowing skirts.