The boy’s chest moved and a low groan escaped his lips. Radu prayed his relief to the heavens, then felt in the servant’s clothes for…yes! The letter! He tucked it into his own shirt, then hurried down the stairs, nearly falling over his own feet. Taking a few precious seconds at the bottom, he slowed and entered the kitchen calmly. Every limb screamed at him to run, but he walked at a measured pace, a pleasantly blank look on his face, before he finally emerged into the sunlight of the yard, and then escaped through the gate. Only when he had turned back to the palace grounds did he allow himself to run.

A flash of dark hair and a familiar, aggressive walk caught his eye. Gasping with relief, he changed direction, plowing into Lada and nearly knocking her over.

“What is wrong with you?” she said, grabbing his shoulders to steady them both.

“I have just come from…someone was in Mehmed’s rooms, and they stole…there is a letter here!” He waved it in front of Lada’s face. Scowling in exasperation, she snatched it from him and stalked away. He followed her, checking over his shoulder.

“Stop it,” she snapped. “You might as well be waving a flag that says ‘I am guilty!’ ”

He tried to copy her walk, forced himself to stare straight ahead. When they arrived at the harem, a eunuch let them in and they returned to Lada’s room. It was sparsely furnished with a plain bed and a simple chair, the chamber pot tucked into the corner and a small washbasin on a low table.

“My room is nicer,” Radu said, nerves bubbling over.

“Of course it is.” Lada sat on the bed and dropped the letter beside her. “Huma loves you. Everyone loves you.”

Radu itched to find out what was in the letter, to tell Lada how well he had done. It would be important. It had to be. But…what if it was nothing? What if he had attacked a servant over a letter to a distant relative? Halil Pasha had said nothing of the assassination attempt. The servant could have been picking something up Halil Pasha was meant to have.

Terrified to be wrong, terrified to be right, Radu delayed. “What were you doing out?”

“I visited Nicolae. He has heard nothing of an attempt on Mehmed’s life. Ilyas continues to lead his men as though everything is normal.”

“But we were supposed to keep it—”

Lada lifted a hand to silence him. “Nicolae will not spread the news. We can trust him. Though he was surprised at the attempt, he seemed less surprised at my theory it was a Janissary. Dissatisfaction spreads through the men like a disease. Nicolae even heard talk of hating Mehmed from several chorbaji—” She huffed in exasperation at Radu’s confused look. “Chorbaji are the Janissaries’ commanders. I have heard talk among ranking Janissaries, but for chorbaji to be speaking up, things must be serious. But Nicolae does not know who is responsible.”

Radu held up the letter, his hand trembling. “Maybe this has answers.”

Lada cracked the seal and opened the letter. The ink was so fresh Radu could smell it. His eyes went immediately to the signature.

“Halil Pasha.” Lada spat his name like a curse. She did not even elbow Radu away as he leaned against her to scan the letter. “He is writing to Constantinople. Reassuring them that Mehmed will never lead the Ottoman troops against them.”

“But he cannot promise that! Mehmed is determined to…” Radu stopped.

Lada met his eyes, her own heavy with knowledge. “He can promise that. Mehmed cannot lead Ottoman troops against them if he is dead.”

Radu stood up. “We have to tell someone! Halil Pasha will be arrested, and—”

“And who will arrest him? The sultan’s Janissaries? They hate Mehmed. We do not know which of them—or how many, or how high up—knew of the attempt. And who would believe us? This says nothing of killing Mehmed, or having already tried to. It is flimsy evidence against a powerful man.”

“We have to do something!”

Lada scowled. “If only Murad had come back like he was supposed to, none of this would be happening!”

“Mehmed will not give up the throne. He wants it now. There has to be another way to help him.”

Lada folded the letter, tapping it absently against her leg. “What would you sacrifice for power?”

“What?”

She looked up at him, brows furrowed, an expression of intense thought on her face. “For power, Halil Pasha would kill Mehmed. For power, the Janissaries would abandon their duty to the throne. Everyone is willing to sacrifice Mehmed. We must figure out how to do it first.”