Page 134 of Dragon Slayer

“Then we shall make use of them.” She paused, tilted her head. “Youshall make use of them.” Then her expression softened. “You look like a man, now. And so much like your father.”

He inclined his head in thanks, but found he couldn’t speak. Not about Father. Not even about himself.

“You have the castle,” she said. “How do you intend to keep it?”

“By any means that I can.”

A knock sounded at the door, and Helga poked her head inside. “Your grace.” She winced in apology. “One of your men wishes to see you.”

Vlad knew who it was by scent. He nodded. “Let him in.”

She stepped in, pushing the door wide, and Malik entered behind her.

“Sir.” His gaze darted to the window, to Eira, resplendent even in a maid’s simple dress, and then hastily back again. Vlad stepped in front of his mother, a physical barrier, and he thought he heard Eira breathe a laugh behind him. He knew what she must look like to a mortal: young and beautiful, certainly not Vlad’s own mother. And she wasn’t the princess.

“What?” Vlad snapped.

Malik straightened another fraction, heels clicking together comically. “The palace grounds are secure, your grace, and we’ve raised the bridge and closed the gate.”

“Good. Find a scribe and tell him I wish to dictate a letter to Vladislav as soon as possible.”

“Yes, your grace.” He stole one last, covert glance at Eira over Vlad’s shoulder, and then quit the room.

Helga shut the door behind him with a thump and a sour expression that seemed to saygood riddance.

Eira let her laughter bubble out, and Vlad ached hearing it. She’d smelled of tears when he’d come in the room, long-dried, but her skin tainted by the salt of them. She’d loved Mircea, even if he wasn’t her son – if only because he was loved by his father and brothers. And Father…Papa…he’d been her soulmate. Her grief was a fourth presence, a shadow lurking at the edges of the room.

“Your new captain?” she guessed as he turned to her, her eyes dancing like old times – even if they were shadowed.

“Yes.”

“Does he know what you are? Whatweare?”

“Perhaps. He’s clever. But I haven’t told him outright.”

“Do you trust him?”

Vlad considered.

“He’s Turkish.”

“No, Mother. He’s a janissary, fighting for the Ottomans. But he is most definitely not Turkish.”

Expression thoughtful, she moved away from the window to sit at the foot of the narrow bed that occupied most of the room. She folded her hands in her lap. “How complete is the sultan’s support of your campaign here?”

He understood the question. Propped a shoulder against the edge of the window and let some of the tension bleed out of him. “Depends on which sultan you ask,” he admitted with a sigh, finally letting his doubt come through in his voice. He might be a man, one on a sultan-sent mission, one hell-bent on revenge…but this was his mother, and he was only seventeen; a boy to her, and always her son and baby.

“Murat abdicated several years ago,” he said, and saw her brows lift in surprise. “It’s not something widely known outside the Empire, I don’t suppose, because the heir – the new sultan,” he said, scowling, “Mehmet, is so terrible at ruling. Their decisions are not always unified. Murat is old and tired, and he wants nothing to do with warmongering anymore. He’s content with the lands they already hold, I think. He’s the one who gave me Malik Bey and what forces I brought with me here. He wants me to retake Wallachia and rule as Father’s rightful heir. To know that Wallachia is still a vassal state, and, more importantly, a barrier between Hunyadi and the Ottoman lands.

“Mehmet, on the other hand.” His voice grew dark. “Is an expansionist and an egomaniac. He wants glory, and lands, and–” He bit his tongue on his next words:innocent little boys. “He sees himself as Romulus’s heir, and I supposed he is, since Uncle’s the one who turned him.”

Eira made a quiet sound of shock, but her brows slanted downward, enraged. “Iknewthat bastard was up to something when he started coming here. You’re sure of it? He’s Mehmet’s sire?”

“I tasted his blood. I’m sure of it. And then the fool bragged about it.”

She shook her head, lips pressed into a thin, pale line. “He stopped coming, right after the three of you were taken. He made one last visit, the night after we received the note from the sultan. He wanted to…toconsoleme. Toshare in my grief.” She looked up at Vlad, defiant, hands balled into fists in her lap. “I kicked him in the bollocks and sent him packing.”

He managed a smile at the thought.

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