Radu nodded. He had seen much of the striving of valis and beys, local rulers abandoning or neglecting their duties in hopes of being given even more.

Kumal’s beatific smile lit up their dim corner. “And I have just returned from umrah in Mecca.”

Radu leaned forward, drawn by the brilliance of Kumal’s smile. “You made the pilgrimage to Mecca? And for umrah, not hajj. So you have been before!” The hajj, traveling to the birthplace of the Prophet at Mecca, was one of the five pillars of Islam. Along with prayer, fasting during Ramadan, giving charity to the poor, and declaring that there is no God but God, it made up the simplest base of being Muslim. It was the one that Radu knew the least about and doubted he would ever be able to fulfill. But here, in front of him, was the man who had helped him truly find himself in Islam, who had filled the hajj and returned to worship further. “I do not know enough about the umrah. Tell me everything.”

Kumal described the long journey, exhaustion and excitement warring with each other. The city of Mecca where the Prophet, peace be upon him, had walked, and where pilgrims participated in the circling of the Kaaba. It was the most sacred site in the world, the place that all prayers were physically directed toward. And Kumal had been there! During the umrah, he performed further rituals to honor Ibrahim, his wife Hajar, and their son, Isma’il.

By the time Kumal had finished speaking, Radu was once again overcome with weariness. “Perhaps that is what I need. Maybe if I went to Mecca, if I saw it…”

Kumal smiled kindly. “Someday you will go, and your life will be blessed for it. But it will not fix you—all your troubles will still be here, waiting. First you should strive to find peace where you are, and then you can make the pilgrimage to celebrate that peace.”

Radu shook his head. “I do not know where peace can be found in this city.”

“That is your problem, then. Peace is not to be found in this city, or any city. Not even Mecca. Peace is to be found here.” He pointed to Radu’s heart.

Radu put a hand over his chest, feeling the beat of his life beneath it. The pulse that thrummed for so long to the name of Mehmed. “I think my heart is the problem.”

Kumal paid for their meal, then stood. “I want you to visit my vali. Perhaps we can help your heart there.”

Radu found a eunuch waiting in his chambers with a message from Huma, demanding he visit her. The eunuch stood, silent and impassive, and Radu suspected that being too tired was an excuse neither Huma nor the eunuch would accept. So he followed the other man into the harem.

Huma’s chambers were no longer the luxurious rooms she had occupied before. They were in a side wing and had narrow windows and scarcely space for two. Radu sat on a cushioned bench against the wall. Huma, her skin tinged a sickly yellow, sat on a higher chair across from him, their knees nearly touching.

“Are you well?” Radu asked.

“I want you to kill Halil Pasha.”

Radu choked on his surprise. “You want me to what?”

Huma shifted in her seat, eyes narrowing in direct contradiction to her innocent smile. “I know how you feel about my son.”

Radu resisted the urge to turn away or to tense his body defensively. He had no doubt Huma could divine meaning from the slightest movement. “He is my friend.”

“Do not lie to me. You love him like a flower loves the sun.”

“I do not know what—”

She sliced her hand through the air, cutting off his protest. “These things happen. It is not without precedent. Did you know that some sultans have had harems with male members?”

Too late Radu realized his eyes had betrayed everything.

Huma settled back in her chair, self-satisfied. “I can help you. You do not have to despair that your love is impossible.”

Radu shook his head, protests on his lips warring with the dark hope she had introduced. Could he have more with Mehmed?

Huma took a sip of water from a plain white ceramic cup, eyeing it with disdain. “I will help you,” she said, not looking up, “when Halil Pasha is dead.”

NEWS OF LADA’S TEST had spread throughout the city. Spectators lined the far edge of the field, sitting in the shadows of the looming trees on chairs brought by servants, or on the ground if they had no servants, which was most of them.

“This is ridiculous.” Lada folded her arms tightly in front of her armored chest. She wore mail beneath a tunic; the heavy links rippled down her body. She had left her head bare, though the men behind her all wore Janissary caps.

Mehmed smiled, waving at the gathered crowds. He spoke to her out of the side of his mouth. “Please do not make this worse than it must be. You know I am not the ultimate authority. If Ilyas decided to go to my father about this, my hands would be bound. That Ilyas even agreed to give you a trial of merit speaks volumes of your reputation among the local garrisons.”