CHAPTER ONE
Târgovi?te, Winter 1442
The sun hadn’t set, but the moon hovered over the Curtea Domneasca like a curious orange eye. It seemed almost as interested in the two boys’ antics as Ilona and the rest of their all-female audience. The boys unsheathed their Magyar longswords, wiped the blades on their shirttails, and swiped the weapons experimentally through the air. Both paused to cast sidelong glances at the watching girls. The boyars’ daughters obliged their hopes with flirtatious laughter.
Ilona watched the girls lean close and whisper to one another behind their hands. They were as duplicitous as the courtiers in Transylvania and twice as vicious. Ilona’s family had been guests of Vlad Dracul’s court for only a few short weeks, but in that time she’d learned to carefully guard her thoughts and her words.
Something tugged at her embroidered sleeve. Ilona wiped the scowl off her face and looked down at her younger sister.
“Which one is the voivode’s son?” Gizela asked.
“The shorter one.”
“What’s his name?”
“Honestly, Gizi, we’ve been here for weeks. He’s the one who’s named after his father. Vlad. Vlad Dracula.”
Gizela giggled. “Dracula. That means ‘little devil.’ I think I’ll marry him. I want to be a prince’s wife.”
“If you want to be a prince’s wife, you’ll have to marry someone else.”
Gizela frowned. “Why?”
“Because the voivode’s eldest son—Mircea—is next in line for Wallachia’s throne.”
“Then I’ll marry him.”
“He’s eighteen. I don’t think he’s interested in seven-year-olds.”
Gizela thrust out her lower lip and petulantly crossed her arms. “I’m nearly eight and very mature for my age!”
Ilona laughed, which drew the attention of the boyars’ daughters and the sword-wielding boys. Vlad clearly decided Ilona’s laughter was for him; he grinned and bowed, his wavy hair falling over his eyes.
He wasn’t heart-stoppingly handsome, Ilona thought, but he wasn’t unattractive either. And he was funny. The other day she had watched from a corner as he mocked the boyars behind their backs. He had mastered Grand Boyar Golescu’s scowl and Boyar Vacarescu’s pompous strut. He didn’t fear any of them, although perhaps he should have.
Vlad Dracul II was a powerful voivode, Wallachia’s princely warlord, but the boyars were powerful landowners with soldiers and alliances of their own. Dracul only maintained power by keeping a slim majority of the aristocracy on his side.
Up to this point, Ilona had only exchanged a few words with Vlad in passing, so she didn’t know why she blushed now at his unexpected attention.
Vlad’s tall, quiet companion stared too, but when Ilona looked back, he quickly lowered his gaze. He was Vlad’s cousin Andrei. The boyars’ daughters had been whispering his and Vlad’s names ever since they entered the courtyard. Two of the three girls now stared daggers at Ilona.
Despite what they might have thought, Ilona wasn’t seeking Vlad’s attention—she had no interest in climbing the social ladder. But when he addressed his audience, his gaze lingered on her.
“Andrei and I are training to be knights,” he said. “We’ve already fought Wallachia’s enemies at the border, and the next time they dare to set their worthless feet on our soil, we’ll be there to stop them again. Isn’t that right, Andrei?”
He clapped a hand on Andrei’s shoulder, and Andrei nodded.
“I’m already a member of Sigismund’s Order of the Dragon,” Vlad said. “I’ve been preparing my entire life to lead Wallachia’s armies.”
The boyars’ daughters responded with appropriate nods and smiles. Vlad beamed and Andrei blushed.
“These are sharpened,” Vlad said, brandishing his sword. “One false move and Andrei or I could lose a hand.”
A pretty girl with a long braid falling down her back pretended to swoon into one of her companions’ arms. It earned another coveted grin from Vlad. Ilona bit her lower lip. The pretty girl was Golescu’s daughter. Grand Boyar Golescu was possibly the most powerful boyar in Wallachia. This, in and of itself, made his daughter particularly dangerous.
“Are you ready?” Vlad asked, returning his attention to Andrei.
Andrei didn’t seem as enthusiastic as Vlad, but he mumbled an acknowledgment. Vlad moved into a ready stance. Neither boy wore protective armor; both had stripped off their fur-lined coats and now shivered in their linen tunics.
This exhibition was foolish. An adult would put an immediate end to it, but all the adults were in the banquet hall. Ilona knew she should say something, but fear of how the other girls would react kept her quiet. She was already enough of an outsider here at court.
The boys bowed and crossed their blades.
“Începe!” Vlad shouted. His sword met Andrei’s, and a metallic clang rippled off the courtyard walls. Vlad—clearly the more aggressive—lunged at his cousin, forcing Andrei to hastily swat Vlad’s blade aside. Undeterred, Vlad came at him again. And again. And again … It took Andrei seven tries to finally catch Vlad’s blade against his own spade-ended cross guard.
“Good one,” Vlad grunted.
Andrei nodded. He shrugged Vlad’s ringing weapon aside, and the mock battle resumed. Strike. Block. Strike.
Ilona again considered creeping back to the banquet hall to find her father, but self-doubt held her in place. Vlad and Andrei were skilled. Maybe they did this often. Maybe they knew how to handle a sword without harming each other. Vlad was better, but it was a friendly match. Nobody was going to get hurt.
Despite her worry, the longer she watched, the more impressed Ilona became. Vlad played swords the way Ilona’s father played rithmomachy—a mathematical board game similar to chess, but far more complex. Like Ilona’s father, Vlad used just the right amount of strategy and reckless aggression to intimidate his opponent. It was working on Andrei. Step by step, Vlad forced his cousin backward.
And then Andrei surprised everyone. He struck Vlad’s swooping blade with a heavy blow that nearly sent it flying; Vlad fought to maintain his grasp. One of the boyars’ daughters cheered, and Vlad’s jaw tightened.
Ilona saw a change in Vlad’s eyes. They grew darker. His swordplay became less restrained.
Gizela clapped. “This is exciting! Who do you think will win?”
Ilona pushed her sister behind her. It was time to go for help. She stepped toward the nearest corridor, but she was too late. Andrei slipped on a patch of icy snow and Vlad’s razor-edged blade carved a crimson path down the left side of his face.
Blood.
Everywhere.
The boyars’ daughters shrieked, Andrei dropped his weapon, and Vlad staggered backward with a horrified look on his face.
Ilona didn’t remember moving, wasn’t sure how she ended up between Andrei and Vlad, but sticky blood oozed between Ilona’s fingers where she pressed her handkerchief against Andrei’s face.
Copyright © 2021 by Alexander Delacroix.
