Jonalyn Bautista

“Love was a weakness, a trap. She had learned that from her father her first day in Edirne, but somehow she had failed to keep herself free. Mehmed and Radu stood before her, snaring her, keeping her here. And even knowing it, she recoiled at the thought of losing them.

Lada made her face stone, her heart a mountain. A mountain that would never be pierced to let cold, clear water flow. “Nothing holds me here.”
― Kiersten White, And I Darken

“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.”
― Kiersten White, And I Darken

“You are fascinated with the girls,” Huma said. Lada snapped her attention back to the older woman. She had assumed Huma was so absorbed in her consumption of food that Lada had let her mind and gaze wander.

“Why do they veil their faces? Does your god hate even the sight of women?”

Huma laughed. “You misunderstand. Women should veil their bodies, yes. But veiling the face is a symbol of status. Only women who are so well provided for they can afford not to do menial labor may wear a veil. These girls have earned their veils. It is a mark of privilege.”

“Privilege? They are slaves!”

Huma laughed. “So am I, dearest. I was sold as a very young girl, brought to the harem as a servant as well.”

Lada scowled. “You should have fought them. You should have escaped.”

“To where? I was angry, for many years. And frightened. But there are many ways to be powerful. There is power in stillness. There is power in watching, waiting, saying the right thing at the right time to the right person. There is power in being a woman—oh yes, power in these bodies you gaze upon with derision.” Huma ran one hand down her ample breasts, over her stomach, and rested it on her hip. “When you have something someone else wants, there is always an element of power.”

“But it can be taken from you.” Lada had seen enough of men and the world to know that a woman’s body was not an object of power.

“Or it can be given in exchange for more important things. These girls, my servants, understand that. The smart ones, anyhow. They will spend years climbing, trying to get in a position where they have some measure of control. The ones who are clever will do better than the ones who are merely beautiful.”

Her gaze was so pointed, Lada felt herself blush. She dropped the pieces of ripped flatbread onto the plate in front of her. She felt awkward, ungainly, and uglier than she had ever considered herself before. It had not bothered her, most of her life, knowing that she was not beautiful, would never gain admiration for her looks alone. But Huma used her face as a weapon and a tool in a way Lada never could. Lada had never realized that simply by being attractive, she might have gained more threads of power.”
― Kiersten White, And I Darken

“Mehmed shook his head. “He is with my father. I saw him but once. He commands a small group directly under the sultan.”

“Then it could be anyone. I am no favorite of your father’s, or of Halil Pasha’s, or any number of men. My absence would not be mourned.”

“I would mourn it. Every moment of every day.”

“Did you?”

Mehmed’s eyes were heavy with longing. “I did.”

She turned away. “I was going to leave.”

He pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. “I forbid it.”

“You can forbid me nothing.” But it sounded hollow and forced when she said it. She had spent the last week knowing exactly her value without him. It was a stolen horse, a single loyal friend, and a bleak and difficult future.

He moved from her hair to her ear, trailing his lips along it. Her body responded despite her resolve to be angry, to punish him.

He still wanted her. And she knew now what a fleeting and precious thing it was for a woman to be wanted in any way that made her important. She had been ready to run when she had lost this, but now…

She would never admit it to Nicolae, could barely admit it to herself, but she would stay for Mehmed. She would stay for the way she felt when his mouth or eyes were on her. And she would stay for the power it gave her.

His lips found hers, and she kissed him back with a determined ferocity. She touched him everywhere, his face, his hair, his shoulders, his hands, because he was here, and he was alive, and it was the first time that a man she loved had come back for her. She did not have to lose the life she had built here, the threads of safety and power she had. She had not lost him.

“Say you are mine.” He trailed his lips down her neck. She arched into him, digging her fingers into his back.

“I am yours,” she whispered. The words cut like knives, barely out of her mouth before he stole them, sealing them with his own lips.”
― Kiersten White, And I Darken