Of course. The same thing that moves me.
"David," she said, "years ago, when you were a little boy—when the Turks killed your parents. Do you remember how you felt?"
David stared at her. So fixed were his eyes that for a moment she thought he might draw his sword and strike her down. She waited, trembling.
"You have no right to speak of that to me," he said. His voice was tight with pain.
"I know I have no right," she said. "Can't you see how desperate I am?" Hope dawned faintly within her. She had touched him.
His silence stretched on while the turmoil of the city eddied about them. She waited, trembling.
He spoke. "He who taught me Islam said to me, 'To lift up a fallen swallow is to raise up your heart to God.'"
Relief flooded Sophia's body. She wanted to weep. Instead, she felt herself smiling. But David did not return her smile.
"Swear that this girl will learn nothing of our mission from you," he said. "And you also, Celino. Swear it by all that you hold most holy."
"I swear it by Constantinople," said Sophia fervently and gladly.