Page 41 of One For my Enemy

You don’t know anything about love, Dimitri Fedorov,she’d told him, and it had made him love her that much more fiercely. He was a Fedorov, the son of Koschei. He was the son of a very great man, and someday he would be a great man himself, and only one woman would ever be fit to stand beside him. Only one woman was ever bigger and more alive than he was.

Masha, Masha, Masha,he had sighed, shaking his head.Don’t you know we belong together? It’s inevitable. You might as well give in.

She’d said nothing at first; only dropped her hand from her eyes, stepping towards him to beckon him for his.If I ever decide to give my heart to you, Dima,she’d said, holding his hand palm up,then cut it out of my chest and keep it somewhere safe, where no one else can get to it. Keep it locked somewhere,she murmured, repeating the old stories as she brushed her lips against the lines of his palm:Inside a needle, inside of an egg, which is inside of a duck, which is inside a hare, which is in an iron chest—and then bury it under our green oak tree, Dima, where no one will ever find it.

Keep it safe for me, Dima, will you?she’d asked, and he’d blinked, dazzled by her, by them, by all of it as she’d closed his hand one finger at a time, burying her request in the hand that she’d kissed.

I will,he’d promised; as if he could keep it.

She had not failed him, in the end. He’d been the one to fail her.

He bent his head over her, pressing his cheek to her hair, and touched her fingers to his lips.

“I won’t fail you again,” he promised, and tucked her hand against the bloodied slash across his heart, swearing it much, much too late.

II. 20

(Long Games.)

“Time’s up,” Sasha said, holding up her watch, and Lev groaned, letting his forehead drop to her shoulders.

“You’re ruining me.”

She hid a smile, leaning over to nip lightly at the side of his neck.

“I thought you said the wait is part of the book,” she reminded him, giving him a shove. “What was it you said again, about us being a long story?”

“Biblical, at this rate,” Lev lamented, but she rolled her eyes and he was helpless to smile, throwing an arm around her waist and pulling her in close again. “One more,” he said, and dropped another kiss to her lips, savoring it that time. “Okay, now go,” he exhaled, eyes still closed, “before I completely lose all composure and fall prostrate at your feet.”

“Composure? You’ve already lost it,” Sasha assured him. “It’s long gone.”

“Maybe so,” Lev agreed. “But I’d trade it for you any day.”

She tried to glare at him but couldn’t quite manage it.

“Goodnight, Lev Fedorov,” she said, and his mouth quirked, one eye cracking to watch her go.

“Goodnight, Sasha Antonova,” he replied as she turned away, curving her hand around another stolen smile.

II. 21

(The Firstborn.)

When Marya did not come home, Yaga knew at once where she’d gone. Only one other time had her daughter gone missing, and, despite the decade-and-more between occurrences, Yaga knew one of those episodes was not so unlike the other.

“Dima,” she said, and Dimitri Fedorov looked up from the floor, his cheeks streaked red with tears. “Give me my daughter back.”

He had a bloodied slash on his chest and was staring down at Marya.

“Yaga,” he rasped, not looking at her. He didn’t sound surprised. “It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me.”

“I know that,” Yaga said, her voice harsher than she’d intended. Behind her, Ivan crept in to let out a low hiss at the sight of Marya, like a wounded animal. “I know you wouldn’t have harmed her, Dima, but she is still my daughter. Give her back to me.”

Dimitri shuddered, his fingers tightening on Marya’s body. “Please.” A swallow. “Please don’t take her.”

“Dima.” Harder now. She was numb, but that would fade. The shock would fade, and the pain would be unbearable. “This wouldn’t have happened if not for you, Dima.”

A cruel thing to say, probably, but she wasn’t even sure which part she meant.

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