Page 47 of One For my Enemy

“Actually, your brother made some excellent points,” Bryn informed Roman, lazily crossing one long leg over the other. “WhyshouldI settle for your blood, Roman? It only gives me a fraction of what you possess, doesn’t it? And you’re getting weaker by the day. It’s hardly enough for me to accomplish much at all, and certainly nothing I can produce on my own. No, I think he made a rather compelling statement,” Bryn mused affirmatively, eyeing his glass, “and now I would prefer something a bit better, if you wish me to renew our deal.”

“Better?” Roman echoed, disbelieving. “Look at me! How much more do you want?”

At that, Bryn rose to his feet, striding forward to pause beside Roman. “Our previous deal, as you might recall, was ended earlier this evening by your own failure to pay.”

Roman stiffened. “I didn’t fail. My brother failed me.”

“Technicalities,” replied The Bridge, unfazed. “If you wish to renew our agreement and save yourself, Roman, then my demands are very simple: I want Dimitri Fedorov’s magic,” he said, and Roman felt the blood drain from his face.

“Why?” he pressed. “Why Dima?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Roma,” Bryn remarked, turning abruptly to pour himself more whisky. “Perhaps because yours is too easy. Perhaps by now it’s too weak. Perhaps I simply enjoy raising the stakes for my own amusement. Or perhaps I’m a fucking fairy,” Bryn suggested, taking a careful sip to nod his approval, “and I’ve spotted a deal better than the one I have now.”

“What about someone else, then?” Roman cut in, desperate. “Not Dima. Someone his equal.”

“Who is possibly Dimitri Fedorov’s equal?” Bryn scoffed. “Certainly not you.”

Roman grimaced. “What if I gave you—” He paused, blinking. “What if I gave you Marya Antonova’s magic instead?”

At that, Bryn paused; a dead giveaway. Something valuable had been placed on the table, and not even The Bridge himself could conceal his interest. “And how would you do that?” Bryn asked, though Roman could see the deal was as good as done.

“Not easily,” Roman determined slowly, “and it may take me some time. But yes, it could certainly be done.”

It wasn’t a total impossibility. Played correctly, Marya Antonova and Dimitri Fedorov had always been a match set to burn; always mere breaths from disaster. Two people born as much to oppose each other as to be made for one another, there had been no question in Roman’s mind that reuniting them would be precisely the explosion he needed. Marya would not be able to kill Dimitri; Dimitri, too, would be unable to oppose Marya. At best, Dimitri Fedorov was Marya Antonova’s greatest weakness. At worst, she was his.

Of course, a voice whispered temptingly in Roman’s mind, in what may very well be an inevitable stalemate between the Antonova heir and the Fedorov heir, Roman himself might finally be permitted room to rise. Roman could surface as the loyal son, his fidelity unwavering—and in so doing, he would both spare his brother and gain the honor of finally destroying the Antonova family’s most powerful witch.

(If this, then this.)

“So, do we have a deal, then?” Roman prompted, holding out a hand. “I’ll give you Marya Antonova’s magic, and in exchange, our deal continues. You help me bring her down, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“And if you fail?” Bryn prompted.

“And if I fail,” Roman said, and swallowed. “I’ll give you Dima.”

He wouldn’t, of course. He was certain he wouldn’t have to.

Bryn eyed his outstretched hand, considering it. “Deal,” he said eventually, clasping Roma’s hand with his long, narrow fingers and binding him to it, the extent of their agreement tingling against Roman’s palm. “Though, I should tell you, of course, that Marya already knows,” Bryn murmured as an afterthought, and Roman blinked.

“Knows what?”

“She knows someone cheated her,” Bryn replied neutrally, releasing Roman’s hand, “andsomehow,she suspects your family. Sadly,” he lamented, taking a laughing sip of his whisky, “it seems one of hervery reliableinformants saw fit to tell her of his suspicions sometime around midnight on the eve of a broken deal—and now, it appears, she’s rather displeased with what she’s heard.”

For a moment, Roman was frozen with disbelief. Once the words had processed, though, he lunged forward, seizing handfuls of Bryn’s lapels. “Why didn’t you tell me this before we made the deal?”

“Well, it seemed largely a family matter,” Bryn replied, nudging Roman away and taking another restrained sip. “Besides, I hadn’t really thought you capable of offering me anything I wanted. Seems I was wrong, so good on you for that.”

It was terrible news. Themostterrible, as far as Roman was concerned, and he felt well and rightly tricked, knowing now why The Bridge had been so willing to permit another deal in place of the old one. “But she will come for me,andfor Dima,” Roman said urgently, fidgeting, “and we’re not ready—I’mnot ready—”

“Pity, that,” Bryn agreed, dismissive. “But I’m sure you’ll think of something. After all,” he said, the single slab of ice tinkling in his glass, “I’m sure you wouldn’t want me any further dissatisfied, seeing how your brother’s life is on the line.”

At that, Roman suffered a sickening wave of disbelief, glaring at him. “What can you do to me, to any of us?” he demanded. “You’re not a witch, Bridge—”

“No, I’m not,” Bryn confirmed, “which is perhaps the most compelling part. After all, would Koschei the Deathless be pleased to hear his son is in my debt?” he asked, and as Roman’s expression stiffened at the acknowledgment of his father’s private identity, The Bridge merely shrugged, shadows on the wall dancing in the space between them. “Didn’t think so. It’s rather common knowledge what Koschei thinks of creatures—and now, after everything, your debt is even weightier. Your clock is ticking, Roman Fedorov. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Roman’s return home after his meeting with The Bridge had been a blur, Dimitri’s angered voice echoing dully between his ears.

Roma, what were you thinking—I cannot let you do this—I can’t possibly do anything now but hope Marya will listen, that perhaps she can forgive me—

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