Page 48 of One For my Enemy

(If this, then this—)

“Leave my brothers out of it,” Dimitri had said to Marya Antonova just before she killed him—triedto kill him. Roman suffered his secret for days, waiting impatiently for the inevitable. Waiting for Marya to remember her love of Dimitri and repent, to seek him out, to be at last unable to resist the lure she’d always felt for him and to be caught in the meantime, with nobody but herself to blame. But when Marya had brought Dimitri back, just as Roman had suspected she would, that had been far worse, because then Roman heard the truth about his brother’s loyalty from Dimitri’s own lips.

I would have gone to you, Masha, if you’d asked. You would have only had to ask, and I would have chosen you over everything.

Overeverything,Dimitri had said, the words numbing Roman’s heart from afar. Over his father; over his brothers; over being a Fedorov son; over Roman himself, even while Roman was struggling to save him. Roman had always known Marya Antonova would come for his brother—had known quite a bit about her, after so many years of enmity—but suddenly, he understood that he was the fool who hadn’t realized the depths of his own brother’s love; his obsession, and the reckless way Dimitri loved a woman who’d turned on him, who’d defied him, who’d married another man. For a moment, Roman hadn’t even known his brother at all, and though he hadn’t originally planned to kill Marya (he only needed her magic, only needed a piece of her, an organ of hers at most) it had been easy, the most obvious of choices, to pierce through the woman in Dimitri’s arms, tugging the sword free and leaving her to collapse against the floor.

But for all that Roman hadn’t anticipated the rage he’d felt over knowing the truth of his brother’s loyalty, nor could he stand the remorse. He’d killed before, where necessary, but he’d never struck at his own brother’s heart. He’d never seen Dimitri in pain at his own hands. He hadn’t known it would be so terrible, like cutting out a piece of himself.

(If this, then—?)

So, in anger, Roman had left his brother behind to grieve, and when he returned, tongue full of apologies, he found he’d made a terrible mistake.

“Where is she?” Roman demanded, eyeing the pool of blood on the floor and the vacancy of Marya Antonova’s body that his brother had curled around, suddenly small and dimmed and draped in shadows. “What have you done with her?”

Dimitri wouldn’t look at him. “Gone,” was all he said, his voice hollowed and dull, and Roman’s eyes widened.

“No, Dima, no, we need her,” Roman said urgently, shaking Dimitri’s shoulder and hoping somehow, miraculously, the brother he’d known for a lifetime would reappear. “Where is she, Dima? I need her body—I need itnow,before the magic drains out—”

“For what?” Dimitri asked, his haunted gaze sliding slowly to Roman’s. “I ended your deal with The Bridge. You owe him nothing.”

“Dima,” Roman pleaded, “you can’t possibly—”

“What’s this?” came a voice behind them, paired with the familiar sound of Lev’s lengthy stride. “Dima,” Lev gasped, catching sight of the blood and lurching forward, “are you hurt? What happened? What are y- is thisblood,Dima?”

Dimitri looked up slowly, the unfocused haze in his eyes gradually finding a place to land as he reached out, running two crimson-stained fingers along their youngest brother’s cheek.

“Marya Antonova is dead,” Dimitri said, the name sounding foreign on his tongue. For years he’d spoken nothing of her and now there was an echo of something very close to nothing, as if he were naming a stranger. “Roma killed her himself.” He rose to his feet, gripping Lev’s shoulder, and let his gaze travel slowly to Roman’s, landing with the dull thud of a blow. “I hope it doesn’t pain you too terribly, brother,” he said softly, his fingers tensed and white around Lev’s shoulder, “whatever this brings upon your head.”

“You killed her?” Lev asked, his young face aghast when it met Roman’s. “Why? How? But Sasha—”

“Sasha?” Dimitri cut in, still staring at Roman, who didn’t look away. “Sasha Antonova? What have you done?”

Lev closed his mouth at once, glancing uncertainly between his brothers.

“Nothing,” Roman insisted, lifting his chin. “I did what had to be done while you were being drained of your life in this bed. While you were dying, Dima, I was trying to save us. You.”

“Tosaveus?” Dimitri spat, and Lev turned between them, frowning with bemusement.

“What’s going on?” Lev asked, frowning. “What are you saying?”

Please,Roman mouthed to Dimitri, who stiffened.

Don’t tell Papa, don’t tell Lev—

“Nothing,” Dimitri said eventually, hardening again as he turned away from Roman. “It’s nothing, Levka. You came to see me,” he added, touching their youngest brother’s forehead in recognition. “I heard you speaking to me.”

Lev nodded, leaning gratefully into Dimitri’s touch.

“What’s this about Sasha?” Dimitri asked him softly, but Lev, always caught between the wishes of his brothers, glanced at Roman first.

“Nothing,” Lev said, hasty in his response. “I met her, that’s all. She’s—” He swallowed, glancing from Roman to Dimitri. “Up to something. The Antonova witches. They’re planning something.”

“Then let them,” Dimitri said, resting both hands on Lev’s shoulders. “Leave them be, Levka, I mean it—”

“You’re not Koschei,” Roman cut in sharply, glaring at Dimitri from across the room. “You don’t make orders, Dima.”

Roman still had a debt. He needed Lev’s loyalty, if he couldn’t have Dimitri’s.

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