Page 75 of One For my Enemy

“It can wait,” Roman rushed to say.

Yes, Dimitri thought, Koschei’s wishes can wait. They can wait forever. They can wait until the rage in my veins dies down, if it ever does. Koschei can wait until my enmity fades, if it ever will. Koschei can ask for me again tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, and all of my tomorrows. He can pound on my door and beg for me and see if I will answer. Koschei is without a death, without a life, without a conscience. For once, Koschei can wait for me to decide when I am ready to be moved.

“See to it,” Dimitri said, “whatever it is. Whatever he wants.”

Roman’s brow furrowed. “Dima,” he began.

Koschei dies, you know, Dimitri doesn’t say. Koschei is only immortal until he isn’t.

“I have to do something,” Dimitri said instead, and Roman knew something was wrong, most likely. Roman was probably wondering how to get his brother the universe (the sun, moon, and stars) to speak, but perhaps Roman already understood he no longer reserved the right to Dimitri’s thoughts. Roman let him go, and after burying his brother Lev in darkness, Dimitri went to the only person he could think of. The only person he could stand to face.

“Oh,” said Brynmor Attaway, pulling the door open.

Dimitri took hold of The Bridge’s throat, little cracklings of power sparking beneath his fingertips.

“Oh,” repeated Brynmor Attaway, less coherently this time.

The lights of The Bridge’s apartments were too dim for Dimitri, who had buried his brother in darkness. He released Bryn, half-throwing him to the ground, and then turned to the door, giving it a shove. As the latch snapped into place, Dimitri waited. Perhaps the fae would kill him? Stab a blade through his heart from behind? Koschei had often spoken of the dangers of meeting fairies. The stories varied from place to place, but the general lesson was always the same: Show a fae your back and he will gladly place a knife between your shoulders, unless he has something to gain from you.

So, when Dimitri discovered he wasn’t dead, he guessed The Bridge still had some interest in him.

“I told Roma our deal was settled,” Bryn said casually, “so either you’re here for the pleasure of my company, or—”

“Marya Antonova isn’t dead,” Dimitri said.

Bryn’s brow rose, amused. “And how would you know that?”

Dimitri felt Marya’s heart pulse against his own.

“I know,” he said.

“Ah, you witchy, mystical folk,” declared Bryn, approving. “What exactly is your connection to Marya Antonova, Dimitri Fedorov?”

She is my entire soul, Dimitri didn’t say.

“We knew each other once.”

“What, intimately?” asked Bryn.

It seemed a question meant to cause him harm.

“She isn’t dead,” Dimitri said again.

“And?” Bryn prompted. The conversation seemed to be branching off in a web of thoughts, with The Bridge holding all the silken ends. “I don’t really see what that has to do with me.”

But Bryn had already made a number of observations, Dimitri knew. He knew Dimitri had come to him for something. He knew Dimitri’s connection to Marya was something more than nothing. That alone was dangerous information to put in a fae’s greedy hands.

“You know, they say something very interesting about Marya Antonova in the land of the dead,” Bryn said, beckoning for Dimitri to sit, which he did, warily. “I try not to listen to gossip, of course, but sometimes that’s much easier said than done. Can’t always avoid it.”

Dimitri said nothing.

“They say she’s missing something,” Bryn went on, unbothered by Dimitri’s silence. “A piece of herself, in fact. Now, normally this wouldn’t be worth remarking,” he mused, pouring himself a glass of caramel-colored liquid. “Sorry, did you want one?” he asked, holding up a glass. Dimitri didn’t move. “Right, have it your way.” He poured a second glass, eyeing it in the light, and then carried it over, holding it out for Dimitri.

After a moment or two of silence, Dimitri accepted the beverage.

Offer and acceptance. It didn’t take a lawyer or a fairy (or one who was both) to know what that meant. The Bridge smiled his sly smile, falling into the seat across from Dimitri.

“Marya Antonova is alive, but absent something,” Bryn said.

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