Page 78 of One For my Enemy

Dimitri frowned. There was no way the fae would offer him anything for free.

“I’m not offering it for free,” Bryn assured him. “What I’m saying is that I can’t actually offer anything at all. I don’t know how Marya Antonova came back; I could find out,” he conceded, shrugging, “but I couldn’t do it for you. I could also cross over to the realm of the dead, but similarly, I couldn’t take you with me.”

“These are crumbs, then,” Dimitri said. “Meager offerings.”

“Aren’t they?” Bryn agreed with a laugh, gesturing to Dimitri’s glass. “Might as well finish your drink.”

Dimitri looked down at it. “What is it?”

“Whisky from my mother’s house,” Bryn said. “She told me I would have a visit from the sun, the moon, and the stars. She’s something of a disastrous psychic, my mother. Painfully opaque.”

“What is she?”

“Oh, you know. A humble fairy.” Bryn took a sip. “An expert distiller of whisky, that’s for sure.”

Dimitri lifted the glass to his lips, taking another sip.

It was very good.

“I’m not totally selfless, of course,” Bryn permitted. “It pleases me greatly that you came here, little prince; I’d love to have the ear of the next Koschei. I have something of a witch infestation these days, and I’d like a more privileged position.” He shrugged, adding, “Easier to swat flies from on high.”

Dimitri blinked.

“You’re,” he began, and faltered. “Collecting me?”

“I love trinkets,” Bryn agreed. “The more useful, the better. And you’re certainly pretty enough.”

“But I’m not useful to you. Not if I stay loyal to my father.”

“True, that did cross my mind. But then again, you can’t have your brother back if you stay loyal to Koschei, either. So, what’ll it be?” Bryn asked, and Dimitri stared down at the whisky in his hand.

He didn’t know the answer.

But either way, this was not the place for truth.

“I’m a Fedorov,” Dimitri said, setting the glass down on the table. “I was born a Fedorov. I will die a Fedorov.”

“Like Lev?” asked Bryn.

Briefly, Dimitri wondered if he shouldn’t simply kill the irreverent fae. Perhaps it would make him feel better, ease the tightness in his aching chest.

“How did Roman satisfy his deal with you?” Dimitri asked instead.

“Someone paid on his behalf,” Bryn replied. “The debt is satisfied.”

Quietly, Marya’s heart pulsed, thudding warningly against his.

“Who do you work for?” Dimitri asked, rising to his feet.

“The highest bidder,” Bryn replied.

“And who is that, currently?”

“Not you,” Bryn remarked into his glass, chuckling.

Dimitri paced the floor, thinking.

Who else would have paid Roman’s debt?

---