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Dmitri watched the spectacle, then flapped his wings once, twice, joining his father and Semyon in the air, opening his jaws, and adding his fiery breath to the others.
It took a moment and felt like it lasted forever. When it was over, there was nothing but blackened bones left, partly dusting into ash from the immense heat of the dragon fire. Only the fire of another dragon could harm a dragon. The simpler flames produced by a log fire or a candle burning wouldn’t even so much as singe their hair, but dragon fire was personal to each dragon. As personal as the patterns on their scales. There was no shielding from it.
Vasili and Semyon took flight, heading back to the house, roaring out their triumph.
Dmitri landed softly on the ground and shifted, wings folding, bones changing from enormous beast to his human shape. Alina was already running across the clearing and was soon in his arms, hugging him tightly.
“I was so scared,” she murmured against his neck. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, though his arm was broken. “I’ll heal in a couple of hours.”
She ran her hands over his bare shoulders, down his arms, her fingers stopping when she noticed the break. Her eyebrows rose.
“Don’t lie to me,” she warned.
“I’mfine,” he underlined with a smile. “Barely hurts.”
She cupped his face in her hands, the amount of care in her gaze making his insides begin to tremble. What had he done to deserve this? But when she pulled his face in for a tender kiss, he realized it didn’t matter what he’d done. It mattered what he would do now. And he was going to love her.
Misha had brought a robe with him—as always planning ahead—and handed it to Dmitri with a nod. Dmitri gave him a nod of thanks back, covering his nakedness with the robe.
They walked across the grounds in silence, each contemplating the events of the night. Dawn had arrived, the sky a soft pink with the rapidly approaching sunrise. A hopeful note carried with it that this was the beginning of something. That whatever had caused the uprising, the need in his men to rebel, it was to shine a light on the things that needed to change.
He had a strange notion that it had all happened at the same time for a reason: meeting Alina, his understanding of his own hold on his men being remade. She seemed much more diplomatic than he was. Perhaps he could take a page or two out of her book.
Perhaps she could take one or two out of his as well.
Her hand was in his, her stride matching his, though she sometimes had to take a few quick steps to really keep up. The third time he noticed her doing it placed a smile on his mouth that he couldn’t get rid of, even with the serious undertaking that was waiting for him once they reached the house.
He was going to have to line up the traitors and decide exactly what to do with them.
He wasn’t looking forward to it.
When they reached the back terrace, the moment had been pre-prepared by his father as the men in question were all lying on their stomachs on the flat stone slabs stretching the length of the building. The men had their hands behind their necks, foreheads planted on the stone, waiting.
For a shot to the back of the head, no doubt.
He took the sight of them in. The long line of them, though many had already been killed in the fight. There were seven of them left. Seven out of twenty-five. And he thought again of how it was nothing if not a waste of life.
“Sir?” Misha asked.
“Pay them,” Dmitri said.
This caused a slight stir among those on the ground and those standing alike.
“I’m sorry?” Misha must think he’d heard him wrong.
Dmitri looked around at those who had been loyal to him. They were frowning, looking ready to cause a riot if due justice wasn’t doled out. He understood, but his gaze went briefly to Alina, eyes meeting hers. There was a question on her face as well. Was he certain this was what he wanted to do?
Vasili stepped out of the terrace doors, dressed in a crimson suit. He looked every bit the ruler Dmitri had always known him as. His father was expecting retribution. If not by dragon fire, then by bullet or arrow.
Dmitri knew what he wanted to do.
He’d felt the sickness of this whole situation since the moment it began. He didn’t want to perpetuate it by making children fatherless and cutting mating bonds that should be allowed to flourish for centuries to come. He’d seen what that brings. Blood feuds and endless back-and-forth violence.
Why set his children up for that when he could tell these men to go home?
“You’re all to be paid out of your contracts and leave my service,” he said loudly to the men on the ground. “These men were your brothers,” he added to those standing around him. “They made a bad decision, and they’ll hopefully learn to regret it. They’ll remember the good of working for the Kuznetsov family. They’ll see the everyday repercussions of no longer being part of this household. I’ve tried to offer an ease of life to all of you. It seems some of you have thought me ailing. I want to remedy that. Tell me if you have grievances and I’ll see to them. I’m raising your pay and am counting on you to help me ensure nothing like this ever happens again.”
