“My youngest daughter sought restitution for my Masha’s death,” Yaga said, and though Koschei was not a man to flinch, he almost couldn’t breathe for hearing it. Her Masha. To lose his Dima would be to cut the lungs out of his chest and she knew it, must have known it. “One of your sons,” she added as if she could read his thoughts, “owed it to her.”
