Page 68 of One For my Enemy

“Mother’s intuition,” Yaga said.

“And what is it you want from me?”

“A promise.” Yaga didn’t blink. “I want assurance you will not retaliate from your loss tonight.”

“Impossible,” Koschei scoffed. “If you kill one of my sons—”

“I should be clearer. You’ve already cost me my heir,” Yaga snapped, “and you’ve as good as lost a son already.” Koschei stared at her, seeking truth, and she hardened at his scrutiny. “You cost me Masha’s heart, first, and then her happiness, and now you’ve cost me her life. You should pay dearly, Lazar, and you should pay in kind—but I won’t ask that of you. I only want to know an exchange has been willingly made, and therefore an agreement, too.”

“It was Masha who started this,” Koschei reminded her. “It was Masha who nearly killed Dima—”

“And it was also Masha who saved him,” Yaga said, “so let that be on his head. But aside from the loss of my daughter, I want something new from you.” She stared at him, unbending. “I want assurance. I want an oath. I want to know that moving forward, you will not come for me or my daughters again.”

“So we’re to put bad blood behind us, then?”

“Yes,” Yaga said. “If you’ll allow it.”

Koschei grimaced.

“Which of my sons?” he asked.

“I don’t care,” Yaga said, shrugging. “What are they to me?”

“A trade, then?” Koschei asked. “Blood for blood, as you said.”

Yaga glared at him. “More blood? How is that fair?”

“How is it not?” Koschei prompted. “If it will be blood for blood to make a deal, Marya, then it will be one of yours for one of mine. Your youngest for mine, to give us peace,” he clarified, as her expression stiffened. “Masha was payment for Dima. This is another deal, a new one for a higher price, and I will accept no less.”

“Nowthat,” Yaga remarked spitefully to Koschei, “is an Old World law, indeed.”

“I am a piece of the Old World,” Koschei reminded her. “You wish to appeal to my fairness? Than be fair. Let’s you and I grieve equally tonight,” he told her quietly. “I have only three sons, after all. You have six remaining daughters.”

She flinched at the reminder of her seventh. “You’re a hard man, Lazar, and do not confuse that for flattery. I would have been a fool to marry you.”

“You were a fool not to,” Koschei reminded her, and she spun, rounding on him.

“What’s to stop me from killing you now?” she beckoned, her voice a hard whisper as power surged to the tips of her fingers. “I could do it, Lazar. You wouldn’t be the first witch to die at my hands, and many others were killed for far less. You, out of everyone, would deserve whatever death I chose to give you.”

“Kill me and the witches will come for you,” Koschei reminded her. “The entire council, Marya. All the Boroughs, and every witch who has ever been in my debt. Kill me and you’ll paint a target on your back for generations, until each one of your daughters has bled for your enmity. Is that what you want?”

Yaga slowly let the tension in her shoulders ease, a gradual slip-slip-slipping with a shudder down her spine.

“You do not deserve my peace, Lazar,” she said contemptuously, “but to honor my daughter’s wishes, you’ll have it.” She held out her hand, and as he opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off. “You have no honor of your own,” she told him, “so do not force me into pretense.”

He took her hand, gripping it once. “So, this is peace, then.”

Yaga slid her hand away, repulsed. “This is not peace. This is a stalemate. This is sacrifice,” she said, “yours and mine. We’ve both sacrificed, and this is the proof.”

Then she turned away, disappearing with a slip into thin air, and Koschei let out a long breath, closing his eyes.

“Papa,” a voice croaked, and Koschei looked up, startled again for not having been aware his eldest son was listening, making his way from the shadowed entry of the room. “Papa,” Dimitri said, his voice breaking. “Did you just give up Lev?”

“Dima,” Koschei sighed, “sometimes what is necess-”

“That is yourson,” Dimitri said, lurching back with repulsion. “My brother, Papa! How could you?”

“Dima, listen to me. It was bound to happen. Restitution, Dima,” he said in agitation, “and you heard Yaga. It was almost certainly going to be Lev—”

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