“Oh God," I said. "I'm Zmey's daughter. Zmey junior. Zmeyette, even.”

“No," he said, voice thick and husky. His fingers dug into the chair's arms. "Yo…”

“Ah, min dotter”, sa han. “Arton år och du har redan blivit anklagad för mord,hj…”

“So many details came into focus. The shape of his lips, the line of his neck. “…”