The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,124

difficult to lie side by side in a small space with people you were strongly attracted to, unable to satisfy your desires. The Raízian gods must be cruel indeed. Rowena would have chosen to sleep elsewhere rather than torment herself so, but Blaine seemed to be enjoying the unnatural self-denial. He had always been a little strange.

Rowena heard Mordha approaching. It was impossible for the big man to sneak up on anyone out here in the crunching snow.

“Do you like that Raízian?” he asked.

She looked up into his scarred face.

“He is pleasant company,” she said.

“You could make more of an effort to be friendly with him,” said Mordha.

“You mean attempt to seduce him? His religion makes that a difficult proposition, and it’s not really my skill set anyway. Besides, he’s far more interested in Blaine and Sonya. Bàs knows why, because they’re both idiots.”

Mordha shrugged. “I don’t think you need to compete with them, and there’s more than one way to gain someone’s trust. He views you as a colleague, an equal. I’m just asking you to make more of an effort to foster that relationship. He is clearly burdened by his desires for Blaine and the beast witch. Offer a sympathetic ear. Let him come to depend upon you.”

“I see.” She couldn’t decide if that would be less work, or more.

“A man with his skills, knowledge, and connections would be invaluable, especially once we begin our campaign against Aureum.”

“I am aware of that, Tighearna.”

“Good.”

They were silent for a moment, both staring at the unmoving rows of sluagh gorta, though Rowena considered it likely their thoughts were quite different.

Eventually she asked, “Do you think the beast witch can really rally her people to fight with us?”

Mordha scratched at his thick beard. “I hope so. It would be the ideal outcome, since it would reduce our costs.”

“True,” said Rowena. “Although it isn’t necessary for our success.”

“No,” agreed Mordha. “It isn’t.”

PART FOUR

THE REBEL OF ROSKOSH MANOR

“Identity is never isolated. We are defined not only by our own thoughts and actions, but also by our relationship to the world around us.”

—Lady Olga Bunich Fignolov, The Wife of Morning

49

There it is,” said Sebastian.

He and Rykov sat on horseback and gazed at the lone farmhouse that stood before them in the middle of a dark field. The 404th Cavalry waited quietly in formation behind them. The house was a few hours’ ride from Gogoleth, and all around them stretched miles of farmland. The yellow glow of the house’s windows shone like a beacon in the inky blackness.

“You sure that’s the one?” asked Rykov.

Sebastian gestured to the emptiness that lay all around them. “You see any other farmhouses in this vicinity?”

Rykov shrugged. “Just saying. It wouldn’t be the first time the general got it wrong.”

“I understand your frustration, Private, but we must remember that espionage is not an exact science. Furthermore, General Zaniolo’s intelligence network is stretched nearly to the breaking point trying to ferret out sedition across the entirety of Izmoroz. It’s completely understandable that there would be a mistake here and there.”

“I wouldn’t call three in a row ‘here and there,’” said Rykov.

Sebastian had no real argument for that, and as the superior officer, he shouldn’t feel the need to argue. But in spite of that, he said, “Well, someone’s in there.”

He wheeled his horse around to face his men. They likely couldn’t see him well in the darkness, but he didn’t want to risk any light that might warn the occupants of the farmhouse.

“All right, gentlemen. Same as last time. Take as many alive as you can for questioning. Go.”

His men nudged their horses past him and began to fan out until they surrounded the house. Once they were all in place, they slowly constricted their circle until there were two concentric rings. The outer ring held their position, while the inner ring approached the house. Sebastian found himself holding his breath, his pulse racing. He wondered if this was how the commanding officer had felt when they surrounded his own home all those months ago. Galina had asked him if he was ever troubled by the idea that he was now leading the same missions as the one that resulted in his father’s death. He had said that, on the contrary, he hoped he could show the same compassion to his captives that his own captors had shown to him and his mother. She had told him that his magnanimous view of the world never ceased to amaze her. Then she had