The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,130

of men called senators who constantly undermined each other, and spent more time worrying how to line their pockets than helping the people of Aureum.”

He held up a finger and smiled. “With one exception. A young senator named Alessandro Morante understood that the once noble republic had fallen into dark and dreadful times. But when he urged his fellow senators to look beyond their own needs and consider the greater good, they mocked or outright rebuffed him. He did not give in to despair, however, and continued to press them until they at last grew tired of his idealism and conspired against him. Joining together in common purpose for the first time in decades, those pompous, self-serving senators captured Alessandro Morante, dragged him to the highest tower in Magna Alto, and threw him over the side. And do you know what happened then?”

The commander looked around the table, but everyone remained silent.

Vittorio raised his half-full glass of wine. “God did not allow Morante to fall to his death, but instead lifted him up to Heaven, where He bestowed astonishing gifts of intellect and wisdom upon him. Exactly one year later, Alessandro Morante returned to earth so that he might wrest control from the dissolute senators and rule Aureum with firm resolution and noble goals, as God intended. Thus the empire was born, and has, with a strict hand and the will of God, become the greatest power on earth, now led by the wise and beautiful Empress Caterina, great-granddaughter of Alessandro Morante!”

All three generals burst into applause. After a startled moment, the rest of the table joined in.

“A remarkable story, Commander,” said Galina. “And your telling was filled with such passion that even I, who have not a drop of Aureumian blood, felt my heart stirring.”

“Ah, but that is the beauty of the empire, my dear little Galina!” said Vittorio. “One need not be Aureumian to feel the stirrings of patriotism within their breast, because the generous Empress Morante embraces all, regardless of the culture or beliefs from which they come.”

“Truly she is a magnanimous ruler,” murmured Galina.

“Dmitry, clear the food please,” said Vittorio. “No, you may leave the wine, isn’t that right, Marchisio?”

“Hear, hear! What is the Ascendance without a bit of spiced wine?” Marchisio drained his glass, then reached again for the decanter.

“Once the table is clear,” continued Vittorio, “we may begin a solemn Ascendance tradition. Each of you will be given a small piece of parchment and a bit of charcoal. The continued might of the empire is in part thanks to the firm will and intention of its rule. So that we might all live by that example, each year on the day of the Ascendance, every subject of the empire is expected to write down something they wish to accomplish in the coming year. You will then fold it and place it in the bowl.” He gestured to the empty metal bowl in the center of the table. “Once everyone has placed their piece of parchment in the bowl, we will light it on fire, thus sending our declarations of intent for the coming year to God in Heaven, where He will most certainly hold us accountable.”

Once Dmitry cleared the table, he distributed the parchment and charcoal. Sebastian knew what he wanted to write, but he thought for a few moments how best to phrase it. At last he settled on: To protect Izmoroz and the empire from any who would harm it.

As he folded his parchment, he glanced over at Galina and couldn’t help but read her own goal, which read: To serve my beloved Sebastian faithfully and completely in all things. He quickly turned away, realizing it might not have been intended for his eyes, even as he felt a blush creep onto his face. But then he felt her light touch on his arm. When he turned back to her, she smiled at him as she folded the parchment and dropped it into the bowl.

“I do hope, Lord Prozorova,” said General Bonucci, “that you are writing down a goal to achieve something of value, and not the indulgence of your little hobby of collecting Izmorozian children’s stories.”

Lord Prozorova’s eyes widened behind his spectacles. “How da—”

“How thoughtful of you to remember, General,” Galina said quickly. “Isn’t that right, Mother?”

“What?” Lady Prozorova looked up from her still blank parchment, took in her daughter’s expression, and then her husband’s. Sebastian had never thought much of Lady Prozorova’s intellect, but she seemed to comprehend the uncomfortable