The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,33

sparkled off its edges.

“I’m glad to see you so economically minded and using scrap metal during your practice,” said Vittorio, “but after making some inquiries with colleagues at the imperial capital of Magna Alto, I learned that diamond is the ideal conduit for elemental magic. Not only will it not disintegrate under the strain like metal, but it has even been known to amplify the power of the magic user.”

“Sir… I don’t know what to say…”

“Say that you will use this weapon for the glory of Empress Morante and the Aureumian Empire.”

“I will, sir! I most certainly will!”

Vittorio pressed the diamond into Sebastian’s suddenly shaking hands. “I expect great things from you, Lieutenant.”

“I swear I won’t let you down, sir!”

“I’m happy to hear that. Now, I was planning to go to Roskosh Manor to see how your mother is settling in. Would you care to join me?”

“Oh, uh…” Sebastian stared down at the diamond in his hand. The weight of it, the feel of it. He could already imagine the incredible things he would do with this gem.

Vittorio laughed good-naturedly. “I suppose you’re eager to try out your new weapon. Very well, I will convey your apologies to your mother and tell her you are in the middle of an important and delicate task and will call upon her another time.”

Sebastian blushed. “Thank you, sir.”

“Not at all. I was young once, too, and vividly recall the thrill of testing my abilities to their limits.” Vittorio turned to Rykov. “Private, geniuses can often lose sight of obvious things such as hunger and exhaustion when working at their full potential. Make certain Lieutenant Portinari has eaten and gone to bed by midnight.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”

Sebastian saluted sharply, unable to keep the ecstatic grin from his face.

Commander Vittorio chuckled again, and took his leave.

“Now we’ll see what I’m really capable of, Rykov,” said Sebastian as he held the diamond tightly in his grip.

“Okay,” said Rykov.

12

I hear your daughter stopped by today.”

Irina did not immediately react to Commander Vittorio’s statement. Instead she continued to chew her food with deliberate calm. She should have known it wouldn’t take long for him to get wind of Sonya’s visit, however brief.

The commander had arrived at Roskosh Manor a half hour earlier to relay Sebastian’s apologies that he was far too busy with work to join them for supper, and then Vittorio had humbly offered himself as “a poor replacement.” Now he sat with his fork poised over his slab of gravy-drenched roast as he gazed across the table expectantly at Irina and she wondered if he had even conveyed the invitation to her son.

She gave him a practiced smile. “She did indeed visit, Commander. Most unexpectedly. Sonya’s always been such a free spirit, I’m afraid I never know where or when she’ll turn up.”

“What a shame she didn’t stay,” said Inessa, who sat at the head of the table. “I would have loved to meet her.”

“As would I,” said Vittorio, then took up his knife and slowly cut into his roast.

Irina was fairly certain the commander’s interest in Sonya was not as benevolent as it was toward Sebastian. That was, if any interest from him could truly be called benevolent at all.

“I believe she spends most of her time hunting in the forests,” Irina told the commander. “So I’m afraid I don’t know when she’ll visit again.”

“Oh? Do you know which forest?” Vittorio’s tone was light, as if only mildly curious, but his eyes were back upon her, and they were as piercing as ever. “I rather enjoy a bit of hunting now and then myself, so perhaps I could join her sometime.”

“An excellent idea, Commander, but I fear she rarely bothers to share such details with me.” Irina quickly switched the focus to Inessa, giving her host a forlorn look. “Daughters take such little notice of their mothers when they grow up. You’ll see soon enough, Ina my dear.”

“I see it already!” Inessa took a large fortifying gulp of wine from her crystal goblet. “Only sixteen years old and already Galina can hardly be bothered with me.”

“Mother…”

Galina, who sat to her mother’s right, was pale and thin, with long blond hair and the most melancholy eyes Irina had ever seen. Unlike her more effusive mother, Galina never smiled. Instead, there was a keen, watchful intelligence behind her sad green eyes that reminded Irina far more of her father, Lord Sergey Prozorova, than her mother. Thus far, Irina had also never seen Galina without