The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,41

before them hotter and hotter.

Suddenly, a font of bright orange magma burst through the ground and splashed across the plains, hissing spitefully as it scorched away any remaining life. Within minutes, there was only a mass of black, steaming sludge.

Exhaustion swept over Sebastian and he might have fallen if Rykov hadn’t been there to steady him. He took a moment to catch his breath, his face and collar now drenched with sweat. When he finally assessed his work, he saw that there would be no life of any kind on those plains next summer. No grass, and therefore no elk to graze. No wildflowers or trees, therefore no birds or insects. Sebastian had made the Pustoy Plains truly dead.

He felt sick to his stomach.

“Wow,” said Rykov.

“Indeed.” Commander Vittorio turned to Sebastian with a triumphant smile beneath his mustache. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he put his hands on Sebastian’s shoulders. “That, by God, had military applications. And it was beautiful.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sebastian forced himself to smile, though he would have preferred to vomit. He understood that what he had done could be seen as useful to the military. He felt powerful, proud even, but he did not understand how such wanton destruction could be seen as beautiful.

“Oh, I almost forgot to mention,” said Vittorio in a more casual tone as he went back to surveying the blighted plains with a satisfied expression. “The Lady Prozorova is hosting a party this evening at Roskosh Manor and your mother has requested your presence for the event.” He gave Sebastian an amused smile. “And she made it clear that this time she would accept no apologies. So I suggest you go tidy up for supper with all due haste.”

“Yes, sir.”

The last thing Sebastian felt like doing right then was attending a formal social event, but it was clear he could not decline his mother’s invitation yet again. So he saluted the commander, then headed back across his ice bridge to his quarters, the silent Rykov following behind.

16

What did you think of it, Rykov?” asked Sebastian as he stood in his undershirt before the mirror and gently dragged the razor down his moistened cheek.

“Think of what?” Rykov stood nearby, cleaning Sebastian’s green wool jacket with a coarse brush.

Sebastian looked at him through the mirror. “What I did out on the plains, of course.”

“Oh.” Rykov considered a moment. “Most impressive thing I’ve ever seen, I guess.”

“Yes.” Sebastian carefully scraped the razor along his neck. “I suppose it was.”

He realized that might sound like bragging to some, but it didn’t feel like bragging to him. If anything, it felt like an admission of guilt. His father would have been furious at him for such excess. Yet Vittorio and even Rykov seemed pleased by it. How could they be so happy about something that was so antithetical to life? This was clearly what the commander expected of Sebastian. Could he even do such a thing again? Well, with the help of the diamond he was certain he could. But should he?

There was a soft knock at the door.

“Please come in,” said Sebastian as he wiped away the excess shaving soap with a towel.

Commander Vittorio stepped into the room. “Ready to depart, Lieutenant?”

“You’re coming, too, sir?”

Vittorio smiled broadly. “I wouldn’t dream of missing a delicious meal at Roskosh Manor. Have you eaten the food in the mess hall?”

Sebastian managed a wan smile as he pulled his green jacket back on. “It’s all I’ve eaten, sir.”

“By thunder, then you’re in for a treat, my boy.” Vittorio turned to Rykov. “Make certain the lieutenant’s clothes are laid out for tomorrow, then you may have the rest of the evening off, Private.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Vittorio turned back to Sebastian. “Shall we then?”

The commander walked with a spring in his step as they made their way through the halls and across the yard to the carriage awaiting them at the entrance to the barracks. Sebastian couldn’t decide if Vittorio’s jovial mood was caused by his display of raw magical power or the promise of a sumptuous dinner at Roskosh Manor.

It had been a gray and overcast afternoon, so the setting sun was little more than a ruddy smear above the building tops as the carriage wound through the narrow cobblestone streets. During the short trip, Vittorio’s exuberance continued as he listed the guests he anticipated would be in attendance, and the food he hoped would be prepared.

Roskosh Manor was as splendid as before, but it was also a lot more