The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,53

customary monthly letters for an extended period, but promising he would try to send word from “the field” whenever he could share in his discoveries.

He was just finishing when Sonya returned to the apartment, looking oddly relaxed. Almost lethargic. She flopped down on the sofa with a contented smile and closed her eyes.

Jorge walked over to the sofa and cleared his throat, but she didn’t open her eyes.

“Sonya, I’ve made a decision.”

She opened one eye. “Don’t try to talk me out of this plan, Jorge.”

“On the contrary, I would like to come with you.”

She opened both eyes and sat up. “Are you serious?”

“Well, yes…” His resolve wavered in the heat of embarrassment. “That is, if it’s okay…”

“Sure it is!” she said. “But why do you want to come?”

“Oh, er…” He suddenly recalled Velikhov’s knowing smile and comment about love, and his face reddened. “You are very reckless, Sonya, and if you are going to be constantly injuring yourself, I should be there to make healing potions for you.”

21

Galina read aloud in her soft, lilting voice, “‘When I saw that tender shoot unfurl triumphantly through the snow, I at last saw the beautiful hand of Lady Zivena at work. O glorious Maiden of Spring, why must your bounty always be presaged by the death and suffering of your sister, Winter?’”

Sebastian had never been particularly enamored with the works of Konstantin Zhukov. But now, as he lounged on a bench in the gardens of Roskosh Manor with the rare winter sun bathing his face and Galina reading from the author’s famous prose poem, Hopeless, Victorious, Sebastian thought the man a genius.

“Thank you for sharing that passage, Galina Odoyevtseva,” he said. “I’m afraid I had not given Zhukov the attention he deserves.”

Galina sat on the bench opposite him, her long hair seeming to glow as sunlight caught the wispy edges. She gently closed the book and laid it on her narrow lap, then treated Sebastian to one of her melancholy smiles.

“His form is at times inconsistent,” she said. “But for me that only heightens the vulnerability of his sentiment. Much is made of perfect men and their unbreakable resolve, but I believe true courage derives from honesty and the acceptance of one’s own foibles.”

“It is not an easy thing to accept one’s flaws,” Sebastian said. “But I find my own disquiet greatly assuaged while in your tender presence.”

Sebastian had been calling upon Galina every day since they met, partly because her presence did indeed soothe him, and partly to avoid the thing that troubled him most: fulfilling Vittorio’s expectations of performing magic with “military application.”

After a pause, Galina Odoyevtseva asked, “Sebastian Turgenev, will you share the worries that afflict you? Perhaps in doing so, you will be able to enjoy that ease beyond our brief times together.”

“I don’t wish to burden you,” he said.

Her smile took on a surprisingly playful, almost teasing air. “Though my shoulders be slight, they can bear more weight than you might think.”

“Well…” It was tempting to unburden himself to Galina. But he knew that proper soldiers were not plagued by doubts regarding their commanding officer’s orders. Or if they were, they certainly did not confess such doubts to a charming young lady they admired.

Galina leaned across the gap between benches and laid her soft hand on the back of his. The warmth of her touch made his pulse quicken and his face feel hot.

As if seeing directly into his heart, she said, “You need not play the heroic savior of Izmoroz with me, Sebastian. Such tedious posturing is surely exhausting to one of your sensitive nature, and you should save such efforts for the barracks. I ask that when you are with me, you only be yourself.”

This was the first time she had used only his given name. It was a bold acknowledgment of the growing familiarity he had been fervently hoping was growing between them. But it was also a challenge in a way. A clear statement that if he wished to maintain this intimacy, he must risk his heart and be honest with her.

He laid his hand on top of hers, feeling the hardness of her knuckles on the pads of his fingers. The heat on his face and neck increased and he could not quite meet her gaze as he spoke. “To me, magic has always been a means of communing with nature. Of sharing in its beauty and delight. I admit I sometimes feel a desire to show off. To bring forth something spectacular,