The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,75

see that there were a lot more layers to his mother than he’d realized. Perhaps a part of growing up was recognizing your parents as more complex entities, rather than simply someone who existed to fulfill your needs.

Then an altogether different thought occurred to him.

“Wait… did you say there will be dancing?”

“You don’t know how to dance?” asked Rykov.

“I’ve never danced in my life,” said Sebastian. “Can you teach me?”

“I only know peasant dances. You’ll need to ask one of the officers to show you how fancy people dance.”

“I see…,” said Sebastian.

Rykov patted his shoulder comfortingly. “You’ve still got a week before the ball. I’m sure the commander would let you out of your regular duties to practice dancing so that you don’t make yourself, him, and the entire empire look bad at your own engagement.”

Sebastian glared at him.

Rykov shrugged. “Just trying to help.”

He could never tell if Rykov was truly that dense, or merely teasing him. He suspected the latter.

Sebastian was still pondering his dancing dilemma as he made his way to the mess hall for lunch. It was a separate one-story building across the yard from headquarters, wide and squat, with a number of windows, and twin chimneys that spewed thick black smoke unceasingly.

All soldiers ate in the mess hall, but the officers ate in a separate area near the front, as far from the kitchen and chimneys as possible. Additionally, while the enlisted men were required to stand in line to get their food from large troughs, the officers were served at their tables. The menu was ostensibly the same for both enlisted and officers, although it was fairly evident that the choicest cuts of meat and freshest vegetables were set aside for the officers.

It was early in the lunch shift, and there was hardly anyone sitting in the officers’ section. Sebastian sat down at an empty table and a few moments later, a girl brought him a plate with pickled beets and a generous slab of roast pork in gravy. Vittorio had been correct in saying that the food wasn’t nearly as good as what was served at Roskosh Manor, but it was roughly comparable to the food Sebastian’s mother had made back at the farm. She was many wonderful things, but “chef” was not among them. Still, there was something comforting in eating the bland, greasy food of his youth with the quiet murmur of male voices in the background.

“You look troubled, Captain Portinari,” General Zaniolo said cheerfully as he approached the table.

“Ah, General. Please join me.”

“I presume you have some anxiety regarding your upcoming engagement ball. Is there anything I can do?”

“Perhaps there is, General. I have been informed that there will be dancing?”

“Yes, indeed.” Zaniolo seemed to enjoy the look of trepidation in Sebastian’s eye.

“And there is… no getting around that, I suppose?” Sebastian asked tentatively.

“Thank you, my dear,” Zaniolo said to the serving girl when she brought him a plate of food. Then he turned back to Sebastian, looking amused. “Captain, I’m surprised at you. Would you truly want to deny all the men at the ball the divine experience of watching Galina Odoyevtseva dance?”

“I fear the beauty and grace she exhibits will be marred by my own clumsiness.”

“Ah.” Zaniolo took on a more kindly expression. “If that is the only thing troubling you, I have good news for you, my dear young Captain. I happen to be a consummate dancer. In fact, I wager there is no dance known to imperial society that I cannot teach you. We shall begin immediately after lunch, for there is not a moment to lose.”

30

Sonya decided not to tell Jorge that something was stalking them as they made their way across the tundra. It would only worry him, and she didn’t have much to tell him anyway. Throughout the next day, she caught only the most fleeting of scents and she still couldn’t decide whether it was merely a curious fox, or something much larger and less friendly.

That night, she stayed awake after Jorge fell asleep, and around midnight she heard the muffled crunch of something in the snow near the entrance to their tiny cave. Judging by the sound, it was fairly large. A smallish bear, perhaps? Or a person with snowshoes. The trouble was, she still couldn’t identify the scent, other than that it was mammalian. Or was it avian? So strange that she couldn’t quite decide. Whatever it was, it was big enough to pose a potential threat. She would need to