04-21-2015, 10:10 AM
Armande sat there quietly thinking on the her explanation, her tone and manner discordant with the words themselves. There was no subtlety to her, that much was obvious. No sense of decorum or manners. She was far too familiar with a superior. "Offer my services," indeed. He almost snorted at the suggestion that she was contracting herself.
And yet, the words she said, rough and uncouth as they were, were correct. Watching her speak, the fire that lit in her eyes, the expressive movements of her hands, he knew something else. He could tell she meant them.
So, what would he do with her? He was familiar with her record, of course. If she had been Old World Atharim, there would not have been an issue. She and Barovsky and Halvorssen would have formed the core of the first Canticle of the Order. Her ability was not the issue.
Finally he spoke, his blue gaze searching into her. "And how far does this war extend, Ms. Cross? Are there exceptions?" He thought of the Sentient girl. She was not one. She had been sentenced. But her death would accomplish something, at the least. He leaned forward, the weight of his stare intensifying.
"You asked for this, Ms. Cross. You barged in here and demanded to be a part of something you were not invited into. You say the words, mouth principles. What I would like to know is how far your loyalty and belief extend." This was the core issue, the reason he had limited the Order. "Do I get the privilege of having you join the Order because you deign to agree with me in some things?" His eyes narrowed. "This Order is meant to be the blade that cuts the head off the dragon, Ms. Cross. I will not tolerate deviation in the ranks. I am the head of this Order. I say who and where it strikes. No discussion, no argument. This IS a war. You were right about that. In a war, soldiers take orders and follow them. Betrayal or disobedience are punished with severity."
He sat back and watched her for a moment more. "Do you still wish to join?"
And yet, the words she said, rough and uncouth as they were, were correct. Watching her speak, the fire that lit in her eyes, the expressive movements of her hands, he knew something else. He could tell she meant them.
So, what would he do with her? He was familiar with her record, of course. If she had been Old World Atharim, there would not have been an issue. She and Barovsky and Halvorssen would have formed the core of the first Canticle of the Order. Her ability was not the issue.
Finally he spoke, his blue gaze searching into her. "And how far does this war extend, Ms. Cross? Are there exceptions?" He thought of the Sentient girl. She was not one. She had been sentenced. But her death would accomplish something, at the least. He leaned forward, the weight of his stare intensifying.
"You asked for this, Ms. Cross. You barged in here and demanded to be a part of something you were not invited into. You say the words, mouth principles. What I would like to know is how far your loyalty and belief extend." This was the core issue, the reason he had limited the Order. "Do I get the privilege of having you join the Order because you deign to agree with me in some things?" His eyes narrowed. "This Order is meant to be the blade that cuts the head off the dragon, Ms. Cross. I will not tolerate deviation in the ranks. I am the head of this Order. I say who and where it strikes. No discussion, no argument. This IS a war. You were right about that. In a war, soldiers take orders and follow them. Betrayal or disobedience are punished with severity."
He sat back and watched her for a moment more. "Do you still wish to join?"