Part 29 (2/2)
As she did, she found herself thinking about the man the crucifix represented. Jeshua had become incarnate and sacrificed Himself to protect humanity from the results of sin, though protection from sin itself would have to wait for the promised Protector. In the meantime, Jeshua's sacrifice was on behalf of anyone willing to take advantage of it--and Ivan had told her often enough it was as much an Inquisitor's job to correct as to punish. Maybe, she thought, she was starting to get that through her thick head, because despite her personal distaste for the idea of a Brother's repenting, there was a sense of accomplishment at this one's. It also helped, of course, that Brad had complimented her on being able to manage both information and repentance!
She grinned at herself as she dried the crucifix and put it on the desk in the suite's office. If Shannon was Shayan, which since her vision looked more likely than not, turning Brothers from him to G.o.d would be an even better revenge on him than the traditional version would be on them . . . even though she still intended to take that kind on the ones who'd helped rape and maim her.
There was a message on her ground-floor office desk: His Majesty wanted to see her at her earliest convenience between interrogations. It didn't specify dress uniform, and this close to the Palace she didn't need bodyguards, so less than fifteen minutes later she found herself sitting--sitting!--beside His Majesty's desk, sipping a cup of the best ginger tea she could remember tasting and still shocked by the warmth of His Majesty's welcome. It was awesome enough meeting him, though really it was no odder than paying a routine courtesy call on one's new commanding officer; it just felt that way, having the High King himself as your direct superior. His Majesty was clearly familiar with such a reaction, because he was carrying the burden of the conversation until she had a chance to recover. When she began to settle down, he smiled.
”Reports of your ability weren't exaggerated, Colonel. I'm quite pleased with the results you've gotten so far.”
”Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll keep doing my best.”
”I'm certain you will. Is Harmony Lodge to your liking and adequately equipped?”
”More than adequately, Sire. I'm still overwhelmed by all of it.”
”You are to let me know immediately if there's anything you need or want. We can't take major action against the Brotherhood without the information you provide, which makes you the most important single person in this operation.”
”Yes, Your Majesty.” Cortin took a sip of her tea, savoring the ginger tang. It was hard to believe she was all that important--she certainly didn't feel it--but her truthsense said His Majesty did believe it, so she had to. ”If I may make a suggestion?”
”As one of my Household, that's both your privilege and your duty; go ahead.”
”Then I'd say the attack on the convent would be a good time to activate the Strike Force. And with Your Majesty's permission, my men and I would like to partic.i.p.ate in the convent's defense.”
”That's three things,” King Mark said. ”Activating the strike force at the next terror attack is something I had already intended; it will be done. Your men may partic.i.p.ate in the convent's defense if they wish and Colonel Bradford permits.” He paused. ”I am afraid, though, that I must forbid your partic.i.p.ation in action against anyone except those you have a personal interest in. You're far too valuable to risk that way, and if I weren't afraid of losing you, I'd forbid you partic.i.p.ating in action against even personal enemies. It would be best for the kingdom if you could resist doing so, but--” he paused, giving her a rueful smile, ”while I pray for miracles for my people, I've learned not to expect them.”
Cortin wanted to object, but reminded herself that she'd known about the restriction when she'd taken the job. ”As Your Majesty commands--but it was worth a try.”
The King chuckled. ”And I can't fault you for making the effort; you wouldn't have joined the Strike Force if you hadn't wanted to see action. I'm afraid you'll see more than I want you to, at that. Now, if I may change the subject, the Royal Press Office has received a number of requests for interviews with you. Whether you give them or not is your choice.”
”In that case, Sire, I'd rather not, at least until I finish settling in.” She'd rather not do it even then; she'd given more than enough interviews at the Academy and after graduation. One reason she'd done so much field work was to get away from reporters. But she needed publicity--favorable publicity--to get support for her family changes, so she'd have to at least pretend to overcome that dislike.
”They'll have to content themselves with the official biography for the present, then,” the King said. ”The Press Office will need a current photo, though; you can go by sometime this week and provide it. You'll be safe from reporters as long as you're in the Palace compound or Harmony Lodge, but I can't guarantee the same outside; that will be up to your team.”
”I don't really see any need to leave, except on missions,” Cortin said. ”Harmony Lodge alone has everything I need.”
”As you wish,” the King said. ”I certainly won't insist on you being exposed to any unnecessary danger. But there will be an official reception tomorrow in your honor; you should come, unless you're in the middle of an interrogation.”
Cortin was tempted to arrange it so she was, but as far as she was concerned, His Majesty saying she should come made it an order. ”I'll do my best to be there, Sire. Full dress uniform?”
”Or formal civilan wear. Though that would mean being unarmed, so I don't expect it.” The King raised an eyebrow. ”You do realize you are the only person other than members of my personal guard who is allowed in the Royal Presence with a firearm?”
”What?” Cortin stared at him for an instant, then glanced at the pistol on her hip. ”No, Sire--I hadn't even thought about it.”
The King smiled, then stood. ”We have no doubt of Your Excellency's loyalty, and We wish you a long and healthy life as Our Inquisitor.”
The audience was over, obviously; Cortin rose and bowed, then began backing out of the office.
”Those who carry firearms in Our presence,” the King said drily, ”also have leave to turn their backs on Us.”
Cortin bowed again, then turned. As she left, the King allowed himself a brief frown. He was certain of his Inquisitor's loyalty, or she wouldn't have the position--but he couldn't deny that she made him uncomfortable. Male Inquisitors were disturbing enough to be around; a woman who enjoyed the deliberate infliction of pain seemed worse, somehow. And one with Colonel Cortin's incredible talent at it was decidedly unnerving.
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