I try not to shake my head with frustrated humor at that description of it. I don’t hear a question yet though, so I keep my mouth shut and don’t respond past a nod.
“You were raised by a human, is that correct?” Naree asks me.
“Yes.”
“When that human cast you out, you began to rely on a lamia, is that also correct?”
“I didn’t know he was a lamia at the time, but yes,” I tell her, and I push down at the grief that wells inside of me at the thought of Talon.
“Are you what the casters call a mimic?” Naree fires at me, and I start to wonder if she’s the only one who has questions now or just wants to confirm my back story.
“Yes.”
“How many total markings do you have on your body?”
“Um…” I pause, thinking through her question. “I don’t actually know, I’ve never counted them.”
“Would you be comfortable showing them to us?” Port asks, and I don’t like the glint in his eye as he does.
I pause again and look to Sabin for guidance. He gives an imperceptible shrug.
“Is this somehow going to be used against me?” I ask no one in particular.
“It would give us an idea of your importance, which would factor into our decision. Beyond that, I don’t see how they could be used against you,” Wella tells me.
I study her cloudy eyes for a second, and then I look to Torrez. He gives me a nod, confirming she’s telling the truth.
I push out of my chair.
“Commander, would you please invite the cleric in so he can assist us with identifying any unknown marks?” Naree orders Ory, and he nods and leaves the room.
I stand there, unsure if I’m supposed to strip down now or wait to give this cleric a show too. I’m not necessarily shy or overly modest when it comes to my body. Enoch did mention that they looked at Suryn’s runes too, so this request isn’t completely out of left field, but it’s very clinical, and I feel uneasy about it.
A gray robed man is led into the room. I’m not sure if he’s one of the guys that helped blast an orb through Sabin, but I glare at him all the same. He sits at the round table next to Sauriel and looks up at me expectantly.
I guess I’ll take that as an invitation toshow me what you got.
I begin to undress, unlacing my armored vest and pulling it off. My shirt goes up and over my head, and then I pull my boots off. I untie my pants and push them down my hips and off my feet. When I’m in my sports bra and underwear, I step back from the table and hold my hands out.
I’m not sure what I thought they were going to do once my runes were visible, but I didn’t expect them all to get out of their chairs and come inspect me. I look over at Sabin and Torrez and notice that they look tense, which isn’t helping me as I try to activate my chill.
The cleric brings his old book with him as he comes to look me over, and he immediately starts flipping through the pages as he scans my shoulder and arm.
“Fascinating,” he whispers.
“Explain,” Port demands, his patience clearly running thin with anything and everything.
“Her patterns are fascinating. The runes trade off from defensive and protective forms to offensive and weapons forms. They’re layered in a way that makes her very powerful and very protected,” he observes.
The cleric steps closer to me, and I bristle at his proximity.
Don’t threaten him. Don’t stab him. We need to convince these assholes I’m not a threat, not give them more fuel for my death pyre.
I repeat that fact over and over again as the robed Sentinel closely looks me over.
“Huh,” he comments, and once again starts frantically searching through his book again.
“What is it?” Naree asks, and I also look at him, ready for the answer.
