I look back and forth between them. “She’sthe doctor?” No women have served as doctors in New Athens since its conception, as far as I know.
The woman extends her hand toward me. “I’m V.”
“V?” I raise my eyebrows, keeping my own hand by my side.
“Only my mother called me Vera.” She shrugs, offering me an easy smile and dropping her hand. “Or you can call me Doc, whichever you prefer.”
“I would prefer not to be here at all,” I grumble.
“Sorry, kiddo. Every newcomer undergoes the same testing.”
“I’m not staying,” I say, shocked by how sure my voice sounds. Something about this place—about these people who clearly don’t conform toanythingI believe in—makes me more bold.
Maverick shakes his head. “Good luck, V. Send for me if you need anything.”
The raven-haired woman nods in acknowledgment before turning her attention back to me. “Would you mind answering some questions for me?”
Without Maverick’s commanding presence dominating the space, I should feel relieved, but for some reason, I just feel more anxious. “What do you want to know?” My tone is cold, even to my own ears.
V grabs a worn leather notebook and flips it open to the bookmarked page, scribbling something at the top before bringing the glasses that are perched on her head down to her nose. “Your name, to start.”
“Sister Gabriel,” I answer automatically.
She glances over the tops of her glasses at me, giving me a pitying look. “This isn’t New Athens. You won’t be punished for using your given name.”
I bite my lip, hesitating. Gabriel’s the only one who’s allowed to call me by my given name. “I’d prefer to be addressed as Sister Gabriel. Or Mrs. Sinclair, if that’s more palatable for you.”
“As you wish.” V writes in her notebook, asking her next question without lifting her eyes off the page. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Which would’ve made you ten when the Brotherhood took control?”
“Isn’t all this information available in myfile?” I sneer.
“It is,” she answers, unperturbed by my hostility. “But I’d like to hear it from you.”
I take a deep breath. “Yes, I was ten.”
“And how long have you been married to Gabriel?”
“LordGabriel has been my husband for eight years,” I correct her.
“And you have no children?” Her pen pauses above the page.
The guilt and self-loathing that always accompanies this topic hits me full-force. “You know I don’t,” I snap. “Stop asking me questions you already know the answers to.”
She holds her hand up in a gesture of peace. “My apologies, Mrs. Sinclair. Do you know the date of your last menstrual cycle?”
I swallow my irritation. “Not without my calendar. They’re rather irregular.”
“And there’s no way you could be pregnant now?” she probes.
I shake my head. “Not unless a miracle has happened.”
“I see.” The doctor—though I doubt she actually has any proper medical training—writes more in her journal. “And are you happy, in your marriage?”
I blink several times. No one has ever inquired after myhappiness.My contentment is so far down on my list of my worries, it has never even occurred to me. “Being a wife is the greatest possible honor a woman could hope for.”
