Hi everyone, Rylee here again. I'm known for basically two things around here: Epic stories and epic benders following said stories. We're on the story phase again, so bear with me.

“What happened with this one?”

My body is slow to respond; my stomach has stopped screaming for food, but even my eyes feel sluggish as I raise them toward the voice. There’s a woman there, older than me, but not unattractive. She might be forty, perhaps a little more, but her golden hair is pinned up, and she’s wearing a bright, almost regal gown that contrasts the damp, scratchy sack cloth dress I’ve been provided. A man in a leather tunic steps out of the shadows, barely giving me a second glance. The woman inquires again, shooting a confused expression through the iron bars that separate us. She’s staring intently at my face; I haven’t seen myself in a mirror for a while but I can guess pretty well at what she sees. The throbbing on the left side of my face probably means a black eye and I feel like my nose is broken. There are bruises on my arms that I can see, and my legs feel like they’re on fire. The beating is still fresh in my mind, and I can tell the woman disapproves. The man finally speaks up. His name is Kurt, I think. He’s a middle aged man with a rough beard and scarred face; his appearance does little to mask his demeanor which shines through on its own as he speaks.

“The other slaves had a go at ‘im,” Kurt says, offering a shrug. “We do the best we can, my lady, but-”

“I find it hard to believe a group of female slaves did this,” She says accusingly, shooting me another glance. I drop my head. “Where did you keep her? Speak.”

Kurt looks at her warily and then jerks a thumb at the cage across from mine. I can see it in the torchlight; it’s housing four men, one them shoots me a toothy grin and I feel my body shudder as memories from a day ago come flooding back.

“We keep em’ all together usually, this one got a cage all to ‘imself-”

“You mean to tell me,” The woman said, raising her voice just enough to keep Kurt on edge. “That you housed a girl with those grown men?”

“Aye but this one’s no girl,” Kurt says quickly, shooting a nervous glance in my direction. “He may want you to think that, but he’s a boy, through and through.”

“I can attest to that,” One of the slaves in the cage across from mine jeers. The others laugh, and I lower my eyes further. The woman pauses momentarily and then turns to me. My eyes are downcast but I can feel her gaze upon me just as I can feel my heart racing deep within my chest. Over the past few days, I’ve experienced things I hardly thought possible, and I was certain there could be no more surprises, but this grounded me. This woman in her silky, corseted gown, standing over me, her expression fixed on my body and its collage of bruises unnerves me. I want to run, I want to burrow into the cobblestones beneath my cage, I want to vanish, but there’s nowhere to go. Even if I managed to escape the cage, I have no idea where we were or how to get out. To my left and right there are cages just like this one, all packed with other men who’ve long since stopped their jeering. As the prisoner across from me makes comment, Kurt gives the cage a swift kick and barks at the man to mind his tongue. I close my eyes and tense my body at the sound, the shout, and the resulting silence. My breath echoes inside me, every single inhalation and exhalation registering as I try to focus on the conversation beyond the bars. Then, suddenly, the woman is speaking to me.

“You there,” She says in a tone that could rend steel. “Your name?”

I raise my eyes again, now suddenly aware of the hunger pangs in my belly and the exhaustion that grips every muscle in my body as I try to work up the nerve to speak. I open my mouth, my voice passing over cracked lips through a parched throat.

“Mayet, Lady,” I manage to utter. She watches me for a moment and then speaks again.

“And you are a girl?” She asks. I tremble at the question, but I have no choice but to answer.

“I am,” I say simply. In the broader sense, it’s a lie but I consider it my truth, so I hold firm. As I speak, I manage to catch her eyes; there’s no anger there, or curiosity, only appraisal. She looks away for me, toward Kurt and I idly brush my fingers against the cold stone floor. I feel every groove and every dent. I wince slightly as a discoloration on my right thigh flares in pain. A reminder of yesterday. The woman surprises me when she speaks quickly to Kurt.

“My assistant will be along shortly to collect this one,” She jerks her head subtly at me; Kurt nearly recoils in surprise.

“You can’t be serious,” Kurt says, his tone heightened and his eyes betraying his confusion. “That ‘thing’ isn’t ready for sale yet! Nowhere near it!”
“And she is not to be harmed,” The lady snaps, raising a hand to quiet him. “If any harm does come to her in the short time that she remains in your custody, I’ll see to it that your franchise is revoked, are we understood?”

“My lady-” Kurt begins.

“Are we understood?” She demands sharply.

“Perfectly, lady,” Kurt says. She nods and gives me a last glance before walking down the hall with purpose, the hem of her dress swishing about her as she disappears into the darkness beyond the glow of torchlight.

“Well would ye’ look at that,” Kurt says gruffly. He turns to my cage and strums wooden baton against the bars; I cringe with each ‘clink’ as he brings it back to repeat the process. “The Lady Helena’s taken an interest in ye. I spose’ you’re soon to be tucked away in her manor, eating fine foods and gettin’ off with light chores. Heh. But just you wait boy, just you wait. She’ll tire o’ you, and when she do, well, I’ll be waitin’ right here to welcome ye’ back.”

“Lower your head,” The girl, Lady Helena’s assistant tells me sharply. “We may well have pulled you out of hell, but let there be no mistaking what you are.”

I immediately break from her instructions and look up at her, meeting her cold eyes as we stand in the doorway of the auction hall. Just beyond, there’s a busy cobblestone street, people walking to fro, but behind us sit the darkened halls of the market. The hot, sticky air still clings to me even while the promise of freedom hangs in front of me. As soon as I meet her eyes, she shakes her head. She’s a young girl, maybe a little younger than me with striking green eyes and red hair that hangs in a loose bun, with loose bangs framing the sides of her pale freckled face. There was a time when I would have found her pretty, beautiful even, but in spite of her soft features and melodic voice, I’m terrified of her.
“You are a girl,” She tells me evenly. “Those are the instructions I was left with, and by that I will abide. Raise your head again and I’ll discipline you, understood?”

I nod, lowering my head and keeping my eyes trained on the cobblestones. The girl’s hand is tight around my upper arm and I’m being pulled more than led through the busy square, past street vendors as they shout out their wares. My shoulders brush against that of a noblewoman who immediately turns and addresses me, demanding to know what sort of ‘manners’ I’d been taught, but her tirade ends swiftly as she notices the girl clinging to my arm.

“Why, Sarah, is that you? What has it been, a year now?” The woman’s tone’s changed as she speaks to Sarah – it takes on almost a melodic form in stark contrast to the anger that I’d felt directed at me just a moment ago. My guard begins to drop a little, and then I remind myself to not be fooled.

“A year, aye,” Sarah acknowledges; her grip on my arm tightens and I can feel the warning glance she shoots my way, even if I can’t see it. “Are you well? Are your children well?”

“Absolutely thriving,” the woman says cheerfully. “And what of you? Out shopping for the Mistress?” She’s talking about me. I grimace at the idea of being a ‘thing’ to own.

“Aye, I’m off to hire a carriage,” Sarah confirms. “The Mistress says the slave transport is no good for this one.”

“Perhaps not,” The woman says, disapprovingly. “What is it they’ve done to her? She looks…this is a girl, yes?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Sarah says, almost dismissively. “A special case, or so the Mistress says. I don’t know all of the details but…it seems complicated.”

“Complicated,” The woman repeats; I can feel her eyes on me, stern, appraising, maybe even a little confused and I want to run. Sarah must sense my uneasiness – my fear – because her grip tightens and a soft whimper escapes my lips. “And he…will live the life of a girl? How will that work, then?”

“The features are soft,” Sarah remarks. “the hair is long enough for sure, and from what I can gather, she’s soft spoken. It seems to me we can only tell, because she’s been beaten to a pulp and…well.”

The two continue talking, moving on to other topics. I could almost believe that Sarah’s forgotten me, save for the iron grip she still has on my forearm. She’s just adding to the bruises, now. I’m thin, obscenely so, but I can feel the weight of my body now, and I lament the pressure building at the bottom of my feet as I stand on the cobblestones. My body’s been hurting for days, and moving has been a chore, but now I feel every bruise, every ache, and every little pain no matter how inconsequential. My muscles are stiff and I can feel the bruising along the side of my face; tears begin to well up in my eyes as I do my best to mitigate the pain by focusing on something else. Anything else. Without raising my head I allow my eyes to wander, first to Sarah’s feet, then to the woman she’s speaking with. I study their shoes, then allow myself to look at the feet of the passers by, of which there are many. I hear the laughter of children, the shouting of merchants, the rumble of passing conversations and I wonder why the hell they get to be free. What have I done wrong? Of course, I know the answer to that.
“Look up at me,” Sarah says to me. I blink and hesitate; making eye contact is less than acceptable but she places the edge of her hand below my chin and pushes my head up until I manage to make eye contact. The other woman is gone; it’s just us standing in the crowded square. I shudder as her green eyes seem to penetrate my soul, and she looks over the rest of my body approvingly. “You’re whimpering,” She says. “Where do you hurt?”

I shrug and drop my head again.

“I asked you a question,” She says roughly, using her hand again to force the eye contact. “When you’re asked a question you’ll answer, or you’ll face the consequences. Are we clear on that?”

“Y…yes Mistress,” I barely manage to utter through cracked lips and a parched throat. Both words grate on me and I begin to cough – an action that causes me to reel again, as my head begins to pound and finally the tears come to my eyes. I feel my knees weakening, but before I can fall, we’re moving again, pushing through the crowd and passing down an alleyway which leads to another avenue. And then, just as we approach a carriage, my head begins to spin, and the world goes black.

I awake in darkness; I can tell that I’m laying in a bed, and for that I’m thankful. There’s a sticky, sweaty sheet clinging to my skin and my body aches with bruises and lacerations that still serve as a stark reminder of my situation. And yet, I’m alone. I haven’t been alone for…well, as long as I can remember. How long has it been? I try to bring it to mind, but it’s useless; my thoughts are clouded and eclipsed by pain and the best I can figure, is that it’s been at least three weeks. Three weeks since I arrived in this place, since that hike through the forest, since I’d fallen into…
Panic grips my mind – I’m alone! That means I have a chance to escape; the chance I’ve been longing for. The chance to get back, back to Maria. I grab the soaked sheet and cast it aside, ignoring the ache in my arm as I do so. I learned my lesson early on here – if you have a chance, take it, because you won’t have it for long. A million and one thoughts race through my mind as I work to pull myself upright. My muscles scream, and I wonder what became of the girl who took me away from the market. Had we gotten into the carriage? Why don’t I remember anything? Questions, questions. And no answers.

I sit up in the darkness, my body feels heavy, my limbs are sore but I somehow manage to get my feet on the floor. It’s cold but smooth, as if it’s made of some type of tile. Definitely not linoleum – they don’t have that here. With no small amount of effort and determination, I manage to push myself upright from the bed and no sooner do I achieve this, than I lose my balance and tumble toward the floor. I make a soft thud as my limbs sprawl across the tile and I immediately sense a coppery taste in my mouth. And then in a flash, the darkness is gone.
My vision swims and I’m able to make out a set of boots in front of me as my sight vanishes, returns, and then vanishes again. This cycle repeats until I’m back on the bed, lying in an awkward position that I’m unable to correct without waking my destroyed muscles. The light is on now and I’m able to make out the shape of the room; my bed is against the wall, and there’s very little space between it and the far wall. There are two people standing over me, a boy and a girl, both of which are in their mid-twenties, maybe older. The girl looks at me, not without sympathy and brushes a strand of golden hair from her vision as she crouches down and inspects me. I shudder as her hand touches my back; it’s soft, tender, almost affectionate but not quite. I meet the girl’s eyes as she looks up to her companion and gives him a nod.

“She’s just fallen off her bed,” She said with a shrug.

“Trying to escape, were we?” The boy accompanying her shoots me a disapproving look as he helps the girl lift me back onto the bed. My muscles scream, piercing my thoughts and quashing any resistance that had been left in me. Then the screaming subsided and quieted until it a mere ache with the occasional throb or twitch to remind me. I’m lax on the bed, my body is slack from pain. The boy looks down at me and narrows his eyes. “You of all people should appreciate the complexity of this situation, mind you don’t try to escape again.”

Complexity? What’s complex about it? I’m a slave. I’m a slave in a land I don’t know, with people I’ve never heard of, so what more is there to it?
“You’ll be hungry,” The girl says, I look up at her, a faint ember of hope still burning in my soul with the hope that I find kindness here. “My name is Lauren,” she introduces herself. “Ths is Rynd, sorry that he’s so…moody.”

“Moody,” Rynd repeats, scowling at me. “Is that what you wish to call it? Slave, if she weren’t here, I’d have you by the throat-”

“The ‘slave’ has a name, Rynd,” Lauren snaps. “You know it well by now.”

“I’ll not call that thing by any other than what. it. is.” He says firmly. His words don’t affect me, I’ve heard worse in the past month(?) but then he flicks his brown eyes toward me and curls his lip, “Or ought I say what he is.” There’s a smirk on his lips now as if he knows the affect those words have on me. Like being struck with a hammer, my innards lurch and waves of both hopelessness and anger surge through me.

“Enough with that,” Lauren shakes her head, their facial expressions are a sharp contrast to one another. Rynd understands what he’s done, but Lauren, she has no idea how I feel. My heart sinks and Lauren continues to lecture him, finally ending in a command to fetch a bowl of the stew for me from the other room. As he leaves, Lauren begins to inspect me, running her hands over my arms and lifting the hem of my nightgown, tugging at a bandage wrapped about my midspection. I wince in pain as she does so. “Of what happened to you,” She says to me, crouching down to my eye level and pressing her palms against my upper arms. “You may be a slave, but that doesn’t mean you’re not a person-”
“Doesn’t it?” I say, unexpectedly snapping back; my eyes widen at my tone and I shrink back in fear. She studies me for a moment and then gives an almost imperceptible shrug.

“-and it does not mean these things do not hurt. You have my leave to speak freely on your feelings at any time, but only me. You don’t want to put yourself at risk.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I demand, my tone more hostile than intended. Her face hardens, only slightly but enough to take me aback as she changes her posture slightly and drills into me with her eyes.

“I am as nice as you allow me to be,” Her voice is firm, but not unkind. There’s a sense of ‘business’ to it, I guess. “Make no mistake, you are the property of and beholden to the Lady Helena. If you remember that and keep it, I’ll treat you with kindness. If you fail to do so, I’ll join Rynd in making you wish you’d never been born. Clear?”

I nod, the fear steady in my heart as she guides me to the back of the bed, resting my back against the wall and ensuring that I’m able to hold an upright position. Once she’s satisfied, she starts to take a seat on the mattress and then frowns as the sheets and shakes her head, holding her nose as she resumes her original position.

“I…” I part my lips to speak, I want to take her up on her offer, to talk, but was it a trap? The fear would probably always linger in my mind, I would always be suspicious of anyone who treated me with kindness, like a human being. Where I come from they call it paranoia. They probably call it that here, too. Lauren looks at me expectantly, her softened eyes contradicting her now folded-arms as she stands over me with unmistakable authority. “I don’t…understand why this is happening to me,” I tell her, looking up pleadingly. She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t…I was just minding my own business, I didn’t do anything wrong and, and…”

“You aren’t familiar with the legal system?” She seems amused now. “You committed a crime, you’re being punished. Do they not have punishement where you come from?”

“I don’t know what I did,” I say through gritted teeth. “And…how is this punishment? This…is inhuman!”

“Well there I’d disagree,” Lauren says. “I think using people for labor is the most human thing you can do.”

I snort, a small tuft of laughter nearly escaping my lips; my diaphragm aches as it momentarily expands. Lauren’s expression has softened significantly; she crouches down, meeting me at eye level.

“It’s just a sentence,” She says softly. “Like being in jail, but you’re serving your sentence outside and not in some dark, stinky prison. It’s not that bad here, really. We don’t use slaves here, you’re the first I think since the Lady Helena was named heir, so it’s not really…structured around keeping you miserable. This is just a regular house with regular servants, save for you.”

“Save for me,” I repeat, chewing over the words in my mind.

“Save for you,” She repeats, nodding. “Now, I’m a servant here, same as Rynd, though we’re employed rather than, well, compelled. Listen, I’m sorry about what happened to you, I really am, but we all have our roles to play now, understand?”

“No, I don’t,” I say with the last bit of courage I can muster. She raises an eyebrow again and I drop my gaze.

“Your wounds have been tended to, and the Lady’s private physician tells us you’re not fit to work yet, so in this bed, you’ll stay.”

“Not that I should care,” Rynd snorts as he re-enters the room and shoves a bowl of stew at me. I look to Lauren cautiously and she nods; I take the bowl and begin to slowly eat from a wooden spoon. It’s some kind of vegetable broth, lukewarm as if it’s been set aside intentionally. “Other houses would just work it until it dies. Whatever it is that makes him so special…”

“Enough,” Lauren snaps at Rynd, who suddenly falls silent and looks taken aback. He doesn’t argue, and Lauren rises from her haunches, using the flats of her palms to smooth her dress. “Mayet, you’ll rest until you’re healed, and then you’ll be put to your duties. Do not argue with me. Finish your stew and lay down.”

“I um…” I lower my head again. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Bathroom?” Rynd frowns. “What in the three hells is that?”

Even Lauren looks confused and then her face lightens with understanding.

“You need to wash up?” She offers. “Yes, we can facilitate that but, a bathroom?”

“Like um…a room, where I can pee…I mean…relieve myself and…”

Rynd stares, dumbfounded. “Why would you need an entire room for that?”

The next few days pass in a blur; Lauren continues to bring me stew and eventually adds a piece of black bread, which despite appearances, isn’t burned. I can feel my body regaining strength but every single piece of progress is set back by the aching muscles and the discoloration across my skin. I want to stand, I want to get out of this room, but each time I try, I’m told that I’m ‘not ready yet’. It isn’t until a few more days pass, or weeks maybe, that a clean cut, middle aged man in horn rimmed glasses stands over me. He gives me a disapproving look, but still examines me; I shudder at his touch, he ignores my silent protests as he presses against my limbs, asking me about my level of pain. He speaks to Lauren, and then leaves the room.

“The good Doctor says you’re ready for work,” Lauren nods to me. “Light work, that is. Are you ready to get out of bed?”
I nod, still feeling weak as she helps me to stand. She pinches her nose and says that I’m due for a bath and while I can agree with that, I don’t relish the idea of standing naked before her, or anyone. Well, that’s stupid, isn’t it? It isn’t like it hasn’t happened a dozen times over in the past month, just with other people.

I’m on my feet within a few minutes; it takes some time for Lauren to pull the blankets aside and work me to the edge of the bed. I still feel sore, but I can move and that’s an improvement. I look up at her helplessly as she smooths my hair and then lifts me from the bed with her hands beneath my shoulders.

Shit she’s strong, I think as I’m moved like a rag doll until I’m eye level with her. She looks at me and nods, motioning for me to follow her to the doorway. As it opens up, I suddenly find myself shrinking back, terrified of what could lay beyond the door.
“Lauren,” I say, my voice nearly a whisper. She looks at me, not without sympathy. “I just…I don’t belong here. I…I want to go home…”
“Come,” She says firmly. I nod and walk past her. My body is moving but I feel like a bag of bones; held together by loosened skin, and weak from malnutrition. I feel like I’m just a mind wandering through the door, into another room, this one equipped with a wooden table and chairs along with a small kitchenette. Rynd glances up from a book and then looks away. “We’re going to the showers,” Lauren tells him. He grunts. “I would remind you, Rynd, that I oversee the girls here. You’re not to interfere.”

“That’s not a girl,” Rynd growls. “It’s barely even a person.”

“Come on,” Lauren ushers me past, through another door and this time into a dark hallway barely lit with glow-lamps affixed to sconces every few feet. Despite that, it still feels like we’re walking through torchlight. I can’t keep track of where we’re going; the twists and the turns all amount to nothing but dizziness and disorientation, so I stop trying. She walks me through a set of double doors, and then through a storage room at the back of which is a bank of shower stalls. She instructs me to get into one and strip. I do. The shower goes smoothly; she half-watches and half-reads a book that she snatches off of a shelf of what looks to be cleaning supplies. I close my eyes, letting out a sigh of relief as the warm water washes over my broken body. Each bruise comes with a story, each story flashing before my eyes in and instant as I lather my body with soap.
“So, Mayet, is it,” Lauren says, looking up from her book. I slowly look at her, over the low divider that separates the shower stall from the rest of the store room. “I hear you came from the wastes, is that so?”

“I think so,” I say quietly. “I…don’t exactly know where I was.”

“The charges read that you crossed the border illegally and committed acts of thievery,” She shrugs. “Whether or not that’s true doesn’t much matter. You’re here now and this is likely the best place for you.”

“The best place for me,” I repeat. “Why?’

“Slaves are seen as property,” She explains. “What was done to you at the hands of the slavers may be frowned upon, but not exactly illegal. And you…are obviously a special case. You continue to insist that you are a girl, and that your name is Mayet, despite all evidence to the contrary.”

I stop lathering my skin and look at her. The water runs down my face, and mats my hair to my head. She studies me for a moment, then stands up, stepping closer; the thin divider, and the hiss of the shower are all that stands between us.

“The Lady Helena will allow it,” She says with absolution. “She expressed as much, so that you need not fear. Were you anywhere else I imagine they would have started by shaving your hair. But here, because you have made your wishes clear, you’ll be under my command, as one of the house girls. Finish up your shower so we can get you dressed.”

The shower culminates in me sitting on a hard bench, wrapped in a thin towel and shivering as she dries and brushes my hair. I close my eyes, allowing my body to relax as the brush breaks up the tangled strands of hair. She steps around me, examining my bangs and then running her hands along my skin. I feel at ease for a moment; it doesn’t feel as if she’s appraising me, but more ‘checking’. Whatever it was she was checking.

“The staff here wear simple gray dresses with an apron,” She explains as she steps away to pull a bundle of clothing from a nearby shelf. “I’ve taken the liberty of getting you five of them, one for each day you work and appropriate sleeping attire. As for what you wear on your days off-”

“My days off?” I frown.

“Yes, your days off,” She completes her thought and scowls at me for the interruption. “You’ll have time to relax, but you won’t leave the grounds, understood?”

I nod. I can feel myself beginning to relax, the tension leaving my body as she instructs me to stand up and helps me into the dress. She’s right, it’s a very simple gray dress made of a thin material that I don’t recognize. It has a U shaped neckline that stops just above my breastline and the sleeves come down to just above my elbow. The hem of the skirt reaches below my knees and it feels more complete with the white pinafore apron. For the first time in a very long time, I feel clean; I’m still covered in bruises and my body aches, but I’m clean and for the first time, I feel something like hope.

“There are rules for you,” She further explains. “Many of them, and I for one don’t expect you to know everything on the first day, but we will get there, together. The other girls will help you.”

“Other girls,” I say, nearly gasping. “I um…”

“There are six other girls in the employ of the Lady Helena,” She explains. “This is a minor house, so the staff isn’t as…abundant as you might find elsewhere. There is a small kitchen staff, a stable hand, and of course, us.”

“Us,” I repeat back, chewing over the words.

“If you have any questions, now would be the time to raise them,” She implies that I might not have another chance to speak. I look past her, toward a full length mirror set into the wall beside the storage shelf. She follows my gaze and then steps out of my way, allowing me to stand in front of the mirror while she looks on. The girl staring back to me looks…suprisingly feminine. More so than I’d ever expected her to look again. My damp brown hair hangs down past my shoulders, brushed now, and flowing over the shoulders of the dress. I placed my hand at the center of the pinafore, feeling the material and observing my face. Back home I’d been on hormones for years and I’d had some of the facial feminization surgeries but most days I could see past them, to the boy underneath, the boy who had transposed positions with the girl trapped inside. He was still there, just beneath the surface and for the first time since I’d gotten here, I felt like he was going to stay there.
“We don’t have time to tarry,” Lauren tells me in a lecturing tone. “You’ve had a week to get yourself together. Now, join me, please.”
She takes me out of the storage room and down the hall, dropping me off with another servant named Brynna. Brynna is a tall girl; she has about an inch on me. She’s has dark brown eyes and shoulder-length black hair bound into a high tail. Her skin is pasty white and she’s thin. She looks at me as Lauren leaves and I can’t help but feel self-conscious again. With Lauren I was starting to get comfortable, but with this new person…
“Well,” She says, looking me over. “If you wanted to be a girl you’re certainly looking the part.” There’s an edge to her tone, not mocking, but certainly non-nonsense. I swallow as she turns away and motions me toward a large set of double doors. “Now I’m told that you can’t do any real work, so light housework it is. Come on then.”

She pushes the ornate double doors open with both hands and steps through; I follow and gasp at what I see. Compared to the room I’ve been in for the past week this is magnificent. As we step in, the first thing I notice is that the outer edge of the room is lined with four rows of chairs, each row several inches higher than the last. Like an auditorium except the chairs are made from a deep brown hardwood and lavishly cushioned with patterned fabric. The center of the room is lit up considerably more; it’s a rectangular area with six gleaming stone tables and as I walked closer, following Brynna, my eyes were drawn to their black and white checkered surfaces.

“A minor tournament will be hosted here,” She explains. “A qualifying event, or so I’m told.”

“A qualifying event?” I ask, not daring to take my eyes from the tables at the center of the room. “For what?”

She frowns; I can feel her looking at me. “For the Grand Caissa tournament,” She says. “Even in the wastes they know about that.”
“Caissa,” I repeat. “You’re talking about chess.”

“I’m talking about Caissa,” I can hear the irritation creeping into her tone. “Now, with that being said, we have a job to do.”
“What…kind of job?” I ask apprehensively.

She hands me a wood-handled feather duster. “Dusting.”