There are five girls in the kitchen, which serves to confuse me as Lauren had said only six girls were employed and I’d seen the bulk of them, or so I thought. It doesn’t take me long, however, to work out that for the event, outside help had been hired. This fact makes me even more self conscious as I enter the room, escorted by Brynna in my gray uniform; a dress that hangs just below my knees. One of the girls is significantly older than me, probably in her thirties with black hair trussed up into a bun and is mostly covered by a kerchief. Her face is sun-scorched and creased, and the look she gives me is one of pure amusement.

“It’s true then,” She nearly laughs, but she seems pre-occupied with a lump of dough beneath her fingers. “Don’t tell me you’re going to have it cook.”

“Oh, leave the poor girl alone,” Says another woman, about the same age. She looks to me apologetically. “Sorry dear, Abigail is moody.”
“Don’t apologize to the slave,” Abigail snaps. “It sets a bad precedent.”

“I assume I can leave her here with you?” Brynna inquires. My eyes go wide at Brynna’s request and I’m overcome with a wave of nausea at the idea of being left alone here. “I’ve things to see to.”

“Don’t worry yourself,” Abigail lectures Brynna. “I’ll see to it that he…no, she is put to work.”

“Aye,” Another woman pipes up. “If it’s women’s work she wants…”

“Then women’s work she’ll get,” Abigail finishes. Brynna turns and leaves without a word, I feel a terror unlike anything I’ve experienced since I got to the Bolin house and my fears are justified. The women aren’t particularly cruel, but Abigail sets me to work in a separate room off of the main kitchen; it has a window that they can pass dishes through but the concrete space is unbearably hot. I take in a deep breath, as I enter, my skin becomes clammy and I can feel my uniform sticking to my body. Piles upon piles of dishes are shoved through the slot over the next several hours; I can feel the skin peeling from my fingers as I wash the dishes in scalding hot water. There’s running water here, and an iron spigot, but it seems there’s only one temperature and it’s not helping the heat situation in the room. I stand in front of the spigot, the heat blasting against my skin and my fingers scalding with every dish I wash. For each one, there seems to be more, and it isn’t long before Abigail walks in and lectures me for failing to keep my space clean. I’m forced to stop and use a scrub brush alongside a bucket of water to clean both the floor and my work station. There’s a throbbing in my side left over from a beating weeks ago and I can feel my leg cramping as I run the stiff bristles of the wooden brush through the grout on the floor. I want to cry out in pain but manage to bite my tongue each time the urge rises.

I resume doing the dishes, and through the extreme discomfort I can hear the women shouting in the kitchen. One is shouting orders, another is calling out for ingredients. I throw a glance back through the window and Abigail meets my eyes for a second before returning to her work. I’m breathing heavily by the time she returns; my dress is soaked through and my hair is matted to my face. She looks me over for a moment and then nods.

“Not what I was expecting,” She says. “You did well.”

“Thanks,” I manage to mutter. She nods.

“Your keeper, that Brynna girl, she’ll want to see you shortly.”

I inwardly cringe at the mention of ‘my keeper’, but then again if it had to be anyone, I guess I’m glad it was her. At least Brynna was nice most of the time. Abigail and one of the other women mention that I’m supposed to be fed, so I’m sitting at a corner table eating a bowl of soup when Brynna arrives.

“How did it go?” Brynna asks Abigail, who shrugs.

“Didn’t break,” Abigail says. “That’s more than I expected.”

Brynna walks over to the table I’m sitting at and looks down at me. I pause eating for a moment and look up at her, my face tight with anticipation as to what comes next. She corrects my posture, telling me to sit straight and to hold my spoon between two fingers. It’s uncomfortable but I do it, and finish my soup while she talks to the other women. I’m able to pick out bits and pieces of conversation, mostly she’s asking them about news around the city, and she asks Abigail about her children. It’s almost disturbingly normal. I take a few more bites of the soup – a vegetable broth I think, when Brynna turns to me.

“Mayet, how many children does Abigail have?” I jerk back in surprise, my eyes wide at having been asked any kind of relevant question, especially in a conversation I’d had no part of. I shook my head in surprise – I didn’t know.

“Two, dear,” Abigail says. “Penny and Albert.”

“Always have your ears open, Mayet,” Brynna lectures. “Mouth shut, ears open.”

“The best way, if you’re going to be a woman,” Abigail tells me, and I’m not sure what’s happening. Are they…actually giving me advice that isn’t ‘be a good slave’ or ‘say ‘yes Ma’am’?

Brynna waits for me to finish eating and then takes me through the servant’s passage back to the shower room. Exhausted, I wash the dirt and grime from my body, taking a grateful inhale of the steam-filled shower stall before finally turning off the water and stepping out. I see Brynna sitting on the bench, reading the same book that Lauren had been reading earlier. She looks up at me, puts a bookmark in it, and sets it back on the shelf.

“Come on,” She waves me over and I cross the tile floor, my arms wrapped tightly across my chest; she looks at my posture and smirks. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” I answer truthfully. It’s true; my legs are still sore, my chest is tight, and the bruises on my face, while mostly healed, have still left some swelling. Brynna nods, not without sympathy.

“You’ll be attending the games today,” She tells me. The statement is enough to make me look up in confusion. Didn’t she mean I’d be working at the games? She may have seen the confusion in my eyes as she shook her head almost imperceptibly. “You can’t work. You did well in the kitchen today, but to have you serving at such an important event when you could pass out at any moment? Perhaps not. The lady wants you at the games, you’ll wear a gown, and you’ll sit near the back. I’ll show you to your seat.”

“Is this…another way to show me off?” I ask hesitantly. Brynna nods.

“Get used to it.”

“How?”

“Life….” She says slowly. “Is about doing things we’re uncomfortable with, and we all must do our part.”

Less than half an hour later I’m following closely behind Brynna dressed in a gown that’s far heavier than I’m used to. It’s a skirt sewn into a heavy corset and a white chemise underneath and a white scarf drawn into a ‘V’ beneath the neckline of the corset. It was hot, and it was bulky, but I somehow feel more confident in it than…well…anything I’ve been made to wear since I’d gotten here. Brynna leads me to those double doors again, which were open this time, and walks me in.

Suddenly, all of my confidence vanishes.

The room is full of people. No, it’s packed, completely packed. From front to back, there are people in formal attire conversing, laughing, or staring at the play area. Brynna leads me to one of two empty seats near the doors and tells me to sit.

“Stay in that chair,” She says, shooting me a look of warning. I nod and she vanishes. Once she’s gone I become aware of two things; the first being total isolation even in a room full of people, and second, the tightness of my corset. I’ve never worn a corset before; it was kind of on my bucket list, but they’re expensive and my figure never really needed any help – or so I’d thought. I’d caught a look at myself in the full-length mirror before we’d left the shower room, and I think maybe I’d been wrong the entire time. Still, the boning is uncomfortable and the top of the stupid thing is digging into my armpits and my skin is itching under one of the panels. I want nothing more than to tear it off, but I get the feeling that would be inappropriate, and if we’re being honest, I have no idea how. Instead of fidgeting, I place my hands on my lap after straightening the fabric of my skirt and try to sit with my back as straight as possible. It’s uncomfortable, and I kind of hate it, but the last thing I want to do is anger Brynna or Lauren. I notice the male servants filing in, one per row, each one carrying a tray filled with crystal goblets and some type of wine. My first thought is that I could ‘use’ wine, but truth be told, I’m kind of a silly drunk and I need my mind to be clear. A horrifying thought appears to me as I begin looking for the female servants, but I breathe a constricted sign of relief as I at least spot Lauren standing on the other side of the hall. She’s changed into a deep back dress with a white collar and hem, wrapped at the waist with a fabric belt. She catches me looking at her; I turn away quickly as I feel my face burning.

The male servants begin to pull the double doors shut and then they quickly disappear, probably through some hidden door. I check to see if Lauren is gone – she isn’t. It’s then that I notice Mister Cyrene stepping into the play area, a brilliant cascade of overhead lighting illuminates the marble boards and he steps with such precision that I might have mistaken him for a machine. He looks around and then clears his throat.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” He said loudly and clearly. “First and foremost it is my pleasure to welcome you to the qualifier for the sixteenth Grand Caissa championship, hosted by House Bolin!”

There’s a brief round of applause, and then Mister Cyrene explains that this is one of six qualifying events taking place around…I listen hard but I can’t make out the name of; the phonetics are too extreme.

Great, I think to myself. I still don’t know where I am!

He finishes speaking, and I see four other men in tuxedos, mostly around his age, some younger, taking their places near the boards. Then the players come. Lord Randis is among them, along with a few people I recognize but can’t put a name to. Each of them had seen me in the foyer, and I had endured Lady Helena’s exhibitionist behavior toward me. To my surprise, one of the players is a woman a little older than me, introduced as ‘Amanda Syis’. She has brunette hair worked into a thick braid that hangs from the nape of her neck and lays over her shoulder where the braid stops below her midsection. I attempt to lean forward, though constrained heavily by the corset as the players take their seats and begin the process of setting up their pieces. My breath stops as each player pulls their marble pieces from the ornate wooden drawers inset to the tables. The game, as I’d suspected, is chess. I resist the urge to smile, to laugh hysterically, because in this sea of unknown, in this foreign land where I was just a slave, there was at least one thing I could recognize. One thing that reminded me of home. After all that’s happened, it feels like a privilege.

I watch in awe as their mechanical clocks are started and they make their opening moves. Their fingers slide the pieces gracefully across the board, the first ten moves or so are pure memorization, book openings, but as the games progress, they become far slower. I watch in enthralled amazement as the pieces clink, marble against marble under the watchful eye of Mister Cyrene as he passes between tables, his hands locked behind his back. He seems to display no emotion and the same goes for the other arbiters who make similar, but more constructed rounds of their tables. I become so engrossed in the game that I don’t notice Lauren crossing the room, walking behind the auditorium seats until she reaches my spot. I nearly jump as she crouches beside me and speaks to me in a whisper.

“They’ll adjourn soon,” She tells me. I look at here, startled, my body shaking as if I’ve just been torn out of a deep sleep. “And there’s work for you.”

I rise as best I can with my still-sore legs against the weight of the gown. I wince and whimper as I leave the chair, which doesn’t even draw a look of concern from Lauren – I guess she’s used to me being broken. I follow her through the double doors and across the hall to a paneled wall. She pushes on one of the panels, and yet another entrance to the servant’s passage appears. As always, the transition is jolting as we move from the ornate, solid walls, to something that looks like it’s from a 1950’s elementary school hallways with a landlord special paint job. She closes the door behind us and begins to inspect my appearance. She adjusts my neckline and makes sure that the scarf is tucked into the setting. She then takes my hands and holds them out at chest level, looking from one to the other.

“Do you bite your nails?” She asks me. I nod. “Stop doing that.”

“I…I just get nervous and-”

She drops my hands and places a single index finger over my lips; I fall silent. “I didn’t ask for an explanation. Stop doing it.”

“Yes Ma’am,” I nod in agreement.

It’s hard to get used to Lauren. In my previous life I would have considered her overbearing or controlling, and not someone I would be around. Here I have no choice but to indulge her every whim and it’s doing a fantastic job of making me both terrified and confused. At least she hasn’t done anything too heinous; that’s what I tell myself. I let her guide me down the hall; we pass what look like storage rooms; one is filled with racks of the servant uniforms that we wear, another is filled with shelves of what look to be wooden boxes. I lose track the further we go and eventually we end up at a small door just large enough for us to duck through.

“The reception is on the other side of this door,” she explains to me quickly. “The guests will be arriving in short order, your job is to mingle.”
“Mingle?” I ask, confused.

“The Lady has spent a great deal on your care,” Lauren explains. “It wasn’t just room and board, there was medical care, special care to your diet, and you might have noticed that your skin is a bit softer. That is not coincidence, Mayet. Now the genteel would like to see what she paid for.”

“What she paid for,” I repeat slowly; I can see the annoyance in Lauren’s eyes slowly growing but I take the risk anyway. “Has a man never worn a dress before? Is it that special?”

“Are you a man?” She suddenly snaps. I freeze and shake my head. “Therein lies the difference. There is something different about you, something we’ve never seen.”

“And yet I’m a slave,” I mutter hopelessly, cringing as Lauren’s eyes narrow.

“Let’s go.”

I stumble at the threshold as Lauren places her hand on the handle, it clicks before I nearly lose my feet, turning around to grasp her waist for balance. She gives me a sharp look and shakes her head.

“I don’t know what to do out there,” my voice is raspy and my tone is a plea for help that falls on deaf ears. She places her hands beneath my elbows to steady me; the gesture isn’t without kindness but I can feel her patience wearing thin.

“The Lady is well aware,” she tells me. “Your being a bumbling idiot works in your favor, just this once.”

I gulp, unsure of how to take that and she orders me to move. We transition from the dark corridor to a brightly lit reception area. It isn’t massive, I feel it’s the size of a high school gymnasium but the walls are ornate and the floor is gleaming. Overhead there are three golden chandeliers casting light throughout the space to supplement the waning evening light that shines through the tall picture windows placed along the ends and sides of the space. I see a long table of refreshments set up at the far end and several smaller tables off to the side. For the most part people are standing, conversing amongst themselves. All of the spectators from the games are present and I recognize a few of the players as I pick them out from amongst the crowd. I can feel Lauren guiding me, not quite gently towards one of the larger crowds. I turn around suddenly and meet her eyes, my body quivering.

“You won’t leave me, will you?” I ask shakily. She shakes her head and places a hand on my shoulder, turning me back around. We walk toward a group of well dressed men and women, one of which I recognize as Amanda Syis, one of the players. She takes immediate notice and turns, cocking her head.

“Well well, what have we here?” She gives me a sly smile and steps forward, running a hand over my sleeve and nodding at my outfit. “You are Mayet, I assume?”

“My Ladies,” Lauren says, nodding at the crowd. “Lords Randis and Titelmeyer, I would like to introduce Mayet, a recent acquisition of House Bolin.”

“Dear me,” A woman similar in appearance to Amanda steps forward, looking at me critically. “Has the poor thing not learned to use cosmetics?”
“I’m afraid we haven’t gotten that far, Lady Marlene,” Lauren says apologetically. “We’re still working on behavior.”

“Of which there is much to do, I presume,” Marlene snorts. “See how she slouches!”

An anger is rising within me, one I fight tooth and nail to quell; the last thing I want to do is lose my temper here. The last thing I want to do is state that I used to have an entire cabinet full of makeup and that I was well versed in using it before…before all of this.

“We spoke of this, Mayet,” Lauren warns me. I immediately straighten my back, but her glare doesn’t fade. I hear Marlene giggle; my blood boils.

“Apologies, Lady Syis,” She addresses Marlene – related to Amanda apparently. “We have much to work on.”

“It would seem so,” Amanda muses. “Being a woman, or even a girl is so much more than simply acting the part, young Mayet. Your behavior reflects on us all, even being as…insignificant as you are.”

Insignificant. Insignificant. I feel my hand forming into a tight fist; my lip curls and the latter of the Syis sisters raises an amused eyebrow.
“Reign your dog in, domestic," Marlene Syis grins to Lauren who apologizes and pulls me away toward a different crowd. The introductions go similarly, and I begin to feel sick to my stomach. I’m not only a side piece in whatever circus they have going on here, I’m an object to be poked, prodded, and even laughed at. In one of the social circles Lauren introduces me to, a tall man in a black and white tuxedo all but gropes me, garnering laughter and ridicule from the rest of the crowd. They seem to be amused when Lauren essentially drags me toward the servant’s passage, tears streaming down my cheeks. As the door closes behind us, I slam my back against the wall of the narrow corridor and slide down until I’m slumped on the floor. Lauren is silent for a moment, but finally speaks.

“Mayet,” She says curtly. “When you chose this path in life, did you study any of the etiquette that accompanied it? Did you learn to curtsey? Did you learn to address your betters? How long did you say you’ve been at this?”

I breathe heavily, choking back tears with little success; I see droplets forming on my gown, and my hands tremble as I look at them. I feel like half a person, no, less than half. I feel…as if my entire being has been appraised and been found wanting by a people that I want no part of. I finally manage to look up at her and part my dry, trembling lips.

“Please let me go,” I whimper. “I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to do any of this, I-”

“Where would you go, Mayet?” Lauren cuts me off abruptly; I fall silent. “Suppose I walked you to the door, opened it up, and let you run. How far do you suppose you would get? You are the property of House Bolin, you would be returned here and the Lady would not be happy. Or worse, what if you were captured and sold to someone who has no regard for other’s property? Do you recall the condition you were in when the Lady found you only a few weeks ago? Would you like to revisit that?”

I look away from her numbly, I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to admit that she’s right, but where would I go? I don’t know anything about this world. I don’t know anything about the city outside this house. I have no money, no friends, and no hope. My entire world has been reduced to…whatever this is.

“Well that was a complete disaster,” A new voice says; I hear the sound of heels clacking against the floorboards and upon looking up I see Sarah, the woman from the market approaching us. She’s wearing a light orange dress this time, her hair hanging loose about her shoulders and she regards me with a disdainful look. “Lauren, did you prepare the girl at all?”

“There’s been little time,” Lauren admits. “And some of the things…Miss Young, may I speak freely?”

“May as well,” Sarah says, waving her hand dismissively. “Out with it.”

“She behaves like a child. Like…someone who is most certainly a girl, but has received none of the child rearing or social instruction. A blank slate, if you will.”

“A blank slate can be worked with,” Sarah says sharply. “The games conclude tomorrow and so I will assist you. She will be drilled, she will be tested, and she will be taught the proper way. Do you understand that, young Mayet?”

“Y…Yes Ma’am,” I say quietly, lowering my head again.

“We’ll teach her as much as we can before tomorrow afternoon,” Sarah says. “I know, Lauren, that you have countless other duties to attend to in the meantime.”

“Yes Miss Young,” Lauren agrees. “Though I can doubtless be present for some of it.”

“A shame so much time was wasted on her recovery,” Sarah shakes her head. “Bring her to the small atrium so we can begin.”

In an ideal world, no, in my world I would have crawled into my bed and cried until my tear ducts eroded after what happened in that stupid reception room. I would have woken up eventually, made myself a cup of tea and ruminated in front of my window overlooking Washtenaw Avenue as I tried to absorb the events of the day. But now I find myself being led into the ‘small atrium’, which compared to other rooms in the house, is actually, well, small. It’s a glass shaft perhaps a hundred feet across and seems to extend upward five floors. The atrium is filled with plant life, a water feature in the center, and a few strategically placed tables. All in all, I feel a bit more comfortable here than I have most places in the house. My admiration of the scenery however is cut short as Sarah speeds by me and points to a wooden chair. I take a seat, careful to straighten my skirt as she stands over me, arms crossed.

“Tell me Mayet, have you even seen a woman prior to making the ill fated decision to become one?” Sarah demands. My face flushes; I can’t hold it in any longer.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I demand. Sarah raises an eyebrow and Lauren steps forward quickly, her hand raised, but Sarah looks at her and shakes her head, gesturing for me to continue. I take a deep breath. “Society doesn’t teach girls how to be boys, it’s just not done. It’s not like…there’s a book somewhere, or…I don’t know, someone who would teach me these…things. I did the best I could with what I had!” In truth I was perfectly passable at home. The rules were different there. “Besides, Lauren…I mean…Miss Lauren said it would be good for me to be a ‘bumbling idiot’.”

“A bumbling idiot is far from an incompetent idiot,” Sarah informs me. “And I don’t believe you incompetent.”

“Y-you don’t?” I frown. I almost feel as if I’ve received a compliment.

“Much as it may surprise you,” Sarah continues. “I do not. A boy declaring himself to be a girl is unheard of. So much so that when word of your existence reached the Lady Helena she became intrigued that you had not broken under the…immense pressure that slavers like Mister Kurt are known to imbue upon their subjects.” As she says it, I shudder at the memory of the constant reaffirmations of my identity. She pauses for a moment, sensing my discomfort but then continues. “You stood fast and held to your personal truths and beliefs in the face of great adversity, which makes you anything but incompetent. One who was not sure of their identity or was faking would…surely have recanted.”

“My mother always said I was stubborn,” I said quietly. Lauren rolls her eyes.

“And still here you comport yourself as a young lady, albeit absent of protocol and social awareness. You do not possess any of the typical male traits that we’ve looked for in you. You are timid, you are reserved, you are, for the most part, observant. The role of a woman is to be seen, not heard, but that doesn’t mean she is simply furniture. It means that we take a more subtle role in society, are you following me?”

“Y-yes Ma’am,” I say quickly, nodding as I register that she's having a very serious, very candid conversation with me.

“The path you’ve chosen is…for all intents and purposes, insane, but after observing you these last weeks it is the opinion of House Bolin that you would not have put yourself in this position if you did not believe that at your very core, you are a woman.”

I fall completely silent; the only thing I can concentrate on is the sound of her voice; even the trickling of the water feature is secondary to what she’s saying to me. In the last few weeks I’ve faced adversity unlike anything I’d dealt with at home. I’d been called a liar, I’d been called a ‘crack’, whatever that means, and I’d come to the conclusion that I’d have to die for my identity, for my truth. But here I am, and here’s this woman speaking sense, sense unlike anything I expected to hear. This place, this…House Bolin, it doesn’t just accept my identity, it believes in it because I believe in it. I’m a slave, but I suddenly realize that doesn’t mean I’m not a person. My world changes in an instant.

“I…” I manage to choke out the words as I straighten my posture. “I’ll do my best for you, Ma’am,” I say. I look to Lauren. “And for you too, Miss Lauren.”

Lauren steps forward, studying me with intensity. “See that you do,” She says. “You are beholden to the same standards of any other girl in this house. If you must be punished, it will be as a girl. If you are to be chided, it will be as a girl. There will be times when you regret your decision-”
“There won’t,” I interrupt. She raises an eyebrow but continues.

“But it was your decision, and this is your identity. You are to take it as your very own, am I clear?” Lauren finishes. I nod and answer in the affirmative.

Sarah claps her hands. “Well! With that out of the way, let’s address two things, young Mayet. First of all…” She turns to Lauren who hands her a thick leather bound book. “There is a book to teach you these things. But you won’t be reading it today. Straighten your back, young lady.”
I straighten my posture once again, realizing that I had slouched ever so slightly. Sarah rests the heavy volume atop my head and orders me to stay still, to balance the book.

“Hands on your lap, carefully,” Sarah instructs me. “Keep your back straight, keep your shoulders straight, that posture must be tight, and don’t let your eyes wander!”

An hour of sitting with the book on my head turns to an hour of practicing standing with it. I fail the first seven, or eight probably nine times, but with Lauren’s chiding and Sarah’s occasional encouragement, I manage to cross the atrium twice without dropping it. But, then comes the real challenge – sitting back down and maintaining the posture. I fail miserably. Every. Single. Time. To my surprise, Sarah doesn’t seem angry and it occurs to me that my failures are probably common in lessons like these. Her lack of anger must mean that I’m making some sort of progress. At some point, Lauren excuses herself, leaving me alone with Sarah who then drills me on etiquette, none of which I’m familiar with. Throughout the lesson, between the constant drilling, the questions, and the repetitive actions I’m forced to take, I find myself growing exhausted, my eyelids heavy, and each time I begin to doze, Sarah snaps her fingers in my face and lectures me.

“You shan’t be falling asleep in the middle of your duties,” She lectures. “Tired you may be, the world keeps moving.”

“Yes Ma’am,” I respond quietly. She nods and looks toward the entrance to the atrium where blessedly, Brynna has appeared.

“Go over and greet Brynna,” Sarah tells me. “As we have practiced.”

I carefully cross the atrium, keeping my shoulders straight and keeping my stride small, my hands close to my body as I approach Brynna. She watches me closely as I move in and execute the curtsy as best I can, gripping the fabric of my gown and placing one foot behind the other, lowering myself and and gaze toward the floor.

“Good evening, Miss Brynna,” I say, wobbly and unsure as exhaustion continues to creep in. “It is my pleasure to serve you.”

“A blank slate indeed,” Sarah says, making her way over. “Brynna, would you see young Mayet back to the dormitory, make sure she is fed and washed, and then put straight to bed.”

“I’ll see it done Ma’am,” Brynna says. Sarah vanishes without another word. I nearly collapse, but Brynna manages to catch me. “It’s okay,” She says. “Just breathe.”

“It was so much,” I can feel the tears coming again. “I feel…I…I…feel…”

“Inadequate? Undeserving? Exhausted in both the mind and body? Yes, we’ve all been there,” Brynna says before placing her hand beneath my chin. “And we all moved past it. So too till you.”

“When?” I begin to weep, shaking my head and throwing myself into her. She wraps her arms around me and I melt.

“We’ll save such conversations for the ‘morrow,” She tells me. “For now, it’s time to rest.”