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.”
Despite being assigned ‘light’ work, I’m exhausted before we even get a few hours into it. Brynna notices I’m leaning against one of the chess, no, wait Caissa tables, my palms sweating and my stomach lurching. Brynna regards me curiously and walks to the other side of the table.
“You should sit,” She tells me. “You’re pale as a ghost.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need to.”
“Do as you’re told,” She snatches the feather duster from me and pulls out one of the high-backed leather chairs, practically pushing me into it. The moment I make contact with the seat, I breathe an immese sigh of relief as the pressure on my muscles subsides. I didn’t realize just how much it hurt to stand. “You can’t sit for long,” She informs me. “You’ll just get stiff, and then what good are you to anyone?”
I look at her blankly, trying to comprehend her tone. She’s being a bit harsh and perhaps condescending, but I can sense no cruelty in her tone. It’s a stark contrast to what I’ve experienced so far, and I’m still unsure of what’s happening. I nod to her and she looks to me, unsmiling and tells me to finish dusting the chairs. I manage to stand up and dust a few of the chairs from top to bottom before a wave of nausea takes me, and I stumble towards the center of the room. She notices from her own spot on the other side of the room and manages to catch me.
“I’ll speak to Lauren,” She tells me. “Perhaps you ought lay down a few more days.”
“No,” I shake my head. “I’m sick of that room, I’m-”
“Don’t get worked up,” She cuts me off; I look up at her. “If you can’t work, you can’t work. I’m not going to make you.”
“You might not,” I mutter. She shoots me an annoyed look.
“Look,” She says, sitting in one of the seats near me. “You broke the law and-”
“And I’m being punished, yeah, I get that,” I snap; she looks taken aback. “It’s not fair, I don’t even know what I did. I didn’t know where I was and I…I don’t know how things work here. I just show up here and this is what I get?”
“You’re not in a bad place,” Brynna says bluntly. “You know it could be worse.”
“Yeah, I know!” I suddenly find myself shouting, though the shout comes out as more of a squeak, and partial sob. “Do you know what they did to me?!”
“Yes!” Brynna shouts over me, her voice cutting through mine and filling the Caissa hall. I freeze, watching her, my hands gripping the armrests of the chair I’m sitting in. “Yes, I know what happened to you!” She continues, her voice more of an angry hiss now. “But you’re here now, and you have a sentence to serve. If you weren’t here you’d be serving it somewhere else. Are you getting it? If you’re going to whine and complain then you’re not going to get any sympathy from me or anyone else around here! Yes, you’re a slave, yes, you were purchased, and yes, it’s terrible for you, I know that, but the people here are not going to treat you badly. Do your time, serve your sentence, and the Lady won’t leave you out in the cold.”
“I am out in the cold!” I shriek, finding my voice for the first time since…well, I couldn’t remember since when. “I don’t know anyone here! No one cares about me, they just care if I can work, so excuse me if I’m acting a little pissy!”
“What is happening in here?” Lauren’s standing at the entrance to the room, just at the top of the short steps that pass through the rows of seats. She’s standing there, staring daggers at me; I try to stand up but fail miserably. “Why are you shouting?”
“She’s still too weak to work,” Brynna tells her, the shrug evident in her voice.
“That doesn’t explain why she’s shouting,” Lauren snaps, taking a few steps down the stairs and moving toward us. I gulp. “Are we going to have a problem, Mayet?”
I shake my head nervously, my eyes wide as she moves closer, glaring.
“Answer me!” She screams at the top of her lungs; I recoil in the chair.
“N…no,” I stammer, my previous courage and voice lost to me.
“Mayet,” She says, her voice a stark warning as she stares at me.
“No Ma’am,” I say quietly. She looks at me for a moment more, and then crosses her arms, walking the rest of the way down the stairs and stepping directly in front of me. She unfolds her arms and presses her palms against the railing that separates the audience seating from the play area. The overhead lighting gives her golden hair a shimmer that fades as she leans in toward me.
“You told us you were a girl,” She says slowly, evenly. “Girls do not shout. Girls do not throw tantrums. Girls are refined, they are elegant, they are proper. Do you understand me?”
I nod again.
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!” She screams loud enough for her voice to echo throughout the hall, my mouth drops and my heart races against my chest. I can feel my body quivering and my hands grip the hardwood armrests even harder. The fear I’m feeling is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced; there’s a hardness to her expression that spells out her intentions; she’s not going to hear me out.
“Yes Ma’am,” I whimper, turning my head quickly to avoid her gaze.
“Your circumstances do not give you the right to upend the order and tranquility of this house,” Lauren continues. “Mayet, look at me!” I turn my head toward her, trying and failing to avoid eye contact. “Are you listening? Are you comprehending me?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“We know what happened to you at the market, and we have a pretty good idea of what happened before that and we know what’ll happen to you if you’re shipped off somewhere else, so you won’t be sent away but mark my words Mayet, I will see you disciplined if you can’t keep yourself in line. Understand?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
Lauren pushes herself away from the railing, drumming the fingers of her left hand against its hard wooden surface as she watches me. After what seems like an eternity she turns her attention to Brynna, whose been standing idly by for the entire incident.
“How do you find this room?” Lauren asks her. Brynna responds without hestitation, as if Lauren hasn’t just scared the living shit out of me.
“The upkeep is good,” She says. “The girls have been keeping on top of it. I did notice that the valve for the fireplace is stuck. I haven’t been able to turn it on.”
“I’ll inform Mister Cyrene,” She says. “Anything else? The guests are arriving tomorrow and this room will be in use the day after. I don’t want to deal with any embarrassment.”
“And you won’t,” Brynna reassures her. “Have I ever let you down?”
Lauren smiles and lets out a short ‘chuff’ before visibly relaxing. “You know you haven’t.” She then looks to me, her face taking on a stern expression that rattles me to my core. “Mayet, if you can’t work then you’ll shadow. Follow Brynna around, get her whatever she needs. The same for any of the other staff that you’re with. Understood?”
“Yes Ma’am,” I say, completely defeated.
“Being a girl, or a woman is more than just pretty dresses and shoes,” She continues. “You have to act the part and if you can’t do that, then we’re going to teach you, and you won’t like that. You’ve chosen this life, to be a girl, and there’s no option to go back. I will make you understand.”
Lauren leaves; Brynna instructs me to follow her, having me hand her things as she cleans. I’m afraid to talk, barely able to keep up with her, but I’m at least able to let my mind wander to thoughts of home – the home I’d unintentionally left behind. I’d lived with my parents, kind of pathetic at nineteen, but what can you do?
“I’m going to help you,” Brynna says, turning away from a light fixture she’s been polishing. I come back to reality with a start, staring at her like I’ve seen a ghost. “I’ll get your hair sorted, and we’ll work something out for a skin routine. You’ll be a girl, and you’ll look the part.”
“W…why would you do that for me?” I frown, nearly breathless.
“We don’t leave each other behind,” She says, not taking her eyes off of me. “leave that behavior for the men-folk.”
The rest of the day is pretty rough; I meet a few of the other girls, two of which work in the kitchen, or something. There’s a man named Borettis who runs the stables, and a woman named Belinda who is in charge of accounting. Following Brynna, I try to get a lay of the land, to learn as much as I can about this ‘house’ that I’ve been brought into. It’s not huge as far as I can tell, but definitely bigger than mine. We pass through corridors on the outer edge of the house; I peer through the windows, trying to gauge the distance between the yard and freedom but the property is surrounded by an iron fence and beyond that I can make out the peaks and spires of buildings. Are we near a city? Are we in a city? It’s hard for me to tell and I find myself disoriented from even trying.
Byrnna explains to me that while all of the girls have specialties, they’re always willing to pitch in and help eachother where it matters. I’m having trouble with the entire thing but I do my best to listen and convince myself that ‘this is the best place for me’. As we walk, she shows me areas that need to be maintained throughout the house, and we rarely run into another person, save for servants attending to their duties. This is oft thanks to the narrow servant passages that run behind the walls, some along the outer edge of the house, and some winding deeper in to ensure that we aren’t seen by ‘normal folk’, as Brynna explained to me.
Finally, past the windows, the sun is setting and Brynna announces that it’s dinner time. My stomach growls, signaling a fact to me that I hadn’t realize: I’m hungry.
“Come along then,” Brynna signals me to follow her through one of the narrow servant passages, eventually reaching a steep staircase that nearly descends vertically from the third floor down to the first, forcing us to take several ninety degree turns until we near the landing at the bottom. Three steps from the bottom I lose my footing as a sharp pain grips my lower leg and I temporarily lose motor control. The world spins and my stomach lurches; I’m hurtling toward Brynna who somehow manages to spin and shove her arms under mine. My body slams into hers and she takes a step back to avoid collapsing. Wincing, I lay against her and try to regain my footing. Once I manage it, Brynna leans me against a nearby wall and tells me to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I…didn’t mean to do that.”
“I know,” She says stiffly. “Stay there.”
She walks away, and her footsteps fade as she disappears around a corner; I immediately slide down the wall, dropping into a heap on the floor. It’s not long before Brynna comes back with Lauren in tow. Lauren looks down at me, studying me for a moment.
“You’ll stay in bed tomorrow,” She tells me. “You’re no good to anyone like this.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. Lauren shakes her head.
“I won’t be mad at you,” She says, glancing at Brynna and then back at me. “I’ll be mad at the people who did this to you.”
“I’m just a slave,” I say, bringing the harsh reality of my situation crashing down on me. “Who cares?”
“Don’t,” Lauren snaps. I look at her questioningly. “Don’t you dare tell me how to feel. I don’t like what I’m seeing here and we’re going to do something about it. But, for now, let’s get you to the dining room.”
The dining room is a narrow space with a long wooden table. There are a few others seated already, and Brynna deposits me somewhere in the middle where I nearly collapse from pain once again. Fortunately, as I sit there, the pain begins to subside and is reduced to a dull throb.
“This is the slave, then?” A dark haired girl in a uniform similar to mine says. “Don’t look like much.”
“Well she’s a slave, Cora,” A man in a tuxedo says. “What were you expecting?”
“Well they made such a big fuss about it,” Cora says, nearly mumbling. “I was expecting…I don’t know what I was expecting.”
Lauren takes a seat at the head of the table opposite Rynd who sits at the other end. I avoid looking at him and instead direct my attention to Lauren who patiently waits for the rest of the staff to take their seats. As we do, two other girls appear and begin to deposit food on the table. A plate of bread is placed in the center along with a pot of stew and what look like mashed potatoes. Brynna plates it for me; the ‘mashed potatoes’, or whatever they were, stacked onto my ceramic plate and the stew poured over it. I don’t feel hungry at first, especially after my fall, but I find myself nibbling, and then outright devouring the meal.
“This house hasn’t had a slave in a while,” A male servant says, looking directly at me.
“Never since I’ve been here,” Says Cora as she takes a bite of her dinner. “Lauren, want to fill us in a little more?”
Lauren chews on her bread and gives Rynd a look of warning, to which he smirks and shakes his head. She seems less than satisfied but continues anyway.
“As we know,” Lauren says, setting down her fork and making eye contact with each of the servants at the table. “The Lady Helena does not like to keep slaves. For reason of expense, of course, and because they can be unpredictable. Given the history and her disposition, I think we can all agree that this is a sound decision and with that being said, the girl is to be treated with respect.”
“Girl!” Rynd scoffs; some of the servants snicker along with him. Lauren levels an angry glare at him and yet he continues. “That thing is no girl! It’s barely even a man! You cannot possibly trust it with your girls!”
“My girls can take care of themselves,” Lauren says evenly. “And the girls will take their turns acclimating her to this environment.”
“Why are you humoring this?” Rynd demands, holding back his laughter and shooting her a scowl. “He lives in a fantasy land, where his deepest wishes become reality and you are perpetuating!”
“Mind you hold your tongue,” Lauren snaps. “and do not disrepsect me in front of my staff.”
The two argue a bit longer, I notice that Brynn is watching me intently, gauging my reaction and probably determining if she needs to step in. I meet her eyes and mouth that I want to leave; she shakes her head and looks to Lauren who continues the argument. I take matters into my own hands, pushing away from the table, and avoiding any admonishment from Lauren who fails to notice. Brynn, on the other hand, grabs my chair and shoves it back into place.
“Let me up!” I shriek at her, flailing my arms and nearly knocking my plate from the table. Lauren breaks from the argument to glare at me.
“Mayet, do not forget yourself!” Lauren hisses. I give her an incredulous look, and I’m on the verge of lashing out when the dining room door bursts open and in steps an older man, perhaps in his late fifties who wears a deep black tuxedo with the hem embroidered in gold. The moment he crosses the threshold, the room falls silent, even Rynd closes his mouth and folds his hands; he looks as if he’s just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“What in god’s name is going on here?” The man demands; his voice shakes the row of windows along the wall. “You are employees of the Lady Helena and yet here you are acting like a bunch of fools! Explain yourselves immediately!”
“I apologize, Mister Cyrene,” Rynd says – the arrogance still drips from his tone; Mister Cyrene raises an eyebrow. “We were…discussing the finer point of the Lady’s decision to bring on this…well this thing.”
“Explain to me, who you are to question the Lady’s decisions?” Mister Cyrene demanded. “Were you elevated to some higher station without my knowledge?”
“Well, no sir,” Rynd begins to stammer, pursing his lips and looking around the table for assistance, of which he recieves none. “It’s just…I wonder how we know that it can be trusted to room with the girls. After all, would a man be allowed to do so?”
Mister Cyrene pauses and looks to Lauren, who shakes her head and says: “No concerns, Mister Cyrene.”
“I suggest you all finish up here,” Mister Cyrene snaps, his voice carries an authority that far surpasses Rynd’s. “The guests will be arriving tomorrow and this house will be ready. Am I understood?”
“Yes sir,” Acknowledgements all around.
“Who was that?” I frown to Brynna as soon as Mister Cyrene is gone and the room begins to empty.
“Mister Cyrene,” She says to me. “The head arbiter.”
The servant’s dormitory is a far cry from the room they’d kept me in when I’d first got here, when I needed to recover. I’m still recovering of course, but Lauren tells me that it’s better I stay with the other girls, and part of me wants to tell her to send me back to that dark hole of a room. I know that I’m a girl, and most of the time I feel like I’m a girl, but sharing a room with three others terrifies me for some reason. Still, there’s little choice; Lauren heads off to her private room, god-knows-where, and Brynna takes me to shower, and then to the dormitory which sits in a room off of the basement. We have to walk past a pair of wine casks and storage shelves, then down a brief hallway and into the dormitory which isn’t large but not cramped either. There’s a stark difference between this and the bedrooms that I’ve seen upstairs; ornate paneling has been traded for vertical wood slats painted white and glorious master beds are swapped for bunks with gray blankets. There’s a short dresser near the bunk that Brynna leads me to; inside there are the extra dresses that Lauren told me about, there’s sleepwear, and other essentials.
Brynna sits me on the bed and walks me through a skincare routine using lotions in thick glass bottles capped with brown cork. I try to listen to her, try to follow what she says, but the whole scene is reminiscent of the years before I’d come out to my parents, when my sister was showing me ‘the ropes’ of being a girl. Maria. What happened to her? Will I find her? These thoughts and more race through my mind as I stare into Brynna’s pale blue eyes as they study me intently, gauging my reactions to both information and her touch against my skin.
“Are you okay?” Brynna asks me. I look to her questioningly without giving a response. “You’re crying.” She reaches to wipe a tear from my cheek, and in that moment I lose control, bursting into tears and falling against Brynna’s chest. Even as she wraps her arms around me I shake and wail. I don’t want to be here, I need to leave, but I can’t see how. How do I tell these people that I’m not from here? How do I tell them that my sister, Maria is out there somewhere and she needs my help? This is a place of law and order, there seems to be no room for feelings or compassion, save for Brynna, and Lauren to some extent.
“Come on,” She comforts me, patting my back as I bury my face in her chest, but another sob bursts from my lips and my body convulses. “Don’t worry yourself, everything will be fine?”
“Is it over what happened at dinner?” One of the other two girls asks. I think her name is Shiri. I can feel Brynna shrug.
“The poor thing,” The other girl, Alexa says. “She’s overwhelmed.”
Overwhelmed. That’s a way to put it, isn’t it? I managed to calm myself a little and slowly pull away from Brynna’s chest, though the occasional whimper still escapes my lips. The pain from my body, the mental strain, my inability to leave this place, it’s all coming down on me like a ton of bricks and the only thing on my mind is home.
“I want to go home,” I whisper, looking up at Brynna who takes my hand in hers and then covers the the top of mine with her other one.
“I know,” she tells me, her voice nearly a whisper. “I’m sorry this happened to you, I’m sorry for all of it, but as long as you’re with us, we’ll take care of you, understand?”
I nod, my head bobbing up and down as I sniff and swallow. I don’t want them to take care of me, I want to leave, I want to look for Maria, I want to find my way back home. But, there is no way back, is there? Some mistakes are permanent, after all.
In Brynna’s arms I drift off to sleep feeling embarrassed and ashamed. I’m an adult, I got myself into this situation, so I should be able to handle it, right? I should suck it up and deal, but I can’t. The events of the last few months run through my head like a runaway train; the border crossing, the brief scuffle with that soldier, my time at the market. All of it runs together in my mind as I slowly work on accepting that my life is no longer my own, my destinations no longer chosen by me. Autonomy is a strange and fragile thing and you can have it until someone snatches it away.
“Listen to me,” Brynna says, pushing me back slightly so that she can look into my eyes. “Tomorrow is a big day. We aren’t going to keep you tucked away in bed all day like we planned, but you’ll be following me, watching and learning, understand?”
I look over at Alex and Shiri for a moment; they’re both busy, deep in their own nighttime routines and Shiri has already climbed into bed. They seem to be paying little mind to what Brynna and I are doing, which relieves me in some way. I look back at Brynna; she pats the top of my hand and then rubs my cheek, giving me a warm smile before lifting herself from the bed and moving to her own. I immediately press my knees together and wrap my arms around my upper body, hunching over as Brynna steps away. Without her beside me I feel cold, alone, like an island in the midst of a roiling sea. Alexa instructs me to lay down and I do so slowly, reluctantly, my body still trembling and tense. I’m in the fetal position, still shaking when Brynna walks over and instructs me to move aside so that she can cover me with the blanket. Once the lights are off, I lay there, listening to the breathing of the other three girls and then listen to my own ragged breath as I squeeze shut my eyes and try to imagine that I’m somewhere far away. I want to dream of home, but instead I dream of that cage at the slave market. I’m back there, my face pressed against the bars, screaming for help that will never come. Twice I wake up screaming and sobbing, twice Brynna comforts me but I cal tell her patience is wearing thin. I wonder how much longer before I acclimate to this environment, and how much longer I’ll have to endure it.
“Did you sleep much?” Brynna’s standing behind me, doing something with my hair. I’ve finished showering and I’m mostly dressed for the day, save for the white apron that’s sitting folded on the table beside me. I manage to shake my head slightly, and tell her no. “Well there’s nothing to do for it,” I can hear the shrug in her voice as she braids the hair on the side of my head and loops it around the back to connect it with a braid she’s made on the other side.
“Thank you,” I say to her softly.
“For what, dear?” She asks, humming to herself.
“My hair,” I say simply, my voice cracking as I watch her work in the mirror in front of us.
“Think nothing of it,” She says, almost cheerfully. “But if you insist, then, you’re welcome.” She ruffles my hair and shoots me a grin in the mirror. I feel like a child, and I hate it.
We’re sitting in the servant’s dormitory, in a cubby off to the back that’s got a few mirrored vanities set up. I’ve already showered, and now I’m being ‘readied’ for the day. I don’t have a lot to say to her; my mind is racing with thoughts of home and a twisted collage of memories from the last month. I snap back to reality as she pats my arm and orders me out of the chair. I grab my pinafore apron and pull it over my head, doing my best to tie it in a bow, which she corrects for me.
“Today’s important,” She tells me. “The guests will be arriving soon.”
“What’s happening, exactly?” I ask, following her out of the servant’s dorm and through the basement. There’s a lingering smell of must in the air that persists until we reach the narrow, nearly vertical stairs leading to the servant’s passage on the first floor.
“The Caissa tournament, of course,” She tells me matter-of-factly, as if it’s something I’m expected to know. “There are twenty playing this time, so ten tables, and plenty for us to do.”
“Is it…important?” I follow her up the stairs, wincing at the aches and pains that are still present in my leg muscles.
“You’re asking me if the Caissa qualifiers are important?” Brynna glances back at me, continuing to climb the stairs with me in tow. “Did you have a head injury, perhaps?”
“No I…” I pause, wondering if I should continue but I get my answer when Brynna stops at the landing near the first ninety degree turn and looks at me. “I…I really don’t know. I mean, I know chess…I mean Caissa, is a game but…”
“You came from the wastes, yes? I can’t imagine how…uncivilized it must be. Here, the Grand Tournament is held once every five years with several smaller tournaments to determine who qualifies. Tomorrow is the first qualifier for this region and it’s being held here at House Bolin. The role of servants at the tournament is to provide refreshment and to assist the arbiters.”
She turns the corner; I follow her to the first floor where the dining room awaits for us to take breakfast. The early morning meal is rushed and concludes even before light passes through the windows. I’m bracing myself for a long day and probably another sleepless night as we pass through the servant’s passage and back to the double doors that lead to the Caissa hall. The doors are wide open this time and the hall is abuzz with servants. Alexa and Shiri are there along with others that I haven’t met. Rynd ignores me as Brynna walks through the doors with me, and Lauren is standing near the front, beside a set of tall paned windows that will eventually bathe the room in light. It looks different here now than it did the last time. I notice the ornate fixtures attached to the walls and the high coffered ceilings made from inlaid brass tiles.
“There are bigger halls in the major houses,” Brynna tells me as we walk down the steps toward the center of the room. “House Bolin has the right to host preliminaries this year, much to the disdain of the other houses.”
“Are you going to continue this impromptu social lesson, or are you going to see to your duties?” Rynd demands, stepping forward. Brynna’s eyes widen and her jaw goes slack until Lauren steps in.
“You presume to order my staff?” Lauren snaps.
“I was under the impression that these were staff of Miss Schultz,” Rynd says, giving her a glare and a sly grin at the same time. Lauren holds her ground.
“The head Housekeeper has been indisposed for three months, as you know,” She says evenly. “I govern in her place.”
“For now,” Rynd says. “I look forward to the day you are…put back in your place.”
“What’s his problem?” I ask as Rynd walks away. Brynna doesn’t answer me, instead she looks to Lauren who immediately looks to me.
“You’ve had a time to feel sorry for yourself,” Lauren tells me. “Now you’ll get to work.”
“I’d rather her shadow me,” Brynna tells her. Lauren pauses to consider. “She’s not in good shape just yet, as you know.”
“I do know it,” Lauren nods. “While it’s not the official stance, it doesn’t matter if she works or not. Especially today. She isn’t being paid, and we have a full staff roster anyway.” Lauren pauses again and then gives me a stern look. “But you will work, even if not today.”
“Okay,” I tell her. She raises an eyebrow and Brynna lightly taps my arm. “Yes Ma’am, sorry, I mean yes Ma’am.”
“Collect yourself, Mayet,” Lauren tells me before walking away.
The servants are scrubbing the floors while some are standing on a scaffold and polishing the vaulted ceiling tiles. I follow Brynna as she inspects the chairs once again for dust and then walks to the chess…no…the Caissa boards in the center of the room. They’re sitting on a raised platform fairly close together, each table is made from stone with an inlaid marble board. I can already tell by looking at them that they have the standard 64 squares and the white square at the bottom right. I haven’t seen the game pieces yet but I’m certain that this is chess, which leads to many other questions, none of which I have immediate answers for. I briefly see Sarah, the woman who escorted me from the slave market. Her red hair is down and resplendent against a pale yellow dress that contrasts the dull gray and black of the servants, leading me to wonder what her position is here. She quickly looks at me and then goes to speak to Mister Cyrene who is standing, arms crossed at the back of the room.
“So this uh…this Caissa thing, I guess it’s pretty important,” I say quietly to Brynna, who gives me a look that is somehow annoyed and incredulous at the same time.
“Yes, Mayet,” She says. “It’s important. You really don’t know? What do they teach you in the wastes?”
“I’m not…from the wastes,” I remind her. “I’m from past that. Somewhere else. We have a game like this, I think, but it’s just a game. This looks…more serious.”
Brynna opens her mouth, then closes it again as if she’s thinking about what she should say to combat my apparent ignorance, but she’s swiftly interrupted by Rynd shouting from the entrance.
“The guests are arriving!” He bellows.
The servants, both male and female, are lined up in the foyer before two sets of winding steps leading to the second floor and mezzanine. Us in our gray uniforms and the male servants in their back tuxedos. Sarah, Mister Cyrene, and a few other people I don’t recognize make their way past us, stopping dead center of the formation as a servant opens the door. I nearly lose my breath as Lady Helena appears, once again resplendent in a nearly glowing silk gown. She steps forward to acknowledge a group of people walking through the door. There's a woman in a green dress and she’s accompanied by a man in a pressed suit. He has a neatly trimmed beard and a combover of pristine brown hair. I’m standing between Alexa and Brynn; Lauren’s standing at the head of the formation near the door.
“Lord and Lady Randis,” Lady Helena says loudly as she steps near. “Welcome back to House Bolin, I trust your journey was uneventful?”
“Lady Helena,” Lord Randis places his arm behind his back and gives a bow of respect; Lady Randis gives a brief curtsy. “So pleased to see you again after so many months. Yes, the journey here was uneventful but as always, I delighted in seeing the countryside on the way here.”
“I’m pleased to hear it,” Lady Helena gives them a cold smile before nodding to Lauren. “Ms. Kleiner, our interim house keeper will show you to your room, and then I invite the both of you to enjoy refreshments in the drawing room.”
“That sounds delightful,” Lady Randis smiles. “We do have luggage outside – we came here in our new motorcar!”
“A motorcar!” Lady Helena says, nodding. “How exotic!”
“They’re becoming quite popular,” Lord Randis tells her insistently. We just picked ours up last week.”
“And drove it all the way here?” Lady Helena muses. “I imagine the road was…rough.”
“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Lady Randis laughs. “You know us, always up for an adventure!”
“Perhaps too up for an adventure,” Lady Helena says dismissively. “I prefer the indoors, myself.”
“I hear that you’ve taken on a bit of an adventure yourself,” Lady Randis says. “One of your new servants is…unusual.”
“Or so we’ve heard,” Lord Randis nods. He took a moment to look around the room, eyeing each of us appraisingly. His eyes finally come to rest on me; I resist the urge to look away as Lady Randis too notices me. “Difficult to tell, if I might be honest, but is that her?”
“Mayet, take a step forward, please,” Lady Helena tells me. I look nervously to Brynna, and then do as I’m told, keeping my hands at my sides and my eyes angle downward. I can feel my body shaking as I realize I’ve left the safety of the servant line. Between Brynna and Alexa, I’d felt at least marginally safe but now I’m out in the open, and I feel all eyes on me as Lady Randis steps over and begins to examine me.
“And she is a slave?” Lady Randis cocks her head as I do my best to avoid looking at her. “I thought you didn’t hold with keeping slaves.”
“I don’t,” Lady Helena admits, taking a step closer. “But, I can’t stand by while someone is being mistreated…as…badly as she was. In truth, someone had…told me of her situation, and I went to the auction house to see for myself. The slaver, Kurt raised the price when he realized my interest.”
“Expensive and exotic,” Lady Randis muses. “Tell me girl, do you enjoy your new position?”
“Lady Randis,” Lady Helena says with a measured tone. “I’ll ask you to address the girl by her name while you’re in my house.”
“How…charitable of you,” Lady Randis smirks. “Tell me, Mayet, do you enjoy your position?”
“Y…yes Ma’am,” I say quickly, nearly choking on the words. “Very much Ma’am.”
“Proper, this one,” Lord Randis muses. “And I can barely tell that she’s…less than female.”
My heart skips a beat and then drops into my stomach; I can feel my face burning and I can almost imagine Lauren behind, at the front of the formation gritting her teeth. Of course, any apprehension she felt was magnified by me ten times as I struggled to control myself.
“T…thank you, Lord Randis,” I manage to say, my voice cracks and I shift my feet nervously.
“Allowed to live as a girl, treated with respect, unheard of, honestly,” Lady Randis looks to Lady Helena who gives her an emotionless expression.
“Indeed,” Lord Randis says. “I’d go so far as to call her a girl lucky!”
“Lord Randis, Lady,” Lady Helena says. “We have not long before the other guests arrive, might you follow Lauren to your accommodations? Your luggage will be brought up forthwith.”
I return to the lineup as they depart and I can feel Brynna’s eyes upon me. Is she checking to see if I’m okay, or did I make a mistake? Either way, there’s a lump in my throat that won’t subside and I can feel my heart threatening to beat straight through my ribcage. This place isn’t my home but I’m finding it hard to separate myself from it mentally or physically. The stakes here are high. I can’t help but reflect on my life before this, about how I’d always been the quiet one, the ‘nerdy’ one. My transition hadn’t upended my life really; my parents were fine with it, even if my mom was a little worried. My sister, Maria, well she was all too eager to help. But the girl I’d been, I felt her slipping away little by little and being replaced with…whatever I’m becoming. Maybe who I’ve already become.
There has to be a way out of this – a way out before I lose myself completely.
For the first time in weeks, I find myself standing outdoors in the open air. Several of the servants, mostly the males have headed out to unload the Lord and Lady’s luggage from the trunk of the automobile. You could tell that most, if not all of them, have ever seen a car and while my immediate instinct is to laugh, I can’t help but share their wonder as I look at the resplendent black automobile. The exterior is black and topped with a clear coat that gives it a metallic sheen, nearly blinding paired with the early morning sun. The chrome grill and the tall glass windows are the perfect accompaniment to the black interior leather seats and while I know that cars like this have existed in the past where I came from, it was another matter entirely to see one in person.
Brynna stands beside me as I take in a deep breath and silently survey the area. We’re in a fenced in courtyard; the green grass of the lawn is flanked by the wrought iron bars too high to climb, and the gravel drive that we stand on winds past an ornate gate set between two tall brick posts. Beyond that, I can see the spires and obelisks belonging to buildings. Shingled roofs and towers peek out like rock formations at the bottom of a canyon and I do my best to ascertain just how far away we are from it.
Why am I still thinking of escape? I’ve been told repeatedly that this is the best place for me, and now that I am ‘a girl lucky’, whatever that means.
“Are you okay?” Brynna asks me as we watch the men finish the unpacking and head into the house. Rynd climbs into the driver’s seat of the automobile and cranks the engine, probably an attempt to move it, but he fails miserably and ends up climbing from the driver’s seat and throwing his hands up.
“Does it matter?” I ask her.
She nods. “Very much.”
“I’ve spent my entire life getting to know myself,” I say without looking at her. “It was so hard for me to go outside dressed up…like a girl for the first time. I borrowed one of sister’s skirts. It was this orange pleated thing. Actually I think it was part of her Velma outfit.”
“Velma?” I can hear the frown in her voice. I close my eyes and let out a sigh.
“I think I talk too much,” I say as we watch Rynd walk out, this time with another servant in tow, trying to figure out the automobile.
“I don’t think so,” Brynna looks at me. I look up, stiffening as I wonder what she’s going to say. “I think the problem is we don’t talk to you enough.”
“I…I don’t think I understand,” I say. Lauren’s outside now, and Rynd is shouting at her, but we’re too far away to hear what he says. He uses his arms to make wide gestures and then points back to the car as Lauren crosses her arms.
“I’ve dealt with enslaved people before and not a single one of them has acted like you,” She looks at me and my eyes widen – what was I acting like? “Slavery is…a lighter sentence than prison. It simply means you work instead of rot in a cell. You can be bought, and your owner may be cruel, but they can’t kill you or even maim you. And, once your sentence is through, you go free. Enslaved people understand that, but you…you’re afraid. You’re shaking, always. I think we ought find out why.”
“I just…I don’t understand how any of this works,” I admit shakily. “This is…I…I don’t know.”
“You are afraid,” She tells me matter of factly. “But ah…I want you to do me a favor, yes?” I look at her and nod. “Try to be a little less afraid of us.”
“Okay,” I tell her. “I’ll try.”
She gives me a warm smile and says “Good.”
“What’s…happening over there?” I point hesitantly to the unfolding scene by the automobile. It’s still parked in front of the house, and now Lauren’s hanging in on the driver’s side as if she’s examining something.
“If it were a carriage he would’ve had it around back already,” There’s laughter in Brynna’s voice even as she keeps her face expressionless. “But no one here can drive a car.”
“Why not?”
“Are you saying you know how?” Brynna actually laughs this time, but I cringe and nod. “Well, let’s find out.”
“You’re saying it can drive?” Rynd said, looking at me, disbelieving. “It doesn’t even know that it’s a boy.”
“Mayet,” Lauren says with such intensity and force that it causes Rynd to flinch. “How is it you know how to drive a car?”
“My uh…my father taught me,” I say the first thing that comes to mind and it seems to work but she looks troubled.
“I don’t want to risk it,” Lauren says. “Brynna, take her back inside.”
“That’s not fair, don’t you want me to be useful?” I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth, but Lauren only tells Rynd to let it go, and then tells Brynna, once again, to take me inside. My face falls as Brynna guides me inside, past the threshold of the foyer and back to one of the servant corridors.
“She won’t want you present for the other guests,” Brynna tells me, leaning against the wall. “But the Lady wants you there, so the choice is clear.”
I frown, shaking my head. “Why does the Lady want me there?”
“You’re an oddity,” Brynna tells me. “People want to see you.”
“Wait, no,” I can feel anger rising in my chest but I manage to keep my voice low; the last thing I want is to attract Lauren’s attention. “I’m not…something that she can show off!”
“Whether you like it or not,” Brynna continues. “You’ve made waves. People want to see the boy that became a girl. It won’t last for long, once you’ve been seen, they’ll forget.”
A wave of anger flashes and I feel my hands begin to form into fists. Back home, my transition had been so far along that I had all but forgotten my days as a boy. I’d pushed those dark, cold, unfeeling memories to the back of my mind and built foundations for a new life in their place. My friends and family called me ‘she’ – I was finally at that ‘point’ where I could live. And I’m here. Wherever ‘here’ is, is a place where my gender identity is constantly questioned, denied, or looked on with amusement. For the first time in a very long time, my mental barriers were crumbling and the boy beneath is peering through, waiting for his chance. They didn’t have the right.
“The other servants don’t get shown off,” I say in a hopeless gambit against the entire situation.
“You know well why this is being done,” This time Brynna gives me a soft smile. “Don’t worry yourself about it, after your collaring ceremony they’ll forget all about you.”
“My what?” My hand immediately goes to my neck and my eyes widen in horror.
“Yet another thing you don’t know about,” Brynna sighs. “You’re owned by the Lady but the city requires a collar for identification. It doesn’t hurt.”
“I am not owned by anyone!” I hiss. “I’m a person, don’t you get it?” I bring on a wave of dull pain with the exertion; I wince and have to steady myself by grabbing the wall. “I didn’t do anything wrong, I don’t deserve-”
Her open palm connects with my face; I lose my grip on the wall and tumble backward, my dress wrapped around my hips as I lay on the floor. She immediately helps me to my feet and brushes off the back of my dress.
“Didn’t mean to hit you that hard,” she tells me. I grunt, and she laughs softly. From her inside apron pocket she produces a small wooden brush which she uses to straighten out my hair; she turns me around to get the back, and then presses the brush into my hand. “Always carry one,” She tells me. “Appearance is everything.”
“Even for a slave?” I don’t know if I’m asking a serious question or not, but her answer chills me.
“Especially for a slave.”
She tells me to rest for a moment in the corridor before straightening my dress and leading me back to the foyer. Lauren and Rynd are back, standing at the forefront and directing us to our places. I can see the Lady Helena talking to the Lady Randis in a room off to the side and I briefly wonder whether or not there was a Lord Helenea, or a Lord Bolin, whatever his name would have been. I want to ask Brynna about it, but before I know it, the driveway is full of guests, these in horse drawn carriages rather than automobiles, which Rynd had no trouble with. I do my best to stay close to Brynna, and nearly every time a new Lord, Lady, Baron, Baronness, or any of the other titles was introduced, I was called to present myself with a quick curtsey and occasionally responding to a ‘yes or no’ question. The men were often disgusted, though the women seemed to look at me as a curiosity, one even demanding to know if I ‘found the life of a girl pleasing’. Just as I think I can’t handle it anymore, the foyer clears out, leaving me alone between Brynna and Alexa. Lauren walks over and tells us to meet in some obscure room, to which Brynna nods and begins to pull me along.
“Where are we going?” I ask her as we pass through a hidden panel that leads to the servant’s passage. This passage is painted white like many of the others, but it has an exterior-facing window made from a bunch of glass panels, looking out onto a dilapidated garden that I’d guess isn’t visible from the front of the house. As we walk, I take in the rampant and spreading vines, the broken concrete bench, mossed-over statues, and briar patches that have taken over what must have once been a lush, beautiful garden. The row of windows is gone as quickly as it appeared and we’re taking a left into a empty room lined with old shelves and cabinets. We’re followed in by the rest of the servants and Mister Cyrene. To my surprise, the woman from the market, Sarah is there. I look at her and then quickly look away as she meets my eyes.
“Mayet,” I hear Sarah say as she moves through the room. I stare at the floor, my body tense and tight as the folds of her silky blue dress appear within my vision. “Mayet, eyes front, please,” Against all of my panic-driven instincts, I manage to look up, not quite looking at her, but not looking away either. “Lauren does not have time to train you today, so you will watch, and you will learn.”
“I may have some menial tasks for her, in any case,” Lauren points out. “I thought to put her on the dishwashing during lunch.”
“She is well enough for that?” Sarah turns from me to speak with Lauren, who nods. “Very well, I’ll leave it to your discretion.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Lauren looks to me, then to Brynna. “Lunch, now,”she tells Brynna. “Put her in the back.”
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.”