The women's bare feet dragged over the gravel as she entered the city. The newest master, who bought her four months ago was supposed to be average, not too cruel, but not overly nice to his slaves as well. He was running one of the houses of chains in the Merqes, supposedly for the sake of fighting pits and there was never a lack of place for a female slave.

Finally.

She could feel her shoulders relaxing, looking at the houses made of stone with masons working the workshops and bakers putting up the fresh morning bread. Her hair was touching her thin shoulders, over the years of changing the Houses of Chains, she found the perfect length to keep it attractive while not spending too much time on keeping it straight.

She saw many cities, but none were so close to the border of the former Ferelis clan. She was warned repeatedly not to go, not to let herself be resold to such a place.

Her skin lost the pale color she had from the years in the darkroom where she was taken from her child. Cisley’s hands were scarred from the years of work. Her age shoved around her eyes and forehead. She exchanged her youth for experience and her innocence for ruthlessness.

Taking a deep breath she smelled the sweat and fear on the other girls around her. Cisley was shaking as well, not from fear, but excitement.

Ten years. I was looking for you for such a long time and finally, I’m here. Raijen, will you remember me?

Looking up she saw a wooden gate opening in front of them as they were all led into a long corridor with torches making the air thick with the smoke. She would not even notice the change in the air was it not for the coughs of the girl in front of her.

He won’t recognize me, will he?

Feeling her back slump she forced her body to straighten up.

It doesn’t matter, I will find him, I promised I will. Tolerai, I will keep our promise, I will find our son and make him free.

The process was always the same, the houses of chains varied slightly, but Cisley remembered all of the main points. The principles by which these people chose the positions for the new slaves remained the same. Over the years Cisley knew what to do, how to be picked for specific positions, to be selected by mistresses or masters for their convenience.

This time was no different, yet it was one of the most difficult and uncertain positions she tried for. She spent years upon years looking for this place, where her son was taken to. Now she was here, and she couldn't wait to finally see the boy she was forced to leave behind ten years ago. The pressure and anxiety made her belly contract, her heart beat faster and sweat broke over her back as the lady of the house walked in front of them, judging.

Cisley hated it, leaving her fate and circumstances be always dictated by others. They weren’t that much different from her, she was born in higher circles as well. The mistress could be as easily in the line to wait to be selected as any of them. Yet the Mowri decided to take Cisley under his watch instead of the women in the silk robes.

“How old is this one?”

Stopping in front of her, Cisley glanced up and met the ladies' eyes. Lingering for few more seconds, she didn’t smile, didn’t flatter.

She is not looking for that kind of thing here.

Taking a step back, Cisley aligned her feet, one behind the other in one line, her right hand grasped the left as she bowed her whole body.

“I’m thirty-four, from the south, mistress.”

Finishing the bow she straightened her back but kept her head lowered looking on her feet. She braced her body for a hit from one of the guards, fortunately, it never came. Everyone was stunned by her gesture and even more so by the fact that she dared to speak without being asked.

There was a gleam in the eyes of the lady of the house, she was not used to such a behavior in all her years. But with the silver entering her hair she sometimes wondered if she could find someone who would be a little challenging.

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Cisley knew this part was mostly about making impressions and showing how one could withstand the pressure and pain. The mistress might choose one of the new girls into her personal service for training, but that was very rare at this stage. She would need to show more, prove herself first, but there were ways how to improve her chances. As the mistress continued looking at others Cisley let out a slow breath of relief.

At worst cleaning the pots and cooking in the house, at best carrying the wine and food into the main house.

Claria mussed as they were all evaluated and send into the common baths to be cleaned and prepared for their work. The testing never ended, and it started even before she was purchased. Claria learned over the years the precision and intrigue put into how people selected their best slaves. Especially the bigger houses, not every house had the title of chains, but Atraga did. Producing the best products, while offering the biggest opportunities for those who were smart enough to catch them.

Cisley passed her peak a long time ago and knew that with more time her appearance would suffer, her body would grow old, her face loses its beauty and men eventually stop being interested in having her around. In this world that meant death in the mines or being sold to one of the brothels, her body shuddered just thinking about it.

But there is still time, I still have time to gain status, to be recognized as a trusted ally to the mistress.

Looking at her breasts and belly she remembered the reason why she was here. What she had to do sway the favors of guards and masters to position herself in a place where she could send one of the biggest remaining cities near the borders. And it was all for her son, for Tolerais son.

Finished washing her hair she walked out of the water with shoulders pushed back. Cisley noticed the benches with herbs and bottles near the doors and went towards one of them. Drying her wet skin she smelled the flowers, blue Nara flowers, and yellow Mor grass.

The colors of the house are important, the symbols smell of the flowers.

Picking one of the perfumes with the yellow leaf on the glass she flipped the bottle on her fingers, carefully smearing the soft fragrance on her neck, behind the ears, and on the forearms.

The way you walk, the way you talk and the smell are the most important parts. Everyone is watching, from the guards at the gates to the younger serving girls holding the towels who are longest in their service.

Walking out of the room she waited for the rest of the new arrivals to finish. Sitting down she put her hands into her lap, pressing her left calf to the front of her right leg. Cisley knew they were watching, and she knew there was no space for mistakes. Every new girl who wanted to be in the service of high houses of the clans was expected to learn and come prepared. The mistresses didn’t look for naive or innocence, they looked for the best to advance the status of their house.

The Houses of Chains was little different, the women in charge wanted their men's status to advance and did their best to look for talent between the servant which could help the perception. If one presented itself they would take it, regardless of the origin, as their arrogance didn’t allow them to look at the servant as anything more then slaves.

Cisley spent the last decade polishing every gesture, every step she took in order to get the one chance she wanted, needed when the time came.

That time is now, I can’t afford to be sold away or assigned to a low position between the common servants. My son is here, I don’t know where or what does he look like, but he has to be here.

Rising from her seat as everyone finished Cisley followed them out.