The Truth-Teller Of Estrella

Chapter 1. The Bedroom in the Brothel Attic

"They are wonderful, so fresh and ripe!"

Flora, the town baker, had answered her door accompanied by the usual gust of searing oven heat. Although Aleta came to her home on a regular basis, she was always shocked to see her standing there, book in hand.

Today the sounds of her boys surely running amuck in the kitchen, blasted louder than usual and resulted in Flora's constant over the shoulder peeks.

If I keep her any longer she's bound to strain her neck, thought Aleta as she fanned herself with the pocket sized book. She was desperate for any sort of relief from the day's unusual heat.

Flora gave a deep sigh — her usual sign to hurry up.

"Thank The Empress for me." She added. A small, forced grin hardly reached her eyes. As Aleta turned on her heels, her hand stuffing a piece of bread into the worn bag slung around her shoulders, all she could hear was the woman's true thoughts, "I rather eat smeared shit off the street."

That has to be a record, Aleta chuckled to herself as she perched on the edge of the city-centre fountain. Many years ago there were strict rules against sitting on the structure, back when water danced through it and flowers climbed, claiming and adorning its ornate edges. However, for all of Aleta's life, it was a place to dump your waste, toss your junk, and if you were a particularly ill-fated child — it was where the older and stronger children flung you. Ever since Aleta saw a group of children tossing an unsuspected victim into the fountain muck, she made sure to stop by regularly.

Aleta's eyes scanned the pool of sludge. It was filled with remnants of The Empress' latest import and "treat," molding and covered in blankets of flies. Wonderful, fresh, and ripe, she mocked.

With no sign of tiny helpless limbs among the trash she thanked the gods of the holy realm and pulled a worn stick of lead from her dark tresses. And as she always did after a day of surveying, Aleta counted her scribble of responses.

Stop 500. Positive response from Flora. True feelings, negative.

***

Removing her endless layers of clothing and unfastening the dagger, hidden and strapped to her thigh, always brought relief. Today, after the unusually tormentive heat of the sun, it felt better than ever. Aleta grimaced at the sight of her basin, propped up in the corner of the room, its water dirtier than usual. Like clockwork a knock on the door sounded, and by the time she tucked herself into her robe, its material clinging like milk to the skin, the person had disappeared, a tin of water left in their wake.

Aleta had moved into the room on the gloomiest street of Saypool after her father had passed. It had been three years now, or was it four? She questioned as she reached down for the tin. She shook her head, trying to force the memories out.

Being an unwed woman, Aleta had believed the quest to find a room would be difficult — and it was. Hundreds of doors must had been slammed in her face. She had learned to recognize them by their dents, colors and the wood that made them up. She even remembered the way they smelled, dampened on the wettest days. It wasn't until an evening, years ago, when she first began her tasks for The Empress, that she found this place. Aleta was running late during her daily rounds, later than she ever wanted to be out. The sun was long gone and the sky had darkened. Only the moonlight gently illuminated the city's alleys. When she turned the corner to Madame Rayna's home she noticed something different — something divergent to the quiet woman's home. She didn't need to knock, the door was unlocked and a steady stream of visitors, mostly men, filled the streets around them. During her daytime visits Madame Rayna never opened her door past a small slit, revealing one striking grey eye. From what Aleta could see, past the sliver of wood, the inside of the woman's home was always masked by dark velvet curtains... always closed. It wasn't until this particular night that Aleta learned the truth, Madame Rayna did not live alone. In fact, Rayna hosted an entire group of women and ran what seemed to be a house of ill repute.

By the time Aleta stumbled into Madame Rayna that night, her eyes bright with surprise, and deep within the home, she had completely forgotten... this was all unlawful. But Madame Rayna had not forgotten. When her eyes reached the pitch darkness of Aleta's across the candle-lit room, filled with the sights and sounds of unlawful activity, a gasp fit for the stage left her lips. Rayna begged her not to tell. Aleta had no intention of selling her out, of reporting her, or of telling The Empress. It was different from what she had heard of places of its kind; And contrary to what everyone thought, she wasn't necessarily Empress Drika's pet... or friend.

"Oh but let me thank you — with whatever you'd like" Rayna insisted. "Drinks, food, men..." she paused, "or women... anything you want."

There was only one thing Aleta wanted — to stop sleeping in the barn of her father's old home. She wanted nothing but to stop hiding from its new owners in a place that was once her own.

That was the first night she bundled up in a cot located in the attic of Madame Rayna's secret yet famous home.

The room had changed since then, and a makeshift bed draped in hand-me-down linens from the folks downstairs, took up most of the space. They brightened the room, some in the most brilliant of hues. Most originated as presents from customers that the girls below had generously re-gifted.

Aleta washed her face with the new, clean water, wondering how they always knew when it was time for her to visit The Empress. They always anticipated when it was time for her to get extra clean and presentable to lie to their ruler.

She ran a brush through her hair, its bristles catching on knots and webs, leaving her newly washed face tense and flinching. She frowned at the reflection in the bronze mirror, an image that reminded her of her mother — a long faded memory of lines and colors that made up the woman she barely knew. Although she had left Aleta and her father when she was small and young, Aleta knew from a miniature portrait her father had pressed into her palms that she resembled her.

A bath — what she needed was a full bath, but after a moment of thought she decided against asking as it was late and the sounds of below were apparent and full beyond and beneath her floor boards.

Aleta paused as she looked up at the night sky — not a star in sight, just as it had been all her life. And as she outed the candle on her bedside, her thoughts roamed back to her mother. She tucked herself in, allowing the moonlight to cast a ray from the window above her. She reached out, her hand stashing away the one and only item she still had from her parents. She slept this way every night, with her mother's dagger tucked under her pillow — a gift from her father before his passing. In all the stories he had told it seemed unfitting and uncharacteristic for her mother to own such a thing. But he swore it was hers before she left them, and he made her promise she'd keep it close wherever she went — hidden and unknown. And although Aleta felt nothing but anger and hatred toward the woman who left them, who left her, she obeyed.

Aleta's father only ever asked two things of her before he passed. The first promise was related to the dagger, and the second was this: If The Empress ever came knocking, if she ever asked questions... lie.

Sure enough, on the one year anniversary of his passing, the Empress found her.

And Aleta started lying.