Under the Stars

by Rebecca A. Rogers

  “I should probably clean myself up. If I look as horrible as I feel…”

  “I’ll get ya some clothes.” Her lips form a tight line. “Somethin’ like this shouldn’t happen ta someone like ya. Yer too good.”

  “Everything happens for a reason, though, right?”

  She nods, pulling a black dress out of a bag she brought.

  “It’s only proper, miss. Yer in mourning.”

  I begin to weep. None of this turned out the way I wanted, the way I had hoped. Here I am, three days after my wedding, and I’m already a widow.

  And a murderer.

  “There, there,” she says, her arms closing around me and kindly patting my back. “I know it’s hard. Jus’ stand with ya head up and don’t let ‘em get to ya.”

  I dry my eyes. “You’re right. I have to be strong. It’s what Zarek would’ve wanted.”

  As soon as I slide on the dress, Malik brushes past the guard and my heart slams against my chest wall. “I had to tell you before you leave this room.” His eyes dart between Daphne and me.

  “It’s okay. She knows,” I say.

  “Everyone knows. What you don’t know is that the King’s clergy are setting you up.”

  “No, I’ve already been made aware of that.”

  They both glance at me.

  “What’s going on, Andy?” Malik asks.

  I pull them away from the door, back to a corner of the cell so our whispers can’t be heard.

  “Mama and Mattie have been threatened,” I say, giving Malik a painful look. I know he understands. If they threatened to kill his family, he’d do the same as me.

  He shakes his head, though. “We have to do something to stop them.”

  “Malik, they have armies. What do we have?”

  His determination weakens, and then his arms fold around me. “This shouldn’t be happening. Not to you. It’s unfair.”

  “That’s what I thought, too, at first. But I’m still holding on to a thread of hope that I can get out of this alive.”

  “You think—”

  “Nobody kills a king and gets away with it,” I say. I said the words in my head so many times last night, but never aloud.

  Daphne sniffles next to me, and I pull myself out of Malik’s embrace to hug her.

  If I could speak, there’d still be no words to explain my thoughts. But a gigantic lump has rested in the middle of my throat.

  “They should be here anytime now so I can address Valyad,” I say.

  Malik’s face is asphyxiating on misery. “If you run as far as your legs will take you, they’ll still find you. And I’m certain they’ll catch you before you leave the fortress’s main gate.”

  “We have ta do somethin’,” Daphne says. “Sneak ya out. Anything.”

  “I have to face Valyad. I can’t risk Mama and Mattie...” I trail off, unable to finish the sentence. Getting murdered in their sleep. I just can’t bring myself to say it.

  “And what if they don’t give you the chance to speak?” Malik asks. “Because nobody is fond of you being Queen.”

  “I know. They’ve made that clear.”

  It’s all too much. I can’t stand the idea of these people hating me, let alone all of them blaming me for murder.

  I say, “I’ll go speak. I still have a right to a trial. They can’t deny me that.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Malik asks.

  “Act normal until we know what’s happening.”

  “Oh, miss. I wish ya’d reconsider. We could try.” She pleads with her eyes. As much as I want to say, Yes, help get me out of this place, I can’t.

  “I wouldn’t do that to either of you. Let’s see how this plays out. It might not be so bad.” Before I exit, I turn around and tell Malik, “Mama was here. She left a couple of days ago. Said Xara sends her love.”

  His features loosen up, and he nods.

  A guard opens the door and announces that my presence has been requested.

  “Wish me luck,” I say, knowing that even if I hoped on every star in the sky, none of them could aid me now.

  The corridor is chilly, as if my walk to the main hall is obstructed by icicles and snow.

  My mind needs to be clear enough to explain everything I’ve seen. Which is pointless, since Valyad knows their King is now a lifeless corpse.

  A dim figure steps through one of the side doors.

  “Ah, my Queen, we’ve been waiting for you. Such a tragic day, isn’t it?” Governor Hadi says, obviously acting for anyone within hearing range.

  “Indeed,” I reply.

  He places a hand on my arm. “You must be filled with misery during this time, and it can’t be easy for you. Leave the facts to me.”

  Too bad I already know what facts he’s talking about. And how he’s going to play make believe with the citizens’ minds.

  “I’ll tell them what I know,” I say.

  He clears his throat. “Uh, yes, let’s run over everything beforehand, shall we?”

  “Simple. I’ll tell them how saddened I am by this loss, how we are all suffering. But that’s all I can say. I don’t know anymore.”

  “That will be when I step in.”

  And arrest me.

  I exhale. “And my family will be free?”

  He signals for me to proceed beyond the main doors without answering. Through them, an ocean of citizens stands before a podium. Much like the meeting room in Legora. Whispers and glares circulate around me, filling the room with heavy words and malevolent intent. Pressure weighs on my chest.

  As soon as my feet reach the stage area, I speak. “People of Valyad, let me send my love and prayers to you in this time of great loss. King Zarek will always be remembered for his kind words and giant heart. With him gone, even the stars mourn.

  “I stand here, not as your Queen, but as one of you. No matter what happens, I will keep all of you in my thoughts, and I hope you’ll do the same for me.”

  Scanning the heads of the crowd, I notice Governor Hadi’s in the very back of the room. His eyebrows are creased, and he frowns.

  I continue. “I’ll be honest. Everyone’s turning to me for answers, and I wish I had them. But Governor Hadi advised me he does. So, if I could get him to explain…”

  “Oh, I’ll explain,” he says from the back of the room. “What this girl—who is nothing more than a servant—doesn’t want you to know is that she murdered our King. She has lied to all of us, pretending to beg for supplies when her town had them already.”

  I try to control my temper as the people gasp and hiss in my direction. Even though I was warned, it’s completely different seeing the reactions in person.

  He persists. “She was there with him when he took his last breath. The only reason we have is that she wanted the kingdom for herself. And in the middle of the night—while the harlot was deceiving your precious King into believing she actually loved him—she drove a knife through his beating heart.”

  “She says she doesn’t know what happened; she was asleep. How could she dream while her King, her husband, was in pain? Surely he cried out to her.”

  I feel faint, almost losing what little composure I have left. But I keep it together.

  “What do you have to say to defend yourself now, Majesty?” Governor Hadi spits.

  “I’m innocent. I swear to you—all of you.”

  He laughs. “That’s it? You have nothing to say in your defense? Guards! Arrest her.”

  Though I knew this was coming, my emotions apparently aren’t prepared—the twinge in my stomach and the intense thumping in my chest tell me so. I don’t put up a fight. Right now I need to save that energy for what’s ahead.

  The guards latch so tightly onto my arms that I can feel my heart beating against their skin. They don’t allow me to walk much, basically drag me through hallways and doors I never had a chance to explore.

  The air changes; it’s damp. Musky, even. Like if I stick out my tongue, I can actually taste it. Iron bars c
age weak souls, and some reach out to me. The guards smack their hands away, telling them to get back.

  I pick up my feet, trying to match the guards’ gait. But they’re taking long strides. My legs can’t move fast enough.

  They take me to a room at the end of the hall, sealed off from the other prisoners. There are no bars, or neighbors. Only a single door of iron.

  The men shove me in like a stray dog at a kennel, and then secure the door behind me. For a moment, I lay on the icy, stone floor, wondering how long they’ll keep me here.

  It’s nothing like the cell they had me in last night. A table sits near a slit of a window, topped with one candle and some paper. There’s a pen, too. In the corner is a bed. Wool covers hay in a sorry excuse for a mattress.

  The door unlatches and Governor Hadi strolls in.

  “Sorry it had to come to this, my dear,” he says.

  “Actually, I don’t. You and everyone else know I didn’t kill Zarek. So, why are you blaming me? And since when did you become Valyad’s new leader?”

  “I wasn’t the one who created the law; I merely upheld it. I’ve been appointed next in line. By Zarek himself, no less. Besides, nobody wants a person, as poor as the commoners here, making the decisions.” He shrugs and rolls his eyes. “But it’s not for me to decide what happens now. Valyad chooses your fate.”

  “I don’t unders—”

  “Of course you don’t. The people have always chosen what they want. That’s why they loved their King so much. He allowed them to make decisions, even if he did have the final say-so. Made them feel important, I guess. That’s how they were all blinded when he stole their money. What Zarek saw in letting his people run this kingdom, I’ll never know.”

  If they’re the ones who decide what happens to a person’s life, then mine’s not going to be around much longer. Everyone knows they hate me.

  “What happens to me now?”

  He runs his finger along the table in the center of the room, inspecting the dust, and then brushes it off by rubbing his fingers together. “I suppose they’ll hold a trial. It’s only fair, and it’s the law.”

  “But there’s still a chance I might—”

  “There is.”

  Pulling myself off the freezing floor, I ask, “And when will my trial be held?”

  “Like I said—the people do what they want, when they want. It’s their decision. It could be tomorrow, or it could be three months from now.”

  I idly glance around the room. “I’d hate to be stuck in here for that length of time.”

  “Anyone would hate to be stuck in here for any length of time.” He knocks twice on the door and it opens. “Anyway, my guess is they’ll leave you here long enough that you’ll have time to think.”

  Think about what? How I’ve been set up?

  “Am I allowed visitors?” I call.

  But he doesn’t answer.

  50.

  I’ve decided that, with the spare paper they’ve given me to write letters, I’ll keep journal entries. Maybe one day someone will know what I went through.

  Day 1

  My name is Andrina Stevens. I was born in upstate New York in 2015. Several years ago the sky was blanketed in a poisonous ash, and most of our civilization died of disease or starvation.

  My family survived.

  I’m locked in a prison because I’ve been accused of murdering the King of the New World. He was killed in his sleep, lying next to me.

  The room they’re keeping me in has a soggy smell. Segments of the walls are covered in green moss. A steady drip, drop reverberates in the dark corners.

  Day 2

  This morning a footman came into my prison room, urinating on a wall, laughing the whole time.

  It also happened at lunch.

  And at dinner.

  Day 3

  Today the smell was so nauseating that I stuck my head to the slit in the wall, just to breathe.

  Nobody came to see me. Not even to bring food.

  I did have one visitor, though. I named him Squeaks. He’s a mouse that lives in a tiny hole at the base of the wall. I said, “Squeaks, if they bring me food, you can have it. Because I’m not eating.”

  He sat up on his hind legs, listening to every word. When I finished talking, I told him good night, and he ran back to his home.

  Day 5

  No sign of Squeaks. He must’ve realized they haven’t brought me food since yesterday. It was another goopy-brown substance that I wasn’t about to eat, but he had gladly consumed it.

  And now, everywhere I look, I see bugs. They crawl across the floor, onto my skin. I itch all over. Scratch. Scratch. My legs and arms bleed.

  Maybe they like blood.

  Maybe they’re starving, too.

  Day 8

  My stomach growls and I hear things at night.

  A man cries. He’s been this way for at least two days now. Doesn’t he know it won’t do him any good?

  Then there are the screams. Violent. Horrific. I can’t listen anymore. Do they torture people in here? And if so, who’s next?

  Day 11

  One of the jailers slid a wooden plate with who-knows-what toward me; the only meal I’ll receive in the next few days.

  “For our wonderful Queen,” he said, and then spat on the food.

  Outside, he laughed with the other men. Their cackles seeped through the walls.

  Day 13

  Squeaks came to visit today. I don’t remember much about our meeting, though. What I do remember is falling asleep and dreaming about him, and how he was able to feed his family from a giant cheese wheel.

  Day 14

  I’m so hungry it hurts. Just one slice of bread would be enough to make the pain go away.

  But that might be asking too much.

  Day 21

  Why hasn’t anyone come by to see me? Three weeks. I’ve been here three weeks today.

  I’d rather have guests than food. And I’d rather sleep than lose my mind.

  Day 26

  I’m keeping a tally of the days spent in here. I’ve grown used to the steady drip in the corner of the room. It’s not so bad now that I can tune it out.

  Day 28

  Squeaks doesn’t visit as much. I guess it’s because food isn’t delivered every day.

  Day 33

  Watered-down soup and a potato is all I get today. I want to make it last, but if I don’t hurry and eat, the bugs will devour it.

  Day 39

  I think they want me to starve. But not to the point of death. Just so I remember why I’m here.

  Day 42

  Daphne tried to visit today, but they wouldn’t let her stay longer than five minutes. She mostly hugged me. My throat is so dry it hurts to talk, so I couldn’t say much. But if I was able to speak, I would’ve told her that I miss her, too.

  Day 55

  I want to make it stop. I want this to be over. I can’t do it. I just can’t live. Nobody should. Not like this.

  Day 58

  I’m running out of ink. The pen didn’t have much to begin with, but now that I’m using it for diary purposes and to score tally marks, it’s about to fade out.

  Day 62

  I’ve been sucked into a black hole of emptiness.

  51.

  The door to my cell unlatches, I think. Or maybe I’m dreaming. I can’t open my eyes wide; it’s a struggle due to weakness.

  Governor Hadi stands at the doorway, assessing the room. “I don’t know how you’ve made it this long. I would’ve killed myself by now.”

  Inflicting any kind of harm upon me would be too easy, and I don’t want to give them what they’re searching for.

  “What do you want?” I whisper. My throat is so parched it takes several swallows before it returns to an ordinary state.

  “They’ve agreed to put you on trial,” he says cheerily. I’m sure he was first to volunteer to bring me the joyful news.

  “Good,” I mutter, attempting to nod my head. But I
think it hardly budges. My body is so feeble that shifting my lips takes too much energy. So much for saving that energy on something useful. Like my trial.

  Governor Hadi is blurry from where he stands. I’m unsure whether it’s because my eyesight is diminishing, or if it’s because my eyelids are crusted shut.

  He mentions something about two days from now, and then everything dies out.

  “Andrina, can you hear me? I’m going to get you out of here,” says a male voice. But everything is distorted to me right now. I might be dreaming. “Andrina! Wake. Up.”

  This time I make an attempt to open my eyes.

  “What’re you doing here?” I mumble. “How did you get in?”

  Malik sits on the bed beside me, lifting me up. My body is dead weight. I can’t move anything on my own anymore. How long have I been asleep?

  “I snuck by the guards while they were playing cards. Picked the lock,” he says. “I came to feed you. And when you’re well enough, I’m going to get you out of here.”

  “And go where?”

  “Anywhere. Doesn’t matter. As long as we’re away from this place, we’ll be better off.” His words are rushed, like he’s on a strict time limit with me.

  He positions me so that I’m sitting against the wall where a headboard should be.

  “Here, eat this.” A cold, hard object is pushed against my lips. I force them open and warm broth slides down my cracked throat, heating me from the inside. At first I think my body may reject it—since it’s been so long without real nourishment—but it doesn’t.

  “Easy now,” says Malik, carefully spoon-feeding me like a toddler. The more liquid that runs into my stomach, the more I want to eat. “Better?”

  I nod.

  “We’ll take it slow, all right? I don’t want you sick.” He waits until I’ve finished the bowl before picking apart the bread on the table. He handles each piece as if it will crumble in his hands.

  After I’ve swallowed the last bite, he says, “I have to go soon. They’ll be looking for me.”

  “When will you be back?” I ask. It feels strange to be talking again.

  His head shakes. “Don’t know.”

  “How’s your family?”