Every Star in the Sky Page 5

  “That’s not necessary,” Grace says quietly.

  The princess looks confused, but nods in acceptance of her words. “I shall leave the two of you for a moment so that I may address the others, but I will be back for the both of you soon.” I hear the satisfying yet ominous thud of the door as it closes behind her.

  I give a fatigued nod and crawl into a cot, lie on my left side and stare off into a distant nowhere. Grace lies on the cot I’m facing and gives me a sad smile.

  “Now, I suppose I can more easily treat a back wound than a wound that covers half a body. Grace, would you mind letting me treat you first? You will have to take your shirt off, unfortunately.”

  She takes her shirt off quickly and without question, cupping her small, fragile breasts as though they were eggs she was trying to keep warm so that they would hatch.

  “Oh dear,” Dr. Rolphe says when he looks at her back. “This is…” He gulps.

  As soon as I see it, I look away. Her back is a red zebra made of belt lashes.

  Grace.

  “Jay. I know he doesn’t love me. I still love him, and I don’t know why… But I hope I find someone who loves me someday.”

  I don’t know what to say. This fragile person before me, putting her heart in my hands. I don’t know what to do with her generous vulnerability. I don’t know what to do. She begins to sob as Dr. Rolphe applies some medicine to her back.

  I begin singing. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…”

  She sobs even more but looks at me with hope in her eyes and something akin to gratitude expressed on her face.

  Encouraged, I sing until she is fully clothed again. I don’t remember what Rolphe did to her, but it seemed to ease her pain. He seems kind enough, but the idea of a man touching me still terrified me. The entire time I sang, he had this incredible look of serene grace and sheer determination to help Grace. He couldn’t be bad.

  “Alright, your turn, Miss Jay.”

  “I’m scared.”

  He nods, “I understand.”

  “Of you,” I whisper.

  He pauses. “Well, I doubt the princess would leave you with somebody she didn’t trust. She seems awfully fond of the both of you.”

  I begin to tremble. “Please don’t touch me.”

  He bites his lip. “It is necessary that I apply the salve… Could you close your eyes and hold Grace’s hand, perhaps? I’m so sorry, miss. It is necessary.”

  Grace takes my hand without question. I tremble for however long it lasts. He rubs everything with this sweet-smelling soap, but it burns like the depths of hell have risen on my skin. He applies several more potions in succession, quickly and efficiently, and I feel like he is an artist and I am his canvas. His hands were cold but they were gentle. I realized I wasn’t afraid of men. I just hated them. I didn’t want them touching me. I didn’t want them near me. They were thieves and liars, cheaters and abusers. Their life was so easy. They could do whatever they damn well pleased, and people who wanted peace and love, like Anastasia, were crushed under their grip. Dr. Rolphe was a good man. Dr. Olson was a good man. Evan was a good man. My father was a good man. And those were the only four of the men I’ve met that I could call “good.”

  “This is excellent,” Rolphe says gently as he washes my leg in warm water. “Most of it is very superficial. It comes right off. Your hand may have a scar or two, but you’ll be fine in a week. Now let’s look at your arm, here…”

  I cringe as he unwraps the bandage. I can’t stand to look at the blood and exposed muscle, the ripped skin, the sign of my failure and weakness.

  “Holy shit. Er, sorry. Um… I’m going to have to stitch you back up, but I have to clean everything up first… It will hurt.”

  “That’s okay,” I say.

  Rolphe nods, “You are very brave.”

  “I am very tired,” I respond.

  It truly does hurt. It feels like a thousand furious stinging wasps that are also drunk, rabid, sadistic, and on fire. But I don’t cry, or make noise. I don’t need to. Pain is so fleeting. That’s what my father always said. I once told him that someone at school said, “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me,” and I asked what it meant. He explained it meant that being physically hurt was painful, but whoever said it wouldn’t be affected by the words or opinions of others. ‘But Jayrose,’ he said, ‘Pain is fleeting. Words stay with you forever. And that is why you must always be kind.’ Unfortunately, I found out the truth of that soon enough. Wounds are butter knives, words are daggers.

  Not a single tear has fallen from my eyes by the time he finishes lacing up my arm.

  “You’re done?” I ask, hopeful.

  “Yes. For now. I will have to take the threading out once your skin binds back together, but it shouldn’t leave much of a mark. It’ll be a long scar, but the coloring looks like it’ll blend right in with your skin. I haven’t seen that in a while. Ever, actually. Congratulations.”

  “Um. Thanks.”

  He laughs, “I hope all of the bunch is as entertaining as you, Miss Jay. And with voices just as lovely.”

  He goes into the room marked with an “X” and gives us permission to sleep.

  “Thank you for holding my hand,” I mumble tiredly.

  “Thank you for singing,” Grace replies.

  I let silence drift between us for a while. “You’ll find love someday, Grace.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I am woken by the princess, and she is thrilled about my recovery, physical and aesthetic. My leg almost looks normal, save for some bruising. I can’t look at my right hand, though. It’s only lightly bruised, but the cuts, even after they’ve been cleaned, look so dark and threatening. I feel like a puppet, with the patching done to my body. Or a cloth doll. A plaything.

  “I have excellent news,” Anna chirps. “Supposedly, all 150 women that have been brought to the palace are expected to meet in the grand hall within the next fifteen minutes. And an insider secret-- servants have been decorating the ballroom!”

  “Oh, shit.”

  Grace and Anna turn to stare at me, mouths agape.

  “Er… I said that out loud?”

  They nod.

  “S-sorry, I--”

  They break out into laughter together, and I find myself smiling. Is this what friendship is like? With other girls? I like it. I like them. I feel at home with these two girls, even if they are strikingly beautiful, smart, kind… And I’m a little different. They make me feel like none of my weirdness matters. They embrace me for who I am. And I’d never felt such hope in my life.

  “I can’t dance,” I explain.

  “Everyone can dance, Jay! You just move. That’s all there is to it. It’s like… exercising rhythmically, but in place,” Anna explains.

  “I don’t follow.”

  She giggles, “I’m sure somebody can teach you. By the looks of things, I might be forced to dance with some suitors today. Otherwise I would teach you myself. Can you dance, Grace?”

  “Like a crippled turkey, sure.”

  “Well maybe the two of you can dance like crippled turkeys together!”

  “Oh, definitely. Your brothers won’t be able to look away from our sexy moves,” Grace says.

  “I have to go to the bathroom. Like right now,” I say.

  “Jesus, Jay,” Anna laughs, “Hurry up then. Follow me.”

  She leads us through the front courtyard, which in essence is a huge, square garden. I can identify every flower. Tulips, daisies, chrysanthemums, peonies, petunias, carnations, tiger lilies, and, of course, roses-- though all of them are white. I’d never seen a white rose before, only heard about them. They are beautiful, but there’s something… cold about them. As though if you held it in your hand, your fingers would turn to ice and your breath would turn to gusts of winter wind. I feel uncomfortable looking at them, so I focus on the lilie
s instead. I’ve never seen lilies in the flesh. They were foreign to our little village, but they are so beautiful, their petals like drooping yellow drops of paint. I love looking at their stripes, spots, veins. I want desperately to touch them and breathe their sweet nectar in, though I doubt that is the appropriate thing to do.

  Focus, dammit. This is where everything will start or end.

  The entryway is positively grand. An eight-foot-tall arch of glimmering white brick, veined with gold. The door itself is of the darkest, most luscious mahogany. Two guards cross spears before us, each spear bearing a flag of sorts that sports the crest of the castle-- a falcon with wings spread as it seems to dive toward the viewer, holding a white rose in its beak. Beneath it, a castle set adrift in the middle of the ocean.

  “Entry, please,” the princess says, cheerful as ever.

  The two men wordlessly lift their spears and set them at their sides. They take the massive doors and allow us entry into an entirely different world.

  There are other people scurrying about, servants, maids, and women like us being guided to what I assume to be the grand hall, as they go towards the center of the palace. We are surrounded by black and white marble tiling, engravings of flowers littering the floor. Overhead, a great crystal chandelier seems to bless us with its effervescent light. The walls are white marble veined with gold, similar to the entryway, and I notice the side tables are covered in flowers as well. On both left and right of me, great tapestries of the palace crest are hung on purple silk. I can’t imagine what kind of money was necessary to purchase such luxury, but I wish I had it. Then I could build a nice home for Mom. Maybe I could start that farm that would sometimes visit me in my dreams.

  Someone is playing piano in the distance, and I nearly cry. I recognize it as “Ave Maria.” My father used to play the same song with his leathery fingers, and I would sing along with the sheet of lyrics he gave me. I was never much good at the piano, but Father could caress the keys in such a way that there was no limit to the beauty he could make.

  When they took him away, my mom would look angrily at the piano. I think she was upset that it was perpetually quiet, reminding us of his absence always. Other times, especially at night, I would catch her sitting at the piano, trying to play, but she could never play it the way father did and she would cry and cuss at the instrument.

  When we received the official report of his death in the armed service, she had some men from the village take the piano out back, and she set it on fire. We sat together, watching the flames. She seemed to feel relief and regret all at once from the look on her face. I only felt a growing emptiness that I never seemed to be able to fill.

  “Who’s playing the piano?” I ask.

  “Probably Leon. He loves music. He acts like it’s not a big deal, but he really does love it. I think it’s the only thing he’s ever loved, that silly piano.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I whisper.

  Anna smiles, “You’ll have to tell him that. Stroke his ego a bit. Now, to the grand hall, ladies? I’ll have to leave you in the crowd to join my family, but I hope I can talk to the both of you more… I get terribly lonely in this big, empty palace all by myself. It’s nice to have friends.”

  She gives us some directions to the grand hall-- basically we just have to go straight-- but all I can do is think about the word “lonely.” How could someone who lives in such a huge, bustling palace ever be lonely? I can’t fathom being able to do so myself. There are so many people to talk to. And the capital is right outside the front door, probably alive with street merchants, shops, villagers… Lonely?

  Grace grabs my hand and tugs me after her, though I’m still lost in the haziness of thought. Until we reach the grand hall, that is.

  Everything is satin, velvet, and silk. Everything. There’s another crystal chandelier, but instead of the monochromatic color scheme of the entryway, the grand hall is a rainbow of elegance. Red, gold, cream, purple, and accents of pastel everything. It feels so luxurious. But as I look up to the high ceiling, and I look at the mob of beautiful women around me, I suddenly feel sick.

  “I think I’m gonna barf,” I whisper.

  “What, why? What’s wrong, Jay?”

  “So… many… people,” I manage to say. “I need water.”

  “I’ll find somebody. You stay here. Don’t go anywhere, okay? I don’t want to lose you in this crowd. I might not ever find you again. Stay calm, okay?”

  And then she’s gone. I wrap my arms around myself and suddenly lust for the garden in the front courtyard. I need air. I am forgetting how to breathe. I don’t know how to calm myself; I don’t know how to cope. I hug myself tight and hum “Ave Maria” along with the piano I hear in the distance.

  Maybe… Maybe if I just follow the sound…

  Don’t go anywhere, okay?

  I push through the crowd as discreetly as possible, darting in and out of their bodies like they’re trees in the forest, and I am a lynx. I follow the sound of music and it takes me out of the grand hall, to some wall-less room set on a circular floor at the midpoint of the stairway.

  I walk a bit closer, but the man hunched over at the piano doesn’t seem to notice me. His eyes are closed.

  What the hell do I do now? What the hell do I say? I didn’t think I’d get this far.

  He must suddenly notice my presence because he stops playing and swings around, staring at me.

  “Who the hell are you?” He asks.

  “I’m thirsty,” I say very quietly.

  “You… You’re thirsty.”

  I nod.

  “The world has gone mad,” he whispers, running a hand through his dark brown hair. He has porcelain skin, like his sister, but he has silver eyes. Something about him makes me feel calm and unsettled all at once.

  He picks up a cup from the floor and hands it to me. “I guess you need it more than I do.”

  I blink a few times, and gulp it down immediately. “Thank you very much. I… I love that song.”

  He cocks his head. “You’re a fan of Bach?”

  “I’m a fan of all music, but I like Mozart the most.”

  “You are very, very strange,” he says, almost to himself.

  “I know. Thank you for the water. You play the piano beautifully.” I awkwardly shove the cup back in his hands and clumsily make my way back towards the grand hall.

  The music stays silent.

  I wander aimlessly through the crowd, searching for Grace. I feel a hand on my arm.

  “Where the hell have you been?!”

  “I freaked out,” I say, “And I went to the music, because music calms me down, and I think I met Leon, and he said I was weird, but he gave me water, and now I kind of just want to sleep forever.” My cheeks burn with anger at myself. Why couldn’t I just be normal? Like everyone else?

  My mother used to tell me to never say that again, the five times I had asked her. It ended at five because on the fifth time, she said, “Think if all of the keys on a piano sounded the same. Then there would be no music. A lot of people are C’s, D’s, E’s, but you are an A sharp, my dear, and without you, the piano would not be nearly as beautiful.”

  But I still think about it. All of the time. Nearly every day.

  “Don’t scare me like that. You’re all that I have,” Grace whispers, hugging me from the side.

  Friendship.

  Suddenly the chatter of the model-like women around me is silenced, as a servant comes forward and blows a horn that bears the flag crest.

  “Ladies of the outskirts of the Kingdom of Avis. I present to you, the princes and princess of the kingdom. Prince Julian, fifth son.”

  The women around me all suddenly drop to their knees. I follow suit only after Grace tugs on my sleeve from the ground.

  Julian looks the way Anna described him. Young and angry. His face is stern and his eyes are dark, though he has a strange, soft, angelic halo of golden hair upon his head. Everything about him is very sharp, straight, and
thin.

  “Prince Benjamin, fourth son.”

  Benjamin walks out and stands beside his brother. He smiles and waves to the crowd, and the girls seem to cumulatively swoon a little bit. His hair is blonde, like Julian’s, and while it is straight and clean, it naturally sticks up a bit in the front. His big blue eyes are filled with excitement.

  “Prince Leon, third son.”

  I gulp as I watch him enter the room. I didn’t notice before, but he, like the rest of his brothers, is wearing a black suit. I can’t help but notice how well it fits him. I wonder if he is as strong as Anna says. If he has muscles the way Evan does.

  His dark brown hair gleams under the light of the chandelier, and his silver eyes look calm and stern. He has soft-looking pink lips. His arms look strong.

  I wonder if his hands are warm.

  “Prince Silas, second son.”

  Silas has hair so blonde it’s nearly white, and it is so long that it is pulled into a ponytail in the back. His eyes are a cold, enchanting green, and he reminds me of something out of a fairytale. He looks angelic, transcendental. In fact, they all do, in a way. Like none of them quite belong in this world. He bows to us, and winks to prove that it is, indeed, a joke.

  I don’t know what they’re going to do with us, but if their goal was to host Swoonfest, they have definitely succeeded.

  “Princess Anastasia, first daughter.”

  Anna walks out, not nearly as cheerful as she seemed to be with us. She waves regally, and looks stunning in a floor-length pink gown that glistens with crystal accents. Her long blonde hair falls in golden cascades to her waist, and her blue eyes light the room. She looks like a goddess. The room is so still, clouded with awe and reverence. Could Anna possibly be real?

  “Prince Elliot, first son and your future king of the kingdom of Avis.”

  Elliot isn’t real. He is Apollo himself in his black suit and purple tie. His hair is the gold of the afternoon sun, and his perfect white smile makes my heart pound faster. I feel sweaty just looking at him. His strength is obvious by the sheer size of his chest and arms, and he is utterly captivating. He wears a black metal band that passes over his forehead and resembles grape vines, to show that he is the intended successor of King Luther, which keeps a stray portion of bangs out of his eyes. His hair is straight until it falls to his neck, where it turns into glossy waves. I can’t imagine a more beautiful man.