Free Under the Stars by Rebecca A. Rogers

I have a cover. I’m almost positive the unseen barrier keeps most of the destructive cold out.
    Something moves to my left; I notice it in my peripheral view.
    “Is that you, Andy?” Malik whispers.
    “Yeah, it’s me,” I reply. I won’t move off the front steps because I’m barefoot.
    “What are you doing out here so late?”
    “I should ask you the same question,” I retort.
    Even though it’s dark, I know he’s smiling. “Couldn’t sleep.”
    “That’s my excuse, too.” I sigh. “I don’t know what’ll happen in a few hours.”
    “Sure you do. You’ll meet the guards at the gate, they’ll escort you to the station, and you’ll be whisked off to a land filled with young men eager to meet you.” Somehow, deep in my heart, I know I wouldn’t want guys fighting for my attention. That’s not the purpose of my visit, anyway.
    He adds, “Oh, and you get to meet the King, of course.”
    “Yeah. Just the King. No big deal, right?”
    “Listen, whatever happens out there, I know you’ll convince him. However long that may take.”
    “Thanks.” My gratitude for him trying to cheer me up is only half-hearted. “I guess we’re about to find out, huh?”
    “I guess so.”
    We sit there, underneath the stars, for a long period of time. Long enough that we’re able to greet the sun, instead of it greeting him and me. Malik wraps his arm around my shoulders, my body pressed against his, keeping the warmth between us. He begins to hum a soft melody.
    “You sing?” I ask, rising up.
    He snorts. “No, not by a long shot. But I do write an occasional piece of poetry.”
    “Read me some,” I insist.
    “I don’t have any with me.”
    “You don’t remember it by heart?”
    “Just one. But that’s because I think about this place all the time,” he says. I raise my eyebrows. “Okay, fine. Here it is: Past the desert is a Palace of Dreams, Only reached in sleep, Beyond the sun-touched rise, Bury me there, Let no man take me elsewhere, I see it when I close my eyes.”
    “That’s beautiful,” I say, wishing I could dream of it. “Is that where you believe people go when they die, to the Palace of Dreams?”
    He surprises me by saying, “I do, because I’ve seen it.”
    “So you’ve died and come back?” I almost smile, but stop myself.
    “No, it’s just something my mind made up. I’d like to think there’s a place more beautiful than this world, waiting for us when we leave this life and enter the next.”
    That makes sense, I guess. “I’d like to think so, too. What’s it like, then, this Palace of Dreams?”
    “Pink blossoms and vibrant trees glow colors we’ve never seen in this existence, spreading across an endless landscape, tangled with a mist that sparkles in the never-ending sunlight. Not harsh sunlight like we’re used to,” he’s quick to add, “but sunlight that tenderly caresses your skin and warms you slowly.”
    I close my eyes, letting his words replay in my head. Oh, how I wish this place existed here, on earth. How I wish things were that peaceful.
    “Well, not much longer,” he says, clearing his throat and bringing me out of my reverie. “Are your bags ready?”
    I exhale louder than normal. “I don’t have anything to pack, except for an extra set of clothes. But there is a small bag I’m taking. Mama bought me some perfume at the market. She gave it to me last night, saying I have to smell like I am fit for a king.”
    “I think she’s right.”
    I sit up and gape at him. “You do?”
    “Why not? If you want to make a good impression, you can’t wear ragged clothing and smell like you hiked there.”
    “I just don’t want him to think I’m trying too hard.”
    “He won’t.” Malik squeezes me against his chest and presses his lips to my hair. “I have to get home. I don’t want my parents to wake and see I’m not there. They’ll worry about me.”
    I nod, slightly dizzy. “I need to tell Mama and Mattie that I’m leaving.”
    He