Star Daughter

by Shveta Thakrar

  She froze. Did that mean they could sense her feelings, too?

  Nani surveyed the table, letting the heft of her stare rest on each of the stars. “I realize it has been some time since we invited mortal guests to our realm, but that is no excuse for speaking in this way.”

  Heads lowered, and no one seemed foolish enough to protest.

  “Think on it,” Nana said, his face grave. “How will we look to the court if we cannot even maintain solidarity among ourselves? If we decry one who would represent us all, our champion?”

  Represent us all? This competition thing had officially gone too far. “Uh, Nani?” Sheetal began.

  But everyone was looking at Charumati, who’d stood. Her enchanting eyes gleamed with all the warmth Sheetal had been starving for, making Sheetal go soft, even fuzzy, inside. “Our blood flows in my daughter’s veins. She is our hope, our future. Treat her—and her friend—as such.”

  “I meant no harm,” said the woman with the long braid, sounding repentant, “truly. Pardon my misstep, Lady Sheetal.”

  Still watching her mother, Sheetal forgot she needed to answer. An expectant hush hung in the air.

  Minal was the one who replied. “It’s okay. I’d be curious, too.”

  “It’s fine,” Sheetal echoed, a half step too late, wanting the whole weird conversation behind her. She wasn’t anybody’s symbol or anybody’s hope. “But I need to say something.”

  She braced herself, then peeked up at her mother, whose gaze harnessed her own.

  The scales within Sheetal tipped, weighted with worry, with recognition, and with joy. Mom. My mom. Dancing in the daisy field. Telling me fairy tales.

  As if the sidereal song were a sea of starlight, the tide crashed over her, and for a second, a minute—an hour?—it was all she knew. When she glanced around again, everyone had resumed eating. Charumati sat beside her once more, humming. It felt wonderful and alien at the same time.

  And scary. What was that?

  The beautiful sensation vaporized into fury. Had her mother just used the starsong on her?

  “I have waited so long to teach you of our house, our history,” Nani said, beaming. “Your place in our line. And now here you are, where you belong. There is so much to do.”

  Sheetal’s hands tingled; her skin prickled. She shoved back her chair and got up. Screw politeness. Screw family ties. None of that would save Dad.

  “What is the matter, child?” Nana asked. “Be calm, for you are safe here.”

  Every eye in the room bored into Sheetal, and the starsong soared to a crescendo. She plunged forward anyway. “I’m sorry, but you crossed some wires somewhere. I can’t be your champion.”

  The stars’ glow flared hotter as they gasped. Giving Charumati a meaningful look, Sheetal added, loud enough that no one could miss it, “I’m just here to get—”

  Minal caught her eye. Don’t, she mouthed.

  Sheetal had been about to say “blood,” but at that, she changed course. “—help for my dad. You know, on Earth.”

  She’d been prepared for anger, for argument, but Nani only raised her hand for silence. “Vacate this chamber,” she commanded. “All of you but my daughter and granddaughter. And speak of this to no one, or you will answer to me.”

  After the others had left the long table, she asked, “Minal, how would you appreciate a tour of the palace while we speak as a family? Padmini will escort you.”

  Minal hesitated, but Sheetal caught her eager expression. “Go,” she made herself say. “I’ve got this.”

  All she could do now was pray that was true.

  In their sitting room, Nani and Nana watched Sheetal with complicated expressions. Pride shifted among other things she couldn’t name but wasn’t sure she liked.

  “Sit, dikri,” Nani said, gesturing to an indigo divan next to a wide ebony bookcase. “I realize how bizarre this must all seem to you. We have much ground to cover, starting with a bit of family history.”

  The crater in Sheetal’s chest spread. The guard had said they’d been expecting her, and the astral melody had as good as sucked her into the sky, it had been so strong. Compelling her to ascend.

  What was it her mom had written in that letter to Radhikafoi? The time will come when she must ascend, when she will hear our call. . . .

  She stayed standing near the doorway. “I’m kind of in a hurry. You know—the reason I came here?”

  Nana smiled. “We understand. Please hear us out.”

  “Sit, Sheetal,” Charumati said gently. “I have not forgotten what you asked.”

  Sheetal sat. At least they hadn’t said no. “Five minutes.”

  “When our house led the court of the stars,” Nani began, “we and we alone governed how the nakshatras would interact with mortals.”

  “We serve as muses to them,” Nana interjected. “Then and now.”

  Nani smiled at him. “Indeed.” To Sheetal, she said, “We cut off free passage between the realms in the wake of the star hunters. It was simply too risky for our kind.”

  Star hunters. Dev’s family. Sheetal shuddered.

  “Over time mortals forgot who we were and that we existed outside stories, stories that in time were also lost to memory.” Nani’s smile darkened. “Yet nothing lasts. The Dhanishta nakshatra later took ascendancy, soon reintroducing ideas of a sort better left alone and reopening the gateway, exposing us once more to mortal whim and violence.”

  “Mortals do not know how to control themselves,” Charumati said. “It is our responsibility to correct for that.”

  The look Nani gave Charumati was less than flattering. “We will discuss that later, Daughter.”

  “That’s interesting and all, but what does it have to do with me?” Sheetal asked. Every minute they talked was another minute Dad could die.

  “How do you think I made it down to meet your papa?” Charumati answered. “Few of our kind were interested in walking among mortals any longer, yet I had always desired to know more.”

  “Yes, and what a foolish decision!” Nani snapped. Nana stroked her arm, and the annoyance melted from her face. “But now we have a chance to restore order, beti. You are that chance, Sheetal.”

  “I still don’t understand, though.” Sheetal was trying to be patient, but they kept talking around the question. “How am I involved?”

  Charumati patted her hand. “The court holds a competition to determine the successor when either the Esteemed Matriarch or Patriarch of the ruling house ages into the final stage of existence, the supernova, or, less commonly, when they choose to step down. To compete, each interested house must present a champion—a mortal artist it then inspires.”

  “From the sky we come, and to the sky we return—the great Void that is Mother Kali,” Nani intoned. “Yet before that, there is much to be done. With the Esteemed Patriarch of House Dhanishta taking his leave and you as our champion, we will reclaim our old position and resume that work.”

  “But I didn’t sign up for this.” They thought they could send for Sheetal out of the blue, and she’d jump to do their bidding? “And I’m not an artist.”

  “Then what is your music?” Nana asked. “That is the mortal part of you.”

  “We are music,” Nani put in. “You, however, are a musician. We have witnessed that.”

  What did that even mean? Sheetal thought she was good, even awesome, at music in the way mortals were, but with the astral melody always “helping,” she’d never gotten the chance to find out for sure. She hunched into herself. It was one thing to be in her secret room and know the sky outside was watching and another to hear it in person from the family she’d only just met.

  “No,” she said. “I’m here for Dad.” It felt like she’d said the same thing a hundred times, and no one was listening. “Mom—Charumati—knows. Ask her.”

  “She spoke with us last night,” Nana said. “Gautam will have the blood. Indeed, we shall deliver it to him.”

  Really? It seemed too easy, bu
t Sheetal wasn’t going to question her good luck. “That’s so great! Thank you.” She hopped up. “I’ll take it right now. Why wait?”

  Something unsaid passed between Charumati and her parents. “Anything for our own granddaughter,” Nani said slowly, “but it is not as simple as all that.”

  Sheetal stared at her. “What are you trying to say?”

  Nani smiled. “It seems we are both in difficult situations and can be of mutual assistance.”

  The trap, so glittering and hypnotic at first, was closing around Sheetal. She could almost feel its jaws snapping shut.

  She walked to the bookshelf, keeping her back to Nani and Charumati so they couldn’t see how mad she was. And so they couldn’t mesmerize her with their unearthly beauty into doing what they wanted. “What do you need from me, exactly?”

  Charumati replied this time. “We will inspire you, and you will play your music for the panel of judges in the competition.”

  “We stand behind you, dikri,” Nana said, his voice kind. “Always.”

  “How do I even qualify?” Sheetal hoped she sounded indifferent. “I mean, I’m half star.”

  “Ah, but you are half mortal, too.” Charumati’s satisfaction was unmistakable. “An advantage no other house can claim.”

  “And when is this competition?” Running her finger over the silver-gilded spines in front of her, Sheetal fell right into one of her oldest daydreams. She’d sit onstage in an elegant silk dress, her harp leaning against her shoulder, and smile out at her adoring audience before launching into a beloved folk song, her voice soaring like a kite. Her name would be everywhere from the marquee to the program to her cheering fans’ lips. “It’s got to be at least a few weeks from now, right? I’d have to go home first and help Dad. . . .”

  “Two days from today. The anniversary of your birth,” said Nani.

  Sheetal spun around. “Two days?! I don’t even know what I’m doing!” At the very least, she’d have to pick a song and rehearse in front of other people.

  “We will have our first lesson anon,” Nani continued smoothly. “It would have been ideal if you had arrived when the call for the champions first went out, but never fear; I have drawn up a rigorous schedule to make the best of what time remains to us.”

  Calm down, Sheetal ordered herself. This had to be a prank. Weird star humor. “What—what about Dad? You said you would take the blood to him. He’ll die if you don’t!”

  “Win the competition for our house, and anything you wish for will be yours,” said Nani, unmoved. “Including a drop of blood from my own veins.”

  Wow. Sheetal almost laughed. All she had to do to save Dad was win a contest she hadn’t even known about twenty-four hours ago. When she’d never played in front of strangers in her entire life, and the very thought made her stomach shrivel. No pressure.

  But her hands tingled. She’d be inspired, the way she’d apparently inspired Dev. He’d smashed through his creative block like demolishing a dam.

  The memory kindled something at her core. Fire like mercury flame traced over her skin, glittering against the onyx of the sitting room, threatening to engulf her. What had she actually done to inspire him? She didn’t know that any more than she knew how to untangle her music from the starsong. . . .

  Silver in the bones, the astral melody seemed to sing then, silver in the blood. It gushed through her, a current of starlight and suggestion sweeping her along, and all she could do was try not to go under.

  Sheetal was minuscule, a pathetic puppet for forces so immeasurable she couldn’t begin to understand them. They would devour her. They already were.

  “Where is Gautam?” Nana asked, coming closer. “Can you describe his condition?”

  “I don’t know. He had a heart attack. I—I tried giving him a drop of my blood, but it didn’t work,” she babbled. “I thought— I don’t know what I thought.”

  She didn’t realize she was tearing at the cuticle on her thumb until she looked down. Blood welled up—the blood that wasn’t enough. That would never be enough.

  Nani traipsed over and looked Sheetal in the eye, searching. “Tell me, child. What brought on this sudden case of cardiac distress?”

  Sheetal tried to blink, but Nani held her gaze like she’d nailed it there. She cocked her head as if listening. A few seconds later, she nodded. “I suspected as much. You know not how to wield your flame. We must remedy that straightaway.”

  Nani had read her mind! Sheetal wanted to crawl out of her own skin in mortification. She had to learn how to shield herself.

  “Beti, in good conscience, how could we send you home when you might burn yourself up? Or others?” Charumati sounded genuinely concerned. “We must teach you mastery of your abilities, for they will only grow stronger with each day that passes.”

  “Do not worry for your papa,” Nana said. “Your blood may not be pure, but it is enough to tether him to the mortal world until you return. But your nani is right; we must train you for your own safety.”

  Sheetal flailed. “Mom?”

  Her mother nodded. “Heed the song. It will always tell you what is true.”

  That was something, at least.

  Sheetal breathed in as deeply as she could, then allowed herself to fall into the astral melody. Strands of starlight connected her to the other stars in the sky, and her earthly concerns dissipated like stardust over vast swaths of night. It assured her Dad would be safe for now.

  With a flutter of soft, silvery notes, she melted back into the moment, back into Nani’s study where her mother and grandparents waited for her answer.

  “You swear you’ll give me the blood if I win?” she asked.

  Nani raised cupped hands filled with silver flame. “I vow it on the light that is our bloodline,” she pronounced. “If House Pushya wins, the blood is yours.”

  They had Sheetal cornered. If she wanted to save Dad, she had no choice.

  “First lesson,” she chirped, all false enthusiasm. “I can’t wait.”

  13

  Nani paused in the doorway to her study, her starry circlet gleaming like a guiding light. “Did you have enough to eat, beti? Are you still hungry?” She sounded so attentive, so considerate, the perfect grandmother.

  “No,” Sheetal said, still reeling. To save Dad, she didn’t just have to compete in whatever this was. She had to win. In two days, no less. How in the world—how in the universe—was she supposed to do that?

  She’d glanced over the detailed training schedule Nani’s secretary had inscribed on thick blue parchment—voice and instrument rehearsals, tours of the court, etiquette schooling—but it only made her want to hide out somewhere safe, like her bedroom at home, and scream until her throat was raw and this all made sense. How had Dad’s fate come to depend on her?

  Dad would tell her to observe and take notes, that this was a problem, and problems had solutions. She clung to that like a rope to keep from slipping off the cliff of despair. “No, thanks. I’m full.”

  Nani clapped, one smart clap, and just like that she was the tall, dignified monarch again. “Good, then let us begin. We have a full day of instruction and training planned.”

  For the next hour, Nani led Sheetal on a tour of their nakshatra’s wing of the palace, detailing who lived in which suite. Sheetal made a mental map as they went along. Each star’s standing in the house hierarchy determined the number of rooms they had, with Nani and Nana at the top, of course.

  The palace proper, Nani explained, was laid out like a many-petaled flower composed of smaller flowers, each flower devoted to a different group of beings and joined by a covered bridge to the gods’ courtyard at the center.

  One of those smaller flowers housed the twenty-seven nakshatras, each in its own wing. It was all so lovely, with enamel and silver and ebony everywhere she looked, that Sheetal couldn’t get over the feeling she’d landed in one of Charumati’s leather-bound volumes from the secret room at home. There was the multitude of lushly adorned spac
es, many of which had no ceiling but the sky. There were the so-beautiful-it-hurt-to-look-at people in their clothes made of silk and stardust. There was the orchard of skyberry and blue mango trees, its arresting aroma permeating the air.

  As they passed through the residential section of the Pushya wing, Nani pointed out the various suites of rooms and named their residents. She even took Sheetal inside her own impressive apartments. “You are always welcome here, dikri. Do not be shy.”

  Charumati’s set of rooms was on the left. “I will leave that to your mother to show you.”

  “Wait, what about that one?” Sheetal asked. Nani had skipped over the suite to the right of the one she shared with Nana.

  “It is unoccupied,” Nani said shortly, “and has been for some time.” Her nostrils flared. “If I had been able to arrange it, you would be lodging here, not in the guest quarters with the other champions. A daughter of our line should be with us.”

  “It’s fine, honestly,” Sheetal said. Even that champion’s dorm room had been prettier than any place she’d ever stayed in on Earth.

  Like a bewitching film score, the astral melody played in the background of her thoughts, urging her toward fantastical dreams. Her bones knew this place. They wanted to sink into it and forget everything else. Sheetal shook it off. Disloyal, two-timing bones.

  Nani gestured to the end of the hallway carved with statuary of flowers, gods, and stars from the past. Pewter sconces shaped like garudas and winged nagas washed the walls with flickers of starlight. “If you wish to visit a friend in another house, you simply cross the edge of the court and enter the appropriate passageway. I am certain you will make many friends and be paying many visits.”

  “Twenty-seven passageways for twenty-seven nakshatras,” Sheetal guessed, ignoring the question of friends.

  “Indeed. And our house is—was—the highest in the court.”

  “But if there’re only twenty-seven nakshatras, what about all the other stars in the universe?”