Star Daughter

by Shveta Thakrar

  Nani nodded slightly, as if Sheetal had just confirmed a private theory. “Your mother did not teach you much about our ways, did she?”

  Maybe it was because of Nani’s obvious irritation, but Sheetal’s first reaction was to defend Charumati. She pushed back against it. What had her mother done to deserve her loyalty? Not stick around, that was for sure. “Some. I know stories.”

  “Yet do you know us?”

  What was Sheetal supposed to say? Of course she didn’t. Until last week, she hadn’t even known her mother ever planned on seeing her up close again.

  “You might have been raised as a mortal,” Nani said firmly, her uncanny eyes kindling, “but here you are one of us, and it is time you learn.”

  They walked on. One of us. What did that mean? What did Sheetal want that to mean?

  Nothing, she reminded herself. Dad was the only reason she was here at all.

  Making a clicking sound of disapproval, Nani closed the distance between them and gripped Sheetal’s hand. “Stop that.”

  Her thumb stung. She’d been tearing at her cuticle again.

  “You must never treat yourself like that,” admonished Nani. “Self-flagellation is a foolish habit, a mortal habit. You must behave as the precious being you are.”

  Well, yeah, Sheetal thought. Of course you think I’m precious. Without me, you have no champion.

  “I realize this is a great deal to take in at once, but it is vital you learn as much as possible in the time we have. When I called to you,” Nani said, releasing her, “we had already waited too long.”

  She smoothed a nonexistent stray strand back into her bun. “As I was saying, the nakshatras. Without question, there are many stars in the heavens, but it is as with your mortal courts: a few royal houses govern the masses, and to preserve order, one house rules over the rest.”

  Silver radiance haloed Nani’s form. In that moment, Sheetal glimpsed both aspects of her grandmother: the old woman who stood before her and the blazing star. Her power was obvious, a tangible thing. Here was someone who had ruled entire courts, who had sung before Lord Indra and had his ear.

  “There is a good deal of responsibility that comes with our position. It is our duty to light the way for others, to burn brightly in the darkness. We are the children of possibility, and we wake that possibility in those who witness our flame. That flame,” Nani declared, standing taller and yet more brilliant, “is in you, mortal blood or no.”

  “Or maybe that mortal blood is inside me, flame or no,” Sheetal muttered, but so softly Nani didn’t catch it. “I have questions,” she said more loudly.

  Nani waggled her head. “Then ask as we walk.”

  In rapid succession, Sheetal learned that stars didn’t need to sleep but instead had an aspect that spun in the sky each night; that there was indeed a place stars watched humans, called the Hall of Mirrors—a place she intended to check out as soon as possible—and that the stars had devised a method for inspiring mortals from afar.

  Nani led her through a long colonnade. “Speaking of that, I suspect you will enjoy this next part.”

  They emerged onto a balcony that bordered a round, dark room, its ceiling and floor both open to the night sky. Crystal jars as high as Sheetal’s hip lined the balcony, their contents casting a slight silver glow through the space.

  “This room is off-limits to our mortal visitors,” her grandmother said, “as I am certain you can understand. Every night, we empty jars of stardust into the heavens. These are the bits of us that fall through the clouds and enter mortal imaginations, what you call inspiration.” She frowned. “It is not as powerful as when we walked the earth, but the risk of face-to-face contact is too great.”

  “Why?” Sheetal asked, expecting Nani to bring up Dev’s ancestors, but Nani only motioned to the jars before them.

  “Pick one up,” she said. “It matters not which.” Sheetal picked up the nearest jar. To her surprise, it weighed almost nothing. “Now turn it over the balcony.”

  “But—”

  “Go on,” Nani said.

  A soft hum stirred the air, rousing Sheetal’s skin, and she sucked in a breath when she realized it was coming from Nani. Her grandmother was singing.

  The contents of the jars responded with a high, sweet counterpoint that felt like yearning in its purest form. Melancholy, longing, an ache for something more. The ache Sheetal had always known like an old injury that had never quite healed.

  Humans needed this like flint to the tinder of their imagination. Inspiration. And she needed to give it to them.

  Leaning over the railing, Sheetal raised her arms as high as she could and upended the jar. A million tiny stars streamed out, silver bright and scintillating. Their music might have been the haunting, elusive pitch of a bansuri, a bamboo flute. Instead of falling straight down, they swished across the room, swirling around Sheetal and Nani and wreathing them in lambent warmth before dancing down through the open floor toward the mortal world, bearing with them the prospect of hope, of dreams, of magic.

  “It feels good, yes?” asked Nani, watching her expectantly. “Right, perhaps?”

  It did feel right, like someone had turned on a string of fairy lights inside her. Sheetal’s heart thrummed with her own song, harmonizing with Nani’s notes in her own internal soprano. It was the astral song, the song that connected her to their shared nakshatra. The tingle spread from her hands to the rest of her body, waiting.

  “There,” said Nani, smiling. “Your first lesson.”

  Sheetal reflexively reached for invisible strings. If only she had her harp or her dilruba right now.

  “As you know,” Nani continued, “you will reach majority on your birthday. I have begun preparations for a lavish ball in your honor to precede the competition.”

  A ball! Sheetal did a little shimmy at the idea of being celebrated for once, on display in a way her auntie had never allowed. She could imagine the sparkles, the enchantment, the outfits.

  The ball would be silver and crystal and wrapped in night, a revel out of a fairy tale.

  Right then, Earth felt a universe away.

  Sheetal gave herself a shake. She wasn’t here for balls or daydreams. It would be so very easy to get smitten by the fantasy Nani was crafting. So very, very easy to pretend it was more than what it was. And Nani knew that. “Tell me again how Dad’s going to be okay until I get back?”

  “Certainly. Your blood possesses enough of our healing ability to hold him in a temporary stasis. He will, in effect, sleep until he is woken.”

  “In three days,” Sheetal stressed. “Counting today.” Somehow thinking of it like that made it seem a tiny bit less impossible.

  “In three days, counting today. I vowed it, did I not?”

  Sheetal relaxed just enough that she could imagine actually pulling this off. “Can we can talk more about the competition?”

  “Of course. What do you wish to know?”

  “Like, what’s in it for the other champions? Somehow I don’t see them doing this out of the goodness of their hearts.”

  Nani rewarded her with a gratified smile. “I have been waiting for you to ask. Let us continue.” As they headed back toward the center of the starry court, she said, “Four nakshatras other than ours have—what is your mortal idiom? Declared a desire to compete?”

  “Thrown their hats into the ring?” Sheetal suggested. She’d been filing away all the engraved doors and brilliant portraits they’d passed, all the carved marble pillars, all the statues, until she couldn’t take in another thing. It was like wandering for hours in a museum or on a movie set, except nothing was behind glass, and none of the people they ran into were actors.

  And no museum on Earth, not even the strangest ones, had magic.

  “Yes, precisely. Four other nakshatras have thrown their hats into the ring and provided you four challengers to contend with.” Nani swatted at the air, as if batting away a particularly irksome fly. “Each was selected for their artist
ic potential after having been located and observed through the Hall of Mirrors.”

  So Sheetal was up against four different people, who’d all been chosen for being the best at whatever they did, and who’d probably been preparing for weeks now. Wonderful.

  She thought back to the competing nakshatras lined up by the stage. Charumati had led her away before the final champion had been welcomed. “House Revati. Who’s its champion?”

  Nani’s mouth curled with displeasure. “A story crafter or some such.”

  A pair of stars approached, nodding at Nani before returning to their own conversation.

  “But never mind that,” she went on. “Perhaps it would interest you to learn that not everyone accepts our offer. That is rare, however; by the time we approach a prospective candidate, we have thoroughly assessed both their level of skill and degree of ambition.”

  Had they been watching Sheetal like that, gauging her strengths and weaknesses? Or did they just assume she’d be the best because she was half star? “But you still haven’t told me why they would bother. The champions, I mean.”

  Nani frowned. “Few mortals can resist the lure of such a potential prize: instant recognition and universal acclaim in the annals of human history, from the moment they return home until the end of time. Like a fire that never ceases to burn and shines its light over all that comes after.”

  Sheetal gawked at her. “Wait, so they’re like Shakespeare? Or the Taj Mahal?”

  “Indeed,” said Nani. “What artist does not wish to be remembered? To know their work speaks to others across eras and cultures?”

  “But—but how do you reach out to them at all?” Sheetal asked, thinking of how entranced Minal had been with everything since they got here, and how she probably would be, too, if it weren’t for Dad. “And how do you keep them from breaking in half when they get here? This stuff is huge!”

  Nani stopped before a pair of silver doors embossed with all the twenty-seven nakshatras. “Each house sends a representative to speak to its selected candidate. A trace of magic is necessary to allay any culture shock, as you noted; and to keep them further grounded, each candidate is permitted one mortal companion of their choosing.” She smiled. “That one you brought, she appears quite attentive to your needs. You have chosen well.”

  That, at least, explained how the guards had reacted to Minal at the palace gates. “But what happens to the people who don’t win?”

  “Then that same magic later removes all memories of their encounter with us from their minds. We are not in the business of being cruel.”

  And so they can’t talk about you, Sheetal added, remembering how Charumati had once warned her to hide.

  But if people like the star hunters still existed, was that such a bad idea? She didn’t know.

  Nani pointed to the double doors, each with an antiqued silver pull in the shape of a four-pointed star. “This is our common room, a space where stars of any nakshatra may gather freely. Behind it, you will find the guest quarters. Soon we must hurry to your rehearsal, but would you first care to step inside for a beverage? It is important to show your face, so that none believe you afraid.”

  Sheetal balked. Show her face? Afraid? The insult from the welcome ceremony came back to her then. Mortal half-thing.

  Nani touched her shoulder, and her concern was sincere, crisp and bright in the song around them. “Hear me, dikri. The choice is yours to make. If you wish to move straight into the rehearsal, we will do that instead. My inclination is simply to offer you all possible advantages.”

  Maybe it was stupid of her, since the starsong would only reflect the emotions Nani wanted it to, but Sheetal warmed at feeling her worry, anyway. Besides, she didn’t have anything to hide from the other stars. “We can go in,” she said, returning Nani’s smile. “A drink sounds good.”

  They entered the common room, a pentagonal chamber lined by huge scalloped windows, lit by perforated star-shaped lanterns and more of the sconces Sheetal had seen in the corridor, and festooned with rich blue-and-silver draperies and ebony furniture with matching upholstery. Stars stood in small clusters of three and four, all casting her suspicious glances as she passed by.

  Sheetal hadn’t expected celestial gatherings to feel so much like parties on Earth, everyone in their little cliques—and her on the fringes. Where were her stars? Where were Minal and Padmini?

  She missed Earth. She really missed Dad. “After my rehearsal,” she told Nani, “I want to see the Hall of Mirrors.”

  “I am certain we can find an opportunity at some point.” Nani led her to the marble fountain at the center of the room, where a handmaiden dipped silver cups into the flowing sky-hued liquid. “First, however, let us focus. There is so little time to prepare you.”

  Whose fault is that? Sheetal thought.

  The handmaiden inclined her head. “Skyberry cordial, pressed from our own orchards. Would you like a taste?” Sheetal nodded, and the handmaiden offered her a cup.

  It was like drinking the cloud-streaked sunsets she’d dubbed “cotton candy sky” as a kid. Sweet and refreshing, with a hint of tartness. “Nani, how well did you know my dad?”

  Nani hadn’t heard her. Her mouth thinned as stars bearing the House Revati insignia came into view, along with a human man with curly hair who looked to be around nineteen or twenty. “Those upstarts think to offend us, that we might simply hand over rulership to them. As if they could cow us so!”

  “What do you mean?” The man looked vaguely familiar, maybe, but that was all. Not what Sheetal would call threatening.

  Two people hurried toward them, blocking him from sight. “The other competing houses have called a convocation and wish you to join them at your earliest convenience, Esteemed Matriarch,” the taller of the two visitors crooned. “Hello again, star’s daughter.”

  It was the apsara from the Night Market, swathed in a sari of the pink lotus-petal taffeta she’d considered in the fabric stall. A starry page, who looked about ten years old, accompanied her.

  “You got it after all,” Sheetal said. “The taffeta.”

  The apsara struck a runway-model pose. “It suits me quite well, I must say.”

  “It does,” Sheetal agreed. “We met on Earth,” she told Nani, whose forehead creased.

  “Esteemed Matriarch,” the page said when Nani didn’t move to follow him, “the convocation awaits.”

  Nani considered him for a full thirty seconds, then nodded. “Tell them Jagdeesh and I shall receive them in our study in twenty minutes.”

  “And the Esteemed Patriarch? Shall I seek him out?”

  “No need,” Nani said. “I will send him word via the song.”

  The page put his palms together in acknowledgment, then scampered off.

  “My apologies, beti,” Nani said to Sheetal. “I am disinclined to leave you here, yet it cannot be helped. Can you find your way back to my apartments when you finish making your rounds here?”

  Sheetal couldn’t think of anything she wanted less than to fumble through this crowd of strange faces alone, but she tried to sound like she didn’t care. “I’ll be fine.”

  Nani leaned close and whispered, “You are of the House of Pushya. Our song rings in your bones. Our light is your light. Let no one tell you otherwise.”

  “How perfectly scrumptious!” the apsara cooed as Nani strode away. “It has been so frightfully dreary around here. But now that you mortals are appearing . . .”

  “Right. How long has it been since any humans visited?” Sheetal asked. The more she talked, the more she could put off going over and introducing herself to House Revati’s champion.

  “Oh, perhaps half a millennium? Who can keep track?” The apsara launched into what would have been juicy court gossip if Sheetal hadn’t been too floored to enjoy it.

  The most recent competition had been five hundred years ago? And she was somehow expected to win this one on zero knowledge or experience?

  You can do this, she reminded her
self, nursing her cup and nodding every so often at the apsara’s prattle. You’re awesome.

  Too bad she didn’t believe a word of it.

  And there, approaching like a mirage, was a different familiar mortal guy. A guy who in fact looked just like her boyfriend.

  Okay, now she was hallucinating. Wasn’t she?

  Even in jeans and a T-shirt, Dev Merai was as beautiful as the stars.

  14

  Sheetal literally did a double take, her heart somersaulting in her chest. Unless Dev had a doppelgänger, it was him.

  Why would he be here? His ancestor had kept the woman he’d claimed to love in a cage after she’d tried to leave and had abused her when she didn’t do what he wanted. And he’d bled her for profit on top of that.

  Sheetal wanted to call out to Dev. But she couldn’t stop staring long enough to catch her breath.

  The stars pressed in around him, apparently not grasping the concept of personal space. They pelted questions, scarcely letting him answer one before the next arrived on its heels. “Do you drive a car?” someone asked. “What is it like?”

  A second star pushed the first one aside. “No, tell us if you have ever been in a movie. Is it true you leave part of yourself behind in the camera?”

  Dev glanced uncertainly from one star to the other as he tried and failed to put some distance between them. “Uh—”

  “Hey, hey, give him some space,” said the curly-haired human man behind him, who had to be House Revati’s champion. He waved the stars back. “I get that you’re curious and all, but don’t smother the guy.”

  Sheetal kept her eyes trained on Dev’s profile, hoping he could feel her gaze boring into his skull. Hoping it hurt.

  If it did, he didn’t react, so she marched right over, ignoring the astounded expressions around her, and tapped him on the shoulder.

  He raised his head, and now she couldn’t deny it was Dev, from the dark eyes that drank her in to the familiar mouth she was ashamed to have kissed. A lot. Her mind helpfully wandered back to yesterday afternoon, in his bed, and she flushed.

  “Your hair,” he breathed. “Wow.”