“I am not half mortal,” Charumati said simply. “You are.”
Sheetal sullenly pushed through the trill until she was sure her lips were going to vibrate right off. For Dad, she reminded herself.
“Good!” Charumati applauded. She faced Sheetal and pressed down on her collarbone, forcing her shoulders back. “But you must strive for proper posture. Now hum for me.”
While her mother held her shoulders in place, Sheetal hummed, trying to relax her vocal cords. She’d learned warm-up technique from online tutorials, but it was completely different to have someone standing right there, critiquing her.
Then Charumati led her up and down a set of scales, making Sheetal go through them over and over. It seemed like an eternity before her mother was satisfied and stepped back. “I believe we are ready to try singing.”
Finally! Sheetal inhaled all the way down to her diaphragm. She thought about how terrific it felt to sing, how natural. How she’d always wanted to be seen, and how now was her chance. She opened her mouth.
And remembered how exposed she’d been at breakfast, all her feelings on display for the entire court. The first notes of the ballad spilled from her throat, and they were shrill. Off-key. A satire of herself.
Even Charumati startled, her smooth brow furrowing.
Sheetal hummed, then tried again. This time, she heard Dev asking her to sing with him and the whole disaster that followed. Her throat closed. This was hopeless. She was going to fail Dad.
“Again,” Charumati directed. “The song is in you.”
Sheetal made the mistake of glancing up at the imaginary audience in its rows and rows of seats, at the stage where the Esteemed Matriarchs and Patriarchs—two rulers for each nakshatra, as Nani had told her—would preside over everyone, and she choked. Her voice quavered. It shattered like glass.
Where was the talent she’d always been so impatient to show off now?
“Perhaps we should have reserved our slot for tomorrow’s rehearsal instead,” Charumati observed at last, sounding doggedly cheerful. “A more intimate setting may be more conducive to your comfort.”
Or how about not being in this competition at all? Sheetal thought. Everyone was acting like she’d always been here. Like she’d grown up with this part of her family and shared all their values and goals.
How could she? She didn’t even really know what their values and goals were. She didn’t even know her mom.
Five hundred years. They needed her to be a mortal, but they expected her to be a star.
She pictured herself faltering, stumbling on the wrong note, forgetting the lyrics, and flubbing the whole competition. All while Dev witnessed each and every gaffe. House Pushya might as well hand out popcorn.
This was ridiculous. She knew how to sing better than anything else. Lifting her hands and sticking out her chest, she tried for a single long C.
The note came out as a squawk.
Just in time for the company of stars gliding into the court, led by a spiky-haired human girl carrying two Kathputli marionettes in a sling pouch. Priyanka.
Putting her hands on her hips, Priyanka sized Sheetal up. When she tilted her head, the purple streaks in her black hair gleamed. “Well, look who it is. The star girl who thinks she can just swan on in all late and have fancy meals with her family like she’s better than the rest of us humans.”
“Your marionettes are really something,” Sheetal replied. She refused to take the bait. Plus, she did get it. In Priyanka’s shoes, she’d be furious, too.
But she wasn’t here for glory. She was here for Dad.
The stars frowned at Priyanka, then at Sheetal. “You need not befriend the other champions.”
“Oh, don’t worry; I don’t need to be friends with anyone who sings like a duck. Some champion.” Priyanka rolled her eyes. Her ruby nose ring sparkled in the silvery light of the stars flanking her like sentries. “I guess that’s what nepotism gets you—a talentless hack.”
She shot the accusation like an arrow at Charumati, who watched with narrowed eyes but said nothing. A few of the other stars tittered.
Sheetal’s resolve to be pleasant disintegrated.
“I’d just go home now if I were you,” Priyanka said. “Save yourself the embarrassment of letting the whole court watch me beat you.” She quacked, a depressingly accurate imitation of Sheetal’s tragic attempt at a high C.
Now even those stars who hadn’t laughed smirked behind their hands.
Burning with shame, Sheetal shoved past Priyanka. Her starlight tresses hung in her face, taunting her. Half-star. Half-thing. One hundred percent hack.
Her music was the one thing she’d always been sure of, and the first time an outsider heard it, she’d made a fool of herself.
How was she going to do this? All she wanted was to walk away. At home, at least she knew the rules.
Charumati overtook her at the exit. “There will always be those who speak in darts and spears. You must not allow yourself to be pierced by their ill will.”
“Please,” said Sheetal, trying to sound like she didn’t care, “just let me go see Dad.”
So this is the legendary Hall of Mirrors, Sheetal thought. It looked kind of like a fun house on Earth. The black-crystal walls were alight with mirrors of all different sizes and shapes, each framed in a dark blue satin studded with star-shaped gemstones. Except the hall was far too elegant to be a fun house, more like a palace made all of glittering ice.
Minal and Padmini, who’d found her on the way here, wandered through the room, checking out their reflections. “These mirrors really capture my good side,” Minal decided, “if I do say so myself, and I do.”
“Do not grow too attached to your own splendor,” Charumati teased her. “We cannot tarry.” She smiled at Sheetal. “A few minutes should suffice for our purposes.”
It would have to. But Sheetal hung back, watching a trio of stars gathered around a mirror and commenting on a wedding reception. Now that she was here, she was afraid.
The stars giggled at something she’d missed, and Padmini herded Minal closer to the mirror for a better view. “This should be good,” she murmured.
In the mirror, the bride, jubilant in a vivid blue gharara kameez and gold jewelry, stood with the groom, who wore an ivory sherwani and a cream-and-gold turban. Around them, dancing guests played dandiya raas, their cloth-wrapped sticks striking one another and then retreating. The bride, ignoring the hesitant groom’s claim that he didn’t dance, handed him a pair of dandiya. “Your wife says you have to,” she said. Finally he laughed and followed her into the circle, where he managed to keep the beat.
“It is like your mortal television,” Charumati explained. “A never-ending serial of delights. It is how I found your father, Sheetal.”
Minal might be charmed by all this—and by Padmini—and Charumati might be used to it, but right now, Sheetal just wanted something ugly and plastic. All this beauty was overwhelming in its richness, like eating three bowls of chocolate mousse in one sitting.
Like Dad had done that one winter when she’d dared him. He’d claimed he couldn’t even look at chocolate for months after, though that didn’t stop him from sneaking bites of the brownies she baked. Sheetal missed him so fiercely, she couldn’t breathe.
Charumati had been there, too. So had Minal.
“Do you remember,” Sheetal whispered, ducking away from the mirror-gazing stars, “that New Year’s Eve when we made chocolate mousse and went out to watch the fireworks, and after, Minal was our emcee, and I sang while you and Dad danced in the snow?”
They’d been, what, seven? Dad had dipped Charumati and done an exaggerated tango until both Sheetal and Minal were in stitches on the icy grass. At Minal’s urging, Sheetal had sung wilder and wilder songs, until she finished with a slow one. Dad had pulled Charumati to him, swaying to the melody, and they’d gazed into each other’s eyes as if no one else existed, then and always.
“Of course I do.” Charumati’
s eyes shone like twin moons. “That is one of my most treasured of our memories together. Minal suggested such entertaining songs.”
“That was so fun,” Minal said. She stepped away from Padmini and the mirror to stand by Sheetal, who glimmered happily. “I kept trying to find a song that would stump you, but you were all in.”
“You were always such a wonderful singer, my dikri,” her mother said. “So full of joy.”
Sheetal started to thank her until she noticed the trio of stars had abandoned their mirror and were shamelessly eavesdropping. “How do I do this?” she asked instead.
Charumati gestured to the nearest wall. “Gaze into a mirror and think of your papa. Any one will do.”
“Look,” Minal said, staring at an oval one, “there’s my mom!”
Padmini hurried over to see. “I have always been curious about mortals. What is that box? Some sort of storage compartment?”
Minal laughed. “I guess you wouldn’t need washing machines here, would you? Well, our clothes get gross from being worn, and thanks to modern technology, we don’t have to kneel by the river to scrub them clean anymore.”
“Fascinating! So this ‘washing machine’ cleans your clothing for you? But without hands?”
“If you think that’s great,” said Minal, her elbow brushing Padmini’s, “wait till I tell you about dishwashers.”
Padmini nodded, but she was gazing at Minal, not the mirror. “Do tell.”
If it had just been them, Sheetal could have gotten started, but the strangers were still staring. She looked pointedly at her mother, who nodded and whispered something in Padmini’s ear.
Sheetal closed her eyes and inhaled until she’d shut everything out. When she looked again, the hall was empty except for Minal and Charumati.
She could deal with that. She picked a relatively private rectangular mirror and faced it. Dad, she thought, frantic, hot as silver fire. Show me Dad.
The mirror responded, her convulsing chin and overbright eyes resolving into a picture of a hospital room.
There he was, in that poisoned-apple coma, the briar patch of machines all around his bed, their thorn-needles in his arm. He’d turned ashen under the fluorescent lights, a doll, a mannequin, all emotion washed away.
Sheetal bit back a rush of grief. Dev’s words haunted her. She’d done that. If she’d just listened to Dad and never gone to Dev’s house that day . . . I’m so sorry, Daddy.
If he heard her, she couldn’t know. She watched him, humming refrains from songs he loved.
At least, at least, at least, she told herself, thinking of Nana’s promise, he didn’t look any worse.
Radhikafoi appeared in the frame. She rubbed her tired eyes before sitting down next to the bed. “It’s almost Sheetal’s birthday, Deepak. What if she doesn’t come back to us?”
Deepakfua pulled up a chair beside her. “Why wouldn’t she? We’re her family.”
Radhikafoi made a dismissive click with her tongue. “She should be home with us. Whatever happens to Gautam, we should be together.”
Sheetal’s chest squeezed. For once, she agreed with her auntie.
“She was always going to go,” Deepakfua said. “I know you want to protect her, but you can’t shield her from who she is.”
“I can’t protect anyone,” Radhikafoi said, and her laugh was bitter as the karela she loved to cook.
Deepakfua put his arm around her. “You need to trust her. She’s a smart girl.”
Radhikafoi sighed. “Of course she is. But a girl still needs her mother. I should never have let Charumati leave without her.”
“Radhika jaan, the weight of the world cannot sit on your shoulders. Let people make their own mistakes.” Deepakfua’s expression turned wry. “They’re going to do that anyway.”
“But this shouldn’t be her responsibility! She’s just a child.” Radhikafoi took Dad’s hand. “What are we going to do if she fails—”
Sheetal couldn’t stand to watch anymore. She pressed her knuckles to her eyes. The starry melody resounded in her ears, her heart.
Her auntie was right. Winning had seemed a tiny bit possible when Nani had spun her that fantasy, embellishing it with grand stories and even grander speeches, but who was Sheetal kidding? She was going to fall flat on her face and blow her one chance to help Dad.
When she looked again, all she saw was her own reflection gazing out of thousands of mirrors, accusing. Her eyes burned, but she wouldn’t cry. Not here.
She turned to find Charumati and Minal standing behind her. They’d obviously seen the whole vision. Charumati’s mouth had crimped into an odd cross between a smile and a frown.
It was petty, but Sheetal hoped her mother did feel bad. She’d left them. And now Dad might die, and Sheetal was stuck in this competition she’d never asked for because of it.
A girl needed her mother. Sheetal never would have burned anyone if Charumati had stuck around to teach her how to control her fire. Her mother had watched her all that time and let her struggle. Did she not care?
Minal rested her chin on Sheetal’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to Auntie, Sheetu. She’s just scared. You can do this.”
“Yeah, well, so am I,” Sheetal said. She pretended she didn’t notice Charumati’s silence.
16
When Sheetal emerged from the Hall of Mirrors, Padmini stood waiting in the corridor, as lovely as any of the statues surrounding her. The illusion shattered when she flipped one page, then the next, in the historical romance novel she was tearing through, her mouth rounded with fascination.
Only one person could have given her that book, and Sheetal signaled for that person to distract Charumati. Once Minal and her mother had started chatting a few feet away, Sheetal nudged Padmini, making her start in surprise. “Come with me?”
Padmini had to help her. Sheetal couldn’t do this. Even Radhikafoi didn’t believe in her. This whole competition was a joke, and if she didn’t get out of here in time, Dad would be the punch line.
“Certainly, Charumati. I apologize for my inattention, but I must confess I find myself unable to set this tome down for even a moment!” Padmini sneaked a wistful glance at the book before marking her place with her finger.
“I’m not Charumati?” Sheetal pointed out, not sure how to feel about that.
Padmini studied her more closely, visibly perplexed, then laughed. “Oh, my apologies, Sheetal. With your hair about your face like that, I mistook you for your mother.”
Sheetal flicked her starry hair over her shoulders and out of the way before urging Padmini farther down the hall. “Look,” she said, hoping her desperation didn’t sound as gross as it felt, “I don’t know how much you heard about all of this, but my dad needs me. If you’d just give me a drop of your blood, I could go heal him right now.”
Padmini’s smile, though striking, was less open and more practiced than it had been with Minal. Now it disappeared completely. Before she lowered her gaze, Sheetal glimpsed a mix of alarm and pity there. “I am sorry, Sheetal, truly, but I am afraid this is a request I cannot grant.”
“But why?” Sheetal pressed. “It’s just a drop.” Padmini didn’t answer. “I’ll pay you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Want more romance novels? I’ll get them from Earth. Just help me. Please.”
She didn’t even care that she was begging.
Padmini sighed softly. “It is not that.”
“Then what?” Sheetal glanced over her shoulder. Any minute now, Charumati would catch up to her. She couldn’t risk her mother overhearing them.
“I cannot.” Padmini raised her head, and her silver-brown eyes had cleared. Whatever she felt was bound up tightly, far from the strains of starsong. “Please do not ask me again.”
Feeling like a bully, Sheetal advanced on her. “Why not, though? Tell me, or I’ll go to her myself.”
When Padmini spoke, it was between gritted teeth. “The Esteemed Matriarch forbade it the night you arrived.”
Bloo
d roared in Sheetal’s ears. “She did what? I don’t believe you.”
“Our song tells us so,” Padmini said. “Feel it for yourself.”
Sheetal let the starsong wrap around her, searching for the threads that led back to Nani. When she thought of taking Padmini’s blood, a no boomed in her chest. No star in their nakshatra was to shed the blood of any other star for any reason. The mere idea of disobeying made her feel ill.
She flung herself out of the song before it could entrap her any further.
“You see?” Padmini looked sad. “You must heed the decree of the Esteemed Matriarch and Patriarch. They know things we cannot.”
She paused, then asked in a brighter tone, “Now that that is settled, would you care for some lunch?”
Sheetal was shaking. How could her own grandmother do this to her? How could her mother let Nani do it?
It was a safeguard, of course. They didn’t trust her. And they were right not to, not that she’d tell them that.
She mumbled something to Padmini about eating in her room and fled. Her hands weren’t just tingling, they were on fire. Twinkling. Sparkling. Flashing.
Not again. No, no, no.
Trapped. She was trapped. The walls were getting smaller, or she was fading, or . . .
Through the haze of terror, she realized what was happening. Panic attack.
The champions’ quarters weren’t far from the common room, but they might as well have been a universe apart. It felt like she ran into every single star in her constellation on the way, and some just had to stop to ask her questions or wish her well. A couple even tried to give her advice from previous challengers. All of it evanesced into background noise.
Somehow, even though darkness had infiltrated her chest, even though she was sure her mind was cracking in half, Sheetal managed to smile. To hold herself tightly tucked in so she didn’t spill out everywhere. She didn’t know what she actually said to all those people—they blurred into one big smear of starlight—but the astral music chimed merrily, a million bright bells, so it must have been okay.
An eon later, she toppled over the threshold to her room and closed the door behind her. Then she sagged onto the newly made-up cloud mattress. The determination that had sustained her since she’d left home ruptured, leaving her empty.
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