Star Daughter

by Shveta Thakrar

  “Did you know Padmini designs all the fabrics for your nakshatra?” Minal gushed. “She spun this floss out of night winds.”

  “Very cool,” Sheetal agreed. “So what’re you making?”

  “We are working up to a peacock feather,” Padmini explained.

  Sheetal stared suspiciously at the tangled lumps of floss on Minal’s square. They looked nothing like the feather on Padmini’s. “Right,” she fibbed. “I totally see it.”

  Padmini winked, letting her fingers graze Minal’s under the guise of smoothing out her fabric square. “Everyone must start somewhere. I am certain your next attempt will show great improvement.”

  “Oh, for sure,” Minal said, though she looked sheepishly at her mess of lumps. “Why stop at one feather? We can do a whole peacock next time.”

  “It is good to have dreams, or so your mortal television claims,” Padmini teased. She bopped Minal on the nose, then got up and excused herself. “Sheetal, do not forget your next session is a rehearsal period.”

  The second she was gone, Sheetal nudged Minal with her shoulder. “A palace full of amazing things to explore, and you thought, ‘I’ll just take up embroidery, a thing I hate with the passion of a thousand suns, today.’”

  “Hey,” Minal protested, “I have to keep myself busy somehow.”

  “Please. I saw that wink.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Minal ran a finger over her mutilated feather, all studied innocence. “I’m just gathering intel for you.”

  “Such a noble sacrifice you’re making on my part. I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that she’s beautiful.”

  “Is she?” Minal’s eyes brimmed with mischief. “I hadn’t noticed. Funny that you think so, though.”

  Sheetal screwed up her face in disbelief. “Out with it. What’s going on with you?”

  “Okay, fine.” Minal danced in her chair. “We’ve been talking every chance we get. She’s so pretty and smart and nice and loves fashion. I’ve been showing her some of my designs on my phone.” She slowed just enough to take a breath. “She’s a really good sister, too. I think there’s this part of her that wants to be this secret rebel—you’d never guess from the way she follows the rules—but she has to look out for her brother, so she hides it.”

  Sheetal laughed. She’d never seen Minal like this. “I knew you had it bad, but . . .”

  “I know, I know, but Sheetu, she took me to this orchard under the stars!” Minal’s voice grew dreamy. “It was all glowy, and we sat under a tree and ate blue mangoes.”

  “And?”

  “There might have been some kissing. . . .” Minal craned her neck to stare up at the heavens. “I really like her. Like, a lot. And she likes me, too.”

  Minal almost sparkled, she was so happy. It was another reason Sheetal had to stay and see things through. “She’d be stupid not to.”

  And if she was being honest, her heart pointed out, she had a third reason, too: she really wanted Dev to hear her sing.

  She’d kept that private for so long. The thought that she didn’t have to anymore, that he would actually hear what she could do, that it was his turn to be enchanted while her voice soared and dipped as it cast a starry spell, sent bubbles through her blood. The thought of his eyes on her, awed, was like a balloon rising inside her, getting lighter and lighter. Filling her with a rush of giddiness.

  Except then the balloon popped. It was too late, like everything. They were pretty much broken up, and anyway, what if the only reason he had ever cared about her voice—about her—was because he knew she was part star?

  She couldn’t let herself brood about that anymore. It hurt too much.

  “I don’t know what to do about Rati, but I can prove I didn’t take those puppets. We have to find who did. They’ve got to be in someone’s room, right?” she asked. “I mean, unless a star hid them, but let’s pretend that’s not an option for now.”

  She really hoped it wasn’t—any of the delegates from the convocation had enough reason to do it, and she’d never know.

  “And it’s not like I was just wasting time learning how to sew feathers.” A grin spread across Minal’s face, making her blue eye shadow shimmer. “Padmini might have let slip that she knows where the spare keys to all the champions’ rooms are. . . .”

  “Excellent.” Sheetal steepled her fingers and cackled like a supervillain. Hadn’t Minal said Padmini secretly wanted to rebel? “So I just have to convince her to get them for us.”

  Minal waggled her perfectly plucked eyebrows. “I always wanted to be a spy.”

  23

  Just like Sheetal had arranged, Padmini came to get her two seconds after Minal and she had sat down in the dining hall. Padmini didn’t have to pretend to be irritated; she’d barely agreed to the scheme to begin with. “Do not tell me you forgot your fitting with the tailors? They were kind enough to make time for you, and yet you keep them waiting. Come!”

  Sheetal made an aggravated noise that wasn’t exactly fake, either. After three hours of vocal and dilruba practice that left every part of her body aching and another half hour persuading a skittish Padmini to help, she could have gobbled up every plate the servers were bringing out now. So to smell the bouquet of aromas—the rich, savory spices; the promise of creamy, flavorful lentils and fried puri; the delicate scent of nine-vegetable biryani studded with cashews and sultanas—and have to leave it all behind? Her stomach cramped in mutiny.

  Sachin and Priyanka snickered with Sachin’s companion, obviously loving their front-row seats to the Sheetal-getting-scolded show. Jeet, however, still looked out of it, and Leela and her companion politely disregarded the whole spectacle.

  Dev wasn’t anywhere in sight, and Sheetal couldn’t be more grateful.

  “But we didn’t get to eat yet—” Minal whined, laying it on a little thick.

  “There is no time,” Padmini cut in. “Let us go.”

  In case any stars were tuning in to the sidereal song, Sheetal played up her exasperation. She let a few nerves ring out, too. Let them think she was intimidated. “Ugh, fine.”

  She glanced back at the feast set out before the other champions, then followed Padmini to the exit.

  “Remember,” Padmini said, “we are only going there to be seen. Answer their questions, but avoid being drawn into deep conversation.” She held herself tensely, and Sheetal wondered if she might still back out. “When I return from the storage room with the keys, follow my lead.”

  The next few minutes were a blur as Padmini rushed them through the ornamented halls. At first, Sheetal avoided meeting the eyes of the stars they passed. What if she gave herself away? Or worse, what if she already had?

  But Padmini took full advantage of being on display, waxing lyrical about potential style concepts and the availability of specialty silks until no one could possibly mistake where they were going. She was much better at subterfuge than Sheetal would’ve guessed, and she even seemed to be enjoying it.

  They reached the tailors’ atelier. It was like the fabric stall at the Night Market, but on a much grander scale and fully in the stars’ trichromatic palette. Saris hung from ceiling racks like Persian carpets, gleaming and glittering; silver looms whirred in midweave, strung with ropes of cloud and moonbeam; tables sat laden with scrolls displaying various patterns and design sketches. An open closet overflowed with loops of silver, blue, and black embroidery floss. Stars of all genders bustled about, nattering as they went.

  This was where Padmini worked? Sheetal wanted to climb right into the bins and bury her face in the fairy-tale fabrics. Next to her, Minal looked like she might explode with glee.

  Padmini led them right into a conversation about the stars’ lives, the people they knew, their worries about being able to finish all the outfits for Nani and her family in time for the ball tomorrow, their excitement for the competition. She casually mentioned how well Sheetal had been honing her abilities and assured the others their preparations were pr
oceeding right on schedule.

  It felt cozy, the sidereal song reflecting the warm, comfortable atmosphere, and even though this whole visit was just a ruse, Sheetal couldn’t help feeling regretful for the parallel universe where this would have been her life.

  “While we are on the subject of schedules, I do need to hunt out those textiles I spoke of.” Padmini slipped away, leaving Sheetal and Minal to it.

  Some of the tailors were wary and kept their distance, but others, like Beena from the library, twinkled with anticipation. “I cannot believe we have such an opportunity! Oh, Sheetal, you will shine like the princess you are at the ball.”

  “Sure!” said Sheetal, confused. What was Beena doing here?

  But she set that aside and imagined Dev seeing her all dressed up, let her delight at sorting through the clothes for the ball pervade the astral melody. An alibi should be thorough, right?

  Oops. She cringed. She’d let some of how she felt about Dev seep through, too. No need to be that thorough.

  Next to her, Minal asked questions about the different fabrics and fielded queries about her makeup, so soon Beena and her friends surrounded her.

  And Sheetal was on the outside again. She felt a pang of envy. How was Minal always so good at this stuff?

  Padmini finally reappeared, swaying under the weight of a mountain of tidily folded fabrics. “I am certain many of these will be to your liking.”

  The keys. Sheetal relaxed slightly. She got them. “I’m sure, too.”

  “Here, let me help you with those.” Ignoring her protests, Minal plucked half the hoard right from Padmini’s arms.

  “We should go look at them right now,” Sheetal suggested. She prayed it didn’t sound as artificial to everyone else as it did to her ears. “I can’t wait!”

  But the tailors only wished them a good night as they left the atelier. Minal and Padmini bantered about fashion as they hurried back to the champions’ quarters. Sheetal made sure to smile and nod every so often, like she wasn’t terrified someone would figure out what they were really up to. Or worse, walk in on them doing it.

  Once they arrived, Padmini urged Sheetal and Minal into their room. “I cannot be seen with you after this,” she reminded them. Her gaze darted back and forth before she dropped her stack of fabric on the dresser and produced a ring of keys. “If you get caught, it would put my brother at risk, and I have worked too hard to secure a place in our house.”

  “Trust me, the last thing I want is for Kaushal to get hurt,” Sheetal said, and she meant it completely. The idea that someone would single him out for having once been a half-star like her made her sick.

  Minal piled the rest of the fabric on a chair. “We won’t get caught. But if we do, we’ll take the blame for everything. Please?”

  Padmini hesitated, as if she might still take the keys and run. “Only because I remember how it was for my brother when he came to live among us. The Esteemed Matriarch and Patriarch have been good to us. I must repay that as I can.” Her long silver waves glittered and sparkled as she uncurled her fingers from the ring and held it out.

  Even from where she stood, Sheetal could tell each one was embossed with the symbol of its corresponding nakshatra, just like the doors to the champions’ dorm rooms.

  Instead of taking the key ring, Minal folded her hand over Padmini’s. Murmuring words Sheetal couldn’t hear, she flashed a flirtatious smile.

  Padmini ducked her head, though not before Sheetal saw her grin. She tenderly brushed aside a lock of Minal’s hair and kissed her cheek. “This was fun,” she whispered. “But please be careful.”

  Just gathering intel, huh? Sheetal had never seen Minal with hearts in her eyes like this. It was kind of adorable.

  As Padmini sidled past on her way out, she added quietly, so only Sheetal could hear, “Be mindful of your emotions.”

  Sheetal stared after her. Great. Had she been careless enough that someone besides Padmini had noticed?

  All business again, Minal divided up the keys. “Let’s split up and meet back in our room.”

  Sheetal chose the ones for Houses Magha and Revati. “Knock first, and keep it to five minutes, tops. Ready?”

  It hit her then, what they were about to do—break into other people’s rooms and go through their stuff. She quailed. Dad would never, ever approve of this. Honestly, neither did she.

  But someone was trying to get her thrown out of the competition, and this was the only way to find out what had happened with Priyanka’s marionettes. How did they even know she hadn’t made the whole thing up?

  At Minal’s nod, Sheetal headed into the hallway and knocked on Priyanka’s door. Her heart slammed in her chest. What if she drew too much attention and a star came to investigate—what if Priyanka walked in . . . ?

  Oh, no—had she let that leach into the starsong, too?

  Nana hadn’t told her how much more work it was to keep her feelings tamped down and out of sight when she was under stress. Stress like breaking and entering.

  No one answered her knock, and no footsteps sounded either inside the room or out in the corridor. Palms prickling, Sheetal turned the key in the lock.

  The door swung open to reveal a room like hers, down to the cloud mattresses, except clothes had been strewn all over the floor, along with dishes and cups, and someone had pushed the desk to the center of the room and buried it in tools: a hammer, a pair of needle-nose pliers, miniature bottles of paint, wires, and paintbrushes. In the corner by the bed, Sheetal spied a partially open hard black carrying case, like for instruments, but this one’s red lining held two puppet-shaped gaps.

  Among the mess of wadded-up tissues on the dresser sat a framed photo of an old man with a mustache making a Kathputli puppet dance. That had to be Priyanka’s grandfather. Sympathy Sheetal didn’t want to feel spilled over her. Why did it have to be like this? She didn’t even want the prize!

  Padmini’s warning sounded in her ears, and Sheetal hurried to cull her reaction from the astral melody. That was all she needed: pity for Priyanka, of all people, giving her away.

  Half expecting a starry hand to land on her shoulder at any second, she checked the bathroom, under the beds, and between the sheets. Even Priyanka’s roller suitcase. No puppets.

  At least, she thought, relieved, Priyanka wasn’t lying. She peeked into the hallway to make sure no one was coming, then a second time, before hurrying back out and locking the door behind her.

  Minal had just come out of Leela’s room. Nothing, she mouthed.

  Sheetal shot her a thumbs-up and knocked on Jeet’s door. No answer here, either. After inspecting the hallway in both directions, twice, she inserted the key into the lock.

  Then came the sound she’d been dreading: voices in the distance. Oh, crap.

  As she ripped the key back out, the door opened, and she fell into the room, sprawling painfully over somebody’s foot.

  She rolled onto her back to see Dev crouching down next to her, and his expression was anything but friendly in the light of the dangling star lanterns. The familiar lock of hair tumbled into his dark eyes, and she found herself wishing she could tuck it behind his ear. Wishing she could reach up and cradle his cheek.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his face nearing hers.

  She met his question with a challenge of her own. “Why weren’t you at dinner?”

  “So you broke in?” Dev shook his head. “You’re something else.”

  “Oh, so you think that’s worse than someone trying to frame me for theft?” Sheetal wanted to shake him. To kiss him.

  He reached out a hand, almost brushing her face, and her lips tingled in anticipation of his touch. But then he ran it through his hair instead. “What do you want me to say, Sheetal?”

  She couldn’t let him see how lonely, how stupid she felt, so she scrambled to stand and put some space between them.

  What did she want him to say? That he missed her. That he wanted to kiss her, too.

 
; “You tell me,” Sheetal said finally. She appraised the room. Two backpacks, a duffel bag, and a suitcase sat arranged in the corner, though half-folded clothes spilled from the duffel bag. She could guess whose it was. Neat piles of books, pens, notebooks, and even a tablet with an attached keyboard covered the intricate ebony desk. Nothing suspicious in sight.

  She scooted around the beds and reached for a silver cabinet handle. “Where are the puppets?”

  “Stop that!” Dev said, pulling her away. His hands were warm on her arms, and despite herself, she shivered. “Why are you trying to ruin things between us?” It was almost a plea.

  “Me?” Sheetal cried, outrage kindling the fire at her core. Silver radiance flared through the room. She didn’t care anymore about keeping her voice down. “Why don’t you ask everyone else why they’re ruining things?”

  The door banged open again, and two people appeared in the doorway. “Get down!” Dev hissed.

  Sheetal instinctively threw herself to the floor by the second bed. Crap. Crap, crap, crap! Grabbing the edge of the coverlet, she tugged it down and over herself to hide the glow until she could will it away.

  Luckily, Jeet was too wrapped up in his guest to notice. “Thanks for listening. I really appreciate it.”

  “Thank you for helping look for my marionettes,” Priyanka said, her voice pitched low. “That was really sweet.”

  Then Sheetal heard footsteps as they came into the room, followed by soft smacking sounds. She drew back in disgust. Unfortunately, that made the blanket slide off her face, giving her a perfect view of the action.

  “So what did you think?” The note of hope in Jeet’s voice made him sound younger. He held a black Moleskine notebook. “That story was my first ever pro sale. I wanted it to be a raw look at the exploitation of the working class and the sickness of corporate greed. It’s, like, the monster that lurks in the shadows, you know?”

  If only Sheetal could pull the blanket over her eardrums.

  “Oh, totally!” Priyanka said. “Those themes in it really resonated with me. I felt slapped—but in a good way.” She laughed, all sultry, and tilted her wineglass so the ice-pale liquid sloshed as she leaned into him. “Besides, that bottle of wine you found didn’t hurt, either.”