Rati tossed her head, making the jewels in her hair flash. “You still cannot prove it was my doing, if indeed it ever even happened. Anyone might give a hapless mortal blood.”
Especially one as desperate as Jeet. Sheetal saw Dev’s despairing face, felt his inconsolable heart, all over again. How could Rati do that to anyone?
“And stealing the marionettes to frame our champion?” The condescension in Nani’s question could have shamed a statue. “You truly believed that would work?”
Now Sheetal just saw red, the scarlet of her human blood. Why had Rati even bothered to offer that bargain if she was just going to frame her anyway?
“Again, you can prove nothing.” Rati yawned. “Are we through chasing daydreams, or can we get to the point? Tell the truth, stand down from the competition, and I will spare you.”
“Ah, but you were not my only friend in your house,” Charumati said coolly, “or the only one to find in me a sympathetic ear. We have all the witnesses to your blood feeding we need; it would seem some in the Revati nakshatra fear the consequences of your embittered scheming.”
If Rati realized she’d been cornered, she hid it really well, only letting her skepticism show. Sheetal had to give her props for that; in Rati’s place, she’d be a puddle on the floor by now. “If you expect me to grovel, I am afraid you will be grievously disappointed.”
“Be that as it may,” Charumati continued, calm as if surrounded by a pond full of moonlight lotuses, “I will never permit you to harm my daughter in your desire to settle old scores.”
“It looks as though we find ourselves at a stalemate,” Nani said. “Should you attempt to expose us, be assured we will return the favor. That is, if your rash dosing of the mortal does not expose you in the meantime. Others, if they have not yet noticed his malaise, may still.”
Rati gripped the edge of the table, and both the table and the starsong vibrated with her wrath. “You truly believe you can do whatever you want, do you not? Step on whomever you wish to achieve your draconian aims?”
“Rati—” Charumati began.
“You are both monstrous. I rue the day I called you friend.” Rati collected herself with a visible effort. “Whatever you think of me, at least have the courtesy to remove your false champion from the running. You have taken everything else.”
“Perhaps you should see to your own champion? The competition will begin shortly,” Nani suggested, her voice mild.
“No?” Rati’s gaze sharpened, and her mouth became like the curve of a scimitar. “Well, then. I will tell her—and the court—myself. May the best house win.”
Her eyes shining with tears, Charumati took Rati’s hand. “Do not do this, old friend. I never meant for you to struggle so after I left, and I will always regret not returning sooner for you. That was my mistake.”
“Yes, it was,” Rati snapped, shoving her away. “You abandoned me without a single glance backward!”
As she glided to the door, she locked stares with Sheetal, and instead of the derision Sheetal would’ve expected, all she saw was pity. “No portion of this is on your conscience, and yet you must live with the consequences.”
Then Rati was gone.
Sheetal worked to gather herself. Wow. That was a lot. She focused on the most immediate thing. “Nani, if you knew about Jeet, how could you just let her get away with it?”
Nani regarded her uncomprehendingly. “What would you have me do, beti? He is not our responsibility. House Revati should have acted as better stewards.”
“But don’t you care about him? Can’t we do something?”
“It is revolting, it is unkind, and it will likely end badly for the mortal, but do not trouble yourself with him,” Nani said. “Blood or no blood, he cannot match the song in your heart. And once House Revati’s challenge to our authority has failed, Rati will have no option but to back down.”
She sounded like Charumati, spinning her plan for awakening mortals. “Mom,” Sheetal protested, “you can’t just ignore this.”
“Your nani is right,” Charumati said, though her expression was troubled. “We may not interfere. The best thing we can do right now is attend to the competition.”
Sheetal couldn’t believe her ears. Jeet was a person. How didn’t they get that?
How were these the same shimmering beings from the cosmic dance? The ones who knew their link to the rest of the universe and everything in it?
Maybe you should ask your grandmother what she really thinks of half-stars.
The words raced out of her at light speed. “You can’t hurt Kaushal just because he used to be a half-star like me.”
“Oh, beti, I would not waste our precious preparation time on the past—”
“No.” The syllable echoed in the confines of the room. “Tell me. I need to know he’ll be safe.”
“I have no intention of seeing him otherwise.” Nani frowned. “Rati seeks to stir up trouble wherever she goes. You must not listen to one such as that.” She rose. “It is time for your blessing.”
“But what happened to Ojasvini? What’s the truth Rati kept talking about?”
Nani lifted her chin. “It is in the past, and that is all you need to know.”
“Nani!” Sheetal all but screamed. “I’m about to go out there and win a competition for our house. The least you can do is answer me. Why isn’t she here?”
The furrow in Nani’s forehead deepened. “Not. Now.” Pinching her nose, she closed her eyes.
“Let it be,” Charumati whispered. “We will discuss it all later. I promise.”
Everything Sheetal had been holding back, all her anger and disappointment and anguish, collided like a flint against the steel of the starsong. Sparks caught and spread, igniting years’ worth of loneliness and shame, until she combusted, her heart a raging conflagration of fury.
She’d had it with being pushed around like a chess piece, with almost everybody in her life deciding what was right, what she should know and what she should do.
The silver luminosity of the stars streamed through her, lighting up all the shadowed places and demanding she direct it outward.
No. Not yet.
Keeping it in check, keeping herself veiled in the astral melody, was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she did it.
She had to save Dad first.
The door to the suite opened, and a string of bells chimed. A mix of pride and affection relaxed Nani’s elegant visage. Padmini, Beena, and Minal all stood in a line, each holding a silver bell. Behind them, though, Nana had three. “Come,” he said. “It is time.” He handed Nani and Charumati the extra bells.
“Already?” Nerves writhed to life in Sheetal’s belly, joining the anger boiling there.
Padmini and Beena rang their bells, pressed their palms together before their faces, and stepped aside.
“May you burn bold in the deepest night,” Nani said, ringing her bell, and knelt to touch Sheetal’s feet.
“May you burn bold in the deepest night,” Nana said, ringing his bell, and repeated the gesture.
“May you burn bold, my daughter, whatever meets you,” Charumati said, ringing her bell, and kissed Sheetal’s forehead.
Minal rang her bell, then hugged Sheetal. “Showtime. Knock ’em dead.”
Nani collected the bells and, swift as rays of light from the sun, strung them on a garland, which Nana then hung over the door. “Victory to our champion! Victory to our daughter!”
As mad as she was, Sheetal still felt their love like the crystalline butterflies that even now opened and closed their wings in her hair.
She drew on that, collecting her disappointment, her compassion, her hope and immolating them all in the fire of her fury. “Let’s do this.”
29
Unseen bansuris played, their lilting call summoning the court to attention.
As one, the various members of the twenty-seven houses rose to receive their rulers, their arms lifted in greeting as if casting a spell. A sea
of many stars, cresting through the grand court. Not a trace of the blue lighting remained, and the buffet, too, had been cleared away, as if Sheetal’s brief celebration had never been. Even the garden was gone.
The fifty-two Esteemed Matriarchs and Patriarchs who hadn’t attended the ball now swept onto the sickle-shaped stage, clad in black finery threaded through with silver and iridescent blue that flashed like a jewel beetle’s wings in flight. Each of them wore a circlet of stars reminiscent of Charumati’s and Nani’s, reminiscent of the one Sheetal would receive just hours from now.
So these were the leaders of the twenty-seven nakshatras, she thought, as she stood before their stage. They were magnificent. They were frightening.
She tried not to feel uneasy, tried not to notice her grandparents among them, and failed miserably.
“Be seated,” the matriarch of House Dhanishta commanded, and the audience sat. The other Esteemed followed, claiming their places in the semicircle of thrones looking down on a large oval pool, which definitely hadn’t been there before.
“Good. Let us begin,” the ancient patriarch of House Dhanishta said. “Competing houses, lead your champions and their companions to the viewing pool. Escorts, you may follow.”
Sheetal stared up at him. Here was the star who would soon relinquish his throne to become a supernova and ultimately a black hole.
She accompanied Minal and Charumati to the viewing pool. On one side, across from the semicircle of the Esteemed, five tents containing black-and-silver tables and blue upholstered chairs had been lined up in a row, with the respective nakshatra’s banner hanging over each tent. A platform stood before them, waiting for the champions. On the other side was the judges’ long table, unoccupied.
“The judges are already in their places,” Charumati explained. “Simply hidden.”
The whole thing felt like a faux-medieval feast. Sheetal worried a loose thread on her sari. Normally, she would be in the audience, not getting ready to be skewered as the entertainment.
There was still time to run away. . . .
No, she told herself, holding Dad’s face in her mind. No, there wasn’t.
The champions, companions, and attendants of the other competing houses took their seats. Leela and Kirti rested quietly between Leela’s patrons, hands folded in their laps, while in contrast, clouds of nervous energy wafted from Priyanka’s and Sachin’s sections. The two of them glared at each other, and Jürgen’s lips pinched in disapproval. They all wore candy colors—pumpkin orange, berry pink, and emerald green—that only made Sheetal even more uncomfortably aware just how much she looked like a star in her own clothes.
The looks Priyanka and Sachin directed her way burned with scorn, as if they knew what she was thinking and couldn’t agree more. Sheetal averted her gaze. Good thing Priyanka didn’t know she’d seen her in Jeet’s room.
Meanwhile, Jeet, in a gray kurta that made his sallow skin look even sicklier, exchanged heated whispers with Rati.
The schadenfreude Sheetal felt at that probably made her a bad person. Oh, well. She was sorry for Jeet, but she also kind of hoped they were fighting, too.
Dev, who was sitting as far from Rati and his cousin as he could, caught her eye and held it. Like a star, he wore black and silver, and like a star, he enthralled. Her stomach took a dive, stage fright and anticipation all tangled up in a ball. Oh, gods, he was going to hear her sing. Oh, gods!
What if she choked like during rehearsal?
She remembered again how he’d said he wished he could make Jeet quit. She wished that, too. She wished she could make them all quit.
The Esteemed Matriarch of the Dhanishta nakshatra smiled, a munificent turn of her mouth framed by deep wrinkles. “You may proceed.” The supporting Esteemed Matriarchs and Patriarchs then raised their arms, awash in starlight.
The viewing pool began to glimmer. A picture appeared within its illuminated depths before being projected into the air. It depicted the platform that had been set up near the pool and all the champions gathered around, like some kind of futuristic hologram.
The Esteemed Patriarch lifted a hand, dispersing the enchantment cloaking the long table and revealing the panel of judges.
As the Patriarch of House Dhanishta named them, each one rose: five stars from nakshatras not in the competition and one middle-aged human man who described himself as an art history professor. “Wow me,” he said. “Technique and craft have their place, but what I really want is emotion. Move me. Make me feel.”
Nana had told Sheetal the mortal judge would be ensorcelled to believe this night was just a detailed dream, but his vote remained vital. She shivered. What if her talent wasn’t enough?
These last few days hadn’t wholly felt real. There had been so many preparations, so many distractions keeping her occupied. But now the truth assailed her: The competition really was happening. She really had to win it—on a measly two days’ training—to save Dad’s life.
Suddenly it was like she was standing by his bed again, smelling the air of the ICU, hearing the feeble beat of his pulse. Dad. Oh, Dad.
The ruling Esteemed Matriarch clapped loudly, and the court hushed. “A reminder: Each champion will be allowed one hour to complete their work. During that time, they must not be disturbed for any reason. You are welcome to show your support, but do so silently.”
“And now,” announced the ruling Esteemed Patriarch, “for the main event!” He reached into the silver bowl on the stand between his throne and that of the Esteemed Matriarch and plucked out a black slip of paper.
Sheetal held her breath. Please let it be her. She was going to die of nerves.
“Please welcome our first champion, Priyanka Chauhan of House Magha. She will perform a puppet show using marionettes she crafted herself.”
At the platform, Priyanka held out her arms and cracked her knuckles. She shot Sachin another lethal glance over her shoulder. Sheetal frowned. What was going on there?
One of Priyanka’s attendants set down a painted wooden stage that came up to her waist. As before, the viewing pool projected a magnified version of the scene into the air. Another star from her coterie stood before her, fingers uncurling.
Light vaulted from that star’s hands into Priyanka, rendering her brilliant. Her eyes glowed like moonlit lakes, and with a theatrical flourish, she opened the red velvet curtains, then knelt behind the stage so only her puppets could be seen. There were two, a princess and her shape-shifting tiger consort. Somehow Priyanka had rigged the puppet so that with a simple flick of her wrist, the consort’s long tunic flipped up to bare the tiger beneath and actually became the animal’s striped skin.
Sheetal hadn’t really done more than glance at the marionettes when they were in her room, but now it was obvious why Priyanka had panicked after they’d gone missing. They were unsettlingly sophisticated, able to convey degrees of emotion and mood with the subtlest movements, and Priyanka’s control over them made Sheetal’s breath catch. Her chaotic thoughts—it would be her turn soon, oh, gods, it would be her turn soon, what if she couldn’t do it, what if she couldn’t do it what would she do oh gods—slowed as she found herself sucked into the world Priyanka and her puppets created.
The princess, a fierce lady who carried her kingdom in her knapsack to safeguard it from a sinister sorcerer, roamed the land with her consort in search of injustice. Each day, the pair would rescue a village or do away with a ruthless employer or just make certain everyone had enough to eat.
They encountered thieves, immoral landlords, even cruel schoolmasters, and vanquished them all. But the biggest threat to the kingdom, the greedy sorcerer, still lurked just out of sight.
“Funny,” growled the tiger. “They say the pen is mightier than the sword, but when it comes to getting things done, there’s a lot to be said for a sharp blade and a good set of claws.”
The princess hefted her sword. “You have to address people in the language they speak.”
At the end of each da
y, the duo set down the kingdom, unfolding it like a board game, to enjoy a repast with the royal family, ramble through the rose gardens, and sleep soundly in their silken palace bed.
When the tiger fell victim to the sorcerer’s poison, obliging the princess to trade her kingdom to the sorcerer in exchange for a healing spell, the court wept. When she later tricked him into returning the kingdom, the court cheered. When the now-hale tiger slashed the sorcerer into gory strips, at last liberating the kingdom from his tyranny, the court roared.
Using nothing but dialogue and well-timed gestures, Priyanka had compelled the entire starry court to care about the fates of a pair of inanimate wooden puppets. The whole audience gave her a standing ovation.
While her attendant removed the stage, Priyanka and her puppets took deep bows. A proud smile wreathed her face. She would be hard to beat, and she knew it.
“That was amazing,” Minal whispered.
“Yeah.” Sheetal had to compete with that?
As the judges scribbled notes in the ten-minute break, she glanced at Jeet. He’d affected an apathetic expression, and even Dev was glowering at him.
She looked over to catch her mother eyeing Rati. Rati inclined her head and stared back.
The break ended, and the Esteemed Matriarch selected the next name. “Please welcome our second champion, Leela Swaminathan of House Krittika. She will paint the loss of innocence.”
One attendant set up her watercolor palette, canvas, and brushes on the platform, while the other inspired her, the act as simple and unpretentious as Leela herself. Stardust ringed her like a corona, and Leela seated herself at her easel and chanted a short mantra to Sarasvati Devi, goddess of speech and knowledge and patroness of the arts.
Then, her back to the audience, she began to paint.
The stars were enraptured, drinking in every brushstroke. Even Minal watched with fascination. To Sheetal, however, it was torture, even with the time-lapse magic that allowed each artist to complete a new work within their allotted hour. All she could think of was her own performance and the drop of blood Nani had waiting, and of the post-competition coronation with her starry circlet, when she would become a full star.
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