“But there was nothing to be found. Eshana had waited too long. By the time Ojasvini had located her son, his flame had escaped him and razed the house where he dwelled, taking his foster family and him with it. Though the firmament soon tore at her tattered heart, mandating she return, Ojasvini spurned its many calls. She would not leave without her son, and so, she slowly extinguished.”
Nani drooped all at once, no longer a fearsome matriarch but a sorrowing old woman. Her thread in the starsong frayed just enough to betray her grief before she regained control and raised her head high.
“In her wrath, Eshana petitioned for the gates between the realms to be closed, ending all contact between the starry court and mortals,” Jeet finished.
His vague expression solidified into confusion as he looked down at the audience, then went hollow with horror as Rati came up beside him. “You made me do that!” he rasped, clutching his throat like she’d choked him with a spell. Maybe she had. “I didn’t even finish reading my story.”
“Patience,” Rati said, not bothering to glance at him.
“Your turn is complete,” the ruling Esteemed Patriarch said. “Please vacate the platform.”
“What? No!” Jeet looked like he was about to detonate. Silver light swam under his skin, and his hands shook. “Tell him, Rati! Tell him I’m not done.”
Rati ignored him. “I told you the best house would win.”
Nani simply raised her eyebrows. “Do go on, both of you. I am certain everyone here can appreciate a good show.” To the watching Esteemed, she added, “Surely all of you see how ruthlessly Rati has manipulated her house’s champion, going so far as to feed him her blood. You cannot believe any words she puts into his mouth. She is using this hallowed tradition to further her own agenda.”
The court shimmered with the stars’ sheen, their hair and skin resplendent. All Sheetal could think, her mouth parched, was that Nani was going to get away with it.
Then Charumati rose and crossed the platform until she stood by her parents and Rati. “Jeet speaks true. Now I will offer the coda to his tale.”
Sheetal almost fell out of her chair.
Rati glowed like she’d just won the cosmic lottery.
Nana bent to whisper something, but Charumati shrugged him off. “When my mother returned from the mortal realm,” she said to the court, “only Nana even knew what she had done. Together, they concluded that though heinous in nature, her crime had not been unwarranted, and justice would best be served by closing the door on what had surely been an error born of passion. In return, she agreed to atone.”
She positioned herself opposite Nani. “Yet you did not. You became convinced that separation was the only way to heal the rift created between our peoples, and you have done everything in your power to make it permanent.”
“Was I then wrong?” asked Nani. She motioned to Jeet. “Is this mortal man then not after our blood?”
Jeet crossed his arms and glared at all of them. The tremors running through his body grew stronger as Dev took him aside.
“And these others—do they not seek us only for the glory we might provide them?”
Charumati’s eyes flared with silver flame, and her body blazed, limned in starlight. “You speak of selfish agendas. Yet you would use my daughter to serve your own. Even now, instead of viewing this moment as an opportunity to heal old wounds, you plan again to sever us from humanity altogether. My husband is mortal. My daughter, who stands before you and bears your blood in her veins, is half mortal. And still you would dismiss them as readily, as thoughtlessly, as specks of dirt swept off the floor.”
“What nonsense you speak!” Nani pressed her lips into a line.
“It is far from nonsense,” Rati said. “You care not who you hurt when they stand in the way of furthering your aims.”
The starry melody jangled, sending Sheetal’s already-fried nerves sparking. If she only knew what to say.
“Enough,” boomed Nana. He, too, shone like a torch. “Charumati, you are spoiling your own daughter’s competition.”
“If you cared about my daughter,” Charumati retorted, “you would not have coerced me to return here while she was still a child. You, Father, how you charmed and nagged, alleging I was harming us all by remaining below. You assured me it was for the best.”
A tiny door closed inside Sheetal. He had? Was anyone on her side?
In contrast to the smoldering room, Nani’s fire was controlled, scarcely evident in her face. But Sheetal could sense how she seethed. “Did we prevent you from bringing her along? You chose to leave her behind.”
“So you could turn her against the father who had nothing but love for her? So you could shame her for her heritage until she burned it away in self-loathing?” Charumati laughed, soft but disparaging. “I made many impulsive choices, yet even I knew not to do that.”
Nani sighed noisily, permitting the entire hall to hear her vexation. “And what, exactly, do you think to accomplish by throwing this public tantrum, my child?”
“Mother,” said Charumati, “the time for secrets is past. Humanity is suffering, and it is up to us to heal it.”
“Is that so,” Nani said dryly.
What was her mother doing? She’d told Sheetal she wanted to have enough supporters behind her before putting her plan into gear. Confronting Nani in public like this was only going to make her dig her heels in even deeper.
“It would appear there has been some turmoil in the House of Pushya,” said the Esteemed Patriarch of House Dhanishta, a sardonic cast to his mouth. “Perhaps you should consider withdrawing from the competition and tending to your internal affairs elsewhere? We do have a competition to complete.”
Nani joined her palms before her face. “My deepest apologies, House Dhanishta. We will not disturb the proceedings again.”
Did Nani even realize she was in the wrong? Had anything Charumati said hit home?
Just as Sheetal had opened her heart to Dev’s, she now opened it to this woman’s. Her grandmother’s.
And then she heard it, a small but singular strain of notes in the starsong: guilt.
Nani felt guilty. The fulfillment she’d taken in her momentary act of vengeance had rotted into regret and self-recrimination. Sheetal only glimpsed it for a second, but that was all she needed. Nani had built an entire worldview to justify a mistake she had made long ago.
Not caring if it got her kicked out of the competition, Sheetal stalked to her grandmother’s side. “Nani, did you really hate that guy so much that you’d rather throw away your sister’s child than raise him to be yours?”
“He nearly murdered Ojasvini.” Nani stood proud and tall. “If I had not found her when I did, he would have.”
“But the baby would have grown into one of us. He didn’t need to know his father.”
Nani shook her head. “Not with that taint in his blood.”
“‘Taint’?” The word stung Sheetal’s lips, her heart, like a toxin. “Do you think I’m tainted?”
“Of course not. You are mine.”
Mine. “You think I’m just going to forget all about Dad if you keep me up here long enough, don’t you?”
Nani’s voice was compassionate yet resolute. “Naturally you will not forget him, Sheetal. But he will age and pass on, and you will remain. Do you not feel the changes occurring in you even as we speak? You will never be truly content among mortals. Your heart belongs with us, as do you.”
“So it’s okay to trap me here?” Sheetal bit out. “To ban anyone from giving me blood to help him, so I have to stay and win this competition for you? What kind of love is that?”
That at least must have rattled Nani, because she stepped backward.
Charumati gave Sheetal a significant look. “You see?” she asked. “Look how the ripples of one malignant mortal’s actions have corrupted our court. You should never be made to choose. You deserve to move freely between the realms, as we all once did.”
The air an
d astral melody both juddered under the weight of disgusted protest. Sheetal heard the term “mortal lover” scornfully tossed around more than once. The invisible arrows impaled her, one after another, leaving her smarting. How many of these people, her people, agreed with Nani’s stance?
But hesitant tendrils of curiosity were sprouting, too, Urjit’s among them. Sheetal found his strain in the sidereal song and felt her shoulders drop. At least she’d gotten through to him.
“Did you know that upon my return to the court, I beseeched Rati’s parents to reinstate her title? They rebuffed me. They find her too embittered, too acrimonious.” Charumati dabbed at her eyes. “We cannot remain like this. Let us look forward, to redeeming humanity and preventing future suffering.”
Kaushal materialized at her side as if he’d just been waiting for the chance. “I will help. In fact, I volunteer to resume my life among the mortals as part of the delegation to wake them.”
Padmini’s wail carried through the crowd. She raced to the platform, pursued by Minal. “No!”
“No,” Minal agreed. “I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. This counts as anything.”
“Patience, Kaushal,” Charumati chided gently. She addressed the audience. “The truth, which so many of us wish not to acknowledge, is this: We cannot cut ourselves off from mortals. We thrive by coexisting with them. It is our duty to see them thrive and improve as well.” She pointed to Jeet. “It is our duty to inspire them to be better.”
“Let us inspire him right now!” Kaushal suggested. “It will mean more if we can demonstrate our plan.”
Dev frowned, dubious. “I’d say that didn’t really work out the first time.”
Sheetal remembered his plea for Jeet to turn back into the person he had been. “Dev,” she whispered, knowing it was a risk, “what if we could fix Jeet? Make him better? Would you want me to try?”
Jeet laughed cynically. “You think you know what better is?”
Even when they’d fought, Dev had never looked at her like this, like she was her own evil twin. “You mean, mess with him like Rati did? Hard pass, thanks.”
“No, I mean, enlighten him. Inspire him to be better.”
“How is that any different?” Dev challenged. “No, seriously. Would you decide one day you needed to fix me, too?”
The air went out of Sheetal. She’d forgotten her mother meant all the imperfect mortals on Earth, which of course meant every single person in existence, good or not.
If they inspired all mortals’ choices, no one would ever make a mistake or have a moment of doubt. That sounded beautiful, but . . .
She forced herself to picture inspiring Dev like that. He’d never burn her cookies or be shy writing her a song. He’d always do everything right.
He wouldn’t be Dev.
Even Minal was staring at Sheetal like she didn’t recognize her. “Listen to yourself! Three days here, and you’re talking about mind control?”
Put like that, the whole thing sounded so unbelievably ridiculous. So self-important.
Sheetal’s heart cracked. No. Absolutely not. It wasn’t any different from Rati’s games. Charumati had made it sound noble, but it was only a different version of pulling strings. They’d be turning mortals into puppets, and unlike Priyanka, Sheetal didn’t want to be anybody’s puppeteer. She didn’t even know how to keep her own strings from tangling up.
Minal’s glare was as scary as Radhikafoi’s during one of her rants. “You can’t enlighten us, Sheetu. That’s not how it works.”
Dev ran a hand over his face. “How can you even ask that?”
Mortified, Sheetal stared at her glowing palms, then at her mother. Really saw her, the star who had come to Earth for adventure. Worry and love shone in those eyes bright as gemstones. Sheetal knew Charumati loved her, just like she knew her mother wanted her to be safe.
And because of that, she’d let herself get swept up in her mother’s grand plans, never stopping to check in with the people they were supposed to help. Like what Minal, what Dev, what Dad wanted didn’t count. Like she’d already written off her own mortal heritage.
Kaushal hadn’t had anyone to love him on Earth. And Charumati might love Dad, but she’d never really belonged down there.
Sheetal, though, did. She knew what the people who lived there were worth.
“No,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She looked at her mother. “Mom, they’re right. Would you ‘redeem’ Dad, too?”
Charumati’s serene expression turned stricken.
“I mean, you’d have to, right?”
Her mother gazed at something only she could see. “I . . .”
“He’s not perfect. He’s done things wrong. He’s hurt people. Like you said, everybody does.” Sheetal appealed to Kaushal. “We can’t take people’s mistakes away from them.”
Any more than anyone could take hers. People had to grow on their own, make their own decisions, good and bad. It was those mistakes and the choice or refusal to learn from them that gave life—and art—their texture, their meaning. It had to be a choice.
And if being a full star meant she might forget that, well, she had to find another way.
Before her mother could protest, Sheetal addressed the Esteemed Matriarch and Patriarch of House Dhanishta. “I’m ready to perform.”
31
Sheetal and Minal stood on the platform by the viewing pool, where a turbaned man set a dilruba made of black crystal and gleaming silver strings before them and stepped aside. Nani had definitely delivered. Just the sight of it made Sheetal’s fingers itch with longing, made the flame at her core spring up, burning away every other thought, every fear. It was an instrument fit for a goddess, one who would use her music to show the stars what it felt to be human, to open their eyes at last. . . .
A goddess! Sheetal rubbed her sweat-slick palms together. She was just a girl, and way too much was riding on her performance. What if her fingers slipped? What if a string snapped?
What if she forgot how to play? Would the stars laugh? Mock her?
Worse, would her own family even listen to her after that?
“Try it,” Minal murmured. “Just to see.”
Sheetal nodded.
Even before she tested the strings, she knew they’d be in tune.
The sound rang in her ears, rich and high, and above all, impossibly pure. Nectar for the ears, night made music. There were no flaws in these strings. They were formed of light.
All her fears of failing melted away. Only the lure of the music existed—and Sheetal.
She couldn’t wait to play.
When she tapped into it, the starsong thrummed with anticipation. Everyone knew whatever happened tonight would change everything.
Outside their tent, Dev and Jeet were arguing. Jeet scowled. “Shut up, bhai. You’re a shitty cousin, you know that?”
Dev recoiled. He opened his mouth, paused, and opened his mouth again. “Maybe I am, but I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry, man.”
“So it’s like that. Picking a girl over me.” Jeet’s face was as cold as the void between the stars. “Some brother you turned out to be.”
Sheetal could see the hurt poisoning Dev like venom. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but watching him crumple broke her heart.
“We have discussed this,” Nani said, coming up behind her. “That mortal boy and his ilk are irrelevant. Focus instead on your future and your life here.”
Sheetal almost laughed. Had Nani heard a word she’d said? No wonder Padmini wanted to keep Kaushal out of sight. And Charumati wasn’t going to just give up, either.
Saying no wasn’t enough. Grand speeches wouldn’t do it. The stars needed her to remind them humanity was worth something, but she couldn’t do that as their champion. What would that accomplish except prove what they already believed, that stars were superior?
There had to be something else she could do. She didn’t have long before her birthday would be over and her transformation com
plete.
Her transformation. That was it.
The solution had been right in front of her. It was drastic. She didn’t know if she could pull it off.
Sheetal felt a pang of regret. Was she really about to give up her opportunity to be seen?
Yes. Yes, she was.
“And now, welcome our fifth and final champion, Sheetal Mistry of House Pushya,” proclaimed House Dhanishta’s Esteemed Patriarch. Jeet was still fuming, but his attendants finally said something to quiet him down.
“Come, Sheetal,” Charumati said, touching her forehead in blessing. “It is your turn to shine.”
Everything had a cost; it just depended on what you were willing to pay.
Her pulse sprinting at top speed, Sheetal sat down on the cushion behind her dilruba. She brushed her damp palms on her sari. Did full stars have this problem, or was she just lucky that way?
Until now, she hadn’t really accepted she was transforming. Somehow she’d still believed she could stay right where she was, precariously balanced between mortal and star.
What did it matter if someone asked you to choose between hands and wings when wings weren’t real? But now they were, and she had to deal with it.
“Minal,” she asked as casually as she could, “can you help me with this string?”
Minal, who’d never bothered with music since their earsplitting unit on the recorder in fifth grade, dropped down next to her. “What’s going on?”
“Tell Padmini to bring me my circlet,” Sheetal whispered. “When she comes to inspire me.”
“What?”
“Tell her to bring me the circlet.” Sheetal might not need the circlet for her scheme, but it would make a great symbol.
Minal nodded and left.
Her belly slackening in relief, Sheetal arranged the neck of her dilruba against her shoulder.
That simple contact sent the music flooding through her. It longed to live, to be expressed, to float from heart to heart.
She could have dissolved into it. She could, even now, just give in. But she didn’t; a few wisps of humanity remained within her, and she clung to them like a rope.
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