Star Daughter(31)

Sheetal started sweating. She was supposed to have an escort? Like, another star? And what if she didn’t know the answers?

The guard on the left turned to Minal, his lips pursed in distaste. “As for you, mortal child, you must be the lady’s companion?”

“Indeed. My lady’s flame could rival a supernova. Her heart is all star,” Minal intoned, oozing obsequiousness like syrup. “I am not worthy of being the dirt on the soles of her golden chappals, let alone her blessed maidservant, but my lady requested I accompany her on this journey, and far be it from this mere mortal to question her will.”

“Your companion seems very . . . pliable?” the guard on the left asked Sheetal doubtfully.

She tried not to laugh. Nothing to do but run with it. “Yes, she’s perfect. So eager to please.”

“Aha.” He sniffed. “In that case.”

“Shall we begin, daughter of Charumati?” asked the guard on the right.

Her laughter cut off. “Certainly,” she said, praying she sounded arrogant and not afraid.

“First, what offering did the elephant who sought divine rescue from his enemy make to Lord Vishnu?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” That was one of her favorite Hindu stories growing up. Gajendra, leader of a herd of elephants, neared a lake where he fell prey to a crocodile’s jaws. They stood locked in that stalemate for a thousand years, the crocodile patiently waiting for Gajendra to give in and become dinner, and Gajendra fighting to free his leg from the crocodile’s powerful grasp. “A lotus from the lake where he was trapped.”

The tension in her shoulders gave way. If the questions were all this simple, she’d be fine.

The guard’s expression remained inscrutable. “Correct. Second question: After Damayanti was abandoned by Nala in the forest, with whom did she seek shelter?”

Sheetal knew this, too. When she was little, Dad had given her a comic version of Nala and Damayanti. She’d eaten it up.

But she hadn’t read it in so long, the minor details had fled her memory. Think, she told herself. Think!

Her palms tingled. Why wouldn’t her exhausted brain come up with the name?

When a minute had passed, Minal said, “My lady, you are drifting. These poor sentries await your reply.” Under her breath, she whispered, “Chedi. The Princess of Chedi.”

Her gaze never leaving the guards, Sheetal gave them the answer.

“Correct,” admitted the guard on the left. He sounded irritated.

Two questions down, one to go. Sheetal yawned. She couldn’t help it; it had been such a long couple of days, and she was so tired. She tried to stifle the yawn, but the guard on the left had already seen.

Now he smirked openly. “Third and final question: When the nagini left the heavens, what did she take with her beneath the earth?”

They’d been toying with her. Anyone conversant with the old myths could have answered the first two questions. But only a star could ever know this. It was pretty clear the guard on the left—and maybe the other one, too—didn’t think Sheetal did.

The whole charade made her furious. Her mother was waiting inside.

“Some trouble, madam?” the guard on the right inquired mildly. “Surely not.”

The guard on the left had drawn his sword and was inspecting the line of its blade. “A true star’s daughter would know the answer.”

A true star’s daughter. One who wasn’t mortal, he meant.

The flame trembled within her. It would be so easy to just let it loose on the guards. Every second they kept her out here was another second she wasn’t helping Dad.

Minal laid a steadying hand on her shoulder. “My lady, you know the answer.”

And Sheetal did. After all, she’d written it down herself in her journal, the same journal now tucked into her messenger bag along with some toiletries, Radhikafoi’s snacks, and a picture of Dad.

“The stars,” she told the guards, her words bold and precise as the silver light dancing up her arms. “A few stars went down with her. We say they became the first diamonds, because they lit the way, but really, they were just the first to mix with humans.”

“Correct,” the guards said in unison, their expressions melting into grudging respect.

The one on the left sheathed his sword. “Come, then. Your mortal companion, too.”





10


The guard led Sheetal and Minal into a long corridor lined with carved marble pillars. No human building Sheetal had ever seen—not the Taj Mahal, not the Palace of Versailles—could hope to rival that intricate mosaic ceiling, its enamel-and-gold inlay telling stories that moved, unfolding in time with her footsteps. It was enormous, eternal. It made her feel small and dizzy.

When she sneaked a peek beside her, Minal was taking it all in with wondering eyes.

They emerged into an area that was open to the sky, a spacious courtyard full of beautiful people dressed in sumptuous clothes that might have come straight from the Night Market. Some of the faces looked like they were glowing, but it was hard to tell in the light from the hanging lanterns.

“You are likely to encounter your mother here,” the guard said abruptly, then merged into the crowd.

“Thanks so much,” Minal called after him. “You’ve been ever so helpful.”