Star Daughter(37)

“Such gracious manners! But please be at ease among us, children. We are your nakshatra.” Nani put a hand on Sheetal’s shoulder and turned her to face the table. “Bolo. At long last, our daughter is returned to us. House Pushya, I present to you now your own Sheetal, daughter of our daughter Charumati! Welcome her to our fold with open arms.”

The room chimed with greetings, some probably more sincere than others. Sheetal kept her face as blandly polite as she could, even as her insides shrank in on themselves. She wasn’t hungry at all. She wouldn’t be until she knew Dad was okay.

Nana indicated the two empty seats on Charumati’s right. “Minal, do not be shy. Be seated, both of you, and eat. I trust our astral fare will be palatable to your mortal tongue?”

“I’m sure it’s delicious,” Minal said, helping herself to the farther of the two chairs. In full view of the entire table, she scooped up something red-violet and sparkling from one of the small bowls in her thali. “Thank you for having me.”

Echoes of the starsong, the music of the spheres, drifted from around the table, each strand uniquely pitched, all weaving together into a web. Weaving around Sheetal, through her. She felt the curiosity thrumming in each note: Where had this long-lost granddaughter been, and why?

She almost laughed. Why, indeed.

Nani waggled her head from side to side in that particular desi dance that could mean yes or no or even maybe. “No thanks necessary. Eat, beti, eat.” At that signal, everyone else reached for their food, too.

Sheetal finally sat down, sandwiched between Minal and Charumati. She scanned the thali before her. Oh, thank the gods; there were a few things she recognized, like spicy dal, jeera rice, and vegetables. Her nervous stomach could probably handle that. “It smells good.”

“Eat, beti,” Nani urged. “You will need your energy for the training.”

Training? Sheetal exchanged a baffled look with Minal.

“We had the gulaab jamun made especially for you,” Nana said. “Your mother told us how much you loved it as a child.”

Sheetal actually preferred milk-soaked rasmalai these days, but she took a bite of one of the golden-brown fried dough balls in syrup. Instead of the traditional rose water, the syrup tasted of a flower she couldn’t place. It looked right but wasn’t.

Kind of like her.

“So quiet, child,” Nana teased. “Talk to us. Speak of your life.”

Sheetal hesitated. What was she supposed to say?

“You are quite ordinary of aspect for a star’s child, are you not?” a woman with a long, gleaming plait asked across the table, studying her. “It is an odd thing to see.”

“Indeed! I am confounded anew by the bluntness of mortal features. How much like ours, and yet how unlike,” a man said.

Others chimed in with their agreement, as if Sheetal were on display at a zoo. She bristled. Was this how they would have treated Dad?

Charumati delicately cleared her throat, and the woman dropped her gaze. But Sheetal was sure it didn’t stop the others from thinking it: Her human blood. Her human friend. So very strange.

She pushed her plate away and opened her mouth to tell them exactly where things stood. She would not be ashamed of Dad or Minal. Not now, not ever.

Charumati pressed Sheetal’s hand as if to stay her protest.

“Is this how we speak to guests?” Nani asked quietly, her restrained tone belying the steel beneath it. “To those of our line?”

“But is she not plain?” the woman protested.

Nana silenced her with a glower.

Even Sheetal could feel the disquiet altering the starry melody. The shift was slight, a deepening of notes, yet enough to raise goose bumps along her arms.

She froze. Did that mean they could sense her feelings, too?

Nani surveyed the table, letting the heft of her stare rest on each of the stars. “I realize it has been some time since we invited mortal guests to our realm, but that is no excuse for speaking in this way.”

Heads lowered, and no one seemed foolish enough to protest.

“Think on it,” Nana said, his face grave. “How will we look to the court if we cannot even maintain solidarity among ourselves? If we decry one who would represent us all, our champion?”

Represent us all? This competition thing had officially gone too far. “Uh, Nani?” Sheetal began.

But everyone was looking at Charumati, who’d stood. Her enchanting eyes gleamed with all the warmth Sheetal had been starving for, making Sheetal go soft, even fuzzy, inside. “Our blood flows in my daughter’s veins. She is our hope, our future. Treat her—and her friend—as such.”

“I meant no harm,” said the woman with the long braid, sounding repentant, “truly. Pardon my misstep, Lady Sheetal.”

Still watching her mother, Sheetal forgot she needed to answer. An expectant hush hung in the air.

Minal was the one who replied. “It’s okay. I’d be curious, too.”

“It’s fine,” Sheetal echoed, a half step too late, wanting the whole weird conversation behind her. She wasn’t anybody’s symbol or anybody’s hope. “But I need to say something.”

She braced herself, then peeked up at her mother, whose gaze harnessed her own.

The scales within Sheetal tipped, weighted with worry, with recognition, and with joy. Mom. My mom. Dancing in the daisy field. Telling me fairy tales.