Star Daughter(42)

“It feels good, yes?” asked Nani, watching her expectantly. “Right, perhaps?”

It did feel right, like someone had turned on a string of fairy lights inside her. Sheetal’s heart thrummed with her own song, harmonizing with Nani’s notes in her own internal soprano. It was the astral song, the song that connected her to their shared nakshatra. The tingle spread from her hands to the rest of her body, waiting.

“There,” said Nani, smiling. “Your first lesson.”

Sheetal reflexively reached for invisible strings. If only she had her harp or her dilruba right now.

“As you know,” Nani continued, “you will reach majority on your birthday. I have begun preparations for a lavish ball in your honor to precede the competition.”

A ball! Sheetal did a little shimmy at the idea of being celebrated for once, on display in a way her auntie had never allowed. She could imagine the sparkles, the enchantment, the outfits.

The ball would be silver and crystal and wrapped in night, a revel out of a fairy tale.

Right then, Earth felt a universe away.

Sheetal gave herself a shake. She wasn’t here for balls or daydreams. It would be so very easy to get smitten by the fantasy Nani was crafting. So very, very easy to pretend it was more than what it was. And Nani knew that. “Tell me again how Dad’s going to be okay until I get back?”

“Certainly. Your blood possesses enough of our healing ability to hold him in a temporary stasis. He will, in effect, sleep until he is woken.”

“In three days,” Sheetal stressed. “Counting today.” Somehow thinking of it like that made it seem a tiny bit less impossible.

“In three days, counting today. I vowed it, did I not?”

Sheetal relaxed just enough that she could imagine actually pulling this off. “Can we can talk more about the competition?”

“Of course. What do you wish to know?”

“Like, what’s in it for the other champions? Somehow I don’t see them doing this out of the goodness of their hearts.”

Nani rewarded her with a gratified smile. “I have been waiting for you to ask. Let us continue.” As they headed back toward the center of the starry court, she said, “Four nakshatras other than ours have—what is your mortal idiom? Declared a desire to compete?”

“Thrown their hats into the ring?” Sheetal suggested. She’d been filing away all the engraved doors and brilliant portraits they’d passed, all the carved marble pillars, all the statues, until she couldn’t take in another thing. It was like wandering for hours in a museum or on a movie set, except nothing was behind glass, and none of the people they ran into were actors.

And no museum on Earth, not even the strangest ones, had magic.

“Yes, precisely. Four other nakshatras have thrown their hats into the ring and provided you four challengers to contend with.” Nani swatted at the air, as if batting away a particularly irksome fly. “Each was selected for their artistic potential after having been located and observed through the Hall of Mirrors.”

So Sheetal was up against four different people, who’d all been chosen for being the best at whatever they did, and who’d probably been preparing for weeks now. Wonderful.

She thought back to the competing nakshatras lined up by the stage. Charumati had led her away before the final champion had been welcomed. “House Revati. Who’s its champion?”

Nani’s mouth curled with displeasure. “A story crafter or some such.”

A pair of stars approached, nodding at Nani before returning to their own conversation.

“But never mind that,” she went on. “Perhaps it would interest you to learn that not everyone accepts our offer. That is rare, however; by the time we approach a prospective candidate, we have thoroughly assessed both their level of skill and degree of ambition.”

Had they been watching Sheetal like that, gauging her strengths and weaknesses? Or did they just assume she’d be the best because she was half star? “But you still haven’t told me why they would bother. The champions, I mean.”

Nani frowned. “Few mortals can resist the lure of such a potential prize: instant recognition and universal acclaim in the annals of human history, from the moment they return home until the end of time. Like a fire that never ceases to burn and shines its light over all that comes after.”

Sheetal gawked at her. “Wait, so they’re like Shakespeare? Or the Taj Mahal?”

“Indeed,” said Nani. “What artist does not wish to be remembered? To know their work speaks to others across eras and cultures?”

“But—but how do you reach out to them at all?” Sheetal asked, thinking of how entranced Minal had been with everything since they got here, and how she probably would be, too, if it weren’t for Dad. “And how do you keep them from breaking in half when they get here? This stuff is huge!”

Nani stopped before a pair of silver doors embossed with all the twenty-seven nakshatras. “Each house sends a representative to speak to its selected candidate. A trace of magic is necessary to allay any culture shock, as you noted; and to keep them further grounded, each candidate is permitted one mortal companion of their choosing.” She smiled. “That one you brought, she appears quite attentive to your needs. You have chosen well.”

That, at least, explained how the guards had reacted to Minal at the palace gates. “But what happens to the people who don’t win?”