Star Daughter(54)

It was the oddest and loveliest take on the Dewey decimal system Sheetal could imagine. She hummed a little, too, as the star took the book from its shelf.

And now that she knew how to access the library, she wanted more. More of all of it. She pulled down another book without reading the title. She was going to find out everything about the history of the competition and the court and win—

“Psst!” The boy near her nodded to the book in her hand. “Have you come to join our class?”

Sheetal put it down on a mirror-worked blue stepstool. “Class?”

“Indeed, champion,” the boy said. “The art of waking mortal hearts.” He indicated the tables of younger stars just beyond the stacks. “Normally my sister would stop in, too, but she is presently attending to your companion.”

“You’re Padmini’s brother?” He did resemble her, come to think of it, though he looked about twelve to her eighteen.

“Indeed.” The boy treated her to a smile as warm as a solar flare. “I am called Kaushal. It is a fine thing to make your acquaintance.”

“Okay, Kaushal, explain something to me. I’m kind of in a hurry. How do you know what books are filed under? Like, if I’m looking for dilrubas and harps through time or whatever.”

Kaushal burst into laughter, ignoring the other patrons’ calls for him to be silent. “You ask an archivist, of course!”

“Huh?” Sheetal hadn’t noticed anything like a reference desk, let alone a person.

But Kaushal showed her the open book on the tall, round stand at the end of the aisle. Its pages were clear, like a mirror that reflected nothing. “History of dilrubas,” he told it. The book shimmered and turned the gray-purple of a midsummer gloaming. Its pages emitted a sprinkle of notes—an evening raga.

No. This was the loveliest take on library coding she’d ever seen.

“Any text that falls under the category of evening raga can be located in a section with purple books,” Kaushal added, and Sheetal glanced around. There were purple books just one shelf over.

“You should be an archivist,” she told Kaushal, making him beam bright.

“I will help you find your books,” he offered, but as they turned the corner, curiosity overtook the sidereal melody, and a handful of younger stars from the class crowded in around them. Just like the ones back in the common room, they teemed with questions: Would she show them her phone? Had she ever been on television? How could mortals eat dead animals? Was it true mortals thought magic a fiction? Were they truly so foolish?

“Wait, wait,” said Kaushal, holding up his hands. “Let her sit down first!”

The students unwillingly made room for Sheetal to pass, the brilliant light of their interest chasing her all the way to their table.

Three more sat there pretending to be lost in their studies, but they weren’t fooling anyone. Sheetal bit back her amusement. “How about this?” she suggested. “You want to learn about mortals, and I want to learn about you. So tell me about this ‘art of waking mortal hearts.’ Does that mean inspiring them, or . . . ?”

As if Kaushal had been waiting for the chance to play teacher, he launched into a lecture. “Mortals are meant to create. They do so all the time, solving problems and bringing visions to life. Some of that is inherent, and some of that is due to us.”

By now, everyone had put their books and scrolls down. “Do not aid her!” a star cried. “She belongs to the Pushya nakshatra.”

“Yes, and that is my house,” said Kaushal. “Why would I not aid my champion?”

The star who’d objected shut her book, as did three others near her. “She is not our champion, and we will not help.”

“You may be a fine singer, but you will never best our Leela,” the youngest bragged before following his friends to another table.

“Uh, thanks?” Sheetal said.

“Never mind them,” Kaushal said. “Ask your questions.”

“Yes, do!” a girl about Sheetal’s age urged, bouncing on her toes. “I am called Beena. Let me aid you, dear champion!”

Sheetal couldn’t resist her enthusiasm. “Sure. How does inspiration work?”

“You have seen the jars of stardust?” Beena asked. Sheetal nodded. “It is the distillation of our light. It renders mortal hearts fertile, so the ideas that grace them might take root to sprout and blossom.”

“That’s all inspiration is?” Sheetal recalled Dev’s dream. “But—”

“Only from a distance,” Kaushal said. “In person, our work is strongest. We open to our inner flame and guide it into a mortal.” He mimed pushing something toward Beena, who lit up on the spot.

Sheetal glanced at her own palms, remembering how they’d tingled, remembering that she’d somehow inspired Dev—and how she’d burned Dad. “Does it, I don’t know, feel weird when you do it?”

Kaushal seemed at a loss. Finally he said, “It feels like inspiring. How else should it feel?”

“Enough boring talk,” Beena declared. “Tell us about your world. Is it as we see from up here? Mortals change so swiftly, in an instant.”

Sheetal supposed they did. How quickly she’d let Dev get close to her. How quickly he’d destroyed it. “Don’t you?”