Star Daughter(55)

“No, of course not. Stars are timeless.” Beena grinned. “What do they teach mortals down there?”

“As much as they teach stars up here, I’d guess.” Sheetal’s neck grew warm as flame danced inside her again. Why were they acting like she was on the tourism board for Earth? She needed to get back to the books and sing one free.

Beena moved to touch her face. “You look so very mortal, yet your hair is as silver as ours.”

“It is because she is a half-thing!” one of the other stars muttered. Everyone’s eyes widened.

Kaushal blazed so harshly their entire table turned red with radiant heat. “Do not ever use that word. Have you forgotten what I—?”

At the same time, Sheetal twisted up and out of her seat. “You want to know about Earth? Well, here’s your crash course: Not everyone eats meat. It rains sometimes, and it snows, too, when it’s not all drought. We have oceans full of seashells and jellyfish and sometimes even hypodermic needles if you live in the right part of New Jersey. When we’re not busy trying to blow each other up with nuclear weapons, we’re destroying our environment with pollution and chemicals. Some people believe in things other people are afraid to. We can’t stand being alone, but we still look for ways to separate ourselves. Kind of like crowing about who’s pure star and who’s not. Oh, we get sick and old and die.”

Her hands smoldered as silver as Kaushal had, and mouth dry, she couldn’t help thinking yet again how she really, really needed to learn to hide what she was feeling better. The whole court had probably heard that.

Now the stars gawked outright. “No wonder mortals need our inspiration,” Beena said.

The star who’d thought he was being so clever hung his head now. His eyes had glazed over with tears, and he refused to look at anyone.

Sheetal’s anger cooled as fast as it had come. He was just a kid spouting what he’d been told. “I’ll let you get back to your class.”

Kaushal waggled his head. “Come. I will help you find what you need.”

“Don’t you have to study?”

“We do not study,” Beena said. “We train. We learn by soaking up the stories of those who have gone before us.”

“Yes, just as everyone dabbles in dance and singing and painting.” Kaushal guided Sheetal back to the archivist. “Once we understand the soul of mortal arts, we can then inspire them. But we each have our specialty, and yours, we hear, is music. If you are our champion, I am certain you play like the gandharvas themselves.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, he faced her. “Do not take Urjit’s foolishness to heart. He has always been too clever for his own good. There are many among us who could not be happier to see you here.”

He sounded worried. But the slur hadn’t scared Sheetal off. She wasn’t ashamed of what she was. That would mean being ashamed of Dad. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Kaushal’s smile returned, warm with relief. “I am pleased to hear that.”

Sheetal told the archivist what she wanted next—books on the history of the competition—but her mind was chewing on something else. That slur had really upset Kaushal. “What did you mean, had they forgotten?” Her eyes narrowed. “Forgotten what you were?”

He examined the archivist, then glanced up. “Yes.”

“Are you—no, were you like me?”

Kaushal just looked at her. He wasn’t bothering to hide his feelings, she realized, and more than anything, she sensed loneliness. An old desire to be understood.

It was like he’d held up a mirror to her own heart, this star from her nakshatra. Her own loneliness brightened into acknowledgment. She felt absurdly grateful, enough that she wanted to hug him.

Except . . .

Except if she hadn’t blown off her schedule and come here, she might never have known. No one—not Nani and Nana, not Padmini, not even Charumati—had thought she could use a friend who got what she was going through?

“But you’re a full star now?” Sheetal asked finally, calming herself. She might not get another chance to talk to him once Nani found out she’d skipped her lesson.

A thread of fear wove through Kaushal’s emotions, and then they were gone, back behind the impenetrable wall of his neutral expression. “If you have found what you needed, I should return to my class.”

“Yeah, probably.” She grabbed the chevdo from her bag and tossed it to him. He’d taken a risk letting her know she wasn’t alone, and the least she could do was offer him a taste of the life he’d left behind. “Some mortal food to say thanks for your help.”

Now Kaushal shone openly. “My favorite.”

On a whim, Sheetal added, “Share it with Urjit.” It was always easier to open kids’ minds, after all.

“I will,” Kaushal promised.





17


Sheetal used the archivist to look up another subject, half-stars, and located a single title. Then, her arms heaped high with reference books, she staked out a quiet table in a remote corner of the library. By the enormous clock on the wall, she had an hour left before her next lesson, enough to at least start skimming.

Some authors wrote more favorably of her grandparents’ reign than others, but all agreed that in their day, Nani and Nana had ruled the court with iron fists. Not only had they closed the gates between the worlds after a violent incident on Earth, but they’d cultivated the attitude that only children took an interest in mortals beyond the duty of inspiring them. At one point, they’d even convinced the court to seal off the Hall of Mirrors. But so many stars had protested the loss of their mortal soap operas, they’d had to backtrack. Eventually Nani’s and Nana’s popularity had waned enough that they’d basically had to abdicate their offices, and House Dhanishta had won the ensuing competition.