Star Daughter(75)

“I’m not really in the mood,” Dev said, his neck and shoulders stiff, and Sheetal realized he was deliberately not looking in her direction. “How about we just call it a night?”

Jeet ruffled Dev’s hair. “Relax, man. It’s my job to play big brother, not yours.”

“It’s called letting off steam,” Priyanka said, clinking her glass against Jeet’s. “We’ll still be ready to compete tomorrow, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

Dev’s jaw worked, but he said nothing.

“Look,” Jeet said, “I know you liked her, but girls come and go. You can do better, trust me.” He tapped Dev a little too hard on the shoulder.

Sheetal narrowed her eyes. Like Jeet was any catch, with that charming personality.

“Is that what you think this is?” Dev asked. “That I’m upset about Sheetal? Bhai, I’m trying to look out for you.”

“I don’t need you to,” Jeet said. “I just need you to back off.”

Priyanka twined a finger through his curls. “So where’s that book you were going to show me?”

Dev’s fed-up look told Sheetal he’d seen more than enough. “Party if you want, but I need to sleep,” he said flatly.

“Fine, we’ll go somewhere else. Lighten up, little brother.” Jeet swapped his empty wineglass for a book on the desk, using that as cover while he deposited the vial he’d palmed into a drawer. Then he put his arm around Priyanka. Together they staggered into the bathroom.

But not before Sheetal glimpsed the contents of the vial—shimmering silver liquid.

She’d seen something like that before, in Dev’s memory. Star’s blood.

Jeet’s starry cast made sense now. So did the dark bags under his eyes. The hollows in his cheeks.

He’s drinking it.

What had the library book said? Something about heightening inspiration?

Mortals. Her mother was right; they couldn’t help themselves. Even the good ones got pulverized under the heels of the rest.

The bathroom door clicked closed. Sheetal and Dev were alone again, the air around them weighted down with the burden of everything they now knew.

Sheetal hauled herself to her feet and made straight for the drawer before Dev could stop her. Her fingers closed around the vial, and she gave it to him. “Dev,” she whispered, so Jeet and Priyanka couldn’t hear, “he’s—he’s drinking this.”

He stared at the vial, its silver light staining his skin, as if he could make it disappear.

“I need to take that,” Sheetal said as gently as she could. “I have to show my mom and my grandma.”

“No.” Dev pocketed the vial. He wouldn’t look at her.

She sighed. “See, this is why I hate secrets. They make you think people are different from how they really are. You think you can trust them.”

Dev wasn’t listening. “You should go. I need to talk to my cousin.” His words clumped together like the breath had been knocked out of him, and from his bewildered expression, Sheetal could tell he was barely keeping it together.

Her heart hurt. Who knew better than she did what that felt like?

She took his hand. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m just . . . sorry.”

“Oh, yeah?” He observed their joined fingers. “Then why did you come here?” His laugh was pained. “Congrats. Now Jeet can get kicked out instead of you. So can you just go?”

Trying not to sob, Sheetal left.





24


The morning of Sheetal’s seventeenth birthday began like any other morning in Svargalok—fresh, scenic, sparkling. She watched it happen from the balcony in her room, the star-scattered darkness gradually submitting to the golden grandeur of Lord Surya as his chariot, drawn by seven white horses, rolled past. The brilliant blue sky that came after him was rich enough to eat for breakfast, and she scowled at it.

Some birthday. Today was the day she had to save Dad’s life.

If she hadn’t burned him, she’d be waking up right now, and he’d be in the kitchen, carefully assembling a stack of mixed-berry waffles drenched in maple syrup and vanilla whipped cream. There’d be a new biography, maybe movie tickets or a bookstore gift card, plans for a day trip somewhere, a new outfit of chaniya choli or salwar kameez from Radhikafoi and Deepakfua, and of course, a hug paired with the old one-liner about how soon she’d be taller than Dad if she kept having birthdays.

And Minal would drop by with a silly plastic tiara, glittery balloons, and five or six beautifully wrapped presents she’d set aside over the course of the year. A couple would be gag gifts, but at least one would be a thing she’d made herself, a clay unicorn figurine or a bracelet or a batch of rose-raspberry truffles.

Sheetal let her hair fall over her face like a curtain. Not only was she missing all that, but today would have been her first birthday with a boyfriend. She struggled to keep her chin from quivering.

She hadn’t told Minal about the vial of star’s blood because she knew what Minal would say. It was the same thing Sheetal would say in her place—that she had to turn Jeet in right now.

Maybe it made her weak, but she couldn’t do that to Dev, not when she’d seen the reverence in his eyes, heard the devotion in his voice, whenever he’d mentioned Jeet. Not without giving them a chance to talk first.