Star Daughter(85)
“My daughter,” breathed Charumati, her hand at her mouth. “My beautiful daughter.”
Minal clapped wildly. “You’re gorgeous, Sheetu!”
Seeing her reflection in the full-length gilt-edged mirror now, made radiant by the attendants and ravishing by sartorial magic, Sheetal had to agree. Nani stood on one side of her, Charumati on the other. Three generations of star women, all aglow with sorcery and strength. Like they had fallen out of a fairy tale. Like Sheetal was still in it.
The flame at her core kindled, sending warmth and musical notes flowing through her veins. Her lips parted, her throat brimming over with words ready to splash out as song. Soon.
“Desi Cinderella, off to the ball,” Minal cracked. She took a picture with her phone. “But no glass chappals for you. If one broke, how bad that would slice up your foot?”
Sheetal loved the way the shadowsilk traced her curves and the sweep of luminescence around her form. She could light up the heavens. She could inspire the birth of stories.
Beena nudged her. “Good! You are permitted to take pleasure in this,” she scolded. “We designed you an ensemble fit for royalty, after all.”
“Indeed, dikri.” Charumati straightened Sheetal’s tika.
Sheetal couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, fine.”
She’d worry about the contest later. It was her birthday, after all, and no one had ever thrown a huge, no-holds-barred bash in her honor before. Definitely not Radhikafoi, who kept things small when it came to Sheetal.
“The ball will be splendid,” Nani said, dismissing the ladies-in-waiting. “We will dine and dance together in the central court.”
Sheetal glanced at her reflection one more time. The silver-tressed, brown-skinned girl before her stared back, powerful. Soft and sturdy as spider silk. Mistress of herself. A hint of starry fire smoldered in her eyes like a signal.
“I think,” Sheetal said, exchanging a smile with that girl in the mirror, “it’s time to go enjoy my party.”
Blue lights turned everything in the court proper into a fever dream, from the crystal chandelier to the gem lanterns to the multitude of guests, all in peacock and cobalt and lapis. Some wore saris that fell in perfect pleats, others sherwanis and kurtas just as crisp and delicately embroidered, and still others something entirely unfamiliar and fine, their ebony and mercury fabrics stained azure. Candles in mosaic glasses sat sprinkled here and there, burning with flames silver as starlight.
The ball was everything Sheetal could have imagined, the picture of sidereal splendor. Silver shone everywhere, from the twenty-seven sets of paired thrones on the sickle-shaped dais to the diamond flecks floating in the air like stardust. But she hadn’t anticipated the glittering garden full of night-blooming flowers—jasmine, lilacs, lanternlike bleeding hearts, and moonlight lotuses, the same flower her mother had left for her. The blooms served as a dance floor, springing right back up after being stepped on.
Nani and her team had really done a fabulous job. Sheetal almost didn’t recognize the place where she’d had her first rehearsal.
From the dais, Nani and Nana beamed out at the court. “On behalf of the House of Pushya, welcome to the natal day celebration of Sheetal, House Pushya’s own champion. Please eat, dance, rejoice!”
Sheetal didn’t miss that Nana hadn’t mentioned her heritage or majority, sidestepping the thorny question of her eligibility as a champion. She opened herself to the astral melody to gauge the reaction.
Curiosity and gladness encased her in a silver spiral. Like Minal had said, not everyone was against her. That was nice to know. Anyone else was smart enough to keep their feelings veiled.
“Your light,” Charumati murmured, and Sheetal sent her pewter flame out over her skin. The butterflies in her hair, which had been so still she’d forgotten their presence, twitched. Moths to the flame. She should remember that one to throw at Dev later. It was only fair.
The guests applauded and called out congratulations. Sheetal soaked it all in like a sponge. For once, she didn’t have to hide. It felt awesome to be seen. Not just that, but to be celebrated. It made her forget for a second that this wouldn’t last past tonight.
“Go,” said Nana with a smile. “Enjoy yourself, child.”
As Sheetal wandered away, she counted apsaras with their golden crowns, yakshas in leaf tunics, nagas’ scaly and muscular coils undulating—all dancing and feasting. For once, she was probably the least weird person in attendance.
Gandharvas played on the stage where the fifty-four Esteemed would normally sit, their music wild and swift. It reminded Sheetal of garbas back on Earth, only this song was also tinged with melancholy. A glimpse into mystical worlds like this one. She wanted to drown in it.
And there was still so much more to see, so much more to taste.
Tables of food lined one wall, more than Sheetal could imagine an army being able to finish, delicacies like what she had seen at the Night Market: candied moonlight lotus petals, little silver frostberry pastries dusted with cardamom and saffron, chunks of crystallized reverie rolled with slivered pistachios.
Bonbons dipped in peacock blue and silver fondant surrounded a large, tiered teal cake, the entire thing spangled with silver swirls and blue-and-green jewels molded to look like feathers. A spun-sugar peacock perched on the top layer fanned its tail open and closed, candy eyes blinking, and called for rain: “Meh-aao, meh-aao!”