Star Daughter(89)
She sounded like Charumati, spinning her plan for awakening mortals. “Mom,” Sheetal protested, “you can’t just ignore this.”
“Your nani is right,” Charumati said, though her expression was troubled. “We may not interfere. The best thing we can do right now is attend to the competition.”
Sheetal couldn’t believe her ears. Jeet was a person. How didn’t they get that?
How were these the same shimmering beings from the cosmic dance? The ones who knew their link to the rest of the universe and everything in it?
Maybe you should ask your grandmother what she really thinks of half-stars.
The words raced out of her at light speed. “You can’t hurt Kaushal just because he used to be a half-star like me.”
“Oh, beti, I would not waste our precious preparation time on the past—”
“No.” The syllable echoed in the confines of the room. “Tell me. I need to know he’ll be safe.”
“I have no intention of seeing him otherwise.” Nani frowned. “Rati seeks to stir up trouble wherever she goes. You must not listen to one such as that.” She rose. “It is time for your blessing.”
“But what happened to Ojasvini? What’s the truth Rati kept talking about?”
Nani lifted her chin. “It is in the past, and that is all you need to know.”
“Nani!” Sheetal all but screamed. “I’m about to go out there and win a competition for our house. The least you can do is answer me. Why isn’t she here?”
The furrow in Nani’s forehead deepened. “Not. Now.” Pinching her nose, she closed her eyes.
“Let it be,” Charumati whispered. “We will discuss it all later. I promise.”
Everything Sheetal had been holding back, all her anger and disappointment and anguish, collided like a flint against the steel of the starsong. Sparks caught and spread, igniting years’ worth of loneliness and shame, until she combusted, her heart a raging conflagration of fury.
She’d had it with being pushed around like a chess piece, with almost everybody in her life deciding what was right, what she should know and what she should do.
The silver luminosity of the stars streamed through her, lighting up all the shadowed places and demanding she direct it outward.
No. Not yet.
Keeping it in check, keeping herself veiled in the astral melody, was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she did it.
She had to save Dad first.
The door to the suite opened, and a string of bells chimed. A mix of pride and affection relaxed Nani’s elegant visage. Padmini, Beena, and Minal all stood in a line, each holding a silver bell. Behind them, though, Nana had three. “Come,” he said. “It is time.” He handed Nani and Charumati the extra bells.
“Already?” Nerves writhed to life in Sheetal’s belly, joining the anger boiling there.
Padmini and Beena rang their bells, pressed their palms together before their faces, and stepped aside.
“May you burn bold in the deepest night,” Nani said, ringing her bell, and knelt to touch Sheetal’s feet.
“May you burn bold in the deepest night,” Nana said, ringing his bell, and repeated the gesture.
“May you burn bold, my daughter, whatever meets you,” Charumati said, ringing her bell, and kissed Sheetal’s forehead.
Minal rang her bell, then hugged Sheetal. “Showtime. Knock ’em dead.”
Nani collected the bells and, swift as rays of light from the sun, strung them on a garland, which Nana then hung over the door. “Victory to our champion! Victory to our daughter!”
As mad as she was, Sheetal still felt their love like the crystalline butterflies that even now opened and closed their wings in her hair.
She drew on that, collecting her disappointment, her compassion, her hope and immolating them all in the fire of her fury. “Let’s do this.”
29
Unseen bansuris played, their lilting call summoning the court to attention.
As one, the various members of the twenty-seven houses rose to receive their rulers, their arms lifted in greeting as if casting a spell. A sea of many stars, cresting through the grand court. Not a trace of the blue lighting remained, and the buffet, too, had been cleared away, as if Sheetal’s brief celebration had never been. Even the garden was gone.
The fifty-two Esteemed Matriarchs and Patriarchs who hadn’t attended the ball now swept onto the sickle-shaped stage, clad in black finery threaded through with silver and iridescent blue that flashed like a jewel beetle’s wings in flight. Each of them wore a circlet of stars reminiscent of Charumati’s and Nani’s, reminiscent of the one Sheetal would receive just hours from now.
So these were the leaders of the twenty-seven nakshatras, she thought, as she stood before their stage. They were magnificent. They were frightening.
She tried not to feel uneasy, tried not to notice her grandparents among them, and failed miserably.
“Be seated,” the matriarch of House Dhanishta commanded, and the audience sat. The other Esteemed followed, claiming their places in the semicircle of thrones looking down on a large oval pool, which definitely hadn’t been there before.
“Good. Let us begin,” the ancient patriarch of House Dhanishta said. “Competing houses, lead your champions and their companions to the viewing pool. Escorts, you may follow.”