Star Daughter(92)

“If only,” Minal said sadly.

Sheetal squinted at her mother. She wanted to see her, really see her, the way artists saw values and shapes and not what their minds told them they should be seeing. She squinted, and she saw brown skin, curves and long hair, and someone whose veins ran with the silvery essence of the stars.

What she didn’t see was a mortal. They might resemble ridiculously beautiful human beings, but Sheetal had forgotten how alien the stars really were. The human part of her heart twinged, but before she could figure out why, the Esteemed Patriarch selected another slip of paper.

“Please welcome our third champion, Sachin Khanna of House Ashvini,” called the Esteemed Patriarch, holding up his paper. “He will be sculpting in his chosen medium of reclaimed metal objects.”

Maybe Sheetal could go fourth, at least?

Sachin, forehead damp, rose from his seat. His attendant offered him a towel, which he used to blot away the perspiration. For someone an entire house of stars had chosen, he didn’t seem very confident.

Priyanka, who had been furiously muttering with her attendants, yelled, “I don’t care! I’m saying it.” She jerked free of their restraining hands and leaped to her feet. “Excuse me, Esteemed Matriarch and Patriarch, but this man stole my marionettes!”

Sachin let out a squeak.

So that’s Rati’s patsy. Had she intimidated Sachin into the sabotage? Or had he just been that desperate?

The ruling Esteemed Matriarch and Patriarch considered Priyanka. “Then how were you able to perform?” the Esteemed Patriarch asked. “Were those not your marionettes?”

Priyanka frowned. “Yes, but—”

“Do you have proof of this theft?”

Priyanka ignored the laughter and murmurs from the audience. “I don’t know who brought my marionettes back, but it wasn’t him. You can’t let him compete.” She pointed to Jeet. “Ask Jeet; he’s the one who caught him stealing again.”

Jeet waved. “I found him sneaking off with my notebook. I told him if he didn’t confess to Priyanka and give the puppets back, I’d turn him in.”

“And he never did,” Priyanka said.

Jeet smiled. “So I’m turning him in.”

“Mortal Sachin Khanna,” the Esteemed Matriarch inquired, “is all that true?”

Sachin froze, then protested, “This—this isn’t right. I was going to put them back.” Jürgen approached but stopped just short of touching him.

“So you admit having taken them?”

Sachin slumped forward. “Yes.”

Jürgen gaped as if Sachin had grown a second nose. “You did what?”

Leela rose and called out, “I have reason to believe he may have put sand in my paint tubes. I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t prove it, but someone did it.”

Jürgen shook his head slowly, like he was trying to wake from a terrible dream. Sachin grabbed his arm. “I didn’t know if I could give you the house! I thought you’d leave me.”

More exclamations from the crowd, and stars in Sachin’s own nakshatra were staring at the floor. Anger and confusion warred for dominance on his face as he laid into Jeet. “The puppets were already gone when I went to get them. You know that. What was I supposed to do?”

Sheetal almost felt bad for him, except he’d brought this on himself. If Kaushal hadn’t interceded, she might have gotten kicked out.

“Come on,” Jeet said lazily. “You didn’t really think we’d just let that go. You tried to sabotage us.” Sheetal imagined the silver blood crawling beneath his skin and gagged.

“No!” said Sachin. “You said she—”

The Esteemed Matriarch pointed to the platform. “Please reserve all theatrics for the actual performance. You may begin your turn while we contemplate this situation.”

As they spread out an array of tools, Jürgen whispered something to Sachin that caused his chin to drop to his chest. Then Jürgen trudged back to their tent. At this point, Sheetal wasn’t sure he would care if Sachin won.

The star who’d accompanied them from House Ashvini’s tent hastened to inspire Sachin, then withdrew. Alone at his table, Sachin donned protective goggles and gloves. Then he carved. He welded. He soldered. Drills whined, and sparks flew. A fresh patina of sweat beaded on his forehead, but he didn’t stop working to wipe it off.

After an hour or five years—Sheetal couldn’t have said which—Sachin set down his tools to reveal a marble-and-metal sculpture of a white man in a top hat from Victorian times facing an Indian warrior bearing a golden mace. Sheetal could tell at a glance how good it was, how much raw feeling and narrative it communicated. It deserved a ton of applause and more.

But like the rest of the audience, she was really just waiting for the Esteemed Matriarch and Patriarch to reach their decision.

Finally the Esteemed Matriarch spoke. “The issue of the theft is disappointing, certainly, yet you did attempt in good faith to return the marionettes. That was a wise self-corrective measure, and one we endorse.”

Sachin, who’d been stooped over his table, sat up now, and he beamed at his companion. Sheetal’s breath came faster. They were going to pardon him, she knew it.

“However, the string of thefts and attempted sabotage concern us far less than the motivation behind them: You do not appear to trust your own ability to stand against other artists. Weakness of character does not become you, nor does it become the house for which you serve as symbol,” the Esteemed Patriarch declared. “Therefore, you are dismissed.”