Star Daughter(93)

Shock rumbled through House Ashvini. For his part, Sachin said nothing, his eyes glassy. He didn’t respond when Jürgen turned his back or even when his escorts led him away.





30


The court buzzed as a cluster of stars from the disgruntled Ashvini nakshatra rushed the stage and started arguing with the ruling Esteemed Matriarch and Patriarch.

The rest of the stars had risen from their seats and were discussing the decision in various tones of giddiness and anger, like they intended to lap up every bit of the tension. Sheetal remembered the apsara saying nothing exciting had happened here in a long time.

So disgusting, like they were all ghouls. No matter what Sachin had done, he had just lost everything.

The Esteemed Matriarch clapped for silence, cutting the chatter short. “Please welcome our fourth champion, Jeet Merai of House Revati,” she announced. “He will be composing and presenting a short tale.”

“Here we go,” Minal muttered, and Sheetal glanced up to watch Rati ascend the platform next to Jeet, the pleats of her sheer sari accentuating her graceful, statuesque frame. Contempt simmered in her gaze.

Sheetal went numb. She’d gotten so enmeshed in her own fears, she’d forgotten about Rati.

The entire court was listening, including the stars of the Dhanishta nakshatra. And no wonder; in the projection from the viewing pool, Rati’s antics were full of cinematic flair.

Rati smiled, unabashedly exulting in the attention. “It is true House Revati’s champion will tell the court a story it cannot possibly resist. Is that not so, Jeet?”

Jeet bristled but nodded.

What was she up to? Sheetal looked over at Dev. A muscle twitched in his jaw. Maybe they should rush the stage, too.

“You may take your seat,” said the ruling Esteemed Patriarch, “and begin.”

No, Sheetal wanted to shout. No taking seats! Don’t begin! She didn’t dare look at Nani. Charumati reached for her hand.

Rati didn’t wait. She injected Jeet with so much stardust he blazed like a comet. His eyes flared like fluorescent bulbs, and his fingers and curly hair turned to torches. Sheetal was sure he’d pass out, if the jolt of inspiration didn’t burn him up altogether.

But the light vanished just as rapidly as it had come, and he swaggered to the front of the platform, letting the curious crowd get a good look at him. Finally, he smiled a wide, ironic smile, parked himself at the table with the scroll and ink pot set out for him, and began to write.

It was a good thing Charumati was holding her hand, because Sheetal wouldn’t have been able to keep from ripping her cuticles to shreds. In his tent, Dev fidgeted and probably wished he had something to tear up, too.

Minutes passed. Normally Sheetal couldn’t think of anything more boring than staring at someone scratch ink onto paper, but right now, she prayed to any of the gods who might be listening that it would never end, that whatever Jeet was writing, it wouldn’t be good.

Padmini offered both her mother and her glasses of blue mango juice, and Sheetal gulped hers down. She was so thirsty. So hot and so thirsty.

Would he ever finish? Please don’t let him finish.

After what seemed like hours, Jeet set down the quill and stood. He cleared his throat and began to read aloud.

“One day, long ago but not so long that the world was round instead of flat, a man went out to watch the sky through the new telescope his older brother had given him. He saw a planet that winked in and out and wondered what it was. Had he discovered something no one else had?

“It seemed what the man had been watching was a planet, but the more he watched, the more she started to look like a human woman, dainty and soft, long of hair and arm, and short of temper. The brothers fought for the telescope, giving up weeks of sleep just to stare at her. All they talked about was how they would capture her and have their own traveling show.”

Gross, Sheetal thought. Next to her, Minal rolled her eyes.

“The planet could feel their attention on her atmosphere like ants crawling over human skin, until she couldn’t think of anything else. Her soil dried out and cracked, and she suffered earthquakes and avalanches and eruptions like pustules.”

After all the hype, that was the best Jeet could do? Sheetal couldn’t believe it. That was the kind of writing that won grants? How about some actual characterization and description?

The audience, too, shifted restlessly. No one spoke, and the astral melody was silent, but Sheetal didn’t need that to tell her when someone was bored.

“The breaking point finally came,” Jeet intoned, his words climbing dramatically, “the way breaking points do, when she jumped out of the sky and landed on the ground with a thump. Her feet left big holes in the ground that would turn into ponds after the first rain. That night, though, was a clear one, so clear that the brothers were forced to watch as the planet came closer and closer. ‘Ogle me, will you?’ the planet huffed, but the brothers were so busy staring, imagining the fortune they would make by taking their discovery on the road, that they completely failed to see her giant hands reaching—”

Sheetal glanced at Rati. Her grand champion, the one meant to take down the Pushya nakshatra, sucked at writing! She must be so humiliated.

From where she sat in House Revati’s tent, Rati watched Jeet through hooded eyes. When he looked back, her eyes flashed, and stardust leaped from her fingers so fast Sheetal nearly missed it. But Jeet didn’t.