Star Daughter(99)

But not everyone wanted revenge. Not everyone thought the old taboo needed to be carried down through generations. She could hear Padmini and Kaushal, full of affection and protective worry.

Sheetal concentrated on that, tuning everything else out. She was sure it would cleave her in two: the call of the constellation, her family in the nakshatra, her blood that even now twisted into a new shade, a new substance.

Every star joined hands in the cosmic dance, encircling her. The mortal part of her submitted easily, folding into the part that was star and shining silver and hot enough to melt anything that resisted it.

Her cells shifted from flesh to light while her core burned as if it would consume her whole. Her sense of time expanded from the brief leaf dance from branch to ground of a human girl to the vast spectrum of days known to a star.

Out of nowhere, Dad appeared in her mind—his laugh, his wit, his love. Memories floated by: their first astronomy lesson, when he’d taught her about quasars and neutron stars and joked about the level of radiation she was putting out. His proud expression whenever they discussed the biographies he’d given her. The moment when she’d seen him lying in the ICU bed, harmed by her hand. No. She wouldn’t give Dad up. Not now, not ever.

Wait, Sheetal screamed. I don’t want this! I was wrong.

Terror ate black holes in her as she tried to get away. But there was nowhere to go, and so she sang. She sang and sang, her voice tearing free and dissolving into starlight. She sang her love, her defiance. She sang for herself. It was a song no one else could hear, a song of flame, of transformation.

Continuing to sing, she ripped open the scab on her thumb, and a drop of still-human blood appeared.

As she thrashed and tumbled through the cosmos within herself, she pinned her attention to that red bead. This is who I am. She drove it like a stake deep into the soil of her heart and secured it with her love for Dad, Radhikafoi and her family, Minal, and Dev. Whatever else happened to her, that part would always bloom.

“Sheetal!” Nani’s voice lashed through the night. “Stop this.”

But it was too late. Sheetal’s radiance flooded the universe as she took her place in the Pushya nakshatra.

When she opened her eyes, she stood by the viewing pool, and she knew right away that everything was different. The way it gleamed brighter, felt more ethereal . . . the way she now realized the starsong she thought she’d heard so distinctly before had been muffled, scratchy, like a video call with bad reception. Now it rang out in unadulterated perfection, each note a miracle.

The whispers and murmurs intensified until they hissed around her like vipers.

Sheetal saw understanding dawn in her grandmother’s silver-brown eyes.

“Beti,” said Nani, a volcano of grief and fury bubbling just beneath her outer layer of calm. “You cannot do this.”

Sheetal should probably feel triumphant. Instead, she just felt sad and exhausted. And she still wasn’t done.

Minal gave her a searching look. “Are you okay? That was . . .”

Sheetal obliged her with a strained smile, then faced the hundreds of pairs of disbelieving eyes. Blood fizzing bright in her veins, she could only pray she’d done the right thing.

“Yes, I am,” she told Minal. “Yes, I can,” she told Nani. “You swore as long as our nakshatra won, I could have the blood. You didn’t say who had to win for us.”

Charumati laughed with sheer delight.

Forgetting the rest of the court, forgetting its whispers, Sheetal turned to the boy who had come such a long way to support his cousin—but also to support her. The thing she was about to ask was so huge, she wouldn’t blame him if he said no. “Sing for me?”

To his credit, Dev sounded more skeptical than anything. “You want me to compete.”

“Yep. As my champion.”

Next to them, Jeet snorted. “Pitting my cousin-brother against me? That’s your plan?”

Sheetal jerked. She’d forgotten he was even there.

Dev glanced at Sheetal, his dark brown eyes even softer in her new vision, then at Jeet. His mouth tightened. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Something sharp glittered in Jeet’s grip. “I don’t think so. You’re not going to screw me over like this.”

“Whoa, bhai, what are you doing?” Dev dove for him. “Have you lost it completely?”

“Stay out of this,” Jeet snapped, jumping aside. “You betrayed me. Both of you.”

Minal grabbed for the knife, but he shoved her away.

“What?” he taunted Sheetal, his blade glinting. “Don’t tell me you thought Dev would save you.”

And in the dark tradition of his ancestor, he cut her.





32


Sheetal stared at her bleeding stomach, at the silver liquid gushing from the wound. Seconds later, the agony hit, a sharp shriek, just as Dev pinned Jeet’s arms behind him, aided by guards who had come rushing in through the wings.

Jeet’s eyes were fixed on the blood. The rancor was gone from them, displaced by desperate need. “Just give me a drop,” he wheedled. “I can still win!”

Padmini, Charumati, and Nani all surrounded Sheetal. “Oh, dikri,” said Charumati, bending to examine the wound. “Oh, my daughter. I never wanted this.”

“Nor did I,” said Nani. Through the starsong, which was now woven around her like a net, Sheetal could feel Nani gathering healing magic.