The dreamfire was everywhere now. It was in the air she breathed, in the sweat at the nape of her neck. She could feel the strength of it churning the city into a storm. The buildings were drenched in light, debris flying through the air as if the world had tipped on its side and sent everything sprawling. Even the earth felt like it was moving beneath her feet. It was dizzying, terrifying.

Exhilarating.

She was lost, but everything inside her was aflame with nameless joy, the feeling of a perfectly danced rite or the bright recognition in a daiva’s eyes. She was lost, but her body knew this storm. It knew it was home.

She breathed in steadily. She tried to keep her mind clear of euphoria. Joy wouldn’t help her right now. Frustration wouldn’t either. She had to think.

She couldn’t trust her memories, or her knowledge, or her own emotions. But she could trust the dreamfire. She could let its current guide her, move her like water, like blood.

When you dance with the Rite of Dreaming, you dance with the Gods. Her mother had told her that. Right now it felt like only divine intervention would get her where she needed to be.

The thought of dancing the Rite of Dreaming filled her with fear and exhilaration in equal measure. There were rites that Mehr had danced so often that she knew them in her bones. The Rite of Dreaming was not one of them. She had never performed it, not truly, not in a storm with the light of dreamfire pouring over her like rain. She had no fellow Amrithi to perform it with.

There were so many reasons that the rite was beyond her grasp. But here, in the heart of the dreamfire storm … for Lalita’s sake and for her own, she would try.

Mehr kneeled down and slipped off her boots. She pressed her bare feet hard against the ground. All rites required the feel of the ground on skin, the ritual connection between soil and sky and flesh. Without it the dance had no meaning, no heart. But the ground was rough on her soft soles, and she knew the longer her feet were exposed to the elements, the more she’d suffer. She bit down on the inside of her cheek. This wouldn’t be easy.

She sucked in a slow, even breath. She straightened up, finding her balance. Then she raised her arms slowly, cupping her palms together, allowing her back to bend like the arc of a falling star. The first step in the rite.

The wind howled around her, threatening to throw her off balance. Dreamfire poured into her cupped hands. Her head tipped back, and her hood fell. She felt the wind catch her braid, making it lash out behind her. She closed her eyes tight.