Because I woke in a crystalline garden hedged in cardamom and rosebushes. In the midst of trees covered in sparkling amber bark, Sanjeet’s broad form sat hunched on a bench, faced away from me, while he plucked forlornly at a flower that appeared to be made of rubies.

Once I realized my mistake, I backed away, attempting to fall out of his mind, but he heard my footsteps on the silken grass. His tea-colored eyes met mine, froze . . . and then dimmed.

“You’re not real,” he said.

I blinked. “What?”

“For council members to unite in dreams,” he said slowly, “they have to be thinking of each other at the same time. And she avoids thinking of me. So you’re not really her.” He laughed ruefully, turning back to the flower. “Just a figment of my imagination.”

My heart twinged. I shifted my feet in the unnatural grass, considered telling him the truth. But instead I asked, “How do you know she isn’t thinking of you?”

“Why would she?” he asked. “I left.” His pain radiated through the air like weather, dewy teardrops sprouting on each plant. “I did the same thing her mother did. The moment she insisted on being herself, and nothing else—I disappeared.”

“You could come back,” I suggested, fighting the pain quickly stopping up my throat. “I know she can be . . . difficult, sometimes, but she would rather have you there than gone—”

“I always wanted to bring her here.” He stood, gazing wistfully around the shimmering clearing. “The enchanted Royal Garden of Vhraipur, in the heart of Dhyrma. Amah used to bring me here as a boy. Gems, silk, precious stones as far as the eye can see. You’d think thieves would help themselves. But if anyone tries to steal a bud out of its natural habitat”—he snapped the ruby rose from its stem, and the blossom crumbled instantly to dust—“it ceases to be.”

“Jeet.” I crossed the garden in two strides, seizing his arm with my insubstantial hand. “I’m really here—well. Not here—you know what I mean. But it’s really me.”

At my touch, he trembled, pupils dilating with grief and wonder. “Tar,” he breathed, gathering me close. His dream self did not smell of anything, but I could feel his heartbeat, hammering fast against mine. “There’s something you should know,” he said, drawing back to cup my cheek. “I’ve searched for alagbatos. No signs. That’s good; it means whatever you’re doing is holding them off. But when I tried to find the new opening to the Underworld, stories kept cropping up. Leads about your ojiji. Something’s going on, Tar. Something—”

Immediately a gush of wind swept me off the ground, and the treble cries of children filled my ears.

Sanjeet left you! Hurt you. He’s trying to keep you from saving future Redemptors, keep you all to himself. Don’t listen to him. Don’tlistenDon’tlistenDon’tlisten—

I fought and kicked, reeling with surprise. Until now, the ojiji had mostly left me alone when I slept and united with my siblings. They had never interfered with a dream before.