All dream runners burned out eventually. Venkat knew that, he’d always known that, and yet his heart still hurt. He was failing them, like he’d failed his family back on Prithvi.

He pressed his forehead down on the page. If only he could disappear into the workshop and focus on his trials.

But the line by the desk wasn’t going to get any shorter. Venkat groaned, picturing ants swarming over him like he was a juicy ball of rose syrup–drenched rasgulla dropped on a sidewalk. There’d be nothing left of him if he wasn’t careful.

Donning a noncommittal smile like well-oiled armor, Venkat left the vault through his own panel. The dream runners weren’t the only ones with clandestine routes through the palace.

Once he emerged at the scallop-arched entrance to the archives, he strode past the queue of gem-stippled and silk-swathed patrons, all touched by the river sky’s glow spilling in from the skylights like liquid aquamarine. Madhu, her white plait swinging behind her, dismissed her latest client with a curt flick of her wrist.

Princess Asha of the clan of Vasuki promptly sashayed forward, as imperious as the nagarani and three times as showy in a zari-embroidered scarlet choli. “You cccccertainly dallied this morning!” she scolded, jhumka earrings tinkling as she tossed her waist-length black locks over her shoulder. Rhinestone flower clips sparkled like a rainbow of dreamstones against its waves, in striking contrast to the green-black scales of her powerful cobra tail. “Sssssome among us have absolutely arduous days ahead.”

Venkat had learned early on not to react to Asha’s theatrics—after all, they both worked for Nayan—but the nagas closest to her began stage-whispering, precisely like she’d intended.

“Surprises are what keep life interesting. Thank you for your patience,” he called, nodding at Madhu as he deposited the vial on one of the many shelves warded to repel anyone but him or Nayan.

Her expression might have withered a field of crops as she moved to let Venkat reclaim the immense ivory desk. He could already hear her irate voice in his head: I serve as Lord Nayan’s eyes and ears, not his secretary. Do not keep me waiting again.

Two nagas, who might have been the equivalent of Venkat’s age of eighteen, followed in her wake. The bigger of the pair, Prince Chintan, offered a shallow bow. “Venkat, is it? I am Chintu.”

“Oh?” Venkat asked with extra politeness. He’d seen the prince and his friends clowning around the palace like the spoiled nobles they were, and he was fairly certain Nayan didn’t need whatever it was they thought they could provide.

“I have heard a great deal about you,” Chintu continued. “All superb things, needless to say.” His friend leaned back on his chevron-patterned orange-and-white coils and shot Chintu a hurry up look.