She had to forget: the bracelet, Nitya, all of it. Her heart, stupid beating thing, refused to let her. The garudas, it drummed. Your fault.

“My sister.” The words shot out before she could muzzle them, and Tanvi wanted to smack herself.

Why had she said that? Now he’d change his mind about reinitiating her. After all, hadn’t he just said he’d never want to forget his family?

She heard his sharp intake of breath. “Wow. I—”

Tanvi yanked her hand out from under his and ventured to the balcony railing. She stared at the sky and the sun, at the palace and people below. She turned back to the vials and mosaics in rainbow hues, so intricate only magic could have made them. After the plain darkness of her own room, it was all an assault on her senses.

So many colors. So many scents—the jasmine and champak and jewel-fruit floating in from outside. So many sounds—Venkat’s low voice and that awful, accusatory pulsing in Tanvi’s chest. Her skin still bristled everywhere the bracelet had touched it.

A tear trickled down her cheek, and she impatiently swiped at it. “You’re not going to help me now, are you? Because you think me remembering her makes up for your family or whatever.”

She’d meant for him to get mad, too. To yell like she was yelling. Instead, Venkat watched her with so much sympathy she could scream. Why was he being so nice about this? “Are you sure that’s what you want?” he asked quietly.

What did she want? To sleep again, without dreams and memories. Without waking to see any of this. Without knowing the truth about her bracelet.

And without the dense thicket of stupid feelings rubbing her raw. Most of all, without that guilt, bitter and tipped with talons and feathers, the guilt that insisted Nitya deserved to be safe from the garudas and would be if Tanvi and Asha hadn’t led them straight to her door.

Tanvi’s shoulders slumped. The guilt was too strong. “I want you to reinitiate me, but . . .”

Venkat looked so hopeful she couldn’t stand it. “But?”

“But not . . .” She tried one last time to hold out. “Yet.”

Relief brightened his face like the sun burning through mist. “Good,” he said, and he squeezed her hand again. “And not just because of my family.”

Tanvi squirmed. Why did he even care what she did? And why was he looking at her like that?

She glanced down to where Venkat’s fingers were wrapped around hers. It felt warm and safe. Almost comforting. She didn’t know what to do—was it okay to stay like that?

Their eyes met, and Venkat must have realized he was still holding her hand, too, because he suddenly let go and started fiddling with the nearest vial. An amethyst, its violet as rich as the dream it must contain.