Tanvi couldn’t recall ever having seen much of Bhogavati before. Everything was so rich, from the showy people in their heavy silks to the this could buy entire countries on Earth bungalows and villas with their scale-shingled roofs to the groves of juicy jewel-fig trees. It was like a wedding cake on steroids. No, an old-time fairy-tale painting in shades of stained glass.

Her brain, which had spent seven years tuning out anything unrelated to dreams, felt like it was going to short out. Too much stimulation, too many worries running in circles like a rat in a cage. They’d done that experiment in school, she remembered out of nowhere, putting a white rat through a maze in exchange for treats.

Desperate to go blank again, Tanvi squeezed her eyes shut. But she could still feel the rat’s supple fur under her fingers—she’d gotten in trouble for sticking her hand in the cage, while Nitya, scared of the rat’s beady gaze, stood back—and for a minute, she couldn’t tell whether she was there in the classroom on Earth or here in Nagalok.

She was dissolving, and like dream wisps escaping their vial, soon there would be nothing left.

Something cool pressed into her palm. “Drink,” Venkat said from nearby. “It’ll help.”

Hisses suggested at least one naga slithering around, but she tried hard to ignore the sounds. To ignore the aromas of the food stalls mere feet away. The music that sneaked into her heart, seeking to seduce her along its journey.

She took a sip from the goblet and almost swooned. It tasted like the nectar of the gods to her parched tongue—sweet, frosty, and totally refreshing. “What is this?” she asked, opening her eyes to see she held a silver rose. A clear liquid shone in the depths of its satiny petals. “Amrit?”

Venkat laughed. “Water.”

Water. Plain water. Tanvi swished the liquid around in her mouth. “I can’t handle this. It’s all . . . all . . .”

And that brought on another memory: the day she’d made her own soda. Mom and Dad wouldn’t let her have more than half a can, so she’d added water to it. But when she tasted the “cola,” it was flat and flavorless. All she’d done was ruin the good thing she already had. “I can’t.”

“It’s okay. We’ll take a carriage from here, and you can relax.” Venkat pointed to the gilded traffic going by: pedestrians, carriages, even a line of royal palanquins. “Not those—they’re here for Asha’s wedding.”

Tanvi scrunched up her face. She didn’t want to think about Asha and Chintu, or Sameer. And she definitely didn’t want to think about Nitya.

Her side tingled, nerves alive with awareness again. Venkat stood inches from her, as close as they’d been in her room—all she had to do was reach out, and she’d touch him.