The room fell quiet again, grimaces turning on the man who had spoken up.

Nayan took advantage of the silence to glide through the crowd, which parted before him. “Now vacate this chamber. My apprentice and I have much to discuss before the audience.”

“But what of my—” someone else protested.

“Whatever business you have with my office can wait until tomorrow, I assure you,” Nayan said, halting beside Venkat’s desk. He smiled fully now, a dangerous upturn of his lips like the blade of a sickle.

The chamber emptied abruptly, making the pearlescent walls loom as high and wide as a cavern’s. Venkat sat up straighter and looked at Nayan, who laid a hand on his shoulder. “Well done, holding down the fort while I was in council.” He turned to Madhu. “I will expect your report this afternoon.”

Venkat’s heart lifted at the praise. Back when he’d lost his family, he’d never imagined he’d end up raised by a naga. And yet here they were.

After he’d failed the dream runner initiation, Nayan had saved him from being exiled back to Prithvi, taking him in as a son and an apprentice. He’d let Venkat cry out his grief and rage for the earthquake that had left him to watch, helpless, while it murdered the rest of his family. It was Nayan who’d then nurtured Venkat’s love of stories and shown him his true potential for working with dreams.

What was the hassle of dealing with entitled customers compared to that?

Madhu put her palms together before her face. “As you wish.” She undulated away, her scales gleaming in the jewel-toned light.

With far less grace, Asha huffed and hastened after her.

Once the double doors had closed behind them, Nayan spoke one word: “Upstairs.”

Warming with anticipation, Venkat hurried to the statue of Mansa Devi, sister to King Vasuki, at the rear of the hall. There were four such statues in the archives, each standing guard over one stack of shelves, but only this one contained a hidden lever. The rooftop sanctuary it uncovered had originally been created for the visiting queen as a refuge from court politics, but in her absence, Nayan had found a different use for the space.

Venkat located the fifth feather on the statue’s right wing and pressed down. A pulley-driven lift materialized, undetectable to anyone who hadn’t been granted admittance to the sanctuary. Then he and Nayan boarded the lift, which carried them to their workshop overlooking the distant marketplace.

Here, within these walls of cobalt and gold with their cobra-scale motif and embedded gemstone murals, Nayan had introduced Venkat to the most important aspect of his job.