His parents, who stood to his right, mouthed something. Venkat wondered if they truly believed this union was the best course of action, or if, like the garudas, they just wanted power, too.

Come to think of it, did the wedding even need to happen? Neither Asha nor Chintu wanted it, and the revisioning would render it beside the point.

Venkat glanced off to the side, where Madhu and her contingent of sentries loomed, and his bad feeling returned. How did Nayan not see how duplicitous she was?

Moments later, bearers halted at a second set of ceremonial thrones installed on a dais a few feet from the mandap, where they lowered two exquisitely decorated palanquins. Handlers slid open the door of each palanquin and accompanied the nagaraja and nagarani to their seats.

In the wake of their arrival, the air felt electric with expectation, enough that Venkat had to resist the urge to rub the goose bumps on his arms. Despite his fury at Nayan and Madhu, exhilaration coursed through him. Everything was about to change.

From the position of Lord Surya’s chariot in the sky, it was almost noon. Almost time. Venkat retreated behind the partition, his anxiety spiking.

“Be at ease,” Nayan said, as steady as if they were merely chatting in their private workshop. “All will be well.”

Venkat reflected on that with new cynicism. If Nayan cared so much, why hadn’t he stopped Madhu from issuing that order? Why was he holding anyone hostage?

Undaunted, Nayan added, “Today is our day, my son.”

An attendant peered around their screen. “Lord Nayan, it is time.”

Nayan winked, then motioned for Venkat to come along.

Countless eyes pursued them as they sauntered, on foot and on tail, over the teal carpet leading to the mandap. The distance simultaneously felt interminable and like it would end far too quickly. Venkat had never had so much attention directed at him in his life, and the weight of it might have been the river sky itself pressing down.

“Welcome, Lord Nayan and Apprentice Venkat,” said the nagaraja from his throne. “You wish to address us before the ceremony begins?”

“Indeed, my liege.” Nayan moved to kneel before the cobra-hooded thrones, and Venkat followed suit, his palms growing clammy. Here it was, the moment of truth.

His stomach churned. Everyone would see his work. Would his craft hold up?

What if it didn’t?

“Rise, Lord Nayan,” said the nagaraja, “and speak.”

“Time and again, our ancient feud with the garudas has brought grief and death to our doorstep. Even now, they seek their reprisal.” Nayan stared out at the guests, letting the accumulated fear and rage settle over them. Letting them remember why they had all come here to be united under one banner. “You have requested a permanent solution to the problem, Your Majesties, and my apprentice—my son—and I bestow one upon you now.”