King Vasuki’s coils twitched as if he were about to strike. Venkat prayed he would keep his head. Garuda’s machinations had already led to the casualties on the ground, and all it would take was one foolish move for the entire scene to descend into carnage.

“Release the princess,” the nagarani countered. “She is not part of this.”

The tapestry spoke louder, urging Venkat to invoke it. Compelling him.

“Give me Kadru,” Garuda said. “I wish to look her in the eyes as I subject her to her own cruelty.”

All around him, small clashes continued—the nagas’ swords and maces swinging and their arrows flying; the garudas’ golden talons slashing and their beaks impaling—but Venkat hardly noticed. Nayan was gone, a fictional character, and with him, all Venkat had in the worlds. He was no one’s son now.

Revise the story.

He couldn’t be left with nothing again. He would shatter.

What did he owe the nagas, anyway? After all, hadn’t they cheated in the first place? All Venkat would be doing was setting things right.

He had no desire to help Garuda, but he could help the dream runners—help Tanvi—and his own family if he went ahead with the revisioning.

Not to mention, the tapestry wanted to be invoked. Its enchantment crooned to him. He had worked so hard on it; shouldn’t he see it through to fruition?

He could already hear his grandmother’s voice again.

“You can halt this anytime you wish,” Vinata said to him. “I will even see to it that the mortal girl goes free.”

“You’ll let Tanvi go. You swear it?”

Vinata waggled her head. “Why not? I have no further use for her.”

Then he had no reason to refuse.

“Okay,” Venkat said. “I’ll do it.”

38

Gold. There was so. Much. Gold. So many jewels, all cut and polished for decoration’s sake. Tanvi had thought she’d been overwhelmed before, when she’d glimpsed Venkat’s workshop. But this was oversaturation. Like eating too much candy, could someone get sick from seeing too many riches?

The palace went on and on and on, but worse than her fun-house dream, because this was real. Being dressed like one of Asha’s friends gave Tanvi leeway with the overburdened staff, who barely spared her a glance, but it didn’t do anything to help her navigate the labyrinthine corridors and endless flights of stairs. The lines of statues, the portraits and pools and fountains, even the mosaics all made her dizzy, like she was walking in circles. And maybe she was—she’d run into that servant carrying the giant platter of teal and violet jewel-rice once before, and she’d definitely gone by the steamed-up kitchens at least twice. No wonder Asha had so many attendants; without them looking after her, she’d fall through a remote chute and vanish. Hissing the whole way down, probably.