“Probably not as bad as being bitten by the nagaraja or nagarani,” Tanvi said, and even that feeble attempt at humor helped. She swept her arm to include the immobile figures surrounding them. “What happens now?”

Venkat shrugged. “They’ll have to talk to each other. Nothing’s going to get healed overnight—and maybe not at all. But if they want to get out of there, they’ll at least have to do that much. In the meantime . . .”

He marched over to Garuda and the nagaraja. The nagarani had enfolded Asha in her arms, and Venkat thought again how hard it must be to have everyone else decide your destiny for you.

“This has gone on long enough,” he declared, and though they made no move to reply, he knew all four of them heard him. “You thought you could rewrite history the same way we wiped out the dream runners’ memories. But you can’t do that. You can’t do either one. It’s our memories that define who we are.”

He heard Tanvi before he saw her. “You can’t go back. Only forward. I should know.”

“You wanted renewal and hope,” Venkat said to Garuda. “Here you go.”

Garuda made a sound of displeasure. “Do you truly believe this will end here? Come now, my son.”

My son. Just two words, but they hit Venkat right in the heart. He still loved Nayan, never mind that Nayan was no better than a hallucination. The calculated creation of someone who knew how to act in order to get what he wanted. It didn’t make any difference. Venkat would always love Nayan, and he would mourn him as much as he’d mourned the family of his birth.

“I thought you were my father,” he said quietly. “But I was wrong.”

Tanvi laced her fingers through his.

“Come here, Asha,” he said, and suddenly Asha was shimmying toward them. “See, none of you get it. It doesn’t matter what we do or don’t do here. This is a problem that only you can resolve. You can’t kidnap kids and have them harvest dreams for you. You can’t throw magic at bad decisions and expect everything will be fine.”

Garuda watched him with shrewd eyes. Venkat marveled that he hadn’t noticed how avian Garuda’s gestures had always been. He’d wanted so much to believe in the story of Nayan and him. “I don’t know; maybe eagles and snakes can never get along. But either way, it’s not our responsibility, and it’s time for you and your army to leave.”

“How do you propose to compel us?” Garuda asked. It sounded like one of the challenges Nayan had issued Venkat in the workshop. Pushing him to do more, do better. To flourish—but only as long as he didn’t flourish too much.