The majestic chamber sparkled like the inside of a dreamstone, its baroque inlay walls gleaming beneath the banners featuring the devices of both clans: red-and-yellow intertwining vipers for the clan of Vasuki and a cobalt-and-silver cobra springing at a crescent moon for the clan of Anant Shesha. Clusters of silvery flowers tucked into the jade mosaic ceiling sent their perfume dancing down like playful paris. The carved gold-and-green pillars lining the perimeter had been tied with bands of mirror-worked silk, their tiny reflections pinhole portals to other worlds. Gold filigree lamps studded with an array of jewels furnished the hall with multicolored light, their beams braiding together into a bedazzling fresco that formed and re-formed over the marble floor. On a dais near the entrance, the royal musicians played veena and nagasvaram at a volume low enough to encourage conversation.

A buffet station lined the far wall, watched over by a relief of prancing naginis. Long tables groaned under the weight of a lavish steaming banquet featuring Asha’s and Chintu’s favorite dishes, their wonderful smells taunting Venkat’s empty stomach. He could have devoured the chafing dish of jewel-rice biryani all by himself, and once the guests of honor made their grand entrance, he would do his best to bring that about.

They weren’t the only ones late, however. Nayan had also been delayed, marooning Venkat by a statue of the nagarani in repose. At first, he’d distracted himself from thoughts of Jai by mentally tracing the beadwork of the banners and going over all the naga lore he knew, all the tales of the various clans and their escapades.

But when he ran out of stories and Nayan still hadn’t arrived, Venkat sighed and approached the guests closest to him, a refined older naga couple practically dripping kundan jewelry. They put him in mind of high-society people in movies, as at home in their extravagant pear-and-gold embroidered sherwani and richly worked dusty rose choli and dupatta set as if they’d never even conceived of having to settle for anything less.

Venkat put his palms together in greeting. “It’s a fine evening for a party.”

The couple beamed in unison. “Lord Nayan’s apprentice!” said the woman. “Where is dear Lord Nayan?”

“He’ll be here soon,” Venkat said. Feeling awkward, he repeated, “It really is a nice party.”

“Such a lovely kurta!” the woman exclaimed. “The colors suit you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing compared to yours,” Venkat said politely, but the compliment warmed him. He knew he looked good. Madhu had chosen peacock colors this time: rich blue, vivid green, and deep violet, all embroidered with gold dots. The stylish kurta fit him like silken armor, and his freshly combed hair shone.

The man’s tail wound in sinuous patterns behind him as he moved closer. “Such a position of prestige, to work with Lord Nayan in the dream trade.”