As Biali spoke, Janx turned a sudden look on Margrit, his lips pursed and his jade eyes bright. Her heart lurched, a telltale sound to ears like Janx's, and the thoughtful curiosity in his eyes blazed into private delight. "Let us vote," he said abruptly. "Margrit's point is made, if not at the length she might wish, but we are not a people prone to debate. By age," he proposed again, and Daisani, without preamble, opened his hand to reveal a black stone.

Disappointment surged in Margrit's belly as Janx and Kaimana locked eyes, the former making his from-the-waist bow a second time that evening. "I defer," he said politely. "I shall vote at the last."

Giving himself the balance to tip, if it came to that, Margrit thought. Kaimana nodded and followed Daisani's lead, not waiting for the formal question to be put to him before he, too, opened his hand to show a black stone.

Dismay surged through Margrit again, though Kaimana's claim against the potential folly of people belonging to the Old Races tempered her surprise. Malik, too, turned up a black stone, though that, at least, came as expected. Alban would have voted her way, but with Biali at the table...She'd tried, she told herself. She'd tried, and at least Janx was likely to vote her way. It wouldn't be an utter rout, and perhaps it would signify a move toward getting the changes in law that she hoped for.

Biali turned his attention to Margrit, his scarred face dark with consideration. She met his gaze with as much forthright openness as she could, though her chest hurt with the possibility of defeat. Though he'd shown tiny bursts of crass emotion during the meeting, she could no longer read anything in his eye. It left her with a sense of being judged, and found wanting.

He put his hands on the table with slow deliberation, still watching her, and then suddenly his ugly smile shaped his features as he opened his fingers.

The same hand he'd opened twice before. Margrit's breath caught, sending another painful lurch through her chest.

A white stone sat in Biali's palm.

TWENTY-SEVEN.

A RUSH OF NOISE filled Margrit's ears, heat rushing through her entire body as she stared at Biali's vote in disbelief. He dropped the stone on the table and leaned back, thick arms folded across his broad chest. Only Janx's flourish to Margrit's left took her attention away from the gargoyle's vote. She looked toward the dragon with a sense of curious unreality.

Janx rolled his stone in his palm, bringing it up to display between his thumb and forefinger before he lay it on the table with a soft click of finality. It gleamed white, a final show of support for Margrit's cause.

"Three and three. The law stands. Biali?" Daisani looked toward the history-taker with expectation.

The gargoyle shoved back from the table and stood, a block of flesh solid as a wall. "It'll go in the memories, and anyone looking to see how it came to pass just has to ask. Any more surprises, lawyer?"

"No." Margrit's voice cracked and she pulled her eyes from the white stone Biali had abandoned on the table. "No, I think that pretty much took care of it. I don't know about any other laws that need rewriting."

"Then we're done." Biali stumped out of the boardroom with no more ceremony than that. Malik followed him, leaving Margrit alone with three elders of the Old Races.

Janx stepped up to her side, eyes bright green with interest. "I believe you and I have some things to discuss. Perhaps I could escort you home. If you'll have me, of course."

"There's a question you may hear regularly, Miss Knight." Daisani, full of teasing formality, appeared beside Janx. "An attractive, intelligent woman already conversant with the Old Races, when we've just agreed to change our laws of survival. All sorts of propositions may come your way."

Margrit blurted, "I need to talk to Biali," and Daisani clucked his tongue in overweening dismay.

"I'm shocked. Had I guessed who our young Knight might choose as her squire, it would certainly not have been Biali. Generations of children who might have been weep in despair. Margrit, if you're returning to the ball, I'd be delighted to claim another dance."

"Sure." She nodded as Daisani left the room, then turned toward Janx. Kaimana, still on the other side of the table, offered a very brief smile that sent an unexpected chill over Margrit's skin. She believed the choices she'd pushed the Old Races to were the right ones, but the arrogance of that belief came back to her as she saw self-satisfaction in Kaaiai's expression. He, like Biali, seemed to have nothing more to say, and left her standing alone with Janx.

The red-haired crimelord offered his elbow, all graceful politeness, and looked pleased when Margrit took it. "I remember a time when you wouldn't let me touch you, much less take your arm or share a dance," he murmured. "Have you softened toward the hardened criminal, Margrit?"

Remembered irritation rose up at the casual, dismissive way Janx had captured a lock of her hair in his fingers the first time they'd met. Margrit banished the memory with effort, trying to distance herself from the emotion. "It wasn't your occupation that made me angry. It was the arrogant possessiveness. You don't go around handling people like objects just because you think you can."

"On the contrary." Janx pulled the door open, amused, and escorted Margrit toward the elevators.

She huffed, trying not to share his laughter. "You shouldn't. And you certainly shouldn't do it to me."

"Or you'll very nearly bite my hand, as I recall. I've learned caution. I'd like you to tell me about a name I once gave you, Margrit." The elevator doors chimed closed behind them and Janx leaned on one reflective brass wall, full of falsely casual interest. "Tell me about Ausra."

A new wave of surprise washed through her, part of an endless ebb and flow. Margrit was unexpectedly grateful for the sleep she'd gotten that morning. Without it, the ceaseless exchange of high emotion would overwhelm her. As it was, she felt like staggering under its weight, and wished Alban were at hand so she could lean on his strength. She needed to talk to Biali, but she wanted to talk to Alban, to find out why he'd given up his place in the quorum so readily. To ask why he'd abandoned her, though an itching conviction told her choosing that word was unfair. "Is that why you voted on my behalf?"

Janx gave a liquid shrug. "I voted with you because I enjoy upsetting the balance, though I'll confess surprise at how badly it was upset tonight. But I'm reminded that I gave you a name-and a priceless stone-and I've heard nothing of either since."

"I gave the sapphire to Alban," Margrit said flatly. The egg-shaped stone had held a star within it, translucent blue and milky white making up the bulk of its color, though a fragile spot of lilac had marked one end. It had been a gift from Alban to Hajnal hundreds of years earlier, and had ended up in Janx's hands through Ausra and a corrupt policeman. "Take it up with him."

"Why, Margrit." Janx's tones were injured. "You promised you'd return it."

"Actually, I think you promised I'd return it. I never said I would. And even if I did..." Margrit smiled. "I lied."

"It's wonderful," Janx muttered, "that you feel confident in telling me that. I must be losing my touch. Ausra, my dear," he said more clearly. "Tell me about Ausra."

"She blamed Alban for something he hadn't done," Margrit said bluntly. "She was killing people and trying to frame him for it, no matter what happened to the rest of the Old Races. She almost killed me."

"Ah. Nereida Holmes, your attacker this winter. I see." Interest glittered in Janx's eyes. "She had a daytime life, Margrit. A job, family, friends."

"She was Hajnal's daughter, not Alban's. Her father was human, a man who'd captured Hajnal."

"And you fought her off. An attacker with easily two or three times your strength."

"What's the penalty for one of us killing one of you, Janx?" Margrit asked.

Janx slid a sour jade glance at her. "Ask Saint George. Ask Beowulf or Ulysses. Look to your legends, Margrit, and answer that yourself."

"Immortality?" Margrit breathed the question, less humor in it than she'd intended. "That's not what I meant, Janx, and you know it. What do your people do to us?"

"We retaliate when we can. If we know the guilty party. If he doesn't have a reputation for destroying seven of us in a single blow."

"So I'm better off keeping my mouth shut over what happened with Ausra. Let's just work under the principle that it's not unreasonable to hope that if the Old Races strictures are loosened for you, they might be bent for me."

"You have bent us so far we struggle not to break, Margrit." Janx spoke lightly, but steel lined his words. "Change doesn't come easily to our people, and we've upset the balance greatly tonight."

"How is it that five of you can make these kinds of decisions for your entire people? We'd have gone through public hearings and arguments, and the whole process would've taken years."

"Malik can't," Janx admitted freely. "Unless he's faced the rite of passage. Succeeding would give him the voice he needs among the djinn to have his arguments heard."

"The rite of passage. You both mentioned that earlier. What is it?"

"A challenge, usually within the tribe. He'll have chosen a leader he thinks can be defeated and try to bring him down, thereby gaining that position. I wonder who he defeated. I wouldn't have thought he had it in him."

A knot tied in Margrit's stomach. "Within the tribe or the race?"

Janx looked askance at her and she swallowed. "What if he's far enough removed from the djinn to think of other people as his own? What if you're the leader he wants to take down? Does he have to have already done it to stand for his people?"

"Perhaps not if they're very confident of his success, but I think not, Margrit. Not with this morning's attempt on his own life. He's badly shaken, or he'd have never approached you." Janx pursed his lips in thought, then smiled brilliantly. "And I think that if I were he and intended on challenging me, I would have voted to overturn our third law. It would be ill-advised to strike at me without killing."

Margrit sighed. "Yeah, that's true enough. God, what have I gotten myself into?"

Janx turned an unexpectedly sympathetic look on her. "It isn't often that a human finds herself so thoroughly ensconced in our world. I wish I could be reassuring and promise that all will be well, but historically, it hasn't worked that way. Our good, true Stoneheart may yet come to regret speaking to you that night."

Margrit managed a weak smile. "Somehow I get the impression that I wouldn't necessarily be around in this scenario to share his regrets."

"Ours isn't an especially kind world, Margrit, not even to those of us born to it. I would warn you toward caution, but-"

"It'd be crying over spilled milk. Thank you, Janx," Margrit said dryly. "I think, now that I'm feeling so reassured, that I'll find Alban and have him drop me off on a nice high mountaintop until you've all settled this new way of-You didn't tell me." She broke off accusingly. "You didn't tell me why you could make this decision for your whole race."

"No." Janx smiled merrily and stepped back with an extravagant bow. "I didn't. Good evening, Margrit Knight." He turned on his heel and strode back toward the ballroom, leaving her with a helpless laugh on her lips.

A peculiar ripple went through the ballroom as Margrit entered a few minutes later. Dark-eyed faces turned toward her briefly, beginning with those nearest the balcony and washing out to the edges, like a stadium wave effect. She saw one or two who were familiar: Cara Delaney, whose enigmatic smile made her seem much older than she had only a month or two earlier. Kaimana Kaaiai, who acknowledged her as solemnly as he had in the boardroom. His personal assistant, Marese, didn't smile, but something in her expression suggested approval.

And in the rest of the faces she saw thanks, admiration, delight, excitement. Selkie faces, all of them, dotted among the oblivious humans at the party. It would have been a formidable source with only mortals as attendees; with the selkie ranks swelling the guest list, there were over a thousand people swirling through Daisani's ballrooms.

"No point standing on shifting earth." Biali's voice rumbled near Margrit's ear, startling her. He barely paused as he passed by, though he cut a glance from her to the gathered selkies and back again. "No point standing against the tide."

Then he was among them once more, white-haired and broad-shouldered as he moved unceremoniously through the crowd of dark-haired selkies. They let him pass without comment, though Margrit saw from some faces that they knew how he'd voted in the quorum, and were pleased with him for it. Kaimana stepped aside for him, then turned back to Margrit and lifted a hand in question. She smiled and came down the stairs, fingertips light on the railing, to work her way to the selkie lord and fall into the steps of an elegant, formal dance with him. "I thought maybe you didn't dance."

Kaimana gave her a broad, bright grin with no artifice to it. "I wasn't sure I had reason to, earlier."

"What will you do now?"

"Party like it's 1999," Kaimana said drolly, then glanced around the ballroom. "As Eliseo would have it, it seems. I assume this extravaganza is his way of showing us the advantages of building an alliance with him."

"Is it working?"

Kaimana brought Margrit around in a slow, stately turn, offering her the chance to watch the fluid motions of the dancers around her. A sense of confidence imbued them, not that her dealings with the any of the Old Races had suggested they were less than confident. But it was more than that: a sense of belonging; of joy. "I guess I'd be pretty thrilled to be handed the keys to the-" She broke off, realizing she'd stolen Janx's phrase. "But you have money," she said after a moment's uncomfortable silence. "This isn't new to you."

"Dancing with the elite isn't," Kaimana agreed. "But dancing with my own people so freely? With all of us welcomed as what we are by the rest of our kind? I think we could do worse than ally ourselves with Eliseo Daisani."

Margrit nodded, unwilling to voice her own reservations. Alban had warned her about just such an alliance too many times-and fruitlessly-but she was human. Kaimana held more cards than that, and had moved with assurance from the moment she'd met him, all toward the end game he'd achieved during the quorum.

He spun her again, and she caught a glimpse of Tony, his jaw tense with strain. The sensation of dancing on a knife's edge suddenly blossomed within her. Kaimana had, from all appearances, moved before she'd met him, putting Tony into a position where the selkie lord could get to Margrit through him. Abrupt anger at her precarious position made her steps clumsy. It seemed that there had not been an unorchestrated moment in her life since Alban had greeted her in the park on a frozen January night.

Kaimana steadied her, his forehead wrinkled with concern. Margrit shook her head and put on a meaningless smile, trying not to feel as though she was baring her teeth. "It's been a long week. I guess I'm more tired than I thought."

The selkie lord looked rueful. "I think you've done your duty by us tonight. You've even danced with everyone. I know you support Alban, Ms. Knight. I'm honored that you've chosen to throw your lot in with my people, as well. And I think the fact that you've chosen Daisani as your benefactor speaks highly of him as a man worth having on our side."

"As opposed to Janx?"

"Janx runs a much darker empire than Eliseo does. There's something to be said for a life lived in sunlight, don't you think?"

Nothing in his expression changed, no hint of a threat appeared in his pleasant gaze, but Margrit stumbled again, heart lurching. Kaimana came to a halt, his hands steady on her waist and his eyebrows drawn down, still with nothing more than genial concern and friendship in his eyes. "Margrit?"

"I'm sorry." She stepped back. "I just need to sit down for a little while and catch my breath."

She gathered herself and fled the dance floor in search of the man she would never build a life in the sunlight with.

TWENTY-EIGHT.

MOONLIGHT SOFTENED THE city's shadows, turning concrete and steel to faded lilac and blue. A handful of stars glittered above, defying both city lights and the moon. Music and soft light rose from below, open windows carrying the sounds of Daisani's party up to the rooftop. Wind played in Margrit's hair, threatening to finish what the tango earlier had started and emphasizing bursts of chatter with its ebb and fall.

Alban alighted behind her with a soft thud and a rustle of wings. Margrit glanced back at him, smiling. His silver-shot tuxedo was gone, abandoned in favor of the jeans he typically wore in his gargoyle form. Typically, or rather, for her benefit: her first glimpse of his natural shape had been staggering, and he'd donned clothing he didn't normally bother with so she might be able to meet his eyes. Bare-chested and pale in the moonlight, he looked like a dream come to life, warm and comforting and not at all human.

"When I said meet on the roof, it didn't occur to me until too late that you didn't have an elevator key for rooftop access."

"It occurred to me that you didn't have wings." Alban sounded amused. "I assumed you had some method of getting yourself here, but it seemed like a curious place to meet."

"I wanted to see the view. Eliseo's office faces west. I wanted to see..." Margrit gestured to the south. "I wanted this one."

Alban stepped up behind her, gently resting a hand on her shoulder. "No, you didn't."

"What?" She frowned.

"This isn't the view you wanted. You're looking for something that isn't there." He offered a cautious smile as Margrit turned more fully to gaze at him. "I know a thing or two about searching skylines for memories, Margrit."

She looked back at the city. "I guess we all do now." Alban opened a wing and folded it around her, garnering a quiet sigh of contentment as warmth drove sorrow away. "We have the whole night to ourselves," she said after a moment. "I don't think there's a single member of the Old Races in town who's not at the party downstairs. What do you want to do?"

"With that introduction, I feel I ought to propose my insidious plan to take over the city."

Her voice brightened. "Do you have one?"

"I'm afraid not." Alban's tone went dry. "If you're looking for someone to conquer New York with, you might want to invite Janx up here instead."

"Not at all." Margrit turned against his chest, winding her arms around his waist and closing her eyes. "Why did you leave?"

"Because Biali was right." Alban's heartbeat counted long seconds beneath Margrit's ear before he spoke again. "Perhaps because I didn't want to bear responsibility. But mostly, because he was right. I haven't been part of my people's world for centuries, Margrit. I didn't have the right to answer the question the quorum asked tonight."

"Questions," Margrit corrected, and pulled a crooked smile when Alban leaned back to look down at her. "Kaaiai wasn't the only one with an agenda. I asked them to overturn the other two rules, as well."

Alban went so still beside her that Margrit glanced up to see if stone had swept over him. "On telling humans about us?"

"And exile for killing another of the Old Races. I was sure I'd lost that one, when Biali took your place."

"Margrit." Alban's voice sounded strangled, and he stepped back from her. "You thought I would support changing that law?"

Surprised offense pinked Margrit's cheeks. "Why wouldn't you? It's your neck I was trying to save."

"Margrit, we have those laws-that law-for a reason. We aren't so many that we can afford to lose each other to personal battles. Tell me it was overruled."