"I have to. What I’m dealing with isn’t illegal, Tony, and that’s all I can tell you." Her quiet resolve sounded implacable to her own ears. "But I do need to deal with it, and it’s something you can’t help with."
"This is the same shit that’s been going on since January, isn’t it?"
Margrit pressed her lips together, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. And you have no idea how sorry I am it means I’ve been cutting you out of my life."
"You’re not." Concern faded, leaving anger and hurt. "You’re not sorry, Margrit. Whatever the hell it is, it’s more exciting to you than we are. More interesting. I’d love to be wrong, but I’m not. I’ll tell you this, though. Whatever it is, I’m gonna find out, and if it’s as dirty as I think it is, and you’re tangled up in it, you’re going down with them. You understand me? Whatever’s happening, I’m not protecting you."
Margrit took a deep breath, an ache crawling through her entire body. "I know." She barely whispered the response, and with the whisper, stepped backward, toward the stairs the others had taken. "I know, Tony, and I don’t blame you. I really am sorry it’s happening this way, but I have to go." She hesitated, then, helplessly, said, "Goodbye."
Angry color flooded Tony’s cheeks and he turned on his heel as abruptly as she’d ever seen him move. Margrit bit her lip, then climbed the ballroom stairs, stopping at the top to look back one last time.
The party carried on, the revelers all but unmindful of the handful of men and the solitary woman who slipped away. Only one face lifted to the balcony, unerringly seeking Margrit’s gaze out of hundreds. An expression so subtle she couldn’t read it crossed his face: pleasure, perhaps, or anticipation. Margrit shivered and turned away, wondering why his name lingered so heavily in her mind.
Biali.
CHAPTER 26
Kaimana had already left the gathering when she joined them on the balcony. The others waited on Margrit, holding back until she took the lead, as though it was agreed among them that the least important should go first, and take some of the problem of ranking away.
Bemused at the idea, Margrit led them from the balcony to the elevator banks that lay above and beyond the ballroom. For all that there was more than enough room for the five of them, the air in the elevator bristled, making it crowded with expectation. Margrit felt more than her own weight bearing down on her feet. The temptation to catch Alban’s hand and hold on tight had passed as she’d realized that walking alone would carry greater impact than coming with the gargoyle. To walk with him displayed her loyalties too clearly, not that she-or anyone else-doubted where they lay. It was more a show of independence, of humans coming to the Old Races’ counsel meeting as equals, than anything else. Janx and Daisani would find it laughable, but she did it to shore up her own courage, not cater to them.
The boardroom table in Daisani’s conference room had been replaced. Margrit nearly laughed, swallowing the sound only through awareness of the occasion’s importance. But Daisani had clearly intended to call the quorum together that night, rather than wait two more days. The table Kaimana sat at was round, and while he’d chosen the space farthest from the door, so he could watch people enter, it had no absolute head. He waited with an equanimity that gave lie to his peoples’ fate resting on the evening’s proceedings, and nodded in greeting as Margrit passed through the door. Unwilling to break the silence, she echoed his gesture.
Malik walked in a few steps behind her, making her uncomfortable. She’d known he was there, but discovering him so close to her made her want to run, as if she’d somehow become his unsuspecting prey.
Margrit watched him judge the five empty seats, his gaze lingering on those on either side of Kaimana. Another brief glance took Margrit in and dismissed her; her choice of seating was evidently irrelevant to the sour-faced desert creature. Piqued and amused, she took a seat, deliberately leaving one space between herself and Kaimana. Malik, half a step from the seat that would put him directly opposite the selkie lord, froze then snarled almost imperceptibly. The barest change of direction took him one seat farther away, leaving an empty chair between Margrit and himself.
Kaimana met Margrit’s eyes without the slightest change of expression, but laughter seemed to sparkle between them. She felt a smirking triumph. Her presence unbalanced the table, and the situation, as much as it literally balanced it, three and three.
Pebbles sat on the table in front of her, a pair of equal size, one black and one white. Kaimana had none in front of him, and Malik palmed the two at his chair as he sat. Margrit felt as though she was making another irrevocable move as she took the stones and folded them in her hands, white in the right, black in the left.
Daisani and Janx came through the double doors together, as if they’d rehearsed. Margrit felt laughter slide around in search of release again, but kept it trapped. It was easy to imagine them staring each other down in the hall and finally choosing to enter shoulder to shoulder, neither willing to walk behind the other. They took the same places they had at the first meeting, Daisani to Kaimana’s right and Janx to his left. Only a seat between Margrit and Malik remained, putting them all in the positions they’d held the night before.
Alban entered the silent room a half beat behind Janx and Daisani. Like the others, he glanced around and sat without preamble, the assembly quiet, as if waiting on some cue Margrit didn’t know to anticipate.
"Who stands for the gargoyles?" The question snapped out from four mouths at once, startling Margrit so badly she squeaked, then winced, unable to cover either reaction. Alban, calm at her side, caught his breath to respond.
From the other side of the room, at the doorway, Biali’s rough low voice broke in. "I do."
Not one of the Old Races-not even Alban-flinched at the other gargoyle’s interruption. Margrit’s hands spasmed against the table, but she kept herself quiet through force of will. Alban, to her shock, rose and stepped away from the table, as Daisani turned to Biali without so much as missing a beat.
"And who are you?" Daisani spoke alone, the others deferring to him for no reason Margrit could see.
"I’m Biali, born of the clan Kameh, cursed to work for a mangy dragon and watch over Alban Korund, called the Breach. I claim this position through right of age and right of acceptance among my people." He stumped across the room and Alban fell back, expressionless as he gave up his chair and his position to Biali. Margrit’s heart throbbed against her ribs, making her dizzy with uncertainty. She could trust Alban to support her in the things she wanted from the quorum, but Biali was a wild card. She clenched her stomach muscles to prevent herself from leaping up and dragging Alban back, and knew the glance she cast at him was full of betrayal.
A hint of apology darted across his face, but then he was gone, closing the door behind himself gently, and leaving Margrit very much alone in a roomful of immortals.
Biali sat down with an intentional crash, scooping up the pebbles Alban had left behind. Every formal note the quorum had entered on was shattered, then made worse by his growled addition: "Bet you thought having Korund stand in meant this stayed out of the memories. You’re fools. Breach or not, not even he would keep a quorum out of the histories, and neither will I."
A shared glance went around the table, unreadable to Margrit and garnering a dismissive snort from Biali. Then, again on a cue she didn’t catch, voices lifted again to ask, "Who stands for the dragons?" Biali remained aggressively silent, though he turned his attention to Janx, as the others did.