Kaimana shrugged big shoulders. "Our tradition has been to try to choose mates from those who had already discovered us. Our seaside villages were easy to observe, and more times than we liked, seafarers and explorers came upon us. But when we’ve chosen to tell outsiders, we’ve only offered our secrets to those we hoped to build lives with."

"And when those explorers moved to capture or imprison you, to make you their pets or trophies? When chosen mates couldn’t accept your nature?" Daisani spoke again, deference from the others due, Margrit now thought, to his greater age.

Kaimana turned his gaze to her, keeping it steady as his voice. "When necessary we dealt with them as strongly as required. We are far less plagued by unexpected discovery now, but when we choose to tell humans-which happens less often with our numbers so replenished-we’re very careful. Most can accept us, and of those who do not, the larger percentage find it in themselves to guard our secrets." He kept to the formal phrases and vocal tones, as if doing so hid the nature of what he admitted to.

"And those who don’t?" Margrit had no more need than anyone else at the table to have it detailed for her, but put the question forth regardless, challenging Kaimana to answer it.

He met her gaze for a long, quiet moment before replying, "There are accidents."

Even knowing what he would say, the answer buckled Margrit’s knees. She locked them, unwilling to lose face in the quorum by sitting abruptly, but her hands clenched at her sides. Intellectual awareness that murder was done-even a grim understanding and a deep, sickening fear that she herself could be moved to such action to protect a whole race of people-made hearing it, effectively condoning it, no easier.

"I think we all agree it’s better not to need accidents," Daisani said blithely, as if unaware of the real meaning of that word. "Perhaps a modification of our laws. We might tell those with whom we wish to mate of our true natures, but beyond that, to reveal us is still-must still be-an offense of significant proportions. I think exile is not unreasonable."

"And if you’re discovered accidentally by someone who can’t handle the truth?" Margrit asked.

Daisani turned an unrelenting look on her. "Accidents," he said, "happen." He let the statement hang a moment, then turned to the others. "Are we agreed? Shall we make a vote of it?"

The formal process went more quickly the second time, the identifications already made. Margrit offered her voting stones to Kaimana, respecting that he hadn’t voted when it had been his own motion on the table. Only one of the five voted against her: Malik, and no one, not even Margrit, was surprised by that. White pebbles gleamed around the table, her own vote tacit and, she was all too aware, approving the murder of humans. She closed her eyes a moment, absorbing that, then spoke before the sounds of action around her could turn to the quorum’s end. "Wait."

She opened her eyes to find surprise and irritation sweeping around her. "There’s one more law I want to address."

It was Janx who answered, his tone deceptively mild. "We have only one other law common to us, Margrit. You wouldn’t have us do away with order altogether, would you?"

"Your third exiling offense," Margrit said with determination. A chill sliced through her but she kept her voice steady, as she did in a courtroom. With Alban at her side she’d been confident of the vote. He would support her. With Biali in his place, she doubted the outcome, but it had been five hundred years or more since the last quorum. She would literally never have another chance. "Exile’s a much more civilized response to murder than our system has, but if we’re looking at your laws, that one needs changing, too. Even our laws allow for self-defense and acting to protect someone else."

Kaimana suddenly relaxed, becoming the casual islander he’d seemed when Margrit had first met him. "I hear that ‘he needed killing’ is still a viable defense in Texas."

Margrit flashed a smile. "I’ve never looked it up to see if that was true. I’d be too disappointed if it weren’t." Humor faded, leaving her looking from each member of the Old Races to the next. "What happens if one of you challenges another? I know Alban’s been in a fight like that. What if he’d shown no mercy?"

"Then he would have been exiled for it." Malik’s reply was implacable.

Margrit gave up all pretense of formality and rolled her eyes. "Thereby removing two people from your already limited gene pool instead of one. What if one of you loses her mind and does something to endanger you all? What if the only way to stop someone like that is by killing him? Would you exile the one who moved to save all your people? You’ve got no compunction against killing humans to protect your secrets. Does the same law apply to your own, or are humans now just dumb breeding material, not worth thinking of as living, intelligent beings?"

"None of our people would be so reckless," Kaimana said with certainty.

Margrit took a deep breath. "Ask Biali about that."

The gargoyle straightened, as much a display of shock as she’d ever seen from his kind, and gave her a wary look that sharpened into anger.

Janx, his voice still mild, said, "My dear Margrit, have you some proof that Biali has been murdering our kind, or has otherwise lost his mind?"

Margrit muttered, "I’m not sure any of you are all that stable," before lifting her voice to say, "No, but he might be able to provide some interesting insights about the changing nature of the Old Races."

"Biali?" Daisani’s voice carried a note of command that the gargoyle responded to blandly.

"The lawyer’s not a fool, even if she’s human. All of us know about doing things we would never have dreamed of a few centuries ago. Who’s to say human madness can’t creep in along with human behavior?"

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.