There were more than was easily countable, and they had split the room more or less evenly, the door’s width creating a no-man’s-land down the center. Tariq joined his brethren, leaving Margrit alone in a broad, empty swath. She felt suddenly small and remarkably fragile under the eyes of so many Old Races. Unwise impulse drove her to mumble, “You’re probably all wondering why I called you here today….”
Over her attempt at humor, far more clearly than she’d spoken, Cara Delaney’s voice cut through the room: “No.”
Startled, Margrit jerked her gaze up. “Cara? You should still be in the hospital.”
Cara stepped out of the gathered selkies with her head held high, though her cheeks were pale. “I dismissed myself. No, Margrit Knight, we are wondering how it is you think it’s within your right to offer the djinn control of Janx’s territory.”
“I could have sworn you told me to avert a war.”
“Avert a war, not—”
Exasperation flooded Margrit, drowning any sympathy she might have had for the young woman’s injuries. “Give it a rest, Cara. You’re not the right person for the job. I’m sure there are plenty of bastards among your people, and you might’ve gotten a tough-girl badge for getting shot, but you’re not hard enough to run this. Seeing as how Tariq was willing to squeeze my mother’s heart to a pulp, I’m pretty confident he’s got the stones for it.” Margrit shot a glance at the djinn. “Does this mean you’re accepting my offer?”
“We would be fools not to.” Tariq’s voice was thick with dislike.
“And what do the selkies do, Margrit? Slink away with our tails between our legs?” Cara’s voice remained cold, but a sliver of humor wrinkled Margrit’s eyebrows.
“Do seals have tails? Or back legs? They’ve got flipp—” She broke off at Cara’s expression and fought down a smile. “Sorry.” Amusement fled and she pressed fingertips over her eyelids momentarily, knowing she gave away signs of strain and not much caring. “You get to not be embroiled in a war, Cara. You get to be fully recognized members of the Old Races. There are tens of thousands of you, and your leader—Kaimana is your leader, isn’t he?—has a world-market business already. You don’t need Janx’s empire to establish yourselves as heavyweights among your people. In the name of peace, walk away.”
Cara’s jaw tightened and she looked imperiously toward the djinn. He tensed in protest, and Margrit sighed. “If that’s a ‘go away so I can discuss your fate with the human without your interference’ look, don’t bother. Just say it.” Reckless anger flooded her, pushing her beyond the bounds of wisdom. She had a sense of fait accompli, that regardless of her actions it would end badly for her; would very likely end badly for the people to whom she now spoke. Railing at them would probably do her no good and could easily do her harm, but aggravation was more powerful than self-preservation. Especially given that she doubted she could shield herself from whatever sentence the offended Old Races already had in mind.
Cara’s voice dropped as if she could disguise her words from the djinn through softness. “Do you understand what they might do if given their heads, Margrit? D—”
Margrit cut her off with an incredulous laugh. “Cara. Janx ran a crime empire. He employed murderers as a matter of course. He gave them things to do. He ran gambling houses and whorehouses and drugs and, for all I know, he ran people. I don’t want to know,” she added more sharply, more clearly, as Tariq drew in a breath to speak. “You were a squatter, Cara. You’ve got to have some idea of how dark the world Janx ran is.”
Something flashed in Cara’s eyes, a hint of old hurt that made unexpected guilt spike through Margrit’s belly. “I know,” the young woman said. “I know, which is why I ask if you have any understanding of what you’d unleash by giving the djinn control over this empire.”
“Of course I know. Most of my job is defending the bad guys. But the truth is, there are always going to be bad guys, and what’s more important than who they are is that they establish some kind of control down here. You’re on the verge of warfare with humans, never mind among yourselves. You can’t afford that. So you either take the deal I offered or I walk out of here and you face the consequences.”
“Well,” Tariq said softly, “no.”
Anticipation rolled through the gargoyles like a living thing, eagerness shared by an entire people. Alban could see them beyond Eldred, hundreds of faces half-present in memory and a scant handful actually there, watching him with hope and curiosity and resentment.
It was to that last, particularly, that Alban responded. His gaze fell from Eldred to Biali, who remained hunkered and glowering into the fire. He was as closed off to the gestalt as was possible, a mere pinpoint of sullen presence with no more hint than that to his thoughts. “It’s not a quorum, Stoneheart. It doesn’t have to be unanimous.”
“I’m sure it isn’t.” Bemusement filled Alban’s voice, spilling into the overmind. That his people could even conceive of such an idea was beyond his expectation of them. They had always been small clans gathered into tribes, passing history back and forth within the family lines. They’d known little in the way of hierarchy; a people able to sense each other’s thoughts tended toward agreement without specific leadership. To strive for something as extraordinary—and as human—as an agreed-upon…Words failed Alban as he looked from Biali to their people and back again. He was no king or president, and neither did the sense of their expectations carry that, nor even so much as chiefdom or some other small title. Leader was sufficient; guide was more appropriate. That word, out of many offered, made Alban nod before he crouched across from Biali.
“You were my first friend,” he said quietly. “Perhaps no longer my oldest, but my first. Tell me, Biali, what you think of this idea.”
“You’re right.” Biali looked up, his one good eye hard with old anger. “We’re not friends. You’re a fool and you’re dangerous to all of us. Always have been. Know what’s bad enough, Korund? Watching you walk away with the woman I loved and leaving me to make what I could of the rest of my life. Know what’s worse?”
Alban shook his head, silent, and waited on the scarred gargoyle’s words rather than seek out answers in the overmind. They came soon enough, Biali’s voice an angry growl. “Having the choices you made follow me around for centuries. Me, I changed with the world. Went to work for Janx when there was nothing else to do. Found Ausra and hoped there was another chance for me. Didn’t look beyond any of that. And now I am. Can’t help it. We all are. And what we’re seeing is that neither way works, not mine and not theirs.” A flickered gesture indicated the silent gargoyle clans. “What we’re seeing is the little choices you made are adding up and showing us how the world’ll look in another hundred years. What do I think? I think it’s a terrible idea.”
He finally lifted his eyes again, scowling heavily at Alban. “But it’s like I told the lawyer. No point in standing on shifting earth. No point in standing against the tide. You’re the only choice we’ve got. So show us how to live, Stoneheart. Teach us what to do.”
Alban breathed a laugh. “You’re the one who sat on the quorum and voted for the destruction of all our laws. If I’m to help our people find a new path, I could do worse than to have your advice as we walk it.”
Biali’s gaze sharpened and disruption shot through gargoyle link. Mountains sprang up around Alban, craggy, impenetrable, and filled with Biali’s will. Surprise washed over Alban as Biali came out of the rock, the walls he’d created so much a part of himself that he imbued them.
“I’d forgotten,” Alban said almost idly. “I’d forgotten what privacy looked like in the overmind. I’ve become so accustomed to not needing it, I think I’d forgotten this could be done.” He turned, looking at the tall cliffs and the stars that clawed their tops, far away. “It seems I’ve forgotten a great deal.”