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.
The dragonlord bowed from the waist, making an elegant flourish despite the fact that he was sitting down. 'I do.'
'And who are you?' There was a lavish amount of humor in Daisani’s voice as he asked, though his expression remained as grave as before.
'I am Janx.' The sibilant hiss of his own name carried a soft challenge that sent another stir around the table. This time Daisani allowed himself a smile and returned Janx’s half bow, evidently accepting the abrupt answer as sufficient.
'Who stands for the vampires?' Margrit still missed whatever subtle prompt allowed the Old Races to speak with one voice so easily, though Janx joined Biali in silence now that he’d been recognized.
'I do,' Daisani murmured, then waited a delicious moment to see if anyone had the audacity to voice the question that was clearly his to ask. Malik shifted in his seat but held his tongue, and after a moment Daisani smiled again. 'I am Daisani, called Eliseo, and I am the master of my kind.'
A thrill shot up Margrit’s spine and her hands went cold, though none of the others looked surprised by Daisani’s statement. He saw her stiffen and cast an amused wink toward her, enough to throw her off as Kaimana asked, 'Who stands for the djinn?' She joined in only on the last few words, her higher voice startling against his.
Malik’s lip curled again, his gaze sliding to hers, but he restrained himself to an, 'I do,' before his focus became intent on Daisani and his question. 'I am Ebul Alima Malik al-Shareef din Nazmi al-Massri of the desert wind and I claim this place by rite of passage.'
Surprise and admiration washed through Janx’s expression, and he caught his breath as though he’d speak. He held his tongue, though, and a sudden warning flashed through Margrit. Kaimana was the only one left of the Old Races still unrecognized, all of the others having fallen silent after their introductions were made. There was no one left to demand she identify herself, her presence a disruption to what smacked of ages-old ritual. Before she could think, before anyone could speak, she lifted her voice, pleased with its strength and clarity. 'I stand for the humans.'
To her astonishment, approval flashed in Daisani’s eyes as he asked, without hesitation, 'And who are you?' Buoyed by his acceptance, and ignoring both a hard stare of offended disbelief from Malik and Biali’s contemptuous snort, she lifted her chin. 'I am Margrit Elizabeth Knight, advocate for the Old Races.'
Janx looked delighted, and a surge of glee danced through Margrit. They’d invited her to their party, and she had no intention of going unnoticed. She turned her attention to Kaimana, and with everyone else, asked, 'Who stands for the selkies?' Her own soprano contrasting with the thundering chorus lifted hairs on her arms and stirred the men, though none of them quite broke form to look at her instead of Kaimana.
He came to his feet with ponderous grace. 'I do.' He turned to Daisani, waiting out the question of identification before replying, 'I am Kaimana Kaaiai, immortal selkie lord and leader of a changing race. I am your brother and tonight I am your supplicant, speaking for my people and their place in the Old Races.' All the easy islander patois was gone from his speech, leaving it as formal and intense as any of his contemporaries as he brought his gaze to each of them in turn.
'We have broken a covenant. This I do not deny. We have survived by it. This, I put to you as a needful thing. We hold true to our old bloodlines; not one among us is called selkie if he cannot change his skin. Our children are no less than half-blooded-more than this and we lose the core of what we are. Many of us are more than that, bred back and kept close. You hold our fate in your hands.' He took one easy, deep breath, then turned his palms up as he sat. 'I ask you to vote now.'
'By age,' Janx said to Daisani, and for once respect threaded the dragon’s tenor voice. Daisani, to Margrit’s surprise, seemed to accept that respect with uncharacteristic humility, bowing his head to the dragonlord before bringing his attention to the vote. He echoed Kaimana’s gesture, turning a palm up to reveal a white stone. Janx, still more respectful and subdued than Margrit was accustomed to, echoed the gesture a third time, white stone held in his fingertips as he’d once held a priceless sapphire to tease Margrit with. Then both elders turned to Malik, expectation written on their faces.
Malik gave Kaimana a hard look of dislike. Kaimana’s gaze remained neutral, but he nodded, an action so slight Margrit thought it could simply have been the strain of holding too still. Malik held out a moment longer, then slapped his palm on the table, a violent act of rejection.
Janx glossed a smile at Margrit, pleased with himself, and nervousness swept her. Advocate or not, she found the idea of holding an entire race’s fate in her hands alarming. She looked back at Malik as he peeled his hand away to reveal his cast lot, then brought her attention to Biali. Thought caught up with vision an instant later and she jerked her eyes back to Malik.
A white stone lay before him on the table.
Janx inhaled, soft and sharp. Kaimana bowed toward Malik, a small gesture of thanks, and Biali grunted with
