sister would only set you against me. Instead I’ll say I offered to kidnap you a few days ago in order to provide an excuse for Margrit to talk to me. Now that I’ve met you, I’ll admit that if I were to stoop to such nasty activities, I’d be doing it for my own benefit. My name is Janx. I’m sure Margrit’s gone on about me to no end.' He straightened again, no longer holding Rebecca’s fingers, but resting them over the edge of his own. To Margrit’s fresh bemusement, her mother didn’t retreat.
'To no end at all.' Rebecca’s eyes sparkled and Margrit’s heart sank with helpless laughter. Bad enough that Janx could charm her against all good sense. If even Rebecca was susceptible to his shameless blarney, it seemed unlikely there was anyone who could withstand him. 'Rebecca Knight. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Janx, and you’re quite right. False flattery only annoys me.'
'Your daughter is more like you than she suspects.'
Rebecca shot a look toward Margrit, who turned her palms up, unsure if she was ceding control of the conversation to Janx, or simply unable to take it back.
'I try not to point that out to her,' her mother murmured. 'She’s doing a fine job of realizing it on her own.'
Janx turned from Rebecca to Margrit, offering another bow, this time mockingly apologetic. 'Do forgive me, my dear. I should hate to be a bump in the road on your path to self-actualization.'
'Did you really just say ‘self-actualization’?'
'I did.' Janx sounded inordinately pleased with himself. Rebecca caught her eye and Margrit clenched her jaw, trying not to let a laugh escape.
'I think while you’re trying to recover from the horror, I’ll do my best to whisk your mother away for an illicit affair.'
'You certainly will not.' Rebecca sniffed at the redheaded man. 'I’m sure being kidnapped wouldn’t agree with me at all.'
Janx snapped theatrically, about to speak again when a fourth voice joined the discussion.
'You’re quite the vortex tonight, aren’t you, Margrit? Rebecca.' Eliseo Daisani nodded toward the older Knight woman, looking all the more dignified in comparison to Janx’s dramatics. Margrit’s shoulder blades pinched together in anticipation of disaster, though she had no idea what form it might take. Janx, though, only twisted his mouth in teasing disappointment, and Rebecca inclined her head, murmuring Daisani’s name in turn. Then all three of them turned their attention to Margrit, as though she was responsible for calling them there.
In a way, she supposed she was. 'I seem to be developing a knack for that,' she admitted beneath her breath. 'I’m surprised you’re here tonight.'
'Should auld acquaintance be forgot?' Daisani infused the line with genuine compassion, no hint of music or mockery to his voice. 'Where else would I be?' He glanced around, elevating one eyebrow. 'But where are the rest of us?'
Margrit kept herself from saying, That’s what I wanted to ask Janx. She could think of no reason Kaimana and Malik might slip away, one after the other, except to keep some arrangement made by the dragonlord. But she felt oddly reticent to ask in front of Daisani, as if her loyalties were torn between the two ancient rivals.
Janx followed Daisani’s gaze and expanded on it, turning to search the church grounds with an air of concern. 'I set Stoneheart searching for Malik a few minutes ago. I hadn’t realized, until these proceedings sent him skittering for the shadows, how accustomed I was to his sour countenance haunting me. I’ve seen less of my so-called bodyguard in the past week than in the past five years, I think.' A moment passed before he shook off heaviness and looked back to Rebecca. 'Do forgive me. I don’t mean to be such a bore as to bring business into a social occasion.'
Her eyebrows flickered upward. 'Is that what this is?'
'Not a merry one, and perhaps also an obligation, but also an occasion. The one hardly precludes the other.'
'They left together. I thought-' Margrit broke off, staring at Janx.
He tilted his head, mouth quirked with a lack of comprehension. He was a consummate actor; he had to be, and yet his jade eyes held none of their usual taunting mirth. 'Who did, my dear?'
Margrit’s heart rate leaped. No doubt she shouldn’t believe what she read in Janx’s gaze; no doubt she shouldn’t trust the all-too-human impulse that told her to. But human or not, emotion rode all of them, and Margrit blurted, 'I thought you knew. I thought-You didn’t send Malik after Kaimana?'
'Margrit,' Janx said, full of gentle sarcasm, 'if you had a golden slipper with which to tempt the prince, would you send a lackey in your place to do so? We all know how fairy tales go. It is the servant girl bearing the gift who catches the hero’s eye. Her cruel mistress is banished to the forest, and she is lifted to the throne to be good and generous and wise for all of her days. If I was putting on a ball, I would not send Malik with the invitations.'
'Then what-'
'Margrit.' Rebecca’s voice was thready and washed out, utterly drained of the vibrancy she’d had only moments earlier. Mist danced behind her, as she put a hand over her chest, her eyes clouded with confusion. 'I think there’s something wrong with me, Margrit. Something wrong with my…'
A sleek black-haired man Margrit had never before seen coalesced behind her mother, one hand thrust out. Thrust in to Rebecca, from behind, his arm turned up to suggest he held something in the palm of his hand. His smile was sharper than Malik’s, more deadly, and he finished Rebecca’s sentence for her with one soft word: 'Heart.'
CHAPTER 32
Mist and shadows. Malik had become mist and shadows, and had failed to return to Janx’s side. He’d gone north instead, the corundum head of his cane quietly pulling Alban’s attention. The gargoyle circled the island reluctantly, staying closer to its southern end than he ought to have, as though he could draw Malik back that way through willpower alone.
Amusement flashed through him. It was of little enough use to ferret out bits and pieces of sapphire, except as a way to earn money now and then. If he could draw those who wore or carried the stone to him, now that would be a talent. One he’d never confess to: the idea of what Janx would do, knowing Alban could command those who were enamored by sparkling stone, didn’t bear considering. The dragonlord would find himself an enclave of gargoyles, each tuned to the stone of their family name, and wreak havoc with his influence. With that skill, a thousand years past, when Aztec priests sacrificed their subjects to the gods with obsidian knives, a gargoyle of Hajnal’s line might have made herself an immortal queen to an eager people.
Oh, but Margrit was a bad influence. The world was a bad influence; Alban had never, in all his long years, entertained such thoughts, much less found entertainment in them. Bad company, as he’d told Janx, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.
Malik had settled wherever he was; a low thrum of contentment was coming from the stone. Even long accustomed to being moved, it seemed more comfortable, somehow, when at rest-or perhaps that was Alban bending his own perceptions to suit an object. No matter; the point was Malik could be found easily enough, and watched over whether he liked it or not.
It would take a little time for Alban to wing his way there, but the church was only moments away. A few seconds to glimpse Margrit from above would mean nothing in matters of Malik’s safety.
It might compromise Alban’s own, though. Enough people were still gathered at the church that he sailed away and found an alley, transforming as he landed. Humans might not look up as a matter of habit, but soaring above an open space would be taking an unnecessary risk.
Leaving the alley behind, Alban hesitated at Trinity’s gates, his pale hand curled around wrought iron as he looked beyond it at what had been his home for so many decades. The hidden door was still there, less of a secret now, but it would take no time at all to slip through it and visit the room he’d abandoned hastily and never since returned to. Yet there was no reason to do so. He had his belongings, and the deep vault was no longer a safe haven.
All unconsciously he was moving, intent bringing him where wisdom would avoid. He knew the dark
