House of Cards. C.E. Murphy
rose. “Are you sure?”
“Am I—Margrit,” he repeated. “Aside from the fact that no one else would dare, do you really think Daisani would allow Vanessa’s death to go unpunished? It’s tit for tat, nothing more. My lieutenants for his woman. I might even call it a fair trade.” His voice, usually oiled with humor, betrayed the faintest scratch of discord.
“I take it they’re all human, then.” Margrit spoke through her teeth, anger rising on behalf of the men Janx dismissed with only a hint of regret. “God, you people are bastards. These men probably had families, Janx, people who cared about them.”
“They did. But then, I like to imagine their loved ones knew what kind of men they were. Drug dealers and thugs are expected to come to a bad end, Margrit. Who could really be surprised? This is very much the natural order of things in the world, my dear. People die and ambitious new men replace them. Frequently their deaths are thanks to their replacements.”
“So how do you know that isn’t happening now?”
“Because there’s a pattern to these things, Margrit. I control my people. I watch for the ambitious ones, and when they’re strong enough, I present an opportunity for advancement. One does not replace three men in five days, when doing this. I need to be sure each new piece fits in with the whole before I’m ready to change another aspect of my organization’s leadership. This is not ambition. This is revenge.”
“And a fair trade,” Margrit said sharply. “So what do you want from me?”
“You have no idea how much I would like to burn that second favor on something as delightful as a dance.”
“I don’t need poetry, Janx. Just tell me what you want.”
“Humans,” Janx said without distress. “So demanding, so shortsighted. You want everything so quickly. You must learn patience, my dear. It would stand you well in dealing with the Old Races.”
“Janx, you’ve got a hundred of my lifetimes to look forward to. I’ve got threescore years and ten. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to waste time with you flirting around the subject.”
“Margrit.” Janx turned the corners of his mouth down, a picture of injured feelings. “I’m not flirting.” Charm and lightheartedness slid from his eyes, cooling their color. “I’m trying to soften the blow.”
She braced, as if what happened next might be a physical attack. Jade glinted through Janx’s eyes again, a smile playing over thin lips. “I do like that about you, Margrit Knight. You transform fear into defiance so quickly. Does it cost you?” He dismissed the question as easily as he asked it, brushing it away with long fingers. “Vanessa Gray was Daisani’s right hand for over a century, but she was only human. Forgive me,” he said with an upward dance of his eyebrows, “but from our perspective you are—”
“Pawns,” Margrit said flatly. “Easily played and easily discarded, just like your lieutenants. I get it, Janx. What do you want from me?”
“Malik is my right-hand man.”
Margrit stared at the dragonlord without comprehension, then came to her feet, shoulders rising with tension. “Malik’s one of you. Djinn. Daisani can’t do anything to him. It’s against your laws. The price of killing one of the Old Races is exile. Nobody’d deal with Daisani anymore.”
“Eliseo Daisani will hardly fail to avenge his lover of thirteen decades over something as desperately irrelevant as race or exile. I have no proof that he’s behind these murders, and he’s hardly going to provide it. Nor will he be so clumsy as to leave a trail back to him in Malik’s case.”
“If he was going to, why wait? It’s been months.”
“I believe a tool for revenge has only recently arrived.” Janx’s voice went quieter yet, a song in its softness. “The djinn are a desert race, Margrit Knight. Amongst the surviving Old Races they have only one natural and true enemy.”
Margrit spread her hands, then slowly closed them, grasping understanding. “The selkies. Water creatures.” Surety filled the guess, and Janx’s brief smile confirmed it. “I thought there weren’t any left.”
“Margrit. Don’t be disingenuous with me.”
“Well, that’s what everybody keeps telling me. I met one, but she disappeared. I didn’t think there were enough left worth mentioning. I thought that was the whole thing about them. They crossbred with humans and died out. What’s that got to do with Malik? What’s it got to do with me?”
“You don’t know.” Amusement washed through Janx’s expression as he approached her, leaning against the table and folding his arms over his chest. “That’s lovely. Margrit, my dear, all I care about is that I believe Malik’s assassination is in the making. I expect you to stop it.”
FIVE
MARGRIT’S LAUGHTER SHOT high, hurting her throat. “Me? I’d just as soon stick a needle in my eye, Janx. Or better yet, in his.”
“I know.” Janx beamed. “That’s what makes it a favor. Isn’t it wonderful?” Delight leached out of his mercurial voice, leaving it heavy. “I could make this a demand, Margrit, not a favor. Be grateful I’m inclined to play fairly.”
“Is that a dragonly trait?” Margrit asked tightly. “Does your hoard only shine properly if it’s gotten through fair trade?”
“Not at all. But jewels, once obtained, must be treated with care so their gloss remains unmarred.”
Another laugh broke free, horror mixed with shock. “Am I a jewel in your hoard?”
“Be grateful that you are not gold, my dear. Gold is soft, and easily distorted.” Before the threat settled in her bones, Janx went on, voice light and casual, though the words carried weight. “Jewels crack under pressure, but retain their heart until shattered. I’ve made Malik’s life your responsibility, and you can’t refuse me.”
“How exactly do you expect me to keep him alive?”
His beatific smile darted back into place, lighting his eyes. “That’s not my problem, is it? Consider yourself fortunate. As a human, you have no constraints on what you might or must do to ensure his survival. Not, at least, in regards to the Old Races, and our lives are lived enough in shadow that I think human justice will never see any transgressions you may be forced to commit in my service.”
“What—” Margrit’s voice broke and she swallowed, clearing disbelief and fear away. Her blood raced until she itched with it. Aching feet or not, the impulse to bolt into action, to run as far and fast as she could, was barely held in check. “What do you expect me to do?”
“Whatever is necessary, my dear. Whatever is necessary. Malik will be your constant companion—”
“Like hell.” Margrit stood, painfully aware the heaviness of the action was nothing like Janx’s fluid movements. “Like hell. Absolutely not. I will not have him following me around. For one thing, I can’t do my job with a minor gang lord hovering over me. It’d ruin my career. For another, Malik hates me.”
“You had the nerve to put him in his place, Margrit.”
“And I’d do it again. That’s not the point. I’m not exposing myself to his presence. You might order him to leave me alone, but if he disobeys—”
“It might be hard on him, but it’ll be infinitely worse for you. I believe you’ve used that argument in the past. Refusing me may be just as bad for you as Malik’s company.”
“I can live with that.” Margrit set her teeth together, then beat Janx to the punch: “Or not. I’ll …” Her hands cramped and she looked down to see them fisted so tightly that, unfolded, they showed nail marks in her palms. She watched the half-moons change from white to red, using the changes as a timer with which to gauge her own temper. Only when