Hands of Flame

Sudden clarity blazed through Margrit, making the pain in her chest seem worse. Clear as gargoyle memory, the moment of exchange between Daisani and Tariq after the trial played vividly for her mind’s eye. “You double-dealing bastard.” A note of admiration wheezed through the words. “You’re playing both sides against the middle. That’s why Daisani wouldn’t agree to let Malik’s death go, even though Janx asked him to. He promised you.”

“So he did, and we ca

“So now what?” Speaking made Margrit dizzy, but stopping seemed like giving up. “Now you’re going to take him down, too, for backstabbing you whether he meant to or not?”

“In essence.” Tariq sounded smug. “Why settle for one empire when we might command two?”

“You’ll command nothing if you don’t release my daughter.” Rebecca finally broke in, voice strong and confident after Tariq’s murmurs and Margrit’s breathless attempts to keep talking. A surge of pride and panic rose in Margrit: she had hoped to distract the dji

Tariq lifted his gaze to Rebecca, misty presence shimmering in the edge of Margrit’s vision. “You’re in no position to issue commands.”

Rebecca’s eyebrows rose. “Do you have access to the accounts that could bankrupt Eliseo Daisani? No,” she said after a judiciously brief pause. “I didn’t think so. I see a few choices here, Mr.—?”

“Tariq,” Margrit whispered when Tariq didn’t speak. “His name is Tariq.”

“Tariq,” Rebecca repeated. “You can kill Margrit, or me, or both of us, none of which will achieve your goals, or you can release her, earn my goodwill and accomplish what you’re attempting. It seems like a simple decision to me.”

Tariq made a soft, derisive sound. “And what prevents me from killing you when I have what I want?”

“Your word on it,” Rebecca said calmly. She sounded as though she was brokering a business deal, not bargaining for her daughter’s life. Margrit, mixed with admiration and terror, wondered if she sounded like that when bartering with the Old Races. “Your word that you won’t harm Margrit or myself, or any of our family, not now and not ever,” Rebecca concluded.

No, Margrit decided, she didn’t sound that confident, and she didn’t think she was ever that thorough. Tariq laughed, murderous sharp sound. “And you’d trust my word?”

“Yes.” Rebecca spoke with no caveats, no doubts, nothing but serene confidence, and then offered a soft, pointed smile that had put the fear of God, or at least Rebecca Knight, into Margrit for her entire childhood. Something like a laugh tried to break free of her constricted chest as Rebecca explained, almost gently, “I would trust your word because, if for no other reason, you owe Margrit your freedom.”

Tariq’s hand spasmed around her heart, as much show of shock as Margrit had ever seen a dji

“Not wanting to know doesn’t mean I don’t watch, Margrit. I understand that sometimes you need a weapon at hand even if you don’t want to use it. Am I right?” She turned her gaze on Tariq, an eyebrow lifted.

For a moment the events of the past hung over them all as though they replayed on a screen, clear and precise. Margrit had faced down Daisani over Tariq’s freedom when the dji

The dji

Rebecca waited until Margrit looked up with a tight nod that said she was all right, then dipped her head in acknowledgment. “I think we understand each other, then.” She stepped around her desk, switching her computer on with a brisk motion, then glanced around her office.

A pang that had nothing to do with her heart being crushed spasmed through Margrit’s chest. She’d come to ask for what Rebecca was about to do, but she’d known the price was too high and that her mother would refuse. Watching her now take in the office for what was very likely the last time hurt worse than she’d anticipated. “Mom…”

“Eliseo’s major holdings will go on the open market when the bells ring Monday morning,” Rebecca said steadily. “I can’t guarantee it’ll destroy him, but it will certainly be extremely costly.” She sat down at her computer. “You said you had a buyer, Margrit. I suggest you contact him immediately and have him liquidate any holdings he can in order to have cash on hand to purchase with.”

“But what about you?” Recriminations pounded at the inside of Margrit’s skin, trying to break free. If she hadn’t been foolish enough to ask Rebecca to help in the first place, her mother wouldn’t be about to ruin her career. If she’d refused Janx—

Then Tony would be dead. Margrit’s hands knotted into fists. Ruining Daisani’s career was a price she was willing to pay for the detective’s life. Rebecca herself had decided Margrit’s life, and by extension, Tony’s, were worth her own career. There had to be a limit, though, a point at which the needs of the many overrode the good of the one. Two lives was a high price to pay for one. More would become untenable. “It ends here,” Margrit whispered.

Rebecca looked up with a smile. “That will be good enough for me, Margrit. Now go, and take your unpleasant companion with you. I have work to do.”

CHAPTER 33

Sunset’s release brought wakefulness with a burgeoning sense of responsibility, wholly different from the small tasks Alban had set himself over the decades. The gargoyles had held themselves apart for mille

And yet nothing would convince him that he had chosen badly. Margrit’s horrifying experience aside, had the gargoyles not arrived when they did, many more of the Old Races might have died. For a people who regarded themselves as observers and recorders, they also had clear strengths as enforcers.

The idea sent a shock of bemusement through Alban. To move so quickly from passive to active participants—especially in a world as changed as theirs was now—well, that was what Margrit Knight had made of him, perhaps. It was what she would make of all the Old Races, given the chance. He wondered if that thought might cause her sleepless nights, and then humor caught him: the Old Races themselves gave her enough sleepless nights. Any changes she wrought, and their consequences, would have to haunt her daytime hours.