“You announced yourself with your transformation.” Janx’s anger lost its grip on him, confusion rising to replace it. “How can you not know that? How can you not know our tongue? Who are you?”

Kate exchanged a panicked glance with her sister, but it was Alban who stood with Margrit gathered in his arms, and replied for all of them. “This is Katherine Hopkins, Janx. Sarah’s daughter, and yours.”

“Daughter.” Janx echoed the word dully, as lacking in animation as Alban had ever seen him.

“They’ve been in New York for years,” Alban said. “Since…”

“Nineteen sixty-two,” Ursula provided. “We’ve lived in all five boroughs. Kate wants to go upstate next.”

Janx shook himself, dragging his gaze from Kate to Ursula. “Daughter.”

“Not me. Just her.” Ursula slid her arm around Kate’s waist, shoring her up. “My father is Eliseo Daisani.”

Janx and Tony made similar sounds of dismay, the former amusing Alban and the latter drawing his attention to the detective. Grace O’Malley offered him a reassuring touch, her long fingers light and gentle over his. They made an attractive pair, almost Alban and Margrit’s mirror opposites, with Grace pale and blond and Tony golden-skinned and dark-haired. The idea traced a smile on Alban’s lips before he turned back to the twins. “I didn’t recognize you,” he said to Kate. “Not at first. I thought you were Janx. Did you know, in all these centuries, I’d never seen your other form?”

“Of course we knew.” Ursula answered for Kate, who stared greedily at Janx. “Mama drilled that into us when we were still girls. Once we could transform to the degree that we wanted, we never did it again. It’s harder to get caught if you don’t flaunt your differences.”

“To the degree you want?” Janx gaped at Ursula, then looked back at the auburn-haired woman who was his daughter. “You have halfway forms?”

“Of course.” Kate looked nonplussed. “Don’t you?”

All of Janx’s cool and nonchalance slipped away. “No!”

Margrit’s voice fluted as high as it could with the injuries to her throat: “These are things that can be argued about later. Where’s Tariq?”

Cara, pinch-faced with pain, looked up from one of her injured podmates. “The vampire ate him.”

“I did not!” Offense shot through Ursula’s voice, mitigated an instant later by the admission, “He got away.”

Margrit stepped forward, relying on Alban’s support and not trying to hide it. A flare of pride burst in his chest, that he should be fortunate enough to have encountered a woman like this one, and that she could see beyond his alien nature and care for him. She was one of the most fiercely independent people he had ever known, and the tastes he’d had of her memories told him that when she chose not to walk beside him or rely upon him, it was to establish herself as worthy of consideration on her own terms. That she was now willing to accept his help said as much about who she was as it did about who they were. Alban fought down a smile that felt silly with delight as Margrit shuffled a step or two closer to Cara.

“Are the selkies satisfied that my death has fulfilled the wergild against Janx and Alban for their part in Malik’s death?”

Cara, bemused, said, “You’re not dead.”

“I was.” Margrit turned her head toward Alban, who felt his insides go cold again as he nodded. “The agreement didn’t stipulate I had to stay that way.”

Humor crowed in Alban’s chest, crowding out the cold. Margrit was still shaking and far too pale from blood loss, and yet determined to drive nails into the coffin of a war still on the edge of burgeoning. Her voice cleared a little as she repeated, “Are the selkies satisfied?”

“The selkies are,” Cara said bitterly. “We give up our claim on Janx’s territory—”

The dragon hissed in triumph and Cara turned a hard look on him, finishing, “And cede it to the djinn with all our support.”

Margrit slumped against Alban, her hand on his arm trembling with the effort of keeping herself upright. He tightened his fingers at her waist, understanding she wanted to show as much strength as possible, and didn’t nestle her close again, for all that it was in his heart to do so.

Using him for steadiness, she turned toward Eldred. “We can’t let war come of this. Will the gargoyles accept the djinn as masters of Janx’s empire?”

“It is of no loss to us,” Eldred said. “If it will keep the peace, then yes, of course.”

“The dragons,” Janx snarled, “will not.”

Margrit glanced at Alban, her smile exhausted, then gave that same weary look to Janx. “You’re not the only dragon here today.” Drawing herself up, ignoring the outrage that flushed Janx’s cheeks, she turned to Kate. “What say the dragons?”

Avarice as powerful as anything Alban had ever seen in Janx’s eyes flashed across Kate’s face. Then she shot her father a glance, and when she spoke, her words were measured, more like Ursula’s than usual. “A dragon and a vampire came here today to support the Negotiator. Neither of us have a stake in Janx’s territory, and we’re willing to accept djinn rule here. We’ll stand together to help them hold it, if necessary.”

Fury contorted Janx’s face. Alban stepped forward, flanking Margrit and ready to push her behind himself if danger sparked. She stayed him with a touch, perhaps still too close to death to fear it. “And you, dragonlord? Do you cede control over your empire to the djinn?”

Janx looked from one face to another, high color still burning his cheeks, and finally brought a venomous look back to Margrit. “You’ve given me no choice. Congratulations, Ms. Knight. It seems you’ve won a round.”

“I’ve won two.” Margrit curled a hand in Alban’s bloody shirt, bracing herself. “Your territory ceded, and Tony’s life. I’m calling in my third favor, Janx. Just to make it clear.”

Janx peeled his lips back from his teeth, far less a smile than a threat. “Are you so very certain this is how you wish to use that last wish, Margrit Knight? You have many years ahead of you, and may yet need a dragon’s favor. And then there is the matter of Grace O’Malley and her children, is there not? Think carefully, Negotiator. Choose wisely.”

Triumph jolted her, burning up too much of what little energy she had, but a smile flashed over Margrit’s face regardless. She had won already, even if Janx didn’t know it yet: he had accorded her a title, and that meant she had a place amongst the Old Races. “We’ve already made the exchange for Grace’s tunnels, Janx. Don’t cloud the issue. Of course I’m sure. Maybe it’s terribly human of me, but my friends are not pieces for you to push around on your chess board or knock aside as it pleases you. Tony’s life is mine.”

She heard the detective catch his breath and a burst of humor cut through her triumph. Being alive made it easy to laugh. She hoped that would stay: it seemed as if her laughter was too often edged with cynicism. And she knew what caused Tony to protest, even if he didn’t do so aloud. She’d made a claim on his life, staking it as hers. If, heaven forbid, he had made the same statement, she would have lashed out at him with any attack in her repertoire. She was autonomous, and so, too, was he.

On the other hand, at least once, very recently, she’d had the presence of mind to keep her mouth shut over just such a claim, and she hoped Tony would, too. It was a matter of principle in a relationship or at the office. Here, now, it was literally a matter of life and death.

“Am I to walk away with nothing?” Janx demanded. “My empire lost, cast from my temporary home, the lives of all responsible safe from my retribution? Is this your way of smoothing the waters in our world, Margrit Knight?”

“You can walk away with your daughter.” Margrit sounded implacable to her own ears, the roughness of her voice gone. “I’d think that was worth any price.”

For an instant—just an instant—Janx softened as he looked toward Kate. Her lips parted, another ingenue’s look of sweet hope, but this time Margrit saw raw emotion behind it, the expression no longer an act.