Read 3: Black Blades for Free Online Page B

slipper-like shoes and a set of dull, gray cufflinks. Kahlil guarded the complete uniform as if it were blown from glass. One tear, one spatter of mud, one missing piece could ruin it.
    He waited on a street corner while the trolley rolled by. Noblewomen peered out of windows. Some of the younger ones already wore their hair piled up in the elaborate braids and curls they would wear at the Bell Dance. Most of the noblewomen would be in attendance, as the Bell Dance offered a rare opportunity for unwed girls to assess the men who would one day become their husbands.             
    Kahlil guessed that for many of them the possibilities of what could happen, both beautiful and humiliating, were far more thrilling than the actual event would be. It was now, in the grip of anticipation that, flushed with excitement, their imaginations ran wild.
    Anticipation meant something entirely different for Kahlil. It was something to suppress, an infection of anxiety that he couldn’t allow to take hold. Two years of hunting men through the west dock slums had taught him not to think too far ahead of the moment.
    He couldn’t trust his past and he couldn’t know the future. The present was really the only place for him.
    The trolley trundled past, and Kahlil pulled his attention back to the street ahead. His eyes swept over the men there, and then he froze in place.
    Nanvess Bousim stood directly across the street from him, chatting with another man. Both of them wore the deep green colors of the Bousim house and their black hair shone in the sun. Nanvess looked up and his glaze fell upon Kahlil without interest or recognition, the same way he might have noted a street sign. Then his attention returned to his companion. Both men stepped off the curb to stroll across the street toward him.
    Kahlil swung off his bicycle and walked it across the street. It was hard to find the natural balance between staring fixedly at Nanvess and pointedly avoiding all eye contact. Kahlil focused his gaze on a cage of birds in the shop window directly ahead of him.
    Nanvess came close enough for Kahlil to overhear his conversation.
    “Would you want your sister to marry him?” Nanvess asked his companion. “I certainly wouldn’t.”
    “But if Jath’ibaye were to marry into a gaun house, then he would have an incentive to protect the rights of the gaun’im,” Nanvess’ companion replied.
    “I think that’s assuming quite a bit about the man.”
    Kahlil was so close that he could smell Nanvess’ thick anise cologne. He could have reached out and caught him by the throat. It would be so easy. With just a flick of his fingers and a sweep of his arm, he could drag a sheering edge of Gray Space through Nanvess’ neck. Kahlil could almost feel the heat of dark blood gushing across his palm. He’d killed dozens of men the same way, with just a touch.
    But killing Nanvess now would only scare his conspirators, forcing them to alter their plans for the assassination. Then he might never find Fikiri again. And Fikiri still had the yasi’halaun. More important than anything else was ensuring that he got the black blade back before Fikiri could use it. Kahlil’s only sure opportunity to get it back would be tonight at the Bell Dance.
      Kahlil swung back onto his bicycle and sped down the street. The sun was beginning to dip towards the western horizon. Lisam runners would be turning back to the palace for their meals soon. A fellow runner had already zipped past him. Kahlil and the other man exchanged quick waves. Kahlil allowed the other runner to outdistance him.
    He coasted along Seven Palaces Road. Parks and stone statues blurred past. He wove between carriages and delivery wagons. In a few hours the streets would begin to fill with gawkers and newsmen. But for now, there were only subdued clusters of men and women basking in the fading sun and street vendors packing up their wares.
    He turned off Seven Palaces Road and raced up the