3: Black Blades by Ginn Hale Read Free Book Online Page A

constructed before the Payshmura had fallen. Now that Kahlil thought of it, he could see old remnants of their dominance all around him. As he wandered the halls, stepping past flustered staff and deliverymen, he noted the small, incised alcoves where dishes of prayer stones would have been placed. Now they were either filled by bowls of cut flowers or gilded tiles depicting the crests of the seven houses.
    “What are you doing?” an older man suddenly demanded of him.
    “Delivery,” Kahlil answered.
    The man rolled his eyes. Obviously most of the men pushing their way through the back rooms and halls had deliveries.
    “Who is it for?” the old man demanded.
    “A musician,” Kahlil said. “I’m supposed to deliver it to his dressing room.”
    “His dressing room?” The old man scowled. “That’s rich. They’re all going to be using one room, the light-fingered little thieves.” The man suddenly turned to the group of stocky deliverymen slouching next to the wine racks. His wrinkled face seemed to fold in on itself as he glared at them. “If you’re done, don’t just stand around taking up space! Get out!”
    The men quickly retreated back down the hall.
    The old man snapped his attention back to Kahlil. “The fourth door on the right.”
    “Thank you,” Kahlil replied.
    The old man had already turned away and was stalking towards a cluster of young men milling around two kitchen girls. Kahlil shook his head. He couldn’t imagine being a house steward.
    He found the room that had been designated for the musicians. Any decoration that could be removed obviously had been. The inlaid walls were bare, and even the flowers had been removed from the alcoves. None of the musicians had arrived yet. Kahlil stripped off his clothes and changed. He doubted that he would have an opportunity to recover his old clothes. Still, he folded them into a neat pile out of habit. He’d miss his coat and boots.
    After that, he simply drifted through the council building, randomly carrying out instructions. He decanted a bottle of wine, removed and then returned a vase of lilies to an alcove. He avoided the steward, easily fading into the crowds of other men in white uniforms.
    He accustomed himself to the layout of the building. Beyond the small back rooms stood a huge ballroom. There the screens that would hide the musicians had already been spread. Intricately carved chairs and tiny decorative tables had been placed along the left wall. A profusion of fresh flowers were scattered across the tables. The blossoms looked fragile compared to the huge shields and carved wreaths mounted on the walls. The polished floor shone brilliantly as it reflected the blazing gold and silver chandeliers overhead. A staircase on the the right wall led to the second floor but it had been chained off.
    Kahlil doubted that Ourath or any of his conspirators would attempt anything here, under so much light and in such an open space.
    Kahlil picked up a bouquet of spring buds and stalked purposefully past the other servants out into the gardens. The guards on the walls hardly took note of him.         
    A path of marble stones wound slowly up a slight hill to the west garden, the one Nanvess had mentioned. At the top Kahlil found a flickering stone lamp surrounded by dark pines. Yellow and red ivy vines cascaded over trellises. Between the trees, low shrubs hid the bare ground with dark winter-hardy greenery. Here and there tiny patches of red and violet spring flowers pushed through the dark soil.
    Kahlil turned slowly around, taking in the deep shadows, the walls of ivy, and the thin, flickering lamplight. He couldn’t have chosen a better place for an assassination himself. He was sure it would take place here. But he couldn’t just wait around in plain sight. He turned back down the path.
    He couldn’t know where Fikiri would come from or when he would arrive, but Kahlil did know that one way or another Fikiri would have to get close