yasi’halaun. His green clothes melted into the surrounding leaves; his black hair matched the shadows. He lunged for Jath’ibaye.
It was such a simple plan, Kahlil realized. Nanvess would feed the yasi’halaun on Jath’ibaye’s blood before Jath’ibaye even registered his presence.
Kahlil threw himself into the Gray Space, passing straight through Jath’ibaye’s body. He burst out directly over Nanvess. Instantly, he snapped his fingers apart and punched the razor edge of a Gray Space through Nanvess’ throat. Nanvess’ hot blood gushed over his hand and splashed up his arm. Nanvess crumpled to the ground.
Initially, Kahlil didn’t even feel the yasi’halaun’s smooth blade driven deep into his abdomen. Then sharp pain exploded through him. The blade pulsed inside him, tearing through muscle and drinking in his blood. He gripped the hilt with his bloody, slick hands and wrenched the yasi’halaun free.
Fikiri stood, staring at him in abject shock.
Jath’ibaye too stood motionless, blood dribbling from his neck where Esh’illan’s chains had cut through his skin. His blue eyes were wide, his expression haunted.
Kahlil felt sickeningly cold. His entire body shook. He fought to remain on his feet.
Only Esh’illan seemed able to move. Kahlil saw him draw his pistol. Fikiri caught the motion as well and a look of fear passed over his face.
“Don’t!” Fikiri shouted.
Jath’ibaye spun back just as Esh’illan fired directly into his chest. Jath’ibaye rocked slightly with the impact.
Then the entire earth seemed to shudder beneath them. The stone lamp split. From above them came a sudden, tiny white burst of light, like a streak of lightning, and then the entire sky darkened. Pale clouds writhed and blackened as if they were burning.
Jath’ibaye strode forward and gripped Esh’illan by the throat. With a vicious snap he twisted Esh’illan’s head back. Esh’illan convulsed and then fell lifelessly to the ground.
Kahlil could see guards running up the path. The gunshot must have brought them. Jath’ibaye didn’t seem to notice or care about them. His eyes blazed blue, inhumanly bright. He glanced over his shoulder to the empty space where Fikiri had stood, then he turned his attention to Kahlil.
Thunder crashed above them.
Jath’ibaye simply stood there, watching him as a dirty black rain began to slap down. Three guards came running with lanterns. Other people—curious guests and servants—trailed behind them.
Kahlil brought his hand up.
“Wait,” Jath’ibaye whispered.
Kahlil tore open the Gray Space and stumbled into its lifeless depth.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The dark cables and girders of the Blackbird Bridge blurred and wavered in front of Kahlil. Out of reflex, he reached for the railing to steady himself. His hand passed through. He staggered down to his knees.
In the colorless, silent realm of Gray Space, there was neither night nor day, and yet it seemed to be growing darker all around Kahlil. And colder.
He curled his hand over the wound in his belly. In the Gray Space, his blood shone glossy black. It spilled through his fingers and seeped across the entire front of his white jacket and pants. He could feel it soaking into his socks. If he had been outside the Gray Space, it would have been warm. It would have steamed against the night air.
Kahlil pushed himself back up to his feet. He couldn’t stop, not here. Not yet. He concentrated. The black mass of the bridge whipped back behind him. Narrow streets blurred past. He moved through walls and gates.
Ranks of rashan’im on tahldi patrolled all streets. Word of the attack at the Bell Dance had doubtless traveled fast. Both Esh’illan Anyyd and Nanvess Bousim murdered. Alidas would be furious. There would be no refuge for Kahlil anywhere in the Bousim district of the city.
No. He needed to go somewhere else. Dim, tangled shapes washed past him. Kahlil shuddered. He could hardly recognize the haze of darkness
It was such a simple plan, Kahlil realized. Nanvess would feed the yasi’halaun on Jath’ibaye’s blood before Jath’ibaye even registered his presence.
Kahlil threw himself into the Gray Space, passing straight through Jath’ibaye’s body. He burst out directly over Nanvess. Instantly, he snapped his fingers apart and punched the razor edge of a Gray Space through Nanvess’ throat. Nanvess’ hot blood gushed over his hand and splashed up his arm. Nanvess crumpled to the ground.
Initially, Kahlil didn’t even feel the yasi’halaun’s smooth blade driven deep into his abdomen. Then sharp pain exploded through him. The blade pulsed inside him, tearing through muscle and drinking in his blood. He gripped the hilt with his bloody, slick hands and wrenched the yasi’halaun free.
Fikiri stood, staring at him in abject shock.
Jath’ibaye too stood motionless, blood dribbling from his neck where Esh’illan’s chains had cut through his skin. His blue eyes were wide, his expression haunted.
Kahlil felt sickeningly cold. His entire body shook. He fought to remain on his feet.
Only Esh’illan seemed able to move. Kahlil saw him draw his pistol. Fikiri caught the motion as well and a look of fear passed over his face.
“Don’t!” Fikiri shouted.
Jath’ibaye spun back just as Esh’illan fired directly into his chest. Jath’ibaye rocked slightly with the impact.
Then the entire earth seemed to shudder beneath them. The stone lamp split. From above them came a sudden, tiny white burst of light, like a streak of lightning, and then the entire sky darkened. Pale clouds writhed and blackened as if they were burning.
Jath’ibaye strode forward and gripped Esh’illan by the throat. With a vicious snap he twisted Esh’illan’s head back. Esh’illan convulsed and then fell lifelessly to the ground.
Kahlil could see guards running up the path. The gunshot must have brought them. Jath’ibaye didn’t seem to notice or care about them. His eyes blazed blue, inhumanly bright. He glanced over his shoulder to the empty space where Fikiri had stood, then he turned his attention to Kahlil.
Thunder crashed above them.
Jath’ibaye simply stood there, watching him as a dirty black rain began to slap down. Three guards came running with lanterns. Other people—curious guests and servants—trailed behind them.
Kahlil brought his hand up.
“Wait,” Jath’ibaye whispered.
Kahlil tore open the Gray Space and stumbled into its lifeless depth.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The dark cables and girders of the Blackbird Bridge blurred and wavered in front of Kahlil. Out of reflex, he reached for the railing to steady himself. His hand passed through. He staggered down to his knees.
In the colorless, silent realm of Gray Space, there was neither night nor day, and yet it seemed to be growing darker all around Kahlil. And colder.
He curled his hand over the wound in his belly. In the Gray Space, his blood shone glossy black. It spilled through his fingers and seeped across the entire front of his white jacket and pants. He could feel it soaking into his socks. If he had been outside the Gray Space, it would have been warm. It would have steamed against the night air.
Kahlil pushed himself back up to his feet. He couldn’t stop, not here. Not yet. He concentrated. The black mass of the bridge whipped back behind him. Narrow streets blurred past. He moved through walls and gates.
Ranks of rashan’im on tahldi patrolled all streets. Word of the attack at the Bell Dance had doubtless traveled fast. Both Esh’illan Anyyd and Nanvess Bousim murdered. Alidas would be furious. There would be no refuge for Kahlil anywhere in the Bousim district of the city.
No. He needed to go somewhere else. Dim, tangled shapes washed past him. Kahlil shuddered. He could hardly recognize the haze of darkness
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