Chapter 19 · Untitled Chapter

The clerk bowed low, his sandals whispering against the thick wool of the Kashan runner as he backed away from Saud Al-Dosari. The quiet that settled over the grand majlis did not last beyond the second chime of the bronze grandfather clock standing beside the cedar archway.

A steward appeared at the perimeter, stepping softly over the marble threshold and waiting until Saud gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Sheikh Mansoor Al-Harbi," the steward murmured, keeping his gaze lowered. "Sent by Abu Maha, ya ustadh. He awaits permission to enter."

My father had not surrendered with the dismissal of a scribe; he had sent a recognized mediator of the tribes, an elder whose gray beard and lineage commanded deference across Riyadh. I drew my black tarha securely over my hair, ensuring the dark folds fell smoothly across my shoulders. In the presence of an elder who was not mahram, my modesty was my armor, but my spine remained unbending against the carved high back of the settee.

Sheikh Mansoor entered with the measured pace of a man accustomed to arbitrating disputes of blood money and tribal boundaries. His white thobe was immaculate, his gold-trimmed bisht rustling softly over the carpet.