Chapter 21 · Untitled Chapter

The heavy cedar doors of the majlis swung inward once more, admitting the dry, scorched breath of the Riyadh afternoon before the brass latches clicked firmly shut.

An elder walked into the center of the hall, leaning lightly upon a polished tamarisk walking stick. He was accompanied by two younger cousins from our ancestral town—men whose faces carried the sharp, familiar lines of the Al-Otaibi elders who had governed the province's ledgers for half a century.

The elder wore a dark brown bisht bordered in gold thread, his head covered by a pristine ghutra folded without ostentation. He stopped at the perimeter of the central Persian carpet, his shoes removed at the threshold, his gaze sweeping the hall until it settled directly upon me.

He did not look at Saud first. In the unspoken grammar of our people, to acknowledge the master of the house before delivering a summons of blood was to concede jurisdiction.

"As-salamu alaykum," the emissary said, his voice resonant, seasoned by decades of arbitration in northern councils.

"Wa alaykum as-salam, Abu Fahad," Saud answered from the high-backed seat at the head of the room. His tone was level, cool, and perfectly measured, neither welcoming nor hostile.