Chapter 31 · Untitled Chapter

The quiet that settled between our cups did not last until noon. Before the cardamom in the empty porcelain had even lost its warmth, the tall cedar doors of the majlis swung back on their brass hinges, admitting the dry, sun-scorched air of the courtyard along with my brother.

Faisal did not cross the threshold with our uncle’s cautious deliberation. He walked as if the ground itself owed him deference, his crisp white thobe rustling against the edge of the woven rugs, his ghutra folded in sharp, arrogant creases. Beneath his arm he carried a heavy calfskin folio stamped in gold—the registry of the house in Diriyah.

He stopped just short of the low table where Saud and I sat, his gaze sweeping over the two finjans resting side by side. A flicker of irritation crossed his brow, instantly masked by the polished composure expected of an Al-Otaibi heir.

"Maha," Faisal said, his voice level and entirely devoid of brotherly warmth. "Yuba has heard the answer you gave Ammi. He did not care for it, but he knows the stubbornness of your blood."

Saud did not rise. He did not shift his weight or touch his prayer beads.