Chapter 33 · Untitled Chapter

The silence in the majlis grew heavy, weighed down by the rising ribbon of blue smoke from the silver mabkhara. The men seated along the perimeter watched every fold of my black abaya, waiting for hesitation, waiting for the falter of an inherited deference that had kept daughters silent in such halls for generations.

I did not answer the arbiter from where I stood near the doorway. To speak from the threshold was to accept the stance of a petitioner.

Instead, I stepped forward across the central Persian carpet, the soft rustle of silk the only sound breaking the stillness. My cousin shifted his weight, his knuckles whitening against his knees, while my uncle Salman sat rigid, his dark eyes narrowing as my shadow moved across his lap. I kept my gaze lifted, looking neither at their tight jaws nor at the floor.

At the far end of the hall, at the sadr, sat Saud Al-Dosari.

He had not risen, nor had he intervened. He sat upright in his crisp, starched white thobe, his posture possessing that cold, unyielding heba that made even the oldest men among my kin measure their words before speaking.