Chapter 35 · Untitled Chapter

The silence in the grand majlis settled like cooling amber, broken only by the faint hiss of Gahwa settling into the ceramic cup Saud held in his right hand. The scent of aged Oud drifted from the carved mabkhara near the threshold, curling through the quiet air between the two families.

My uncle, Ammi Salman, did not touch the small finjan resting on the low stand beside his chair. His hand tightened over the silver curve of his walking stick, the wood creaking softly under the pressure of his palm. His gaze shifted from my brother’s bowed head to where I sat, fully veiled in my black Abaya, the Shaila pinned immaculately at my throat.

"You speak of accounts as though you were an independent merchant in the souq, Maha," my uncle said, his voice measured, pitched low for the ears of the elder men arrayed along the perimeter of the room.

"You are an Al-Otaibi. A woman’s standing is anchored in the threshold of her father’s kin. When your father passed, the stewardship of your name fell to me. The car is outside. The north gate of our estate has been left unlocked for your arrival.