Chapter 20 · Chapter 20

Dawn came over the high perimeter walls of the northern estate with the muted clarity of winter light, filtering through the high archways of the outer corridors. There was no ease in the morning air; the standoff of the previous evening had merely settled into the stone, cold and unyielding.

I sat in the partitioned reception alcove just off the main majlis, my black abaya draped in disciplined folds, my tarha pinned securely. From where I sat, the long expanse of the council chamber was fully visible. My uncle Tariq was already seated near the middle diwan, his posture tight, his fingers worrying a set of amber beads.

Across from him sat Abu Fahad and two senior cousins of the Al-Zamil line, their faces grim over steaming finjans of cardamom gahwa. They had gathered before the city stirred, hoping to corner the day before it could begin.

"The matter cannot drift into another afternoon," Abu Fahad was saying, his voice gravelled with the irritation of an elder whose word was not instantly obeyed. "The woman’s place is under her family's roof. Every hour she remains on Shammari ground without a completed settlement, our name takes damage in the city.