Chapter 33 · Chapter 33

The silence that settled over the majlis was thicker than the oud smoke curling from the brass burner near the threshold. None of the elders moved. Across the low divans, men who had spent decades measuring the weight of the Al-Zamil name against the reach of the Al-Shammari kept their hands flat upon their knees, their gazes darting between the heavy courtyard doors and the center of the room.

They were waiting for the verdict. In their minds, the clearing of the hall had merely eliminated the minor grievances; the true contest remained between the woman holding her father’s ledgers and the man who had sworn his own oath regarding them.

A servant hesitated by the low table, holding the dallah to offer gahwa and restore the customary pace of the assembly, but an elder in the second seat subtly twitched his fingers, halting the pour before the spout could tilt. No finjan was received while the settlement of an estate hung suspended in the air.

I gathered the dark silk of my abaya and stepped forward.

My steps made no sound against the dense weave of the wool carpets, yet the shift in the room was instant.