Chapter 14 · Chapter 14

The majlis did not end. Hatim ended it.

"Kalas."

One word, at the volume a man uses when the word has already been agreed to by everyone in the room and only needs saying aloud. The cups stopped. The man on my left, who had been telling me about his daughter's acceptance to a university in the north, closed his mouth around the rest of it.

Chairs went back. Not all at once—this house does not do anything all at once—but in a slow falling away, the way a fire goes down when the wood is taken from it.

My uncle rose last. He is careful that way. He stood, and set his cup on the tray himself rather than let the steward reach for it, and said something to Hatim that I did not hear and was not meant to hear. Hatim answered without turning his head. Two words.