Chapter 19 · Chapter 19

I adjusted the fold of my black tarha, drawing the crepe firmly across my hair until not a single strand showed against my brow. The silk hem of my abaya fell smooth and unbroken around my ankles, completely concealing whatever vulnerability had existed between Hatim and me behind the heavy oak of the inner suite.

Daylight had begun to bleed pale gray through the clerestory windows along the high corridor, washing the limestone arches in a sterile, sober light.

Hatim did not follow me past the threshold. He remained framed in the doorway of the private wing, tall and composed in his crisp white thobe, his silence deliberate. He had given his word before the lock had turned: when dawn broke, the corridor belonged to me.

I took three steps toward the central gallery before a shadow detached itself from the alcove near the courtyard exit.

"Danah."

My uncle stepped forward into the gray morning light. Ammi Tariq had not slept. His thobe bore the faint creases of a vigil kept in the outer rooms, though his red-patterned shemagh was set with severe precision, pinned tight beneath the black agal.