Chapter 23 · Chapter 23

A quiet rustle of wool broke the cadence of the amber beads. From the lower end of the hall, where the advisors traditionally sat near the brass-bound archives, a figure rose. It was Ustadh Khalid, the Al-Subait family’s senior legal counselor, his immaculate white thobe whispering against the carpets as he crossed the floor toward my chair.

He did not look directly into my face, honoring the distance owed in a public hall, but lowered his head in precise greeting.

"Sayyidati Danah," he murmured, his voice pitched low enough to keep the matter between us, yet carrying clearly to the elders seated along the perimeter.

"Ustadh Khalid," I acknowledged, setting the small porcelain finjan onto the brass side table with a steady hand.

He opened a slender leather portfolio, withdrawing a cream-colored draft stamped with the seal of the chamber. He held it out with both hands, offering it to me like an instrument disguised as parchment.

"Before the records of last night are stamped into the permanent ledger," Khalid said, his tone carrying the cold, measured calm of a man who dealt in statutes and settlements, "the elders wish you to remember the third path.