Chapter 29 · Chapter 29

Before I could take three paces toward the threshold of the great majlis, a quiet voice called out from the adjoining vestibule.

"Danah."

It was Mansoor Al-Subait, my father’s cousin, standing just inside the arched doorway of the smaller council room. His thobe was immaculate, the stiff collar buttoned to the throat, a heavy set of amber beads resting motionless across his right palm. He did not step into the open corridor, nor did he raise his voice beyond the threshold. He merely inclined his head, signaling for an audience away from the eyes of the main hall.

Across the expanse of marble, Hatim’s eyes remained fixed on mine. He did not stand. He did not issue a command to bar my turn. He simply sat in the central seat of honor, the folds of his dark bisht gathered over his forearm, watching with that unyielding, measured stillness that left no room for doubt.