Chapter 29 · Chapter 29

The clatter of hooves outside our courtyard gate broke the afternoon calm before Ibrahim could begin on the second basket. I did not hurry. I laid my hand upon my son's shoulder, guiding him gently back toward the shade of the inner threshold.

"Stay within, Ibrahim," I said softly, keeping my voice level so no tremor of alarm reached him. "Do not cross the lintel until I call you."

He nodded once, obedient, clutching his small wooden spindle as he stepped into the cool dimness of the house. I drew my heavy dark mantle over my head, settling the folds until only my eyes and hands remained bare to the harsh glare of the sun.

At the outer gate, the dust had barely settled. My cousin stood at the front of three mounted men, his reins gathered tight in his left hand, his face hardened with the dry bitterness that years had done nothing to sweeten.