Chapter 29 · Chapter 29

When the gray light of morning climbed the whitewashed walls of the courtyard, the quiet within the chamber gave way to the waking rhythm of the Albaicín. The brass brazier had cooled to a soft drift of pale ash, and through the high, barred lattice, the scent of damp earth and bitter orange leaves drifted in from the garden.

I wrapped myself in my heavy woolen robe, securing the dark cloth over my hair before lifting Fatima into the folds of clean linen. Saad unlatched the cedar door, stepping out first onto the flagstones to ensure the inner court was clear.

His posture carried the quiet vigilance that had governed every breath since the decree in the square; even in the heart of the house, he stood as a barricade between our hidden chamber and the world beyond.

Maryama was already by the stone basin, her hands resting on the edge of the copper kettle, while Hasan lingered near the arcade, the quiet dignity of Abu Jaafar’s lineage evident in his measured silence.