Chapter 32 · Chapter 32

The bailiff had barely turned his back toward the street when the iron-studded postern shivered under a heavier impact. There was no herald's preamble this time, no reading of parchment in the lane. Three men in the dun-colored livery of the Holy Office shoved past the lingering neighbors, followed by two armed alguaciles whose boots struck the lime-washed flagstones of our outer court with deliberate, hollow arrogance.

Saad did not retreat. He shifted his weight, bracing his shoulders square before the narrow arched passage that divided the vestibule from the domestic quarters. His jaw was set, the muscles along his neck drawn tight as he held his palms open at waist height, refusing either the posture of submission or the recklessness of a bared fist.

"The threshold was addressed," Saad said, his voice dropping into that chilling, even cadence that brooked no argument. "A petition was served. A petition demands the magistrate’s seal, not armed intrusion into a private domestic enclosure."

"The jurisdiction of the faith recognizes no domestic enclosure where poisons and unholy scrip are harbored," the foremost officer declared, his gaze sliding past Saad to fasten upon me.