Chapter 33 · Chapter 33

The summons did not come as a knocking. It came as the heavy, deliberate ring of iron against cedar, four guards in boiled leather standing beneath the low arch of the Albaicín lane before the morning fog had lifted from the Darro.

Saad was at the threshold before the wood had finished shivering. He did not shout, nor did he reach for the pruning blade that hung by the garden cistern; violence against the crown’s men in the narrow alley would have bought nothing but blood on the paving stones and an immediate torch to our roof.

Instead, he placed his body across the opening, his broad shoulders filling the frame, his face set in a cold, unyielding stillness that forced the lead bailiff to halt his advance.

"The woman named Saleema, granddaughter of Abu Jaafar," the officer read from a folded parchment stamped with the seal of the royal chancery. "By order of the magistrate and the ecclesiastical inspectors. She is cited to answer for unlawful scribing, possession of proscribed codices, and the mixing of unholy remedies. Step aside, artisan.