Chapter 30 · Chapter 30

Yet even as the brass dallah tilted to fill the first finjan, my uncle did not let the matter rest upon spoken words alone. Custom demanded the physical weight of proof before the Al-Falih elders and the witnesses of Riyadh.

Ammi Saud reached down with his right hand, lifting the stiff leather bag by its twin handles. The dark hide caught the warm glow of the chandeliers as he placed it squarely in the center of the low brass table, directly between Marzouq’s seat at the sadr and the row of seated cousins.

The bag sat open, its structured mouth gaping slightly under the heavy gaze of the men gathered. Inside, resting against the beige suede lining, lay the single folded slip of card bearing the unadorned digits.

Silence settled over the hall, heavier than the drifting scent of oud smoke.

"Speech in a crowded room is easily scattered by the wind," Ammi Saud said, his tone measured and severe, the cadence of an elder sealing a binding pact. He kept his palms resting flat against his knees, his eyes fixed steadily upon me where I stood in my black abaya, my shaila pinned tight.