Chapter 24 · Chapter 24

I smoothed the black drape of my shaila, securing the fold beneath my chin until nothing showed but the steady line of my eyes. The abaya fell heavy and absolute around my shoulders, concealing every trace of what had passed behind the locked doors. In the quiet of the inner chamber, there had been no surrender, and none would be shown here.

I unlatched the heavy cedar door myself. The latch turned without a rasp, parting the threshold between the secluded wing and the wide, vaulted expanse of the majlis. The scent of bitter cardamom and cooling oud met me immediately, sharp in the dry air of the Riyadh night.

I stepped into the colonnade without hesitation. The limestone underfoot was cold, but my stride remained measured and smooth across the woven borders of the carpets. Across the hall, where the wall sconces illuminated the perimeter, the driver broke off mid-sentence.

His voice caught in his throat at the quiet movement of dark fabric, but I did not turn my head toward him. I did not look at the clerk waiting by the records, nor at the relatives seated along the perimeter, whose eyes followed the silhouette of my passage.