Chapter 28 · Chapter 28

The quiet in the majlis remained absolute, broken only by the steady rasp of the scribe’s reed pen settling onto the tray. The faint fragrance of oud drifted from the silver mabkhara near the threshold, curling through the chilled, vaulted air.

Salman did not shift in his seat at the sadr. His right hand rested upon the carved arm of the gilded chair, fingers motionless beside the small porcelain finjan of cardamom gahwa that sat cold and untouched. He raised his eyes toward the door, where the steward motioned the next man into the hall.

It was Nasir, the evening supervisor responsible for the gallery adjoining the east wing. He stepped onto the perimeter carpet, his gaze kept respectfully low, his palms pressed flat against the fabric of his dark thobe.

"Nasir," Salman said. The tone was level, shorn of heat, yet the weight of his heba made the entire chamber draw inward.

"Sam, ya ustadh," the man replied instantly.

"The entry dated the third hour marks your signature beneath the claim that Lady Huda passed through the corridor near the private archive before dawn.