Chapter 30 · Chapter 30

I stood motionless beneath the heavy folds of my black abaya, my hands tucked beneath the dark fabric of the cuffs, feeling the lingering weight of his stare.

In the great majlis, the smoke from the silver mabkhara drifted thin and sharp with the bitter, resinous scent of oud, curling toward the carved cedar ceiling before dispersing into the cool, conditioned air.

Around the perimeter of the hall, the men of the Al-Enezi and the Al-Humaid branches remained stiff in their low cushioned seats, their white thobes crisp, their red-and-white shemaghs pinned with rigid neatness. No one whispered. The authority in the room sat solely at the sadr, where Salman occupied the high corner.

He did not drink immediately from the finjan. He allowed the cardamom steam to rise, his long fingers resting lightly against the arm of the gilded chair.

"The testimony of the afternoon is concluded," Salman said. His voice was neither loud nor hurried, yet every elder and cousin along the perimeter sat up straighter at the sound of it. "We will not spend another hour listening to men recount what they believe they glimpsed through a corridor or what they heard whispered in the outer court."