Chapter 27 · Chapter 27

The afternoon wind through the arched corridor smelled of crushed mint and dry limestone. I had barely stepped past the second row of pillars when the rustle of raw silk cut through the quiet.

Hussa stood by the carved marble planter, her dark abaya embroidered with silver thread along the cuffs, her fingers restless around a slim leather clutch. She had been waiting where the corridor narrowed toward the inner courtyard, positioned with the deliberate calculation of someone who wished to corner an answer before the elders finished their tea.

"Mariam," she said, stepping forward just enough to bar the stone steps. Her chin was lifted, though her gaze darted toward the high windows of the outer majlis. "Saud did not look pleased when he rose from your table."

"Saud speaks of matters that have not yet crossed the notary's desk," I replied, stopping two paces short of her. The hem of my black abaya fell still against the marble. "He exhausts himself with words."

"He speaks what the entire district is repeating," Hussa said, her voice dropping to a hurried whisper that carried sharper venom than Saud’s cold pride.