Chapter 16 · Chapter 16

Two measured raps struck the thick cedar of the outer wing door, heavy enough to reverberate through the high stone archway, yet carefully calibrated so as not to breach the dignity of a locked threshold.

My uncle Mansoor did not cross into this wing. By custom and by the council’s own decree, the threshold belonged strictly to the two people charged with answering for what had been left unresolved five years ago. But his presence hung in the silence that followed the knock.

Nawaf did not move from the alcove near the window. His white thobe caught the blanching morning light, uncreased and immaculate, the dark string of his amber beads resting motionless between two fingers. He did not look toward the entrance, nor did he bid the caller to speak. The quiet between us remained intact, bounded by the heavy scent of aged oud and the cooling copper pot upon the side table.

“Sayyidati Hanan,” came the voice through the seam of the carved timber. It was Saud, my uncle’s chief clerk, his cadence as dry and formal as the parchment under my hand. “Abu Fahad sends his salutations.