Chapter 27 · Chapter 27

Ammi did not reach for the paper. To touch it would be to acknowledge that the records of his own majlis were flawed, that the five years of grievance leveled against the Al-Harthy name were built upon a deliberate omission. His fingers tightened on the carved arm of the gilt settee, the veins prominent against the aged skin of his hand.

"The collateral was liquidated to preserve the standing of the estate," my uncle said, his voice dropping into the low, measured register reserved for family business that had turned sharp.

"A ledger does not alter the fact of the rupture. A man was charged with your protection and the preservation of our pact. When you vanished into the night without word, without an escort, the shame of that empty courtyard fell upon him. The assembly demanded an accounting then. It demands it now."

Across the vast expanse of wool and silk, Nawaf did not flinch. He stood motionless beneath the cold glare of the crystal chandeliers, his hands clasped loosely before his white thobe, his gaze fixed not on the council of elders, but on me.