Chapter 24 · Untitled Chapter

From my vantage near the cedar archway, shrouded completely in the dark drape of my abaya and shaila, I watched the heavy doors of the majlis part. Tariq, the senior cousin whose ledger books had governed three branches of the Al-Enezi holdings before winter set in, crossed the threshold with measured steps.

He wore his formal bisht edged in pale gold thread, his head held with the practiced dignity of a man accustomed to taking his seat immediately to the right of the host.

Mansour sat at the sadr. His crisp white thobe showed neither crease nor hurry, his spine straight against the crimson cushions, a string of dark amber beads turning rhythmically between his long fingers. He did not rise. In a traditional Najdi hall, failing to rise for an elder kin was an intentional draft of winter air across the warm carpet, a silence heavier than an open rebuke.

"As-salamu alaykum," Tariq murmured, stepping forward to offer the customary greeting, his hand already lifting toward his chest.

Mansour let three beads slip past his thumb before his dark eyes lifted. "Wa alaykum as-salam."

The reply was clipped, stripped of the customary cadences of welcome.