Chapter 15 · Untitled Chapter

I did not step past the frame. I drew the edge of my black shaila closer around my shoulders, smoothing the soft crepe of the abaya over my wrists. To walk out into the dawn unshielded would have been to hand my uncle the very surrender he had waited to extract; to remain behind this closed lintel was to hold the ground Saud had staked for me.

From the outer gallery, heavy footsteps broke the silence of the corridor. The cedar doors of the private wing were thick, banded in hammered brass, but the sharp strike of a cane against the limestone flags carried cleanly through the wood.

"Open the inner door," my uncle’s voice rang out, stripped of the measured gentility he usually displayed before the elders. "Maha! Bring yourself to the threshold. The morning accounts are waiting, and this foolishness ends before the guests assemble for Gahwa."

Saud did not turn toward the wood. He stood near the console table, fastening the cuff of his crisp white thobe, his face an unreadable mask of cold stillness. The silver finjan from last night sat empty on the marble tray, alongside the small crystal dish of dates.