Author's Preface
The next morning, Yahya entered the Council tent. The elders were already assembled, seated in a semicircle alongside Faris and their father.
Mansur spotted him and gave a firm nod. "Come in, son. I’ve had Salim brought before us."
Yahya bowed slightly and took his seat beside his brother. At the center of the pavilion, Mansur’s high seat—draped in the hide of a desert predator and reinforced with dark, gold-wrought iron—loomed on its stone platform. His sons sat just below, flanking the throne as befitted the heirs of the tribe.
Salim arrived a moment later. Bowing low, he delivered his report, a tight, controlled anger lacing his words.
"Gais regained consciousness yesterday," Salim said. "The healers confirmed he was poisoned before the trial—desert viper venom. It was a miracle he survived."
He paused, letting the elders absorb the weight of the fact, before continuing. "He confessed," Salim added, a look of profound disgust crossing his face, "that a deal had been struck. If he brought the accusation against Seyyida Halima, he was promised a bride."
A low, angry murmur rippled through the tent.
"The fool couldn't refuse," Salim explained bitterly. "He is miserly, short-tempered, and crude—no father in the encampment would ever hand a daughter over to him. Women are precious, and a man of his character was destined to remain alone." He shot a quick, cautious glance toward the council elders. "He claims a stranger approached him in the dark. We’ve searched the perimeter, but found no trace of the messenger."
"When we asked if he feared the punishment for slander," Salim continued, "he admitted he knew the law. But he believed that even after enduring the lashes, he would still walk away with a wife."
Salim fell silent. His posture radiated disdain for a coward willing to trade a woman's sacred honor for the cheap promise of a bride he could never earn.
Mansur nodded grimly. "Thank you for the report. Keep him under heavy guard. Dismissed."
Once Salim had departed, Faris let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "Our enemy covers his tracks well."
Neither Mansur nor Yahya offered a contradiction. The frustration in the tent was palpable—the line of inquiry had gone cold once again. The Council dissolved on a heavy, bitter note.
Seeking an escape from the heavy atmosphere, Halima went to Amina’s tent. Sensing her daughter-in-law's quiet distress, Amina wisely avoided mentioning the trial. Instead, they set to preparing the midday meal, sorting fragrant spices and chopping dried herbs in comfortable companionship.
Hayat dropped by shortly after. Remembering the ordeal from the day before, she offered a few gentle, sympathetic words. Halima offered only a polite smile and a nod, unwilling to dwell on the lingering bitterness.
Gradually, the conversation turned to lighter things—kitchen chores, market prices, household news—and the knots in Halima's chest began to loosen.
When the men returned from the Council, their dark expressions spoke louder than words. Halima and Amina exchanged a brief glance, instantly reading the truth: the investigation was deadlocked. Without a word, both women chose not to press them for answers. Whatever news they brought could wait until the sun set.
They gathered around the meal in quiet contemplation. Amina had invited Hayat to join them, treating her with the hospitality due to an honored guest.
As they ate, the men kept their composure, but their eyes occasionally drifted toward Hayat. She was chatting blithely with the women, completely unaware of the heavy thoughts circulating in the minds of the leaders beside her.
Looking at her, Yahya and his father found their thoughts returning to her father—Chief Gaddar, the head of his clan.
Hayat herself was known for her petty vanity, but nothing on the scale of treason. Her father, however, was a different story. Chief Gaddar was a calculating fox, a man who maintained a careful neutrality between the tribes. If he deemed the payout high enough, he was certainly capable of orchestrating such a strike.
It was a quiet, dangerous lead—one Yahya resolved to investigate with utmost discretion, without giving the girl by their table any reason to suspect their thoughts.
In the weeks that followed, Halima and Hayat grew increasingly inseparable. Yet the ghost of Gais's accusation still cast a faint shadow; Halima remained unusually quiet, her bright spirit dimmed.
Hayat, noticing her friend's distant gaze during one of their afternoons together, confronted her directly.
"Is that business still weighing on you?"
"A little," Halima admitted softly. "I know I did nothing wrong. But... it dragged me back to my childhood. Always blamed for things I didn't do. My parents never took the time to listen."
"Then throw it out of your head," Hayat said with sharp conviction. "You are guilty of nothing. Why give such wretched people the power to steal your peace? You’ve been brooding for days over men whose only purpose in life was to cause ruin." She paused, her eyes softening as she leaned in closer. "Everyone knows the truth now. Your husband, your family, the entire tribe stands behind you. This isn't your childhood tent, Halima. You have guardians now." A playful smirk touched her lips. "Honestly, your parents must have been blind. How could they fail to see what a gem they had?"
Halima let out a soft, genuine laugh, the tension leaving her shoulders. "Thank you, Hayat. You're right. I have a family now. People who believe in me. I just needed to hear it."
"That's more like it," Hayat huffed, standing up and smoothing her gown. "Now come. They say a merchant just brought fresh frankincense to the market. You need a proper distraction."
"You're right," Halima said, shaking her head at her own foolishness. "Why am I wasting my days brooding?"
Together, they stepped out of the cool shade of the tent and made their way down the bustling market thoroughfare.
As they walked, Hayat fell quiet, surprised by the warmth blooming in her own chest.
Why did I even bother comforting her? she thought, stealing a glance at the girl walking beside her. Have I gone soft-hearted?
Yet, looking at Halima's open, gentle face, Hayat realized something profound: she could no longer take pleasure in this girl's pain.
In the past, when Hayat had schemed or manipulated others, her conscience had never troubled her—the people she targeted were usually arrogant or foolish enough to deserve it. But Halima was entirely innocent. That distinction settled within Hayat with a strange, humbling clarity.
Over these past weeks, Hayat had come to see why Halima won hearts so effortlessly. She was sincere, kind, and possessed a quiet warmth that reminded Hayat so much of her late mother.
Without either of them planning it, Halima had become the one thing Hayat had lacked her entire life: a true friend. With Halima, there were no masks to wear, no angles to calculate, and no need to hide.