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“Have you seen the neife?” she asked, her timbre low as an iron horn

“No—I did not knoere due”

“I have seen her She is not kept with us But if you would leave this place as I would—”

“Why would I want to leave? I chose to wear yellow and play cards with the old wives”

Ih I was old hich she lined her lashes “I thought you were like me,” she said quietly

“I am!” Foolishly, I clutched her hands She snatched them away

“No, no, I wish to leave this place , more than I wished to be a bird when I was a child, or to learn the craft of tea-rown…”

THE TALE

OF THE

TEA-MAKER AND

THE SHOEMAKER

I DO NOT REMEMBER BEING MADE OF TEA MY mother told me this story, and then my father told it to me, and it was the same story, so I areed upon it

Saffiya was a shoemaker, and she lived in her cobbler’s shop, which had a copper bell over the door and a knocker in the shape of a sole She was not a beauty—but a her shoes no woman would shine She made shoes of blue silk and shoes of black leather, shoes embroidered with scenes of leafy forests and flowers as intricate as a fingerprint She made huntsman’s boots and soldier’s boots and boots fit to withstand a Quest, and she old and shoes of silver, shoes of fur and shoes of glass She made tiny shoes shaped like cups oolen sides and iron soles for her cloven-hoofed custo, knitted socks for the serpentine She ently shaped iron into horseshoes She had even le shoe, with space to wiggle the toes, in case a Monopod happened by On this great shoe she carefully stitched scenes of wine- in expensive violet thread, dyed with the saliva of a certain snail Her most famous shoes, which none had yet been able to afford, sat in thelike a relic in a shrine They were reen thread, and had soles which were so fine they would not dare to whisper on a floor of pebbles It was said that they felt like the drea her shoes she was plain and hardworking, her hair the color of leather laces, her eyes the shade of orn soles

Elpidios was a tea-rass-thatch roof and long rows of tea plants before and behind He was not a beauty—but areen teas that tasted of warar, red teas that tasted of cinnamon and blood, yellow teas that tasted of frankincense and dandelion root He made delicate white teas that tasted of jasmine and snow He s of the harvest, and this tasted of bread and grief He made teas from cherry blossoe peel and ht and sweet, like clouds drifting from the sun; others tasted spicy and dark, like thick cakes His most famous tea, which none had yet been able to afford, was brewed frole red leaf This was the tea that tasted of the drea his teas he was plain and hardworking, and his hair was the color of oolong, and his eyes were the color of wet leaves

One day it happened that the tea-maker found himself in want of shoes, and the shoemaker found herself in want of tea, and these two met She fitted shoes to his feet; he fitted tea to her throat For her he made his dream tea, and held his breath while she drank For him she took down froreen thread, which would make no sound on the floor of his teahouse