Page 34 of Ties of Frost

“I’ll serve,” Kyrundar said, as if there were a chance I had any idea what to do with everything arranged on the tray. He picked up the kettle, his movements slow and measured. “You know how I struggle with the recitationsand some of the rituals in the sanctuaries?”

I nodded.

“Well, something about this tea ritual…it calms me. Perhaps because I know I get delicious tea at the end of it.” He chuckled. “Maybe because of how Sylathria explained it to me. She said every step demonstrates that you value the gift of the tea, that you appreciate the access to the implements of the ceremony, and most importantly, that you honor and are grateful for the friendship of your guest.”

As he spoke, he poured steaming water out of the kettle into the teapot, then into the teacup with the lid, then into both smaller teacups.

Admittedly, it was harder to be upset with Kyrundar for wasting our time with ritualized water pouring when he claimed it was symbolic of gratitude and honoring our friendship.

To my growing confusion, he poured the water out of the teapot and the teacup with the lid into the empty bowl. “Did you forget the tea?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

Kyrundar grinned. “No, that was to warm the dishes.”

He carefully poured the tea leaves from the trencher into the empty teapot…and replaced the lid. I resisted the urge to drum my fingers on the tabletop as, instead of pouring the hot water, he gently shook the teapot, removed the lid, and then lifted the teapot, closed his eyes, and smelled the leaves.

With a sound of contentment, he held out the teapot to me.

I looked at him flatly over the vessel. “We could havedrunk tea by now—”

“It’s not about the tea. Not only.” He lowered the pot, his expression thoughtful. “Why doyoudrink tea, Zidra?”

I kept my impatience off my face with effort. “For refreshment, as the body needs hydration. Perhaps for the little bit of added energy it provides, or the heat on a cold day; otherwise, I would simply drink water.”

“Ah, so you drink tea to aid your productivity.” His tone was gently teasing. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

I shrugged as if that would disguise my blushing. “Essentially. This”—I indicated the ceremony implements—“serves no purpose. It could be achieved faster, with less waste and effort.”

“That’s true.” He waved the teapot. “Smell the tea, Zee.”

“Only to get you to move on.” I didn’t lean as close to the teapot as he had. With my shifter senses, I could already catch a hint of the complex, nutty leaves. I inhaled deeply through my nose and refused to let my face or words admit the soothing quality of the rich, earthy, and slightly floral aroma.

Satisfied, Kyrundar placed the little teapot in front of himself again. At last, he poured hot water over the leaves and replaced the lid.

“Purpose is an interesting concept,” he mused as he methodically discarded the hot water from the teacups. “I don’t believe there’s value only in things that have a practical, material application. We can’t solely do things that help us earn coin, fulfill a duty, or increase our glory, right?”

“I’m not only concerned with glory,” I protested, bristling.

“No, I know that.” He removed the lid of the larger teacup. Into this he poured the entire batch of tea, and then he replaced the lid. “Is your main concern your image, then? Your need to prove to your family, the citizens of the empire, and yourself that you are a good rengir, a good person?” He glanced up. “Which you are, by the way. You don’t need to prove it.”

I nudged my teacup with my forefinger until it was centered in front of me. “I do, though. I need to prove I’m not like the ancient wyveri king, and I need to prove I made the right choice in becoming a rengir.”

His mouth twisted to the side. “Anyone who spends more than a few moments with you can see both of those things are true.” He used the lid on the large cup as a strainer to catch any escaped leaves as he poured the tea into my teacup and then his own. “Why do you seem to think something is valuable only if it’s, I don’t know, productive? Including yourself? That your value is contingent on your being useful in some way, like…um…a sword?” Setting down the cup, he motioned toward my sword.

I reached for the tea, thankful for the excuse not to answer, but Kyrundar held up his hand. “The second steep will taste better.”

To my horror, he took my teacup and dumped the contents into the waste bowl, then did the same with his teacup and the entire contents of the cup with the lid.

“This is insanity,” I declared.

Kyrundar smirked. “No, it has a practical purpose—I promise it really will taste better.”

“Not that I can compare them,” I muttered.

“Or you could say its purpose is teaching patience.” He winked. Once again, he poured hot water over the tea leaves and replaced the lid on the teapot.

“Fine, I will admit it has marginal value.” My attempted joke felt brittle even to me.

“Only marginal if you’re discounting less practical value. Things like…hm.” Kyrundar set down the kettle and looked around the room, his eyes brightening as they landed on the painting. “Elves believe art’s purpose is to be beautiful, to inspire joy and wonder. That’s not practical, but it’s valuable, right?”

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