saking care t t period, ted . Despite ter, ting injury came to ter je. Even tan mentioned t er e pleased  t t of the barrel.”

    I ain t treat my master illustrators more severely t for Our Sultan’s ented manuscripts, like many otable art form, belittling embellis and illustration as flirtations  for  rebuke. In order to provoke me, urists o see  upon your death.”

    as t already raining myself, I didn’t respond. treasurer  to deceased  beoe miniaturists, rations to curry favor and earn a fera silver coins.

    I caugorture t miged. t resort to flaying during terrogation, because t inevitably leads to deat impale anyone, eit’s used as a deterrent. Cracking and splintering turists  of tion. Of course, to judge by treets of Istanbul—e for master artists. So, as I imagined my dear miniaturists in a secluded corner of te Garden, ter lilies, sly and glaring efully at one anoto laug caused me agony to imagine ers  iron and terfly’s skin o conjure tterfly—o my eyes—as inado like a common tice. I just stood there dumbfounded and hollow.

    My elderly mind e under ts oernal silence. time oget made us forget everything.

    “t expert miniaturists serving Our Sultan,” I said. “Make certain no hem.”

    Pleased, treasurer rose, grabbed a number of pages from table at t of me. Next, as if tapers burned tering flames so I could study tings in question.

    I explain  like laug because t seemed t Enisructed my masters as follo paint like yourselves, paint as if you e