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follow in Papa’s shadow.”
    Auda touched her sister’s cheek. After the loneliness of the past months, she was glad to have Poncia back. Even her sister’s strict words brought a smile to Auda’s face.
    Poncia relented and leaned over to kiss Auda’s brow. “It’s high time I returned,” she admitted. “I worried the entire time I was away about you.” Ignoring Auda’s frown, she passed her the vegetable basket. “And the north bred such a chill in my bones.”
    While Poncia chattered about the glorious scenery and the opulence of Paris shops, Auda sorted through the greens. She dumped a handful of peas on the table. The garden had grown lean in the recent deluge; yesterday she had found only a couple of withered carrots among the rotting vegetation. Even with the ham bone, today’s pottage would taste thin. At least there were eggs.
    “Word at the king’s court is that rose is the scent to be smelled this season,” Poncia said, shelling the peas. “I suppose I’ll be drying petals for months.” She pushed aside a pile of pods to feed to the animals later.
    Music? Auda signed, strumming an imaginary fiddle.
    “Song and dance on every road,” her sister said and sang a witty verse about a courtier fooling his lord over an affair with the lord’s wife.
    Auda smiled in appreciation. She’d always fancied clever tales and the rhythm of words set to song, often humming her favorites when she was alone. It was the only time her voice sounded normal, sounded real. She rarely spoke, even at home. Her stump tongue could produce some sounds. Growing up, Poncia had encouraged her to try different syllables. Na. Ma. Pa . But the noises always sounded harsh to Auda, underscored her inability to speak normally. Nothing like her voice on paper.
    “Papa would do well to put aside this business of making paper and scribe instead, in a real city, somewhere with more coin,” her sister said.
    Auda sighed and turned so as not to answer. She fanned the hearth flames and poured a jug of water into the pot of grease and oats from last night’s meal. An old apple core floated to the top.
    “Surely even here he can turn to a better trade than peddling paper to the masses—perhaps scribing for the abbey up in Fontfroide. It’s a foolhardy risk to be associated with an invention discovered by Moors and infidels.”
    Poncia warmed to her subject. “What need do simple folk have of knowing letters anyway? What would they know to write? The names of their lord’s sheep and the number of needles in a stack of hay? For pity’s sake.”
    Auda grit her teeth and chopped the savory, her knife knocking against the table. Poncia made this argument often, usually to their father. Scribing could be a lucrative profession, if managed well. And papermaking, well it was a risk. What was the use in making cheap paper when the only ones who knew their letters—noblemen and priests—could afford the more costly parchment rolls?
    Still, the price of parchment went up every year; animal hide was increasingly scarce. Tomas explained it was on account of death in the cattle herds, lack of feed, and better uses for the skins.
    “Now that I’m married, I’ll ask Jehan to find a better living for Papa,” Poncia continued. “Maybe as a scribe for a fine house. And you should have a thought for yourself. It’s well past time to start searching for a man to wed you.” She lookedat Auda sidelong. “All the women in town are surely talking, and you can ill afford that.”
    Auda squared her jaw and huffed at her sister’s lecture.
    Women, sour and old. Gossip more than whores . She didn’t let on how much the comments hurt—not that she was plain or even a fright, but that she was a burden on their father.
    “Auda!”
    Always talk when I’m there . She templed her hands into the sign of a house, and made a cross with her fingers. Send her to the convent!
    “Who said that?” Poncia asked in a sharp tone.
    Auda tossed the peas and