Watermark by Vanitha Sankaran

father, continued to read and write and learn.
    “Let him speak to Papa about you,” Poncia said, trying to group the spice bags on the counter. “He asks for no dowry and he would be a good husband. He keeps busy with work and only wants a modest family.” She turned and met Auda’s gaze. “Yes, he is old, and large, and more than a little dull. But at least you wouldn’t be alone. You’d be taken care of when Father no longer can. Sometimes you have to sacrifice what you have to get something you want more.”
    Yes, sometimes you did, Auda agreed. But to sacrifice what she loved for imprisonment was not a sentence she could bear. Couldn’t her sister see that?
    “Well! It seems I have two beautiful women working for me today!”
    Auda turned at the boom of her brother-in-law’s voice. Jehan was smiling. So, he was in a better mood today. What had changed his fortune?
    Stepping into the stall, Jehan took his wife’s arm and kissed her fingers, though she looked distracted at the interruption.
    Auda stepped around the couple, scrutinizing them from the side. Jehan smiled at Poncia, caressing her fingers and hands.
    Her sister only said one word, though she looked at neither of them.
    “Please.” Still gazing at Auda, Poncia led Jehan aside and spoke to him in soft tones.
    Closing her eyes, Auda let out a heavy breath. She thought again of her mother. Had marriage, even life, been this hard for her?
    “A moment, if I could,” a crisp male voice said.
    Her eyes flashed open.
    “My pardon.” A man stood at the counter, raindrops falling off his eyelashes and from the tip of his crooked nose. He cleared his throat and spoke in a lower tone. “A fistful of grape shoots, please.”
    Auda stepped back, aghast. It was the stranger from Carcassonne, the one who had saved her from the mob. She was sure of it.
    “It’s you,” he said in the same soft voice.
    Auda shook her head, meeting his eyes. How had he found her? Why was he looking?
    “God’s grace!” The words slipped out of his mouth. “Your eyes.”
    Auda forced herself to keep her expression still. With all the varied colors of eyes—blues and blacks and greens—why did they always flinch when they looked at hers, neither red nor yellow nor any other dastardly color? The color of death, someone had called her tan watery eyes. Did they truly thinkher a roumèque , as the peasant children playing in the fields called her, avoiding her like some hideous ghost sent to frighten the babes? Had the inquisitor sent this man to find her?
    But no, he’d saved her once.
    He held out his hand. “A second pardon. I’ve never seen anyone like you.”
    She stepped back. Poncia was busy with another customer. Should she call her sister anyway?
    The stranger kept staring. “Truly, I didn’t mean to scare or offend you. I only came to buy supplies and saw you. I never thought I would see you again, but I’m glad to see you are safe.”
    Despite herself, Auda felt herself softening. There was something about this man that seemed so harmless, almost lost. A foreigner, undoubtedly—with olive skin and large gray eyes, he spoke in a hurried, oily accent. His cloth was thread-bare, patched in many places and smeared with dabs of paint. Most likely an itinerant artist in search of work.
    Noticing the conversation at last, Poncia hurried over with an arched brow.
    “May I get something for you?” she asked the man, sending Auda a puzzled glance.
    “A fistful of grape shoots will do,” he said politely, though he addressed his words to Auda.
    Poncia made a low reply and nudged Auda with her foot. “Stay in the back, Auda. I’ll see to the customers,” she said and rushed back to the other counter.
    “Just a fist of dried grape shoots and I promise to be off. I don’t mean to trouble you any further,” the man repeated.
    Auda regarded him. He was a handsome man, to be sure, though not in any traditional way. His eyes held a faraway glint, as though searching