Tales of the Mistress, A Novel

Opening Psomi’s Box of seeds

The Ceremony

September 1, 1556–Ceres, France

I study Maman’s eyes. Flames of blue, saffron, and apricot flicker in her green orbs from the torches perched beside the new wood-fired oven. We’re safe at last inside the freshly swept stone-lined bread terrace. Outside, the winds bend the trees and circle the bread terrace, enraging the flames in Maman’s eyes to go higher. Most people would see her calmly smoothing her hair, waiting, and never guess the truth. But I know Maman’s eyes. She’s angry. I cringe and wonder what I did? Or what’s missing? She said something I didn’t hear. It’s always that.

The shallow bowl on the wood kneading table holds our offering. Flour; white and soft. Guild flour. The others who are coming for the ceremony are to bring Psomi flour. The ceremony has not even begun, but I only want one thing, for tonight to be over so Maman and I can leave together as she promised.

The others are late. We must begin. In Maman’s eyes I see a distant path, winding through fields, and beyond those fields, more fields. A path that disappears into the mountains. Her eyes blaze with these reflections. Before the ceremony begins tonight, she whispered.

Listen.

Oc.

Prend le Boite.

On part ce soir.

Listen.

Yes.

Take the box.

We are leaving tonight.

The wind rushes Maman’s words across the bread terrace. I grab her arm, but she turns, stepping away from me. The others arrive through the archway of rose canes. Did they hear her? I look up as Auvillar, the head of the Guild, arrives with Claude, the miller who grinds flour for both Psomi and the Guild.

My stomach clenches. Claude set a bucket of water on the table beside the bowl of flour. Auvillar’s hands are empty. I’ve never seen anyone with skin so dark. He must grow wheat, and spend a lot of time out in the sun.

I try not to, but my eyes dart to the log sitting on the shelf to the left of the wood-fired oven’s mouth. Maman rested three scallop shells on top of the log. The shells hide the brass handle. The log is really Maman’s cleverly hidden box, a box that looks like a tree log, carved from her apricot tree. The box hides the wheat and grain seeds Maman grew and collected for Psomi.

We don’t need you. Go on, get out of here, Maman motions my brother, Antoine. He’s so quiet, I had forgotten he was here. He drops the basket of bundled twigs, then falls on his knees to pick them up, a stupid look on his face. The twigs were collected from the maze of trees. I fall on my knees and hand him some bundles. I don’t even know him, my mouth opens to say good-bye, and I am sorry to leave you when we just met yesterday. I’m sure it’s my fault you were brought back here from Nerac. I want to help you understand. But I don’t have time to explain the North Field and the maze of trees. Show him how to make Psomi’s bread of dreams. Why does Psomi have this problem with the Guild? Maman turns and narrows her eyes at me, as if listening to my thoughts. I open, but then close my mouth. Antoine puts the basket of twigs on the table by the bowl of flour and the bucket of water and backs up through the archway. I watch him run down the path in the shadows of the evening.

I wedge between Claude and Maman in front of the oven. The man who came back with us from the market, Auvillar, hoists himself and sits on the kneading table. He hums while Maman arranges the bundles of twigs in the oven. Auvillar swings his legs, his fine boots made of thin leather. He sighs. Baking all of Nerac’s crowns for the King is an honor. Close to the fields, the wheat. And the mill. The Gelise River. Is good, this much Guild work, yes? Isn’t it, Claude? Auvillar brought nothing and knows nothing. If he did, he would never sit on Maman’s table. You don’t sit where bread is born.

Claude, his tall sharp legs like the river herons, is quiet, looking in the mouth of the oven as if he’s looking in the river for a fish. The same river that grinds the wheat. I feel sick that he hasn’t brought any Psomi flour.

Auvillar is squatty and smelly and noisy like the river ducks, le canard. He reminds me of a leurre, a duck whose job it is to make noise and bring in the other ducks, but then once the other ducks are netted and captured by the king’s hunters, he leaves.

And then there’s Maman, like a crevecouer hen, her movements broken between the noisy duck and the quiet heron. Her hair tufts like apricot feathers as she turns and tilts her head to listen. And speak. Her foot scratches at the meal that fell on the stone terrace, like one of our hens.

I barely hear Maman’s words to them. But I recognize her tone.

Prendre la vie du feu, Oc, take the life of the fire.

The first fire in the new oven is a special ceremony to join Psomi and the Guild. Maman said but because it’s my tenth birthday, it’s MY ceremony into Psomi. But that part is a secret. Our secret. Auvillar thinks it’s his ceremony, for joining the Guild and Psomi together. Maman doesn’t want the Guild here. And now Auvillar hasn’t done his part, by bringing Psomi flour. I stare at him and play along with Maman.

I wish I could use the first fire in the new oven, to make a new bread. One that combined Psomi’s bread of dreams, with the Guild bread crowns for the King. The King could never be satisfied with a flat flimsy Psomi bread. He only wants big round crowns so dense they take weeks to chew.

Maman says to never make the bread of dreams in the Guild oven. So many things are a mystery with Maman. She didn’t explain why. She didn’t tell me everything about our journey, it’s a secret she said. We made a fire last night in the North Field where the maze of trees had stood. But that fire is our secret too, it’s lighting the path to where we’re going. Fires that bake the bread of dreams are supposed to burn away everything old and make way for everything new to grow. That’s what she said. I’m pretty sure I remember her words.

My oldest sister, Margot, comes inside the bread terrace. I lift up my hands as if to welcome her bowl. I always hope for the best. I hope she will be my true sister and help me. Maybe she has brought Psomi’s flour. I chew my lip and move from one foot to the other. I stand next to Maman. I pull on her arm, and she nods and pats my hand and smiles as if nothing is wrong.

But Margot frowns at me, her disapproval as strong as ever, and her arms are empty and I am scared that since she arrived, there are more Guild people inside the bread terrace than Psomi people. Maman doesn’t know that I heard something terrible from Auvillar and Margot at market. So terrible, I can’t even think it. Maybe I misheard? That must be it. Surely, they didn’t really say what I thought they did. Before market I could be happy about my secrets with Maman, but now with Auvillar and Margot’s secret, they want to destroy the very thing that Maman wants to protect, Psomi. Everything she does is to save Psomi. It scares me that she wants to join with the Guild. I have to get her out of here. She’s doesn’t know it, but she’s in danger.

I look at the box sitting on the shelf. Are the Trakhanas still inside? Last night we sat in the North Field sitting beside the stumps left from the maze of trees. Maman placed the small pot over the fire. She cooked onions with thyme, black cumin, and a little coriander. Maman touched the side of the pot, testing its heat. She nodded that it was cool enough. I added some of our levain. Maman tested the side of the pot again, and nodded. I added the wheat seeds we had collected during our small harvest and stirred. It looked like a big curdled mess, like someone threw up. I know, she said. But it’s Trakhanas, she said. It’s the Mistress’s way of feeding baby doves. And preserving our seeds, she said. We’ll form little cakes out of this mixture and hide them in the box. They will look like food. No one from the Guild would be caught dead eating bird food.

Maman says when you’re scared, just breathe. I blow out a breath. My burnt fingers touch the stone shelf at the oven. Did I turn ten in the field when yesterday disappeared into the fire’s flames? Or do I become ten when the fire is lit in the oven inside the bread terrace tonight? Maman knows. She knows everything. I push out another breath. Auvillar and Margot stare at me. Their stares make me feel so much older than ten. I overheard their plan in Nerac about Maman, and just overhearing it made me so tired. Auvillar smells up our bread terrace. Margot talks and walks like a crow, her black hair like crooked feathers. Margot reaches out and touches the bread trough. If Margot knew we make the levain by adding water to a bit of the dough left from the bread of dreams and that levain then also goes into the bread crowns for the Guild, she might just die.

I watch Maman. I watch Margot. How they look at each other. My hands on the wood table. The feeling of my fingertips burning takes me back to last night. After we made the Trakhanas, we put the seed cakes in the box, didn’t we? Then we walked back to the North Field. It’s possible Margot watched us. I walked with Maman swinging the basket with our bread of dreams dough, hidden under the straw. I fed the fire with Maman, and when the stones were hot enough, we flattened the rounds of dough and laid our bread of dreams, pebbled with apricots and thyme, onto the hot stones.

I asked her, what are the bread of dreams, Maman?

Bread of dreams are flat and don’t take long to puff and brown.

We make them in the same field where the grains grew, Eleone.

They come from the Mistresses who had to always be ready to leave.

I turned our breads over the fire like she taught me, and that’s when I burned my fingers. She laughed at the maze of trees. When they grew and lived, there was one tree, protected by one Mistress, she said. But the trees were already gone. We had chopped them down days before. Why did the Mistress not protect their tree?

We are leaving, she said. She never said what would happen to Margot, her oldest daughter, who wasn’t coming with us. Maman laughed again, this time at the wheat shooks in the field. To Maman everything feels like a game, like a secret. But to me, her world feels dangerous, like death. Psomi’s bread comes out of the fire alive, hot. She dropped one on my lap, smeared it with duck fat, and sprinkled it with salt. I folded it in half. I stuff the bite in my cheek. I worried that Margot was watching, jealous, left out, ignored, and would be even more angry. Margot is Maman’s oldest daughter and shouldn’t she be first in line for what Maman says I am to do? I don’t know what happened to Margot and Maman, but I hate Margot, and Margot hates me. I don’t know why, but that feeling scares me.

Far away above the rose canes the stars are safe. When I was little and hungry, I felt safe gobbling down the bread of dreams while watching them twinkle.

But last night when Maman said slow down, really hear the dream, I held the bite of bread in my cheek. Maman said that the bread of dreams comes from many fields and many hands. Bread of dreams fill your hungry places better than the Guild crowns that come from one field, one hand. I don’t know what this dream is, but it feels very dangerous, hidden, and Maman’s promise, to keep the dream alive, to keep the Tales of the Mistresses alive.

My burned fingers throb, Maman please hurry. We have to leave Claude and Auvillar and Margot so you can be safe. The moment of silence lasts a long time as we all stand inside the bread terrace.

Maman gathers the twig bundles from the basket Antoine left for us.

This fire will let all the Psomi Mistresses who could not be here with us tonight, know that Psomi is joining the Guild.

Auvillar’s face falls, he did not know this.

Margot’s face reddens. She did not know this.

Maman lays the bundles of twigs in the mouth of the oven.

Maman lifts one of the torches, and I stepped back away from her. But Maman wraps my hand with hers and we touch the flaming torch to the bundled twigs in the mouth of the Guild’s new oven.

With this light we pledge Eleone to Psomi, to gather and teach people everywhere how to save seeds and make fire from Psomi’s trees, giving life to the bread of dreams. Breads made over fires from the Mistress trees, Psomi wheat, flowers and fruits from the trees.

As soon as Maman says this ceremony is for me, my heart falls. I knew it.

Maman knew it. She didn’t have to say it. She didn’t have to give Margot any more reasons to hate me. Auvillar is going to hate me for taking away his light.

No. This ceremony isn’t about her. Auvillar blubbers at me. It’s about…the Guild.

You forgot I am the one to do this. Margot pushes Maman.

You? Save seeds? You gave up that right. You were thrown out of Psomi today. You’re lucky that the Guild wants you. Maman says calmly.

Margot, we’re joining the Guild with Psomi who thrives on camaraderie, and lives together, Claude looks down and scuffs some fallen kindling along the stone floor and into the dirt covering the newly planted rose canes.

Margot, enough. This fire and oven are pledged to the Guild. For the next steps in the plan we need the box. What have you done with it? Auvillar asks.

You’re right. I am the one who saves seeds. Maman says, looking at Margot.

I watched Madame hand it to you after the meeting in Nerac. She said the box kept the seven grains. That will save us from years and lost fleurins by traipsing around the countryside collecting Psomi’s seeds. I don’t, and the Guild certainly doesn’t, have time for such craziness!

Madame gave it to you? The box is mine!

Yours? You can’t even bring me Psomi flour. Maman says and looks up. Her shoulders stiffen, her back straightens.

Margot spits at Maman. But Maman says nothing.

I can’t imagine what would happen if I spit at Maman. I can’t imagine wanting to spit at Maman. But I can imagine spitting at Margot. If Maman is planning to take Auvillar to Psomi’s secret and sacred fields, Margot won’t be far behind. Maman told me she doesn’t know where the fields are. She has to find them. On the way. That is our plan.

Auvillar really is stupid. I glance at the box on the shelf. Everything is moving so fast, I feel like I am hidden, like the box. But the scallop shells are still in place and keep us from seeing that the log is Psomi’s box. It rests, the brass handle hides under the scallop shells. I am afraid if they looked at me, I would pop open and spill out the secret of the log to save Maman.

Maman eyes the log, too. "Seven grains? Auvillar, no, no. You misunderstood. It’s nine. And not yet, but the box will hold the nine grains. I watch her do something I can’t believe. Maman takes the shells off of the log and hands the log to me. There are a few seeds here, and Eleone will keep these seeds from the North Field safe. To find the nine grains we have to find Psomi’s sacred fields, and we still need the Guild’s help. Like you promised."

How clever, so, this is Psomi’s box. Auvillar slides off the table and stands by me.

Margot steps closer.

I back up. My heart falls. Auvillar turns to me. His eyes are cold and black. His hands are on the box. I pull the box back, the bark rough on my fingers. I can’t let him have it. Margot steps close to me too. She wants the box. Maman’s eyes are calm. Maman why would you say that you are leaving, and I will stay and keep the box? Psomi’s not far. It lives in the North Field, right? I ask Maman, wanting to show her that I know where the seeds are, she can trust me. I hand the box back to Maman.

Maman swallows, leans in and brushes my hair, and ignores my words. The fields will call you. And the Mistresses. Epi, they live too far away to be here tonight, but they hear you, and so you must listen for them when you’re walking.

Who’s Epi? You mean when we’re walking. Because I’m going with you. I’m getting scared. What is Maman talking about? She looks at me strangely. Why are things changing?

Look in the fire, daughter, what do you see? Claude takes my hand, eager to take the heat off Maman and return the focus to the ceremony being for the Guild. But what does that mean? He’s not my father. So much depends on me going along with what I don’t know. I’ll not say another word, or else I’ll say something even more stupid.

Pah! Flames, what else is there to see? Auvillar’s chin juts out. Hmm. She’s so beautiful, what a fine daughter. She’ll be safe. Of course. We’ll go forward as planned, Antaia. The Guild will unite with Psomi, so we’ll all be the same. All the same. Psomi and the Guild will work together to save the seeds. There. Easy. I wouldn’t lie. It will be easier for Eleone because she won’t have to go against the Guild. I can tell, Antaia. Now let’s get on with it. Eleone, show me the seeds in the box. Now.

I shake when Auvillar’s voice booms out Maman’s name as if Maman could be many people. Many places. An-ta-eeya, and when he got to the last part, Eeeya, I watch Maman change, and grow older; and her skin takes on shadows like the bark of Psomi’s box.

Perfect, we’ll take the life of the fire with us. That will begin the change.

I slip two fingers through the handle and turn the box upside down. I notice the carving on the bottom. My thumb traces a great broad tree, its roots spread below ground as wide as the branches above that reach into the sky. What kind of log is this? I ask. Is it her tree? The apricot tree?

Auvillar grins, his yellow teeth showing. He touches my hands, gently pries them away and takes the box. Maman steps in front of me. Auvillar knocks her away, and the box clatters to the stone floor. It opens. He picks it up and shows that it’s empty. Where are the Trakhanas seed cakes that we put in the box? I try to remember. I don’t remember. Maman sucks in a breath. Did she know this? A calmness overcomes her, but it’s like I am standing at the edge of the pond by the millhouse with the Gelise River furiously streaming inside. Where are the seedcakes that we put in the box? I look at Maman, but she stares at Auvillar.

We all watch the box lying on its side, gaping open as if it should tell us what happened to the seeds. As if the box is somehow the one at fault, not me, certainly not Maman. Or any of the Mistresses who Maman told me each had a tale about the seeds. She tells me this while we’re making our breads. The box changes, and ages like Maman. All of this feels like it takes a long time, but the box was only on the floor for a second or two.

I lock eyes with Auvillar and reach for the box. My fingers can stand a lot of heat, as they turned our bread over the hot stones. The box feels hot like one of our bread of dreams. I drop the box. I see the tree Maman told me about. A large tree, so large it can protect horses and make bread, make fire, and protect one of Psomi’s sacred fields. I don’t know how a tree protects a field.

Auvillar picks up the box and offers it to me. My hands shake and fall by my side. I won’t touch him, not after I heard him and Margot talking at Nerac’s market about killing Maman. He shoves the box at Maman. He has no idea who she really is. Or me, her daughter, either. I should have picked up the box and run away with Maman while I had the chance.

I think back to the day before. While the dough of the bread of dreams slept in the trough at the bread terrace, we walked to the North Field. We cut Psomi’s wheat and piled the straw in tall shooks around the field. The doves flew out of the dovecote and around us, gobbling down some seeds. Then we boldly walked across the bridge carrying the seed heads to the bread terrace. Maman and I climbed up on the roof of the woodshed that stands behind the bread terrace. We tucked and hid Psomi’s rich wheat heads in the straw thatching of the woodshed. The colors of the wheat that had waved at us in the field, shone in the moonlight; the black, purple, red, and golden hues I thought lived only in the sky with the sun. Maman scanned the river and the path carefully, and we climbed down. She brushed her hands and said remember these are the seeds of life, of Psomi. It hurts all the Mistresses that the Guild has disturbed this time of planting, but we will keep these here, for if we return. We will plant the Trakhanas with the Mistresses on our journey. In the bread terrace, she shook her head as if she to get rid of a headache. She lifted our dough from the bread trough and heaved it onto the table. In short fast bursts, she cut the dough with the walnut handled lame, and threw rounds of our bread of dreams at me to flatten.

I remember this and watch Maman kiss the box and lay it in the mouth of the oven, on top of the lighted twigs. I stand back, expecting Auvillar or Margot to lunge at her, and hit her, or me. But he stands still.

Psomi’s fire will burn long after the Guild fire goes out. Watch the box in the fire, Epi. Maman says. I thought I was supposed to take care of the box.

My mouth opens. Fire grows in the wood oven. What is she doing? Fire flickers around the box. Am I becoming part of Psomi while the box burns? A rush of anger sparks up and down my neck. I don’t know what’s happening. My breath stops. I see the tree Maman told me about again. A large tree, its roots below ground fan out and look as large as its branches above ground. The tree protects horses. Its nuts can make bread, its wood can feed fires, and its Mistress protects Psomi’s sacred fields. I close my eyes. My heart feels like a shook of wheat that catches a spark and explodes into flames.

If Auvillar touches Maman, I will grab her hand and run to the Gelise River. Get on the barge. Hide under the bridge. Then head back to Nerac. I can find it. The river took us there. I have to keep her safe. Whether I am Epi or Eleone. I don’t even care as long as we leave together.

We’ll keep the crowns going. The box is safe. Right, Epi? Now that the Guild and Psomi are united, you can leave, go find the fields. Claude puts his hands together, like he’s praying and acts as though it’s all been done and decided. And I am staying here. Claude motions Auvillar and Maman to leave. But the box is far from safe, it’s on fire and my name has changed, and Margot will kill me, and even I know Claude’s trying to act like everything’s going as planned, but it’s not. Maman is supposed to be his enemy, but its strange that her leaving will break Claude’s heart. Claude must know Maman is in danger with Auvillar, and she’s just pretending to go with him. Claude loves her but does nothing. Claude is afraid of Auvillar, like me. Claude is afraid of Margot too. He’s pretending Maman and Auvillar are leaving. How did burning the box unite the Guild and Psomi? The Trakhanas were not in the box. I am glad Auvillar won’t get the seeds. Because no seed is worth Maman dying. My palms stretch down the side of my legs. Ready to run. It’s not too late. I wait for Maman’s signal that we are going. I rub my eyes free of the smoke.

Don’t worry, Epi. Maman pokes the box, the flames grow. The box of Psomi is yours.

I turn, waiting for Maman to explain why I want a burned box of seeds, and why she’s calling me Epi.

Never. Auvillar roars. The box is the Guild’s. As you promised.

I am keeping my promise too. We agreed to join Psomi and the Guild. And Epi is perfect, he is the boy who bakes the best Guild crowns in the world. Don’t you see? I’ll take you to the fields. But take one look in Epi’s eyes, and see that he will join them, the Guild and Psomi. Believe in Psomi to survive.

How does this join the Guild and Psomi? Who is Epi? You’re mad. And now you’re threatening me? Auvillar storms at her. His jaw is set. He’ll never let her out of his sight. He wants what she has. The seeds of Psomi. But where are they?

It’s not a threat. Believe that Psomi will survive. Maman says.

Claude interrupts. Antaia? You must leave.

She’s staying right here. Margot huffs.

Look again. Epi will bake all the crowns for the Guild. Lots of crowns for the King. Epi is the best bread apprentice. I’ve seen him. Taught him. Maman looks wild. She has just thought of this plan and is telling me at the same time. I can’t breathe. She wants me to pretend. But I have never made a single crown. I stop talking. Listening. I am too scared. Scared that Maman will be hurt. Caught. I let out a breath. My ears flatten and close like a dog when he is scared. They all sound like when I’m under water in the river. Maman what is our plan to leave? What about us? Psomi? A wave of heat comes from the oven, from the burning box, and I move back, away. We are leaving. It doesn’t make sense that I have to be in the Guild. That I must pretend to be a boy? Bake Guild crowns? I rub my hands together. I shake my head. Maman what are you doing?

Leave Eleone out of this. Claude picks straw off Maman’s shoulders with tenderness. Come sit with me. Claude says my name Eleone like he’s forgotten and confused too. He says Eleone, like Auvillar says Antaia. But his saying Eleone makes me feel anything but safe. I can pull on a hat, and become Epi, a boy. Whatever it takes to get away with Maman. It won’t be easy for Claude to be left behind. He can’t bake the Guild crowns either. He’s a miller. He knows Guild wheat, and Maman taught him about Psomi grains. I can’t let Maman leave with Auvillar. I feel so sick. Maman stands straight and tall and leans her elbow on the shelf of the oven. My finger tips burn hot.

Your daughter pretending to be a boy? She won’t fool anyone. Auvillar says.

Your daughter? Margot spits out at Maman.

After I leave, the Guild will breathe down on you. It’s better. If you believe it, they will. Maman is playing a game and I uncurl my ears to listen. Maman’s spirit swirls around me. My ears fill with mud by the Gelise, and keep me from hearing her.

Then, something. Outside the bread terrace, my new little sister, Térèse, sniffles and whimpers. This is her first night with us. Is she crying? Térèse withers at the sight of a cloud overhead. She repeats one word. Maman. Over and over. Antoine shushes her. Trying to calm her.

Daughter, sit. Maman nods at me to sit on Claude’s lap.

My legs shake and I sit down. But then I jump up as if I have just woken. I can’t rest. Maman’s right, I’m Epi. I’ve always been Epi. I’m ready to make the crowns. I can do that. The mud sucks me into the water. I have to protect Maman by stealing their attention away. Claude pats his lap. Looks at my hair. My hands.

See? Maman held out her hand. Epi. Ears. Epi means ears. Listening is more important than speaking.

Eleone, sit. Claude says. He seems as resistant to my name change as I am.

Claude takes my hands, then holds a length of my hair. Soft as green pear wheat in the field.

Epi. Maman says this name again. Call him by his right name.

She will always be Eleone. Antaia.

The fire turns, changes. Maman reaches for the carved handle of walnut that pokes up from the crack in the table. The handle of our small but sharp bread knife, the lamè, to Claude. We need to leave the bread terrace now and get as far away from all of them as possible. I can’t get up. I close my eyes. All I can see is the fire in the oven. I open my eyes. I have to speak to Maman without saying anything.

Am I ten yet? I feel so small. Maman?

Tuck Psomi away, your time as Eleone is over for now. Bring out Epi to join the Guild. You’ll have everything you need. You’ll bake the best bread crowns they’ve ever seen. Maman holds out her hand, her eyes calm. Claude and Auvillar fall under her spell too, I take her hand. Squeeze it. She squeezes mine back.

A feeling like the sunflowers turning to the sun radiates through my chest; I understand Maman is playing a game and we will walk out under the archway with this new plan of me being a boy. I don’t even care. Just leaving is all I want. She wants to shock them into standing still. It’s working. I hold her hand tightly, squeezing it to let her know I hear her.

I am ready. My legs and my feet. My heart is now Epi’s heart. I hear you. I am ready. I didn’t add, I am ready to jump up and run with her. I am already Epi, since Maman wants me to be. But I don’t know why. She’ll tell me when we’re alone and it will make sense then. It has something to do with the Guild.

"Epi you have to listen, follow the doves fluttering to the tall rye, the wheat growing near peas and bees, beneath figs and cherries, in rows the pattern of shells, and climbing the sunflowers. Wheat that grows tall and fat-close to the ground, talking in wisps and beards, with hues of lavender and rose from the sky and peach and bronze from the fire. For the day when you join all of Psomi together." Maman beckons me, and I give her my hand. I want to be like her, and yet be quiet. There’s no need to speak our secrets. Maman’s eyes widen, and I fall into their pools. Into the wide green water of her eyes where the clouds drift overhead, and fields of wheat stretch up into the mountains.

Margot stands behind Maman.

I’m listening…but where is Psomi?