Stolen as a gift for the faerie prince, Eulalia's only hope of returning home is to become a spy for the rebel army and learn the prince's plans for war, but the more she's with him her contempt wilts, putting herself and many others in danger.
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Black winged moths led them to Eulalia.
Later Tut, the groundskeeper, would tell the story of how he found her, burrowed in the earth in a hole of her own making like a rabbit.
The woman beside him, as gray as first light, from the top of her clasped hair to the tips of her withered boots, had a gaze that betrayed her austerity.
"You can call me Madam," was all she said.
That part of the story would forever be the same.
"Madam?" Eulalia had repeated, through chattering teeth, her mouth kissed bone dry from the cold, brown eyes feral and searching. She stood then, shaking the dirt and twigs from her nightgown and wooly, dark hair, like the waif child she was. She followed Madam through the fog, bare feet squelching against the dewy grass, to what could have been a grand castle but was truly a crumbling manor.
Madam's hands were as freezing as the dampened moors, but Eulalia refused to let go. Her nails were long and sharpened to points, like the talons of the crows that had stolen strands of Eulalia's hair to gift to others. Inside, the house smelled of cabbage. Madam took Eulalia's face in her hands and yanked it left then right, piercing her cheeks, for certain scarring them. Though her hold was strong, her hands were lithe—underworked and callow despite her age, Eulalia's mama would have said.
But Madam was fascinated. Eulalia could tell that much by the curve of her sylphlike lips, her eyes as gleaming as the polished side of an apple.
"Tell me, girl. What is your name?" Madam sank to Eulalia's height. The rotten sweetness falling from her tongue reminded Eulalia of where she'd been, nothing but roots and twigs and their voices in the dark—Mama's and Papa's and Sylvie's.
They were all gone, lost to her now.
Eulalia clenched the hem of her nightgown in her fists. She'd stuffed the pockets full of stout, red berries; the fruit turned to pulp while she'd slept, then dried to the appearance of blood. She blinked, holding her tongue between her teeth. Madam didn't care for her silence. She squeezed tighter, hurting Eulalia.
"Not much to look at," said the brute beside her. "Scrawny. Scared me half to death when I found her in the woods. Are you sure about this one, Madam?" He shook his matted hair, still wet from the damp. Water dripped down his shirt.
Eulalia tried not to stare at the scruff of dark hair peeking from beneath it, though she couldn't help but gape at his eyes, the brightest blue she'd ever seen. She'd never seen such a fierce gaze in her young life.
He sneered. "What's she staring at?"
"Hush." Madam snapped her spindly fingers and he fell quiet in an instant. "What's your name?" she asked again.
"Eulalia. Eulalia Sparrow, Madam," Eulalia said, to the best of her ability, from between puckered lips, a jaw which ached where Madam held her taut.
"Eulalia Sparrow," said Madam. "Where did you come from, my little bird?"
The fog wasn't yet thick enough to obscure the view of the woods. Over Madam's shoulder, out of the windows, Eulalia watched it for any signs of movement, but it was hard to tell the difference between a limb of a person or the branch of a tree shaken by the wind.
She shut her eyes and saw her family.
"Look at me." Madam tilted Eulalia's head up swiftly; bending it so far back she saw that the ceiling extended farther up than her gaze could reach.
"You're hurting me," she said. "Please, let go."
Madam did no such thing, but instead tucked Eulalia's hair behind her ear and learned all that she needed to know about her. She smiled. "Very peculiar."
"You don't know real pain. Not yet at least." The brute laughed.
Eulalia didn't have to see his grin to hear how it leaked poison.
Where am I? Why have I come here?
"Where did you come from? Hmm." Madam leaned so close to her every wrinkle on her pale flesh was like cracks on a porcelain doll.
Eulalia lifted her hand, pointing past Madam and the half-man out of the window. Neither of them had to turn to see what she'd pointed at. There was nothing else for miles, nothing but the woods she'd crawled out from, with the taste of the fire still in her mouth, despite the rain.
"Very well." Madam let Eulalia go with so much force she staggered backwards. She didn't ask about Eulalia's parents. "Tut, find her a room," she said, wiping the feel of the girl off her hands with a kerchief. She then turned on her heels, disappearing down a narrow hall.
The brute grinned. He was all yellowed teeth against a stark white tongue. Eulalia recoiled. "Welcome, miss, to Hampstead House," he said, taking her tight by the arm.
"You'll be our first halfling," he said, smoothing her hair behind her ear once more.
