Euphemie really ought to have been speaking, but could not bring herself to do so. Each bite of food tasted like nothingness, and her mind whirled over the choice of a meal. Potatoes? Potatoes? A peasant food? Amalia was a duchess. Surely she could eat from the spoils of the empire. Was this some sort of subliminal message?

No. It could not be. It could be no such thing, for Lady Amalia had stated herself that Euphemie would be a free woman. Not even Lady Rosa had said such a thing, even when Euphemie had asked for it. 

Could she truly trust Amalia? It was like standing in a cage with a purring lioness, who could at any moment bite you. Perhaps Lady Amalia had lied. Perhaps she had no intention of ever freeing Euphemie. 

Yet. Yet, yet, yet. What if she did? What would Euphemie do then? Where would she go? Where was left to go? 

Even free, she thought, glancing up at Lady Amalia, she would still be reliant on the duchess. This might be Amalia’s true plan: to lure her into a false sense of security, only to leave Euphemie reliant on her and isolated.

Not that Euphemie wasn’t already isolated. She frowned down at her meal. Tragically, it was delicious.

Amalia spoke, breaking the silence.

“How are you liking Mondlicht?”

Euphemie looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “I do not know, for I have not seen much of Mondlicht. I have seen this manor, and I like it well enough.”

Amalia winced. Someone so open with her feelings could not be malicious, could she? Or perhaps this was an act, the bumbling, well-intentioned noble, meant to lull Euphemie into a false sense of security.

Euphemie’s knife burned into her pocket. A reminder of Amalia’s strangeness. She was not just any noble. And she seemed strangely earnest.

“I am... sorry,” Lady Amalia said. “I worried you might get lost.” 

Was that truly her worry, or did Amalia think Euphemie might run away? As though she had anywhere to go. Euphemie made a point of smiling gently and nodding. Amalia continued.

“I know Marie goes into town tomorrow. I am certain you could accompany her.”

“Why would she go along with such a thing?” Euphemie asked, unable to stop herself. “Showing a slave around, as though she isn’t my social better.”

She watched Amalia now, curious how the other woman might react to such a sentence.

“Marie is kind and honest,” said Amalia, then took a sip of wine. This was apparently her full answer. How bizarre. 

“So you think she would put up with me?”

Euphemie watched Amalia frown. Perhaps this was the moment where she might snap and reveal her true nature. 

“I never said that. You are not a burden. Marie came to me herself and asked to support you.”

At those words, Euphemie glanced at her plate, unable to meet Amalia’s eyes. What a strange place she had arrived at. The maids at Lady Rosa's manor had paid her no attention unless they were bringing her something. At the imperial palace, they had served her only at Leopold’s request, professional but impersonal. Why on earth this maid was bothering to give Euphemie special attention was beyond her.

She must want something.

Amalia leaned forward, brows furrowing. “She wants to help you,” she repeated.

Euphemie pretended to understand. She had a perfect smile for moments like these, so bright it dazzled its recipient. 

“I am so grateful," she chirped, hoping Amalia would let it go. While her brows remained furrowed, she changed the subject, asking if Euphemie would like dessert.

Following the meal, Lady Amalia walked Euphemie back to her quarters. Without the light of the sun, the manor had been cast in layers of shadow. Only candles illuminated their path. 

They stopped before the door. Euphemie turned to say goodnight, and paused. Lady Amalia was cast half in shadow, and in the candlelight her red eyes seemed to glow with an inner fire. 

“You must tell me if you need anything,” she said. “You only need to ask.”

Euphemie thought about bringing up the drab dresses, the simultaneous lack of defined boundaries and space to roam, the uncertainty of her situation. But staring at Lady Amalia, haloed and veiled by darkness, gave her pause.

“I want for nothing,” Euphemie whispered, swallowing back a lump in her throat. Perhaps Marie would be more approachable.

The next morning went by as they always did. Euphemie woke up, washed her face in the provided basin, and dressed in one of the gowns that had been offered to her. Drab as it was, the fabric was comfortable and warm. 

There was a knock on her door. This was usual, as was the entry of Elizabeth with a bowl of porridge and a cup of chocolate. What was not was the maid Marie behind her, not in uniform but in a pearly pink dress, a fancy hat fixed atop her braids.

Euphemie blinked. “May I help you?”

“It is my day off, so I was about to run some errands,” Marie said. “Amalia mentioned you might have an interest in joining.”

Euphemie thought for a moment, then nodded. No matter her trepidation, she could not pass up a chance to go out and see the town.

Marie was kind enough to wait for Euphemie to eat her porridge, waiting just beside Elizabeth. While Euphemie ate in silence, she watched Marie lean over to Elizabeth, close enough that her lips nearly brushed the other woman’s ear, and whisper something. Elizabeth turned just slightly, to whisper something back, hand covering her mouth. Then both giggled, drawing apart, a smile gracing each woman’s lips.

Euphemie raised an eyebrow. Were they gossiping about her, she wondered? How might she find out? In the imperial palace, she had found a way to gain informants, purchasing their favor with jewelry and promises. Here she had no such power.

She ought to have mulled her conundrum over for longer, but something else distracted her. Marie and Elizabeth were standing unceremoniously close, their skirts mingling. Were it not for the pink of Marie’s gown, their dresses would have seemed to be made of one large cloth. And Marie’s fingers kept brushing across Elizabeth’s, the way a spider danced over its thread. 

Marie whispered something else, and Elizabeth’s cheeks reddened. 

Ah.

Euphemie swallowed her last bite of porridge, and allowed a bright smile to overcome her face.

“I am ready to go,” she announced. “Miss Elizabeth, won't you come too?”

“I still have work,” the maid replied.

“Oh come now,” Marie said. “Surely there must be a maid to supervise our trip, since it is my day off.” 

Elizabeth shook her head. “I need to clean up here, Marie. We want our guest comfortable.”

“I don't mind waiting a little,” Euphemie pressed. “You were so kind to me when I first arrived. Surely you've done enough.”

Marie smiled. “Elizabeth puts on a grumpy face sometimes,” she cooed, and with her free hand reached up to pinch the other woman’s cheek, “but she's sweeter than milk and honey.”

Elizabeth did not protest the treatment. Instead, she released a soft sigh, her face a bright red. “Fine. I'll supervise.”

Now entirely confident in her assessment that the two were a couple, Euphemie stood. “Well, I am ready to go.”

The three women strolled to the front gate. To Euphemie it seemed a towering, enclosing thing. Yet, when the wrought iron bars were opened and pulled from view, she could not help but swallow. Before her was a dirt path surrounded by trees. She could, this very moment, run.

But where would she go? She had no one. She had nothing. Someone would catch her. And they would not be kind when they did. Letting out the smallest of sighs, she followed Marie and Elizabeth into the woods.

It was not a far walk from the manor to the nearby town. As quickly as the canopy of trees enclosed them, it opened up once more. Euphemie was met with the sight of homes constructed from webs of timber and plaster, their roofs sloped, their glass windows paneled. Many of them were two-storied, with a shop below opened onto the street. 

It was quiet and small, and yet lush with life. Residents strolled down the street like flocks of geese, chattering and smiling. Little plants sprouted up in unseen corners; herbs that might be useful, if only Euphemie could remember what they were, and wildflowers that bothered nobody.

In the distance, Euphemie could smell coffee brewing.

Quietly, she blinked away a tear.

A place like this, miles and miles from the Kingdom of Lavender, should not feel so much like home. But the buildings looked similar. The smiles, too.

For the first time in years, she allowed herself to remember her own village. It had not been much different from this, had it? The buildings had been hewn from timber. The people had smiled just the same. And in her mother’s garden, the herbs had grown lush.

She followed Marie and Elizabeth through their shopping in silence, absorbing the views of the village as though they were an artist’s precious painting. Something to remember. Something to remind her of home.