Scratch practically skipped toward the door, flinging it open and tumbling into a much larger room than should exist in a cottage. The air inside had a sleepy, perfumy smell. Four windows opened to lavender fields, stretching off in lilac waves toward the horizon. A massive bed with purple dressing took up the majority of the space, with two towering side tables against the head and a trunk big enough for Scratch to lie in at the foot.

“I forgot there weren’t chairs in here.” Brella glared at the bed like it had wronged her. “Scratch, do you need a leg up?”

As it turned out, she didn’t need a leg up, but her ascent wasn’t exactly graceful, and she face-planted into a mound of lavender pillows.

“Why is it so big in here?”

Brella lifted a shoulder. She had managed to hoist herself up cleanly and was now lying against a neat stack of cushions. She was roughly twice Scratch’s size, but even Brella looked like a doll in this bed. She stared at her feet.

“Not all of the fair folk are the same scale.”

“So are you saying . . .” Scratch peered over the side. “Giants?”

“Try not to look so delighted.”

“Why not?” She fell back against the pillows, sinking into the soft plushness. “It’s delightful.”

“Of course it is. It’s meant to be.” Brella pursed her lips. “You saw what she did with your name. She’s kind, as kind as she can be for what she is, but she needs to eat. She would love to keep you here forever.”

Scratch sat bolt upright. “She’d eat me?”

To her horror, Brella didn’t respond with an immediate No. “Not exactly,” she said instead, after a pause that went on far too long. “Not your body, anyway. More like your spirit. The rest of your life. Your potential.” She smoothed her apron. “You see why we can’t stay here long.”

Scratch stifled the urge to fling herself out the window. “Just until James is healed.”

“Yes. Nana’s told us she’ll have a way to avoid people coming after you. I have an idea but . . .” She gazed out at the swaying lavender. “She’ll know best.”

“Sure.”

They sat in silence, two tiny figures on a giant’s bed, under the nowhere-ish eyes of hundreds of lavender stalks.

“I should . . .” Brella tugged at a braid. “I should apologize to you.”

Scratch stilled, the tantalizing prospect of answers dancing before her. “For what?”

“For coming apart like that. It wasn’t fair for you to have to, um,” she winced, “care for me.”

Heat licked at Scratch’s cheeks. “It was fine.”

“It wasn’t. I’m supposed to be guiding you. I know the woods better. I shouldn’t have left you alone like that.”

“You didn’t leave me alone.”