Her mouth turned down, knowing the many reasons it would be a very bad idea. It was useless to ask, but she couldn’t blame Amaris for wanting a normal life.

Amaris was hardly the only stolen child at the manor, nor was she the only one for sale, but she was the only one Nox cared about. The boys and girls alike would be presented to hopeful parents as prospective heirs, farmers who needed labor, once or twice to a knight who needed a squire replaced for one reason or another. Occasionally a wealthy father who didn’t need a dowry would come to purchase his son a young, virginal wife, or a duchess would find her way to the teenage girls and fetch a lady-in-waiting. Unlucky boys would be sold off to work under the bellies of ships once they were strong enough to hoist the sails and carry the barrels. Equally unlucky girls would be purchased for pleasure houses. The university occasionally picked up children who showed an aptitude for the small magics if the church didn’t find them first, whether to study or be studied, no one knew.

Nox had seen them come and go. She’d heard the stories. She’d listened to the fetching prices. She’d tried to ignore the rumors.

While all of the children at Farleigh had a clock ticking above their heads to their eventual sale date, Amaris would be shown only to those with wallets deep enough to make it worth Matron Agnes’s while. It had been pressed into the heads of the matrons that their ivory child was both a high-value asset and a target for theft should anyone lay eyes on what they wanted but could not afford. This was why they hid when the bishop visited. As if the children hadn’t already spent years whispering behind Amaris’s back, mocking her over what ghost, fae, or snow beast had sired her, her worth in crowns merely added to the laundry list of reasons she was alienated them from her peers. And it was precisely why Agnes didn’t dare risk her investment being dragged off to the church without so much as a coin in compensation. Amaris was valuable, and history had proved time and time again that the world was not always kind to its treasures.

“Is there anything to eat in here?” Amaris asked, scanning the shelves.

Nox unraveled herself from Amaris’s arms and stood, scanning the shelves. “Do you like raw turnips?” she asked, mouth quirking again.

“Are you sure there aren’t boxes of chocolates up there?”

“I’m confident Agnes is hiding sweets somewhere in her office.”

“Next month? Treasure hunting for candy?”