“Nothing.” Nox shrugged. She had spent most of the markets at Amaris’s side, though she’d occasionally had to help Matron Agnes with a thing or two in the middle of the day, giving her a bit more exposure to the process. “We’re limited to the halls, dorms, and dining rooms so patrons can find us. I don’t recommend wandering out of bounds on market day unless you want to be locked in the closet for the night. Want to stay here and watch? See if anyone gets swept off their feet by a handsome lord?”

“Does that happen often?” Amaris asked.

“Does what happen?”

“Being bought for marriage,” she responded.

Nox looked away. Yes, of course it happened, though she didn’t know how much of life’s misfortunes she should put in Amaris’s head. It was clear from the matrons’ grooming that they were specifically preparing Amaris for the sorts of social circles that might allow for her to be wed into upscale society. There were worse fates than being married off to a lordling. There were probably better ones as well.

Nox glanced up at the painting of the royal family, then back to Amaris. “Maybe the crowned prince will find himself in need of a particularly pretty bride. Then Agnes can update her portraits to reflect Farleigh’s favorite snowflake.”

“I think you mean Farehold’s favorite snowflake,” she responded dryly. Her tone made it clear she neither believed nor entertained such an idea.

“Look,” Nox said quietly.

They’d barely relaxed against their perch on the balcony before a captain, black coat stained with remnants of splashed salt, picked a boy near sixteen. The seafaring man toted him away just as soon as the doors to Farleigh had opened. The orphanage was nowhere near any sea. Nox hadn’t minded the boy and stared after him wondering what a life at sea would be like. His whole world was about to change from the stone walls of the orphanage to the open, endless expanse of the blue horizon. It was a world she couldn’t fathom.

Spring market tended to be the busy time for ranchers needing helping hands in the field in calving season. As a result, the boys were under a bit more pressure than the girls, which had been a relief to Nox. A farmer, hands and knees still covered in dirt from his freshly tilled soil, had arrived to inquire as to whether any of the children had shown an aptitude for growing things. The matrons had chastised him for pursuing the use of magic and attempted to get the man to settle on a young farmhand, but the man wasn’t interested in any of the orphanage’s perfectly ordinary children.

“Can you imagine yourself as a farmer?” Amaris asked.

“I’m too pretty to get dirty,” Nox whispered back.

“Would you prefer to have gone with the sailor?”