Nox attempted to twist her face into a look of revulsion, but her eyes sparkled as she answered, “I already said I was too pretty to get dirty! Now you want to hide me in the hull of a ship? Honestly, Snowflake, it’s insulting. What about you? Where would you like to go?”

They both spotted Amaris’s answer.

A girl of about four with a muddy brown halo of ringlets was plucked up by a plump woman and a docile-looking husband who followed along in his wife’s wake. The woman had a permanent blush about her cheeks and joy in her eyes that made the unselected girls bite back snarls of jealousy. What sort of happy life was the mousy-haired girl about to go live with her new jolly mother and father? What sort of pies and toys and dresses awaited her? Only the small children had a hope of finding families and being raised as natural-born heirs. After a certain age, only horrors awaited.

“With them,” Amaris answered, eyes watching the newly stitched together family of three. “She looks like she’d make a good mother.”

They weren’t the only children who had gathered near the balcony. Over their shoulder, the reclusive pair of sisters murmured similar commentary as they watched the foyer below.

“What about you?” Amaris asked them.

Emily raised her coppery brows as if she were surprised she’d been spoken to. The girls were occasionally assigned the same chores and tasks around the orphanage, which always resulted in friendly pleasantries, but neither considered the other a friend.

“Where would I like to live?”

“Yes,” Amaris prodded. “Don’t you two talk about it?”

The siblings exchanged a telling look. They clearly didn’t want to go anywhere with anyone. The looks on their faces told her everything she needed to know. If given the chance, they’d run. Nox couldn’t blame them. Knowing when to stay silent was a weapon in and of itself.

On market day the children often muttered about what it would be like to flee as Achard and his friends had done long ago. The sisters had more than likely been amongst those exchanging such whispers. Had those boys found nice homes in warm cottages where their bellies were always full of breads, meats, and pies? Had they been swept up by the fae of the forest, or trained to be warriors from distant lands, hunting in the spaces between things? Those were some of the favorite tales the children told, that of Achard the Shadow Warrior, an invention born of the boredom, wanderlust, and hope of their little minds.

“Good luck,” Emily said quietly as she and her sister departed for lunch. Nox and Amaris followed suit, picking through sliced ham and stale bread before returning to their perch on the balcony.