He would have to get used to the road. Being a messenger, you spent relatively little time at your destination, or your place of origin. Most of your hours were spent on the road, alone, with only your horse for company. Willow remembered the way Rowan used to speak to his black stallion Glorious – as if they were best friends. Willow had once thought it so odd. Now here he was.

"I don't understand it, Rupy. He's got nothing to hate her for, that I can see. But he's made her wait ten days for this reply. Plus another three as I travel. All out of spite."

His mare plodded on without remark, the sun glistening off her reddish coat. She was a fine listener. They were crossing a long stretch of fields and farmland which would offer nothing new for many hours.

"She must have done something. Perhaps unintentionally. I'd wager King Jarrod is easily offended, he looks the type. Too swollen with his own importance to tolerate offence. I don't dislike him, though... perhaps I should. Probably will before too long. But right now, he's a puzzle to me. They all are."

Rupy made a congenial nickering sound.

"Even the son, did you see him? No, of course not – you were outside. Almost forgot he had a son, to be honest. I'd just gotten the reply for Princess Maelyn and was leaving the castle. And the son came out of... nowhere, it seemed like! Just drifted out of a dark corner like a bear creeping out of hibernation." Willow laughed. "He looks exactly like Jarrod – only younger. I bet he's not much older than me. He must shave twice a day to keep the beard from coming in. But his eyes were... troublesome, weren't they?"

He wasn't sure how to explain it. Prince Roald had emerged and asked if Willow was the new messenger to Runa. When Willow affirmed, Roald reached inside his tunic and brought out a roll of parchment. "Please deliver this to Princess Maelyn and say nothing to my father," he said in a soft, yet richly deep voice. Willow, caught unawares, took the parchment speechlessly, and by the time he'd recovered, Roald had slipped away, like some kind of....

"Tormented spirit," Willow said to Rupy. "Seems like everyone connected to King Jarrod looks that way. Except the new wife... but she probably will, before too long." The thought made him sad. Rupy offered a light snort and Willow imagined she was asking if he was curious about Roald's message.

"Definitely. But he sealed it with wax, which means if I opened it, someone would know. Why can't more people use cords? Nobody trusts."

Probably was an interesting read, too. Willow thought of the Old Ogre Inn where he'd be spending the evening. The innkeeper – Roke - had gone to the same grammar school as Willow. Roke claimed he knew how to crack a wax seal, then repair it seamlessly with a hot knife. But Willow couldn't risk that. This was King Jarrod's son, after all.

"Not that bold yet,"Willow said to Rupy. He'd be a good messenger this time and deliver the documents properly.

**********

He thumped the door of the princesses' castle, weary and wincing in pain. No, this was too much. He'd have to tell King Jarrod he couldn't be the royal messenger. He wasn't made to live in a saddle. Let Alder do it, Alder actually wanted this post. Willow just wanted to return to his chamber at home, and write.

He waited a minute and thumped again, harder. Barely able to stand straight, he leaned against the doorframe on one arm, his head bowed, dangling the satchel from his fingertips. He wasn't just saddle sore, he had actual sores in embarrassing places. This was all too much.

"Is she not coming?" said a gentle voice. Willow lifted his head. A young woman stood just behind him, wearing a gown of bright turquoise, and a shy face. She had such fiery-red hair it was all Willow could notice, at first. A crutch of polished wood was tucked under her right arm.

"Uh... no, not yet. But I've only knocked twice."

The girl smiled. "We don't get many callers on Sundays. Ari's probably in her room."

"It's Sunday?" Willow had lost all track of the days. "Oh, forgive me." He managed a half bow, one hand still on the doorframe. "You must be one of the princesses."

"Ivy." A smile dimpled her cheeks. "You must be Willow, the new messenger."

"How can you tell?"

"Quite easily. Was it a long ride?"

"Yes." Willow sighed. "I'm just... exhausted."

Ivy nodded in sympathy. "I don't ride. But I know it can be tiring." She tipped her head to one side. "I can get you into the castle, if you like. There's a back door into the kitchen."

Willow exhaled in relief. "I'd be so grateful. If you don't mind my slow walking."

Ivy laughed. "I walk slowly too. You're in good company."

Willow almost laughed with her but worried it might seem callous. "Thank you."

"Does your horse need water?" Ivy pointed at Rupy, nipping the lawn in front of the castle. "She'd probably like to have her saddle off, and a good roll in the grass."

"Oh... yes, please," Willow said.

"I'll tell Shulay when we're inside."

They walked around the exterior of the castle. Like Ari, this princess seemed more girlish than womanly, and had a clean look Willow appreciated. Hair parted neatly on top of her head and tied at the nape of her neck. It flowed in one long tail to just below her waist, smoothest hair he ever saw, actually. Definitely the reddest.

"It's my foot," Ivy said as they turned a corner of the wall. "My right foot."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Oh, you know.... Everyone wonders but no one wants to ask. My right foot turns inward, it doesn't point straight ahead. And the toes are like this." Ivy spread the fingers of her left hand. "It requires a special shoe. I was born with it."

"The shoe?" Willow asked with a careful smile.

Ivy laughed brightly. "Well done! That's what I want. Everyone tries to be so... sensitive with me. Which I know is good of them. But sometimes, you don't want people to tiptoe around you so much. You know?"

Willow nodded. "Think I do. But why don't you ride? My father had a friend who was missing half his leg, and he still rode."

"Oh, it's not my foot. I'm just afraid of horses. Being thrown. Or riding under a branch and I don't duck in time. Or that dreadful sound they make when they rear up on their hind legs. Or...." She smirked at Willow. "Getting saddle sores."

Willow felt himself blushing. "How... how...?"

"The way you're walking. Don't worry, Heidel can help."

Willow shook his head, impressed. "Anything else you already know about me?"

Ivy looked at him and Willow noticed her eyes, though of average size and shape, were the color of amber – almost gold. He had never seen eyes of such a color. He also noted her almost bloodless complexion, and narrow cheeks. Suggesting... poor health? He wasn't sure.

"You are good," Ivy said. And Willow felt humbled by the compliment.

They reached the back wall of the castle where Willow got a glimpse of the functional side of this place. Stables and vegetable gardens, livestock pens and storage sheds. All remarkably clean and orderly. Ivy showed him the weather-worn door to the kitchen and let him inside.

The room seemed dim, after the sunlight. And quite hot. As Willow's eyes adjusted, he saw a stout young woman pushing logs into a cookfire, under an iron pot. She straightened and turned to them. "Ivy?"

"Hello Heidel. I took my walk. And I found a friend: this is Willow, the new messenger. He's just had a long ride from Grunwold and he's uncomfortable."

"Huh." Heidel shoved the iron poker she was holding into its bracket beside the hearth. She faced him, folded her sturdy arms, and leaned her side against some kind of worktable. "All right, Willow. Let's see the saddle sores."

When Willow flinched in horror, Heidel clapped her hands together and bent over, her loud laugh ringing across the kitchen. "I'm joking! I say that to every man who comes to me with those, just for the look on their faces." She laughed some more, pushing the long fringe of hair on her forehead to one side.

"I just need to deliver messages." Willow smiled but knew he was blushing hard.

"For Maelyn, I assume? Ivy can take them; we won't make you walk any further. I'm not even sure where Maelyn is right now, though she's somewhere in the castle."

"Yes, I can take them to her." Ivy held out her hand with a kind look.

"Oh... I should probably do it myself," said Willow.

"Pockrot!" Heidel said. "You're walking like a drunken sailor. I'm going to give you a salve, a nice soothing salve, that you can apply in the privacy of your chamber. And a bowl of venison stew you would die for." She nodded at the pot hanging over the fire. "Hungry?"

Starving. Exhausted. And very sore. Willow knew he should deliver the messages straight into Maelyn's hand, but these were her sisters, after all. Was it so wrong if he let Ivy carry them the last few feet? She seemed trustworthy.

Willow dug inside the satchel. "Very well. Two messages for Princess Maelyn: one from King Jarrod, the other from his son."

Both Heidel and Ivy gave him blank, speechless looks.

"Prince Roald is writing to Maelyn?" Ivy said.

Willow nodded. "Is that unusual?"

"Highly," Heidel said. "But that is Maelyn's concern. Not ours."

Willow thought Ivy looked almost frightened as he placed the two parchments into her hand. He also knew he was being a bad messenger again. "Thank you, Princess Ivy."

Ivy nodded, though her glazed eyes showed she wasn't listening. She left the kitchen with the parchments and without another word.