Willow left the throne room in good spirits, the book tucked under his arm. This was perfect – he had a free book to read. He would finish it by nightfall and speak to the miser tomorrow. He could talk it up so much better if he knew the story himself.

He was beginning to feel comfortable in this castle. Stopping at the junction where the west corridor met the east, he wondered if he could duck in at the kitchen for a while. Thank Heidel for her remarkable salve.

No, that was too familiar. He'd be professional and leave at once.

"Psst!"

Willow stopped in the corridor. He saw no one.

"Psst! Sir Messenger!"

Willow turned around to face the wide stone staircase that topped the central corridor. The crippled princess – Ivy – stood on the landing with her crutch, beckoning to Willow.

He hurried up the steps, thinking she needed help. She stood where the staircase divided right and left before leading to the upper regions of the castle.

"This way." Ivy gripped his sleeve and tugged him to the righthand flight. Instead of climbing all the way, she surprised him by sitting down in the middle of the staircase and inviting him to do the same.

"Are you all right?" Willow asked.

Ivy nodded, amber eyes on his face. The railing wall shielded them from anyone in the main corridor, but their privacy could not last. Anyone could come along.

"Willow... I believe you to be a man of good heart, with noble intentions. Would you agree?" Ivy asked with an intense stare, though her voice remained soft.

"Uh..." Willow wasn't sure how to answer. "Well, I do try. I make mistakes though."

"What kinds of mistakes?"

She had such trusting eyes. Sitting beside him, orange ponytail flopped on her shoulder, hands clasping the crutch over her knees, she suddenly felt like the younger sister Willow had never had. Safe and familiar.

"I – I'm not a very good messenger," Willow said.

"Why do you think so?"

The confession came without resistance. "I read one of Princess Maelyn's letters. I wasn't snooping - just afraid of losing it. Can't lose what's in my head, right?"

Ivy smiled. "No – you can't! Don't worry, I won't tell her. Because my transgression is even worse." She dropped her voice to barely audible. "I stole a letter that was meant for Maelyn. The one you delivered from Prince Roald, remember?"

Of course he remembered. He now felt even worse. Roald had wanted that letter delivered straight to Maelyn and he – Willow – had allowed Ivy to take it. He was the worst messenger in the western realms.

"Don't feel badly!" Ivy touched his arm. "Something told me to take it. Do you ever have that, where you just know things, deep inside you? Things no one could tell you, but are simply revealed to your heart?"

"Not... often," Willow answered truthfully.

"I get it all the time."

"Can you give an example?" Willow asked with high interest. Was she a mystic or a visionary? He'd heard of such people but wasn't sure if they were real.

Ivy gave a light shrug. "I can read a person's mood with barely a sign and guess their thoughts. I've always known Maelyn doesn't like Prince Roald. And I know he secretly hates being the son of Jarrod. He has been in danger for a long time."

"Danger? You mean from his father?"

Ivy shook her head. "He needs our help." She reached beneath her long skirt and fumbled for a minute before pulling out a sheet of parchment and a loose cord. Willow guessed she'd tied the parchment around her lower leg so she could bring it to him unnoticed.

"I have replied in Maelyn's stead." She swiftly rolled the parchment again. "And I don't care at all if you read it. What matters is that my words reach him. Can you do that for me?"

"You are writing as Maelyn?"

"No – as myself. I explained this to him. I just need you to deliver it without Maelyn or Uncle Jarrod ever knowing about it." She laid the tied scroll in Willow's hand.

Willow nodded. "I can do it." He too had detected something worrisome in Prince Roald.

Ivy smiled. "Good - we have our agreement. I'll keep your secret and you keep mine." She righted her crutch and stood, declining Willow's offer to help.

"Thank you for listening," she said.

"Of course. Anytime."

She drew back her ponytail, sliding it off her shoulder. "Do you think my hair is too orange? I don't tint it - this is how it is. Do you think it's too orange?"

Willow shook his head. "No, your hair is beautiful."

"That worries me too, because of the bandits. I haven't been going out since I heard about them. My bright hair could make me a target. Do you think I should cut it off so they won't attack me?"

"No!" Willow cried, realizing she was earnest. "No, no, no, that would be tragic."

Ivy smiled a bit sadly. "You think I'm strange, don't you?"

"Not at all." Though her remarks were unusual, he saw nothing to mock, and felt an ache of compassion for her in his chest. He promised to deliver her letter, and took leave, deciding he would not so much as peek at what she'd written.

But he might read what Roald wrote back.

She was very special, this girl. He would never let anyone hurt her.