Arialain came in that night to play Insurgence again.

"Last night to be fifteen!" she said as they set up the pieces.

Ivy smiled. "I know. Feels so weird." She didn't feel old enough to be sixteen, considered the year of entering womanhood by most realms. She still felt—and looked—like a little girl. In her opinion, at least.

"Things seem ready for your birth feast," Arialain said. "Heidel's got the kitchen packed with food."

"I saw." Ivy studied her game pieces in preparation for making her first move. She was serfs tonight. But a tickle at the back of her throat was bothering her. That tickle, which could not be eradicated by clearing her throat, was often the first sign she was getting sick. Ivy shook her head in denial. She was not getting sick. She would not allow it to happen.

"Guess I'll miss the party, though. I'll be at the door," Arialain said glumly. "Go on—move."

"I'm sorry." Ivy moved two of her serfs forward. "I think once all the guests have arrived, you'll be done your duty. You can join the feast then."

Arialain frowned. She moved a gentry piece forward one square. "Maybe. But I can't let them leave without being at the door myself. It's not safe. I have to see everyone who goes in and out of this castle."

Ivy looked at her youngest sister, small and blonde and skinny. She looked like the last person who could protect anyone. But that wouldn't be kind to say.

"Did you hear what Coco said? About a thief getting into the castle?" Ivy asked.

"What?" Arialain's startled look answered her question.

"She thinks a thief is slipping into the castle and stealing things."

Arialain's green eyes widened. "My doll is missing! I haven't seen her in weeks."

"Really?" Ivy's fear of the thief grew. She had hoped it was only a strange idea of Coralina's. Could it really be that a crooked man was sneaking into the castle, prowling around while they slept in their beds? Just the thought sent a shiver running down her chest to settle, squirmy and cold, inside her stomach.

"How could a thief be getting into the castle? He's not getting in the front door, I know that! Unless I'm right in front of it, the latch is in place. He must be getting in another way."

Ivy cleared her throat again, but the tickle wouldn't budge. Why? Why did she have to get sick so often? Why did she have to have this on top of being a cripple? Shouldn't suffering be spread out more evenly among people, instead of dumping it all on one person? It wasn't fair.

Arialain considered her next move, her feet swinging under the chair. "Maybe he's getting in through Heidel's kitchen door. You know the way she leaves it hanging open whenever she goes out to the garden. But her dog would make a ruckus if a stranger came in."

Ivy nodded. She wanted the guards to come back. All her life, she had seen them around the castle, at least two at every entrance, and many more in the throne room with her father. Like the servants, they were as familiar as furniture to her. And there was one—Sir Padrig—who used to smile at her in such a kind way. He was her favorite.

Your move, Giles reminded her. He had pulled up a chair to watch the game.

Ivy studied the board and moved her duchess. I can't talk to you right now, Giles. You'll distract me.

You've been distracted a lot lately.

I know. Lots to think about.

Like Prince Gavin? Giles said with just a flavor of resentment. I know what you're doing. You want to make sure he gets the pea in his slice of cake.

Yes, I do.

So if he kisses you—and likes you—are you going to stop talking to me?

Of course not! I'll never stop talking to you.

You stopped talking to Janeska.

That was true. But she had stopped talking to Janeska when Giles materialized. And before Janeska was Bethie, who had also disappeared. Her friends changed when Ivy changed.

Well, you're still my friend, Giles. You feel more real than the others.

I am real.

Ivy laughed, and Arialain gave her a startled look. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing." She hated when she made slips like this. It made her look crazy.

"Are you talking to ghosts again?"

"They're not ghosts."

"Well, whatever they are, you need to stop. It's not healthy."

"Didn't you used to talk to Laina?"

"When I was little! We're not children anymore, Ivy. You become a woman tomorrow."

"Well, I won't be a normal woman. You know that."

"It's only your foot that's abnormal. The rest of you is fine, so long as you get that weird stuff out of your head. You can grow up to be a normal woman. Probably not a queen. But a great artist."

A great artist? Yes—Ivy supposed that was what she wanted. She didn't think about her future much. It was enough of a challenge just to get through one day. Hard to even think about becoming a great artist when, most of the time, she just wanted to walk without pain. Or breathe without struggling. Or not get sick the day before her stupid birthday.

Ivy lost the game and limped back to her bedroom, her throat raw and scratchy. She would always be sick. That was her future.