Hedren Junipersson had lost his helmet, and with it, most of his hope. The thing was enchanted. In the wrong hands, its magic could turn cruel. He had worn it into battle and fled without it when the line broke. Now he stood in a strange town, head bare, long black hair stuck to his neck with sweat. He did not even know which road had carried him here. The trail went colder every hour, and he could not read it alone. He walked to the edge of town, where a strange tree grew. Purple vines twisted up its trunk. Red fruit hung heavy among the leaves. He pressed his hand to the bark and tried to think like a soldier. Nothing came. He was good with a sword and bad with maps. The honest truth sat in his chest like a stone. He wanted the helmet back, but he wanted something simpler more. A quiet house. A table. A family at dinner someday. None of that would happen if he died chasing magic through fields he did not know. "You look lost, knight." He turned. A woman crossed the grass toward him, slow and sure. Her hair fell in purple curls. Her dark dress trailed feathers at the hem. She smiled like she already knew his troubles and found them funny. This was Celina, though he did not yet know her name. He only knew his pulse jumped. "I lost something," he said. "A helmet. In the retreat." "I know." She stopped close. "I watched that battle from the ridge. Crows see everything." She reached up and brushed a leaf from his shoulder. "I know exactly where your pretty helmet fell." Hedren's breath caught. Relief and suspicion fought in him at once. "Then tell me." "Buy me a drink first." She tilted her head toward the lane. "The tavern pours well. You've never been, I'd guess." Her eyes moved over his freckled face. "You have the look of a man who needs a good night more than a good map." He should have pushed harder. He knew that even as he smiled back. But she held the one thing he could not find alone. And he was tired of being alone with it. They walked to the Moonlit Rest together. Lanterns glowed gold in its windows. Inside, it was warm and small. A broad man in rough fur sat near the hearth, nursing a cup. Celina ordered. They drank. They traded sharp little jokes across the table, and Hedren laughed for the first time in days. One cup became three. The room softened. Her hand found his across the wood and stayed there. Late in the night, loose and warm and easy, he agreed to go upstairs with her. He kissed her, and she kissed him back. They moved toward the bed together, and she shut the door behind them as he carried her the rest of the way.

Morning light woke Hedren in the upstairs room. Celina lay beside him, awake, smiling like she held a secret. He asked her again where the helmet fell. She traced a finger down his arm and said he should stay another day. Each time he pressed, she turned the question into a joke or a kiss. By noon he knew the truth. She would not tell him. She wanted him close more than she wanted him armed. Hedren went downstairs with a knot in his chest. He could not read her. The warmth felt real. So did the wall. He sat at the bar and dropped his head into his hands. Gunter, the bartender, set a cup in front of him without asking. Hedren had met him the first night, a broad man with silver-streaked hair and arms like crossed beams. Gunter talked little and watched much. He had taught Hedren which roads left town and which men to avoid. Now he leaned close. "The witch won't tell you," he said. It was not a question. "No," Hedren said. "I can't tell if she means well or means to trap me." Gunter was quiet a moment. Then he wiped his hands and walked out the back. Hedren followed. Across the lane, a broad hunter in rough fur stood waiting. This was Bachi, who tracked beasts alone and had crossed Hedren once at the tavern over a spilled drink. They did not like each other. Bachi had little patience for soldiers. But he had ears in every corner of the woods, and he had listened. Beside Bachi stood a grey-haired priest in a white sacred robe. Father Aldric led the knights and guards of Ridgefield. He had bled beside his men and he hunted a traitor he believed walked the walls. He studied Hedren with tired, hard eyes. "Gunter brought this to me," Aldric said. He drew a pendant from his robe. A green stone caught the light, cut clean and bright. "A truthstone. It burns cold in the hand of a liar." He pressed it into Hedren's palm. "Your witch may be playing a trick on you. Bring this to her. Ask your question. Watch the stone." Bachi crossed his arms. "She lies, you'll feel it," he said. "Then you stop wasting her time and mine." Hedren closed his fist around the pendant. For the first time since the retreat, he had a way to cut through Celina's smile and find the truth beneath it. He climbed the stairs. Celina lay just as he left her. He sat on the bed, the stone warm in his hand, and asked once more where the helmet fell. He watched her face. He watched the stone. And he waited to learn whether her affection had ever been real.