Taylor came to Quillwood to charm a crown out of a queen, and by noon the whole forest thought she was a thief. She wore her pink sparkly leotard, the one that always won people over, and she smiled at a family of hedgehog folk on the path. They snatched their baskets and ran. The starlight crown of the woodland courts waited somewhere in the faerie queen's palace, and Taylor could not even get a squirrel to say hello. She knelt by a mushroom ring and asked what she had done. A tiny voice giggled from the ferns. A sprite no taller than her hand hovered there, grinning, its wings buzzing like a trapped bee. "They know all about you, jewel thief," it sang. "I told every ear in the wood." Then it darted off, laughing. A rumor. That was all. Taylor's charm was useless if no one would come close enough to hear it. She sat back and pushed her bangs from her eyes. To win the queen, she first had to prove the sprite a liar. A warm shape leaned against her side. A big dog with a coat the color of hot coals sat down beside her, uninvited. He watched her with steady eyes and did not run. Taylor scratched his ears. "You don't believe it either, huh?" Then a woman stepped from the trees. She had short blonde hair and a dark red jacket, and she moved like she owned the path. "That's the ember-hound," she said. "He doesn't sit with thieves. Never has." She crossed her arms and studied Taylor. "Florence. I keep the cottage past the stream. And I heard the sprite too." "You don't look scared of me," Taylor said. "I've been lied about by that pest before." Florence whistled, and the dog's ears turned. "He can smell a lie. The woodland folk trust his nose more than their own. So we let him prove it." They walked to the gathering stone where the hedgehog family and a dozen others huddled. Florence lifted her voice. "You called this girl a thief. My hound sits with thieves for no one. Watch." The ember-hound crossed the clearing and pressed his head against Taylor's leg. He gave a low, easy bark. Nothing wary in it. The crowd went quiet. An old badger stepped forward and touched Taylor's sleeve, testing. She held still and let him. "The hound doesn't lie," he said. Slowly, the baskets came down. The hedgehog children crept back onto the path. By dusk they were passing her honeyed nuts and asking her name. The rumor was dead. Taylor scratched the dog's ears and grinned at Florence. "Careful," Florence said. "They like you now. But the queen never leaves her palace. And she hates strangers who arrive with a crowd." She nodded toward the deep trees. "Word travels. She already knows you're coming."