Thorne Blackwood had one night to prove the rumors wrong, and he was already losing. He stood at the edge of the Knotheart market square with mud on his boots and a torn sleeve from a fight he had not started. Across the square, a woman in a green coat haggled over a crate of apples. He did not know her name. He only knew she had looked at him once, laughed, and said loud enough for half the vendors to hear that she had no time for pretty wolves who bit their own handlers. Every bold woman in Knotheart said the same thing before he could open his mouth. He had come here to find one who would match him, not tame him, and the town had already decided he was not worth the risk. He watched her pay for the apples and turn toward the alley. He had one chance to speak before she was gone. A raven dropped from the eaves and landed on the crate beside her hand. Its feathers caught blue in the lamplight. She froze. The bird looked at Thorne, then at her, then hopped once toward the woman and tapped its beak against a folded slip of paper tucked under the apples. She unfolded the slip. Thorne could not read it from where he stood, but he saw her face change. She turned and walked straight to him, apples forgotten. "The bird says you helped a smith's boy last week and told no one," she said. "Is that true." Thorne's throat closed. He had pulled the boy from under a cart and paid the doctor from his own purse. He had told the boy to keep quiet because he did not want the debt used against him. "It's true," he said. She studied his face for a long moment. Then she held out one of the apples. "I'm Ida," she said. "Walk with me. I want to hear it from you, not the bird." Thorne took the apple. The raven lifted off and vanished over the rooftops. He had wanted a woman who would not be tamed. He had not planned on one who would demand the truth of him before the first step.