Azura Rosewyn knelt in her garden before dawn and counted the roses that had turned in the night. Seven blue blooms leaned the same way, stems bent toward the low stone wall, thorns pointing at nothing she could see. She had planted them facing the sun. Something else was pulling them now. A year ago she had betrayed a private trust, spoken words meant to stay hidden, and a person she'd meant to shield had been ruined for it. She had promised herself she would balance that harm by guiding one lost soul to the truth only she could unearth. The roses said the lost soul had found her first, and too early. She pressed a palm to the soil. Warm. Wrong for the hour. A shadow stood at the wall that had not been there when she came out. Tall. Long ears. No face. Still, while the wind moved the leaves around it. "You're not mine," Azura said. "Looking," the shadow said. "Not for you. For a rabbit." "Then why are my roses bent at you?" "Not me." It lifted one dark arm toward the dahlia bed behind her. "Her." Azura turned. A woman stood among the black dahlias in a black dress, one bloom tucked behind her ear. Azura had never let her through the gate. She was already inside it. "Dahlia Noir," the woman said. "The king is missing. I need what you know." "I don't know anything about a king." "You read people. I was told you read the ones who won't speak." Dahlia's eyes moved over the leaning roses without surprise. "Someone is reaching for you. From the other side. He took a dahlia from the royal bed before he vanished. I want to know if he's the one pulling at your flowers." Azura stood. The bent roses trembled, though the air had gone flat. She had spent a year preparing for a seeker to arrive at her gate with a name she could not yet say. She had planned to be the one who chose the moment. The moment had chosen her. "He's not ready," she said. "And neither am I." "Then he'll take you unready." Dahlia held out a folded scrap of black cloth. A single dried petal was pinned to it. "He left this where I last saw him. Touch it. Tell me if it matches your roses." Azura took the cloth. The petal was warm the way the soil was warm. Every rose in the bed swung a full quarter turn and locked, pointing at her hand. The shadow stepped back from the wall. "That's an answer," it said. "Three things. He knows you. He's close. He's pulling." Azura closed her fingers around the petal. The warning was over. The reaching had begun. She looked at Dahlia and made the choice she had sworn she would make when the day came. "Come inside," she said. "I'll tell you who he is."