Luna Whisperwind had one wish, and it terrified her. Somewhere in the old stories bloomed a flower that gave courage to whoever grew it. Luna needed that courage more than anyone. But growing the flower meant learning the legend, and learning the legend meant talking to the villagers of Lennox Island. So she hid instead. She crouched behind a market stall, her blue hair falling over her face, and watched the elders swap tales she could not hear. She had come to the square three days running. Each day she planned her words. Each day her throat closed. An old weaver knew the flower legends best. Luna knew this. She still could not cross the ten steps to reach her. A sound stopped her. Under the stall, pressed against a crate, huddled a baby fox. White fur, black markings, ears flat with fear. It shook. It had wedged itself into the gap and could not back out. A cart wheel groaned close by. Luna moved without thinking. She slid her hands under the pup and pulled. The wheel rolled past the spot where it had trembled. The fox pressed its nose into her collar and went still. "That's my grandpup's runaway," a voice said. Luna looked up. The old weaver stood over her, a spindle still in her hand. Her eyes were sharp and warm at once. Luna's chest tightened. This was the woman she had feared for three days. "You caught him quick," the weaver said. "Braver than you look, hiding back here." Luna opened her mouth. Nothing came. She held the fox out instead. The weaver did not take it. She sat down on an upturned crate and patted the wood beside her. "Sit. You've been watching me since Tuesday." Heat climbed Luna's face. She sat, because refusing felt worse than speaking. The fox settled in her lap. "I'm looking for a flower," Luna said. The words came out cracked and small. "An old one. From the legends. It's supposed to give courage." The weaver laughed, but not unkindly. "You want the courage flower, and you can barely ask for it." She reached over and scratched the fox behind one ear. "Everyone wants that flower. Few know where it grows." Luna gripped the fox tighter. "Do you?" The weaver's smile faded. She looked past the square, toward the far ridge where dark stone walls broke the sky. A black castle stood there, tall and grim. "I know," she said. "But you won't thank me. The seed only takes root in one place." She pointed at the castle. "Inside those walls. No one who goes in comes back with much to say." Luna followed her hand. The fox in her lap whimpered. Her fear of asking a question felt small now. She had her answer. She wished she didn't.