Leo's eyes were genuinely widened in amazement. "Wow! That's pretty cool!" he exclaimed, all previous reserve washed aside. "I'm close to unsealing my sigil too!" he reported, listening excitedly as the other druid gave his detailed account of the experience with his magic. In the meantime, Irene first sort of kept an ear and gradually tuned him out, shifting her focus back to Olivia and Leo's father. Leo's voice became a distant hum as she concentrated on picking up snippets of their conversation through the tulip's presence. Irene's mind was everywhere but on Leo's incessant babble—for every bit of sense that might yield some clue, relating to Adelia's talk. An odd alliance, indeed: Irene kept up with the burble of her curiosity, while Leo began to pick up an interest in the practical use of magical sigils.

When Olivia finished her coversation with Leo's father and left him, her face apparently hardened and became a little cooler between her eyebrows. She told Irene and Leo with great gravity: "Leo, please come with me to the study hall," she instructed, her tone leaving no room for objection.

Leo nodded and moved a bit unwillingly. Before he left, he leaned with Irene and whispered to her in a low voice, "You will tell me everything later, yeah?"

Irene barely shooed him with the hide of irritation in her voice, saying, "Sure, yes. Now go," when he said anything, wanting him and the conversation to get away from her, of course.

When they were gone, Irene did not tarry. She darted up to the tulip with her heart all that beat from expectation and fear of what it could be. "What are they talking about?" she cried, her voice a mixture of fear and hope.

Giving its version of what it overheard, the tulip did its bit in snatches of conversations: not a picture of strategic discussion or magic secrets but a piece of grave news spreading like fire—that of Adelia's death and murder and Chris being named as the killer.

Disbelief swallowed up Irene's first shock: "You must be joking," she burst out, wishing the idea wouldn't sound so totally absurd but could be just a mistake—some tulip error.

But the tulip, which stood with a silent message, spoke only the true words: Irene, at once overwhelmed, dashed from a gush of guilt to think of her friend. "Ela," she whispered and suddenly realized. With a heavy heart, she thanked the tulip for its service, carefully picking it up and placing it back in its spot. As she did so, her mind raced with concerns for Ela, the implications of the news, and what it meant for their futures. This place that was once silent in the seat of peace and learning was now peculiarly still, only that one could almost feel the news from the tulips hanging in the air.