It wasn't that she was ignoring the noise outside, it was more that she was distracted. Because suddenly she remembered. Remembered the ritual gone wrong that had bound her and Vyxara together.

The crucial words of the ritual echoed through her head, crystal clear, as if she had just spoken them yesterday: "You must not communicate with hell."

The commotion outside grew louder – excited voices, hurried footsteps on the cobblestones – but Valentina stood frozen in the middle of her room as the realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. If the gardener and the cat were in contact with demons, had channels to the infernal realm – or maybe even were channels themselves – then Vyxara could not speak in their presence, or perhaps even about them. The rules to which Vyxara was bound, to which she herself had bound the demon, forbade it.

"That's it, isn't it?" She stared into the darkness of her room while torches were lit outside, casting dancing shadows on her walls. "That's why you're silent?"

Vyxara was still silent. But there was something else – just the faintest of feelings, a surge of contentment and relief.

"Let's test it," Valentina said, stepping to the window. More torches moved across the courtyard, but she focused on her thought experiment. "If I ask you about demonic rituals in general..."

"Oh, I could lecture on that for hours ," Vyxara purred, amused. "Most mortals have no idea about the deeper layers of infernal practices..."

"But if I ask you directly about the gardener..."

Absolute silence.

"And if I'm talking theoretically about someone who may have been involved in a failed ritual fifty years ago..."

"A fascinating topic," Vyxara replied promptly. "Such incidents can often have repercussions for decades. We think in different time frames. It doesn't bother us if the distance between cause and effect is greater than humans can overview."

The noise outside continued to swell – she could now hear the characteristic clanking of Emberwarden armor – but Valentina was too absorbed in her thoughts.

"The rules of the ritual... they're much more far-reaching and… compelling than I thought. They enforce not only the letter, but also the spirit of the rule. You can't even speak in the presence of agents of Hell, or to me about them, because that would be communicating indirectly. Or could be."

An intense wave of satisfaction flooded her mind. Not her feelings, but Vyxara's.

"The cat," she mumbled, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. "She didn't run into the circle by accident. She was a tool. A channel. And the gardener..." She clenched her fists. "Gladder. The old gardener is Thereon Gladder. He must have known who I was all along. What I am. What we are. Has been watching us. And you couldn't warn me."

The realization of the danger hit her with full force. Whoever had designed the ritual she had followed had been quite clever. This rule made sense, it served to protect her, it prevented Vyxara from coordinating with other demons, from possibly harming her – but this rule also blinded her to potential dangers immediately around her. She absolutely had to find a way around this.

"Rules ," said Vyxara gently, "often have unexpected consequences. But I think you'd actually better focus your attention on your immediate surroundings."

A loud shout echoed across the courtyard, making them flinch: "MOVE AWAY FROM THE BUILDING! GET THE STUDENTS OUT OF THE WAY!"

What was going on there? She quickly threw on a cloak, grabbed a few vials of Distilled Essence, which she carefully stowed away and stormed downstairs.

Chaos reigned in the university courtyard. Students streamed out of their rooms in confusion, some still in nightgowns, others hastily wrapped in robes, the women careful to keep their hair covered – no one wanted to repeat Avie's mistake.

"Val!" Crispin's voice cut through the commotion. He pushed his way through the crowd to her, his face pale in the flickering light. "They've found something. In Faustus's room."

"What?" Valentina felt her heart skip a beat.

"I don't know exactly. But the Illuminator was in our corridor."

As if his words had summoned him, the crowd parted. Illuminator Eastwald strode through the resulting aisle. His grey eyes glowed with unholy triumph.

"There you are!" Innogen appeared beside them and her golden hair seemed like a halo in the torchlight. She reached for Valentina's hand. "The Essence Weavers of the Illumination are everywhere. They're combing every nook and cranny."

The Emberwardens formed a perimeter in the center of the courtyard, armed for battle and holding their halberds pointed outward. Professors tried to maintain order, but the fear was too great. Students were whispering everywhere, exchanging wild theories.

"They found corrupted Essence," muttered a first-year student next to them.

"No, they discovered a demon in the catacombs," his friend said.

"The Illuminator wouldn't cause such a riot over a rumor in the middle of the night," Professor Emberfell shouted, trying to steer the curious crowd further to the edge of the courtyard. "This must be something big. Calm down and stay out of the way. I don't want any innocent students caught between the millstones."

Valentina watched the scene with growing unease. The Emberwardens moved with cold precision. Whatever they were looking for, they were sure they had found it.

"Vyxara," she thought desperately. "Please. If you can't answer me directly – at least give me a hint. Anything."

She could feel the demon wrestling in her mind, searching for ways to circumvent the rules. But again, only silence.

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A scream tore the night apart. It came from the direction of the wealthier student quarters.

"They've got someone!" a voice shouted. "They're bringing him out!"

The crowd surged towards the noise. Valentina let herself be pulled along, Innogen and Crispin close by her side. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

"Stay calm ," Vyxara whispered in her head. "Whatever you're about to see – don't act rashly."

Then the demon fell silent again as the Emberwardens dragged their prey outside. The crowd parted hastily as a group of Emberwardens hauled a wildly struggling prisoner outside.

"No! You don't understand!" Faustus' voice was thick with panic. His expensive silk nightgown was rumpled, his hair disheveled. "I was set up! I didn't know what it was!"

Two Emberwardens held him by the arms, forcing his hands in the restraints specially made for Essence Weavers, preventing the hand movements required for Essence Weaving. He writhed like a trapped animal. Valentina had never seen him so out of control – the arrogant, smug Faustus was utterly gone, replaced by a man in naked panic.

Behind them came the Essence Weavers of the Illumination, clad in scarlet robes. One of them carried something in thick leather gloves – Valentina immediately recognized the bronze cube with the engraved eyes. The Eye of Deceit.

With her Essence Listening skill, she was able to pick up bits and pieces of the conversation between the Essence Weavers and the Illuminator.

"... clearly localized the source of corruption in his premises..."

"... found the artifact in a hunting trophy he had given to his neighbor..."

"... the Essence streams are heavily contaminated..."

The Illuminator grabbed Faustus by the chin, his bony fingers digging into the soft skin. "Where did you get it?" His voice was as cutting as a knife.

"The gardener!" sobbed Faustus. "The old gardener gave it to me! He said it would help me..."

"Describe him!" The Illuminator tightened his grip. "DESCRIBE HIM!"

"An old man... grey hair... works in the gardens..." Faustus' words came in fits and starts between exasperated breaths. "He... he knows so much about Essence Weaving... more than the professors..."

An ugly feeling took hold of Valentina. She had wanted this, had so often wished to see Faustus finally fall – but the reality was more brutal than her imagination. And it was her fault. When she had manipulated the Eye of Deceit so that he could not use it against her in the tie-break of the Greystone Competition, she had lost control of the corrupted Essence and let it escape into the Essence currents. She had thought it would feel good to see him broken and humiliated like this. But it didn't.

The crowd around them reacted in different ways. Some students backed away in horror, while others watched with cruel satisfaction as the arrogant bully was humiliated. Edgar of Ashford even made a spiteful comment about "justice at last", which earned him a sharp look from Professor Emberfell.

Valentina's and Faustus' eyes met for a brief moment. There was mortal fear in his eyes.

"The verdict is clear," the Illuminator announced in a cutting voice. The crowd fell silent instantly. "Possession of a demonic artifact. Manipulation of corrupted Essence. The punishment..." – he paused dramatically – "...is the pyre. Hold him in the interrogation room and keep an eye on this artifact until we take him to the city dungeon after we arrested his accomplice."

A collective gasp went through the crowd. Even those who had just rejoiced at Faustus' fall turned pale. Then the Illuminator turned to his troops.

"To the gardener's house!" barked the Illuminator. "GO!" His voice cut through the night like a whip.

A small group of Emberwardens dragged the writhing Faustus away, while an Essence Weaver of the Illumination followed with the artifact. The Eye of Deceit seemed to stare directly at Valentina through its engraved eyes as it was carried past.

The crowd moved like a tidal wave towards the gardens, driven by fear and morbid fascination.

"We shouldn't," Crispin began, but Innogen interrupted him.

"Of course we're going," she hissed, "Or do you want to hear about what happened from rumors tomorrow?"

Valentina nodded silently and followed her friends as they kept to the edge of the crowd. The Illuminator and his grim band led the procession.

The gardener's house itself was a modest two-story building of rough, grey stone, entwined with ivy. Dried plants hung in bundles under the eaves, their spicy scent mingling with the oily-metallic odor of the Emberwardens' weapons.

"Surround the building!" Eastwald ordered. The Emberwardens positioned themselves at all entrances. Their halberds gleamed in the torchlight.

Valentina felt the tension tighten around her neck like a rope. Vyxara's presence in her mind was frozen. The gardener – Gladder – had to be here somewhere. Him, or the cat.

"OPEN UP!" Eastwald thundered. "In the name of the Martyr!"

No answer.

With a wave of his hand, he sent four Emberwardens forward. One kicked in the simple door with a powerful kick, the others rushed in. The crash of bursting wood made the crowd flinch.

Shouting, commotion. They dragged the other gardeners outside – young Thomps, who looked after the lawns and one-armed Walliam, who was responsible for the fruit trees. The two of them were barely dressed, had obviously been surprised by the Emberwarden.

"The old gardener! His room! Where's his room?" Eastwald demanded to know, backhanding the one-armed Walliam ruthlessly across the face.

"U-upstairs," Thomps stammered quickly to spare his friend another blow. "Right up under the roof."

More Emberwardens poured into the house. Valentina heard their heavy boots on the wooden stairs. Then a voice: "Empty! But still warm – he must have just escaped!"

Eastwald cursed so vile that a pious Kindle's ears would have turned to pewter if she'd heard him. "SEARCH THE GARDENS! HE CAN'T BE FAR!"

The crowd parted hastily as the Emberwardens swarmed out. Their torches danced through the darkness like will-o'-the-wisps. The Essence Weavers of the Illumination wove strange patterns that floated through the air like nets.

"Look!" shouted one of the Emberwardens, pointing to a footprint in the soft garden soil. "There are footprints! He must be heading towards the old greenhouses... but no, they don't look human-"

A bloodcurdling howl cut through the night.

It traveled to them from the shadows between the rose bushes, from the direction of the old greenhouses. A sound that had nothing natural about it – like the screeching of damned souls, a sound not of this world.

The silence that followed this horrifying sound was so complete that it seemed like the whole world was holding its breath.

Something moved in the darkness.

And then all hell broke loose in the truest sense of the word.

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