They fussed over who would wield Ellasif’s enchanted sword, which, even in his distracted state, Declan recognized was not the same blade he’d seen her with earlier. When at last Jadrek gave up his demand that Ellasif let him use the sword, he knelt beside one of the divans and laid the chain over the seat. Ellasif severed it with one sharp blow, but the squeal of steel on the magical ice was worse than the sound of chalk squeaking on a slate board. Declan moved away from them, holding his head as he tried to focus his thoughts. The past hour had brought so many revelations that he felt like an overstuffed rag doll, his head swollen near to bursting. He was angry, exhilarated, confused, and most of all frightened. He was not frightened for himself alone. He had a feeling that he and Liv were in less danger from Mareshka’s wrath, but the others were in serious trouble. The witch seemed particularly displeased with Ellasif, especially after that impulsive kiss.
