Despite the frosty sorcery that encased the walls of the tent in the thinnest layer of ice, the tent felt even stuffier than it had before, and sweat glistened on the brows of nearly every knight sitting around the table. Postures were tense, hands had drifted closer to daggers, and even though Sir Gavin and Sir Padraig had returned to their seats, they looked ready to explode out of them at a moment's notice.
"All right, everyone, that's enough," Lady Mairwen said, looking from her pale-faced husband to her anxious son and all around the table as she drew a deep, steadying breath. "Everyone of you with your hands by your blades, take them off and set them in the middle of the table, hilts to the center of the table," she commanded.
"Sir Ollie, I don't dare to command you, but I'd appreciate it if you'd match the gesture," Mairwen added with a fragile smile toward the flame-haired witch.
