Bread didn’t taste like rock after all, Jig decided. Didn’t taste like much of anything, really. He noticed that the humans had spread some sort of yellow grease over theirs. Though whether that was to improve the flavor or to make it easier to swallow, Jig didn’t know.

“Water?” Riana handed him a bloated skin, then walked away without ever meeting his eyes. Was she angry with him for not running away last night? Or had she simply reverted to her usual cold self?

Not that it mattered. Jig was more comfortable when they treated him like a prisoner, or at best an untrustworthy guide. He wasn’t used to kindness or consideration from anyone, let alone his captors.

So he didn’t know what to say when Riana returned a few minutes later and handed him a long sheathed dagger. Jig stared in disbelief. “Where did this come from?”

She pointed. Down the tunnel, two hobgoblins lay facing the ceiling, one atop the other. Each had a black-fletched arrow jutting from his neck. He looked at Ryslind. “Oh.”

He started to draw the knife. More of a short sword, really. The blade stretched the length of his elbow to fingertip, and it was heavy. The pommel and crossguard were simple brass, and the hilt was bare wood, but this was still the grandest weapon Jig had ever held. He shoved the blade back into its sheath, then drew it completely free.

“Are you mad?” Barius loomed over them both, his sword ready. “Let this creature have a blade of his own, and you’ll soon find that blade plunged into your back.”

“What if we’re attacked again?” Riana countered. “Where would we be if Jig hadn’t found that old sword when we were in the hobgoblin pit?”

“You’d trust a goblin to defend your person?” Barius shook his head in disbelief, but his sword remained level with Jig’s throat. “I could understand if you secured a knife for your own safety, but to hand it over to this blue-skinned monster is absurd.”

Riana spat on the floor by Barius’s feet. He looked down, momentarily speechless, and when he looked back up Riana had a knife in her hand. “What made you think I didn’t secure one for myself?”

“Enough,” Darnak snapped loudly. “Put them away before I crack all your skulls. Barius, let them have their pig-stickers. They know well enough what will happen if they cause trouble.”

The prince’s sword hissed back into its scabbard. In a low voice, so Darnak wouldn’t hear, he said, “Do not cross me again, elf.”

As Jig tucked his new sword through his belt, he glanced at Riana. Whereas his sword was plain and well-used, hers was trimmed in gold, and even sported a blue gem in the pommel. She grinned at him as she slid it back up her sleeve.

“That blade looks as fine as Barius’s sword.”