Jig scowled. Why would he have made such a suggestion? They didn’t listen to him anyway. Nor would he have proposed murdering Riana even if they did listen. Running away before she finished her transformation, maybe, but not murder.

“She’s no innocent,” Barius snapped. “She’s a thief. By law, she should have been imprisoned the moment she tried to rob us.”

“Imprisoned, aye.” He took another swig from his wineskin. “But not executed. Your father would have my head if—”

“My father is not here with us. In his absence, my word is as law.”

Darnak fell silent. Jig risked a glance back to see what was happening. Both had their arms crossed, and Darnak was shaking his head.

Jig also noticed Ryslind leaning against the wall, looking bored. His lips curled slightly, hinting at amusement. He probably couldn’t hear what was being discussed as well as Jig, but that didn’t matter. He knew Darnak and his brother, and he must have deduced what Barius wanted to do. He only waited to hear who would win the argument.

“I’ll not do it,” Darnak said finally. “I’ll not kill a girl in cold blood. Not even for you.”

Jig nodded with satisfaction. Only an instant passed, though, before he realized what the dwarf had not said. He’d not kill Riana, but he wouldn’t stop Barius from doing so, either. Jig looked again, and saw Barius walking toward Riana. His hands were empty, but his face was carefully expressionless. Ryslind fell into step behind his brother.

“Riana, give me your hand,” Jig whispered. She obeyed, too scared to argue.

Jig rolled his eyes. “The other one.”

Trembling, she held out her poisoned hand. The decay had taken over most of the finger, with only a thin ring of healthy skin above the knuckle. Jig studied it closely, folding her other fingers back so he could see better.

“What’s going to happen?” Fresh tears dripped down her cheek, making her look like a young child.

“How old are you?” Jig asked absently.

“Sixteen.”

He stared. “But I thought elves lived to be hundreds of years. Even thousands.”

That earned a small, brave grin. “You think we’re born with centuries already behind us? That’d be hell on the mother.”

He shook his head, confused. Of course there were young elves. It was only that none of the songs or stories ever mentioned them, so Jig had never stopped to imagine an elf less than a century old. Elves were ancient beings who had lived through events other races only knew of as distant history. That was what made them so hard to kill. How did you beat someone with that much experience?

“Riana,” Barius called. “We must speak of your injury.”

“They’re going to let me die, aren’t they?”