“No,” he said. An honest, if misleading answer. They wouldn’t let her die. All that remained to be seen was whether Barius or his brother would do the actual killing. Jig wagered it would be Ryslind.

When Riana started to move toward the humans, Jig tightened his grip and pulled her off balance. With his other hand, he drew his sword and placed it at the base of her wounded finger. She looked back, eyes wide with fear and betrayal.

Jig didn’t have time to explain. Before she could speak, he pulled the blade toward himself as hard as he could.

Which was harder than necessary, as it turned out. The poison must have weakened the bone, or else the blade was sharper than Jig was used to. His sword sliced through the finger, then continued on to slash Jig’s own forearm.

Riana stared, shocked, at the blood leaking from the stump of her finger.

Jig watched his own blood drip from the long cut in his arm. All of his strength drained away. His legs threatened to give out, and the sword slipped from his fingers. Pain and shock spread from his arm throughout his body. He looked to Riana, mouth open to speak, but words failed him.

Her eyes narrowed, and with her good hand, she punched him in the nose. As he staggered back into the wall, Jig realized that at least one of the legends was true: Elves were much stronger than they appeared.

Jig probed his throbbing nose. Blood dripped from both nostrils, but the nose itself didn’t feel broken. “Gak,” he said as blood ran down the back of his throat. “Disgusting.” Even worse than Ryslind’s potion. He sat down and rested his head between his knees, using one hand to pinch his nose shut.

Hot footsteps on his back brought him back to alertness. What was Smudge running away from?

He looked up, and when his eyes focused, he found himself staring at the tip of Barius’s sword. As he had noted earlier, it was a masterful work of weaponscraft. The blade was perfectly straight, and three narrow grooves ran the length of the sword. To make it lighter, Jig guessed. Which no doubt made it easier for Barius to keep it leveled at Jig’s heart.

“We should have slain you from the outset, goblin.”

“Me?” Jig asked. Stupid question. How many other goblins do you see down here?

“I turn my back but for a few brief moments, and you draw steel against your own companions.”

The quiet outrage in Barius’s voice was so perfect that, for a heartbeat, Jig felt guilty. Only for a heartbeat, though. Then he remembered why he had done it.

“Me?” he said again, dumbfounded. “I heard you talking to Darnak. Better to cut off her finger than—”