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Scanning Iseris’s room, his search for a weapon, any weapon, came up hopelessly short. There was little he could wield, short of trying to hack down a bed post. Perhaps the stone he’d stolen from the temple could also injure someone—because he wasn’t going back, was he? He wasn’t returning the stone. He didn’t know where he was going, but he wasn’t going back.
If the prince had a sword, he could dance around it, but he didn’t like the odds of his dagger or a glowing rock in that situation. Alekur’s skill with weapons was moderate, as he loved to publicly display for half the summer in semi-staged duels and tournaments. Most knights would not struggle to fight the prince; the struggle was more often making it look like a struggle. Jav liked his own chances in a sword fight. Except—his sword was in the stables, and this room was woefully lacking in long blades.
Alekur might not have a sword, though. If it was a bow? Or several armed men with him?
He scanned again. Why didn’t princesses have weapons hung on their walls like princes and kings and dukes? It was highly utilitarian decorating. He strode to the bedpost and jerked at it. Iseris’s eyebrows rose, and the bed creaked like maybe the activities that Alekur had expected to happen might indeed be beginning, but the bed was sturdy.
Damn. He couldn’t let her down before they even made it out of her rooms. But he was just a temple rat. He wasn’t going to outsmart or outmaneuver Prince Alekur.
Outfighting him was his only chance. His eyes caught on the wardrobe over her shoulder. She frowned as she followed his gaze—and continued to frown as he strode to the wardrobe, opened the door, and ripped it off the hinges.
She gasped. But thank Nefrana, she didn’t ask questions. The front of the thing had a handle. Better than nothing. He grabbed a garment unceremoniously from her things and tied it around the door and through the handle to make it a little easier to hold. There. Not a real shield, but it would do.
He glanced around again. There had to be something here that could help them.
His eyes came to rest on the statue of Nefrana, and he almost rolled his eyes. It was sturdier than his other options. Longer. He couldn’t tell if it was painted wood or plaster, but it was lighter than metal as he picked it up. Which meant he could wield it. Like a club.
Just in case he wanted to make his own sacrilegious betrayal especially clear and poignant.
He snorted, but he didn’t put it down. This was not sacrilege. He’d read holy texts. None of them waxed poetic about slicing a defenseless woman’s throat or about spilling blood or even about the corruption of magic. A few texts mentioned dangers of magic, but it was missing from many others. The Nefrana he knew, he loved, he followed—she was a goddess of light, not blood.
And he would serve her. This was the best way he knew how.
Maybe the statue was even a sign itself. That this was his destined path to service. When he was lost, she would help him fight.
Or maybe the corruption was really setting in deep now.
His eyes locked with Iseris’s frowning ones. Yes, perhaps that was stretching it a bit. “Are you fond of this?”
She shook her head. “Why?”
He leaned close, holding his makeshift weapons to one side. “Because the fire is brighter in the outer room. Someone is out there.”
Her eyes widened now. “We have to go that way to get to the passage.”
“I know. Let me go first.”
She nodded.
He slid his left wrist through the handle on his “shield,” then gripped the statue’s calves with his right. The statue actually did fit the shape of a club fairly well, even if it might shatter on impact.
Then with his left hand, forearm holding the shield ready to block, he gripped the door handle. He checked where Iseris was, then jerked his head so she’d move a little further behind him.
Then he held the statue so it’d be the first thing anyone would see as he slowly eased open the door.
Firelight slid across the statue’s white curves in a growing sliver as he inched the door open, trying to keep silent. It had sounded a creak when he’d arrived. Maybe if he opened it slowly enough….
It groaned, painfully loud in the silence. He winced.
An arrow thudded into the plaster, sending shards exploding into the air.
Flinching, he reeled back but a bit too late. A shard careened toward his face, slicing across his cheek. Iseris gasped. No time to check if any of it had hit her.
Shoving the door open, he lunged forward. And sure enough—Alekur was sitting in an armchair scrambling to reload a crossbow.
Jav didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance and swung his makeshift shield up, then down again.
The weight of the door crashed down on the crossbow—and Alekur’s right hand—with all the force Jav could muster. The weapon didn’t crack, but the prince screamed, clutching his hand to his chest, lashing out a kick at Javarin.
