Excerpt: The Fire Within

Torture really is not torture unless it is a family affair.

"Please, Gwen, don't do this," she pleaded, her voice full of pain.

I sucked air through my teeth. "What do you care?" I hissed, a look of pure disdain clear on my face. "Or do you fear Solara's wrath so much you would bring me back to be beaten again? Would you stand there and watch the blood drip warm down my back to puddle at my feet? Would you tend to my wounds, fresh over the old? Or would you turn your face like everyone always does, and pretend that she is not a sadistic, insane dictator?" I shouted the last part, my fists clenched so tight my fingernails cut into my palms. I winced as a spasm rippled down my back, and glared at Alina when concern crossed her face.

"Where is that concern when I truly need it?" I spat.

"You do not - you can not - " Alina stuttered. "She will... she will never give you up."

I laughed, a bitter sound that carried across the water like the cackle of the evil fairytale witch. "Give me up? No, she would rather kill me first. I would be better off dead than in her grasp again."

Alina shook her head and reached behind her. "She told me you would say that. And she said to tell you... it is true." She brought her arm around and pointed her crossbow at me. A pained look of seriousness flickered in her gaze. "I do not want to do this." She forced me to meet her pleading eyes. "Please, do not make me do this."

"What do you want me to do? Give up? Say, 'Okay, let us return to my own personal hell?' You know as well as I do that I never give up the fight." I shook my head. "You might as well shoot me. May your arrow fly straight and true, and end my agonizing existence here. Rather death than a return to un-life." I shifted the strap of my bag and laid my hand against my breast. "Here is my heart. I know your skill. You should be able to make the shot. Take a second shot for the throat. Burn my body so she cannot torture me even after I am gone." It was a little over-dramatic, but I knew Alina well. She had spent many hours as my protector, desperately trying to convince her adoptive mother, my grandmother, to spare me, coming to sit with me when she had failed and I was unable to take care of even the most basic of my own needs. She would not do it. I would place a wager that she could not bring herself to shoot me.

I hoped I was right.

My life depended on it.