Inherit the Flame

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The really annoying thing about being tortured was that Detan had volunteered for the experience. He hung from the ceiling of a nasty little room in the yellowhouse, ropes digging into the tender flesh of his wrists. Slowly, he spun, toes brushing the grit of the floor, body twisting as he struggled to grip the rope and haul himself up to relieve the pain. No use. He’d been there too long, and each time he managed to lift himself the muscles of his arms and shoulders trembled until he fell again. The ropes bit all the deeper for the extra weight jerked upon them.

Aella laughed. He tried to glare at her, but with the sack pulled over his head he probably just scowled at a blank wall.

“Sadist,” he said.

“Need I remind you this was your idea? Though I’m beginning to think it was a poor one. We’re to test your control, Honding. If you keep lipping off, remaining calm, then greater measures will need to be taken.”

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