“You betrayed me.” Alistair said, “and for that I will kill you.”
I shrugged. Death was nothing.
Alistair leaned closer. “You will die slowly and in great pain,” he told me.
I shrugged. “Maybe so, Alistair Mor, but even when I am screaming and begging for mercy, I will still be a better man than you.” I did not want to die slowly, with all my bravery and any last dignity torn from me by a torturer's hot iron pincers, or whatever refinement Alistair favoured for his guests. It would be better to die now, and fighting. Gathering what energy I had left, I jumped forward, my hands clawing for Alistair's throat.
I did not see the Bodyguard move, but he was in front of me, his visor closed and steel gauntleted fingers closed on my throat. I choked, gagging, and hid my smile. Better to die of
