In reading HEIR OF FIRE, the character of Sorscha entranced me. She was sweet, I imagined her as beautiful, she was good at her job and yet she had such a heartbreaking back story. I wanted to write about her background and imagine her for myself.

Why had she decided to become a healer? Sorscha wasn't so sure. Wounds were gruesome and got infected; people died and people coughed and there was always blood everywhere. Most days, she hated what she did. Hated the pain and the death that clung to her cloak like the blood and shit on the bottom of her boots.

But Sorscha kept on with her healing. It was like there was some sort of tug in her stomach – one that whispered, "Keep trying! This one might survive. You can help him." Even if she knew that there was nothing she could do, Sorscha tried. She smiled to the men on their deathbeds and held the women who watched their husbands, sons, fall into the Afterworld. She held the men who had to say goodbye to their wives, and forced them to focus on their newborn children.

And, besides, Sorscha was good at her job. She had an extensive knowledge of herbs and medicines. Her father had given her his kindness and compassion, and her mother had shown her how to keep her hands steady, no matter what was thrown at her. She was always surrounded by love and happiness, and as a result carried this over to her patients. She was asked for, sought after even.

It was the children Sorscha loved best, though. They were so trusted, their eyes wide. Sometimes they screamed, but she gave them a smile and they were almost immediately reassured – as were their parents. Even if Sorscha couldn't do anything, she made their last moments happy. The parents almost always thanked her after – even just a hand on her shoulder or the smallest smile as a tear slipped down their cheeks was enough for Sorscha to know that she had done her job, even as the little one in front of her had a flat heart.

It wasn't always death. Sorscha lived for the days when a patient could learn to walk again, when a bandage was removed and the infection had gone, when someone came out of their stunned coma and learnt to smile once more. Kindness, compassion, a good heart and a steady hand was sometimes all Sorscha needed to coax a laugh out of someone who didn't think they knew the sound.

So when the time for movement came, she went quietly. Her hands shook once as she hastily packed her bags, but she glanced into her mother's steady eyes and calmed her beating heart. Flanked by her parents, her family behind them, they made haste for Adarlan.

Something was wrong, Sorscha knew, as soon as they entered the city. There was a rough, low sound of commotion, something was sent back to the people in front of them but it never reached Sorscha and her parents. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her mother exchange a glance over Sorscha's head to her father. As they walked, the trio stepped closer together, their shuffles in time with one another, so in sync… even as it was all about to go horribly, horrendously wrong.

None of them were able to say anything as her mother and father were grabbed – it all happened so quickly. Sorscha whirled one way, after her father, and by the time she looked back, her mother had gone, too. "This way," an Adarlanian soldier said gruffly, dragging her the opposite direction of her parents.

"My family!"

"You won't be seeing them again." She stopped and stared at him, horrified. He refused to meet her eyes and pushed her ahead. Her screams were swallowed by everyone else's as the executions began.

Their crime… what had been their crime? Sorscha hadn't done anything but rock back and forth on the cobbled streets, her eyes bone dry and stinging. Her nails were cracked, her jaw ached. Her hair was both stuck to her head and so knotty she may as well cut it off instead.

"Miss?" An Adarlanian soldier stood in front of her. She tucked up her legs and turned her eyes downcast, refusing to meet his gaze and submitting instead. She didn't know what to wish for – pity or death. "Miss, would you come with me? Please," he added when she didn't move.

"Why?" Her vocal cords sounded like an untuned violin handled by a wind musician.

"There is a job for you," he replied, and when she still didn't move, he kicked her; she hissed and curled up even tighter.

"Don't kick the poor girl," another soldier said, coming up behind the first. He glared at his companion and he strode off, shrugging. The second soldier crouched down beside her. "What happened?" he whispered, so softly she almost thought it was a breath of wind instead.

"They died," she spat, her voice still hoarse but harsh. The soldier dropped his head for a moment or two, then lifted it and handed her a skein of water.

"Drink," he ordered, "then come with me." She eyed the sword at his hip and did as he said, standing slowly on wobbly legs. Her hands shook as she took a drink, but she couldn't seem to make them stop. Her arms felt hollow. Her heart felt like it had been sucked into a hole, and she couldn't quite reach it.

She gave the skein back to the soldier, and he turned without another word. She walked alongside him, him upright and confident, her with her eyes down and stumbling on the unfamiliar cobbles. She didn't look up until they were at the castle, and then she tried to back away. "Don't even think about running," the soldier said out of the corner of his mouth. "Where on earth would you go?" She had no reply for that.

The soldier led her into the castle, down the stairs into the under corridors. "You are a healer, yes?" he asked, motioning to her bag. She just about managed to incline her head as he stopped at a wooden door. "Well?" His voice was harsh and unforgiving.

"Yes," she whispered, her throat getting sorer by the minute.

"Good. We need another one." He rapped on the door, and it was opened a moment later by a matron with an angry face and folded arms.

"What? I don't treat urchins." She glared at Sorscha; the girl took a small step back.

"I have found you another healer," the soldier said, not even glancing his new bounty.

"Hmpf." The woman looked Sorscha up and down. "Are you good?" Sorscha nodded slightly again, and the woman banged the door loud enough that Sorscha twinged her shoulders when she jumped in fright. "I said, are you good, girl? We don't take the rubbish ones, and you can bloody well go back out to the streets if you can't do your job."

This woman was not like her mother, nor her father. She didn't seem to have kindness, or compassion, or even a good heart. But Sorscha did. She could do good here. There had been people dying on the streets; she should have gone to them. She would do better. She would help and heal, and not let her parents' deaths be in vain. They had given up everything for her to be here. She would do them proud, with their kindness, their compassion, their good hearts.

Their steady hands.

Sorscha flexed and unflexed her fists at her sides. She raised her head and stared the woman in the eye. "I am the best."

The woman raised an eyebrow, but inclined her head inside. "Good. Get changed out of those rags. You're needed." She barely acknowledged the soldier before going back into the ward. Sorscha glanced to the soldier, a relatively good man she thought, who smiled approvingly.

"Don't let me down," he said.

"I'm not doing this for you."

His eyes narrowed, and she wondered if she'd made a terrible mistake. Then he smiled again. "I know. Make them proud." He glanced over his shoulder as if he was scared someone may be eavesdropping on them, then moved out of the doorway. "Good luck."

Sorscha nodded once more, then moved into the ward. She was given a small room and unpacked her belongings in a minute. She changed, but paused as she reached for the door handle. Her hands were shaking.

The bed was hard but she collapsed on it anyway. She had no more tears to cry and no more energy for dry sobs. She put her head in her hands. Her heart ached.

Through a vent in the floor came a soft breeze, and then another. They swirled around Sorscha, lifting up the tendrils of her hair. The girl smiled slowly. She sat up, took a deep breath, the breeze clearing her airways. Her throat felt soothed. Her eyes weren't as sore.

Standing, wobbling a little, Sorscha walked to the doorway. She made a silent promise to the empty holes in her heart, then reached for the doorknob again; her hand was steady.

She pulled open the door and stepped out to the ward. With all the strength she could muster, Sorscha walked to her first patient. She leant over his cot and just about managed to smile.