The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [166]
She could not show her anxiety, but he had to know she was still shaken by the execution. McCammon had been her friend. One moment he had been alive, protecting her, caring for her, and the next, his blood had spattered her cheek, her clothes. She drew a deep breath and tried to think of some way to stall him. “Would you like me to put on some music, Basil? Shall I call for a meal?”
He placed his hands on her upper arms, drawing her close. “We’re well past the point where we need to waste time on a long, slow seduction — aren’t we?” He kissed her. Sarein tried her best to respond, but she felt sick.
Captain McCammon . . . his body spasming from multiple gunshot wounds, sprawling on the floor . . . the scarlet pool leaking out.
She couldn’t get enough air to breathe. She shuddered when he stroked her short hair, traced his fingers down her back, then reached around to her breasts.
“I can tell you’re excited,” he said.
Sarein wanted to scream.
She pulled away from him as much as she dared. “Why the sudden change in attitude, Basil?” She had to pray that he was convinced McCammon was the only conspirator, that he had dealt Freedom’s Sword a mortal wound, even though Patrick Fitzpatrick had become a prominent new thorn in his side.
“Does it displease you?” he asked.
“No . . . I just don’t understand the reason for this.”
He explained with maddening logic. “As more and more people turn against me, Sarein, I know I can’t go it alone. Who else can I rely on? Deputy Cain? Perhaps. Colonel Andez? Of course, but only to follow orders. Remember what you and I had. Who could possibly be a better companion to shoulder the important responsibilities? You were my apprentice. I taught you about politics. You and I were perfect partners.”
“Yes, we were.” A long time ago . . . before you became a madman.
He seemed certain that his comment would act as an aphrodisiac, because he found the idea so very seductive himself. But Sarein knew that Chairman Wenceslas would never surrender any real power, never allow her to make changes or decisions. When she’d first met him, she had been young and naïve. She had listened to his philosophy and studied him — for a time.
He had killed McCammon.
He had killed the Archfather.
He had killed former Chairman Fitzpatrick.
He had tried to kill Peter and Estarra, more than once.
He stroked her cheek, smiling at her. Although his hands were covered with invisible blood, Sarein had to be more convincing than ever in her life, or he just might find the excuse he needed to kill her too. Sarein felt detached and bleak as he led her into the bedroom, but she didn’t show it. He never noticed the difference.
Basil did not take long to finish. For him, the visit didn’t seem to be so much about sex as it was about making sure that he had Sarein under his control. Afterward, she felt soiled, and as soon as she could make a proper excuse, she hurried into the bathroom to wash up. She wanted to take a long shower to cleanse herself, but Basil was still there, and she had to go back to him, not hide. For a moment, nausea threatened to overwhelm her.
She splashed cold water on her face, drew a deep breath, and toweled off. Through force of will she regained her composure — Basil was a master at that. For years, as his protégée, she had listened to him describe the necessities of politics, how to stomp down emotions and take the required action. She had learned from the best.
She emerged from the bathroom only to hear him at the door of her quarters, surreptitiously leaving. Sarein froze, holding her breath, hoping he would not turn back. She didn’t call out to him. When Basil sealed the door behind him, she shuddered with relief.
Sarein slumped back onto the rumpled bed. After a moment of paralysis, she began to tear at the sheets, uprooting them from the mattress. She couldn’t stand to feel the fine fabric against her skin, reminding her that she had already felt it beneath her, with Basil on top, thrusting. She had squirmed, not in passion, but loathing. Sarein hated herself for fearing him.
She pulled