Read Online An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) by Kathleen M. O'Neal - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kathleen M. O'Neal
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her over the rim of his faceted goblet. “And for lots of other things, I imagine. Well, I sincerely doubt it will happen, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“My hopes are all I have left.”
“Oh, Shassy,” he chastised irritably. Finishing his sherry, he set the goblet on the mantle and eyed her askance. “You, of all people, know what I mean. Admit it, you’d love to have my power. With it, you could make enough money to bribe whoever you’d like. Then your husband wouldn’t have to sell you for—”
“I’d— we’d never use power the way you do, to torture and starve. We’d use it for good things.” She turned away from him to stare at the elegant red velvet and pearl satin spread over his bed.
He laughed shortly, demanding, “Look at me, Shassy.”
When she refused, anger rose in him. He strode quickly across the room, put a hand beneath her chin and twisted so he could see her face. Her dark eyes flamed. “I can tell you don’t want to talk about your husband, but let me remind you of one thing before we close this discussion. I didn’t kill him, did I? And I very well could have. Instead, I made a bargain. A harsh one, I agree, but necessary if I’m ever to get off this barren rock and establish the religion of Milcom—”
“Don’t be a hypocrite!” She shoved his hand away, pacing with the lithe grace of a tiger. Her blue robe shimmered in the firelight. “You don’t care any more about Milcom than we do. All you care about is profit. We’re interested in the survival of Gamant culture. And we’ve had to bargain with the likes of you to secure it.”
“Ah, careful,” he said, waggling a finger. “You’re not interested in Gamant survival. You’re interested in preserving a series of useless rituals and preposterous beliefs. There’s a big difference. Your attempts at preservation may well be counterproductive to survival.”
“You’re a beast. Using torture and starvation—”
“Torture and starvation are powerful keys to shaping civilization. Never underestimate their value in the right hands. Besides, my punitive actions are reluctantly taken and then only out of massive pressure from the majority of our populace who hate the rebels’ blaspheming.” He gave her an endearing smile. “I simply hearken to the will of the flock.”
“How can you value human life so little? Have you no conscience?”
“Not if I can help it. It cuts into the profits.”
Her nostrils flared with disgust. “Mercenary!”
“I’ve been called worse. I—”
“I’m sure you have.”
He laughed uproariously and moved to stand so close beside her that he could smell the floral scent that clung to her clothing. His gaze drifted with satisfaction over her suddenly trembling hands. She tried to lift the tray, but a wine goblet tumbled to the floor, thudding dully on the red rug. She set the tray back on his bedside table and knelt to retrieve the glass.
“Don’t be nervous. You know I can’t stand weakness. Have I ever hurt you?”
She shook her head and straightened with the glass in her hand, tucking it back on the tray, evading his eyes.
“Nor will I. You’re a valuable woman.” He softly caressed her hair, studying the way the curls caught the firelight. “Shassy, I made you my personal servant. Remember that. Things could be a lot worse. I could have you assigned to the prison work colony, or thrown you into one of the subterranean cells for murderers and rapists. You’d be just as well-guarded there as you are here.” He gave her a broad smile. “And not nearly so pampered.”
“Pampered,” she spat, clenching her fists.
“I treat you better than the rebels, don’t I?”
“I suppose I should be grateful for that.”
“You certainly should, considering you and your family are of their ranks.”
A swallow bobbed in her throat. “I’d better be going, Councilman,” she said stiffly, recoiling from his touch.
“Do you still have sympathies for the rebels?”
“My hopes are all I have left.”
“Oh, Shassy,” he chastised irritably. Finishing his sherry, he set the goblet on the mantle and eyed her askance. “You, of all people, know what I mean. Admit it, you’d love to have my power. With it, you could make enough money to bribe whoever you’d like. Then your husband wouldn’t have to sell you for—”
“I’d— we’d never use power the way you do, to torture and starve. We’d use it for good things.” She turned away from him to stare at the elegant red velvet and pearl satin spread over his bed.
He laughed shortly, demanding, “Look at me, Shassy.”
When she refused, anger rose in him. He strode quickly across the room, put a hand beneath her chin and twisted so he could see her face. Her dark eyes flamed. “I can tell you don’t want to talk about your husband, but let me remind you of one thing before we close this discussion. I didn’t kill him, did I? And I very well could have. Instead, I made a bargain. A harsh one, I agree, but necessary if I’m ever to get off this barren rock and establish the religion of Milcom—”
“Don’t be a hypocrite!” She shoved his hand away, pacing with the lithe grace of a tiger. Her blue robe shimmered in the firelight. “You don’t care any more about Milcom than we do. All you care about is profit. We’re interested in the survival of Gamant culture. And we’ve had to bargain with the likes of you to secure it.”
“Ah, careful,” he said, waggling a finger. “You’re not interested in Gamant survival. You’re interested in preserving a series of useless rituals and preposterous beliefs. There’s a big difference. Your attempts at preservation may well be counterproductive to survival.”
“You’re a beast. Using torture and starvation—”
“Torture and starvation are powerful keys to shaping civilization. Never underestimate their value in the right hands. Besides, my punitive actions are reluctantly taken and then only out of massive pressure from the majority of our populace who hate the rebels’ blaspheming.” He gave her an endearing smile. “I simply hearken to the will of the flock.”
“How can you value human life so little? Have you no conscience?”
“Not if I can help it. It cuts into the profits.”
Her nostrils flared with disgust. “Mercenary!”
“I’ve been called worse. I—”
“I’m sure you have.”
He laughed uproariously and moved to stand so close beside her that he could smell the floral scent that clung to her clothing. His gaze drifted with satisfaction over her suddenly trembling hands. She tried to lift the tray, but a wine goblet tumbled to the floor, thudding dully on the red rug. She set the tray back on his bedside table and knelt to retrieve the glass.
“Don’t be nervous. You know I can’t stand weakness. Have I ever hurt you?”
She shook her head and straightened with the glass in her hand, tucking it back on the tray, evading his eyes.
“Nor will I. You’re a valuable woman.” He softly caressed her hair, studying the way the curls caught the firelight. “Shassy, I made you my personal servant. Remember that. Things could be a lot worse. I could have you assigned to the prison work colony, or thrown you into one of the subterranean cells for murderers and rapists. You’d be just as well-guarded there as you are here.” He gave her a broad smile. “And not nearly so pampered.”
“Pampered,” she spat, clenching her fists.
“I treat you better than the rebels, don’t I?”
“I suppose I should be grateful for that.”
“You certainly should, considering you and your family are of their ranks.”
A swallow bobbed in her throat. “I’d better be going, Councilman,” she said stiffly, recoiling from his touch.
“Do you still have sympathies for the rebels?”
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