Shadows on the Aegean Read Online Free Page B

smiled coldly, careful not to let emotion tug at her face. “
Hreesos
, my Golden Bull husband, may have rutted and rammed a selection—”
    “A wide selection—”
    “—of cows … but he always returns to the fold.”
    Vena, her violet eyes black with anger, clenched her fists. She would be trouble, Ileana thought. She was beautiful, healthy,
     Olimpi, and her background as a Shell Seeker qualified her. How could Ileana stop her?
    “Mistresses, the air fair crackles with your words.” The speaker dropped down between them, as careless and graceful as a
     black cat.
    “Already you stink of the grape,” Vena said to him, throwing her chestnut curls over her shoulder.
    He grinned. “But I am
of
the grape.” He deepened his voice and bellowed, “Dion Bacchi, inheritor of the Clan of the Vine!” Leaning forward, he placed
     a love bite on Vena’s breast. “Besides, last Season of the Lion, when you were beneath me, also crushing the grapes, your
     comment was, Aye, Dion!’ “ he trilled in a falsetto. After flashing a wicked smile at the laughter of the courtiers, he sipped
     from Ileana’s rhyton and turned it so that she drank from the same spot. “However, if we are to discuss the scent that I recall
     from the experience, I would say it was fi—”Vena cuffed his head and marched back to Arus. The courtiers returned to their
     conversations as Dion lounged beside Ileana’s feet.
    “Where is Sibylla?” she asked. Best to know where one’s rivals were.
    Dion reached up and plucked shrimp speared with rosemary from the glazed dish before her. “You know full well that she loathes
     both of you.”
    “As do you?”
    His smile was charming, melting the severe lines of his face. In a lover’s purr he said, “I do, Ileana. With all my heart,
     I do.”
    In Aztlan, Dion was the ideal—tall, broad shouldered, wasp-waisted, with black hair that fell to his waist. His eyes were
     large and dark, deep as an oracular pool. Seeing him reportedly drove the clanswomen wild with lust—a screaming pack of hounds
     in heat who roamed the hills in the white of the moon. Despite his youth, he seemed aged, knowing that no one could refuse
     him. Ileana hated herself for not being above the physical call of a man she loathed.
    “You have an odd way of showing it, feeding me wine—” Ileana stopped, staring at
Hreesos’
whelp. Carefully she wiped her mouth on the edge of her garment, then picked up the empty rhyton. She willed her fingers
     to cease trembling as she felt the bottom for residue. Holding up her fingers, she saw glittering grains in the dregs. “You
     poisoned me?” she rasped. Where had her taster been?
    Dion smiled.
    “Tell me!” Ileana hissed.
    He smiled wider, speaking only to prevent her from shrieking for the guards. “Never poison, Ileana.” He clicked with his tongue,
     a sound of dismay. “Nay, your death should be savored.” He licked his fingers, his tongue caressing the pads. “Anticipated.”
     His gaze grew darker, more intense, and Ileana felt her body tighten in response. He took her palm and licked it; fire rippled
     through her body. “Why, it should bring at least as much pleasure as your life has brought grief.”
    “You are dismissed,” Ileana said tightly.
    “Shared,” Dion continued, his fingers stroking his chest in minute movements that made her hands itch to take over the responsibility.
     “Shared equally by those whom your life has cursed. How many lay their death at your door? Do you need counting strings to
     keep tally?”
    “You go too far with your accusations and blasphemies,” Ileana hissed.
    He continued as though she had not spoken. “However, your days are numbered. You are too old to bear the next Golden.”
    She rose abruptly and the company fell silent. Dion lounged at her feet. Ileana snapped her fingers and her chair was brought
     immediately. As she sat, Dion rolled over, his face level with her feet. He kissed the arch of her foot