Widow's Pique Read Online Free PDF

of the harbour. 'You'll like Rovin. It's a beautiful little island, rising out of the sea like your Venus rising from the foam—'
    'Tell me about Dol's successor,' she said, having no interest in overnight pit stops, but a very keen interest in the man signing up for gallons of wine. 'What's he like?'
    Mazares rested his back against the red painted handrail as the flautist piped time for the oarsmen, and folded his arms over his chest. Even over the freshness of the ocean and the tarry smell of the ropes, she caught his cool mountain-fore sty scent.
    'Are you asking about the King or about Dol's successor?' he asked.
    High on the yards, the crew were unbrailing the sails. With a roar louder than Jupiter's thunderbolts, the canvas bellied out, the ship bucked, and suddenly there was no longer any need for the oars.
    'You see, Dol had three sons,' he said, 'of whom Brae was the oldest. Confident -' he pulled a face - 'some might even say cocky, the elders believed he'd grow into a wise and powerful ruler in the image of his father.'
    'But?'
    'But.'
    Mazares unfolded his arms and concentrated on fiddling with the buckle of his solid-gold belt. It must weigh a ton, yet he wore it as though it was leather.
    'Three days before his twentieth birthday, Brae was dead of a fever, leaving the mantle of responsibility to fall on the middle son.'
    'Tell me about the middle son, then. The man who wasn't meant to be king. What's he like?'
    With studied casualness, the King's envoy turned his gaze to a point over Claudia's shoulder.
    'Why don't you answer that question, Pavan? Why don't you tell Claudia what our illustrious King's like.'
    His voice was as smooth and velvety as ever, yet beneath it ran an undercurrent of iron. Or was it ice?
    The ponytailed general held Mazares's gaze for several long seconds before dropping his hard grey eyes to Claudia.
    'That's not for me to comment on,' he growled. 'Ye'd best judge the man for yourself, ma'am.'
    And with that, the two men strode off in opposite directions without exchanging another word.
    Well, well, well. Claudia leaned her elbows on the rail and watched the prow slice through the glistening waters. Depending on the height of the sun and the tilt of the galley, the sea might be azure, it might be aquamarine, it might be as green as spring wheat after rain. A more perfect mirror of Histrian politics she couldn't imagine. Twisting, turning, constantly metamorphosing, yet all the while the outward picture remained the same. Serene and utterly calm.
    She glanced up at the mastheads, where a blaze of flags and pennants fluttered in the mellow breeze. Pavan was annoyed, but was this because he'd been asked to venture his opinion of the King - or pique, at being caught eavesdropping on a private conversation? Also, if Pavan was the King's general, then judging from the deference of the crew, Mazares must be the King's admiral. Which made it moot, just how much piracy this tribe had given up! Sitting low in the water with her single bank of oars, this galley was as fast as she was sleek. Like others of her ilk, her job would be to police these waters on behalf of the imperial navy, but with coastlines as heavily indented as this, and with hundreds of islands able to provide cover, buccaneering was still a thorn in the Roman side. Claudia considered the wide range of gifts the King had sent, and found her thoughts wandering towards galleys, plundering such luxuries from far and wide - galleys which could be in and out before the alarm had been raised . . .
    Were they allies, Pavan and Mazares? Or were they pulling on opposite ends of the political tug-of-war rope? And if so, which of the two was anti-Rome? The General, who controlled an army which had sworn allegiance to the eagle, but had a perfect hothouse for nurturing plots in the new seat of justice in the interior? Or the Admiral, with access to the navy, and
    thus perfectly placed to burn and sink the Emperor's warships? Equally, a case