Free Siren's Fury by Mary Weber Page A

with surprise. Lord Percival chuckles awkwardly. As if he’s hoping Rasha’s joking.
    When it’s obvious she’s not, Lord Wellimton clears his throat. “As guests on this ship, I’ve found the time alone to be quite restful.”
    “Well, I don’t consider forced confinement restful,” Rasha says airily. “Nor, I doubt, do my men. If anything, I find it distrustful.”
    “I’m sure you’d agree the confinement has been for our safety.”
    Without peeking up from the tea I’m pouring, I can feel Wellimton’s gaze and tone indicating me. As one of King Sedric’s top officials, he’s the oldest bachelor on the War Council, and he has unfortunately chosen to wear that claim as a badge of honor as well as an excuse for his notorious irritability.
    This is a waste. Where in blazes is Eogan? “I’m not the one you should be worried about,” I say, handing the tea to Rasha. When she frowns, I quickly add, “Does anyone know when we will be graced by Eogan?”
    “As I mentioned, he sends his regrets,” the Bron guard growls from his spot along the wall.
    “Oh, I’m certain this flight hasn’t been all that dangerous, or Nym would’ve used her abilities to soften the storm for us. Right, miss?” Lord Percival dabs his mouth with a napkin and doesn’t wait before turning to Rasha. “Princess, are you finding your negotiations with the new king thus far are up to Cashlin’s satisfaction?”
    “I’ve not had a chance to meet with King Eogan yet. Hence part of why Cashlin is sending me to Bron.”
    A pleased look passes over the delegates, as if they’re relieved to still have the advantage of already starting the negotiation process back in Faelen.
    I look at Rasha and consider telling them the truth—that their political insecurity is meaningless in light of what they’re walking into. That there will be no negotiations in Bron because the king is not the king. And that I couldn’t control a raindrop if I tried.
    Rasha continues eating. I glance away and sip my sea-dragon-colored tea and chew on a giant piece of bread goo, leaving them to their momentary ignorance.
    “Is your queen mother planning to send more delegates?”Wellimton asks. “Or has she sanctioned you to decide what’s best for Cashlin without her royal advisement?”
    “Oh, I’m quite sanctioned,” Rasha says cheerily.
    “Not that she’d have any reason to doubt your political talents, of course, Your Highness. But considering the delicacy of the matter, I couldn’t help but feel concerned for you when I observe Faelen has seen this venture important enough to send four delegates while Cashlin is only sending one.”
    I pause midswallow and almost laugh. What a bolcrane.
    “You’re correct she has every confidence in my talents, m’lord. And as I’m certain you’re aware, I was the only Cashlin delegate available in Faelen at the time of our departure.” Her smile stays just as wide, but I swear there’s a falter in her tone. She grabs a plateful of the bread stuff and shoves a piece in her mouth.
    I snap a look up at him. “What about you ? Are you fully sanctioned?”
    Wellimton frowns. “Of course we carry the full weight of King Sedric’s authority.”
    “To do what?”
    “To handle anything that may occur.”
    I clear my throat. “I bet. And what will you do if, say, when we arrive the situation’s not as you’ve prepared for?”
    Wellimton sniffs. “Young lady, I’m not sure why Lord Protectorate Myles or King Sedric deemed it necessary for you to come, that is, if in fact the king did allow it, seeing as we were only told about your attendance once in the air. But considering you’ve not been raised in politics, nor in a High Court home, I don’t expect you to understand the process, nor the level of trade by which we’ll be negotiating. We’re clearly prepared for anything as long as you stay out of the way.”

    “Anything?” I can’t help the smirk.
    “I think the better question is, are you