Free Siren's Fury by Mary Weber Page B

prepared for anything?” He bats a hand my direction. “Is that storm gift of yours under control?”
    “Lord Wellimton,” Lord Percival interrupts. “Perhaps we should be more charitable toward the heroine who is the only reason our nation is intact enough to trade with Bron. I’m positive the lady is quite capable of controlling it without Eogan even around!”
    “A fact for which I am exceedingly grateful,” Wellimton says. “As long as she’s able to keep that level of control needed—at least until we get the negotiations wrapped up.” He glances over at the Bron guard.
    “I can say with certainty that I am the least of the problems you’re walking into,” I murmur, and ignore Rasha’s look that says to quit egging him on.
    “Good.” Wellimton lowers his voice my direction. “And in regard to any rumored affections you might have toward the Bron king, I trust, if called upon, you’ll do well to remember whose side raised you from childhood.”
    Gwen leans over to pat my hand. “Because, of course, if anything goes wrong, we’re now counting on you to do your part, dear.”
    Do my part? I draw back from them both and stick a piece of fruit in my mouth. And shove down my cough before it gives away the fact that whatever expectations they have of using me are complete litches.
    One, two, three moments of silence settle in, during which Rasha flicks me with cautious glances. I, in turn, extend sympathy to her for these ridiculous political games she’s stuck in. Is this how the High Council operates? No wonder her Luminescent self getsoverwhelmed by too many people in one room. Constantly hearing barely civil words being said while sensing what’s left unsaid. It’s all laced with suspicion and need.
    The quiet is broken by Lady Gwen setting her cup down too loudly. “And what, Princess Rasha, may I inquire is Cashlin hoping for most in terms of negotiation and trade?”
    “Our hope is to begin a friendship with Bron and build our way up from there. As far as trade, that will greatly depend on what Bron has that we deem worth trading for.”
    Lord Wellimton smirks. “A very to-the-point statement, Princess. Some might even say supercilious once you enter the negotiation chamber. Especially considering your kingdom avoided taking sides in the war at all costs.”
    “Cashlin makes no apology for being a pacifist nation.”
    “Of course not. But you can see how a good intention such as that could be misinterpreted at the negotiation table. It could appear your interests only lie toward what you can gain rather than in hard-fought-for unity.”
    Her voice stays steady but her shoulders tense. “Cashlin enjoys its friendships, Lord Wellimton, and we unabashedly support unity. However, we’ve discovered that taking sides in a war does not always result in desirable unity, nor does it mean we feel obligated to give up our natural resources easily. As I said, our hope is for the start of a relationship between Cashlin and Bron, just as we have done with yours.”
    Lord Percival tips his head in apparent approval just as the airship dips and rattles. From what Colin once told me, tipping his head is what Lord Percival does best. “It’s his most pleasant and worst feature,” Colin had whispered one evening while we were spyingon him at Adora’s. “It’s like he can’t ’elp but agree with everyone on everythin’, includin’ the king and the council. Even his wife from what I hear.”
    “Smart man,” I’d mumbled, and Colin had punched me in the arm. But somehow that head tipping makes me now inclined to like him.
    “And what about you?” Rasha continues. “What are you most hoping for?”
    Wellimton shoots Percival a look. “Ahem. That’s currently a matter of private discussion. You unders—”
    “Access to your waterways for trade with their metal mines?” Rasha says in her airy tone. Her brown eyes exhibit a slight red glow. “With maybe some airships thrown in?”
    The