waves with quite so firm a hand as it did on Dry Land, but it was powerful enough to stir up trouble, and plenty of it.
Now, the North Sea Kingdom had been peaceful since Katya’s father—who, according to her sources, people were starting to call “Vladislav the Merry”—had fought his way to the throne over the bodies of several would-be rulers who’d tried to keep him from taking it. Vladislav wanted to keep things that way. Although he was an awe-inspiring fighter, he hated conflict—but he was very, very good at handling people, at politics, and at history.
The result was that his reign so far had been so peaceful that the various Noble families had seen a great many sons survive, who would in previous reigns have made fatal errors of judgment.
That was what, in this generation, had been sent off to Court.
When Katya had reasoned all that out, she had vowed that she was not going to even think about courtship unless the young man in question was at least as skilled and clever as she. He didn’t have to be skilled in the same ways—she’d be perfectly happy with a highly intelligent scholar, for instance—but he had to be a match for her.
So far, the crop of young fellows swarming her had failed miserably in producing someone of that order.
She had the sense that her sisters, and perhaps her brothers, too, felt the same way. Certainly Tasha was not showing any signs of welcome to the few who dared approach her. In a lot of ways, Katya envied her. She might not look intimidating, but the fact that she was a sorceress-in-training scared the scales off most of those poor fish.
Whereas the essence of what made Katya just as dangerous was by necessity cloaked in secrecy. She couldn’t be her father’s hidden weapon if everyone in Court knew what she was and where she went.
She wound her way through the halls of mother-of-pearl and coral, of abalone and amber, checking the usual places where Vladislav might be. And finally she found him.
The King was in his counting house, but he was not the one doing the counting of the money. Four earnest, clerkly Tritons were tallying up the contents of what must have been a treasure ship. Gold and silver bars already lay neatly stacked, awaiting transfer to the vaults. At the moment, it was the contents of several chests that occupied their attention.
Katya’s eyes gleamed a little as she surveyed the wealth. From the fact that the styles and gems of several different lands were jumbled together in the one she was nearest to, she suspected that the vessel that had sunk must have been a pirate raider. If so, good riddance. The Sea People were always being blamed for the depredations of pirates, and many a war had been started between Dry Land and Sea because the Drylanders were certain that the Sea People had been plundering their ships.
“Ah, now, save this out,” the King said, pulling out a delicate tunic woven of tiny gold and silver links. “This should be in Galya’s wardrobe.”
In her arsenal, you mean, Father , Katya thought with amusement. Galya was the most beautiful of his daughters, the one that displayed the Siren blood they all had from their maternal grandmother most clearly, and she was, next to Katya, the most subtle weapon he had to deploy.
Not subtle in and of herself; her seductive lure was more like a bludgeon to the head. But subtle in how Vladislav used her.
Any time he wanted to read a man, or deflect his questioning, or confuse him, or make him forget all about caution, all he had to do was bring Galya in for some pretext or other. Katya hadn’t seen a man yet who didn’t end up with his eyes riveted on Galya’s magnificent bosoms—or, rarely, some other part of her—within the first few heartbeats. And it was certain that as he stared, he was not thinking of how best to negotiate with Vladislav.
This delicate tunic would allow Galya’s body to shine through while giving the illusion of modesty. It was exactly the sort of thing
Now, the North Sea Kingdom had been peaceful since Katya’s father—who, according to her sources, people were starting to call “Vladislav the Merry”—had fought his way to the throne over the bodies of several would-be rulers who’d tried to keep him from taking it. Vladislav wanted to keep things that way. Although he was an awe-inspiring fighter, he hated conflict—but he was very, very good at handling people, at politics, and at history.
The result was that his reign so far had been so peaceful that the various Noble families had seen a great many sons survive, who would in previous reigns have made fatal errors of judgment.
That was what, in this generation, had been sent off to Court.
When Katya had reasoned all that out, she had vowed that she was not going to even think about courtship unless the young man in question was at least as skilled and clever as she. He didn’t have to be skilled in the same ways—she’d be perfectly happy with a highly intelligent scholar, for instance—but he had to be a match for her.
So far, the crop of young fellows swarming her had failed miserably in producing someone of that order.
She had the sense that her sisters, and perhaps her brothers, too, felt the same way. Certainly Tasha was not showing any signs of welcome to the few who dared approach her. In a lot of ways, Katya envied her. She might not look intimidating, but the fact that she was a sorceress-in-training scared the scales off most of those poor fish.
Whereas the essence of what made Katya just as dangerous was by necessity cloaked in secrecy. She couldn’t be her father’s hidden weapon if everyone in Court knew what she was and where she went.
She wound her way through the halls of mother-of-pearl and coral, of abalone and amber, checking the usual places where Vladislav might be. And finally she found him.
The King was in his counting house, but he was not the one doing the counting of the money. Four earnest, clerkly Tritons were tallying up the contents of what must have been a treasure ship. Gold and silver bars already lay neatly stacked, awaiting transfer to the vaults. At the moment, it was the contents of several chests that occupied their attention.
Katya’s eyes gleamed a little as she surveyed the wealth. From the fact that the styles and gems of several different lands were jumbled together in the one she was nearest to, she suspected that the vessel that had sunk must have been a pirate raider. If so, good riddance. The Sea People were always being blamed for the depredations of pirates, and many a war had been started between Dry Land and Sea because the Drylanders were certain that the Sea People had been plundering their ships.
“Ah, now, save this out,” the King said, pulling out a delicate tunic woven of tiny gold and silver links. “This should be in Galya’s wardrobe.”
In her arsenal, you mean, Father , Katya thought with amusement. Galya was the most beautiful of his daughters, the one that displayed the Siren blood they all had from their maternal grandmother most clearly, and she was, next to Katya, the most subtle weapon he had to deploy.
Not subtle in and of herself; her seductive lure was more like a bludgeon to the head. But subtle in how Vladislav used her.
Any time he wanted to read a man, or deflect his questioning, or confuse him, or make him forget all about caution, all he had to do was bring Galya in for some pretext or other. Katya hadn’t seen a man yet who didn’t end up with his eyes riveted on Galya’s magnificent bosoms—or, rarely, some other part of her—within the first few heartbeats. And it was certain that as he stared, he was not thinking of how best to negotiate with Vladislav.
This delicate tunic would allow Galya’s body to shine through while giving the illusion of modesty. It was exactly the sort of thing
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