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i_read_whatLast time, we saw a major female character realize that she's being treated poorly by her husband, and actually fucking leave his ass. It was pretty spectacular.
We rejoin Niall and Gisella. He's still thinking about what happened between Isolde and Ceinn, and Isolde's face when she told Ceinn there'd be no child. He's thinking about Gisella's pregnancy and oh...well...
Holding Gisella’s hand, I looked down upon my wife and the child who swelled her body. Fruit of a man’s labors, and a sign of fertility so necessary to the House of Homana. And yet—it seemed I could hardly recall the first time we had lain together. Only the faintest flicker of a fleeting memory that told me once I had known someone other than Gisella.
Inwardly, I grimaced. I had hardly kept myself celibate before sailing to Atvia. No doubt what I recalled so dimly were the women who did not matter, being more interested in who I was rather than in what I could do to pleasure them.
And now we see what Gisella really did to Niall. And why Niall hasn't even thought to ask about Shea, Liam and Deirdre's fates. He doesn't remember them. And it also explains why Ian hasn't said anything: he probably doesn't know. Gisella had acted so quickly, so soon after they reunited, that Niall never had a chance to even mention that he loved someone else.
Ugh, Donal's here too, and Niall goes into considerable detail when describing his crimson Cheysuli leathers, and circlet of gold and rubies. Donal's also wearing that goddamn sword. God, I have been SO HAPPY that we hadn't seen that fucking thing for so long. Fuck that sword.
In a series full of prophecies and Chosen Ones, Donal annoys me most. It's probably irrational, but no other single character gets as much shilling and special treatment. Not even Kellin, and Kellin is the final product of all this bizarre marriage/bloodline shenanigans, the man meant to father a Firstborn with an Ihlini.
Ugh, more shilling:
My father did not move about the room; he let the room come to him. Quietly he stood near one of the groined archways and received those who wished to have word with him. He might have done it from the chair upon the dais, next to me. But it was a mark of his nature that he did not, preferring to stay away from such trappings as thrones and trumpeted announcements of his arrival. That he wore the sword surprised me; only rarely did he clasp the belt around his hips. Only rarely did he ever put hand to hilt, as if reluctant to display his absolute mastery of it.
Of course, he would never admit to being the master; rather, the servant. He had told me how once the brilliant ruby, the Mujhar’s Eye, had been perverted by Ihlini magic into a thing of ugliness. A dead black stone, dull and lusterless, had sat within the golden pommel prongs. For nearly all of the years of Carillon’s rule the stone had remained dull black.
Until the day Donal put his hand upon it, and it came blazing back to life.
Are you seriously still trying to sell me on this whole burden of kingship bullshit?! I MIGHT accept that line of angst for certain later protagonists (particularly Brennan), but not Donal. Donal has been nothing but advantaged by his position.
And I still hate that fucking sword. Honestly, and you'll probably have to take my word for it, but it doesn't really with the overall story. It's TOO openly magic, I guess. Which is a weird complaint for a series with shapeshifters and sorcerers, I know, but it's the closest I can come to putting my irritation in words.
Cheysuli and Ihlini powers aside, this series is basically a story about dynasties and kings. And early on, the sword represented that more than anything else. It was a symbol of rank, given to Carillon before the series started as a representation of his status. It was made by Hale, sure, and thus had some tragic irony in its existence. But it was also the one thing that Carillon was able to keep in his exile.
It's significant, but in a mundane sense. But now with Donal, it's basically Excalibur. Which makes NO fucking sense. Hale wasn't a fucking wizard. There's NO indicator that Cheysuli have weird powers with gems (if anything, it'd have made far more sense if the sword had been an Ihlini relic won in combat.) If there was some greater historical significance, where it belonged to the Firstborn or very early proto-Cheysuli, it would suit better.
But nope. Hale just made a magic, bloodline sensing ruby. What the fuck ever.
There's apparently a legend about the fucking thing:
There is a legend within the clans that a sword made of Cheysuli craftsmanship bears Cheysuli magic, and knows the hand of its master even when the master is unknowing, he had told me. The gods know I was aware my grandsire had made that sword, but it was for Shaine, I thought; for the Mujhar who began the qu’mahlin that nearly destroyed our race. Shaine gave it to Carillon, who bore the blade for all the years of his exile and all the years of his rule. Only when he was dead did it come into my keeping.
Seriously, why isn't anyone reacting to the fact that Hale apparently made a fucking sentient sword that can recognize true rulership?
I've said before that it was really offensive that Alix's special heritage came from white princess Lindir. It would have made FAR more sense if the Old Blood came from Hale. Then we'd have a built in excuse for a) why Finn got away with so much bullshit, b) why people were willing to entertain the idea of Alix and Finn marrying despite being half siblings, and c) would explain why Finn is the character that we see most often resorting to earth magic, like mental delving and trap-link hunting.
Anyway, this leads into Niall thinking about how they lost the sword and got it back with Finn's death. And how the sword was used to kill Osric and put Alaric in power. He thinks about all the people who are dead in the name of the prophecy.
Fair point that one. You'd best get used to it. We're going to have a pretty substantial death toll going forward.
Niall is jolted out of his thoughts when he sees Isolde, so he goes to talk to her. She's pretty anguished and not really inclined to talk to Niall. She recognizes that none of this is his fault, but well, she did just kinda verbally divorce her husband for him.
Poor Niall tries to help, but in the way of clueless twenty-year-old brother, kind of makes it worse:
Sighing deeply, I took her into my arms and crushed her against my chest. She was rigid, denying herself comfort, until I rested my cheek on her hair and told her I would forgive her if she went back to Ceinn.
“Go back!” She pulled away to stare up at me. “How can you say that after what he has said?”
“Because I know what else he has said.” And I told her.
I thought it would help. I thought it would make her happy to know her cheysul genuinely cared, not intending to use her merely because of who she was. But I misjudged her. I misjudged her badly.
Hey dude, sure, you're the primary target here, but Ceinn showed Isolde a MASSIVE amount of disrespect through his scheming. He basically tried to use her as an instrument against her family, without remotely considering that she loves them. He's a dick.
Isolde is mad because she thinks Niall is valuing his life so little. He's dismissive of the threat: he can't imagine the a'saii are that much of a threat. They're in the open now and they're only a small group.
Don't underestimate what a small group of racial supremacists can do.
And also, well:
She shook her head. “I will not take the chance.”
“’Solde—”
“No.” She nearly choked on the word. “How can I, rujho? I already bear his child!”
The weapon Ceinn can use already exists. As per usual, in these sorts of books, there's no mention of abortion as a possibility. Even if it's just to give Isolde an opportunity to say she wants to keep the child. She has no intention of letting Ceinn know about it. Niall is safe for now, because Ceinn's schemes are centered on Ian and Ian would never agree to overthrow Niall. But this would be an alternate candidate. One they can control.
...I think he might figure it out in nine months, Isolde.
And Niall points that out.
I was touched by her resolve, deeply touched, but could not ignore the brutal truth of the undeniable transience of that resolve. “’Solde, in a month—two, three—the child will begin to show. What will you say to him then?”
She stood very straight before me. “In a month or two or three, perhaps you will have cut out this canker in our midst.”
Whoa, Isolde is fucking badass. Because what she's basically saying, and Niall hears it loud and clear, is that she expects that Niall will kill her husband. And she's giving him tacit approval to do it.
They do get a sweet moment though:
I tried to swallow down the painful lump in my throat. “Cheysuli i’halla shansu,” I said thickly. I could think of nothing more fitting than wishing upon my Cheysuli sister the peace of the race she served so faithfully.
’Solde smiled a little. And then she put out her hand—palm-up, fingers spread—and made the eloquent gesture that had the ordering of an entire race. “Tahlmorra,” she said quietly, and then she walked out of the hall.
The frustrating part of the later half of the series is watching characters who are actually reasonably likeable and sympathetic willingly suffer over and over again for this fucking prophecy.
After this, though, Niall gets accosted by the Atvian ambassador, Varien. He is, as always, sleazy and gross.
But hey, apparently he's also gay.
Teeth showed briefly, so briefly, as he laughed silently. And then the laughter was gone, leaving in its wake a cool, quiet amusement. “My lord, let us agree the lady is—of divergent humors. Because of these humors, it is entirely possible she will not always be a willing partner.” He paused delicately and lifted the cup to his lips. But he did not drink. “Bedpartner, my lord.”
I looked at my wife. “That is something between Gisella and me, envoy.”
“My lord, of course.” He bowed just enough to emphasize his subservience. “But with you I feel I must be completely frank.” Smiling, he said, “If Gisella ceases to please you, I can show you another way.”
Our first bit of express queer rep, folks. Ya-fucking-hoo.
...Niall is pretty hilariously clueless though.
In distaste, I frowned at him. “Do I hear you aright? On the day of my wedding you offer other women to me?”
“Not—entirely.” The smile did not fade. “My lord, let us say I have admired you greatly since first we met. Admired, respected—desired, my lord.”
My fingers slipped on the cup; I nearly dropped it. But I recovered my grasp and clenched it tightly, so tightly my hand shook, and wine slopped over the rim to splatter against the floor. “What did you say?”
“I said I desired you, my lord.” He made no indication of shame, regret, embarrassment. His tone was perfectly controlled, as if every day he said such to a man.
As perhaps he does. Incredulously, I stared at him. I was too shocked to be angry.
I don't actually know what the Cheysuli or Homanan position on homosexuality is.
I wanted to shout at him that what he offered was worthy of execution, but I did not. Not before so many people; before Gisella, my father, my mother. I wanted to tell him that what he offered was worth his ostracism; at the very least I could send him home. But something held me back. Something shut up my mouth and chased the words back down my throat to my belly, where they twisted and tangled and bound up my guts with bile.
I'm still not sure. I feel like Niall's offense here might simply be because Varien had the nerve to proposition the Heir of Homana at his own wedding. I hope so.
If I'm not mistaken, there will be a more sympathetic gay couple introduced toward the end of this book. I don't recall Niall showing any disgust or revulsion there. But I actually didn't remember this bit at all either. So we'll have to see.
Somewhere in all this, Niall remembers that Lillith, creepy rapist Lillith, gave him a gift.
Lillith’s gift. My hand went at once to my own collar. Beneath the wedding finery was a matching tooth, hanging from its thong. I had nearly forgotten.
Varien bowed. “Forgive me, my lord; I intended no offense.”
I stared after him, bewildered by the sudden upsurge of emotions. Sorrow, anguish, emptiness…a horrible emptiness, as if someone had stolen from me a thing I had always desired, demanded, needed—before I could say what it was.
I was lost. Amid the throng of guests who had witnessed my marriage to Gisella, I was lost: an eye of emptiness in the middle of the maelstrom.
Now that IS interesting. It almost seems like Lillith's gift, very briefly, broke through the memory alteration. Is that on purpose? Lillith does seem to like to torture needlessly.
So Niall, overcome with emotion that he doesn't remember or understand, goes outside to freak out. He's interrupted.
“An easy target, for an enemy.”
I pushed myself up raggedly, still hanging onto the merlon. The torchlight from below set his gold to gleaming. All his gold; suddenly, I found I hated him for it. “I came out here to be alone.”
“I know.” Ian’s tone was even, unperturbed even by the belligerence in my own. “That is why I followed.”
I really do adore the sibling relationships in this book. Anyway, Ian asks what Varien says, and Niall tells him. This is interesting:
The torchlight polished Ian’s angular face. He was so much like Isolde. So much like our father. “There was a time I could have told you the truth of Varien. I grew to know him well in Atvia because I had no choice.” He paused. “Not in the way he wishes to share with you, but because we spent time together. But as for telling you, I was not certain you would listen. I was not certain you could.” He looked straight at me. “Can you, rujho? Can you hear the truth?”
The truth, of course, is that Gisella has fucked with Niall's mind. And Ian thinks it's time to do something to "destroy the taint."
Niall reacts with uncharacteristic cruelty:
“I’toshaa-ni?” I asked rudely. “Or does that lie solely within your province?”
“It lies within the province of every Cheysuli warrior,” he answered quietly. “Even within that of a lirless Cheysuli.”
He might as well have taken a knife and thrust it into my belly. I felt the invisible blade go home, twisting, twisting, until I nearly cried out with the pain. As it was, I clutched at the merlon. Sweat broke out on my face.
“Ku’reshtin—” I cursed him raggedly. “Look to yourself when you speak of taint. It was you Lillith kept.”
Oof. It hurts to see them hurt each other. But I like how there's a very clear difference between Niall's words and Ian's. And Niall isn't done. When Ian expresses that they have to fix this:
“We?” I asked bitterly, leaning against the merlon. “Do you speak of the a’saii?” I laughed in the face of his sudden shock. “Perhaps you do desire the Lion; perhaps Ceinn and the others have found a willing substitute for me.”
“The gods forgive you for that,” he whispered. “How can you think it of me? I am your liege man—”
“You leave out brother,” I said harshly. “Is it because we only share a father that you discount the kinship? Is it because I am Homanan and Solindish that you brush aside the other blood between us?” I laughed. “Why not? Ceinn is willing to let that be reason enough to drag me out of a throne I cannot yet claim as my own. Do you abet him? Do you abet the a’saii?”
Of course he doesn't. And Ian gets a pretty great speech here:
His posture was so rigid I thought he might break. “Because I do—not—want—it.” He thrust the words out between clenched teeth. “And one day, you will understand why. One day, I think you will beg me to take the Lion from you.” He put his cup into my hand. “But even when you beg, I will not take it. Because I am the Lion’s shadow…not the Lion himself. I leave that title to you.”
He turns and leaves. Niall, immediately, starts begging him not to go. But Ian either doesn't hear him or doesn't answer. (Unreliable narrator, of course, Ian's been too consistently characterized to ever willingly ignore his brother in pain, even if Niall is lashing out.)
Niall is spiraling. He's feeling distraught, and broken, and empty. He ends up throwing his empty wine glass away and wishes he could throw himself away so easily. He leaves instead.
The chapter ends here.
We rejoin Niall and Gisella. He's still thinking about what happened between Isolde and Ceinn, and Isolde's face when she told Ceinn there'd be no child. He's thinking about Gisella's pregnancy and oh...well...
Holding Gisella’s hand, I looked down upon my wife and the child who swelled her body. Fruit of a man’s labors, and a sign of fertility so necessary to the House of Homana. And yet—it seemed I could hardly recall the first time we had lain together. Only the faintest flicker of a fleeting memory that told me once I had known someone other than Gisella.
Inwardly, I grimaced. I had hardly kept myself celibate before sailing to Atvia. No doubt what I recalled so dimly were the women who did not matter, being more interested in who I was rather than in what I could do to pleasure them.
And now we see what Gisella really did to Niall. And why Niall hasn't even thought to ask about Shea, Liam and Deirdre's fates. He doesn't remember them. And it also explains why Ian hasn't said anything: he probably doesn't know. Gisella had acted so quickly, so soon after they reunited, that Niall never had a chance to even mention that he loved someone else.
Ugh, Donal's here too, and Niall goes into considerable detail when describing his crimson Cheysuli leathers, and circlet of gold and rubies. Donal's also wearing that goddamn sword. God, I have been SO HAPPY that we hadn't seen that fucking thing for so long. Fuck that sword.
In a series full of prophecies and Chosen Ones, Donal annoys me most. It's probably irrational, but no other single character gets as much shilling and special treatment. Not even Kellin, and Kellin is the final product of all this bizarre marriage/bloodline shenanigans, the man meant to father a Firstborn with an Ihlini.
Ugh, more shilling:
My father did not move about the room; he let the room come to him. Quietly he stood near one of the groined archways and received those who wished to have word with him. He might have done it from the chair upon the dais, next to me. But it was a mark of his nature that he did not, preferring to stay away from such trappings as thrones and trumpeted announcements of his arrival. That he wore the sword surprised me; only rarely did he clasp the belt around his hips. Only rarely did he ever put hand to hilt, as if reluctant to display his absolute mastery of it.
Of course, he would never admit to being the master; rather, the servant. He had told me how once the brilliant ruby, the Mujhar’s Eye, had been perverted by Ihlini magic into a thing of ugliness. A dead black stone, dull and lusterless, had sat within the golden pommel prongs. For nearly all of the years of Carillon’s rule the stone had remained dull black.
Until the day Donal put his hand upon it, and it came blazing back to life.
Are you seriously still trying to sell me on this whole burden of kingship bullshit?! I MIGHT accept that line of angst for certain later protagonists (particularly Brennan), but not Donal. Donal has been nothing but advantaged by his position.
And I still hate that fucking sword. Honestly, and you'll probably have to take my word for it, but it doesn't really with the overall story. It's TOO openly magic, I guess. Which is a weird complaint for a series with shapeshifters and sorcerers, I know, but it's the closest I can come to putting my irritation in words.
Cheysuli and Ihlini powers aside, this series is basically a story about dynasties and kings. And early on, the sword represented that more than anything else. It was a symbol of rank, given to Carillon before the series started as a representation of his status. It was made by Hale, sure, and thus had some tragic irony in its existence. But it was also the one thing that Carillon was able to keep in his exile.
It's significant, but in a mundane sense. But now with Donal, it's basically Excalibur. Which makes NO fucking sense. Hale wasn't a fucking wizard. There's NO indicator that Cheysuli have weird powers with gems (if anything, it'd have made far more sense if the sword had been an Ihlini relic won in combat.) If there was some greater historical significance, where it belonged to the Firstborn or very early proto-Cheysuli, it would suit better.
But nope. Hale just made a magic, bloodline sensing ruby. What the fuck ever.
There's apparently a legend about the fucking thing:
There is a legend within the clans that a sword made of Cheysuli craftsmanship bears Cheysuli magic, and knows the hand of its master even when the master is unknowing, he had told me. The gods know I was aware my grandsire had made that sword, but it was for Shaine, I thought; for the Mujhar who began the qu’mahlin that nearly destroyed our race. Shaine gave it to Carillon, who bore the blade for all the years of his exile and all the years of his rule. Only when he was dead did it come into my keeping.
Seriously, why isn't anyone reacting to the fact that Hale apparently made a fucking sentient sword that can recognize true rulership?
I've said before that it was really offensive that Alix's special heritage came from white princess Lindir. It would have made FAR more sense if the Old Blood came from Hale. Then we'd have a built in excuse for a) why Finn got away with so much bullshit, b) why people were willing to entertain the idea of Alix and Finn marrying despite being half siblings, and c) would explain why Finn is the character that we see most often resorting to earth magic, like mental delving and trap-link hunting.
Anyway, this leads into Niall thinking about how they lost the sword and got it back with Finn's death. And how the sword was used to kill Osric and put Alaric in power. He thinks about all the people who are dead in the name of the prophecy.
Fair point that one. You'd best get used to it. We're going to have a pretty substantial death toll going forward.
Niall is jolted out of his thoughts when he sees Isolde, so he goes to talk to her. She's pretty anguished and not really inclined to talk to Niall. She recognizes that none of this is his fault, but well, she did just kinda verbally divorce her husband for him.
Poor Niall tries to help, but in the way of clueless twenty-year-old brother, kind of makes it worse:
Sighing deeply, I took her into my arms and crushed her against my chest. She was rigid, denying herself comfort, until I rested my cheek on her hair and told her I would forgive her if she went back to Ceinn.
“Go back!” She pulled away to stare up at me. “How can you say that after what he has said?”
“Because I know what else he has said.” And I told her.
I thought it would help. I thought it would make her happy to know her cheysul genuinely cared, not intending to use her merely because of who she was. But I misjudged her. I misjudged her badly.
Hey dude, sure, you're the primary target here, but Ceinn showed Isolde a MASSIVE amount of disrespect through his scheming. He basically tried to use her as an instrument against her family, without remotely considering that she loves them. He's a dick.
Isolde is mad because she thinks Niall is valuing his life so little. He's dismissive of the threat: he can't imagine the a'saii are that much of a threat. They're in the open now and they're only a small group.
Don't underestimate what a small group of racial supremacists can do.
And also, well:
She shook her head. “I will not take the chance.”
“’Solde—”
“No.” She nearly choked on the word. “How can I, rujho? I already bear his child!”
The weapon Ceinn can use already exists. As per usual, in these sorts of books, there's no mention of abortion as a possibility. Even if it's just to give Isolde an opportunity to say she wants to keep the child. She has no intention of letting Ceinn know about it. Niall is safe for now, because Ceinn's schemes are centered on Ian and Ian would never agree to overthrow Niall. But this would be an alternate candidate. One they can control.
...I think he might figure it out in nine months, Isolde.
And Niall points that out.
I was touched by her resolve, deeply touched, but could not ignore the brutal truth of the undeniable transience of that resolve. “’Solde, in a month—two, three—the child will begin to show. What will you say to him then?”
She stood very straight before me. “In a month or two or three, perhaps you will have cut out this canker in our midst.”
Whoa, Isolde is fucking badass. Because what she's basically saying, and Niall hears it loud and clear, is that she expects that Niall will kill her husband. And she's giving him tacit approval to do it.
They do get a sweet moment though:
I tried to swallow down the painful lump in my throat. “Cheysuli i’halla shansu,” I said thickly. I could think of nothing more fitting than wishing upon my Cheysuli sister the peace of the race she served so faithfully.
’Solde smiled a little. And then she put out her hand—palm-up, fingers spread—and made the eloquent gesture that had the ordering of an entire race. “Tahlmorra,” she said quietly, and then she walked out of the hall.
The frustrating part of the later half of the series is watching characters who are actually reasonably likeable and sympathetic willingly suffer over and over again for this fucking prophecy.
After this, though, Niall gets accosted by the Atvian ambassador, Varien. He is, as always, sleazy and gross.
But hey, apparently he's also gay.
Teeth showed briefly, so briefly, as he laughed silently. And then the laughter was gone, leaving in its wake a cool, quiet amusement. “My lord, let us agree the lady is—of divergent humors. Because of these humors, it is entirely possible she will not always be a willing partner.” He paused delicately and lifted the cup to his lips. But he did not drink. “Bedpartner, my lord.”
I looked at my wife. “That is something between Gisella and me, envoy.”
“My lord, of course.” He bowed just enough to emphasize his subservience. “But with you I feel I must be completely frank.” Smiling, he said, “If Gisella ceases to please you, I can show you another way.”
Our first bit of express queer rep, folks. Ya-fucking-hoo.
...Niall is pretty hilariously clueless though.
In distaste, I frowned at him. “Do I hear you aright? On the day of my wedding you offer other women to me?”
“Not—entirely.” The smile did not fade. “My lord, let us say I have admired you greatly since first we met. Admired, respected—desired, my lord.”
My fingers slipped on the cup; I nearly dropped it. But I recovered my grasp and clenched it tightly, so tightly my hand shook, and wine slopped over the rim to splatter against the floor. “What did you say?”
“I said I desired you, my lord.” He made no indication of shame, regret, embarrassment. His tone was perfectly controlled, as if every day he said such to a man.
As perhaps he does. Incredulously, I stared at him. I was too shocked to be angry.
I don't actually know what the Cheysuli or Homanan position on homosexuality is.
I wanted to shout at him that what he offered was worthy of execution, but I did not. Not before so many people; before Gisella, my father, my mother. I wanted to tell him that what he offered was worth his ostracism; at the very least I could send him home. But something held me back. Something shut up my mouth and chased the words back down my throat to my belly, where they twisted and tangled and bound up my guts with bile.
I'm still not sure. I feel like Niall's offense here might simply be because Varien had the nerve to proposition the Heir of Homana at his own wedding. I hope so.
If I'm not mistaken, there will be a more sympathetic gay couple introduced toward the end of this book. I don't recall Niall showing any disgust or revulsion there. But I actually didn't remember this bit at all either. So we'll have to see.
Somewhere in all this, Niall remembers that Lillith, creepy rapist Lillith, gave him a gift.
Lillith’s gift. My hand went at once to my own collar. Beneath the wedding finery was a matching tooth, hanging from its thong. I had nearly forgotten.
Varien bowed. “Forgive me, my lord; I intended no offense.”
I stared after him, bewildered by the sudden upsurge of emotions. Sorrow, anguish, emptiness…a horrible emptiness, as if someone had stolen from me a thing I had always desired, demanded, needed—before I could say what it was.
I was lost. Amid the throng of guests who had witnessed my marriage to Gisella, I was lost: an eye of emptiness in the middle of the maelstrom.
Now that IS interesting. It almost seems like Lillith's gift, very briefly, broke through the memory alteration. Is that on purpose? Lillith does seem to like to torture needlessly.
So Niall, overcome with emotion that he doesn't remember or understand, goes outside to freak out. He's interrupted.
“An easy target, for an enemy.”
I pushed myself up raggedly, still hanging onto the merlon. The torchlight from below set his gold to gleaming. All his gold; suddenly, I found I hated him for it. “I came out here to be alone.”
“I know.” Ian’s tone was even, unperturbed even by the belligerence in my own. “That is why I followed.”
I really do adore the sibling relationships in this book. Anyway, Ian asks what Varien says, and Niall tells him. This is interesting:
The torchlight polished Ian’s angular face. He was so much like Isolde. So much like our father. “There was a time I could have told you the truth of Varien. I grew to know him well in Atvia because I had no choice.” He paused. “Not in the way he wishes to share with you, but because we spent time together. But as for telling you, I was not certain you would listen. I was not certain you could.” He looked straight at me. “Can you, rujho? Can you hear the truth?”
The truth, of course, is that Gisella has fucked with Niall's mind. And Ian thinks it's time to do something to "destroy the taint."
Niall reacts with uncharacteristic cruelty:
“I’toshaa-ni?” I asked rudely. “Or does that lie solely within your province?”
“It lies within the province of every Cheysuli warrior,” he answered quietly. “Even within that of a lirless Cheysuli.”
He might as well have taken a knife and thrust it into my belly. I felt the invisible blade go home, twisting, twisting, until I nearly cried out with the pain. As it was, I clutched at the merlon. Sweat broke out on my face.
“Ku’reshtin—” I cursed him raggedly. “Look to yourself when you speak of taint. It was you Lillith kept.”
Oof. It hurts to see them hurt each other. But I like how there's a very clear difference between Niall's words and Ian's. And Niall isn't done. When Ian expresses that they have to fix this:
“We?” I asked bitterly, leaning against the merlon. “Do you speak of the a’saii?” I laughed in the face of his sudden shock. “Perhaps you do desire the Lion; perhaps Ceinn and the others have found a willing substitute for me.”
“The gods forgive you for that,” he whispered. “How can you think it of me? I am your liege man—”
“You leave out brother,” I said harshly. “Is it because we only share a father that you discount the kinship? Is it because I am Homanan and Solindish that you brush aside the other blood between us?” I laughed. “Why not? Ceinn is willing to let that be reason enough to drag me out of a throne I cannot yet claim as my own. Do you abet him? Do you abet the a’saii?”
Of course he doesn't. And Ian gets a pretty great speech here:
His posture was so rigid I thought he might break. “Because I do—not—want—it.” He thrust the words out between clenched teeth. “And one day, you will understand why. One day, I think you will beg me to take the Lion from you.” He put his cup into my hand. “But even when you beg, I will not take it. Because I am the Lion’s shadow…not the Lion himself. I leave that title to you.”
He turns and leaves. Niall, immediately, starts begging him not to go. But Ian either doesn't hear him or doesn't answer. (Unreliable narrator, of course, Ian's been too consistently characterized to ever willingly ignore his brother in pain, even if Niall is lashing out.)
Niall is spiraling. He's feeling distraught, and broken, and empty. He ends up throwing his empty wine glass away and wishes he could throw himself away so easily. He leaves instead.
The chapter ends here.