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i_read_whatSo last time, Niall got to meet his sons and clear the air with his mother. But while things are personally better for him, things are still pretty chaotic with the country.
And indeed, we start the chapter with Niall musing on his lost freedom. He doesn't blame his parents, or the Cheysuli or even the Homanans. It's just that there is a shit load of stuff going on: imminent war, the plague, civil turmoil. He's at least managed to neutralize the a'saii for now. They might still prefer a candidate with more Cheysuli blood, but they can't argue with the gods.
Now the plague is new. There was maybe a mention or two of illness previously, but it's ramped up now in the Homanan countryside and even the Cheysuli keeps. There's a bounty on white wolves, which keeps getting higher.
Niall's wolf shape has white fur, if you recall. And many furriers aren't limiting themselves to white wolves, meaning that Niall, wisely, has been leaving Serri at the palace. And to be fair, Donal's been leaving Lorn behind too. They're not happy but it must be done.
And now that he's more mature, Niall's far busier:
My sons thrived, though I learned all too quickly demands upon my time by governmental matters stole away the hours I had meant to spend with them. I saw them infrequently at best; mostly I toiled with my father in sessions of strategy and hypothetical situations, learning how men plotted the course of war. Lessons in my youth had taught me Homana’s history of wars and civil turmoil; I began to see why they had been required of me. All too often one of the councillors tossed the name of this battle or that into the discussions to cite an example of proper procedure, thoughtful initiative, even dismal failure. All too often I heard the name of Carillon invoked…and then one day, in listening to yet another discourse on what the late Mujhar had done as well as why, I began to see the reasons for the invocations. My grandsire, flawed man that he was, as I had taken care to point out to my mother, had known instinctively what might win the battle, and so the war as well.
Things with Gisella are...continuing. She's difficult, and the servants apparently dislike serving her. She eats with the babies. And Niall has been quietly making sure that there are always two or more women with Gisella and the children. I think that's probably wise. He doesn't see her often, but she seems content.
As for marital relations:
I had not sought her bed since the birth of Brennan and Hart, even though enough time had passed to make it physically possible for her. It was repugnant to me. She was not—it was just that I could recall so little of the time before Serri had freed me from Gisella’s ensorcellment. The idea that I had been little more than a toy to her, performing at her whim, disturbed me deeply. I had no desire to learn how malleable I had been in her bed.
I can appreciate Niall's trauma, but I can see another issue with this whole idea...
That said, we immediately segue into Gisella coming into Niall's bedchamber. She removes her clothing and...well...
She smiled. There was no doubt I wanted her, even when I thought I could say I did not. Her nails scraped down and caught in the gold on my arms; I heard a metallic scratching as she dragged tips across the flowing shapes.
“Wolf,” she whispered, “I, too, can be a wolf….”
She pressed herself against me. I caught handfuls of her hair. I thought suddenly of Serri, curled at the foot of the bed. Serri, who shared my life through the link.
And then I did not care.
“Wolves,” she whispered. “Let it be as wolves.”
...ahem. Apparently, they're a little kinky.
That said, I do think there are ethical concerns here. Because, look, this might be ableist to say, but I don't remotely think that Gisella can meaningfully consent to anything.
Her comprehension level is that of a child. And it's been clear that a lot of this behavior, up to and including mind-whammying Niall to begin with, was taught to her by people who didn't have her best interest at heart.
Niall's not mind-whammied now. He knows Gisella's state. And I do think he's taking advantage. I don't hate him for it. I think it's very believable that in this setting, they don't have a meaningful understanding of brain damage, capacity and consent. I don't think Niall is intentionally a rapist.
But I think he is one. And that's a shame. It'll be Brennan (and Hart and Corin), not Niall, who gets the honor of being the first lead male character that isn't a rapist.
--
Anyway, the next morning, Ian bursts in to announce an emergency meeting and is pretty shocked to find Gisella in her brother's bed. He retreats quickly to wait outside. He waits blankfaced outside, and Niall thinks he knows what Ian's thinking.
I'd be interested to hear that actually. Is he horrified because of Gisella's condition? Is it more a reaction to the baggage between Gisella and Niall? Is it to do with his OWN trauma, from his captivity in Atvia?
But there are bigger fish to fry. There's word of the bastard. And in fact, there's a whole lot of men filling the council room. It's so crowded that Ian and Niall manage to slip in unnoticed. When they finally do get attention, there's a response of anticipation, apprehension and hostility.
There are three chairs on the dais. Donal's in the middle seat. Ian stands behind the left, and Niall goes to the right. There's a man in the center, named Elek. He's here to plead the case of Carillon's son. He thinks the son should inherit when Donal is dead.
He did not look like a rebel, a fanatic, a madman. He looked like a man, and not so much older than myself. He was brown-haired, brown-eyed, clean-shaven with an open, earnest face. His clothes were plain homespun: tunic and breeches, without embellishment. His kneeboots were muddied, but otherwise the leather was good. Not a nobleman, Elek, but neither was he a poor man. No doubt his wealth lay in his convictions.
I rose, scraping my chair against the dais. Silently I bade Serri stay by the chair; slowly I stepped off the dais and crossed the open center of the floor. In silence I stopped before Elek, marking how he wet his lips; how he had to look up to meet my eyes. And marking also the faintest tang of perspiration. Elek was nervous, now that I stood before him. And so I knew he had been exceedingly eloquent, championing the bastard’s right to usurp my place in the line of succession.
Niall isn't a child anymore. He's able to confront Elek in his own right. He asks why.
Elek seems far less eloquent in person. He says that the bastard is Carillon's son. And it's customary for the son to inherit from the father. They maintain that if Carillon had known about his son, he'd have named him.
Niall points out that he's the son of Carillon's daughter. And if women could rule in Homana, Aislinn would have ruled in her own right. He asks if the guy thinks Carillon would have disinherited his daughter to make way for a bastard son.
It's an interesting question, but I'd say no. He had specific reasons for naming Donal as heir. If anything, Aislinn was an afterthought. If ELEKTRA had had the son, that would have been one thing.
But there's no reason to speculate, really. There's someone who can say for sure:
“Had he known—”
“How do you know he did not?” I looked past Elek to Rowan. “My lord general, you are the best man to answer my question. Did Carillon know the woman had conceived?”
Elek wrenched his head around to stare in disbelief at Rowan; had he thought to make his case uncontested?
Niall, supporting my case for his bisexuality, notes that Rowan looks good in the crimson and black silk tunic. Rowan confirms that Carillon knew.
Elek tries to argue that Rowan is biased. He'd want a Cheysuli lord. But Niall points out "the histories". Apparently it's common knowledge now that Rowan is lirless, raised Homanan, and doesn't claim membership in a clan.
It's an argument that would sway a Cheysuli, who would immediately understand the ostracism Rowan faces. But would it sway a Homanan?
I looked again at Rowan. “He knew she had conceived, and yet he let her go."
“She requested it my lord.” Rowan was so calm, and yet I sensed a trace of amusement beneath the surface of his tone. Did he have so much faith in me?
“She requested his leave to go.”
“Aye, my lord. She wished to have the baby elsewhere, away from the brutalities of war. The Mujhar made no attempt to dissuade her.”
He did not notice his slip. The Mujhar. To him, no doubt, Carillon would always be the Mujhar. But I thought in this instance the mistake was a good one; Elek, turning again to look at Rowan, frowned a little, as if disturbed by the reference. A man who was so dedicated to Carillon that he still referred to him as Mujhar unconsciously emphasized where the depth of his loyalty lay.
Niall asks if Carillon ever said anything about bringing the child to him. He didn't. A bastard is a bastard, and Carillon intended to wed Electra.
Hm. I get why Roberson placed the conception of the bastard here in the timeline. The problem is that there really isn't room to make that work. We were there with Carillon for most of that time.
...well. Maybe. I think the window in which Finn was injured and at the Keep, after Electra was sent back to Bellam, there was a time skip. Maybe then it could fit. But it's pushing it.
Elek leaps onto that though: Carillon intended a son with Electra and never got one. And he has a potential witness too. The bastard's mother.
This is ridiculous. There's no basis for an illegitimate child to rule Homana. And the Council was a fucking non-entity for two books, and we're suddenly supposed to believe they can threaten Donal?
My father’s face was grim. “He did not say the woman was here.”
I glanced at him sharply. “Do you think that will change anything?”
“He is making a formal petition of the Homanan Council,” my father answered. “It is possible a majority of the members might agree with his claim in the name of Carillon’s bastard.”
“But you could overrule it.”
“And I would immediately do so. But it would have serious repercussions. It could split the council entirely, which would more or less split Homana. And the gods know I do not need a hostile, divided council, going into war.”
“What of the Cheysuli? Have they no stake in this?”
He did not appreciate my tone. “And will you speak of the a’saii? Or will Elek?”
a) Donal, you're the fucking king. You've been the fucking king for twenty years. Since when do you fucking bow to the fucking council?
b) So you don't want a divided council when you're going to war. But do you really think the Cheysuli, having finally gotten a Cheysuli monarch, are going to be okay with you setting your Cheysuli son aside for your bastard brother-in-law?
Yes, the a'saii are ridiculous. The Homanans would never put up with replacing Niall with Ian. But the Cheysuli aren't going to put up with replacing him with the bastard either!
AND given that you're going to war against a fucking IHLINI, you need the Cheysuli more than you need the council.
This is idiotic.
So enter Sarne:
At first I was surprised. She was short, too heavy, at least ten years older than my father. Her graying brown hair was pulled back from a sallow, puffy face into a knot at the back of her head. She wore, like Elek, simple homespun, but the quality was not as good.
A gray woman, I thought. Gray of dress, gray of hair, gray of spirit. Nothing in manner or appearance spoke of the young woman who had captured a Mujhar’s interest.
She stopped beside Elek. She curtsied awkwardly, as if she had forgotten how. Her eyes were downcast, yet as she raised her lids and looked at my father, I saw that her eyes were also gray. But a large, lovely gray, clear as glass and brilliant. No matter what else she was, she was not a stupid woman.
Well dude, if she's ten years older than your dad, she'd be eighteen in Song of Homana.
It's a shame really, because it might have been interesting to have more women in that book.
The timeline is fucked of course, as she claims she gave birth thirty-six years ago, when she was twenty. That would have been AFTER Elektra. Not before.
But Donal is an idiot for even entertaining this show. And of course, he plays into it:
“And now you come to us claiming he should be Prince of Homana in place of my son.”
“My lord—he is Carillon’s son.”
“Illegitimate son.” I knew how much the emphasis cost my father, with Ian seated beside him. It is not a Cheysuli custom to curse a bastard for his birth, and yet for my sake he had to.
“Bastard-born, aye,” she answered forthrightly. “But acknowledged by his father.”
The Mujhar nodded. “By his father. Which one? Carillon—or the crofter you married?”
Her sallow face was suffused with angry color. Her eyes glittered. I was put in mind, oddly, of my own mother, when I had seen her angry. The eyes were similar.
So here's something worth considering. Donal was eight years old in Song of Homana. He's about forty-four now. The bastard is thirty-six. Barring a death in battle or other unforeseen circumstance, there's no reason to think the bastard would live that much longer than Donal.
Then again, Carillon died at forty. Finn at fifty. So maybe I can see the point.
Anyway, Sarne claims she brought the boy to Carillon when Donal had gone to fetch Aislinn from the Crystal Isle.
Sarne nodded a little, as if she had anticipated the question. “You weren’t here, my lord. You’d gone to the Crystal Isle to fetch home the Princess of Homana.” She nodded again. “It was before you wed her. When the only son you claimed was also a bastard, like mine.”
I was on my feet at once. “You go too far,” I told her plainly, over the murmurs of the throng. “Give my brother no insult here.”
Her dignity manifested itself subtly, and yet I was aware of its presence. “Then give my son no insult here, my lord.” She took two steps forward; a short, heavy woman, yet powerful in her pride. “Do you think I don’t know Cheysuli custom? Do you think we put forward my son out of some perverse desire to steal the throne from you? No, my lord—we only want what’s right for him—what’s his right, because he is Carillon’s son! Bastard, is he? Aye, he is! And so is that man there!” She thrust a hand toward Ian. “So is that man who sits at the Mujhar’s side bastard-born, and suffering none because of it. Cheysuli he is, and therefore not pushed aside because his father never married his mother. And I say to you—what right have you to push aside my son? What right have you to refuse him his proper place? Carillon never did!”
...yeah, the logic doesn't hold here. Ian isn't an heir to the throne. If they were just asking for Carillon's son to have a title and respect and live in the castle, that's one thing.
But racism is racism. And that's the real motive here. Homanans want a Homanan king and they're willing to try to defy centuries of tradition to get one.
Sarne goes on the attack, claiming that Carillon wouldn't have told Donal of any claim made to her, because he'd already promised Donal the throne and feared retribution. She then brings up that Niall is married to a madwoman.
And okay, this feels a little prophetic:
Even my father was on his feet. “No more,” he said. “By the gods, woman, no more!”
“Why? Because I speak the truth? Because I dare speak the truth before all the others?” She whirled, facing the gathered men. “It’s true! All of it! My son was acknowledged by Carillon, who intended to give him a place. And now when we ask for that place, the Mujhar denies it to us.” Her body vibrated with the intensity of her emotions. “He fears my son. He fears what it means for the prophecy. But I say we are Homanan—we need no prophecy. Why not make Homana Homanan again?”
...now that's a slogan for a hat, isn't it?
So Sarne riles up the crowd. She has another accusation too: Carillon was killed by a Cheysuli who gave him poison.
Both Donal and I have the same reaction: How the hell did she know about the tetsu root?
Okay, Roberson. I'm listening.
But then violence breaks out, even as Sarne shouts to "Let the Lion remain Homanan!" Someone darts forward with a knife, Niall springs over the table to turn him aside, but he's too late. The man stabs Sarne, murders her, and claims he did it to prove loyalty to Donal.
Oh, that is an elegant bit of showmanship. Elek kills that man. Rowan is attacked as well. Elek turns toward Niall, still with a bloody knife in his hand. Niall actually thinks he only wants to curse him for Sarne's death, but things get even more chaotic. People bear Elek to the ground. Niall orders them not to kill him. Serri charges too. Niall is on the ground then, feeling a slice in his jerkin and a pain in his belly. His knife sinks into someone...
Elek, somehow. Even though we last saw him pinned under a bunch of people. Now folks are yelling that Niall murdered Elek. Ian is there, with Serri though, pulling Niall free from the crowd and behind the table.
Well, there you go, Donal. You shouldn't have even entertained this nonsense to begin with.
Donal's safe too (damnit), but he'd managed to pull Rowan out of the mess. Things are calming down. Rowan comments on the elaborate planning: because of course Sarne's killer was planted to frame Donal. He'd seen the killer speaking to Elek earlier. Sarne was a sacrifice. Now more Homanans will flock to the bastard's banner.
Donal has...a plan, I guess:
“How do we stop it?”
“We do not,” my father said. “Not physically. We do not dare, on the heels of what has happened today. All we can do is deny it.”
I shook my head. “Not a powerful weapon.”
“But the only one we have. We cannot afford another. All we can do is let this rivalry sort itself out—with what subtle aid we can give the sorting—until the Homanans will listen to reason.” He offered his arm and pulled me up.
I guess I don't disagree. But this was mishandled from the beginning. Rowan, bleakly, thinks that Carillon would have hated his son for this. Niall wonders if Rowan could slay Carillon's son.
Rowan smiled a little. “I am pledged to the Mujhar of Homana, and after that to his son. Carillon’s time is done; Donal is Mujhar. And the son I will serve is you.”
I grinned. “You will be an old, old man.”
My father grimaced. “And I will be a dead one. Let us speak of something else.” He turned as if to step out from behind the table and off the dais, but one of his guard approached.
I don't know, I rather like the idea.
Anyway, the guard has news: Solindish ships are sighted off the Crystal Isle. Hondarth is in danger. Donal plans to do as Carillon had done: he'll send his sons to Solinde, while he and Rowan will go to Hondarth. The Cheysuli will go with Ian and Niall.
I know the war with Solinde is primarily a war with Strahan, but I wonder how much of this would have been necessary if Carillon and Donal hadn't invaded Solinde last book based on the actions of a Homanan assassin. One that Donal knew about but never told anything else.
God Donal sucks.
Anyway, Niall's about to go off to war, and with that, the chapter and part 2 of the book, ends.
And indeed, we start the chapter with Niall musing on his lost freedom. He doesn't blame his parents, or the Cheysuli or even the Homanans. It's just that there is a shit load of stuff going on: imminent war, the plague, civil turmoil. He's at least managed to neutralize the a'saii for now. They might still prefer a candidate with more Cheysuli blood, but they can't argue with the gods.
Now the plague is new. There was maybe a mention or two of illness previously, but it's ramped up now in the Homanan countryside and even the Cheysuli keeps. There's a bounty on white wolves, which keeps getting higher.
Niall's wolf shape has white fur, if you recall. And many furriers aren't limiting themselves to white wolves, meaning that Niall, wisely, has been leaving Serri at the palace. And to be fair, Donal's been leaving Lorn behind too. They're not happy but it must be done.
And now that he's more mature, Niall's far busier:
My sons thrived, though I learned all too quickly demands upon my time by governmental matters stole away the hours I had meant to spend with them. I saw them infrequently at best; mostly I toiled with my father in sessions of strategy and hypothetical situations, learning how men plotted the course of war. Lessons in my youth had taught me Homana’s history of wars and civil turmoil; I began to see why they had been required of me. All too often one of the councillors tossed the name of this battle or that into the discussions to cite an example of proper procedure, thoughtful initiative, even dismal failure. All too often I heard the name of Carillon invoked…and then one day, in listening to yet another discourse on what the late Mujhar had done as well as why, I began to see the reasons for the invocations. My grandsire, flawed man that he was, as I had taken care to point out to my mother, had known instinctively what might win the battle, and so the war as well.
Things with Gisella are...continuing. She's difficult, and the servants apparently dislike serving her. She eats with the babies. And Niall has been quietly making sure that there are always two or more women with Gisella and the children. I think that's probably wise. He doesn't see her often, but she seems content.
As for marital relations:
I had not sought her bed since the birth of Brennan and Hart, even though enough time had passed to make it physically possible for her. It was repugnant to me. She was not—it was just that I could recall so little of the time before Serri had freed me from Gisella’s ensorcellment. The idea that I had been little more than a toy to her, performing at her whim, disturbed me deeply. I had no desire to learn how malleable I had been in her bed.
I can appreciate Niall's trauma, but I can see another issue with this whole idea...
That said, we immediately segue into Gisella coming into Niall's bedchamber. She removes her clothing and...well...
She smiled. There was no doubt I wanted her, even when I thought I could say I did not. Her nails scraped down and caught in the gold on my arms; I heard a metallic scratching as she dragged tips across the flowing shapes.
“Wolf,” she whispered, “I, too, can be a wolf….”
She pressed herself against me. I caught handfuls of her hair. I thought suddenly of Serri, curled at the foot of the bed. Serri, who shared my life through the link.
And then I did not care.
“Wolves,” she whispered. “Let it be as wolves.”
...ahem. Apparently, they're a little kinky.
That said, I do think there are ethical concerns here. Because, look, this might be ableist to say, but I don't remotely think that Gisella can meaningfully consent to anything.
Her comprehension level is that of a child. And it's been clear that a lot of this behavior, up to and including mind-whammying Niall to begin with, was taught to her by people who didn't have her best interest at heart.
Niall's not mind-whammied now. He knows Gisella's state. And I do think he's taking advantage. I don't hate him for it. I think it's very believable that in this setting, they don't have a meaningful understanding of brain damage, capacity and consent. I don't think Niall is intentionally a rapist.
But I think he is one. And that's a shame. It'll be Brennan (and Hart and Corin), not Niall, who gets the honor of being the first lead male character that isn't a rapist.
--
Anyway, the next morning, Ian bursts in to announce an emergency meeting and is pretty shocked to find Gisella in her brother's bed. He retreats quickly to wait outside. He waits blankfaced outside, and Niall thinks he knows what Ian's thinking.
I'd be interested to hear that actually. Is he horrified because of Gisella's condition? Is it more a reaction to the baggage between Gisella and Niall? Is it to do with his OWN trauma, from his captivity in Atvia?
But there are bigger fish to fry. There's word of the bastard. And in fact, there's a whole lot of men filling the council room. It's so crowded that Ian and Niall manage to slip in unnoticed. When they finally do get attention, there's a response of anticipation, apprehension and hostility.
There are three chairs on the dais. Donal's in the middle seat. Ian stands behind the left, and Niall goes to the right. There's a man in the center, named Elek. He's here to plead the case of Carillon's son. He thinks the son should inherit when Donal is dead.
He did not look like a rebel, a fanatic, a madman. He looked like a man, and not so much older than myself. He was brown-haired, brown-eyed, clean-shaven with an open, earnest face. His clothes were plain homespun: tunic and breeches, without embellishment. His kneeboots were muddied, but otherwise the leather was good. Not a nobleman, Elek, but neither was he a poor man. No doubt his wealth lay in his convictions.
I rose, scraping my chair against the dais. Silently I bade Serri stay by the chair; slowly I stepped off the dais and crossed the open center of the floor. In silence I stopped before Elek, marking how he wet his lips; how he had to look up to meet my eyes. And marking also the faintest tang of perspiration. Elek was nervous, now that I stood before him. And so I knew he had been exceedingly eloquent, championing the bastard’s right to usurp my place in the line of succession.
Niall isn't a child anymore. He's able to confront Elek in his own right. He asks why.
Elek seems far less eloquent in person. He says that the bastard is Carillon's son. And it's customary for the son to inherit from the father. They maintain that if Carillon had known about his son, he'd have named him.
Niall points out that he's the son of Carillon's daughter. And if women could rule in Homana, Aislinn would have ruled in her own right. He asks if the guy thinks Carillon would have disinherited his daughter to make way for a bastard son.
It's an interesting question, but I'd say no. He had specific reasons for naming Donal as heir. If anything, Aislinn was an afterthought. If ELEKTRA had had the son, that would have been one thing.
But there's no reason to speculate, really. There's someone who can say for sure:
“Had he known—”
“How do you know he did not?” I looked past Elek to Rowan. “My lord general, you are the best man to answer my question. Did Carillon know the woman had conceived?”
Elek wrenched his head around to stare in disbelief at Rowan; had he thought to make his case uncontested?
Niall, supporting my case for his bisexuality, notes that Rowan looks good in the crimson and black silk tunic. Rowan confirms that Carillon knew.
Elek tries to argue that Rowan is biased. He'd want a Cheysuli lord. But Niall points out "the histories". Apparently it's common knowledge now that Rowan is lirless, raised Homanan, and doesn't claim membership in a clan.
It's an argument that would sway a Cheysuli, who would immediately understand the ostracism Rowan faces. But would it sway a Homanan?
I looked again at Rowan. “He knew she had conceived, and yet he let her go."
“She requested it my lord.” Rowan was so calm, and yet I sensed a trace of amusement beneath the surface of his tone. Did he have so much faith in me?
“She requested his leave to go.”
“Aye, my lord. She wished to have the baby elsewhere, away from the brutalities of war. The Mujhar made no attempt to dissuade her.”
He did not notice his slip. The Mujhar. To him, no doubt, Carillon would always be the Mujhar. But I thought in this instance the mistake was a good one; Elek, turning again to look at Rowan, frowned a little, as if disturbed by the reference. A man who was so dedicated to Carillon that he still referred to him as Mujhar unconsciously emphasized where the depth of his loyalty lay.
Niall asks if Carillon ever said anything about bringing the child to him. He didn't. A bastard is a bastard, and Carillon intended to wed Electra.
Hm. I get why Roberson placed the conception of the bastard here in the timeline. The problem is that there really isn't room to make that work. We were there with Carillon for most of that time.
...well. Maybe. I think the window in which Finn was injured and at the Keep, after Electra was sent back to Bellam, there was a time skip. Maybe then it could fit. But it's pushing it.
Elek leaps onto that though: Carillon intended a son with Electra and never got one. And he has a potential witness too. The bastard's mother.
This is ridiculous. There's no basis for an illegitimate child to rule Homana. And the Council was a fucking non-entity for two books, and we're suddenly supposed to believe they can threaten Donal?
My father’s face was grim. “He did not say the woman was here.”
I glanced at him sharply. “Do you think that will change anything?”
“He is making a formal petition of the Homanan Council,” my father answered. “It is possible a majority of the members might agree with his claim in the name of Carillon’s bastard.”
“But you could overrule it.”
“And I would immediately do so. But it would have serious repercussions. It could split the council entirely, which would more or less split Homana. And the gods know I do not need a hostile, divided council, going into war.”
“What of the Cheysuli? Have they no stake in this?”
He did not appreciate my tone. “And will you speak of the a’saii? Or will Elek?”
a) Donal, you're the fucking king. You've been the fucking king for twenty years. Since when do you fucking bow to the fucking council?
b) So you don't want a divided council when you're going to war. But do you really think the Cheysuli, having finally gotten a Cheysuli monarch, are going to be okay with you setting your Cheysuli son aside for your bastard brother-in-law?
Yes, the a'saii are ridiculous. The Homanans would never put up with replacing Niall with Ian. But the Cheysuli aren't going to put up with replacing him with the bastard either!
AND given that you're going to war against a fucking IHLINI, you need the Cheysuli more than you need the council.
This is idiotic.
So enter Sarne:
At first I was surprised. She was short, too heavy, at least ten years older than my father. Her graying brown hair was pulled back from a sallow, puffy face into a knot at the back of her head. She wore, like Elek, simple homespun, but the quality was not as good.
A gray woman, I thought. Gray of dress, gray of hair, gray of spirit. Nothing in manner or appearance spoke of the young woman who had captured a Mujhar’s interest.
She stopped beside Elek. She curtsied awkwardly, as if she had forgotten how. Her eyes were downcast, yet as she raised her lids and looked at my father, I saw that her eyes were also gray. But a large, lovely gray, clear as glass and brilliant. No matter what else she was, she was not a stupid woman.
Well dude, if she's ten years older than your dad, she'd be eighteen in Song of Homana.
It's a shame really, because it might have been interesting to have more women in that book.
The timeline is fucked of course, as she claims she gave birth thirty-six years ago, when she was twenty. That would have been AFTER Elektra. Not before.
But Donal is an idiot for even entertaining this show. And of course, he plays into it:
“And now you come to us claiming he should be Prince of Homana in place of my son.”
“My lord—he is Carillon’s son.”
“Illegitimate son.” I knew how much the emphasis cost my father, with Ian seated beside him. It is not a Cheysuli custom to curse a bastard for his birth, and yet for my sake he had to.
“Bastard-born, aye,” she answered forthrightly. “But acknowledged by his father.”
The Mujhar nodded. “By his father. Which one? Carillon—or the crofter you married?”
Her sallow face was suffused with angry color. Her eyes glittered. I was put in mind, oddly, of my own mother, when I had seen her angry. The eyes were similar.
So here's something worth considering. Donal was eight years old in Song of Homana. He's about forty-four now. The bastard is thirty-six. Barring a death in battle or other unforeseen circumstance, there's no reason to think the bastard would live that much longer than Donal.
Then again, Carillon died at forty. Finn at fifty. So maybe I can see the point.
Anyway, Sarne claims she brought the boy to Carillon when Donal had gone to fetch Aislinn from the Crystal Isle.
Sarne nodded a little, as if she had anticipated the question. “You weren’t here, my lord. You’d gone to the Crystal Isle to fetch home the Princess of Homana.” She nodded again. “It was before you wed her. When the only son you claimed was also a bastard, like mine.”
I was on my feet at once. “You go too far,” I told her plainly, over the murmurs of the throng. “Give my brother no insult here.”
Her dignity manifested itself subtly, and yet I was aware of its presence. “Then give my son no insult here, my lord.” She took two steps forward; a short, heavy woman, yet powerful in her pride. “Do you think I don’t know Cheysuli custom? Do you think we put forward my son out of some perverse desire to steal the throne from you? No, my lord—we only want what’s right for him—what’s his right, because he is Carillon’s son! Bastard, is he? Aye, he is! And so is that man there!” She thrust a hand toward Ian. “So is that man who sits at the Mujhar’s side bastard-born, and suffering none because of it. Cheysuli he is, and therefore not pushed aside because his father never married his mother. And I say to you—what right have you to push aside my son? What right have you to refuse him his proper place? Carillon never did!”
...yeah, the logic doesn't hold here. Ian isn't an heir to the throne. If they were just asking for Carillon's son to have a title and respect and live in the castle, that's one thing.
But racism is racism. And that's the real motive here. Homanans want a Homanan king and they're willing to try to defy centuries of tradition to get one.
Sarne goes on the attack, claiming that Carillon wouldn't have told Donal of any claim made to her, because he'd already promised Donal the throne and feared retribution. She then brings up that Niall is married to a madwoman.
And okay, this feels a little prophetic:
Even my father was on his feet. “No more,” he said. “By the gods, woman, no more!”
“Why? Because I speak the truth? Because I dare speak the truth before all the others?” She whirled, facing the gathered men. “It’s true! All of it! My son was acknowledged by Carillon, who intended to give him a place. And now when we ask for that place, the Mujhar denies it to us.” Her body vibrated with the intensity of her emotions. “He fears my son. He fears what it means for the prophecy. But I say we are Homanan—we need no prophecy. Why not make Homana Homanan again?”
...now that's a slogan for a hat, isn't it?
So Sarne riles up the crowd. She has another accusation too: Carillon was killed by a Cheysuli who gave him poison.
Both Donal and I have the same reaction: How the hell did she know about the tetsu root?
Okay, Roberson. I'm listening.
But then violence breaks out, even as Sarne shouts to "Let the Lion remain Homanan!" Someone darts forward with a knife, Niall springs over the table to turn him aside, but he's too late. The man stabs Sarne, murders her, and claims he did it to prove loyalty to Donal.
Oh, that is an elegant bit of showmanship. Elek kills that man. Rowan is attacked as well. Elek turns toward Niall, still with a bloody knife in his hand. Niall actually thinks he only wants to curse him for Sarne's death, but things get even more chaotic. People bear Elek to the ground. Niall orders them not to kill him. Serri charges too. Niall is on the ground then, feeling a slice in his jerkin and a pain in his belly. His knife sinks into someone...
Elek, somehow. Even though we last saw him pinned under a bunch of people. Now folks are yelling that Niall murdered Elek. Ian is there, with Serri though, pulling Niall free from the crowd and behind the table.
Well, there you go, Donal. You shouldn't have even entertained this nonsense to begin with.
Donal's safe too (damnit), but he'd managed to pull Rowan out of the mess. Things are calming down. Rowan comments on the elaborate planning: because of course Sarne's killer was planted to frame Donal. He'd seen the killer speaking to Elek earlier. Sarne was a sacrifice. Now more Homanans will flock to the bastard's banner.
Donal has...a plan, I guess:
“How do we stop it?”
“We do not,” my father said. “Not physically. We do not dare, on the heels of what has happened today. All we can do is deny it.”
I shook my head. “Not a powerful weapon.”
“But the only one we have. We cannot afford another. All we can do is let this rivalry sort itself out—with what subtle aid we can give the sorting—until the Homanans will listen to reason.” He offered his arm and pulled me up.
I guess I don't disagree. But this was mishandled from the beginning. Rowan, bleakly, thinks that Carillon would have hated his son for this. Niall wonders if Rowan could slay Carillon's son.
Rowan smiled a little. “I am pledged to the Mujhar of Homana, and after that to his son. Carillon’s time is done; Donal is Mujhar. And the son I will serve is you.”
I grinned. “You will be an old, old man.”
My father grimaced. “And I will be a dead one. Let us speak of something else.” He turned as if to step out from behind the table and off the dais, but one of his guard approached.
I don't know, I rather like the idea.
Anyway, the guard has news: Solindish ships are sighted off the Crystal Isle. Hondarth is in danger. Donal plans to do as Carillon had done: he'll send his sons to Solinde, while he and Rowan will go to Hondarth. The Cheysuli will go with Ian and Niall.
I know the war with Solinde is primarily a war with Strahan, but I wonder how much of this would have been necessary if Carillon and Donal hadn't invaded Solinde last book based on the actions of a Homanan assassin. One that Donal knew about but never told anything else.
God Donal sucks.
Anyway, Niall's about to go off to war, and with that, the chapter and part 2 of the book, ends.