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i_read_whatSo last time, we got to know each of our lead characters better as they bitched about their family dynamics and punishment to an appropriate listener. I'm sure now that they've got that out of their system, they'll behave themselves...
So we start the chapter with Hart bitching. It's apparently been two days, and he's sick of being mewed up in his chamber like a disobedient child.
Corin's jealousy and insecurity can be tedious, but I appreciate his way with a burn. He points out that Hart is actually in HIS chamber, and the idea is that Hart was a disobedient child.
Hart though is irrepressible:
"Aye, well, enough is enough," Hart said crossly. "I think he has forgotten us. Surely he could not expect us to remain night and day in our chambers."
"Sure he could," Corin corrected. "I am no fonder of my chamber than you of yours, but there appears to be no solution—" He stopped short. "I know that expression, Hart—what are you thinking?"
Hart grinned. "That we are Cheysuli warriors, and there is indeed a solution. That it is time we employed it." He scratched idly at his sleeveless Cheysuli jerkin, dyed a soft amber brown; the bound flesh beneath it itched. "That it is time I found a game before I lose my wits."
"I thought you had no money."
"There are the twenty-five crowns you owe me."
Corin actually does have the money, and more besides. He's not the gambler, or apparently gambling addict, that Hart is. Because this does seem a bit compulsive.
Hart wants to go find a game. Corin notes that their father expressly forbid it. Hart knows exactly how to talk Corin into it too:
Corin scratched slowly at his jaw, considering. "What of Brennan?"
"I asked." Hart shrugged. "He swore, called me a fool and every other name he could think of, Homanan and Old Tongue alike—and said he would leave us to our folly."
"Us." Corin scowled. "He was so certain I would go?"
"Quite certain."
"Ku'reshtin," Corin commented without heat. "Well, I think he has the right of it." He let Kiri get out of his lap, then stood. "Where do we go, rujho? Not The Rampant Lion again."
Really, Corin? This is why I find your brother issues kind of tedious. You don't even know if he actually SAID that. Brennan is a dick enough, sure, but Hart is also blatantly playing you.
Anyway, Hart doesn't intend to go to the Rampant Lion this time. That's where they'd be discovered. He wants to go to the Midden. This takes Corin aback, as apparently the Midden is the nasty part of town, full of thieves, assassins and cutpurses. Corin gives in, but intends to change into leathers, saying that if he's going to go out there, he's going as a Cheysuli.
The lir are coming too, if only to save them from themselves. They sneak out. If only to run into a shadowy figure:
"I knew you would come this way." Brennan's voice; he opened the door partway and let the diffused light of bailey torches spill into the tower. Corin blinked. Kiri's eyes reflected oddly in the distorted light. Sleeta was a plush velvet shadow in the darkness, golden eyes staring fixedly at Hart and Corin.
"Are you here to try and gainsay us?" Hart demanded. “Rujho—"
"No," Brennan said clearly. "Have I ever been able to stop you before?"
"Once," Hart said. "You tripped me; I hit my head and was knocked half senseless."
Corin snickered. Brennan nodded reminiscently. "But I caught you off-guard then, and I have not been able to do it since. We are too well-matched, now, in size and experience." He peered out the door. "I think the way is clear."
I enjoy Brennan. He'd be so obnoxious to have as a brother, I'd bet, but I find him entertaining. Anyway, of course, he's coming along. As we saw, he's a pompous dick who thinks he's got to look out for his idiot brothers. He does seem to be a bit calmer about the prospect of parental discipline this time, merely noting lightly that should their father catch them, he'll no doubt have them executed.
So our idiot princes head to the bad part of town, and I rather like the description here:
The cobbles under their boots were muffled beneath layers of dirt and the remains of old droppings, packed into the seams and hollows formed by rounded, time-worn bricks. The winding street smelled of old ale, urine, the close confinement of people unused to washing. In comers they heard scuttling and squeaking; occasionally the yowl of a torn cat protecting his territory.
The dwellings themselves were all of wood, set cheek-by-jowl in crooked comers and dogleg turnings. Candles glowed here and there, a lantern, occasionally a torch.
But the night held dominance.
We get some gratuitous Keely shilling here:
"Well-planned," Brennan muttered. "Jehan would be so proud."
"Perhaps we should have brought Keely instead of you," Hart retorted. "The gods know she has more willingness than you to explore the unknown."
"Perhaps you should have," Brennan agreed. "Then there would be four fools in place of three."
"Leave Keely out of it," Corin warned.
"She would have come," Hart said.
"Aye," Corin agreed. "And then we would have to concern ourselves with how many rude-speaking men she would be likely to cut, to teach them better manners."
Yes, we get it. Keely's not like other girls. We'll get to her book eventually, Roberson.
(Also I think it's funny that, for all that Corin is supposedly the brother who respects Keely most as an equal, he's also most likely to want to exclude her.)
Hart finally picks a tavern. It's apparently a shit hole by even Midden standards. Brennan wants to lay some ground rules:
"That we leave our knives sheathed," Brennan said clearly, catching Corin's eyes as well. "In this sort of place, if we show steel we will likely have it fed to us."
"By the gods, Brennan, you will have me thinking you are a woman instead of warrior!" Corin exclaimed in disgust. "Have it fed to us, indeed—we are Cheysuli, Brennan."
"We are also in a part of Mujhara where I doubt very much anyone will be much impressed by our rank or race," Brennan answered grimly.
Hart sighed and glanced over at the tavern. "I have no intention of showing steel, rujho—only enough gold to buy my way into a game."
"And I am willing to wager the game will be much different here than at The Rampant Lion."
Brennan is a killjoy but it's worth noting that, in the last fight, Corin's narrative said something about this being his first real battle. These aren't the tried and true warriors of Donal's day. Even Niall and Ian had seen more violence at this age.
Hart leads them into "the Pig in the Poke". Brennan, old woman mutters that they should have left the horses closer, while Corin retorts that it would just get them stolen. We get a good look at the surroundings:
The Pig in the Poke was as unlike The Rampant Lion as could be. It was unlike any tavern the princes had ever been in before, and quite suddenly they came to the realization that their lives had been sheltered indeed. A few lanterns, stinking of cheap oil, depended from the roof-tree, which littered the floor liberally with debris and divots hacked out with knives and swords. The candles were tallow, not wax,-and next to useless, giving off a smudged, greasy flame that burned only sluggishly.
Thick smoke climbed up the limbs of the tree to hang in the air like a blanket. The common room stank of old ale, stale beer and unwashed bodies, as well as desperation and hostility.
Hart indicated an empty table not far from the door. It was stained dark from age and spilled liquor, sticky with wine residue, scarred from weapons and spurs. Hart caught hold of a bench and dragged it over the earthen floor made uneven and treacherous by divots and hardpacked ridges. He sat down and placed his hands on the table; his fingers twitched, as if needing the rune-sticks and dice.
I do love the sense of time passing though this series. Imagine. This is an era where Cheysuli boys can be sheltered. Princes or not.
They're met by a very seedy looking tavern keeper who, recognizing their lir gold, notes they're far from their keep. He's definitely eyeing the lir gold hungrily. He welcomes them to the establishment, but says "their beasts" must stay outside. He won't have them "where decent men are drinking".
Yeah. This might be a bad fucking idea, guys.
And two of the boys seem to pick up on that:
One hand dipped below the tabletop and stayed there, until an unwavering stare from Brennan, across the table, made Corin take his hand away from his knife.
Brennan looked up at the tavern-keeper. "They are lir, not beasts."
The man shrugged wide shoulders. "Beasts, lir—what do I care what you call those sorcerous things from the netherworld? All I know is, I won't have 'em in here."
"Then perhaps you should not have us in here." Brennan stood deliberately.
Corin looked up at his waiting brother, then shoved his bench back to rise. He stopped. He lingered there, halfway, and looked at Hart. "Rujho—"
Hart made no move to join them, and the tavern-keeper laughed. "Still wanting your game, are you?" He nodded a little. "Aye, I can see it. So, it touches even the wondrous Cheysuli." He turned. "Baram—this Cheysuli be wanting a game."
"Hart," Brennan said quietly.
Hart shook his head. "Go, or stay. I stay."
Brennan tries to urge him out, noting that the place stinks of trouble and murder. (No beeswax though, sadly.) Corin sits back down, noting it's not so easy to murder a Cheysuli.
I don't know, there was an entire massacre during your grandfather's childhood, guys.
Brennan, muttering to himself, ends up sitting down too. Hart's the only one who will actually play though. It is starting to sound a little like gambling addiction territory:
Brennan shook his head. Corin, seeing Hart's intensity, indicated he would stay out of it as well. He and Brennan both had seen their middle brother in such a state before; it was better to let him play alone, against one or more opponents. He had little time for those who merely dabbled.
"One to one," Hart said intently, and the tavern-keeper set down the house casket.
Dude, this is a stupid fucking idea.
So this Baram guy and Hart play something called the "counting game". They go for a while and are evenly matched. Then...well...
Hart leaned forward. "Not good enough," he said. "Shall we make it more interesting?"
Baram looked at the pile of coins glinting by Hart's elbow. Their winnings were evenly split, with neither man showing dominance over the dice. "Aye," he said at last.
Hart tapped his pile. "All."
Hart loses. Then...
Hart frowned a little, tapped fingers on the table, nodded to himself. "Again," he said intently.
The Homanan slowly shook his head and pointed a crooked finger. "No gold, shapechanger. Nothing left to wager. Don't throw on promises. “
Hart tapped his right forefinger on the table. The sapphire signet flashed in the smudgy light. "I have something left."
"No," Brennan said sharply.
Baram looked at the ring, at Brennan, at Hart. And he laughed. "Done," he said, and threw the dice.
I feel like gambling your royal fucking signet is a really stupid idea. And Hart loses, again. Brennan prevents him from taking off the ring, pointing out that it signifies his title. Hart says he can have another made. UM. MAYBE? I don't think you want the fucking symbol of your rank out there. Didn't historical folk make seals and such with those things???
Brennan offers gold in place. Baram agrees, but he doesn't want the coins that Brennan is offering. He wants Hart's lir gold. Now THAT, of course is not good.
Hart's color was bad. "These—“ he stopped, wet his lips, touched his left armband in something very like a caress. He started over. "These were never at stake," he said, "never. I owe you, aye, and you will be paid—but not with these."
Brennan unlaced his belt-purse and threw it onto the table. It landed with a heavy thump and a satisfying clink of gold. "There. More than enough to cover what he owes you."
Baram's hand shot out, scooped up the purse, hid it somewhere on his person. "Now," he said, "I'm paid. But I'm still waiting for those, and there're enough of us here to see that you give 'em to me."
So yeah, Baram's not interested in fairness here. And he's got a whole damn tavern on his side. So we get to another bar fight! Woo-hoo!
The no knife ban is clearly done away with. This is really bad. And there's not likely to be rescue by the guards this time. We get fisticuffs. And they definitely read more brutal. Someone shoves a stool at Brennan's heels. He ends up calling mentally for Sleeta as he tries to get his balance. Corin gets pushed against the wall. Hart's actually doing fairly well against Baram, but...
The stench of spilled oil and greasy flame filled the common room. Someone cursed; another called that there was fire.
From outside the tavern came the scream of an angry mountain cat.
"Kill them, kill all of them!” the tavern-keeper shouted. "Kill them before they shift their shapes!"
One thing that I really like about this is that it's not clear who or what started the fire.
It's probably not Brennan though, as he's in a really rough spot:
Brennan, outnumbered, was slammed down against the floor. Beneath him, a wooden cup jammed against his spine, so that he writhed away from the pain; the knife was knocked out of his hand.
Defenseless, he kicked out and tried to twist away, but the two men had stretched him so that there was no leverage. All he could do was thrash helplessly as a faceless man bent down to slide the knife through leather, flesh, past muscle into the belly wall.
He dared not lurch upward. Dared not—gasping with effort, Brennan summoned everything he could of concentration, thrusting his consciousness out of the room, away, away, to somewhere deep in the heart of the earth.
Gods, gods— he cried in silent appeal, let the magic come—let the power be tapped—
Corin's doing better. He gets one guy in the belly and another by slicing through the tendons of his wrist.
Hart is encountering dirty fighting for the first time in his life:
Hart struggled, felt hands insinuating themselves between his legs; groping, trying to grab, to wrench, to rip, using tactics of the sort Hart, honorably trained, had never, ever considered.
Outraged, he threw an elbow that caught tile man in the face, smashed his nose; sent the Homanan tumbling backward, crying out.
Less beleaguered than Brennan and now twice as angry, Hart called up the earth magic and left behind his human form for the one with hooked beak and curving talons.
Oh. Actually. Here's something kind of cool. A hundred years ago. In Song of Homana, Carillon discussed Finn's lir shape. He talked about the idea of Finn losing himself in anger. This isn't something we saw followed up on very often, though it's possible that Donal had a moment like that in Hondarth with Sef and Aislinn. Niall was always pretty clear headed.
But...
Corin saw the flames, the smoke, the bodies. He saw the blurring of Hart's human form into the void that swallowed the space where he had stood a moment before; into the nothingness that was shed, replaced, made whole once again, only lacking the familiar shape of a man. Arms were wings, legs talons; the shout Hart began the shapechange with became the piercing cry of a hunting hawk—
—and was joined a moment later by the scream of a cat, as Brennan left behind Brennan to become an echo of his lir, tawny instead of black, but dangerous, so dangerous; so intent on his prey, as he raked claws across the nearest face, that Corin knew he had gone too far.
Too close, too close—oh, Brennan, no—not you—of all of us, not you—
Corin manages to get the fuck out of there. As he slams out of the tavern, smoke billows out. He calls to Kiri to get her to call on the other lir, to get them out of there, since they're too mindless to realize the danger.
It sounds really bad. Flame is climbing the walls, running out along the roof to touch the next dwelling. Oh no.
Hart staggers out, covered in ash. Brennan's not out yet. Corin blames Hart for this mess. Hart almost goes back in, before Brennan staggers out as well.
Coughing, he nearly fell. "Dead," he gasped. "Dead, or dying—gods, all of them—"
"And most of the street." Hart's voice was clogged with phlegm. He coughed, spat; hugged aching ribs.
"No reason for us to mimic them or it," Corin said firmly. "We have ourselves and our lir . . . I suggest we go."
Corin's probably right, but it feels a little callous. How far is that fire going to spread in this environment?
But there really isn't much they can do, and they're still in a shit ton of danger. They run for it, and the chapter ends.
I noted this in the chapter, but I really do like that, in the end, we don't know what caused the fire. It might have been one of the boys. It might have been their attackers. I don't think it's entirely the boys's fault Obviously, it wouldn't have happened if they hadn't been stupid enough to come. But no one deserves to be attacked and robbed, no matter how stupid they were. Baram, and his ilk, are the ones that made things violent.
But it's a messy situation. People will have died. Probably innocent people. And our characters are going to have to live with their role in that. It'll be interesting to see how that develops.
Credit where it's due, I've reviewed a lot of authors who refuse to ever let their heroes be the ones even partially at fault. Even when they're rapists or murderers. Somehow, we have to accept that only the villains ever do bad things or cause bad consequences. In that sense, I actually kind of like that this happened. Though I suppose that may depend on how Roberson actually handles it. We'll see how my memory holds up...
--
Actually, since the next chapter is short, let's go to it:
This chapter starts in Niall's throne room. The boys are putting on stiff upper lip, Cheysuli style, until Niall gives them the death toll.
"At last count," the Mujhar said quietly, "there were more than twenty-eight bodies. It could be more; they are still searching in the rubble." He paused a moment, looking at his sons. "No one is quite sure; the entire block was destroyed."
Now the masks slipped. Now the faces were bared.
Shock, disbelief, denial; a profound, sudden and absolute comprehension of where the responsibility lay, Niall shifted slightly, redistributing his weight within the embrace of the massive Lion. "I think the time for explanations is past. I think the assignment of guilt is unnecessary. Certainly apologies, however heartfelt, cannot begin to replace the lives and property lost. So I will request no explanations, no apologies, no admissions of guilt. I request only that you listen."
Twenty-eight. Holy shit.
You know, for all my criticism of Roberson over these books, I have to say, she doesn't wimp out. It would have been easy to limit the dead to a handful of thugs. But TWENTY-EIGHT.
So we get the initial reactions:
None of them said a word. Brennan, he saw, stood quite rigidly, staring blankly at an area somewhere in the vicinity of his father's left foot. Niall watched a moment as his eldest son tried to cope with the shock, the comprehension, the tremendous burden of responsibility he would, as always, try to assume. Even if it was only partially his.
Corin was plainly stunned. The color was gone from his face so that his tawny hair seemed a darker gold than normal. All the muscles stood up in his arms, flexing around the lir-bands; behind his back, Niall knew, Corin fisted his hands again and again, as hard as he could until all the muscles burned, protesting; inflicting discomfort to help the comprehension that what he now faced was real, and not some dream of his imagining. Niall had seen him do it before.
Lastly, he looked at Hart. Hart, whose insatiable taste—no, need—for gambling had, until two nights before, done little more than rob him of his allowance as Prince of Solinde; yet now it robbed people of their property. Of their lives.
Niall, your favoritism is showing again. And Hart, always invisible, doesn't actually get a reaction shot.
So what are the consequences?
Well. Exile. For a year. For Hart and Corin. Hart is to go to Solinde. Niall makes a note about how the regent will have strict administration of his allowance, and Hart will be on the hook for any debts he's incurred. (Niall's speech makes it sound like Hart's basically leaned on EVERY family member for help in the past.)
Hart and Niall both get a little vicious here:
"Exile." Bitterness, now, beginning to creep in. "First our jehana, now me."
"The circumstances are unrelated," Niall said coldly, “though I begin to wonder if there is more of Gisella in you than of myself." Abruptly, he stopped himself. "You will leave first thing in the morning."
Brennan begs Niall to reconsider, but is basically told to shut up. Corin, bitterly, already knows his own fate: Atvia. Same exile. He does attempt a defense, pointing out that cutthroats tried to kill them.
Niall just moves past that. He meant it when he said that the time for explanations had passed. He has another task for Corin. Since Brennan can't be exiled, as he's the direct heir (a fact which Corin notes bitterly), Niall has something else in mind.
The Mujhar turned to the Lion and resumed his seat, sitting back against the ancient wood. "You will stop at Erinn on the way to Atvia and deliver a message to Liam, Lord of the Idrian Isles. You will say to him the time has come for our realms to be formally united in marriage as well as in alliance." The single blue eye flicked to Brennan. "Liam's daughter is twenty-two, now. It is time the Prince of Homana secured the Lion with additional heirs."
Poor Aileen doesn't get much say in it, I suppose.
Color rushed into Brennan's face. The yellow eyes were suddenly intent, and intensely feral. "You do not use a betrothal or marriage as punishment!" Brennan snapped angrily. "It does you little honor, my lord Mujhar, and gives none at all to Aileen."
"You have at least a six-month, if not more, in which to arrange your affairs and learn what it is to be a prince," Niall said. "Until Aileen arrives, you will attend me in all council sessions, at all trade negotiations, during the hearings when I entertain petitions put forth by Homanan citizens. I think you will be too busy to concern yourself with what does and does not constitute honor, in Mujhars or other people."
It's definitely an uneven punishment. But there really isn't a way to make it fair, I suppose. Though I suppose there's no reason the heir couldn't go somewhere else to learn statescraft? Donal was sent to Solinde after all. But then, the separation is the point too.
I do appreciate Brennan's point of view here though. Aileen doesn't deserve this and associating the marriage with a punishment is not a great beginning at all.
Anyway, with some more harsh words, Niall leaves the three alone to speak.
Corin's angry, naturally. And Hart is despondent:
Did you hear him?" Corin asked in angry astonishment. "Did you hear him? 'I think the time for explanations is past’ " He swore loudly, with great eloquence. "We were given no chance to defend ourselves, no chance to tell him precisely what happened—he merely stands before that travesty of a lion and tells us what we are to do with our lives, as if he has the ordering of them?"
"He does," Hart said remotely. He walked to the dais, turned, sat down upon the top step, propping booted feet wide on the second one. "He is the Mujhar of Homana, and our jehan."
"Aye, he is Mujhar," Corin snapped, "and, as Mujhar, one of his responsibilities is to hear both sides of the story." He swore again and kicked at the gold-veined marble dais. "You would think we planned the fire, they way he talks."
And here, maybe, we kind of see why I like Brennan best of the three, despite his pompous dickitude:
"Do you think I care what you think?" Brennan abruptly spun from the casement and, before Corin could blurt a protest, crossed the hall to grab the front of his jerkin.
"Do you think I care that you feel inconvenienced by having to accept your title in fact as well as name?" He pushed his brother back two steps, forced him up the dais, planted him solidly in the throne. "Twenty-eight lives were lost, Corin ... it should not matter to you that those lives were spent in the Midden instead of Homana-Mujhar or Clankeep. It should not matter! They are dead. Corin . . . dead because of us!"
There are twenty-eight dead people. TWENTY-EIGHT. That matters. That should fucking matter more than exile.
But to be fair, Corin's anger is hiding fear. And he has some legitimate concerns:
"Aye, afraid!" Corin cried. "Are you forgetting, then, that our jehana is there? Mad Gisella, Queen of Homana, who tried to give her children to Strahan the Ihlini?" He had their full attention now, as he looked from one to the other. "Aye," he repeated, "afraid, because I will have to see her, to face her. . . ." He drew in an unsteady breath. "I will be required to breathe the same air as that half-breed, blood-tainted Atvian/Cheysuli witch, who willingly would have given us over to that Ihlini ku'reshtin, so he could twist us all—so he could turn us into minions for his amusement, to use as puppets!"
"Enough," Brennan said gently. "Enough, Corin—no more." His anger was banished, his contempt replaced with compassion. "Perhaps I judged you too hastily." He sighed and scrubbed at the lines of tension settling in the flesh of his brow. "Gods, save us from each other . . . save us from sword-sharp tongues."
"Save us from the Ihlini." Corin shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the throne. "Gods, rujho, I do not want to go. . . ."
"No," Brennan agreed. "Nor would I, in your place. Not even if you promised a casket of gold."
Unless Gisella's changed a lot over twenty years, I think Corin will find her more pathetic than scary. But the fear is understandable. The children have never met their mother. They only know what she tried to do to them. And well, the people who turned Gisella into what she became might still be there. Where IS Lillith?
Hart speaks up and gets smacked down a little:
"For that much gold, I might." Hart's smile fell away almost at once. "No, no, forgive me for that . . . I am the one who put us in this position. Blame me, no matter what the Lion says. Let me carry the guilt."
"Would you?" Brennan asked. "No, I think not. It is not in you to accept guilt, rujho, even if you comprehend that you are responsible for it."
Hart recoiled visibly from the comment.
Harsh, but maybe not inaccurate? Hart has been the most flippant and apathetic of the brothers so far. He was the only one who really didn't seem to feel any remorse or hesitation after the PRIOR bar fight. The only real time he showed guilt was after he had been cruel to Ian.
We'll have to see how he develops.
Corin has finally moved past anger to resignation. He declares that he thinks the sentences are just. Brennan's is the lightest, but Brennan had been the one who didn't want to go, and had constantly tried to stop them from getting involved. Aileen probably won't be too bad, if she's anything like her aunt. That says, Corin intends to defy Niall one more time: rather than wait until the next day, he intends to leave tonight.
Hart, weary, has made the same decision. He and Brennan share a moment. Brennan notes that in a year, they'll be different people. But Hart notes that they'll still be Cheysuli and brothers, that's what counts. He leaves.
Brennan is now left alone with the Lion Throne. He gets his own moment, like Donal before him:
After a moment Brennan turned to look at the empty Lion, all acrouch on the dais; the Lion of Homana, deprived of his Mujhar. Brennan looked at the old wood, the fading giltwork, the massive paws with their curving claws. He sighed. "You and I," he said, "will have to come to an agreement. You do not strip me of all my freedom, my good sense, my desire to be a man as well as Mujhar . . . and I will not bring dishonor to your name. To my House. Or to my people." He shook his head slowly. "And never again to my jehan"
But the Lion made no answer.
We shift scenes to Niall and Deirdre. He's upset and she guides him to a chair. He tells him he'll be sitting there until she says he can rise. He seems to like when she gives him orders. Anyway, she's got something to show him: a tapestry of Homanan lions. A recounting of Shaine, Carillon, Donal, Niall and his sons...
This makes Niall emotional. He also seems prone to migraines, poor guy. He also mentions having sent for Aileen. Deirdre seems a little stiff about that. Niall apologizes, realizing that she might have liked to be the one to go home and get her niece, but she accepts that this is Corin's punishment.
Niall notes that Brennan seemed more upset that Hart was being sent away than at his own impending marriage and responsibilities. It's still kind of funny that the twin bond really seems so very one-sided.
Anyway, Deirdre and Niall share a nice moment of comfort (though we're told the anguish in his eye will last forever) and the chapter ends.
So we start the chapter with Hart bitching. It's apparently been two days, and he's sick of being mewed up in his chamber like a disobedient child.
Corin's jealousy and insecurity can be tedious, but I appreciate his way with a burn. He points out that Hart is actually in HIS chamber, and the idea is that Hart was a disobedient child.
Hart though is irrepressible:
"Aye, well, enough is enough," Hart said crossly. "I think he has forgotten us. Surely he could not expect us to remain night and day in our chambers."
"Sure he could," Corin corrected. "I am no fonder of my chamber than you of yours, but there appears to be no solution—" He stopped short. "I know that expression, Hart—what are you thinking?"
Hart grinned. "That we are Cheysuli warriors, and there is indeed a solution. That it is time we employed it." He scratched idly at his sleeveless Cheysuli jerkin, dyed a soft amber brown; the bound flesh beneath it itched. "That it is time I found a game before I lose my wits."
"I thought you had no money."
"There are the twenty-five crowns you owe me."
Corin actually does have the money, and more besides. He's not the gambler, or apparently gambling addict, that Hart is. Because this does seem a bit compulsive.
Hart wants to go find a game. Corin notes that their father expressly forbid it. Hart knows exactly how to talk Corin into it too:
Corin scratched slowly at his jaw, considering. "What of Brennan?"
"I asked." Hart shrugged. "He swore, called me a fool and every other name he could think of, Homanan and Old Tongue alike—and said he would leave us to our folly."
"Us." Corin scowled. "He was so certain I would go?"
"Quite certain."
"Ku'reshtin," Corin commented without heat. "Well, I think he has the right of it." He let Kiri get out of his lap, then stood. "Where do we go, rujho? Not The Rampant Lion again."
Really, Corin? This is why I find your brother issues kind of tedious. You don't even know if he actually SAID that. Brennan is a dick enough, sure, but Hart is also blatantly playing you.
Anyway, Hart doesn't intend to go to the Rampant Lion this time. That's where they'd be discovered. He wants to go to the Midden. This takes Corin aback, as apparently the Midden is the nasty part of town, full of thieves, assassins and cutpurses. Corin gives in, but intends to change into leathers, saying that if he's going to go out there, he's going as a Cheysuli.
The lir are coming too, if only to save them from themselves. They sneak out. If only to run into a shadowy figure:
"I knew you would come this way." Brennan's voice; he opened the door partway and let the diffused light of bailey torches spill into the tower. Corin blinked. Kiri's eyes reflected oddly in the distorted light. Sleeta was a plush velvet shadow in the darkness, golden eyes staring fixedly at Hart and Corin.
"Are you here to try and gainsay us?" Hart demanded. “Rujho—"
"No," Brennan said clearly. "Have I ever been able to stop you before?"
"Once," Hart said. "You tripped me; I hit my head and was knocked half senseless."
Corin snickered. Brennan nodded reminiscently. "But I caught you off-guard then, and I have not been able to do it since. We are too well-matched, now, in size and experience." He peered out the door. "I think the way is clear."
I enjoy Brennan. He'd be so obnoxious to have as a brother, I'd bet, but I find him entertaining. Anyway, of course, he's coming along. As we saw, he's a pompous dick who thinks he's got to look out for his idiot brothers. He does seem to be a bit calmer about the prospect of parental discipline this time, merely noting lightly that should their father catch them, he'll no doubt have them executed.
So our idiot princes head to the bad part of town, and I rather like the description here:
The cobbles under their boots were muffled beneath layers of dirt and the remains of old droppings, packed into the seams and hollows formed by rounded, time-worn bricks. The winding street smelled of old ale, urine, the close confinement of people unused to washing. In comers they heard scuttling and squeaking; occasionally the yowl of a torn cat protecting his territory.
The dwellings themselves were all of wood, set cheek-by-jowl in crooked comers and dogleg turnings. Candles glowed here and there, a lantern, occasionally a torch.
But the night held dominance.
We get some gratuitous Keely shilling here:
"Well-planned," Brennan muttered. "Jehan would be so proud."
"Perhaps we should have brought Keely instead of you," Hart retorted. "The gods know she has more willingness than you to explore the unknown."
"Perhaps you should have," Brennan agreed. "Then there would be four fools in place of three."
"Leave Keely out of it," Corin warned.
"She would have come," Hart said.
"Aye," Corin agreed. "And then we would have to concern ourselves with how many rude-speaking men she would be likely to cut, to teach them better manners."
Yes, we get it. Keely's not like other girls. We'll get to her book eventually, Roberson.
(Also I think it's funny that, for all that Corin is supposedly the brother who respects Keely most as an equal, he's also most likely to want to exclude her.)
Hart finally picks a tavern. It's apparently a shit hole by even Midden standards. Brennan wants to lay some ground rules:
"That we leave our knives sheathed," Brennan said clearly, catching Corin's eyes as well. "In this sort of place, if we show steel we will likely have it fed to us."
"By the gods, Brennan, you will have me thinking you are a woman instead of warrior!" Corin exclaimed in disgust. "Have it fed to us, indeed—we are Cheysuli, Brennan."
"We are also in a part of Mujhara where I doubt very much anyone will be much impressed by our rank or race," Brennan answered grimly.
Hart sighed and glanced over at the tavern. "I have no intention of showing steel, rujho—only enough gold to buy my way into a game."
"And I am willing to wager the game will be much different here than at The Rampant Lion."
Brennan is a killjoy but it's worth noting that, in the last fight, Corin's narrative said something about this being his first real battle. These aren't the tried and true warriors of Donal's day. Even Niall and Ian had seen more violence at this age.
Hart leads them into "the Pig in the Poke". Brennan, old woman mutters that they should have left the horses closer, while Corin retorts that it would just get them stolen. We get a good look at the surroundings:
The Pig in the Poke was as unlike The Rampant Lion as could be. It was unlike any tavern the princes had ever been in before, and quite suddenly they came to the realization that their lives had been sheltered indeed. A few lanterns, stinking of cheap oil, depended from the roof-tree, which littered the floor liberally with debris and divots hacked out with knives and swords. The candles were tallow, not wax,-and next to useless, giving off a smudged, greasy flame that burned only sluggishly.
Thick smoke climbed up the limbs of the tree to hang in the air like a blanket. The common room stank of old ale, stale beer and unwashed bodies, as well as desperation and hostility.
Hart indicated an empty table not far from the door. It was stained dark from age and spilled liquor, sticky with wine residue, scarred from weapons and spurs. Hart caught hold of a bench and dragged it over the earthen floor made uneven and treacherous by divots and hardpacked ridges. He sat down and placed his hands on the table; his fingers twitched, as if needing the rune-sticks and dice.
I do love the sense of time passing though this series. Imagine. This is an era where Cheysuli boys can be sheltered. Princes or not.
They're met by a very seedy looking tavern keeper who, recognizing their lir gold, notes they're far from their keep. He's definitely eyeing the lir gold hungrily. He welcomes them to the establishment, but says "their beasts" must stay outside. He won't have them "where decent men are drinking".
Yeah. This might be a bad fucking idea, guys.
And two of the boys seem to pick up on that:
One hand dipped below the tabletop and stayed there, until an unwavering stare from Brennan, across the table, made Corin take his hand away from his knife.
Brennan looked up at the tavern-keeper. "They are lir, not beasts."
The man shrugged wide shoulders. "Beasts, lir—what do I care what you call those sorcerous things from the netherworld? All I know is, I won't have 'em in here."
"Then perhaps you should not have us in here." Brennan stood deliberately.
Corin looked up at his waiting brother, then shoved his bench back to rise. He stopped. He lingered there, halfway, and looked at Hart. "Rujho—"
Hart made no move to join them, and the tavern-keeper laughed. "Still wanting your game, are you?" He nodded a little. "Aye, I can see it. So, it touches even the wondrous Cheysuli." He turned. "Baram—this Cheysuli be wanting a game."
"Hart," Brennan said quietly.
Hart shook his head. "Go, or stay. I stay."
Brennan tries to urge him out, noting that the place stinks of trouble and murder. (No beeswax though, sadly.) Corin sits back down, noting it's not so easy to murder a Cheysuli.
I don't know, there was an entire massacre during your grandfather's childhood, guys.
Brennan, muttering to himself, ends up sitting down too. Hart's the only one who will actually play though. It is starting to sound a little like gambling addiction territory:
Brennan shook his head. Corin, seeing Hart's intensity, indicated he would stay out of it as well. He and Brennan both had seen their middle brother in such a state before; it was better to let him play alone, against one or more opponents. He had little time for those who merely dabbled.
"One to one," Hart said intently, and the tavern-keeper set down the house casket.
Dude, this is a stupid fucking idea.
So this Baram guy and Hart play something called the "counting game". They go for a while and are evenly matched. Then...well...
Hart leaned forward. "Not good enough," he said. "Shall we make it more interesting?"
Baram looked at the pile of coins glinting by Hart's elbow. Their winnings were evenly split, with neither man showing dominance over the dice. "Aye," he said at last.
Hart tapped his pile. "All."
Hart loses. Then...
Hart frowned a little, tapped fingers on the table, nodded to himself. "Again," he said intently.
The Homanan slowly shook his head and pointed a crooked finger. "No gold, shapechanger. Nothing left to wager. Don't throw on promises. “
Hart tapped his right forefinger on the table. The sapphire signet flashed in the smudgy light. "I have something left."
"No," Brennan said sharply.
Baram looked at the ring, at Brennan, at Hart. And he laughed. "Done," he said, and threw the dice.
I feel like gambling your royal fucking signet is a really stupid idea. And Hart loses, again. Brennan prevents him from taking off the ring, pointing out that it signifies his title. Hart says he can have another made. UM. MAYBE? I don't think you want the fucking symbol of your rank out there. Didn't historical folk make seals and such with those things???
Brennan offers gold in place. Baram agrees, but he doesn't want the coins that Brennan is offering. He wants Hart's lir gold. Now THAT, of course is not good.
Hart's color was bad. "These—“ he stopped, wet his lips, touched his left armband in something very like a caress. He started over. "These were never at stake," he said, "never. I owe you, aye, and you will be paid—but not with these."
Brennan unlaced his belt-purse and threw it onto the table. It landed with a heavy thump and a satisfying clink of gold. "There. More than enough to cover what he owes you."
Baram's hand shot out, scooped up the purse, hid it somewhere on his person. "Now," he said, "I'm paid. But I'm still waiting for those, and there're enough of us here to see that you give 'em to me."
So yeah, Baram's not interested in fairness here. And he's got a whole damn tavern on his side. So we get to another bar fight! Woo-hoo!
The no knife ban is clearly done away with. This is really bad. And there's not likely to be rescue by the guards this time. We get fisticuffs. And they definitely read more brutal. Someone shoves a stool at Brennan's heels. He ends up calling mentally for Sleeta as he tries to get his balance. Corin gets pushed against the wall. Hart's actually doing fairly well against Baram, but...
The stench of spilled oil and greasy flame filled the common room. Someone cursed; another called that there was fire.
From outside the tavern came the scream of an angry mountain cat.
"Kill them, kill all of them!” the tavern-keeper shouted. "Kill them before they shift their shapes!"
One thing that I really like about this is that it's not clear who or what started the fire.
It's probably not Brennan though, as he's in a really rough spot:
Brennan, outnumbered, was slammed down against the floor. Beneath him, a wooden cup jammed against his spine, so that he writhed away from the pain; the knife was knocked out of his hand.
Defenseless, he kicked out and tried to twist away, but the two men had stretched him so that there was no leverage. All he could do was thrash helplessly as a faceless man bent down to slide the knife through leather, flesh, past muscle into the belly wall.
He dared not lurch upward. Dared not—gasping with effort, Brennan summoned everything he could of concentration, thrusting his consciousness out of the room, away, away, to somewhere deep in the heart of the earth.
Gods, gods— he cried in silent appeal, let the magic come—let the power be tapped—
Corin's doing better. He gets one guy in the belly and another by slicing through the tendons of his wrist.
Hart is encountering dirty fighting for the first time in his life:
Hart struggled, felt hands insinuating themselves between his legs; groping, trying to grab, to wrench, to rip, using tactics of the sort Hart, honorably trained, had never, ever considered.
Outraged, he threw an elbow that caught tile man in the face, smashed his nose; sent the Homanan tumbling backward, crying out.
Less beleaguered than Brennan and now twice as angry, Hart called up the earth magic and left behind his human form for the one with hooked beak and curving talons.
Oh. Actually. Here's something kind of cool. A hundred years ago. In Song of Homana, Carillon discussed Finn's lir shape. He talked about the idea of Finn losing himself in anger. This isn't something we saw followed up on very often, though it's possible that Donal had a moment like that in Hondarth with Sef and Aislinn. Niall was always pretty clear headed.
But...
Corin saw the flames, the smoke, the bodies. He saw the blurring of Hart's human form into the void that swallowed the space where he had stood a moment before; into the nothingness that was shed, replaced, made whole once again, only lacking the familiar shape of a man. Arms were wings, legs talons; the shout Hart began the shapechange with became the piercing cry of a hunting hawk—
—and was joined a moment later by the scream of a cat, as Brennan left behind Brennan to become an echo of his lir, tawny instead of black, but dangerous, so dangerous; so intent on his prey, as he raked claws across the nearest face, that Corin knew he had gone too far.
Too close, too close—oh, Brennan, no—not you—of all of us, not you—
Corin manages to get the fuck out of there. As he slams out of the tavern, smoke billows out. He calls to Kiri to get her to call on the other lir, to get them out of there, since they're too mindless to realize the danger.
It sounds really bad. Flame is climbing the walls, running out along the roof to touch the next dwelling. Oh no.
Hart staggers out, covered in ash. Brennan's not out yet. Corin blames Hart for this mess. Hart almost goes back in, before Brennan staggers out as well.
Coughing, he nearly fell. "Dead," he gasped. "Dead, or dying—gods, all of them—"
"And most of the street." Hart's voice was clogged with phlegm. He coughed, spat; hugged aching ribs.
"No reason for us to mimic them or it," Corin said firmly. "We have ourselves and our lir . . . I suggest we go."
Corin's probably right, but it feels a little callous. How far is that fire going to spread in this environment?
But there really isn't much they can do, and they're still in a shit ton of danger. They run for it, and the chapter ends.
I noted this in the chapter, but I really do like that, in the end, we don't know what caused the fire. It might have been one of the boys. It might have been their attackers. I don't think it's entirely the boys's fault Obviously, it wouldn't have happened if they hadn't been stupid enough to come. But no one deserves to be attacked and robbed, no matter how stupid they were. Baram, and his ilk, are the ones that made things violent.
But it's a messy situation. People will have died. Probably innocent people. And our characters are going to have to live with their role in that. It'll be interesting to see how that develops.
Credit where it's due, I've reviewed a lot of authors who refuse to ever let their heroes be the ones even partially at fault. Even when they're rapists or murderers. Somehow, we have to accept that only the villains ever do bad things or cause bad consequences. In that sense, I actually kind of like that this happened. Though I suppose that may depend on how Roberson actually handles it. We'll see how my memory holds up...
--
Actually, since the next chapter is short, let's go to it:
This chapter starts in Niall's throne room. The boys are putting on stiff upper lip, Cheysuli style, until Niall gives them the death toll.
"At last count," the Mujhar said quietly, "there were more than twenty-eight bodies. It could be more; they are still searching in the rubble." He paused a moment, looking at his sons. "No one is quite sure; the entire block was destroyed."
Now the masks slipped. Now the faces were bared.
Shock, disbelief, denial; a profound, sudden and absolute comprehension of where the responsibility lay, Niall shifted slightly, redistributing his weight within the embrace of the massive Lion. "I think the time for explanations is past. I think the assignment of guilt is unnecessary. Certainly apologies, however heartfelt, cannot begin to replace the lives and property lost. So I will request no explanations, no apologies, no admissions of guilt. I request only that you listen."
Twenty-eight. Holy shit.
You know, for all my criticism of Roberson over these books, I have to say, she doesn't wimp out. It would have been easy to limit the dead to a handful of thugs. But TWENTY-EIGHT.
So we get the initial reactions:
None of them said a word. Brennan, he saw, stood quite rigidly, staring blankly at an area somewhere in the vicinity of his father's left foot. Niall watched a moment as his eldest son tried to cope with the shock, the comprehension, the tremendous burden of responsibility he would, as always, try to assume. Even if it was only partially his.
Corin was plainly stunned. The color was gone from his face so that his tawny hair seemed a darker gold than normal. All the muscles stood up in his arms, flexing around the lir-bands; behind his back, Niall knew, Corin fisted his hands again and again, as hard as he could until all the muscles burned, protesting; inflicting discomfort to help the comprehension that what he now faced was real, and not some dream of his imagining. Niall had seen him do it before.
Lastly, he looked at Hart. Hart, whose insatiable taste—no, need—for gambling had, until two nights before, done little more than rob him of his allowance as Prince of Solinde; yet now it robbed people of their property. Of their lives.
Niall, your favoritism is showing again. And Hart, always invisible, doesn't actually get a reaction shot.
So what are the consequences?
Well. Exile. For a year. For Hart and Corin. Hart is to go to Solinde. Niall makes a note about how the regent will have strict administration of his allowance, and Hart will be on the hook for any debts he's incurred. (Niall's speech makes it sound like Hart's basically leaned on EVERY family member for help in the past.)
Hart and Niall both get a little vicious here:
"Exile." Bitterness, now, beginning to creep in. "First our jehana, now me."
"The circumstances are unrelated," Niall said coldly, “though I begin to wonder if there is more of Gisella in you than of myself." Abruptly, he stopped himself. "You will leave first thing in the morning."
Brennan begs Niall to reconsider, but is basically told to shut up. Corin, bitterly, already knows his own fate: Atvia. Same exile. He does attempt a defense, pointing out that cutthroats tried to kill them.
Niall just moves past that. He meant it when he said that the time for explanations had passed. He has another task for Corin. Since Brennan can't be exiled, as he's the direct heir (a fact which Corin notes bitterly), Niall has something else in mind.
The Mujhar turned to the Lion and resumed his seat, sitting back against the ancient wood. "You will stop at Erinn on the way to Atvia and deliver a message to Liam, Lord of the Idrian Isles. You will say to him the time has come for our realms to be formally united in marriage as well as in alliance." The single blue eye flicked to Brennan. "Liam's daughter is twenty-two, now. It is time the Prince of Homana secured the Lion with additional heirs."
Poor Aileen doesn't get much say in it, I suppose.
Color rushed into Brennan's face. The yellow eyes were suddenly intent, and intensely feral. "You do not use a betrothal or marriage as punishment!" Brennan snapped angrily. "It does you little honor, my lord Mujhar, and gives none at all to Aileen."
"You have at least a six-month, if not more, in which to arrange your affairs and learn what it is to be a prince," Niall said. "Until Aileen arrives, you will attend me in all council sessions, at all trade negotiations, during the hearings when I entertain petitions put forth by Homanan citizens. I think you will be too busy to concern yourself with what does and does not constitute honor, in Mujhars or other people."
It's definitely an uneven punishment. But there really isn't a way to make it fair, I suppose. Though I suppose there's no reason the heir couldn't go somewhere else to learn statescraft? Donal was sent to Solinde after all. But then, the separation is the point too.
I do appreciate Brennan's point of view here though. Aileen doesn't deserve this and associating the marriage with a punishment is not a great beginning at all.
Anyway, with some more harsh words, Niall leaves the three alone to speak.
Corin's angry, naturally. And Hart is despondent:
Did you hear him?" Corin asked in angry astonishment. "Did you hear him? 'I think the time for explanations is past’ " He swore loudly, with great eloquence. "We were given no chance to defend ourselves, no chance to tell him precisely what happened—he merely stands before that travesty of a lion and tells us what we are to do with our lives, as if he has the ordering of them?"
"He does," Hart said remotely. He walked to the dais, turned, sat down upon the top step, propping booted feet wide on the second one. "He is the Mujhar of Homana, and our jehan."
"Aye, he is Mujhar," Corin snapped, "and, as Mujhar, one of his responsibilities is to hear both sides of the story." He swore again and kicked at the gold-veined marble dais. "You would think we planned the fire, they way he talks."
And here, maybe, we kind of see why I like Brennan best of the three, despite his pompous dickitude:
"Do you think I care what you think?" Brennan abruptly spun from the casement and, before Corin could blurt a protest, crossed the hall to grab the front of his jerkin.
"Do you think I care that you feel inconvenienced by having to accept your title in fact as well as name?" He pushed his brother back two steps, forced him up the dais, planted him solidly in the throne. "Twenty-eight lives were lost, Corin ... it should not matter to you that those lives were spent in the Midden instead of Homana-Mujhar or Clankeep. It should not matter! They are dead. Corin . . . dead because of us!"
There are twenty-eight dead people. TWENTY-EIGHT. That matters. That should fucking matter more than exile.
But to be fair, Corin's anger is hiding fear. And he has some legitimate concerns:
"Aye, afraid!" Corin cried. "Are you forgetting, then, that our jehana is there? Mad Gisella, Queen of Homana, who tried to give her children to Strahan the Ihlini?" He had their full attention now, as he looked from one to the other. "Aye," he repeated, "afraid, because I will have to see her, to face her. . . ." He drew in an unsteady breath. "I will be required to breathe the same air as that half-breed, blood-tainted Atvian/Cheysuli witch, who willingly would have given us over to that Ihlini ku'reshtin, so he could twist us all—so he could turn us into minions for his amusement, to use as puppets!"
"Enough," Brennan said gently. "Enough, Corin—no more." His anger was banished, his contempt replaced with compassion. "Perhaps I judged you too hastily." He sighed and scrubbed at the lines of tension settling in the flesh of his brow. "Gods, save us from each other . . . save us from sword-sharp tongues."
"Save us from the Ihlini." Corin shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the throne. "Gods, rujho, I do not want to go. . . ."
"No," Brennan agreed. "Nor would I, in your place. Not even if you promised a casket of gold."
Unless Gisella's changed a lot over twenty years, I think Corin will find her more pathetic than scary. But the fear is understandable. The children have never met their mother. They only know what she tried to do to them. And well, the people who turned Gisella into what she became might still be there. Where IS Lillith?
Hart speaks up and gets smacked down a little:
"For that much gold, I might." Hart's smile fell away almost at once. "No, no, forgive me for that . . . I am the one who put us in this position. Blame me, no matter what the Lion says. Let me carry the guilt."
"Would you?" Brennan asked. "No, I think not. It is not in you to accept guilt, rujho, even if you comprehend that you are responsible for it."
Hart recoiled visibly from the comment.
Harsh, but maybe not inaccurate? Hart has been the most flippant and apathetic of the brothers so far. He was the only one who really didn't seem to feel any remorse or hesitation after the PRIOR bar fight. The only real time he showed guilt was after he had been cruel to Ian.
We'll have to see how he develops.
Corin has finally moved past anger to resignation. He declares that he thinks the sentences are just. Brennan's is the lightest, but Brennan had been the one who didn't want to go, and had constantly tried to stop them from getting involved. Aileen probably won't be too bad, if she's anything like her aunt. That says, Corin intends to defy Niall one more time: rather than wait until the next day, he intends to leave tonight.
Hart, weary, has made the same decision. He and Brennan share a moment. Brennan notes that in a year, they'll be different people. But Hart notes that they'll still be Cheysuli and brothers, that's what counts. He leaves.
Brennan is now left alone with the Lion Throne. He gets his own moment, like Donal before him:
After a moment Brennan turned to look at the empty Lion, all acrouch on the dais; the Lion of Homana, deprived of his Mujhar. Brennan looked at the old wood, the fading giltwork, the massive paws with their curving claws. He sighed. "You and I," he said, "will have to come to an agreement. You do not strip me of all my freedom, my good sense, my desire to be a man as well as Mujhar . . . and I will not bring dishonor to your name. To my House. Or to my people." He shook his head slowly. "And never again to my jehan"
But the Lion made no answer.
We shift scenes to Niall and Deirdre. He's upset and she guides him to a chair. He tells him he'll be sitting there until she says he can rise. He seems to like when she gives him orders. Anyway, she's got something to show him: a tapestry of Homanan lions. A recounting of Shaine, Carillon, Donal, Niall and his sons...
This makes Niall emotional. He also seems prone to migraines, poor guy. He also mentions having sent for Aileen. Deirdre seems a little stiff about that. Niall apologizes, realizing that she might have liked to be the one to go home and get her niece, but she accepts that this is Corin's punishment.
Niall notes that Brennan seemed more upset that Hart was being sent away than at his own impending marriage and responsibilities. It's still kind of funny that the twin bond really seems so very one-sided.
Anyway, Deirdre and Niall share a nice moment of comfort (though we're told the anguish in his eye will last forever) and the chapter ends.
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Date: 2023-04-19 12:07 am (UTC)This chapter really had tension!
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Date: 2023-04-19 12:37 am (UTC)And check it out. THREE lead male characters, none of whom are rapists!
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Date: 2023-04-19 06:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-09-13 07:51 am (UTC)It also doesn't sound like he's really being a dick, more that he was theatrically throwing up his hands about how foolish it is, while winking at the idea that they'll go anyway. And since he joins them on the way out, that's probably how he meant it.
I enjoy Brennan. He'd be so obnoxious to have as a brother, I'd bet, but I find him entertaining. Anyway, of course, he's coming along. As we saw, he's a pompous dick who thinks he's got to look out for his idiot brothers.
I see how he reminds you of Cyclops, and I see it too. I'm most familiar with the X-Men: Evolution version, who while an upper classman/later graduate who felt like he had to be the responsible ones, he wasn't above it all. I rewatched the Mutant Ball scene to double check, and while he's more restrained in participating, he's still gleeful when he does use his powers.
(Also, the younger boys should be thankful it's the oldest and golden child who is the most responsible. It's much worse when the golden child doesn't take responsibility. See MCU Thor.)
"She would have come," Hart said.
"Aye," Corin agreed. "And then we would have to concern ourselves with how many rude-speaking men she would be likely to cut, to teach them better manners."
Yes, we get it. Keely's not like other girls. We'll get to her book eventually, Roberson.
This actually makes me feel more sorry for Keely. Her brothers know very well that she'd love to join them in their mischief, and they assume that she'd acquit herself as well as they do, but they still leave her out both times so far this book. Have they ever brought her along in the past, or do they always keep her at arms' length when they do brotherly bonding?
"At last count," the Mujhar said quietly, "there were more than twenty-eight bodies. It could be more; they are still searching in the rubble." He paused a moment, looking at his sons. "No one is quite sure; the entire block was destroyed."
And this is why we have fire brigades. And safety regulations.
It's definitely an uneven punishment. But there really isn't a way to make it fair, I suppose. Though I suppose there's no reason the heir couldn't go somewhere else to learn statescraft? Donal was sent to Solinde after all. But then, the separation is the point too.
Brennan could be sent to Erinn. It's where his bride-to-be is, and the countries are allies now. Sending noble/royal children to allies for fostering was common in medieval times, though it was usually before they reached the age of majority. (Come to think of it, did Hart or Corin spend any time in Solinde or Atvia, respectively? Have those countries sent tutors to prepare their future kings?)
Unless Gisella's changed a lot over twenty years, I think Corin will find her more pathetic than scary.
Or he might find her scary in a different way. Instead of the callous treacherous witch who wanted to hand her children over to Strahan, he finds out that she's a child in a woman's body who didn't want to hurt her children, but had been conditioned her whole life to do awful things on command. He could see that she's a victim, and she'd succeeded in handing them over, she'd still be as much of a victim, but he'd probably be just like her.
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Date: 2024-09-13 11:30 am (UTC)And no, for Hart and Corin. As much as I like Niall as a character, and as good a king as he's supposed to be, he really hasn't made sure his heirs are prepared for anything.