Pride of Princes - Part Two, Chapter Six
Jun. 15th, 2023 07:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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i_read_whatSo last time, Brennan was having a very bad day. Things got a bit better by the end though.
So we rejoin Brennan, who is seems to be pretty lost in his lir shape. There's not much by way of coherent thought, just the urge to run. Hard to blame him really. Sleeta is with him.
It's interesting, because this is the second time we've seen Brennan take lir shape and lose his identity. I wonder if the other brothers have the same issue. Anyway, it doesn't last forever:
And then, unwanted, came the memory of what he had been, of what he had done, and he tumbled out of lir-shape into the man-shape known as Brennan.
He landed on one elbow; it gave, folding beneath his weight, and threw him over onto a shoulder, his left one, and then all the pain he had forgotten came rushing back again to set his bones afire.
Cat shape sounded better, to be honest.
So Brennan comes to himself with a splitting headache, a convulsing stomach, and a very sympathetic kitty friend. He can barely hear her over the pain in his head, but Brennan distracts himself by trying to soothe Sleeta. She's had a pretty traumatic time too.
"Gods . . ." In human speech, it was the only word he could manage. He was disoriented, tangled up in the sensations of cat mixed with man, until for a moment he could not distinguish himself, being neither human nor feline, but thing.
I really do find this interesting. Neither Donal or Niall described coming out of lir shape like this. And even the soothing of Sleeta, "with gentle hands and soothing words" sounds more than a little like cat grooming. He realizes that she's bleeding from an open wound and is "outraged at the sacrilege".
They'd set dogs on her, to distract and separate them. She's not unscathed either. She notices that he's bleeding too. He realizes that he's bleeding from the ear: there's no more lobe or earring. Jarek had cut it off.
Symbolic. And an interesting parallel to Strahan, now that I think about it. Finn had cost him an ear.
Brennan tells her about the Ihlini. Sleeta's shocked, she would have known. But Brennan notes that, in the past, other Ihlini have entered Homana-Mujhar without detection. He's not wrong. We had Strahan, most infamously. But Lillith and Varien too.
It's interesting though, that we're getting to see more of an actual reaction from Sleeta:
She was fretful from pain and incomprehension. The gods set us to guard the Cheysuli, to know enemy from friend, to recognize ill intent.
And to know Ihlini?
That more than anything else.
This is the most any lir has ever said about their purpose, as far as we know. Brennan realizes that too, and we get a peek at Cheysuli indoctrination:
Brennan sat very still, not even daring to move his hand against her pelt. In but a few words Sleeta had said more of the purpose of the lir than he had ever heard from her before. As a child he had been taught that a lir was a gift of the gods, something incredibly special; the bond between warrior and animal was a blessing no one else could possibly comprehend, a thing to be cherished above all else. Such handing down of absolutes left little room for questions, even less for answers. The lir themselves had always been oddly secretive about so many things.
So Brennan asks, trying not to be too intense: Why Ihlini?
And hmm:
Having more power, they offer more threat. Sleeta licked his shoulder.
It was not the answer he wanted; it told him nothing he did not know already. "Surely anyone with power offers equal danger."
Her breath was warm. Who is his own worst enemy?
"I am my own, of course—that tells me nothing." And then he stopped speaking. His fingers dug deep into the thickness of her pelt.
Does it really tell us nothing? And Brennan makes the same connection I do:
"Unless, of course, you are confirming my jehan's contention that Cheysuli and Ihlini are bloodkin."
Sleeta butted her head against his shoulder. Lir, lir, enough . . . can we not go home?
Lir are so annoying sometimes.
There's movement in the forest though, and Brennan, rather understandably starts to panic, assuming they're Homanans about to throw him down on an altar again. He tries to get up, but almost passes out. Sleeta, cat that she is, tells him to think before he runs.
Brennan realizes that she's right, and that the unveiling of Jarek as Ihlini would have sent them fleeing. Apparently the only thing scarier than a Cheysuli to these sorts of Homanans is an Ihlini.
Sleeta identifies the pursuer as the girl who got her free. So Rhiannon had kept her promise after all. And while she clearly thinks she's being quiet, she doesn't have the training that Brennan has.
So we get a reunion:
He waited until she was close enough, and then he said her name.
Her startled reaction sent her crashing back two steps and then she was caught fast, clothing and hair snagged on twisted boughs. He heard her rapid breathing and the tearing of thin fabric as she sought to free herself.
"Meijhana—no. There is no need to flee me." And he rose out of his crouch to stand, one hand splayed against the trunk of a conifer to keep him from falling down.
"My lord?" All movement stopped. "Brennan?"
"Aye. And my lir, whom you were good enough to release."
He heard more cloth shredded, the clink of something metallic, the ragged eagerness in her breathing. And then she was free and stood before him. Debris littered her braids, clung to her clothing, marred her face. But she smiled, and laughed, and held out glowing gold.
"Yours, my lord. When all the others ran, I took them to give to you."
...oh dear.
Brennan is very emotional here. There's a cultural significance too. He notes that the lir gold isn't what makes him a man instead of a boy, they're still an important part of who he is, and he would have been shamed for the loss.
Rhiannon's pretty emotional too. She insists, in tears, that she had no idea what Jarek was going to do. He comforts her, and this reminds me of Shapechangers.
"Shansu," he said softly. "Peace, meijhana—I think no less of you for your grief." Yet even as he said it, he wondered if he meant it. In the clans, grief was an exceptionally private thing. A Cheysuli showed none where others might see it.
Traditionally. But traditions change ...
For once, it's not a bad reminder. Or at least, it's bittersweet. Poor Alix ended up immediately swept up into a culture where she wasn't even allowed to be overtly upset that her husband was going to war. And it makes me wonder if, in the same way Corin (briefly) reminded me of early Finn - or at least, the kind of angry hothead rebel that Finn was SUPPOSED to be, Brennan represents the Duncan that we were SUPPOSED to see.
I'm not sure. But anyway, Rhiannon is disheveled, grimy, covered in twigs and leaves, and Brennan thinks that he's never seen a woman who looked lovelier. Oh dear. Honey, you are engaged.
Rhiannon is observant, realizing before he does, that he's close to collapse. Dude's had a rough day or two. And he might be remembering having bit a man's throat out with his teeth.
She urges him to lie down, head in her lap. And sleep.
And that's where things get a little more Robb Stark-ish, because, well...
The woman's voice intruded. From a distance he heard it. He reached out for it, trying to catch it and cling to it like a babe to a mother's breast.
"My lord—" She paused, "Brennan . . . Brennan—wake up. I am here. I am here. I promise."
He struggled toward the voice. Something touched his face: a hand, warm and kind, offering him compassion.
He reached out, caught it, clung, and the darkness began to recede.
"Brennan—"
And he came up out of the dream into reality again, and caught her against his chest, pulling her body beneath his, knowing only one way to banish such gods-cursed fear; how to prove he was alive, alive, after coming so close to death.
"Please—" he whispered, and then abruptly he was awake.
THAT's an awkward way to wake up. He's immediately horrified but...well...
Even as he moved to relieve her of his weight, of his uncharacteristic demand, her hands pulled him back down.
"No."
"But—you know what I meant to do—what I would have done, whether you wanted it or no. . . ."
"I know." She reached up to catch a lock of his hair.
"Do you think I am unwilling?"
A dozen questions spilled into his mind. He wanted to speak of Jarek; of the line between lust and love; of the differences in gratification and gratitude. He could give her so many reasons for what he had so nearly done, and what his body still wanted him to do. But looking into her face, into her eloquent eyes, he saw no desire for explanation. She knew as well as he. She wanted as much as he.
She locked her hands into his hair and pulled his head down, down, until her breath caressed his face. "I did not love him, Brennan. That much I promise you."
For now, it was enough.
Okay, so I'm enjoying the INCREDIBLE novelty of a Roberson protagonist who is actually horrified at the idea that he might have assaulted someone. But dude, are you sure YOU'RE in the right headspace for this?
I'm just saying! Ten minutes ago, you thought you were a cat!
Also, dude, you're still engaged.
So we skip ahead a little, which makes me sad, because I think I might have enjoyed the reactions of the palace to seeing someone as generally self-possessed and dignified as Brennan in as much a state as he'd have had to be by now. We're told that Brennan gives Rhiannon into the care of the serving women, tends to Sleeta, then immediately goes for a hot bath, ignoring the family members who are now knocking at his door. Apparently, indeed, they'd heard of his physical state from the servants. He promises an explanation later.
Hah, cat. Maybe the lir partners DO reflect aspects of personality after all.
So Brennan heads to Deirdre's solar, to meet with the kinfolk. Everyone's there. Ian (who examines the cut earlobe), Maeve, grimacing with empathy, Keely, thoughtful. Deirdre...
Well...
Deirdre, playing hostess, poured wine into a cluster of cups and began to hand them out. As she came to Brennan, he saw how tightly set was her mouth. She said nothing at first, giving Ian his portion, but he seemed to sense she intended to and moved away smoothly. It left Deirdre and Brennan confronting one another over a cup of blood-red wine.
He took it from her, but her fingers pressed his own.
"Next time," she said quietly, "let the bath wait."
"I was filthy—'
"I know. And I am saying, let it wait." Her green eyes were steady, unyielding. "Think of your father instead of yourself."
...yeah, god forbid the guy who got imprisoned, tortured, and lightly mutilated think of himself rather than his dad for a moment. For fuck's sake, Deirdre.
But...remember how I criticized Niall before, for what he didn't see when it came to his older son?
He sighed. "Aye. Aye, I will." He touched Deirdre's shoulder briefly in thanks, then went to his father. The others would hear clearly enough, but it was to Niall he would speak. "I am well, jehan. I swear. There is—discomfort—" he shrugged "—but it will fade."
Niall looked up at him from the chair. "Who put you in irons?" he asked quietly.
Niall is seeing clearly now. The others are shocked and enraged. They want to know who chained him up.
Rhiannon is the one who answers. Making quite an entrance:
"His name was Jarek," Rhiannon said, and shut the door behind her.
As one, all turned and stared at her. Even Brennan did not move to her at once, though he meant to, because he was too startled. He had known she was attractive, but the women had made her beautiful.
Awkwardly, she curtsied deeply. Heavy skirts—a deep, rich blue—draped on slate-gray stone. Her hair, bound back smoothly in a single braid, coiled like glossy black rope against soft wool. "My lord Mujhar—" And abruptly, she lost her balance.
Ian is the one who catches her, which leads to this really weird, out of character exchange:
Brennan looked at his uncle instead of Rhiannon. It was no secret among Deirdre's ladies—and therefore the rest of the palace—that the Mujhar's brother was a man worth having, as friend or bedmate—or both—but Ian had never shown any indication of desiring permanency in feminine companionship. Certainly he did not now, but there was no mistaking his attentiveness to Rhiannon.
He would do the same for any woman . . . and then: She must be twenty-five years younger than my su'fali!
Smoothly Brennan moved forward and offered his hand to Rhiannon. She took it at once, and he could not hide the smile of subtle triumph as he turned her away from Ian.
What the hell?
Brennan's got his fair share of flaws, but this weird territoriality seems out of character. Maybe it's some instinctive cat vs. cat thing? Or Roberson being Roberson.
You've only managed one decent male protagonist so far, Roberson. You're building up to a second here. Don't you dare ruin him for me!
So the family has questions, and Rhiannon explains everything in a quiet, steady voice. We get some reactions: Niall, cursing. Ian, dry and defusing. Keely wants to track them all down and kill them.
They discuss the likelihood that any of the others were Ihlini, like Jarek. Niall thinks they'd need tokens from a lir: Tynstar had Cai. Strahan had four of Storr's teeth. Is that enough for everyone?
Brennan points out that, per Jarek, while they preferred sacrificing women and children, they did kill a few warriors. Which means an endless supply of lir. They could have ALL been Ihlini.
Keely can't comprehend why the Ihlini would pretend to be Homanan when they just intend to kill them anyway. Which leads us to some Keely shilling:
"Because you have no guile in you," Deirdre said.
Keely looked at her in surprise. "What?"
"No guile," Deirdre repeated. "You're a woman for saying what you mean."
"Even when silence is preferable." Brennan smiled at his scowling sister. "Admit it, rufholla—you would sooner charge in shouting your name and intention for all to hear, than to work in silence and subterfuge."
"So should everyone," she retorted. "What good is there in crawling on your belly when there are legs to carry you?”
"And what is wrong with waiting to move until all the facts are known?" Maeve asked. "Keely, you are too bold, too quick to say that you think when you would do better to wait."
It's not as bad as some instances, but it's rather jarring in a scene that's not remotely about her. I GET IT, Roberson. Keely's not like other girls. I'll read her book later.
Brennan is thinking: he thinks it's possible that Jarek was acting alone. He was pretty subtle until the big reveal, and the others scattered. Niall wants to know about Jarek, and he gets a little intense. Deirdre and Maeve are quick to intercede though, so poor Rhiannon can take a seat. They're reassuring and grateful.
Rhiannon fixed her eyes on Brennan's face. What she felt was clear for all to see. "There was nothing else I could do."
Ian fetched a chair and brought it forward, thumping it down behind her. "Sit you down, meijhana.” His smile was exceedingly charming; the glint in his eyes was clearly intended for Brennan's benefit. "Be at ease, as I insist—and tell us whatever you can of Jarek."
...okay, maybe it IS just a cat thing?
Anyway, Rhiannon explains that Jarek had never mentioned Elek to her before. He'd also never seemed to have trouble serving Cheysuli in the tavern. Brennan confirms that, even noting that, even when they threw him on the altar, he didn't perceive any true hatred or madness is the man's actions. I think you were a little busy, dude.
They ask if she remembers anything else. She does. He's said he was bastard born, but he was proud of it. It would give him powers.
And oh, well. Here we are.
Niall shook his head slowly. "Power from his blood ... for all we know, he may have been Strahan's son."
"Does it matter?" Keely asked. "He is dead."
Ian shrugged. "Dead, aye . . . but I will curse the nameless bitch who bore him anyway."
Rhiannon looked at him sharply. "But I do know her name," she said. "I thought it pretty, so I remember it easily," Rhiannon smiled a little. "His mother's name was Lillith."
As one, they looked at Ian.
And with this reminder that Ian basically exists in this series to suffer, the chapter ends.
So we rejoin Brennan, who is seems to be pretty lost in his lir shape. There's not much by way of coherent thought, just the urge to run. Hard to blame him really. Sleeta is with him.
It's interesting, because this is the second time we've seen Brennan take lir shape and lose his identity. I wonder if the other brothers have the same issue. Anyway, it doesn't last forever:
And then, unwanted, came the memory of what he had been, of what he had done, and he tumbled out of lir-shape into the man-shape known as Brennan.
He landed on one elbow; it gave, folding beneath his weight, and threw him over onto a shoulder, his left one, and then all the pain he had forgotten came rushing back again to set his bones afire.
Cat shape sounded better, to be honest.
So Brennan comes to himself with a splitting headache, a convulsing stomach, and a very sympathetic kitty friend. He can barely hear her over the pain in his head, but Brennan distracts himself by trying to soothe Sleeta. She's had a pretty traumatic time too.
"Gods . . ." In human speech, it was the only word he could manage. He was disoriented, tangled up in the sensations of cat mixed with man, until for a moment he could not distinguish himself, being neither human nor feline, but thing.
I really do find this interesting. Neither Donal or Niall described coming out of lir shape like this. And even the soothing of Sleeta, "with gentle hands and soothing words" sounds more than a little like cat grooming. He realizes that she's bleeding from an open wound and is "outraged at the sacrilege".
They'd set dogs on her, to distract and separate them. She's not unscathed either. She notices that he's bleeding too. He realizes that he's bleeding from the ear: there's no more lobe or earring. Jarek had cut it off.
Symbolic. And an interesting parallel to Strahan, now that I think about it. Finn had cost him an ear.
Brennan tells her about the Ihlini. Sleeta's shocked, she would have known. But Brennan notes that, in the past, other Ihlini have entered Homana-Mujhar without detection. He's not wrong. We had Strahan, most infamously. But Lillith and Varien too.
It's interesting though, that we're getting to see more of an actual reaction from Sleeta:
She was fretful from pain and incomprehension. The gods set us to guard the Cheysuli, to know enemy from friend, to recognize ill intent.
And to know Ihlini?
That more than anything else.
This is the most any lir has ever said about their purpose, as far as we know. Brennan realizes that too, and we get a peek at Cheysuli indoctrination:
Brennan sat very still, not even daring to move his hand against her pelt. In but a few words Sleeta had said more of the purpose of the lir than he had ever heard from her before. As a child he had been taught that a lir was a gift of the gods, something incredibly special; the bond between warrior and animal was a blessing no one else could possibly comprehend, a thing to be cherished above all else. Such handing down of absolutes left little room for questions, even less for answers. The lir themselves had always been oddly secretive about so many things.
So Brennan asks, trying not to be too intense: Why Ihlini?
And hmm:
Having more power, they offer more threat. Sleeta licked his shoulder.
It was not the answer he wanted; it told him nothing he did not know already. "Surely anyone with power offers equal danger."
Her breath was warm. Who is his own worst enemy?
"I am my own, of course—that tells me nothing." And then he stopped speaking. His fingers dug deep into the thickness of her pelt.
Does it really tell us nothing? And Brennan makes the same connection I do:
"Unless, of course, you are confirming my jehan's contention that Cheysuli and Ihlini are bloodkin."
Sleeta butted her head against his shoulder. Lir, lir, enough . . . can we not go home?
Lir are so annoying sometimes.
There's movement in the forest though, and Brennan, rather understandably starts to panic, assuming they're Homanans about to throw him down on an altar again. He tries to get up, but almost passes out. Sleeta, cat that she is, tells him to think before he runs.
Brennan realizes that she's right, and that the unveiling of Jarek as Ihlini would have sent them fleeing. Apparently the only thing scarier than a Cheysuli to these sorts of Homanans is an Ihlini.
Sleeta identifies the pursuer as the girl who got her free. So Rhiannon had kept her promise after all. And while she clearly thinks she's being quiet, she doesn't have the training that Brennan has.
So we get a reunion:
He waited until she was close enough, and then he said her name.
Her startled reaction sent her crashing back two steps and then she was caught fast, clothing and hair snagged on twisted boughs. He heard her rapid breathing and the tearing of thin fabric as she sought to free herself.
"Meijhana—no. There is no need to flee me." And he rose out of his crouch to stand, one hand splayed against the trunk of a conifer to keep him from falling down.
"My lord?" All movement stopped. "Brennan?"
"Aye. And my lir, whom you were good enough to release."
He heard more cloth shredded, the clink of something metallic, the ragged eagerness in her breathing. And then she was free and stood before him. Debris littered her braids, clung to her clothing, marred her face. But she smiled, and laughed, and held out glowing gold.
"Yours, my lord. When all the others ran, I took them to give to you."
...oh dear.
Brennan is very emotional here. There's a cultural significance too. He notes that the lir gold isn't what makes him a man instead of a boy, they're still an important part of who he is, and he would have been shamed for the loss.
Rhiannon's pretty emotional too. She insists, in tears, that she had no idea what Jarek was going to do. He comforts her, and this reminds me of Shapechangers.
"Shansu," he said softly. "Peace, meijhana—I think no less of you for your grief." Yet even as he said it, he wondered if he meant it. In the clans, grief was an exceptionally private thing. A Cheysuli showed none where others might see it.
Traditionally. But traditions change ...
For once, it's not a bad reminder. Or at least, it's bittersweet. Poor Alix ended up immediately swept up into a culture where she wasn't even allowed to be overtly upset that her husband was going to war. And it makes me wonder if, in the same way Corin (briefly) reminded me of early Finn - or at least, the kind of angry hothead rebel that Finn was SUPPOSED to be, Brennan represents the Duncan that we were SUPPOSED to see.
I'm not sure. But anyway, Rhiannon is disheveled, grimy, covered in twigs and leaves, and Brennan thinks that he's never seen a woman who looked lovelier. Oh dear. Honey, you are engaged.
Rhiannon is observant, realizing before he does, that he's close to collapse. Dude's had a rough day or two. And he might be remembering having bit a man's throat out with his teeth.
She urges him to lie down, head in her lap. And sleep.
And that's where things get a little more Robb Stark-ish, because, well...
The woman's voice intruded. From a distance he heard it. He reached out for it, trying to catch it and cling to it like a babe to a mother's breast.
"My lord—" She paused, "Brennan . . . Brennan—wake up. I am here. I am here. I promise."
He struggled toward the voice. Something touched his face: a hand, warm and kind, offering him compassion.
He reached out, caught it, clung, and the darkness began to recede.
"Brennan—"
And he came up out of the dream into reality again, and caught her against his chest, pulling her body beneath his, knowing only one way to banish such gods-cursed fear; how to prove he was alive, alive, after coming so close to death.
"Please—" he whispered, and then abruptly he was awake.
THAT's an awkward way to wake up. He's immediately horrified but...well...
Even as he moved to relieve her of his weight, of his uncharacteristic demand, her hands pulled him back down.
"No."
"But—you know what I meant to do—what I would have done, whether you wanted it or no. . . ."
"I know." She reached up to catch a lock of his hair.
"Do you think I am unwilling?"
A dozen questions spilled into his mind. He wanted to speak of Jarek; of the line between lust and love; of the differences in gratification and gratitude. He could give her so many reasons for what he had so nearly done, and what his body still wanted him to do. But looking into her face, into her eloquent eyes, he saw no desire for explanation. She knew as well as he. She wanted as much as he.
She locked her hands into his hair and pulled his head down, down, until her breath caressed his face. "I did not love him, Brennan. That much I promise you."
For now, it was enough.
Okay, so I'm enjoying the INCREDIBLE novelty of a Roberson protagonist who is actually horrified at the idea that he might have assaulted someone. But dude, are you sure YOU'RE in the right headspace for this?
I'm just saying! Ten minutes ago, you thought you were a cat!
Also, dude, you're still engaged.
So we skip ahead a little, which makes me sad, because I think I might have enjoyed the reactions of the palace to seeing someone as generally self-possessed and dignified as Brennan in as much a state as he'd have had to be by now. We're told that Brennan gives Rhiannon into the care of the serving women, tends to Sleeta, then immediately goes for a hot bath, ignoring the family members who are now knocking at his door. Apparently, indeed, they'd heard of his physical state from the servants. He promises an explanation later.
Hah, cat. Maybe the lir partners DO reflect aspects of personality after all.
So Brennan heads to Deirdre's solar, to meet with the kinfolk. Everyone's there. Ian (who examines the cut earlobe), Maeve, grimacing with empathy, Keely, thoughtful. Deirdre...
Well...
Deirdre, playing hostess, poured wine into a cluster of cups and began to hand them out. As she came to Brennan, he saw how tightly set was her mouth. She said nothing at first, giving Ian his portion, but he seemed to sense she intended to and moved away smoothly. It left Deirdre and Brennan confronting one another over a cup of blood-red wine.
He took it from her, but her fingers pressed his own.
"Next time," she said quietly, "let the bath wait."
"I was filthy—'
"I know. And I am saying, let it wait." Her green eyes were steady, unyielding. "Think of your father instead of yourself."
...yeah, god forbid the guy who got imprisoned, tortured, and lightly mutilated think of himself rather than his dad for a moment. For fuck's sake, Deirdre.
But...remember how I criticized Niall before, for what he didn't see when it came to his older son?
He sighed. "Aye. Aye, I will." He touched Deirdre's shoulder briefly in thanks, then went to his father. The others would hear clearly enough, but it was to Niall he would speak. "I am well, jehan. I swear. There is—discomfort—" he shrugged "—but it will fade."
Niall looked up at him from the chair. "Who put you in irons?" he asked quietly.
Niall is seeing clearly now. The others are shocked and enraged. They want to know who chained him up.
Rhiannon is the one who answers. Making quite an entrance:
"His name was Jarek," Rhiannon said, and shut the door behind her.
As one, all turned and stared at her. Even Brennan did not move to her at once, though he meant to, because he was too startled. He had known she was attractive, but the women had made her beautiful.
Awkwardly, she curtsied deeply. Heavy skirts—a deep, rich blue—draped on slate-gray stone. Her hair, bound back smoothly in a single braid, coiled like glossy black rope against soft wool. "My lord Mujhar—" And abruptly, she lost her balance.
Ian is the one who catches her, which leads to this really weird, out of character exchange:
Brennan looked at his uncle instead of Rhiannon. It was no secret among Deirdre's ladies—and therefore the rest of the palace—that the Mujhar's brother was a man worth having, as friend or bedmate—or both—but Ian had never shown any indication of desiring permanency in feminine companionship. Certainly he did not now, but there was no mistaking his attentiveness to Rhiannon.
He would do the same for any woman . . . and then: She must be twenty-five years younger than my su'fali!
Smoothly Brennan moved forward and offered his hand to Rhiannon. She took it at once, and he could not hide the smile of subtle triumph as he turned her away from Ian.
What the hell?
Brennan's got his fair share of flaws, but this weird territoriality seems out of character. Maybe it's some instinctive cat vs. cat thing? Or Roberson being Roberson.
You've only managed one decent male protagonist so far, Roberson. You're building up to a second here. Don't you dare ruin him for me!
So the family has questions, and Rhiannon explains everything in a quiet, steady voice. We get some reactions: Niall, cursing. Ian, dry and defusing. Keely wants to track them all down and kill them.
They discuss the likelihood that any of the others were Ihlini, like Jarek. Niall thinks they'd need tokens from a lir: Tynstar had Cai. Strahan had four of Storr's teeth. Is that enough for everyone?
Brennan points out that, per Jarek, while they preferred sacrificing women and children, they did kill a few warriors. Which means an endless supply of lir. They could have ALL been Ihlini.
Keely can't comprehend why the Ihlini would pretend to be Homanan when they just intend to kill them anyway. Which leads us to some Keely shilling:
"Because you have no guile in you," Deirdre said.
Keely looked at her in surprise. "What?"
"No guile," Deirdre repeated. "You're a woman for saying what you mean."
"Even when silence is preferable." Brennan smiled at his scowling sister. "Admit it, rufholla—you would sooner charge in shouting your name and intention for all to hear, than to work in silence and subterfuge."
"So should everyone," she retorted. "What good is there in crawling on your belly when there are legs to carry you?”
"And what is wrong with waiting to move until all the facts are known?" Maeve asked. "Keely, you are too bold, too quick to say that you think when you would do better to wait."
It's not as bad as some instances, but it's rather jarring in a scene that's not remotely about her. I GET IT, Roberson. Keely's not like other girls. I'll read her book later.
Brennan is thinking: he thinks it's possible that Jarek was acting alone. He was pretty subtle until the big reveal, and the others scattered. Niall wants to know about Jarek, and he gets a little intense. Deirdre and Maeve are quick to intercede though, so poor Rhiannon can take a seat. They're reassuring and grateful.
Rhiannon fixed her eyes on Brennan's face. What she felt was clear for all to see. "There was nothing else I could do."
Ian fetched a chair and brought it forward, thumping it down behind her. "Sit you down, meijhana.” His smile was exceedingly charming; the glint in his eyes was clearly intended for Brennan's benefit. "Be at ease, as I insist—and tell us whatever you can of Jarek."
...okay, maybe it IS just a cat thing?
Anyway, Rhiannon explains that Jarek had never mentioned Elek to her before. He'd also never seemed to have trouble serving Cheysuli in the tavern. Brennan confirms that, even noting that, even when they threw him on the altar, he didn't perceive any true hatred or madness is the man's actions. I think you were a little busy, dude.
They ask if she remembers anything else. She does. He's said he was bastard born, but he was proud of it. It would give him powers.
And oh, well. Here we are.
Niall shook his head slowly. "Power from his blood ... for all we know, he may have been Strahan's son."
"Does it matter?" Keely asked. "He is dead."
Ian shrugged. "Dead, aye . . . but I will curse the nameless bitch who bore him anyway."
Rhiannon looked at him sharply. "But I do know her name," she said. "I thought it pretty, so I remember it easily," Rhiannon smiled a little. "His mother's name was Lillith."
As one, they looked at Ian.
And with this reminder that Ian basically exists in this series to suffer, the chapter ends.
no subject
Date: 2023-06-16 03:09 pm (UTC)Don't want to be in his position.
Traditionally. But traditions change ...
Not a bad thing. Remember how Cheysuli culture was in the first book? Good thing I don't see that here.
Niall shook his head slowly. "Power from his blood ... for all we know, he may have been Strahan's son."
"Does it matter?" Keely asked. "He is dead."
Ian shrugged. "Dead, aye . . . but I will curse the nameless bitch who bore him anyway."
Rhiannon looked at him sharply. "But I do know her name," she said. "I thought it pretty, so I remember it easily," Rhiannon smiled a little. "His mother's name was Lillith."
As one, they looked at Ian.
Okay, that was a well-done name reveal. Lilith's presence does make me shudder.
no subject
Date: 2023-06-16 04:37 pm (UTC)[wince]
Date: 2023-06-16 04:42 pm (UTC)= Multi-Facets.
Re: [wince]
Date: 2023-06-16 04:46 pm (UTC)Re: [wince]
Date: 2023-06-16 06:46 pm (UTC)