Pride of Princes - Part Five, Chapter Two

[kalinara]

So last time, we got to catch up with all three of our lead characters. And we got to see Strahan begin laying the ground work for his offer to each.



We start this chapter with Brennan again. Strahan has come to give his "stubborn kinsman" a "gift":

"Surcease from your fear."

The voice was endlessly tender. Brennan shut his eyes.

"Behold," Strahan said. "I show you the life of a warrior."

Brennan stood facing the wall. Spread fingers touched fetid slime; nails dug into slick stone in an effort to beat off beguilement. He hated the cell. Hated what it did to him. Hated himself because of it. He had grown used to the stench, but not inured to the distaste. It made him want to vomit.

And then the wall moved. Stone melted away. Brennan opened his eyes.

The world unfolded before him.

Homana. The grassy plains outside of Mujhara, stretching east toward dankeep. He was free of Valgaard at last—free of the tiny cell—free of consuming fear. All around him lay the world, a bright and shining world, made of earth and sky and sun and moon and the warmth of a summer day.

Brennan's breath hissed out of his mouth. Filth sloughed off of him. Fresh leathers adorned his body. He was young and strong and full of life, bursting to run free.

Then come. Sleeta said. What keeps you from it, lir?

Whoa. Now this is a mind fuck. Especially the part with Sleeta. How the fuck can Strahan do THAT?

So Brennan runs, he takes lir shape, he feels the "freedom and the promise of the day". Then, just as suddenly, he's back in the cell. DAMN.

Okay, well, remember how I said that I thought Brennan was least likely to be corrupted since Strahan had little to offer but freedom? I may have to take that back. Because this is pretty vivid fuckery.

Beneath his hands was slime. Banished was his freedom, traded for degradation.

"Sleeta," he said only.

When Roberson is good, she's very good.

Strahan tells him to come, there's something he should see.

Brennan is too dazed to really do much. The servants take him up and down stairs, through doors, past Ihlini godfire used in place of candles. Honestly, that seems wasteful. Atmospheric, but wasteful. He's lead deep down, deeper than the Womb of the Earth.

He considers fleeing, but he's too weak. His breath is an audible rasp, which is insult to injury, given how Cheysuli pride themselves on silence. He's afraid, and Strahan knows it, Strahan "knew how to diminish his pride."

And then there's the destination. (Brennan gets all the cool descriptions in this part, since he's the first arrival.)

"Behold," Strahan said, "the Presence Chamber of the god."

Brennan looked down the columned corridor, stunned by the vastness of the cavern. It unfolded before him into a multitude of vaulted glasswork ceilings, arch upon arch, each reaching higher then the last. Much like the rune-carved hammer-beamed timbers in the roof of Homana-Mujhar, the cavern displayed a filigree of fretwork. A lattice of delicate glass, set aglow from the glare of the Gate,

Something hummed through whorled columns. Godfire rose, then died.

 "Come forth," Strahan said, "and behold the Gate of the god."

Steadily, Brennan walked. Behind him, humming followed.

Beyond the Gate, Strahan waited. He wore black leathers and a velvet doublet of deepest, blood-red purple.

Godfire glowed in the creases. On his brow, the circlet blazed. Raven hair cloaked shoulders.

Whatever else you can say about Strahan, he does have style.

I like the imagery here:

Brennan halted. He was but two steps from the rim of the Gate, but he did not look. Strahan faced him across it. Between them lay the glowing sphincter of the Seker's netherworld. The realm of Asar-Suti.

I also like how, this moment, Brennan gets to take a little of his pride back:

He was afraid. But in that moment, anger swallowed fear. "One might think." Brennan said, "the Seker would smell better."

Strahan's smile vanished.

"One might realize," Brennan said, "that a Cheysuu cannot be broken." He paused. "Not by his brother race."

Brennan is the one who never shied from the idea of Cheysuli and Ihlini being related. And maybe that's what gives him a particular strength here. He knows what it's like to face down hostile and resentful family after all.

Brennan tells Strahan he can lock him up forever, but he'll never serve. Not in madness or sanity.

Strahan, who is holding a black lacquered box "alive with writing crimson runes" says he admires Brennan's strength, but he knows how to break a Cheysuli.

Do you, Strahan? You failed with Donal, much as I hate him. You failed with Niall too.

Brennan asks how. He acknowledges that Strahan has Sleeta, his lir, but killing Sleeta will just lose Brennan entirely.

Now one thing Track of the White Wolf did was finally, truly show us what it meant to be lirless. Temporary and permanent. And here, we get a bit more understanding about how the Cheysuli view it from the outside.

"There will be no death-ritual," Strahan told him. "No escape from the madness lirlessness will bring. Do you sentence yourself to that?"

Madness was anathema to the Cheysuli. The loss of control in lir-shape or out of it was considered inexcusable, in addition to being potentially deadly. A Cheysuli warrior made lirless was, in time, little better than a beast; death was preferable. And so the ritual had been born. But in order to make the ritual have meaning, suicide was taboo. A paradox. And clearly, Strahan knew it.

The suicide part is a bit of a non-sequitur, but it's worth remembering Sorcha and her fate.

This part is pretty good too:

"You have spent the better part of several months attempting to drive me mad,” Brennan said. "Lirlessness will succeed where imprisonment could not, but of what use am I then? What good is a mad Mujhar?"

Strahan's smile was sweet. "More malleable than one who is sane. Look at Shaine." A tendril of living flame licked up from the Gate, touched his boot, tapped, as if to remind him; fell back as Strahan nodded. "Look at Shaine, your distant kinsman, who once gave us Homana-Mujhar because he preferred Ihlini to Cheysuli."

"But Carillon took it back ... it and Solinde. Your homeland, Strahan . . . and now a vassal to the Cheysuli." Brennan shrugged. "Do your worst, Ihlini. I can hardly gainsay you, but idiocy may thwart you."

"And if I chose to kill the cat with an excess of—incivility? What would you say then?"

"That I will suffer," Brennan answered. "No doubt I will beg you to stop. But when you have stopped, and I have my wits about me, the cycle will start again.”

Strahan says, again, that he doesn't need Brennan sane. He says again, that a "hollow man" is easier to control than one "stuffed with Cheysuli pride."

Brennan asks why the mummery then? Strahan considers it an amusing diversion. But I think Brennan does have the right of it. Strahan seems to need them to accept of their own free will. And he hasn't given Brennan much reason to.

Strahan changes tactics here. He explains what he wants: Homana. He can have it through Brennan. He doesn't even need to take Niall's life to have it. Ihlini are immortal after all. He can let Niall live out his years, then take the country after his death. If Brennan serves him, he can spare Niall, Sleeta, and get some nifty life extension beyond that.

It's a weak offer. If Strahan could kill Niall, he'd have done it. We've already gone into the Sleeta thing. And, well, Brennan has no interest in living forever.

Strahan tries another gambit: Brennan's kin. Brennan points out that they can only be killed once.

Strahan can destroy the prophecy: he's already tried.

And well. This isn't Tynstar choosing not to kill Alix and Carillon in Shapechangers. Even if Strahan snapped and murdered all three boys, Niall still has daughters who carry the requisite blood. Hell, Niall himself is only forty. He could, theoretically, father more sons himself.

Strahan realizes that this is leading nowhere. But...he's got another angle to try:

"No." Brennan smiled. "What have you left. Ihlini?"

"This," Strahan said, and opened the wooden box.

Through the smoke, Brennan looked. And then he stared in disgust at Strahan, his distaste as plain as his bafflement.

"Do you not recognize it?" Strahan asked.

"A human hand," Brennan said flatly. "Ensorcelled, no doubt; else it would have decayed by now."

We know what this is. And now we see what Strahan was really saying to Hart earlier when he commented that he might have gotten his ear back if he'd still had possession of the appendage. Strahan, dramatic as he is, stretches out the reveal.

"More than a human hand. It is a Cheysuli hand."

As he was meant to, Brennan looked again. His belly knotted itself.

Strahan closed the box. "I should be very careful. Hart may want it back."

When he could, Brennan breathed again and swallowed back the bile. "There was no ring," he said tightly.

"He wagered it away." Strahan looked past Brennan. "Why not ask him yourself?"

So now, for the first time since Part One, we have two brothers in the same room. Ooof.

Hart barely spared a glance for the Ihlini. He ran forward toward Brennan. "Rufho—" But he slowed as he reached the Gate. The light was odd on his face, limning gauntness and despair. "Brennan, are you whole?"

Brennan swallowed tightly. "More so than you," he said. "Oh, gods, rujho—" Abruptly he turned away.

"Brennan!" Hart halted raggedly. Shock made him awkward. "Do you already cast me out?"

"Ask him!" Brennan spun and thrust out an arm toward Strahan. "Ask him. Hart!"

Not the best reaction, though I don't think Brennan intends to reject Hart here. Also, I'm not really sure what "Ask him!" is supposed to mean.

We see what Hart looks like from the outside:

Hart sighed wearily, too weary to protest as he stripped fallen hair out of his gaunt face. Cheysuli were characteristically angular, formed of remarkably striking bones, but captivity, illness and strain had fined Hart down too far. If the dark skin were any tauter, the cheekbones would cut through flesh. "You asked him for Homana. Now you ask me for Solinde."

So it's Strahan's turn to make the offer to Hart. And he missteps here.

"But your bargain is different." Strahan's fingers splayed across the lid of the box, tapping idly. "He says there is no inducement to make him accept my service. But you are a different man. What would you have of me?"

Hart's laughter had the edge of madness in it. "My freedom," he said promptly. "The freedom of my rujholli. No further dealings with you."

Don't let a gambler lay down the terms, dude.

Of course these terms are unacceptable. And Hart tries to bluff

"And destroy the prophecy." Hart shook his head. For all he meant to sound fierce and adamant, unimpressed by Strahan's words, he knew he sounded precisely what he was: badly frightened, nearly worn through, on the brink of breaking down from the loss of hand and clan. It took all he had to speak steadily, betraying nothing of what he felt inside the dwindling shell. "You have taken my hand, Ihlini . . . you have stolen my heritage from me. I am, as you have said, clanless and unwhole. There is no place for me among the Cheysuli." He spread his arms and displayed hand and stump. "What have I left to lose?"

Strahan tries to offer Hart HIS lir. But that's not going to work: Rael had escaped, and Hart knows it. Strahan suggests the lir bond will grow thin with their separation and eventually break. Can that actually happen, I wonder? It hadn't for Donal or Ian.

But Hart has a response to that too:

Hart drew in a deep breath. "So be it, Ihlini. Madness—and eventual death—is preferable to serving you and your noxious god."

Strahan offers Hart Brennan's life. And this is interesting, because Brennan had been rather flippant on his turn (pointing out, logically, that Strahan could kill them only once.)

Hart looked at Brennan. He saw the rigidity of the body, the bleakness in yellow eyes. He looked for some suggestion, some hint of what Brennan desired him to say. But there was none. Brennan looked soundly defeated, cocooned in futility.

That shook Hart more than anything else. He drew in another deep breath. "An idle promise, Ihlini. Brennan would sooner be dead than have me become your minion merely to save his life."

Brennan's smile was bittersweet.

I wonder what Hart might have done if Brennan looked like he wanted rescue. He doesn't have Brennan's knack for logical analysis. Maybe Strahan should have switched which order he made this offer.

Strahan offers Hart "the girl". Ick, poor Ilsa. Even if she did betray Hart, she doesn't deserve to be offered up like a prize. The offer angers Hart:

Anger flared anew. "Is she not what you promised Dar?"

"Dar is expendable." Strahan brightened. "Would his life be enough for you?"

Hart drew in his left arm and hugged it against his chest. "You will kill whomever you choose, regardless of what I want. I would be a fool to accept such terms."

Yeah, Strahan. It might be good not to remind the person you're trying to win over that you're willing to screw over the last person in his shoes.

But this is all really preamble.

Hart's hard-won demeanor began to slip. In his eyes was emptiness. "What I want you cannot give."

Brennan, clearly afraid, took a step toward him.

"No." Strahan's tone was a whiplash of sound that hissed in the glassy cavern. "This is his choice, now."

Brennan gets thwapped with some gate fire to keep him down. Shouldn't have handed your turn to your brother, I suppose. (Whatever "ask him!" was supposed to mean.) Strahan demands that Hart tell him what he wants:

Hart hugged his arm, swaying on his feet. "I want my clan!” he shouted. "I want the regard and honor of my race, not the ouster I am due." He thrust his left arm into the air and displayed the emptiness at the end of his leather-cuffed wrist. His arm shook with the tension of his rigid body. "With one blow of a sword, Dar had me stripped of my heritage. Maimed warrior, worthless warrior ... not fit to be part of the clan. And so I am kin-wrecked—" He shut his eyes a moment, then drew in an unsteady breath and went on. "Where does it leave me, Ihlini? Why should I serve you?" Hart stood on the edge of the Gate, oblivious to its flame as the tears ran down his face. "You cannot give back my hand—no more than grow back your ear!"

Strahan opened the box.

Hart knows his own hand when he sees it. And...yeah. He gets what Strahan was saying now.

Hart cried out. He wavered on the brink. Flame licked up and drove him back, staggering, until he fell to his knees. He cradled his arm and rocked.

To and fro.

To and fro.

Oblivious to his brother.

Strahan's tone was gentle. "You have only to say you will serve me."

Hart hugged his arm and rocked.

Strahan looked at Brennan. "You have a choice as well."

Brennan knelt on the glassy floor. All he could do was stare at Hart, sharing a measure of his anguish.

Okay, now THIS is pretty effective.

Strahan leaves the boys to think about it.

(I mean, logically speaking, if Hart took Ihlini oaths to get his hand back, he'd STILL be outcast from his clan. He'd still have lost his honor. But I get why neither boy isn't thinking of that right now.)

So now, we shift to Corin. He's healing now, and he's angry. And we see again, how Strahan has different approaches for each:

And yet he was not in a cell. His room was small, hut hardly bereft of luxuries. The bed was comfortable. The hangings were richly patterned, if in runic glyphs he did not know and feared to learn. The door was clearly unlocked. If he could walk, he might go free. But his legs were not quite healed.

It's a more comfortable cell, but maybe that's worse, with freedom just out of reach.

He tries to reach Kiri. No dice. But in comes Strahan.

He seems to have learned from his mistake with Hart. He's making this offer to Corin without the others present.

"I have something for you." Strahan put it into his hand.

Corin stared at it. A ring. A circlet of heavy gold, incised with careful runes, and a brilliant blood-red ruby held firm by taloned prongs. The ring of the Prince of Homana.

Corin realizes what this means. Strahan has his brother. Both, Strahan confirms. All three, in addition to the lir.

And Corin's reaction is...significant:

Corin's eyes went back the ring. It was too large for him, he knew, because he had tried it on once. Brennan was taller, heavier, more strongly made than Corin; Hart was very like him. Their fingers were longer, stronger, browner. More Cheysuli than his.

Corin looked at his own signet. The emerald still glittered against his flesh. The gold shone brightly as ever, if perverted by the godfire. Strahan had not touched it.

"Trade," Strahan suggested.

Corin asks if his brother is dead. No, he's unharmed. This is an offer, not a taunt. All Corin has to do is wear it. He's already, immediately, wondered/remembered how it felt after all.

Corin, to his credit, points out that he's the Prince of Atvia.

"You are prisoner to me,"'Strahan moved a trifle closer. "There is no need for dissembling, Corin. I understand very well what it is to desire something very badly. I understand passion and ambition and the need for a thing fulfilled. Do you think I do this for pleasure?"

His eerie eyes were black in the purple glare. "Brennan is unfit for his inheritance. Homana lacks a proper prince. There is a need for you."

Corin immediately demands to know what Strahan did to his brother. Strahan says he's merely shown him that he's a man unfit to rule.

Corin disbelieves that instantly and honestly, rather heartwarmingly, saying that Brennan is more fit to rule than any man he's ever seen.

And it makes sense, really. At heart, the nature of Corin's resentment (at least before Aileen) was because he wanted to be the man he perceived his brother to be. He didn't want Homana for Homana, just because it was part of what made Brennan important.

Strahan leans harder, pointing out that Corin discounts himself. Corin points out that Hart is actually next in line. When Strahan comments that Hart will have Solinde (and that's an interesting thought. What DOES the parcelled realms mean for succession? If Brennan dies here, would Hart inherit both kingdoms? Or would it go to the closest male relative that ISN'T a ruler of another kingdom...Tiernan??)

Corin asserts, again, that his kingdom is Atvia.

"Your realm, Corin, has been mine for several months, because of Lillith's power over its lord. But now Alaric is dead. His heir has disappeared. Into the confusion, I have moved to quell the fear." Strahan smiled. "There is no need for you there."

I'd say there's more need for him now. But okay. (Also why can't Lillith rule directly? Hmph.)

Corin points out that Hart still exists. Which lets Strahan drop this bombshell:

"Hart will never be accepted in Homana ... at least by the Cheysuli."

A chill touched Corin's neck. "What have you done to Hart?" Foreboding knotted his belly. "Why would they not accept him?"

"Becaused a maimed warrior has no place in the clans." Strahan shrugged. "Through great misfortune—he lost an important wager—Hart now lacks a hand. The Cheysuli will no longer honor him as a warrior. He is, as he himself says, clan-wrecked."

"Maimed—" Corin mouthed it. The ring bit into the flesh of his palm. "Oh—no . . . no—"

One thing I really like here is how the reaction of each brother really drives home Hart's predicament. Like I said, I don't think Brennan really intended to reject his brother in that moment of reaction. But he was definitely horrified. Corin is too. No one needs to tell either what it means.

So Strahan leans harder: Homana is in need of a healthy, whole prince. Corin points out that it'd be in service of Asar-Suti.

The Ihlini lifted a single eloquent shoulder. "A minor price to pay. Look what you will get—Homana, the Lion . . . Aileen."

Corin's head snapped up; he stared at the sorcerer.

Strahan smiled warmly. "Need I remind you? She is to wed the Prince of Homana."

Gilded candles guttered. Flame danced and smoked.

Corin clutched the ring. "Show me," he said hollowly. "Show me my rujholli."

Strahan bowed his assent.

The chapter ends here.