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i_read_whatSo last time, Donal was a dick to his sister, got married and made a friend. Also we saw Lachlan! HI LACHLAN! I wish this book were about you instead!
Anyway, we resume where we left off last chapter. Donal's about to reach Aislinn, only to be stopped by his father-in-law. Carillon has men that he wants Donal to meet.
Politics, of course. “I mean to dance with Aislinn.” He thought perhaps an appeal to Carillon’s parental prejudice would delay the need for such discussions.
Carillon smiled, seeing through the tactic at once. “Aislinn can wait a few moments. These are men you will need to know.” The Mujhar’s hand was on Donal’s arm as he turned him away from the dance floor. “I know, this is your wedding celebration—but you will soon learn that such occasions offer opportunities other times do not.”
I'm weirdly torn here. I mean, on one hand, I'm not generally sympathetic to Donal's whining. But on the other, I really do think this conversation doesn't really need to happen right here, right now. I'm pretty sure these guys would wait a day if the king asked them too.
Anyway, this is actually interesting though because it's real court life stuff. Some of these men are noblemen that Donal recognizes from seeing them around Homana-Mujhar over the years. Some however have Solindish accents.
Carillon conducted the introductions smoothly with light-handed authority. The nuances told Donal the Mujhar meant to emphasize that this Cheysuli was now the Prince of Homana; did the Solindish seek to discount him, they discounted the man who would one day rule their realm.
But it was the Homanans Donal watched more closely. He expected hostility from the Solindish; it came as no shock when he perceived it, however veiled. But the two Homanans, watching him silently, seemed tense, expectant.
Gods—it is worse than I thought it might be. Surely Carillon can see it. These men and others like them will never accept me as Mujhar.
Carillon’s hand was on Donal’s shoulder. “Of course we all realize the alliance between our two realms precludes any more war—” his smile was eloquently bland “—so I doubt Donal will ever see it. No doubt he will value the ongoing peace as highly as I do.” Carillon inclined his head at the Solindish nobles. “It will be a mark of Donal’s tenure as Mujhar that his reign will know only peace, and will no longer need petty squabbling.” The hand tightened. “It would please me well to know I am succeeded by a man who can hold the peace so truly.”
I do like this bit I bitch about Carillon a LOT, so it's good to see him actually in his element. He is quite good at veiled threats. And, as mentioned, I'm far more sympathetic to Donal's angst about this than I am the rest of his whining.
Carillon isn't done though. See, he realizes that the people of Solinde will be alarmed by having a Cheysuli ruler, so he's going to help them get accustomed to Donal. He's going to withdraw Duke Royce and install Donal in his place.
...dude, it might have been good to tell Donal that! Donal dares not show his surprise, and for once, I agree with him.
The Mujhar shrugged. “First he and my daughter shall spend some time together as befits those newly married. At Joyenne, I think, before they go to Lestra.” Carillon’s hand tightened yet again on Donal’s shoulder, as if he meant to pull him closer in a brief hug of parental approval.
That is an interesting power play. Theoretically it gets Donal away from would-be assassins. And Aislinn is Electra's daughter and therefore a princess of Solinde in her own right.
The politics get interrupted though when someone screams. And a man runs forward with a sword in his hand.
His own hand flashed down to clasp his long-knife and came up filled with steel and gold. Next to him, Carillon too had armed himself. But the enemy’s sword, even as it sliced through the air in a blaze of shining steel, fell free of the assailant’s hand. And the man himself, so close to the Mujhar, dropped a moment later to join his weapon on the floor.
A knife, hilt-deep, stood up from the dead man’s back in the very center of his spine. Donal knew the blade at once: a royal Homanan knife, with rampant lion and ruby eye. And he knew what man had thrown it.
Oh my.
Carillon stood over the body. But he did not look at it. Instead, he looked at the warrior who had thrown the royal knife.
Finn’s bare arms were folded across his chest. “It does appear, my lord, you lack a proper liege man.”
Dare I say it? Do I really get to say it?
“Aye,” Carillon agreed. His tone, though light, sounded hoarse in the silent hall. “Since I lost the one I had for so many years, I have been unable to find another.”
The question was implicit in his tone. Donal, staring at Finn, felt a strange wild hope build up in his breast.
Gods—did Finn return to Carillon…things would be as they were before— Except he knew they would not. Time had altered them both.
Finn smiled faintly, darkly. “Aye,” he agreed. “It is difficult to find a man well-suited to the post. I have always understood a liege man to be—irreplaceable.”
“Unless replaced with the original warrior.” Carillon’s face was perfectly blank.
GET A FUCKING ROOOOOOOOOM.
But Donal, in a very rare show of empathy realizes there's another piece to this puzzle:
Donal looked not at Finn but at Rowan. The most loyal and dedicated of all Carillon’s generals wore, as Donal did, the colors of the realm. But Rowan’s garb, rather than Cheysuli leathers, was the silks and velvets of Homana.
Yet it was not the clothing Donal looked at, but the face. The sunbronzed Cheysuli face which had abruptly lost its color, gone ash-gray in shock. Rowan’s hand was on the hilt of his long-knife, as if he had intended to draw it in Carillon’s defense. And yet—he did not look at Carillon. He looked instead at Finn.
He waits, Donal realized abruptly. He waits for Finn’s answer. Though he is no proper liege man, he is everything else to Carillon. He has served him so well for all these years. I do not doubt he felt he could take Finn’s place in some small measure—perhaps more—and now he realizes Finn might return to Carillon’s side. Donal blew out a breath. I would not wish to live like that, ever on the edge. Ever wondering.
But at last the wondering could stop.
I don't really want to discourage Donal from his rare moment of empathy, but I'm not really sure the issue is as complicated as all that. Rowan is a general who commands the Homanan military. That's not a role that Finn has ever had, nor wanted to have. It might be awkward at first, but I think Rowan's place will be secure, even if Carillon finally bangs his Cheysuli ex.
But, alas.
Finn looked down at the dead man. The golden hilt glittered in the torchlight. “No,” he said finally, with the faintest note of regret underscoring his tone. “I think those times are done. I have a clan to lead. Warriors to train.” He looked up and met Carillon’s eyes. For a long moment they seemed to share an unspoken communication. Briefly, Finn looked at the twisted hands and the hunching of Carillon’s shoulders. “There is something I can offer you. If you will let me do it.”
I mean, you could still fuck. You don't have to be symbolically married to fuck.
Anyway, Carillon has the Solindish noblemen escorted to their quarters, with orders that they'll return home in the morning. The Solindish men deny that they had anything to do with it, of course, but Carillon goes a little godfather here:
“On the day of my daughter’s wedding, I have been attacked in my own hall,” Carillon said inflexibly. “Let there be no more diplomacy between us, Voile—our two realms will soon be at war. This assassination attempt might have won it for Solinde before the thing was begun, had it succeeded. But it failed, and you are uncovered—like a grub beneath a rock—your plan has gone awry.” He signaled his guards to surround the Solindish nobles.
I mean, okay, I agree that assassination attempts are bad. But you don't even know if these are folks who are acting on their own or if they have support of their whole country. You HAVE a war brewing with Atvia already. Is this the best time?
Carillon orders the celebration continue, then leaves the hall with Finn. (YES!) Donal turns around to see a very pale Bronwyn. Donal tries to urge her back to the guests, but she actually has something important to tell him:
But Bronwyn stood in place. “Why does Carillon think it was him the assassin wanted?”
Donal frowned. “It was, Bronwyn. Who else would such a man want?”
“You,” she said distinctly. “Oh Donal…I saw how the man looked at you. Not at the Mujhar.” Her amber eyes began to fill with tears. “It was you he wanted, rujho. I swear—I saw it in his face.”
I mean, Donal, didn't someone JUST try to kill you two chapters ago. Please try to keep up. But Bronwyn's not done.
See, she recognizes this guy. She'd danced with him. He'd asked her questions about Donal, which didn't strike her as odd at the time. Not many people know Donal, after all, and they're bound to be curious about the King's heir and son-in-law. But then he left. And when he came back, he had a sword.
And then there's this:
Donal frowned. “Were you not made suspicious by all the Solindishman’s questions?”
She stared up into his face. “But—Donal…he was a Homanan.”
So both Donal and Bronwyn are a bit freaked out by this. Understandable. But, um, don't you think someone should tell Carillon that the Solindishmen weren't actually the attempted assassins? And you know, avoid fighting a war on two fronts?
No?
Okay then. Instead, Donal's looking for Aislinn. And he's being really fucking creepy about it.
He saw her. He saw how she stood away from the crowd, as if she could not bear to be a part of it. Sapphires and silver glittered. In both hands she held a hammered goblet and raised it to her mouth. He saw her grimace of distaste once she had swallowed. But he could not say if it was the wine that caused it, or the failure of the assassin.
Aislinn…I think there are things between us to be settled.
Donal looked down at Bronwyn. “Stay here, with the others. I think it is time I took my cheysula from the crowd.”
“But—what of the bedding ceremony?”
He smiled grimly. “I think, tonight, it would be better Aislinn did without it.” But he did not say he intended more for Aislinn than a simple nuptial bedding.
Another Homanan custom?
I don't recall Carillon and Electra taking part in a bedding ceremony, but okay.
Donal decides the best approach here it to...be a dick to his new wife?
As he reached her, Donal put out his hand and took the goblet out of hers. Aislinn stared at him in surprise. “Do you want it? Or do you need it?” Suspicion made him cruel.
“What?”
He looked into her face. He saw pale pink underlying the pallor of her cheeks; the hectic glitter in her gray eyes. Sensuous eyes; he knew, for all she was still young, she had learned something of a woman’s seductive ways from her incredibly seductive mother.
He reached out and caught one slender wrist. “You tremble, Aislinn. For me or for your jehan?”
“I thought he would slay my father—”
“He did not want Carillon. The assassin was after me.”
“You! Why would he want you?”
Her surprise was sincere. He could not doubt it. It was less than flattering, perhaps—in an odd sort of way—that she would think him so insignificant a target, but he was relieved. He did not think the emotion was feigned.
I mean, she could just be a sixteen year old girl who just saw an attempted assassination. I'd be freaked out by that too.
I do think she's a little naive about why someone would want to kill Donal. I kind of want to kill Donal, and I'm not even a racist Homanan. He's a dick.
And we get another patented Roberson non-sequiter sequence:
“There are some men who might desire me dead,” he told her evenly, still appraising her reactions. “Undoubtedly some women, as well; Electra, perhaps?” He saw how her color faded. “Carillon ages. He will not hold the Lion forever. How better to wrest the throne from the proper line than by slaying the man who will inherit from the Mujhar?”
“Oh gods,” she said. “Will it always be like this?”
That was not precisely the reaction he had expected, not if she were a part of the plot against him. “I hope not,” he answered fervently. “If this is what the rank entails—”
“You do not think you are up to it?” Her tone was very cool. In her silver and sapphires, she was more like her mother each moment.
...for once the dialogue isn't really the problem. I can logically follow that part. But I'm not sure how we go from Aislinn being in shock and dread to suddenly channeling Electra. I think maybe they should look at her again for mind control, since that swing doesn't really make sense.
Anyway, Aislinn eventually admits she had been hiding a little. She was warned about the bedding ceremony and isn't comfortable with the idea. We get confirmation that it's a Homanan custom, apparently in the clans, women simply move into a warrior's pavilion. Yeah, maybe we shouldn't talk about who's in your pavilion.
But this moment is cute:
“That is all?” Her gray eyes were huge. “At this moment, I would prefer this were a Cheysuli ceremony.”
“Then we shall make it one.” He closed her hand within his own. “Come with me. We will escape the predators.”
Maybe this can work after all.
--
Apparently they'll be sharing royal apartments, and when they go there, there's no one in attendance. The corridor is deserted. I find this really fucking unlikely but okay, fine. Aislinn is visibly tense and rigid. She admits that she's a little afraid.
He leaned against the door so that the carved wood pressed into his spine. He watched her, saying nothing. He could not, for the moment. He was taken too much by surprise. Somehow he had not expected the strong desire he was suddenly feeling.
For Aislinn? When there is Sorcha, who is everything to me?
Everything, perhaps. But for the moment there was also Aislinn.
...I know that Sorcha's children (and their children) have very important roles to play in the subsequent books in this series, but god, I find this all very off-putting. How am I supposed to be invested in Donal and Aislinn as a pairing when he's basically married to someone else?
I mean, look, I'm actually pro-polygamy. I think I've given ample evidence of that in these reviews. But the Cheysuli version is just so unequal. And here, this isn't a case of adults being on the same page about including other people in their relationship. This isn't even a case of one adult giving the okay for their partner to have sex outside of the marriage.
This is a unilateral decision, by Donal, that has made both Sorcha and Aislinn miserable. And I mean, okay, the tension is a plot point. But it certainly doesn't make me like the man.
Aislinn pours some wine as a "nuptual cup". This starts out pretty okay:
“Shansu,” he said. “Do you think I would hurt you, Aislinn?”
“You would never hurt me,” she answered clearly. “I have seen the look in your eyes.” Unexpectedly, she smiled.
and quickly goes sour when Aislinn reveals that the wine is a gift from her mother:
The goblet fell. It struck the carpet and shattered.
“Do you risk yourself as well?” he demanded.
“Risk? What risk? It was a gift—”
“To you? Or meant for me?”
Color flowed out of her face. Wine droplets glittered against the smooth flesh of one perfect cheek, then rolled down to splash against the gown. “Do you forget, husband, that I was to drink as well?”
“No more than I forget you spent two years with that witch on the Crystal Isle,” he answered. “How am I to know she did not dose you with the poison bit by bit each day, until you grew immune?”
“You fool!” she snapped. “Do you think I would wish for your death?”
“I accuse you of nothing.” He could not, yet; there was no proof of complicity.
I mean, you JUST accused her dude.
That said, Aislinn, really? I get that she's your mother, but you HEARD her talk about your father and your fiance. And even if the wine IS innocent, do you really think Donal would want to take wine from the woman who tried to murder the king?
I blame Roberson for this really, because up until now, Aislinn has not actually been an idiot.
Anyway, Aislinn points out that Finn tested her.
“But you still distrust me.” The vivid hair curtained her face on either side. “Do you not? Do you think the assassin was also my doing? Do you really believe I desire to slay you when all I desire is you?”
He took three steps, reached out, caught her wrist. He looked at the slim, delicate hand. He could see it again before his eyes: the creamy, gold-veined vault with all its marble lir, and the hands that held the torch meant to thrust him to his death.
“Aislinn,” he said, “you frighten me. I know not what you will do.”
I mean, you could have asked if she had an alibi for the time you got attacked in the Womb of the Earth. That might help.
But anyway, Aislinn insists she'd never slay him, and she'd slay anyone who tried. Donal decides that he believes her after all. It's really that abrupt. And well, things start to go well.
Slowly he untied the lacings of her gown, baring her smooth, pale, delicate back. As he touched her, her flesh responded.
Naked, she lay against the bedclothes. She watched him with the eyes of a woman desiring a man. And so he divested himself of his clothing and slipped into bed beside her. Perhaps it will not be so ill-matched a union after all…
But as he put a hand upon her breast, Aislinn screamed.
...this sounds bad.
“Wolf.” She said it with cold precision. “Your blood is the blood of a wolf—your hands the claws of a wolf—your face the face of a wolf—do you think I will lie with you—?”
He stared at her in horror and his flesh crawled.
Aislinn twitched. He saw an alteration in her eyes. Briefly, a cessation of hostility, replaced with bewilderment. But as he opened his mouth to say her name, she twitched again and the words spilled out of her mouth.
“Beast, not man…not a human man…she has told me—she has told me…she has said it would be like—”
“Aislinn, no—”
“She said you will take me as a wolf because you can take me no other way.” A shudder wracked her body. “Donal? Donal? What is wrong? Donal?” One trembling hand covered her mouth. “What is wrong?”
Oh, poor Aislinn. It seems like Finn didn't get everything. Which makes some sense, I suppose. Electra had TWO YEARS to work on this poor girl.
It goes on like this for a while. Aislinn spewing the hatred that her mother drilled into her head. But pretty clearly NOT of her own volition:
Aislinn,” he said, “oh Aislinn, do you see what she has done?”
Tears were running down her face. “Donal—? What is wrong? What has she done to me—?”
“She has twisted you—” But he stopped. Aislinn was beyond comprehension.
Sickened, Donal put on his leathers again. And then he turned back to her. “Aislinn—”
“I will not lie with a wolf.”
I mean, I don't think she's necessarily beyond comprehension. She seems to be well aware that there's something wrong with her. Poor thing.
Donal flees, understandably, but his thoughts kind of make me want to slap him:
Clumsily, Donal unlocked the door and went out. In the darkened corridor he stood, sickened and bereft, wanting only to lick the pain of injured pride. He thought at once of Sorcha, longing for the comfort of her arms. But he could not go to the Keep. Not on his wedding night.
Injured PRIDE? Really?!
Not fear or worry over your WIFE being terrified out of her mind because of some kind of programming?!
INJURED PRIDE.
And really, you're going to think of Sorcha NOW?!
I hate him. It's completely irrational, but I hate him.
Anyway, he's interrupted when he spots movement. After a moment of fairly understandable anxiety, he realizes it's an amorous couple.
Actually it's Evan, who apparently did find himself a consenting girl of noble, yet not royal blood. And he immediately proves himself to be a far better friend than Donal deserves:
“Do you tarry out here while your bride awaits? Or has she sent you away while she divests herself of her clothing.” Evan kissed the girl quickly, then grinned archly at Donal. And then the grin faded.
Evan kissed the girl again, more soundly, then patted her silken skirts. “Go back,” he said, with only a hint of regret in his tone. “I have business with the prince.”
Her protest died. She slewed her dark eyes in Donal’s direction, then gathered up her skirts and hastened back along the corridor.
Evan suggests a remedy: Donal can show him the taverns of Mujhara. As many as they can before dawn breaks. Donal likes the idea and the chapter ends here.
...I mean, I'm glad Donal found a friend, but don't you think you should tell someone with some kind of authority that the princess of Homana is having some kind of breakdown? Maybe call your uncle? No? Ok...
--
So there's a lot of great things in this chapter: the Finn and Carillon kayak is back in the fucking water, baby! And the part where Aislinn starts losing her mind is utterly terrifying.
But I still can't get over how much of this plot requires the characters to be idiots.
1) Bronwyn can't have attacked Donal in the Womb, which makes Aislinn the most likely person. And apparently, despite having weeks to plan the wedding, no one has apparently followed up on this?
2) Donal knows that his would be assassin is a Homanan who tried to kill him, not a Solindishman aiming for Carillon, but apparently makes no attempt to notify the king and STOP the fucking war that Carillon just declared! (Hey, by the way, what happens to Royce? The viceroy of Solinde? Are they going to make sure he can get out of the city first?)
3) Aislinn knows that her mother is a racist evil schemer who fucked with her head and hates Carillon and Donal. I can understand wearing the jewels, but why the Hell would a character who has otherwise been incredibly intelligent so far, be willing to trust Electra's wine?!
4) Oh and Donal, after watching his wife have a psychotic break where she alternates between confused and wrathful, just goes off to drink without telling ANYONE what happened with her.
It's so frustrating because I KNOW Roberson can do better than this. We've SEEN her do better than this. And unfortunately, I suspect that it's going to get worse before it gets better.
Anyway, we resume where we left off last chapter. Donal's about to reach Aislinn, only to be stopped by his father-in-law. Carillon has men that he wants Donal to meet.
Politics, of course. “I mean to dance with Aislinn.” He thought perhaps an appeal to Carillon’s parental prejudice would delay the need for such discussions.
Carillon smiled, seeing through the tactic at once. “Aislinn can wait a few moments. These are men you will need to know.” The Mujhar’s hand was on Donal’s arm as he turned him away from the dance floor. “I know, this is your wedding celebration—but you will soon learn that such occasions offer opportunities other times do not.”
I'm weirdly torn here. I mean, on one hand, I'm not generally sympathetic to Donal's whining. But on the other, I really do think this conversation doesn't really need to happen right here, right now. I'm pretty sure these guys would wait a day if the king asked them too.
Anyway, this is actually interesting though because it's real court life stuff. Some of these men are noblemen that Donal recognizes from seeing them around Homana-Mujhar over the years. Some however have Solindish accents.
Carillon conducted the introductions smoothly with light-handed authority. The nuances told Donal the Mujhar meant to emphasize that this Cheysuli was now the Prince of Homana; did the Solindish seek to discount him, they discounted the man who would one day rule their realm.
But it was the Homanans Donal watched more closely. He expected hostility from the Solindish; it came as no shock when he perceived it, however veiled. But the two Homanans, watching him silently, seemed tense, expectant.
Gods—it is worse than I thought it might be. Surely Carillon can see it. These men and others like them will never accept me as Mujhar.
Carillon’s hand was on Donal’s shoulder. “Of course we all realize the alliance between our two realms precludes any more war—” his smile was eloquently bland “—so I doubt Donal will ever see it. No doubt he will value the ongoing peace as highly as I do.” Carillon inclined his head at the Solindish nobles. “It will be a mark of Donal’s tenure as Mujhar that his reign will know only peace, and will no longer need petty squabbling.” The hand tightened. “It would please me well to know I am succeeded by a man who can hold the peace so truly.”
I do like this bit I bitch about Carillon a LOT, so it's good to see him actually in his element. He is quite good at veiled threats. And, as mentioned, I'm far more sympathetic to Donal's angst about this than I am the rest of his whining.
Carillon isn't done though. See, he realizes that the people of Solinde will be alarmed by having a Cheysuli ruler, so he's going to help them get accustomed to Donal. He's going to withdraw Duke Royce and install Donal in his place.
...dude, it might have been good to tell Donal that! Donal dares not show his surprise, and for once, I agree with him.
The Mujhar shrugged. “First he and my daughter shall spend some time together as befits those newly married. At Joyenne, I think, before they go to Lestra.” Carillon’s hand tightened yet again on Donal’s shoulder, as if he meant to pull him closer in a brief hug of parental approval.
That is an interesting power play. Theoretically it gets Donal away from would-be assassins. And Aislinn is Electra's daughter and therefore a princess of Solinde in her own right.
The politics get interrupted though when someone screams. And a man runs forward with a sword in his hand.
His own hand flashed down to clasp his long-knife and came up filled with steel and gold. Next to him, Carillon too had armed himself. But the enemy’s sword, even as it sliced through the air in a blaze of shining steel, fell free of the assailant’s hand. And the man himself, so close to the Mujhar, dropped a moment later to join his weapon on the floor.
A knife, hilt-deep, stood up from the dead man’s back in the very center of his spine. Donal knew the blade at once: a royal Homanan knife, with rampant lion and ruby eye. And he knew what man had thrown it.
Oh my.
Carillon stood over the body. But he did not look at it. Instead, he looked at the warrior who had thrown the royal knife.
Finn’s bare arms were folded across his chest. “It does appear, my lord, you lack a proper liege man.”
Dare I say it? Do I really get to say it?
“Aye,” Carillon agreed. His tone, though light, sounded hoarse in the silent hall. “Since I lost the one I had for so many years, I have been unable to find another.”
The question was implicit in his tone. Donal, staring at Finn, felt a strange wild hope build up in his breast.
Gods—did Finn return to Carillon…things would be as they were before— Except he knew they would not. Time had altered them both.
Finn smiled faintly, darkly. “Aye,” he agreed. “It is difficult to find a man well-suited to the post. I have always understood a liege man to be—irreplaceable.”
“Unless replaced with the original warrior.” Carillon’s face was perfectly blank.
GET A FUCKING ROOOOOOOOOM.
But Donal, in a very rare show of empathy realizes there's another piece to this puzzle:
Donal looked not at Finn but at Rowan. The most loyal and dedicated of all Carillon’s generals wore, as Donal did, the colors of the realm. But Rowan’s garb, rather than Cheysuli leathers, was the silks and velvets of Homana.
Yet it was not the clothing Donal looked at, but the face. The sunbronzed Cheysuli face which had abruptly lost its color, gone ash-gray in shock. Rowan’s hand was on the hilt of his long-knife, as if he had intended to draw it in Carillon’s defense. And yet—he did not look at Carillon. He looked instead at Finn.
He waits, Donal realized abruptly. He waits for Finn’s answer. Though he is no proper liege man, he is everything else to Carillon. He has served him so well for all these years. I do not doubt he felt he could take Finn’s place in some small measure—perhaps more—and now he realizes Finn might return to Carillon’s side. Donal blew out a breath. I would not wish to live like that, ever on the edge. Ever wondering.
But at last the wondering could stop.
I don't really want to discourage Donal from his rare moment of empathy, but I'm not really sure the issue is as complicated as all that. Rowan is a general who commands the Homanan military. That's not a role that Finn has ever had, nor wanted to have. It might be awkward at first, but I think Rowan's place will be secure, even if Carillon finally bangs his Cheysuli ex.
But, alas.
Finn looked down at the dead man. The golden hilt glittered in the torchlight. “No,” he said finally, with the faintest note of regret underscoring his tone. “I think those times are done. I have a clan to lead. Warriors to train.” He looked up and met Carillon’s eyes. For a long moment they seemed to share an unspoken communication. Briefly, Finn looked at the twisted hands and the hunching of Carillon’s shoulders. “There is something I can offer you. If you will let me do it.”
I mean, you could still fuck. You don't have to be symbolically married to fuck.
Anyway, Carillon has the Solindish noblemen escorted to their quarters, with orders that they'll return home in the morning. The Solindish men deny that they had anything to do with it, of course, but Carillon goes a little godfather here:
“On the day of my daughter’s wedding, I have been attacked in my own hall,” Carillon said inflexibly. “Let there be no more diplomacy between us, Voile—our two realms will soon be at war. This assassination attempt might have won it for Solinde before the thing was begun, had it succeeded. But it failed, and you are uncovered—like a grub beneath a rock—your plan has gone awry.” He signaled his guards to surround the Solindish nobles.
I mean, okay, I agree that assassination attempts are bad. But you don't even know if these are folks who are acting on their own or if they have support of their whole country. You HAVE a war brewing with Atvia already. Is this the best time?
Carillon orders the celebration continue, then leaves the hall with Finn. (YES!) Donal turns around to see a very pale Bronwyn. Donal tries to urge her back to the guests, but she actually has something important to tell him:
But Bronwyn stood in place. “Why does Carillon think it was him the assassin wanted?”
Donal frowned. “It was, Bronwyn. Who else would such a man want?”
“You,” she said distinctly. “Oh Donal…I saw how the man looked at you. Not at the Mujhar.” Her amber eyes began to fill with tears. “It was you he wanted, rujho. I swear—I saw it in his face.”
I mean, Donal, didn't someone JUST try to kill you two chapters ago. Please try to keep up. But Bronwyn's not done.
See, she recognizes this guy. She'd danced with him. He'd asked her questions about Donal, which didn't strike her as odd at the time. Not many people know Donal, after all, and they're bound to be curious about the King's heir and son-in-law. But then he left. And when he came back, he had a sword.
And then there's this:
Donal frowned. “Were you not made suspicious by all the Solindishman’s questions?”
She stared up into his face. “But—Donal…he was a Homanan.”
So both Donal and Bronwyn are a bit freaked out by this. Understandable. But, um, don't you think someone should tell Carillon that the Solindishmen weren't actually the attempted assassins? And you know, avoid fighting a war on two fronts?
No?
Okay then. Instead, Donal's looking for Aislinn. And he's being really fucking creepy about it.
He saw her. He saw how she stood away from the crowd, as if she could not bear to be a part of it. Sapphires and silver glittered. In both hands she held a hammered goblet and raised it to her mouth. He saw her grimace of distaste once she had swallowed. But he could not say if it was the wine that caused it, or the failure of the assassin.
Aislinn…I think there are things between us to be settled.
Donal looked down at Bronwyn. “Stay here, with the others. I think it is time I took my cheysula from the crowd.”
“But—what of the bedding ceremony?”
He smiled grimly. “I think, tonight, it would be better Aislinn did without it.” But he did not say he intended more for Aislinn than a simple nuptial bedding.
Another Homanan custom?
I don't recall Carillon and Electra taking part in a bedding ceremony, but okay.
Donal decides the best approach here it to...be a dick to his new wife?
As he reached her, Donal put out his hand and took the goblet out of hers. Aislinn stared at him in surprise. “Do you want it? Or do you need it?” Suspicion made him cruel.
“What?”
He looked into her face. He saw pale pink underlying the pallor of her cheeks; the hectic glitter in her gray eyes. Sensuous eyes; he knew, for all she was still young, she had learned something of a woman’s seductive ways from her incredibly seductive mother.
He reached out and caught one slender wrist. “You tremble, Aislinn. For me or for your jehan?”
“I thought he would slay my father—”
“He did not want Carillon. The assassin was after me.”
“You! Why would he want you?”
Her surprise was sincere. He could not doubt it. It was less than flattering, perhaps—in an odd sort of way—that she would think him so insignificant a target, but he was relieved. He did not think the emotion was feigned.
I mean, she could just be a sixteen year old girl who just saw an attempted assassination. I'd be freaked out by that too.
I do think she's a little naive about why someone would want to kill Donal. I kind of want to kill Donal, and I'm not even a racist Homanan. He's a dick.
And we get another patented Roberson non-sequiter sequence:
“There are some men who might desire me dead,” he told her evenly, still appraising her reactions. “Undoubtedly some women, as well; Electra, perhaps?” He saw how her color faded. “Carillon ages. He will not hold the Lion forever. How better to wrest the throne from the proper line than by slaying the man who will inherit from the Mujhar?”
“Oh gods,” she said. “Will it always be like this?”
That was not precisely the reaction he had expected, not if she were a part of the plot against him. “I hope not,” he answered fervently. “If this is what the rank entails—”
“You do not think you are up to it?” Her tone was very cool. In her silver and sapphires, she was more like her mother each moment.
...for once the dialogue isn't really the problem. I can logically follow that part. But I'm not sure how we go from Aislinn being in shock and dread to suddenly channeling Electra. I think maybe they should look at her again for mind control, since that swing doesn't really make sense.
Anyway, Aislinn eventually admits she had been hiding a little. She was warned about the bedding ceremony and isn't comfortable with the idea. We get confirmation that it's a Homanan custom, apparently in the clans, women simply move into a warrior's pavilion. Yeah, maybe we shouldn't talk about who's in your pavilion.
But this moment is cute:
“That is all?” Her gray eyes were huge. “At this moment, I would prefer this were a Cheysuli ceremony.”
“Then we shall make it one.” He closed her hand within his own. “Come with me. We will escape the predators.”
Maybe this can work after all.
--
Apparently they'll be sharing royal apartments, and when they go there, there's no one in attendance. The corridor is deserted. I find this really fucking unlikely but okay, fine. Aislinn is visibly tense and rigid. She admits that she's a little afraid.
He leaned against the door so that the carved wood pressed into his spine. He watched her, saying nothing. He could not, for the moment. He was taken too much by surprise. Somehow he had not expected the strong desire he was suddenly feeling.
For Aislinn? When there is Sorcha, who is everything to me?
Everything, perhaps. But for the moment there was also Aislinn.
...I know that Sorcha's children (and their children) have very important roles to play in the subsequent books in this series, but god, I find this all very off-putting. How am I supposed to be invested in Donal and Aislinn as a pairing when he's basically married to someone else?
I mean, look, I'm actually pro-polygamy. I think I've given ample evidence of that in these reviews. But the Cheysuli version is just so unequal. And here, this isn't a case of adults being on the same page about including other people in their relationship. This isn't even a case of one adult giving the okay for their partner to have sex outside of the marriage.
This is a unilateral decision, by Donal, that has made both Sorcha and Aislinn miserable. And I mean, okay, the tension is a plot point. But it certainly doesn't make me like the man.
Aislinn pours some wine as a "nuptual cup". This starts out pretty okay:
“Shansu,” he said. “Do you think I would hurt you, Aislinn?”
“You would never hurt me,” she answered clearly. “I have seen the look in your eyes.” Unexpectedly, she smiled.
and quickly goes sour when Aislinn reveals that the wine is a gift from her mother:
The goblet fell. It struck the carpet and shattered.
“Do you risk yourself as well?” he demanded.
“Risk? What risk? It was a gift—”
“To you? Or meant for me?”
Color flowed out of her face. Wine droplets glittered against the smooth flesh of one perfect cheek, then rolled down to splash against the gown. “Do you forget, husband, that I was to drink as well?”
“No more than I forget you spent two years with that witch on the Crystal Isle,” he answered. “How am I to know she did not dose you with the poison bit by bit each day, until you grew immune?”
“You fool!” she snapped. “Do you think I would wish for your death?”
“I accuse you of nothing.” He could not, yet; there was no proof of complicity.
I mean, you JUST accused her dude.
That said, Aislinn, really? I get that she's your mother, but you HEARD her talk about your father and your fiance. And even if the wine IS innocent, do you really think Donal would want to take wine from the woman who tried to murder the king?
I blame Roberson for this really, because up until now, Aislinn has not actually been an idiot.
Anyway, Aislinn points out that Finn tested her.
“But you still distrust me.” The vivid hair curtained her face on either side. “Do you not? Do you think the assassin was also my doing? Do you really believe I desire to slay you when all I desire is you?”
He took three steps, reached out, caught her wrist. He looked at the slim, delicate hand. He could see it again before his eyes: the creamy, gold-veined vault with all its marble lir, and the hands that held the torch meant to thrust him to his death.
“Aislinn,” he said, “you frighten me. I know not what you will do.”
I mean, you could have asked if she had an alibi for the time you got attacked in the Womb of the Earth. That might help.
But anyway, Aislinn insists she'd never slay him, and she'd slay anyone who tried. Donal decides that he believes her after all. It's really that abrupt. And well, things start to go well.
Slowly he untied the lacings of her gown, baring her smooth, pale, delicate back. As he touched her, her flesh responded.
Naked, she lay against the bedclothes. She watched him with the eyes of a woman desiring a man. And so he divested himself of his clothing and slipped into bed beside her. Perhaps it will not be so ill-matched a union after all…
But as he put a hand upon her breast, Aislinn screamed.
...this sounds bad.
“Wolf.” She said it with cold precision. “Your blood is the blood of a wolf—your hands the claws of a wolf—your face the face of a wolf—do you think I will lie with you—?”
He stared at her in horror and his flesh crawled.
Aislinn twitched. He saw an alteration in her eyes. Briefly, a cessation of hostility, replaced with bewilderment. But as he opened his mouth to say her name, she twitched again and the words spilled out of her mouth.
“Beast, not man…not a human man…she has told me—she has told me…she has said it would be like—”
“Aislinn, no—”
“She said you will take me as a wolf because you can take me no other way.” A shudder wracked her body. “Donal? Donal? What is wrong? Donal?” One trembling hand covered her mouth. “What is wrong?”
Oh, poor Aislinn. It seems like Finn didn't get everything. Which makes some sense, I suppose. Electra had TWO YEARS to work on this poor girl.
It goes on like this for a while. Aislinn spewing the hatred that her mother drilled into her head. But pretty clearly NOT of her own volition:
Aislinn,” he said, “oh Aislinn, do you see what she has done?”
Tears were running down her face. “Donal—? What is wrong? What has she done to me—?”
“She has twisted you—” But he stopped. Aislinn was beyond comprehension.
Sickened, Donal put on his leathers again. And then he turned back to her. “Aislinn—”
“I will not lie with a wolf.”
I mean, I don't think she's necessarily beyond comprehension. She seems to be well aware that there's something wrong with her. Poor thing.
Donal flees, understandably, but his thoughts kind of make me want to slap him:
Clumsily, Donal unlocked the door and went out. In the darkened corridor he stood, sickened and bereft, wanting only to lick the pain of injured pride. He thought at once of Sorcha, longing for the comfort of her arms. But he could not go to the Keep. Not on his wedding night.
Injured PRIDE? Really?!
Not fear or worry over your WIFE being terrified out of her mind because of some kind of programming?!
INJURED PRIDE.
And really, you're going to think of Sorcha NOW?!
I hate him. It's completely irrational, but I hate him.
Anyway, he's interrupted when he spots movement. After a moment of fairly understandable anxiety, he realizes it's an amorous couple.
Actually it's Evan, who apparently did find himself a consenting girl of noble, yet not royal blood. And he immediately proves himself to be a far better friend than Donal deserves:
“Do you tarry out here while your bride awaits? Or has she sent you away while she divests herself of her clothing.” Evan kissed the girl quickly, then grinned archly at Donal. And then the grin faded.
Evan kissed the girl again, more soundly, then patted her silken skirts. “Go back,” he said, with only a hint of regret in his tone. “I have business with the prince.”
Her protest died. She slewed her dark eyes in Donal’s direction, then gathered up her skirts and hastened back along the corridor.
Evan suggests a remedy: Donal can show him the taverns of Mujhara. As many as they can before dawn breaks. Donal likes the idea and the chapter ends here.
...I mean, I'm glad Donal found a friend, but don't you think you should tell someone with some kind of authority that the princess of Homana is having some kind of breakdown? Maybe call your uncle? No? Ok...
--
So there's a lot of great things in this chapter: the Finn and Carillon kayak is back in the fucking water, baby! And the part where Aislinn starts losing her mind is utterly terrifying.
But I still can't get over how much of this plot requires the characters to be idiots.
1) Bronwyn can't have attacked Donal in the Womb, which makes Aislinn the most likely person. And apparently, despite having weeks to plan the wedding, no one has apparently followed up on this?
2) Donal knows that his would be assassin is a Homanan who tried to kill him, not a Solindishman aiming for Carillon, but apparently makes no attempt to notify the king and STOP the fucking war that Carillon just declared! (Hey, by the way, what happens to Royce? The viceroy of Solinde? Are they going to make sure he can get out of the city first?)
3) Aislinn knows that her mother is a racist evil schemer who fucked with her head and hates Carillon and Donal. I can understand wearing the jewels, but why the Hell would a character who has otherwise been incredibly intelligent so far, be willing to trust Electra's wine?!
4) Oh and Donal, after watching his wife have a psychotic break where she alternates between confused and wrathful, just goes off to drink without telling ANYONE what happened with her.
It's so frustrating because I KNOW Roberson can do better than this. We've SEEN her do better than this. And unfortunately, I suspect that it's going to get worse before it gets better.
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Date: 2021-07-28 09:25 pm (UTC)At least the Finn/Carillon kayak is still afloat!