I Read What?!

So last time, Carillon went down, leaving us with only one major character from Shapechangers left alive.

So...yeah. Let's get going.

Content warning for this one, folks. Here be rape. Though perhaps not in the way that you might expect.



So we join Donal as he muses about the burial practice of kings:

Effigies and marble coffins filled the shadowed vault. Donal stood in the half-open doorway and looked in on the silent dead. It was a Homanan thing to carve likenesses of the dead into polished stone. A Homanan thing to hide them away in privacy. A Homanan thing to store them all together in the bowels of Homana-Mujhar, which was a Cheysuli place. To Donal, the practice was abhorrent.

Oh, suck it up. You're fucking king now.

Anyway, Aislinn's inside the chamber, holding a candle over a plain marble coffin. Because her father just died. And as horrible as Carillon was at the end, that still must be a terrible blow.

Despite the fact that the narration JUST indicated that Donal knew, and was disgusted, by this practice, Roberson decides to make him a clueless twit:

“They have put him here?” he asked. “Why here? Why not above the ground, in freedom?”

Her eyes were black in the muted light. “This—this is where all the kings are placed.”

“Shaine too?”

“Sh-shaine?” She stared at him in amazement, as if she could not believe he would speak of such inconsequential things in the face of her father’s death. “No. When Bellam took the palace, Shaine was already dead. He was not entombed with honor. Bellam disposed of the body; no one knows where those bones lie.”

The bit about Shaine is interesting. Considering that he caused a massacre, robbed his country of its supernatural defenders, AND destroyed the still undefined wards while the castle was under attack, it feels right that he's not buried with honor.

And Donal agrees with me:

“Good,” he said quietly. “Shaine was not deserving of any honor.”

“Donal—!”

He looked at her levelly. “Shaine was a madman and a fool. Carillon deserves better company.”

Don't worry though, he'll be a dick again in a moment.

Her hands went flat against the undressed lid. Fingers splayed out. She bent her head, and Donal saw how her shoulders trembled. “I saw him,” she whispered. “I saw him. They told me I had to see him while they prepared him for entombment—so that no one could claim the Mujhar yet lived, and use that for some purpose.”

He heard the note of horror mixed with anguish. “But he does,” Donal told her. “The Mujhar does yet live.”

She spun, pressing her back against the coffin. “What—”

He overrode her unfinished question. “I am Carillon’s heir, Aislinn…I am Mujhar of Homana.”

Here we go.

I mean, yes, it's true. And I'm glad Donal seems to be coming to terms with it. But you're standing over her dad's body, you know.

Aislinn merely notes that Donal doesn't waste time. He says he came to see how she is. And well...

Tears glittered in her eyes. “I fare well enough—for a woman who has lost both unborn son and father.”

He wanted to go to her, to take her into his arms and offer the comfort she needed. But he was afraid. Cheysuli honored the dead with deep respect and solemnity, and the keening of women was abhorrent. He dared not sacrifice his own tenuous control to acknowledging Aislinn’s need.

I hate him so fucking much. By the way, when Aislinn cries, it's with "a sort of dignity he had not expected." Dude, dignity has been literally her DEFINING TRAIT. At least when it isn't "possessed by her evil mom."

Oh, hey, check out this bullshit:

“How long do you stay?” she asked at last, when the tears had dried on her cheeks.

“I do not stay,” he answered. “I must go on to the Keep.”

Aislinn stiffened. “You go to her?”

“Aye, there is Sorcha,” he admitted, “but also there are my children.”

YOU JUST BECAME KING OF HOMANA, YOU FLYING FUCKNOODLE.

Look, I get that you don't want to abandon your children. That's admirable. But you have JUST become king of a very unstable land that doesn't even allow divorce of an attempted regicide. Now is not the time to indulge yourself in your second family. At least get a fucking heir first. Or y'know, actually do kingship stuff.

Anyway, Aislinn asks if he won't spend the night with her first, and for once Donal isn't terrible:

“Aislinn,” he said gently, “you recall how it was last time. Are you prepared for that again?”

“I think—I think there will be no need.” Color flared in her face. “I think you will find me a willing wife instead of a lunatic girl.”

He looked at her. It was true there was greater awareness in her eyes. Save for a natural embarrassment and proper modesty, she appeared to lack the fear she had shown before.

That said:

After a moment, he shook his head. “Aislinn—I am sorry. But tonight there is no time. I must go on to the Keep, and then I will join the army. There is a death I must mete out.”

You fucking moron. You HAVE NO HEIR. The king JUST DIED. And now you're going off to battle. You fucking deserve to get overthrown.

You probably don't deserve what happens next, but well, I'm just hypocritical enough that maybe I don't hate it as much as I should.

Because Aislinn invites him to dinner first. And they talk. She proposes making an heir. Donal is a fucking idiot:

“You are unhappy.” She poured more wine for him. “I see it clearly. The heirship has been a long one, and now that it has ended and the throne is truly yours, you find you do not like it.”

“I never wanted it,” he said wearily. “I told you that, once. But—Carillon needed an heir, and I have a drop or two of royal blood.”

“More than a drop,” she retorted. “For all you flaunt your Cheysuli blood, there is Homanan in you as well. And, as for heirs—we should make some of our own.” Her long-lidded eyes flicked a slanting glance at him. “Do you not agree?”

He smiled. “I agree. And when I am done with this war, I shall do my best to sire some.”

“Will the war take so long?” Reddish brows knitted together over her lambent gaze.

Donal scratched an eyelid thoughtfully. “Osric has entrenched himself in the plains just north of the fenlands. Mujhara is not precisely threatened…but it might be if we do not continue to hold him. While our strength is split, there is little we can do. Carillon meant to stop him permanently—now it is up to me.”

See, let's unpack this a bit.

a) Mujhara is not immediately threatened, meaning that this is a situation that should be dealt with, yes, but has some measure of time (at least enough for Donal to bang his mistress).

b) Donal does not have an heir.

c) Donal is going INTO BATTLE with the man who killed Carillon. And he'd been injured in previous battles.

d) Donal is ruling a kingdom that at least in part hates him, and god knows how many of those people are in his army.

e) Donal can't take two seconds to TRY to knock up his wife.

Anyway, she urges him to wait a day or two. He says that he told her why he can't (going to the Keep is not an urgent concern, you selfish fucker). Anyway, Aislinn insists the time is now.

And well, she's willing to force the issue. She drugged the wine.

“This is not a game. This is my retribution.” Abruptly she caught two handfuls of his hair. “Do you know what it was like?” she demanded. “Can you conceive of what it was like? Can you consider what it is to know such utter helplessness as what you gave to me?”

He caught her hands and rose, stepping free of the stool beside the table. “Aislinn—this is nonsense—”

“Is it?” Her wrists were trapped in his hands. “I say it is retribution.”

He shook his head, baffled. “Aislinn—are you mad—?”

“You will stay the night with me.” He saw the intensity in her clear gray eyes. “I want you to know what it is like. I want you to feel the helplessness, as I did, knowing I could do nothing!”

He wavered. A shudder coursed through his body. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. “Aislinn—what have you done?”

“Sought power where I can get it.” Her long eyes were wide and watchful. “You have drunk much wine, my lord. You are weary. You require rest. But when a husband is stubborn, a wife must make shift where she can.”

Okay, so look. I'm not going to excuse Aislinn's actions here. She's raped her husband as much as he raped her earlier. It's horrible.

But at the same time...I still sympathize with Aislinn more than I do Donal. She's a sixteen year old girl whose had her mind fucked over by her mother, whose father treated her abominably. Her husband raped her and blithely ignored her afterward. She's lost an unborn child and a father. And her husband is off to bang his mistress before going to war and keeps preaching patience at her, while not remotely treating her like a human being.

Aislinn's done something horrible and unthinkable. But a part of me is kind of satisfied in a dark way. She's the one victim in this series whose emotions aren't forgotten. She's the one who got some vengeance back.

I'm not proud of that.
--

So anyway, Donal wakes up utterly horrified. Aislinn, for her part, is quite satisfied. Donal is understandably upset and accuses her of being no better than her mother. He asks why she didn't just kill him, like she'd tried before.

I mean...if she DID kill you, she'd be free to marry someone else as the sole heir of Homana. So maybe you shouldn't give her any ideas.

So Aislinn justifies her actions:

She shifted closer to him, kneeling at his side. “I did not mean for you to feel ill. But you drank more wine than usual—you swallowed more of the drug than I intended.” Her hand, reaching out to his shoulder, fell away. “By the gods, Donal!—what do you expect me to do? Last time you took my will from me with your magic and forced me to lie with you. I only wanted you to know what it was like! Can you blame me? And—and—it is true we need an heir. We cannot put off such need.”

“We can.” —And now we will.

“We cannot! Do you think I am blind to the requirements of a queen?” Her eyes were blazing at him. “You seek your light woman, my lord—what else am I to do when I am in need of a son?”

“Aislinn—”

“I want a baby,” she said with a desperate dignity. “to replace the one I lost.”

He opened his mouth to answer harshly, then shut it again. He had never thought what it was to be a woman, waiting only to bear sons to inherit a throne. And in Aislinn’s case it was imperative she bear them soon; sooner, now Carillon was dead.

She's not entirely wrong. And it shouldn't have taken something this drastic for Donal to empathize with his child-bride.

It's not an excuse for what she's done, of course. And I'm very angry at Roberson for turning the best female character we've had so far into a rapist.

I'm so sick of this fucking book.

Of course, this all backfires for Aislinn, because Donal says that he won't forgive her for this and tells her that she'd better hope that she has a son because she won't get more children from him.

Her anger fell away. “But—Homana must have an heir!”

“I have a son already.”

Aislinn scrambled out of the bed. She stood before him, perfectly nude, but her fury was unimpaired. “You would not claim her child Prince of Homana!”

“If there is no other, what else could I do?”

Pale fists clenched. “The Homanan Council would never accept a bastard by your Cheysuli whore,” she said flatly. “Never.”

Donal smiled grimly. “I am Mujhar. In the end, they will do as I tell them.”

Aislinn glared back at him. But the quality of her anger had undergone a change. Her tears were dry. He saw a new awareness in her eyes. A cool guardedness in her appraisal.

She smiled Electra’s smile.

I mean, that COULD work. Maybe. As we've mentioned, Donal's right to the kingdom doesn't come through Aislinn, but through his own descent through Alix. So...maybe he can get Ian legitimized.

On the other hand, the qu'mahlin ended less than twenty years ago. And we've seen how willing a good chunk of the country is to follow Donal. It's only so many chapters since he almost got fucking sacrificed in a bar. (...like hundreds of chapters, god, won't this book END).

Intellectually, I don't blame Donal for being angry. I'm actually happy about it. What Aislinn did shouldn't be downplayed or ignored simply because she's a woman and Donal's a man.

At the same time, Donal has been so awful for so long, and he gets rewarded with EVERYTHING.

I kind of just want everyone to die horribly. Let the series end here. Rocks fall, everyone dies.

--

So anyway, Donal is going off to battle. He sends word via Taj to Sorcha that he won't be home after all. He muses about how she'll be angry and claim the Homanans turned him from his Cheysuli heritage, and maybe she's right.

Dude, you have to be a fucking king. I still can't figure out why you thought going to your MISTRESS takes priority over your fucking kingdom.

...also, shouldn't you be RULING your kingdom? Who actually is issuing orders while you're at war? Shouldn't you even ask what they're doing?

Oh...OH. Okay, this bit makes up for everything else in the fucking chapter.

Because, as Donal and Lorn race through the woods (Donal on horseback), suddenly Lorn starts to scream. And Donal's horse falls into a pit trap.

Donal gets free with an effort, but he can't reach Lorn. He feels only pain and emptiness. He remembers a litany Duncan explained to him when he got his lir too soon:

—bind a lir and a Cheysuli is bound…harm a lir and a Cheysuli is harmed…trap a lir and a Cheysuli is trapped—

And who's done this?

A figure stepped out of the trees and stood before him. Donal, half-blinded by pain, saw the boots first, then slowly looked up.

He saw a slender figure in dark, unremarkable clothing. Pale, delicate hands. And in those hands was clasped the sword with the rampant lion on its hilt.

Donal’s head rose. He saw the smooth, youthful face; the mismatched eyes.

Sef smiled. “My lord Mujhar, this is well-met. Though you seem discomfited at the moment.”

Oh yes.

“You—you are dead—”

“Am I? No. That was another boy. But I am glad the illusion held. I lost one of my ward-stones, you see.”

Donal gasped. “You are Ihlini—?”

“My name is Strahan,” he said, “not Sef. I am the son of Tynstar and Electra.”

HAHAHAHAHA.

By far the BEST reveal of the whole damn book. The whole damn series.

Donal is disbelieving. The child of Tynstar and Electra is dead, Duncan SAID SO.

Well, Duncan is fucking incompetent. And Strahan says as much.

Sef—Strahan—smiled. “So she wanted him to think. But—when you are Electra of Solinde and you have loyal women by you—there are many secrets you may keep…many illusions you may hold.”

“Not before a Cheysuli.”

“Look at me, Mujhar. Tell me if I lie.”

Donal looked. No more did the boy give him humility and innocence. He gave him truth. He smiled the pure, beguiling smile of his father, with all the lambent beauty of his mother.

So of course, it was Sef all along.

The slender, feminine figure that tried to kill Donal in the Womb of the Earth? Not a young girl. A young BOY.

The best kind of reveals are the ones that make you want to reread everything, to examine it all in this new context.

I wouldn't recommend it, Legacy of the Sword is terrible. But fortunately I knew, so I got to enjoy it all from that perspective. Honestly, it was the only thing that kept me going at times.

Because this is wonderful.

Strahan smiled. “Not Aislinn. Not Bronwyn—this time.” The smile widened. “What is it like to know your wife and sister are bloodkin to the enemy? They are, do not forget. Aislinn through her mother, Bronwyn through her father. What is it like, Cheysuli, to know you are kin to Ihlini?”

I love this kid. I mean, he's going to suffer severe villain deterioration in later books unfortunately. But right here and now, he's FANTASTIC.

Donal asks how he got the sword:

Strahan laughed. “Osric brought it to me. I had joined him by then—in the aftermath of my ‘death’—and I asked for it. As proof that the murderer of my mother and father was dead.” Fierce anger and a powerful hatred burned deeply in the un-matched eyes. “He should have left Carillon to me. He should have let me slay him. I would have given him a much more fitting death.” His teeth showed briefly in a smile echoing that of his father. “Do you wonder why I touch the sword now? Do you wonder how I can? Because of you, my lord—you have been so remiss in your responsibilities. Oh, aye, this sword knows you—a little. But you have not had the ritual performed. You have not held it long enough in your possession for it to know an enemy’s hand each time one is laid upon it. It knew me on the hilltop—knew me for what I was—but it has been too long now since you touched it. And without the ritual, the power is reduced.”

HAHAHAHA.

Donal of course whines to himself that no one told him about a ritual. God, fuck off you little twit. Everyone tried to give you the goddamn sword. It's not their fault you didn't do anything with it.

OH OH OH, even better:

No one has spoken of a ritual to me— But Donal shook his head. “I should have known you. Through my lir…an Ihlini is ever known.”

“No,” Strahan said gently. “Not while I wore the feathered band.”

Donal’s left hand went at once to his belt-pouch. But he did not try to open it.

The boy laughed. “Look upon it, Donal. See what has helped me so well.”

Unwillingly, Donal unfastened the pouch and took out the feathered bracelet. He looked at it mutely. Such a simple thing. A slender band of braided feather: black and gold and brown.

He met Strahan’s eyes. “How could this gainsay my lir?”

“They are from your father’s hawk.”

HAHAHAHAHA.

The stupid charm! Donal never fucking NOTICED!

Duncan even tried to say it. When he talked about being made into a toy. He meant that literally. He was made into a child's plaything!

This is so fucking satisfying.

Speaking of:

He looked up at the boy again. “What do you intend to do with me?”

“Make you a toy,” Strahan said. “The way I made one of your father.”

So here, the chapter ends with evil triumphant. And honestly, I'm fucking thrilled about it. Fuck OFF, Donal.