I Read What?!

So look, I'm two chapters from the end of this godawful book. So I'm just going to finish the thing. I really want to be done with it.

Hey, remember how the SOLE compelling point of this narrative was seeing how Donal, a member of a marginalized and persecuted race, will negotiate the racist hatred of a good portion of the kingdom he's inheriting?

Notice how it's not come up ONCE since Donal theoretically ascended the throne? Bets on whether it comes up in the final two chapters?



So we rejoin Donal and Evan as the latter raises a toast to baby Niall, who is now four weeks old and thriving. This means that we've skipped passed the first four weeks of Donal's actual reign. Carillon died, Donal skipped town to go cry to his mistress, got kidnapped on the way, imprisoned for six months, then returned to fight a war, skipped town to find his mistress again (oops), came back and mind-raped his wife.

At no point in all that did we see Donal actually become a king. We don't even know who was ruling Homana during the time he was gone. I'm assuming it was a peaceful transfer of power, but it would be nice to fucking KNOW.

(Also, really, if you think about it, doesn't this prove how useless Donal actually is? For six months, the kingdom managed itself fine with presumably Aislinn or some other regent on the throne, with Rowan as the general of the military. They were at war, sure, but they weren't actually LOSING. So why should I care about Donal again?)

Anyway, the boys discuss Strahan and what Donal intends to do about him?

Evan put up his feet on a three-legged stool. “What will you do about Strahan?”

Donal scowled into his cup of wine. “What can I do? He is Ihlini—he has what freedom he can steal.”

“Could you not set a trap for him?”

“He has gone underground. There is no word of him. He could be in Valgaard by now, high in the Molon Mountains. He could be in Solinde, sheltered by those who still serve the Ihlini. He could be almost anywhere, Evan—there is nothing I can do. Except wait.” And the gods know I will do that, no matter how long it takes.

Nothing basically. Like Tynstar before him, Strahan is going to coast through these books, wreaking havoc and escaping any consequence, until he finally dies at some point, to be replaced by the next incarnation.

Because god forbid we actually get a sense of resolution in these books. Evan seems to share my opinion:

Evan sighed and swirled his wine. “I know, I know—but it seems so futile to do nothing. You know he will do what he can to throw you down from the throne.”

“He is a boy,” Donal said. “I discount neither his power nor his heritage—but he is a boy. I think it likely he will wait until he grows older, old enough to inspire trust in other men. Oh, he will lead the Ihlini on the strength of his blood alone—but how many others will follow? I think he will play at patience.”

The boys are interrupted by Aislinn, telling them that a messenger has arrived with news: Alaric of Atvia is in Mujhara and wants to see him. This could actually be interesting.

Also interesting is the transformed dynamic between Aislinn and Donal:

Donal, draining the rest of his wine, cast Evan a sour glance. “I intend to—but I also intend to show him what courtesy I can muster…can I muster any.” He turned to leave the room. “Aislinn—have Torvald set out fresh clothing.”

“Aye,” she said. “Cheysuli or Homanan?”

He stopped in the doorway. She faced him squarely, exhibiting no fear. What had passed between them after the healing had fashioned her into another woman.

One I do not know. “Which would you say is more fitting to receive a man who was once an enemy?”

Aislinn smiled. “The shapechanger, my lord. How can you consider anything else?”

I'm really not fond of the way he talks to her like she's a servant. But there is something interesting here. And indeed, Donal takes her advice, wearing blue-dyed Cheysuli leathers and a torque of gold.

So let's meet Alaric. We met him very briefly at the end of Song of Homana, but what's he like now?

Alaric was nothing like his brother. His height was average, no better; hair and eyes were dark brown. He dressed well but conservatively, in black breeches and velvet doublet, showing no ornamentation other than a silver ring set with black stone on one hand and a narrow chain of office—also silver—around his shoulders. He was accompanied by five Atvian nobles, all dressed more richly than himself, but none of them claimed the same intensity or the air of absolute command Alaric held even in silence.

Donal considered the formal greetings he had learned. He discarded them all at once. He disliked Alaric instantly; he disliked diplomacy even more.

He waited.

Alaric is rather interesting. The son of a monarch that Carillon defeated, the brother of one who'd basically offered him up as a hostage when he was nine years old. He's almost the same age as Donal himself.

And he's here to offer fealty and an alliance. Donal, bluntly, asks why. And Alaric is honest enough: Donal won. Osric is dead, and Alaric is Lord in his place. And Alaric notes that Donal has "quite effectively proved [his] competence as a king."

Has he? Really? It'd be nice if we got to see that, because I seem to remember him showing up with a magic sword.

Donal decides to be provocative:

Donal regarded him appraisingly. “Have I? Enough to keep you from our borders forever? Or only until you rally an army again?”

A muscle jumped in Alaric’s shaven face. “A king does not offer fealty to another unless he intends to honor it, my lord.”

“Usually.” Donal relaxed in the Lion. “Not always, but—” He waved a hand. “Enough of this. You offer fealty, which you owe me, and an alliance, which undoubtedly you need more than I do.”

Alaric’s mouth was tight. “Aye, my lord—like you, I do not doubt it.”

Donal studied him. He knew instinctively Alaric was more than a competent warrior. He was also a strategist. A diplomat. He would give up much to gain more. But what does he want? And what will he give up in order to get it? He gestured idly. “Once before you came here. To Carillon, after he slew Thorne, your jehan. Then, you said Atvia would offer fealty to no foreign king.”

Alaric notes that he was a boy then, now he's a man. And an unmarried one. Osric had had sons, but they both died of fever. And Donal has a sister.

Donal says they can make peace without that marriage:

“Perhaps.” Alaric’s tone was negligent. “Perhaps not. But consider it in this light, if you will: a princess of Homana—though she be Cheysuli—is wed to the Lord of Atvia. From that union, provided the gods see fit to bless it, will come children. Sons, of course. And the eldest to rule in my place when I am dead.” Alaric gestured idly. “He would be your nephew, my lord Mujhar—and never an enemy. How better to insure peace between our realms?”

Donal has a response to that, which is interesting:

“How better for you to make yourself a claimant for the Lion!” Donal’s fist smacked down on the throne. “Do not play me for a fool, Atvian—I am no courtier with silken tongue and oiled palms, but—by the gods!—neither am I blind. You desire peace between our realms? Then keep your armies from my borders!”

That bit about a rival claimant is interesting from a man who decided it'd be a great idea to father bastards before his marriage to the Princess of Homana. If a son of Bronwyn can be a rival, then why isn't Ian?

Alaric merely points out that Donal has a legitimate heir. He'd like the alliance, the continuation of his house, and maybe support against his rival, Shea of Erinn. Or Irish McIrish. They're fighting over a title: Lord of Idrian Isles. Shea's claimed it now that Osric is dead.

Donal, wisely, doesn't want to get involved in someone else's war, but Alaric isn't looking for that. A marriage would be enough to make Shea step back long enough for Alaric to regroup.

This discussion actually is interesting. I would have been very happy to see Donal doing something resembling statecraft were it not for the fact that we're in the penultimate chapter.

Anyway, Donal doesn't see an advantage...at first. Until Alaric inadvertently stumbles onto something:

Donal frowned at the toes of his soft leather boots. “I cannot see a single sound reason for agreeing to this. It gets Homana nothing. You say it gets us peace, but that we should have anyway. We have defeated you.”

Alaric shrugged. “And eventually the Atvian throne. Your nephew will be my heir. There will be Cheysuli princes in Atvia.”

Donal shrugged. “I am not so certain that would serve anything—” Abruptly, he stopped speaking. His belly turned in upon itself. By the gods—it is the prophecy…even from the mouth of the enemy! He stared at Alaric in shock. Four warring realms—

He pushed himself back in the throne before he could display his shock to the Atvian. The pattern lay before him as clearly as if Evan had thrown it himself. If I wed Bronwyn to him, her son will have the throne. Cheysuli in Atvia. Adding one more realm to the prophecy. By the gods, it will come true!

So this is why we suddenly got all that prophecy talk a few chapters ago, after it being a non-issue for almost the entire book. It's strictly for this chapter and the next.

Bronwyn in Atvia. No, he could not see it. She would never agree. The Cheysuli did not barter women or use them for sealing alliances.

And yet, things change. So many things had to change. His own mother had told him how Finn had stolen her from the Homanans because for years the Cheysuli had needed to steal Homanan women, to strengthen the clan again. It was alien to him, but no less alien than the thought of wedding his sister to Alaric.

...Oh, hey, we're back to this bullshit rape apologia again! I'd thought this was eased out of continuity, but nope. The Cheysuli are actually rapist bastards. Oh, glorious racism, I did miss you.

But Donal says no. Bronwyn may never marry.

--

We shift scenes to Bronwyn herself:

Bronwyn, whom he tracked down in Aislinn’s solar, looked on in silence as he banished everyone from the chamber save herself. She stood before an open casement with light falling on her shoulders. She wore a simple indigo gown embroidered with interlocking leaves in silver thread. He looked at her silently, wondering when she had grown up. She had done it without his knowledge; he clearly recalled her girlish laughter at his wedding; her tomboyish way at the Keep. Now she was a woman. Only sixteen and still young, but there was a new maturity in her eyes and grace to her movements.

Donal brings up Alaric's offer in the most melodramatic way possible:

He gestured her to sit down upon a stool even as he himself did. “A man is here,” he said. “He has come to Homana-Mujhar because he wishes to wed the Mujhar’s rujholla.”

Color blossomed in her cheeks. “Wed me?”

“Aye. He offers you the chance to be a queen.”

“Queen!” Bronwyn was clearly shocked. “Who would wish me to be his queen?”

“Alaric of Atvia.”

Bronwyn shot to her feet. “Alaric of Atvia!”

She is very relieved when Donal tells her that she won't have to marry Alaric. He won't send her away. And Bronwyn's reaction is realistically grateful:

She shut her eyes. A breath of relief hissed out of her mouth. “Thank the gods—thank the gods—I thought it might be a political thing—” She shuddered. “There are dangers in being rujholla to the Mujhar.”

She's learned Tourmaline's lesson, it seems. I wonder if Finn helped with that.

But anyway, Donal has bad news for her too:

“It would be a political thing,” Donal pointed out. “Alaric offers alliance to Homana. It would also be a dynastic thing, binding the realms together.”

She understood him perfectly. “It—seems to be sound reasoning—to bind the realms together.” Her tone was very flat.

“Bronwyn, you need fear nothing. There can be no royal marriage. There can be no marriage at all.”

“Not with Alaric.” Relief put life back into her tone. “But someday—”

“No.” He said it plainly, wishing to have it done with. “Bronwyn, you will never be able to marry.”

She stared. “Have you gone mad? Of course I will marry! What would keep me from it?”

“I would.” He said it flatly. “I have no other choice.”

She laughed. The tone was incredulous and perplexed. “You have gone mad. Donal…what are you saying?”

He reached out and caught her shoulders. “That because of the blood in you, I can never let you wed. You can never bear any children.”

This bullshit.

And what a fucking way to break it to her.

But also, there's no indication that being Ihlini means someone is automatically evil. Bronwyn herself is not evil. And you know, that prophecy does talk about uniting two magical races. So, where do you think that comes from.

She went stiff in his hands. He felt the convulsive shiver that shook her limbs. She tore herself from his grasp. “You are mad—you are mad—how can you say such things? How can you tell me this?” Slowly she shook her head. “Do you think my children would threaten the throne? By the gods, Donal—I am your rujholla! Our jehana bore us both! Our jehan—”

“—sired only me.” He saw the spasm in her face. “Gods, Bronwyn, I wish I could spare you this. I wish it were not true. But—when you say I fear your children may threaten the throne—you may have the right of it. I cannot shut my eyes to the possibility.”

Her eyes were fixed on his face. “You said—you said we do not share a jehan—”

“No. Another man sired you.”

“Who?” she demanded. “Gods, rujho, I beg you who I am—”

He felt the tightness his throat. “You are Tynstar’s daughter.”

I don't know if there's a good way to tell your little sister that she's the product of her mother's rape. But I feel like this was a bad way. Bronwyn is horrified.

Donal tries to give her some comforting bullshit about how this changes nothing. Except you literally told her she can't ever marry or have children.

She asks why she wasn't told, which is a fair question!

“There was no reason for it. You were raised Cheysuli—it was hoped you would never show Tynstar’s power. And—unless you have purposely hidden it—you never have.”

...except for the whole not being able to marry or have children thing! THAT is a reason to tell her. It's not like this fucking society offers women any other real option.

Bronwyn keeps saying how she doesn't FEEL Ihlini. She feels Cheysuli and she feels Homanan, but not Ihlini. And I keep thinking about how this scene would be better if Bronwyn had more than like two scenes prior to this. Poor Bronwyn has a realization:

Bronwyn clutched at his leather jerkin. “I begin to see—all the times I sensed a barrier between us…something keeping us apart. That was it, was it not? The knowledge I was Tynstar’s daughter?”

Honestly, I think it's more that your brother is a fucking dick.

She asks why they let her live, which is a good question really. Donal acts horrified by that, "What do you think we are?" But I mean, you are forbidding her from having children because of fear of her blood. What is she supposed to take from that, you fucknoodle?

“You are Cheysuli. And—I am the enemy.”

“No enemy. No enemy!” And yet he recalled all the times he had watched her, wondering, and felt the guilt in his soul. Not an intentional enemy.

You know what? I used to think that at least Donal does have a conscience and does occasionally acknowledge and feel guilty about his worst acts, but it's not like it ever inspires him to be a better person! So fuck your guilt!

And Bronwyn says the same thing I did:

But you will never let me wed.” The tears welled up again. “Do you distrust me so much? Do you think I will work against you? Do you think I would ever aid the boy who slew our su’fali?” Bronwyn shook her head. “Gods, Donal—I would never do such a thing! You know I would not. We are kin. There is blood between us.”

“There is blood between you and Strahan.” He shook his head. “It is not you I do not trust—it is how your power might be used. By another, if not by you.”

“Power!” she shook her head. “I have no power, Donal. I would know it. I swear—I would know it. There is nothing in me. Do you think I would not know?”

“Bronwyn—”

“Then test me.” She rose and stood before him. “Test me, Donal! See if there is power.”

Donal tries to demur, but Bronwyn points out that he did it to Aislinn. Donal points out that he nearly killed Aislinn. When he asks Bronwyn if she thinks he wants to hurt her, she says that he's hurting her NOW. No marriage, no children, the knowledge that she's Tynstar's daughter...

I am pissed off of course by the unspoken idea that a woman who can't marry or have children has no worth, but that's not Bronwyn's fault. It's okay that she wants those things and it sucks that they're being denied her.

So he agrees to test her...

We get some italicized narration. This is different from Aislinn's mind-rape, because Bronwyn understands and desires his presence. And in the process, he discovers the truth: Duncan is her father.

So there we go. Donal has been a dick to this kid for her entire fucking life, and he had his mistress in on it too, and for no fucking reason at all. Bronwyn is not Ihlini.

(I still think it would have served him right if she was, and she switched sides.)

Bronwyn is delighted of course, and she realizes something:

“Gods—oh gods—there was the boy! He told me the truth—”

Donal drew back. “Bronwyn—”

Her hand was at her mouth. “He said—oh, I recall it so well! We sat outside su’fali’s pavilion while he tested Aislinn. He showed me those runes—he asked me to try my own—” Her breath was harsh in her throat. “None of this was necessary! Sef gave me the answer then.”

“Sef! What answer could he give—” And then he recalled it also. How he had seen them kneeling in the dust, drawing foreign runes.

Bronwyn nodded. “Something he said made no sense. I thought nothing of it. But—he said I was not who you thought I was.” She frowned, shaking her head. “It made no sense: You are not the woman your brother thinks you are.” She clutched at his shoulders. “Oh gods, Donal—he knew—he knew I was not Ihlini!”

“He tested you.” The words were bitter in his mouth. “Even as Finn tested Aislinn, Strahan tested you.”

The Sef/Strahan plot really is the best part of this book by far. He'd set her up to look guilty so well, even as he acquitted her. Poor girl.

Donal is happy too. And then...this:

Donal loosened his arms and turned her toward the door. “I am no less glad than you are to have it settled at last. But we have no more time for it now, either of us. Bathe and dress yourself as fits a princess, Bronwyn—we feast the Atvian tonight.”

Bronwyn made a face. “Could I not plead sickness? I would rather not see this man who thought I would wed him.”

“Let him see you—to know what he has lost.”

The chapter ends with a sexist joke: Bronwyn lamenting that she has nothing to wear. Yay.

---

BUT that means we're on to the final chapter. And the reason I included that last little snippet is so that you can have the same emotional reaction I will.

Onward, CHAPTER TEN:

So Bronwyn makes her entrance:

Donal saw Alaric’s amazement when first he set eyes on Bronwyn. Undoubtedly he had prepared himself to charm a barbaric Cheysuli woman who hardly understood the niceties of courtship. Instead, he saw a lovely young woman in copper-colored silk with her heavy hair bound up in a mass of looped, shining braids pinned against her head with gold. Garnets glittered at ears and throat; a matching girdle of tiny bells dripped down her heavy skirts.

Donal realized, as he watched her, she knew precisely what she was about. He smiled inwardly. Does my young rujholla play at being a woman? Well—perhaps she should. No longer is she a girl.

Must you be creepy?

Anyway, Alaric and Bronwyn are seated together, which strikes me as a really dumb idea. Why are you taunting the guy with the girl you've already said he can't marry?

Alaric is being polite and charming, but Bronwyn's not going for it.

The Homanan Council, which has been mentioned all of once in this book, kind of is though:

And after the food was taken away, with Donal in an adjoining antechamber, the council members asked.

Donal listened. He heard the arguments for and against the match. Some members said Atvia was too distant, too unknown; the Mujhar could never keep constant watch on political happenings. Others said the match would unify the two realms, much as Carillon’s marriage to Electra had, while it lasted, unified Homana and Solinde—save for a few insurgents who fought against the alliance.

...yeah, except for how she tried to murder him, cursed him to age twenty extra years, and you JUST FOUGHT A FUCKING WAR.

But then there's this:

But it was an elderly man, Vallis, former counselor to Shaine himself, who spoke most clearly to them all. “Many of us, my lord Mujhar, understand we are here to serve the gods. Cheysuli, Homanan…it does not really matter by what names we call our gods. It merely matters that we serve them.” He was in his eighties, and frail, with a thin, soft voice and thinner hair. The dome of his skull was mottled pink. Only the merest fringe of fine white hair curled around his ears. “While it is true as Homanans we do not dedicate ourselves to this prophecy of the Firstborn, we do acknowledge its existence. We do not discount it—or should not.” He looked at each of the men with rheumy, pale blue eyes. “Before the purge, Cheysuli and Homanans intermarried. You yourself, my lord, claim blood from both those races. And does not this prophecy say there must be more?”

Okay, wait a fucking second.

First, who the fuck is this guy?

Second, how the fuck does this guy know about the prophecy, when DONAL didn't really know all of it until like four chapters ago.

Third, why the FUCK would he care about whether or not the Firstborn comes back?

This is all incredibly, insultingly contrived.

Anyway, Vallis has a suggestion:

The old man braced himself against a chair. Ropes of veins stood up beneath his flesh. “Prince Niall bears the blood of Homana and Solinde, as well as the Cheysuli. Do you wed your sister to Alaric, and she bears him a daughter, in time that daughter could be wed to the Prince of Homana.”

Donal raised his brows. “And does she bear him a son instead?”

Vallis shrugged narrow shoulders. “Doubtless by then, you and the Queen will have daughters enough to wed into every royal House.”

He felt their eyes upon him. Slowly he walked to a casement and stared out, though he could see little in the darkness. Then he turned to face them. “Bronwyn does not desire it.”

Some of the others smiled. Some faces expressed outright surprise. He knew his statement made no sense to them; Homanans wed their daughters to men most able to advance their rank or wealth.

Dude, you seriously talked about how the Cheysuli kidnapped Homanan women to rape them last chapter. So I'd walk back this snobbery.

But anyway, one of the very few positive things I remember from Shapechangers was Alix's distressed horror to learn that she was Carillon's first cousin. There was at least the implication that this would be an obstacle to romance.

Now, they want to marry Niall to Bronwyn's as yet non-existent daughter.

I suppose it's realistic enough, but you'd expect to need some kind of papal dispensation to allow it.

I am offended by Vallis. Not his advocation of incest, though that's gross too. But that this seemingly important courtier with supposed political wisdom, who is about to sway Donal into doing something truly awful, is introduced in the LAST CHAPTER.

My lord,” he said, “I know you value your sister. Do not lump me in with the others. I am an old, old man…I have seen the Cheysuli elevated by Shaine and then destroyed by him—I know your customs well. She is not a broodmare. She is not a ewe. She is not a favorite bitch. She is a woman, a Cheysuli woman…but she is also a part of the prophecy.” Slowly, the old man put out a palsied hand. Palm uppermost, with the fingers spreading. “Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu."

...what?

How?

Oh fucking hell. What the fuck ever, Roberson.

Donal leaves and runs into Evan, who has news of his own: He's heading back to Ellas.

Donal asks if he told Meghan, because Meghan and Evan are kinda sorta a thing? I mean, at least his interest in Meghan was mentioned a few times, but really.

Donal drank down the rest of his wine, gave the empty cup to a passing servant and got another to replace it. He saw his sister across the hall, laughing with Aislinn and Meghan. “Have you told Meghan you intend to leave?”

Evan’s mouth turned down wryly. “No. I dislike tears cried into my velvet doublets.”

“Tears from Meghan?” Donal shook his head. “She is stronger than you think.”

“Oh, aye—strong…if you count willfulness as strength.” Evan scowled into his wine. “No, no tears from Meghan. But I could wish for more complaisance.”

“I warned you,” Donal told him. “She is not meant for just any man. Not even for Evan of Ellas—does he desire no more than an evening in her bed.”

“Ah, but he does desire more.” Evan ran the rim of the cup across his bottom lip. “Lodhi protect me—but I invited her home with me.”

“To Ellas?” Donal stared at Evan in surprise. “Did you really think she would go?”

“I—hoped.” Evan shrugged. “It was useless. She refused me.”

...I feel like there's a whole story here that we never got to see. And that's a fucking shame, because I like Evan a shit ton more than I like Donal, and Meghan, as Finn and Tourmaline's daughter, should have gotten more attention than she received.

Donal is sympathetic, but points out that she's been living so close to Aislinn lately, and that may have given her Homanan sensibilities.

But Evan clarifies: he didn't invite her to be his light woman. He proposed marriage!

“You?”

“Aye,” Evan said gloomily. “And a waste of time it was.”

Donal sighed. “I am sorry. I did not know it had gone so far.”

“Oh, it had not. But I thought it was the only way I might get her to lie with me.” Evan grinned. “Unlike all of the others, she did not believe I meant it.”

Donal laughed and nearly spilled his wine. “You fool! Do you forget she is Finn’s daughter? She will take a man on her terms, if she takes a man at all.”

Evan raised his goblet. “To Meghan,” he said. “And to the warrior who sired her.”

...okay, that's actually pretty funny. And it's a shame too. The one brief glimpse we had of Meghan, she seemed intriguing. If the book had bothered to give any attention to Aislinn outside of her relationship to Donal, or Sorcha at all, maybe we could have gotten more Meghan too.

And hey, like Lachlan before him, Evan actually knows how to take no for an answer.

But anyway, Evan truly does intend to leave.

Donal lifted his cup. And then, abruptly, he told Evan not to go. “What will I do without you?”

“Learn to govern Homana without me to offer bad advice.” Evan shook his head. “My time here is done. I am sorry—but I must go.”

“When?”

“Probably in the morning. Or, depending on my head after this celebration, perhaps in the afternoon. But I do have to go.”

Donal reached out and clasped his arm. “In advance, I will wish you safe journey and good fortune in your games. And—I wish I did not have to lose you.”

“No more than Carillon wished to lose Lachlan.” Evan grinned. “But I am not so bound by responsibility as my brother, and I think I will come back. At least to bother Meghan once or twice more.”

I do like this bit. It's a last moment of likeability for Donal.

So then the topic shifts to Alaric and Bronwyn. And Donal, proving he has no respect for his sister's privacy again, discloses the truth: that she's Duncan's daughter.

Somehow Evan knew about Bronwyn's supposed ancestry, which seems even more insulting and ridiculous than Sorcha knowing. But fine. What the fuck ever.

Evan does have a good question though:

The Ellasian shook his head, frowning perplexedly. “Then—if you could have tested her all along, why did you wait so long?”

“Because it could not have been done without her knowledge, without her willingness.” Donal sighed. “It was our jehana. She wished to leave Bronwyn in peace. She did not wish to awaken potential powers or bring grief to Bronwyn. And so—she was kept in innocence.”

The real answer is that we needed this fucking hacky red herring.

But Evan notes something else:

Evan’s blue eyes were fixed on the girl as she laughed with her two kinswomen. “Then—there is nothing preventing this marriage.”

“No,” Donal said. “There is nothing preventing this marriage.”

...except that Bronwyn doesn't want it. Except that you promised her that she wouldn't have to. Except that she didn't even want to make an appearance at this thing except you reassured her. Except that it violates all the customs that you supposedly respect and isn't even necessary for peace...

Evan looked at him sharply. “Lodhi!—you do intend to honor Alaric’s request!”

Donal shut his fingers on the heavy cup. “All my life I have been told there would be choices placed before me. Choices I would hate. I knew it, of course—but it is so easy to push the knowledge away.” He heard the unevenness in his voice and worked to steady it. “I remember all the times I wanted to call Carillon a fool because of the choices he made…particularly the ones he made regarding me. And now—now it will be Bronwyn’s turn to ask me what I do, and how—in the name of all the gods—can I possibly even consider it.”

“I understand what you do.” Evan said. “Being a prince, I can hardly misunderstand why you do it. But—I do not envy you.”

“No,” Donal agreed. “But too many other people do.”

...

So Donal gives a speech formally welcoming Alaric. And the power play here is actually pretty interesting:

Donal stepped forward. He waited until his stillness silenced them all. And then he beckoned Alaric forward. “Tonight, in this hall, we feast you, my lord of Atvia. Tonight we give you good welcome and blessings for your health. But you came to us with a purpose, that being to pledge us your fealty.” Donal met Alaric’s wary eyes. He did not smile. “Then pledge it, my lord. Here in this hall before us all.”

Alaric’s lips parted. Briefly, Donal saw the tic of a muscle in his jaw. But he knelt. In elegance, he knelt, making it not an act of submission but of calm willingness to sacrifice anything for his realm.

Donal unsheathed the Cheysuli sword. The ruby blazed in the pommel as he raised the blade toward Alaric’s face. “Swear,” he said, “by all the gods you have.”

Alaric swears.

Donal then brings up the marriage proposal:

Donal slid home the sword in his sheath. “By my right as Mujhar of Homana, I enter into willing alliance with this man. Let all know there is peace between our realms.” He inhaled a steadying breath. “By my right as Mujhar of Homana, I enter into willing agreement with this man: that this oath of fealty be sealed with a wedding. He has asked for my sister in marriage.”

He heard Bronwyn’s gasp clearly. “Donal! Donal—no! You said I would not have to!” She thrust herself out of the crowd to face him in the center of the hall. She did not look at Alaric. “You said—”

“I said.” His tone was harsher than he meant it to be. “I said, aye. But now it must be done.”

...

He doesn't even tell her privately first. THIS is how she finds out that her brother is betraying her.

Oh, poor Bronwyn. The one character in the series who has it even worse than poor Ian. Raised with distrust because they think she's half Ihlini, then she's finally, FINALLY acquitted, and this...

Alaric is "urbane and calmly pleased" even as his new wife-to-be openly weeps and denounces her brother...actually, no. Let's look at the scene, a summary doesn't do it justice:

He heard Bronwyn’s gasp clearly. “Donal! Donal—no! You said I would not have to!” She thrust herself out of the crowd to face him in the center of the hall. She did not look at Alaric. “You said—”

“I said.” His tone was harsher than he meant it to be. “I said, aye. But now it must be done.”

“My lord.” It was Alaric, urbane and calmly pleased. “My lord, you honor me.”

“I do not honor you. I honor the prophecy.” He would not hide the truth, blatant though it was; he would not hide his open dislike of the man. “Because of that, my lord of Atvia, I will give Bronwyn into marriage. But there are agreements you must make.”

Alaric inclined his head and spread his hands. “Name them, my lord.”

“That should Bronwyn bear you a son and heir, any daughter the Queen of Homana bears me shall be wed to him, thus fixing the succession.” He did not smile. “That should Bronwyn bear you a daughter, that daughter will come to Homana and wed Niall, the Prince of Homana.”

Alaric’s smile was one of subtle triumph. “Aye, my lord, I agree.”

“Ku’reshtin!” Bronwyn cried. “You are no rujholli of mine!”

“Fetch a priest,” Donal told a servant.

“How can you do this to me?”

He looked into her angry face. “For the prophecy, I will do anything.”

You know, the prophecy. The one where, until about four chapters ago, it was assumed that DONAL was the chosen one: the Cheysuli Mujhar. But NOW, NOW, it's suddenly vitally important.

Honestly, it's not even that he felt he had to marry her off. It's how he did it. It's the sheer callousness. The unnecessary betrayal. The fact that he didn't even TALK to her first. The fact that they literally fetch the priest right now.

And just in case you weren't feeling disgusted:

It was quickly done; too quickly. The priest was brought. The ceremony performed in front of everyone present over loud protestations from Bronwyn; so loud Donal doubted anyone else could hear the vows. It did not seem to matter to Alaric. He smiled a cool, satisfied smile. But the priest was clearly offended by her words. And a Homanan priest at that.

At last Donal stepped in and caught her elbow. “Rujholla,” he said quietly, “you lend credence to the belief we are little more than beasts with such noise.”

“Noise!” She stared at him through tear-filled amber eyes. “I will make more noise than this, given the chance. I want no part of this!”

Let's add some victim blaming into all of this. Because god forbid Bronwyn MAKE A SCENE.

(I have to admit though, I do love how Roberson characterizes Alaric in all this. He's so fucking slimy.)

Oh, Donal's not done insulting her:

“You do!” she cried. “You sell me off to a stranger, just to make an alliance—”

“Bronwyn, you cheapen your jehana’s name with such behavior.”

Take Alix's name out of your fucking mouth.

The next part is gross too:

“You cheapen it as well, Donal.” Bronwyn shut her eyes a moment, teeth clenched so hard the muscles stood up along her jaw. “I swear, I swear, when I am given the chance I will show you all what gifts I claim. I will show you what the Old Blood means—”

“Old Blood,” Alaric frowned. “I have heard rumors…the girl has it, you say?”

“The girl is now your cheysula, my lord of Atvia, and your queen. You might give her proper rank,” Donal said tightly. “And aye, she does. Why? Does it make you wish to end the marriage almost as soon as it is made?”

“Not at all,” Alaric said smoothly. “I welcome the Cheysuli with all their arts. I must. It may be that my children will reflect their mother’s gifts—”

“There will be no children,” Bronwyn said bitterly. “I will see to that—”

“Enough,” Donal said gently. “You will send all our guests from here muttering of your intended witchcraft.”

“Let them. Let them. Do you think I care?” And then, before he could move, Bronwyn brought the flat of her hand across his face. “I renounce you. I renounce you. You are no rujholli of mine!”

a) It's a bit late to try to defend your sister's honor now, you cretin.

b) Alaric is so fucking creepy, and praise to Roberson for that, she does a lot in very few words.

c) #TeamBronwyn. It would have literally been better for her if she WERE an Ihlini. At least then maybe she could have used cool rune magic to get revenge on them all.

Oh, here. I left off the last bit:

For a moment, Donal shut his eyes against the pain and humiliation. Then he swung around to face them all. “Get you gone!” he shouted. “Can you not see the celebration is done?”

I'm so sorry about YOUR humiliation.

So everyone leaves except for one sudden arrival: a very disheveled man, who is clearly Cheysuli but wears no leather or gold. No lir. It's Rowan.

So, the travesty is concluded.”

“Rowan—” He broke it off; the time for defense was past. “It is done.”

Rowan smiled a little. “I came to bring news of a final victory in Solinde. Instead, as I make my way through the hordes of departing guests, I am given news of my own: the Mujhar of Homana has wed his rujholla to Alaric of Atvia.”

“For the prophecy.” The words came out listlessly.

“Of course. Everything is done for the prophecy.” Rowan laughed, and then the laughter died away. “But I wonder—what would Alix say to see her daughter bartered away—”

Donal flinched. “We do not speak of my jehana! I have done this thing!”

“Oh, aye, you have. And now you must live with it.”

Thank you, Rowan. Rowan calling out Donal has been one of the few saving graces of this wretched story. And he's not done.

“Am I to assume the Homanan Council also desired this match?”

“Aye. And campaigned most eloquently for it.” Donal stared down at the cup in his hand. He had forgotten to drink. The tang of the wine filled his nose and head.

“So quickly you succumb to the desires of Homanans. Do you think Clan Council would have agreed?”

Sluggishly, anger rose in his defense. “This was done for Homana—Homana and the prophecy! A son of Bronwyn’s will one day sit on the Atvian throne.”

Thank you, Rowan, for calling out Donal's constant lifelong hypocrisy.

Rowan asks if Donal cares so much for kingship. And Donal's response is suitably angsty:

“Aye,” Donal answered harshly. “Would you tell me I should not? Is it not what Hale left to me when he fashioned a sword and took a Mujhar’s daughter as his meijha?”

...that also led to the fucking genocide of your people, you whiny little git. Your father and uncle, horrible folk that they were, had to flee a burning pavilion as tiny children. Your aunt died ill because people refused to help a mixed race couple.

But no, do go on about your pain.

Rowan's just happy that Donal's accepted kingship at last. But that said:

"Now—do you see what it does to others? Do you see what it does to you?”

“You do not approve.” Somehow, he wanted Rowan to approve. He needed someone’s approval.

“It is not my place to approve or disapprove.”

I love you, Rowan, more so because after Donal monologues about how Bronwyn's children will bring them another bloodline and he does what he must do, he turns around to find Rowan gone.

Hah. I hope Rowan hates Donal forever.

He wanted his meijha. He wanted his mother. He wanted his father, his uncle, his lir. He wanted his rujholla. And he could have none of them, because this he must face alone.

Go eat glass.

So, hey, let's finish up with some angsty monologuing:

Donal turned back to look at the hall. He saw the casements, glowing dimly; the banners, the tapestries, the weapons. The Lion upon the dais.

Slowly, he walked the length of the hall. He stood before the throne. He felt all the pain and grief and fear well up into chest and throat. He could not bear it. He thought he might burst with all the anger and frustration.

Before he could consider the blasphemy of his actions, he hurled the cup of wine against the ancient wood. “,All of them, gone!” he shouted. “All of them you have taken. You have robbed me of even my pride, even the pride in my heritage, because I must be a ruler before I am a Cheysuli. A man before a warrior. And a lion before a man: The Lion of Homana.”

Wine spilled down to stain the crimson cushion. The Lion bled. Or cried. He could not tell the difference.

Donal then looks at his sword, laughs a bit, and has one final speech:

“I am Donal,” he said when the echoes had died. “Just—Donal. Son of man and woman. Born of the Cheysuli and a dutiful child of the prophecy. But—just once—just once—I wish I could turn my back upon it all and be nothing but a man!” His challenging stare shifted from sword hilt to crouching Lion, looming on the dais. And then, abruptly, he shut his eyes.

Just once? You've been whining this whole fucking book. Anyway, the book concludes with this:

After a moment he turned, intending to leave. He stopped. Aislinn stood in the doorway with their child in her arms.

Waiting.

Donal sheathed the sword and went to his wife and son.

That's the end. The last line.

Donal's just sold his sister out, with some emotional abuse and victim blaming. Gets an angsty monologue and done.

It takes skill to be the most vile lead in a Cheysuli book, but I think Donal may just have managed it.

I will say though, there is a very faint punchline to all of this. The Meghan and Evan thing. You know how Donal kept saying there's no way she'd ever leave the Keep/Homana. She'd only ever marry a Cheysuli? And so on.

Neither character appears in the series after this point, but there is one line in Track of the White Wolf (confirmed by the increasingly convoluted family tree) that tells us that Meghan DID actually end up going to Ellas with Evan after all. So fuck you, Donal. You're wrong again.

Honestly, I suspect Meghan took one look at what happened to Bronwyn, realized that as Carillon's niece, she might well be next to get married off for this gross cousin-fucking betrothal scheme and took herself out of the running. Evan's a decent enough guy who takes no for an answer, and she gets a comfortable life where she doesn't have to worry about her kids getting wrapped up in the bullshit of the next five novels.

Go Meghan. At least someone gets a fucking happy ending.

The verdict will be up later tonight or tomorrow.