I Read What?!

So we made it through the entire first part of this book. And you know? It didn't suck. High praise, I know. But well, we've seen the predecessors.

In Part One, of course, we met Niall. He was tolerable. He has angst. He has a brother and sister. He has a slightly incestuous betrothal. And then, he promptly lost his brother, washed up on the shores of fantasy Ireland, and made new friends.

Now though, he's back on his real journey. We've seen Erinn. Now we get to see Atvia. Let's take a look.

You may notice a content warning on this chapter. It's because of what we learn of a particular character's situation. It's only really implied strongly in this chapter, but we'll get more details soon enough. I figured it's better to be safe than sorry.



We start off with Niall describing Rondule, the capitol of Atvia. Apparently, it looks pretty similar to Kilore, in Erinn. Both are fishing ports. There are some minor architectural differences, but nothing huge. It looks the same really. And also very similar to Hondarth in Homana. A port city is a port city.

The language is different though. Niall had gotten used to Erinnish's "lyrical lilt". Atvia on the other hand:

I thought it an ugly language, choked with consonants rather than vowels, and those spoken harshly. It was a sibilant tongue that put me in mind of a serpent hissing in the darkness. I did not much like the imagery. More than ever I wished I could avoid Atvia altogether.

Oh dear. It's hard to tell, of course, how much of this is a true reaction and how much of it is due to Niall's baggage. He doesn't want to be here. He never really did. And that was before he'd grown attached to the folks in Erinn. And to give him credit, Niall even admits that a lot of his complaints are unfair. The fish smell for example is exactly the same, but Niall is choosing to see Rondule in a harsher light.

So Niall is greeted by a young boy, half his height. He's about twelve, but with "older" brown eyes. After Legacy of the Sword, I'm inclined to view kids with some wariness. I'm also reminded of when we met Alaric as a young boy in Song of Homana, though. It might just be that Atvia is rough on boys.

Speaking of, didn't Osric have sons at one point? Does Atvia have sibling succession first, or are those sons no longer factors?

The boy introduces himself as Belen, and leads him through the streets to the center of the city. And this is actually a pretty neat sight:

Like Kilore, Alaric’s fortress perched atop a rocky cliff. But his did not have the headlands and heaths stretching in all directions. Instead, the castle capped a palisade that jutted up from the center of the city. The promontory was cone-shaped but lacked a smooth, uniform roundness, displaying craggy flanks full of crevices and treacherous faults in the stone itself. I saw no road or path at all winding its way up to the castle on top of the world. And I began to understand why Shea had told me, again and again, that a frontal assault on Alaric’s castle was the strategy of a madman—or a fool.

As they ascend, they feel the chilly breath of the metaphorical dragon. Apparently this place is called the "Dragon's Teeth", in contrast to the "Dragon's Tail" of Erinn. More evidence, I suppose, that they were once one culture.

The prophecy starts to make a little more sense, when it comes to its chosen nations, I suppose. Homana and Solinde, Cheysuli and Ihlini, Atvia and Erinn. All have ties deeper than the wars.

That said, I'm still not sure bringing back a race of demigod predecessors is a great idea, but that's probably a rant for a later book.

Anyway, Niall ascends, thinks of Deirdre, and how close Erinn really is. He feels like he could put out his hand, reach across the Dragon's Tail and she'd be his.

I mean, you could. Alaric's an untrustworthy ally no matter what. Shea though really likes you. And Shea would happily sign off on Deirdre marrying you. It wouldn't necessarily stop Atvia from aiding Strahan, but you have an ally who already hates Atvia.

Oh well. Niall looks at the fortress and thinks about how it's unassailable. Invulnerable. A lot like Homana-Mujhar. But ONCE, Homana-Mujhar had fallen.

So Niall's led inside to meet his uncle by marriage and father-in-law:

Alaric. I knew him at once, though I had never seen him. Once, my mother had described him to me, telling me how he had come to Homana seeking the Mujhar’s sister as a wife. Then, she said, he had been tall, slender, brown-haired, brown-eyed. Handsome, she had added, if you liked men with silken manners and silver tongues. Bronwyn had not, but she had wed him anyway. My father had given her no choice.

Nineteen years had passed since then. I thought he was a year or two older than my father. He looked younger than his years, though time and wars had roughened the too-smooth edges. He had not thickened, maintaining a tensile slenderness, and he moved with an awareness of a subtle but acknowledged strength. In body as well as spirit.

In understated black, he put me in mind of Strahan. He reminded me of Lillith.

...I still wonder a bit about Niall's sexuality. And I kind of love Aislinn's description of him. It's a shame her own choice of spouse is not much better.

Anyway, Alaric, we're told, speaks very good Homanan, with almost no accent. He notes that for a moment, he'd thought a dead man was before him. Niall notes that he means Carillon and...oh, now this is a weighted conversation.

Alaric moved to the table and poured usca for us both. Out of courtesy I accepted the goblet; I have no taste for usca. “I met Carillon once,” he said reminiscently. “I was but a boy, no older than Belen, but I knew enough to be impressed. It was not long after Tynstar had stolen twenty years of his life. Already the disease ate away at his bones.” Still smiling, he drank. I did not.

“My lord—” I began.

“I never saw him again.” Clearly, Alaric was not finished. Until he was, he had no intention of allowing me to speak. “When my brother slew him, I was here. Beating back Erinnish wolfhounds from my shores.” Alaric continued to smile.

I set down my goblet with a thud. Usca slopped over the rim. “It was for you to end my captivity.”

I'm reminded how even in Shapechangers, Roberson was very good at setting up an immediate impression of a character. Like Duncan's gravitas or Finn's anger, Lachlan's mutability, and Aislinn's dignity. Alaric was wary in Song of Homana, slimy in Legacy of the Sword, and he's far far more dangerous now.

Get the fuck out of there, Niall. This is NOT in good faith.

The use of usca is interesting too. Usca was a drink from the Steppes. Carillon had a taste for it from his time in exile. Niall, for all his looks, is not Carillon though. I tend to think that's a good thing, but we'll see.

As for Alaric's response:

“It was for me to end your captivity.” Alaric sat down and crossed his legs. His boots, I saw, bore massive spurs of rune-worked gold. “And did you curse me for not doing it while you bedded Deirdre of Erinn?”

Ooof.

As for the alliance with Strahan:

A corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. He knew very well why I altered the subject. “What I do is my own concern.” He shifted minutely in the chair. The golden spurs glinted. Oddly, they reminded me of lirbands. “I have no intention of filling your head with Atvian history, Niall. Suffice it to say it was never my wish to give my fealty to Donal.” He shrugged a little, dismissing it. “We are uneasy bedmates at best. He takes—I give. And I am weary of it.”

I kind of love Alaric, I'm not going to lie. Tynstar was a crap villain. Strahan started strong, but is falling into the villain decay trap already. But Roberson does excel at the more mundane villains, doesn't she.

So what IS Alaric's game:

“Think of what I would gain if the alliance were ended,” he suggested.

“War,” I answered promptly. “And my father has beaten you once.”

Brown eyes narrowed a little. He studied me a moment. And then he smiled. “War. But even Homana grows weaker when the wars drag on for decades.” Politeness forgone, he reached out and took up his goblet, swallowing usca again. “You are here,” he said. “A trifle tardy, perhaps, but that is no fault of yours. I see no reason for invalidating the proxy wedding. Gisella would be—disturbed.”

Niall is a bit freaked out by this. Especially since Alaric knows about Deirdre. Is there a spy in Kilore? Probably.

But Niall is more than capable of getting some of his own back:

“My lord, if you truly wish to let this marriage go forth, why did you not give in to Shea’s demands?”

“Because I give in to no one.”

It was my turn to smile. “But you gave in to my father. I know all about it. You knelt on the floor and kissed his sword and swore fealty to him.”

Hah, nice. I don't remember Donal being quite so good with the war of words. Alaric doesn't flinch though, he points out that he got Bronwyn for a wife, Gisella for a daughter. Didn't he benefit more than Donal?

Heh, probably.

So Niall asks if the title of "Lord of the Idrian Isles" is that important. To Alaric, it is. It was Keogh's, having won it from Ryan of Erinn. Shea never contested it until Liam was born.

Oh, here we go:


“Your sister was wed to Shea. Does it mean nothing to you?”

He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Boy, you must learn the practicalities of alliances and wars. When one is broken, the other invariably follows.” A warning, perhaps? He rose. “For more than two hundred years Erinn and Atvia have been at war. Intermittently, of course—we cannot always fight. But it is as much a part of the Atvian and Erinnish way of life as shapechanging is of yours.” He movement was arrested. “Ah, but of course—you cannot. I had heard you lack a lir.”

I thrust myself out of the chair. Impotent rage welled up as Alaric continued smiling.

Seriously dude. Get out of there. Alaric has just told you how much a marriage alliance matters to him.

He asks Niall if Niall expected them to be friends. Niall expected civility. Alaric suggests this is civil, noting he's not Shea. This leads Niall to defend Shea as having far more integrity, honor and manners. Alaric agrees, but thinks Shea is a fool.

However, there is someone to see him. Niall expects Gisella. but it's Lillith:

Again, she wore crimson. She was cloaked in the weight of her hair. “I offered you a choice,” she said calmly. “You refused to accept my help. But I see you had other alternatives.”

No more would I look away from the woman. I stared intently back at her. “The gods look after their own.”

After an arrested moment, Lillith began to smile. “The months have done you good,” she said obscurely. And then she laughed.

I watched as she went to Alaric and kissed him intimately, ignoring my presence entirely. He locked one hand in the curtain of her hair. The other pressed her against his loins. Because they wanted to make me uncomfortable, I did not look away.

Seriously dude. Get out of there.

Anyway, Lillith's here to escort him to his chambers. There'll be a feast in his honor, he's invited to rest.

Get out of there.

...but maybe not yet. Because when Niall is brought to the deeply shadowed, gloomy chambers, he finds he's not alone.

“Niall.” A shape moved out of the shadows of the room. I spun, reaching for the knife I still did not have, and then I stopped moving altogether.

The face was thin, too thin, so gaunt, fined down to flesh stretched nearly to splitting over the prominent bones of the skull. I saw hollowed pockets beneath high, angular cheekbones; circles like bruises beneath eyes, the yellow eyes, filled with a dozen haunted memories of what it was like to lose a brother. What it was like to lose a soul. He was a stranger to me, my brother, and yet I knew him so very well.

“Ian!” And almost instantly: Oh, gods, what have they done to my brother?

A happy reunion?

He was thin. His clothes were of Atvian cut; no Cheysuli leathers here. When Ian had worn nothing else. His thick hair was dull, though clean, and had been cut much shorter than normal. It did not quite cover his ears; I saw the nakedness of his left lobe and realized what he had done. Or what they had made him do.

What have they made of my brother?

Well, he certainly hasn't been having a nice vacation in Erinn with an attractive princess? Maybe it's not as bad as it looks:

“Niall,” he said. “Oh—gods—I thought she lied—I thought she, told me lies—” He shut his eyes so I would not see the tears. “But you are here—”

“Here,” I echoed numbly. Oh, rujho, what have they done to you? “Ian….” At last I stretched out a hand to touch his shoulder. But as I touched him he moved rigidly away. Like a hound afraid of his master.

“She said you were coming,” he told me. “She said so, but I did not believe her. She tells me so many things.” His heavy swallow was visible, even in the shadows. “When there is one truth in twenty lies, I cannot always choose which one to believe in.”

...no, it's pretty fucking bad.

“Ian, what is wrong? What is wrong with you?”

He flinched. Visibly. As if the master had struck the hound. “I know, now. I know what it is, now. The pain. The emptiness. The void within a heart.” He drew in an unsteady breath. “I have seen how it is, how it has been with you all these years—”

“Ian.”

“—and now I know myself—”

“Ian.”

“—what a lirless man goes through—”

“Ian!”

“—when his lir is taken from him.” The sinews knotted even as his jaw muscles did. “I know what I must do. But she will not let me do it!”

The price of having a lir. The downside. And where Niall gets to parallel Duncan in happier times: a loving woman, an offer as mistress, Ian gets to parallel his grandfather's end.

A lirless man, broken, and a captive. Unlike Duncan, Ian has never done anything to deserve this.

Niall barely comprehends. He asks Ian about his gold. Ian's put it aside. He's got no right to wear it. He calls Niall by name, instead of rujho. Brother. Niall wonders if Tasha's loss made Ian forget everything else. Or maybe it's what they've done to him.

Ian's barely coherent, and Niall's a bit brutal in his attempt to get an explanation. Why hasn't Ian killed himself then?

Ian doesn't answer. He just looks diminished. Instead, he gets an answer from somewhere else:

“Not they,” said a female voice distinctly. “What she has done to him.”

This time it was Gisella. I had only to look at her as she shouldered shut the door. “You do not deny it, then?”

She did not answer. She came forward into the wash of candlelight and I saw her eyes: yellow as my brother’s. No, Alaric had not stamped Gisella as Shea had stamped Liam and Deirdre. Nor as Carillon, through his daughter, had come back to live in me. In flesh and bone and spirit, Gisella was more Cheysuli than I.

Ian said nothing. Nor did I; I could think of nothing succinct that would express what I was feeling.

She wore a gown the color of blood. Not the bright crimson red of Lillith’s velvet skirts, but the color of day-old blood. Dull, a man might say; ugly, a woman would, but on Gisella the color was right.

So, here we're going to note a trend that I'm not really a fan of. It only happens here and in one other place, as I recall. But there are three women in the series who are noted to actually LOOK Cheysuli. Raissa, who was Finn and Duncan's mother, and existed only to be their apologist. Gisella, and later Melusine, whose entire existence is a massive spoiler.

Gisella is the contrast to Deirdre. And as we'll see, she's...complicated. Not evil, per se. But well, you'll see. At the very least, she's the less ideal match.

Melusine is the disagreeable mother to a later side protagonist. It does make sense that she looks Cheysuli. Given her...situation...she really ought to have a bigger role. But she doesn't. Instead, she's an obstacle. Her daughter, of course, is described as being much paler. Whiter. The daughter is the actual sympathetic character.

Gisella LOOKS Cheysuli. Even though her mother, Bronwyn, had been pale enough that it was plausible that she had Ihlini parentage. And of the children she'll have, per that spoiler family tree, only her older sons: Brennan and Hart will look Cheysuli. Her younger children, Corin and Keely take after Niall.

We will never have a heroic female protagonist that LOOKS Cheysuli. And that's an issue. Definitely. Particularly since it's the women who show the whole "old blood" bullshit the most. But all the heroic old blood women look white?

YEAH. Roberson's gotten rid of a lot of the obvious racism, but there's a reason that I would NEVER recommend this series to anyone looking for heroic leads of color.

(Edited to add: I DID forget about Isolde. Isolde, as Ian's full sister, implicitly does look Cheysuli. But I feel like the fact that she's had so little page time so far is pretty significant in and of itself. I shouldn't be able to forget about her.)

But back to Gisella. It becomes pretty clear that something's a little...

She smiled. Ignoring Ian, Gisella smiled at me. “I was not to let you see me before tonight’s feast. But I could not wait.” Her black hair was worn Cheysuli-fashion: braided, looped, twisted, fastened in place with golden combs that glittered with ice-white diamonds. She had a widow’s peak. It gave her a look of elegance, of maturity, and yet I knew she lacked both. She was oddly childish. Or was it childlike? “My father wanted you to be pleased with me. Are you pleased with me?”

It is as if Ian is not even in the room. “I think I might be more pleased if I knew what Lillith has done to my brother.”

Gisella shrugged. The gown was cut wide of her shoulders, displaying smooth dark skin, elegant neck, a rope of gold and diamonds. “Only what she has done before. Though they were not Cheysuli.” She looked at Ian and smiled. Her eyes lit up and she laughed. “Because she wanted to do it. Because he hated her. Because he lacked a lir.”

“I lack a lir.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Lillith would never ensorcell you!”

Notice the dark skin reference. Again, Bronwyn was pale enough that they thought she was Ihlini. Alaric is very white too. Why is Gisella dark?

And here we hit the crux of the issue:

“—do what?” Gisella came closer, skirts swinging. “He is lirless, Niall. Without a lir he will go mad. But Lillith will keep him from it. She said so…she said she wants him.”

I stared. Her tone was utterly unconcerned, as if it mattered not one whit to her that the witch had ensorcelled my brother. “Gisella—”

She spun and spun in place, holding out blood-colored skirts. “Did Lillith not make me pretty?”

So aside from the very unnecessary sudden colorism, I do truly love the horror of this chapter. Niall's gone from an idyllic captivity to this nightmare castle, to find the brother he'd long envied, thought dead, is an ensorcelled sex slave. And this is blithely revealed in such a cheerfully, callous way by Niall's betrothed, a woman who, in the next sentence, will identify Lillith as her mother.

I mean really, what did you expect, Niall? We were TOLD Bronwyn died in childbirth? What does Gisella have.


Niall denies that, of course. He tells her that her mother is his aunt, Bronwyn, and that she's his cousin. Lillith is NOT her mother.

Gisella frowned. Lifted a hand. Her nails, like Lillith’s, were silver-tipped. And they ripped a hole in the air to replace it with living flame.

Cold, cold flame…and a lurid Ihlini purple.

This ends the chapter.

And um, Niall. You CAN get the fuck out of there. Take your brother with you!