I Read What?!

So last time, things got very gay TRAGIC, when Finn is terribly injured. Fortunately (and I can't BELIEVE I'm saying this), he seems to have made it through.

Good, now Carillon, please stop sniffing around a woman who doesn't want you and go bang the best friend that clearly does.



So we rejoin Carillon as he's leaving the tent, legs trembling with the aftermath of fatigue and tension.

I'd tell him to get a room, but I'm not sure Finn's up to the exercise.

I sucked in a deep breath, as deep as I could make it, filling my lungs with air. The stink of the army camp faded to nonexistence as I thought how close I had come to losing Finn. I knew perfectly well that had my chirurgeons pressed to take his leg, he would have found another way to die. A maimed warrior, he had told me once, was of little use to his clan. In Finn’s case, it was worse; he would view himself as useless to his Mujhar as well, and that would pervert his tahlmorra and his very reason for living.

Lachlan slipped through the entrance. I heard the hiss of fabric as he moved, scraping one hand across the woven material. Few of us had tents to claim as shelter; I, being Mujhar, had the largest, but it was not so much. This one served as a temporary infirmary; the chirurgeons had kept all others free of it when I had brought Finn. He would be nursed in private.

1. There are some interesting teasers here about how the Cheysuli view disability. In later books, this will become more significant.

2. On the plus side, it does at least seem like Carillon's taking our advice. You've basically given your love interest right hand man a private room. And who exactly will be doing the nursing?

So anyway, Lachlan tells Carillon that Finn will live, and he need fear no more. Carillon asks if he's consulted Lodhi. Lachlan doesn't let the sarcasm bother him, he points out that he'd tried using Lodhi's power to heal Finn, but couldn't reach him. Duncan and Alix could, and he's quite impressed. He notes that until he knows more of the Cheysuli, he can't hope to write songs about them.

Carillon rejoins that most men don't understand Cheysuli, and they probably wouldn't wish for songs. Maybe not, but it could be a good PR tool, Carillon. Since you're trying to end a genocide and all.

Talk moves to Tourmaline and the exchange. Bellam's sending 50 guards with her. Lachlan is aghast that Carillon intends to go himself. Without his army. Lachlan can't give more precise information about Bellam's plans, he's not a confidant, but he does warn Carillon that he should take a substantial escort.

So then Carillon goes to see Electra. Dude, she's NOT INTO YOU. We're told that Electra is wearing a dark brown gown laced with copper silk, made by Alix and given freely to replace the grey velvet that was ruined when Finn captured her. Apparently it fits well enough, they're of similar sizes.

Electra waited quietly, seated on a three-legged campstool with the folds of her dark skirts foaming around her feet like waves upon a shore. She sat erect, shoulders put back, so that the slender, elegant line of her neck met the jaw to emphasize the purity of her bones. She had braided her hair into a single loose-woven rope that hung over one shoulder to spill into her lap, coiled like a serpent. The smooth, pale brow cried out for a circlet of beaten gold, or—perhaps better—silver, to highlight the long-lidded, magnificent eyes.

I knew Rowan had been here to tell her. She waited, hands clasped beneath the rope of shining hair. Silently she sat upon the stool as the sunlight passed through the weave of the saffron-colored tent to paint her with a pastel, ocherous glow. She wore the twisted gold at her throat, and it shone.
By the gods, so did she. And I wanted so much to lose myself in it. In her. Gods, but what a woman can do to a man—

Even the enemy.

Forty years, this woman claimed. And I denied it, as ever.

Seriously dude, now you're just being an idiot. It shouldn't be that hard to CHECK and FIND OUT when a PRINCESS OF A NEIGHBORING KINGDOM WAS BORN.

Electra is taken aback when she sees only four horses waiting. She wants to know where her women are. Apparently Carillon sent them back already:

“I sent them back long ago.” I smiled at her. “Only you were brought here. But then you were compromised the moment Finn took you captive. What should it matter, Electra—you are an Ihlini’s light woman.”

Color came into her face. I had not expected to see it, from her. She was a young woman suddenly, lacking the wisdom of experience, and yet I saw the glint of knowledge in her eyes. I wondered, uneasily, if Tynstar’s arts had given her youth in place of age. “Does it grate within your soul?” she asked. “Does it make you wish to put your stamp upon me, to erase Tynstar’s?” She smiled, a mere curving of the perfect mouth. “You fool. You could not begin to take his place.”

“You will have the opportunity to know.” I boosted her into the saddle without further comment, and felt the rigid unyielding in her body. I had cut her, somehow: but then she had cut me often enough. I nodded at Rowan. “Send for Zared, at once.”

1. You're not in a comparable situation, Carillon. Yes, Electra is pretty awful. If nothing else, she's a willing participant in an invasion that supports genocide. But she's also your prisoner. She has expressed over and over that she DOES NOT WANT YOU.

If that "cuts you" then fucking deal with it.

2. Read the fucking room, Electra keeps TELLING YOU what she is. Listen to her.

There's a weird random note about Zared having cropped hair, as is common for a Homanan soldier. Carillon has long hair because that's common for mercenaries in Caledon. Okay.

Carillon gives orders to disperse the camp, because he is admittedly a lot smarter than Duncan was in Shapechangers, and realizes full well that Electra can tell Bellam where they're hiding.

So the meeting point is pretty descriptive. Carillon intentionally silhouettes his group at the horizon, because he wants his sister to see them.

The plains stretched below us. No more spring; it was nearly midsummer. The sun had baked the green from the land, turning it yellow and ocher and amber, and the dust rose from the hooves of more than fifty horses to hang in the air like smoke. Through the haze I could see the men, in Solindish colors, glittering with ringmail and swords. A troop of men knotted about a single woman like a fist around a hilt.

I could not see Tourmaline well. But from time to time I saw the dappled gray horse and the slender, upright figure, wearing no armor but a gown instead, an indigo-colored gown and no traveling mantle to keep the dust off her clothing. Even her head was bared, and her tawny-dark hair hung down freely to tangle across the horse’s gray rump.

Carillon hears Lachlan take a sharp breath and realizes that he finally has an assurance of Lachlan's loyalty. Lachlan is in love with Tourmaline and would never endanger her. Carillon has a cold moment here that I rather love:

If for nothing else, he would be loyal to me out of loyalty to my sister And what a weapon he gave me, did I find the need to use it.

That's the kind of asshole thinking that I think a King has to use sometimes. NOT "I'm going to force this unwilling woman to marry me for world peace...somehow."

So there's Carillon's force: four men against Bellam's fifty. Lachlan's job is to escort Electra down and bring Tourmaline back. When it looks like Electra is going to make a break for it, Carillon points out he has a bow. And when she points out that he can't shoot fifty men, he says he won't be aiming for the men.

Hah, nice. That's the kind of taunting I appreciate, sadly, he follows it up with:

I laughed and released her wrist. “Go, then, Electra. Tell your father—and your sorcerer—whatever you wish to say. But remember that I will have you as my wife.”

Loathing showed on her face. “You will have nothing, pretender-prince. Tynstar will see to that.”

Seriously, Carillon, if you're that interested in a peace with Solinde, there are probably other Solindish noblewomen that you can marry!

Anyway, everyone's uneasy about this whole plan, except Carillon, who watches Lachlan conduct the exchange. He brings Tourmaline, and there's a very lovely repeated refrain here:

“They come,” Rowan said softly, more to himself than to me.

They came. Side by side, no longer clasping hands, their shoulders rigid against the Solindish guard. Dust rose up from the ground and enveloped them in a veil; Tourmaline’s eyes were squinted against it as she came yet closer to me. And then she was laughing, calling out my name, and kicked her horse into a run.

I did not dismount, for all it would have been an easier greeting on the ground. She set her horse into mine, but gently, and our knees knocked as she reached out to hug my neck. It was awkward on horseback, but we got it done. And then, as she opened her mouth to speak again, I waved her into silence.

“My lord!” It was Rowan as Lachlan rode up. “They come!”

And so they did. Almost all fifty of them, charging up the hill, to swallow us within their ringmailed fist.

That's such a great sequence. Anyway, the Solindish soldiers are ready to attack. They demand Carillon's surrender, but:

“No?” I smiled. “My sword is my own to keep.”

The first shadow passed over my face, moving on quickly to blot out the captain’s face. Then another. Yet a third, and the ground was suddenly blotched with moving darkness, as if a plague of shadows had come to settle across us all. All men, save me, looked up, and saw the circling birds.

There were dozens of them. Hawks and eagles and falcons, owls and ravens and more. With wings outstretched and talons folded, they danced upon the air. Up, then down, then around and around, bent upon some goal.

Rowan began to laugh. “My lord,” he said at last, “forgive me for doubting you.”

Okay, that's pretty fucking awesome. Especially when half of the birds break away, touch ground, and turn into armed men. Carillon orders that they kill all of the enemy soldiers but five, and they'll take Electra back to her father.

He wants Bellam to know what he's done. But he's stupid also:

“I leave him his daughter,” I said at last. “Let her spend her time in Homana-Mujhar wondering when I will come.” I looked at the Cheysuli warriors surrounding the captured Solindish. Horses trembled; so did men. I thought it a fitting end.

Seriously dude? Leave her alone.

But Carillon does wax poetic about Duncan for a bit here:

And then I saw Duncan. He stood to one side with Cai upon his shoulder. The great hawk sat quietly, a mass of gold and brown next to the blackness of Duncan’s hair. The clan-leader seemed to support him effortlessly, though I could imagine the weight of the bird. In that instant I thought back to the time, six years before, when I had been imprisoned by the Cheysuli; when Finn had held and taunted me. Duncan it was who had ruled, as the Cheysuli are ruled, by numbers instead of a single man. But there was no doubting who held the power in the clan. There was no doubting it now.

Carillon spares a thought for his sister, whose never met Cheysuli before. "To her, no doubt, they were barbaric. To her, no doubt, they were worse than beasts." But Tourmaline says nothing and lets Carillon lead her away.

Since Chapter Fourteen and Fifteen are very short, I'm combining them for this review. Let's continue on.

They make it to the new encampment. It gets very windy, which causes Lachlan to mutter something about Lodhi, of course, and Rowan to blink stoically. Carillon likes it though, since it blows away the taste of blood and loss. "For I had led my men into death, and I would not forget."

Tourmaline is quiet for most of the trip then:

When we reached the doorflap, I jumped from my horse and turned to Torry’s mount. She slid out of the saddle and into my arms, and I felt the weariness in her body. Like me, she was in need of rest, sustenance and sleep. I thought to set her down and take her inside, to get her properly settled, but she wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged with all her strength. There were tears, warm against my flesh, and I knew she cried for us both.

“Forgive me,” she whispered into my sweat-dried hair. “I prayed all these years that the gods would let you live, even as Bellam sought you, yet when you come I give you thoughtless welcome. I thought you grown harsh and cruel when you ordered them slain, but I—of all—should know better. Was not our father a soldier?”

Apparently Lachlan had given Torry a pretty good idea of how difficult Carillon's task is, and she understands that Carillon has to be harsh. They share a recollection of being children, when she was the older sister telling the little brother what to do. But Carillon's grown up now.

Carillon settles Tourmaline in his own pavilion, saying that he's used to sleeping on the ground. Lachlan offers to share his though, and everyone's happy. There's some cute sibling banter here:

I looked at Torry again. “This is an army encampment, rude and rough. There is little refinement here. I must ask you to forgive what you hear.”

She laughed aloud with the pleasure of her retort. “Well enough, I shall forgive your men. But never you.”

There's a moment of angst, as Carillon feels the clean silk of her hair against his callused, blood-stained hands and thinks about what kind of man he's become.

It's heavy handed, but I rather like it. Tourmaline is an important aspect of Carillon's past (I remember being absolutely furious to find out that she isn't even mentioned in Shapechangers. Alix is HER cousin too!), and a link to the life he had before the invasion.

Carillon tells her that Rowan will bring whatever she needs. He notices that she still has questions, but she doesn't ask. Instead she just goes inside.

Tourmaline is very interesting I think. She makes a pretty powerful impact in just a few pages here, which is impressive, particularly because she actually doesn't say much. She's a very different woman from Alix or Electra...and it really annoys me that those are the only women I can really compare her to. She comes across as being intelligent, dignified, composed, and with a lot of thoughts that, at least for now, she's not choosing to share.

Carillon doesn't seem to think anything of that last part, but it might be significant later.

There's an odd little exchange with Lachlan where he suggests that Tourmaline might welcome company. Lachlan goes red and then pales and demurs properly, stating that Tourmaline would desire Carillon's company, not his own.

God, it is such a novelty to see a man actually care about a woman's consent. Carillon had this role himself once. Not so much anymore.

Carillon's intention then is to go to Finn. Of course it is. Hah.

But there's an actual reason for it: apparently this whole plan was Finn's. Not Carillon's. They'd come up with it in Caledon. At the time of course, they didn't know they'd have so many Cheysuli. But the idea was there. And he asks Lachlan to harp later for him: the Song of Homana.

Then he enters the tent. He catches sight of Lachlan's harp, the Lady, and has the thought that it's like a lir in a way. Finn greets him acerbically:

“Ah,” said Finn, “he has not forgotten me. The student recalls the master.”

I grinned, relieved past measure to hear his voice so full of life. Yet even as I looked at him I could not help but wince, at least inwardly; the stitches held his face together, but the scar would last forever. It would be that men—and women—saw before anything else.

Lachlan slipped past me to gather his harp into his arms. He had spent much of the day without his Lady; I wondered if it hurt.

As for Finn, he did not smile. But, knowing him, I saw the hint of pleasure in his eyes and, I thought, relief. Had he thought I would not come back?

Oh my god, you assholes. You've got a room now. Use it.

Carillon notes that Finn is alone at the moment (SERIOUSLY), and Finn explains that he's finally managed to get Alix to go away for a bit and give him space.

There's a bit of banter here that is very amusing...IF you forget that this book has a prequel:

“Alix would hardly coddle you.” I looked more closely at his face and saw the sallow tinge. It was better than the ashy hue of death, but he lacked the proper color. There was no fever, that much I could tell, but he was obviously weary. “Is there aught I might bring you?”

“A Mujhar, serving me?” This time there was a smile, though it was very faint. “No, I am well. Alix has done more than enough. More than I ever expected.”

“Perhaps it is her way of compensation,” I suggested without a smile.

“Perhaps,” he agreed in his ironic manner. “She knows what she lacks. I have impressed it upon her on several occasions.”

See, if I hadn't read Shapechangers, that would be funny. But I did. So gross.

Lachlan suggests that he could write a song about how Finn "wooed and lost a maiden, how the brother was the victor".

Imagine for a moment that you're a thirteen or fourteen year old Kalinara, and you've stolen this book, Song of Homana, from your dad's collection. You read it. You get attached to the characters. You adore Finn and Lachlan and Carillon, when he's not being a fucking idiot. Obviously, you realize this is actually the second book of a series, but there's enough in it to give you the idea of what the first book might have been like.

And it sounds really cool! And in your mind, you craft your own version of the story based on the tidbits and references in Song: the story about how dry, acerbic Finn captures a prince and a maiden, of how he clashes with the former and court's the latter, how he introduces her to what it means to be a Cheysuli, and how she ends up won over by his dignified and responsible brother. Finn loses out on the girl, but he forges a lasting bond with the prince and gains a dear quest.

It sounds like a really cool story, right? And you've read the later books in the series, and you enjoyed them. So you can't wait to finally find the first book. You can't wait to FINALLY see how it began. The version in your head is great. The real version must be even better!

Imagine then reading Shapechangers.

Yeah.

So anyway, Finn scowls "though it lacked its usual depth" - I think the Finn and Lachlan dynamic is one of the most interesting parts of the novel. It's rather subtle, because it mostly takes place at the edge of Carillon's vision. But it's funny too. In their own ways, they have very similar religious roles, and a particular understanding of one another. He suggests that Lachlan think of his own women and leave Finn's to him.

Which is very interesting. Does Finn know about Lachlan and Tourmaline?

Anyway, Lachlan backs off and when his fingers brush his harp strings, Carillon thinks of Electra. He assumes Lachlan thinks of Torry, and Finn remembers Alix. Ugh. I hate that only one of these is a consensual relationship.

Carillon tells Finn that the exchange happened. Finn says that he thought Carillon might keep Electra, but Carillon says that he's set his mind to winning the throne before winning the woman. "Did it come to a choice, you know which one I would take."

God damnit, Carillon. Leave the woman alone and marry your liegeman instead. Your reign would probably last longer. At least it'd be happier.

Finn notes that there have been times when he hadn't been sure about Carillon's priorities and yeah, that's fair. His pained reaction makes Carillon anxious and sharp.

Finn's unconcerned though. Apparently the earth magic doesn't always heal someone completely. It just aids it. Finn's well enough considering that he almost died.

I took a deep breath and felt the slow revolution of the shadows in the tent. I was so tired…“The plan we made was ideal. Duncan brought all the winged lir. The Solindish stood no chance.”

“No,” he agreed. “It is why I suggested it.”

Lachlan laughed softly. “Does Carillon do nothing without your suggestion?”

For a moment Finn’s expression was grim, for a face that was mostly ruined by swelling and seeping stitches. “There are times he does too much.”

“As when I decide whom to wed.” I smiled at Lachlan’s expression of surprise. “The lady who goes to her father will become the Queen of Homana.”

I think Lachlan is a shipper too. And while I hate Carillon's idiocy over Electra, I do rather love how Finn and Electra are constantly juxtaposed here.

Lachlan merely says that Bellam might not be willing to allow the marriage. Carillon notes that Bellam will be dead. Lachlan has some interesting information though:

“I had heard she was offered to High King Rhodri’s heir.” Lachlan’s fingers brought a singing cadence from the strings.

I shrugged. “Perhaps Bellam offered, but I have heard nothing of Rhodri’s answer. You, being Ellasian and his subject, might know better.”

Lachlan’s mouth twisted thoughtfully. “I doubt he would stand in your way. What I know of Cuinn I have learned mostly first-hand, from being hosted in the castle. The High Prince is an idle sort, though friendly enough, with no mind to marriage so soon.” He shrugged. “Rhodri has strength of his own; I doubt he will demand his heir’s marriage as yet. But then who am I to know the minds of kings?” He grinned at me. “There is only you, my lord, and what do I know of you?”

We've reason to believe that Cuinn and Electra have never actually met, if I recall correctly. But he might be able to provide an interesting perspective on the situation. Or perhaps not.

But I like Ellas. Fantasy Wales seems like a remarkably sane place, and the most comfortable country mentioned in this series.

Tourmaline comes up, and Lachlan kind of hedges around his feelings. He admits that sometimes he wishes himself more than a harper. Carillon figures it's so he could marry Torry, who, as a princess, is a bit beyond his reach.

But then they're interrupted by a woman's scream. Tourmaline's!

Carillon gets to his pavilion:

Tourmaline stood in one corner, clutching a loose green robe of my own around her body. A single candle filled the tent with muted, smoke light; it painted her face rigid and pale and glowed off the gold in her hair.

She saw me and put up a hand at once, as if to stay me. As if to tell me she had suffered no harm. It passed through my mind then that my sister was a stronger woman than I had supposed, but I had no more time for that. It was Rowan I looked at, and the body he bent over.

Tourmaline really is kind of quietly awesome.

Anyway, the dude on the floor is not dead: Rowan stopped him but new that Carillon would have questions. Indeed he does: the dude is Zared, Carillon's sparring partner and friend. Carillon is pissed that he even got into the tent and yells at Rowan for it. Rowan understands and accepts the anger without shame. He explains that he'd heard her cry out, saw a man above her with a knife, and he struck him down. He hadn't realized it was Zared.

Tourmaline gives her side: she'd put the candle out to sleep. She saw a presence and screamed. She thinks though, right before then, Zared realized that she wasn't Carillon.

So Zared's turn. He's conscious, and admits calmly that he had no intention of hurting Tourmaline. He'd been after Carillon himself. Carillon is glad to hear it, saying his fate would have been much worse if Carillon thought he'd meant to kill Torry. But unfortunately, Zared spits at the thought of giving more explanation.

Carillon is about to hit the guy, but Lachlan steps in and decides to be fucking terrifying.

Zared cried out, cringing, and clapped his hands to his ears. The song went on, weaving us all in its spell. His fingers dug rigidly into his flesh, as if he could block the sound. But it sang on, burrowing into his mind even as it blanked ours out.

“Lachlan,” I said, but no sound came out of my mouth.

Zared’s hands fell away from his head. He knelt and stared, transfixed as any child upon an endless wonder: jaw sagging, drool falling, eyes bulging open in a terrible joy.

So Lachlan plays and Zared's memories become visible:

She moved into the light. She wore a brown gown and a yellow belt. She glowed at throat and wrists from the copper-dyed silk. But it was the hair that set her apart, that and her unearthly beauty.
She put up a hand. She did not touch him. He did not look at her. But as she moved her fingers they took on a dim glow. Lilac, I thought. No—purple. The deep purple of Ihlini magic.

She drew a rune in the air. It hissed and glowed, clinging to the shadows, spitting sparks and tails of flame. Fearfully Zared raised his head.

His eyes fastened upon it. For a moment he tried to look away, to look at her, but I could see he had not the power. He could stare only at the rune. The delicate tracery of purest purple glowed against the air, and as Electra bid him he put up his hand.

“Touch it,” she said. “Take it. Hold it. It will give you the courage you need.”

Okay, I just feel like pointing out: if you become the mistress of an Ihlini, you apparently get eternal youth and the ability to do magic yourself. Women BORN of the Cheysuli don't get any of the Shapechanging magic.

I'm just saying, while Tynstar is terrible in a whole lot of ways, this seems like a far better deal to me.

Flashback Zared touches the rune, which causes him to have convulsions and bleed blackened blood from his nose. Electra essentially promises that she'd be his, as long as he kills Carillon. Then the harp music stops.

Then it starts again:

He conjured Electra before us. The perfect, fine-boned face with its fragile planes and flawless flesh. The winged brows and ice-gray eyes, and the mouth that made men weak. Lachlan gave us all the beauty, and then he took it from her.

He stripped away the flesh. He peeled it from the bone until it fell away in crumpled piles of ash. I saw the gaping orbits of vanished eyes, the ivory ramparts of grinning teeth. The hinge of the jaws and the arch of her cheeks, bared for us all to see. And the skull, so smooth and pearly, stared upon us all.

No man moved. No man could. Lachlan had bound us all.

The music stopped, and with it Zared’s heart.

Holy shit dude.

Fuck Cheysuli powers AND Ihlini powers. If you want to be fucking scary, be a Harper-Priest of Ellas. Oh my god.

And also Carillon, seriously. THE WOMAN WANTS YOU DEAD. Leave her alone!

Now that it's over, Lachlan is teary eyed and regretful. He'd kind of got caught up in the moment, and he'd done it in front of Tourmaline too:

“Lodhi has made me a healer, and now I have taken a life. But for you, lady, for what he nearly did to you…there seemed no other way.”

Torry’s hand crept up to crush a fold of the green woolen robe against her throat. Her face was white. But I saw the comprehension in her eyes.

Seriously, how the fuck badass is Tourmaline?

Anyway, Carillon is freaked out, but figures he appreciates Lachlan's reasons. So he's not going to punish him. For his part, Lachlan merely says that he thought himself above such petty vengeance. And well, now they've seen how Lodhi's power can be used for harm as well as good.

Yeah, I don't think anyone's going to forget that shit any time soon, dude.

Carillon makes a challenge to the other soldiers:

I cast an assessive glance around at the staring throng. There was still a thing to be said. “Is there yet a man who would slay me? Another man willing to serve the woman’s power?” I gestured toward Zared’s body on the ground. “I charge you to consider it carefully when you think to strike me down.”

That's how you use a moment.

Also because apparently we weren't freaked out enough:

I looked at the body. It resembled that of a child within the womb, for I had seen a stillbirth once; the arms were wrapped around the double-up knees, fingers clawed. The feet were rigid in their boots. Zared’s head was twisted on his neck and his eyes were open. Staring. I thought I might get myself the reputation of a man surrounding himself with shapechangers and Ellasian sorcerers, and I thought it just as well. Let any man who thought to slay his king think twice upon the subject.

I'm glad Carillon is choosing to find this empowering, but holy fuck man. Holy fuck.

And then, timed for maximum drama:

“Does it please you,” asked Finn, “to know how much the woman desires your death?”

I spun around. He was pale and sweating, white around the mouth, and his lips were pressed tightly closed. I saw immense tension in the line of his shoulders. The stitches stood out like a brand upon his face. He stood with such rigidity I dared not touch him, even to help, for fear he might fall down.

Finn drags himself out of his sickbed to drag Carillon's stupid moronic ass to the curb.

And also Carillon, THIS is what it's like when you're actually in love. Do you even know Electra as a person? But when you can be enamored with a person when they're half dead and calling you a fucking moron...

That's love.

Leave the woman alone and get your boyfriend back to his nice, EMPTY, tent.

More dragging:

“She is Tynstar’s meijha,” Finn said clearly. “A whore, to keep from dirtying the Old Tongue with her name. Do you think she will let you live? Be not so blind, Carillon—you have now seen what she can do. She will fill your cup with bitter poison when you think to drink it sweet.”

“Why?” Torry asked sharply. “What is it you say to my brother?”

I lifted a hand to wave him into silence, then let it drop back to my side. Finn would never let silence rule his tongue when there was something he wished to say.

“Has he not told you? He means to wed the woman.”

I love this whole sequence so much. "I'm not just going to drag you, I'm going to bring your sister in on it too." And indeed, Tourmaline adds her own two cents, pointing out that Electra wants to kill him.

Carillon still has the asinine idea that this will bring peace. Like the people of a country wouldn't be pissed off that their princess is forcibly married to a foreign monarch, who is using her to seize control of both lands.

His logic is that with Bellam dead, Solinde will be without a king. Because, you know, there wouldn't be distant relatives or other Solindish nobles with an eye to the crown or anything. He's thinking of what Shaine had meant to do when he betrothed Lindir to Ellic. Because Shaine was a FONT of good ideas.

He'll wed Electra, he says, just like Tourmaline will marry a foreign prince.

And oh dear. I don't think Tourmaline had realized that part. It's common sense, sure, but she grew up as a cousin to the royal family, not as the daughter of a king. And while it's all well and good to say "my brother is heir to the throne", it's easy to imagine that she hadn't conceived of her own role. And this is actually a little heartbreaking, I think:

“We will serve our House, Tourmaline, as all our ancestors have done,” I said clearly. “Shall I name them for you? Shaine himself wed Ellinda of Erinn, before he took Homanan Lorsilla. And before that—”

“I know!” she cried. “By the gods, Carillon, I am older than you! But what gives you the right to say whom I will have in marriage?”

“The right of a brother,” I said grimly, disliking to hurt her so. “The right of the last surviving male of our House. But most of all…the right of the Mujhar.”

Her arm was still slack in my hand. And then it tightened and she twisted it free of my grasp. “Surely you will let me have some choice—”

“Could I do it, I would,” I said gently. “But it is the Mujhar of Homana the envoys will approach, not his spinster sister.” I paused, knowing how much I hurt her, and knowing whom she wanted, even as he heard me. “Did you think yourself free of such responsibility?”

“No,” she said finally. “No…not entirely. But it seems somewhat precipitate to discuss whom I will wed when you still lack the Lion Throne.”

Poor Tourmaline. And notice, she's not really even being unreasonable here. She's not saying "No, I WON'T marry a foreign prince!" It sounds like she's willing to do it, she'd just like a choice among options, if they're available.

It's not like Homana has a plethora of allies right now. ANY marriage alliance would probably be beneficial at this point.

Anyway, we turn back to the less depressing interaction between Carillon and Finn:

“That is a matter of time.” I rubbed at my aching brow and shifted my attention to Finn. “If I give you an order, will you obey it?”

One black brow rose slightly. “That is the manner of my service…usually.”

Ah, they switch. Good to know.

Anyway, Carillon wants to send Finn to the Keep to recover, and Tourmaline with him. (He does not say, but does think, that it'd be good to separate her from Lachlan for both of their sakes.). Alix will undoubtedly want to go home, so she can be Torry's escort. Finn is to stay until fully recovered.

Finn is not happy, but he goes.

The chapter ends on a hilarious note though:

The wind rippled Torry’s hair as we watched him go. I heard surprise and awe in her voice, and recalled she knew little of the Cheysuli. Only the legends and lays. “That,” she said, “is strength. And such pride as I have never seen.”

I smiled. “That,” I said merely, “is Finn.”

Translation:

Tourmaline: Oh my god, I want to fuck that.

Carillon: Me too.

Get a room.