In Other Lands

  “You’re ordinary? I seem to recall some sort of championship,” said Elliot, his voice astonishingly calm in his own ears. “That is what not being hit in the head multiple times does for me. I have this astonishing recall of past events.”

  “Yeah, but that was a misunderstanding.”

  “A misunderstanding of what? By whom?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Look, my mother is being tiresome and she wanted me to ask you if you wanted to have din—”

  And the easy, casual way Luke could say “my mother,” the way he could complain about her, left Elliot suddenly with no reserves of patience in him.

  “I don’t need any more Sunborn time, no,” he told Luke. “I want to go to the library, where perhaps I will finally be left in peace.”

  “Suit yourself, then,” said Luke. “You always do.”

  “Oh, you know me,” Elliot said savagely. “Constantly getting what I want.”

  Elliot did not go to the library or his room, since Serene might be in either place, and Serene would take Luke’s side. He went to the commander’s tower, right up to the very top.

  He could see the Borderlands laid out from here, blue and green that went blurred in his vision suddenly, like a turquoise gemstone, like something he wanted to hurl away. He didn’t want magic any more, he didn’t want any of it.

  Elliot sat down on the stone floor, put his forehead on his drawn-up knees, cradled his head in his arms, and tried to breathe in wet angry gulps.

  “Are you . . . quite all right, Cadet Schafer?”

  It was Commander Woodsinger’s voice, Elliot realized after a moment. Though he should have guessed it immediately from the fact there were no soothing back-pats or offers to fetch help. He looked up, blinking, and she was looking down at him. Her face was grave as it always was.

  “No,” said Elliot. “I’m not. That medic, Elka Pathwind? She’s my mother. She left me when I was a baby, and she doesn’t want me now. She looked at me as if I was some years-old mess that she’d thought was behind her, something rotting and useless and—and hateful, and I do not know what to do except maybe prove her right. I’m not—I don’t know how to be—I’m planning on being emotional and too much trouble and everything you hate, so why don’t you just go? Go! Get out!”

  He put his head back down on his arms. He wondered if he would be expelled for telling the commander to get out of her own tower, and sort of hoped he would be. He kept trying to breathe, to breathe, until it finally seemed like breathing might be possible.

  It occurred to him that he had heard himself gasping and heard the thunder of his own useless furious heart in his ears, but he had not heard her leave.

  Then the commander spoke. “Do you want me to send her away?”

  Elliot twisted around and stared at the commander. She was standing straight as a spear, staring out at the Borderlands: her profile was set as something carved on a coin.

  “What?” Elliot asked blankly.

  “Do you—”

  “I haven’t been stricken deaf so I can’t hear stuff said to me by someone standing next to me on top of a tower with nobody else around,” said Elliot. “I was just expressing disbelief. Why would you send her away?”

  Commander Woodsinger cleared her throat. “Well—”

  Elliot stared up at her. It was easier to breathe, the more uneasy the commander was.

  “I mean she’s a perfectly competent medic. Useful to have around the place. Isn’t that what you care about? Your job and the camp?”

  “Obviously,” said Commander Woodsinger.

  “After all, you don’t want to have a personal relationship with any of your cadets,” Elliot pointed out. “You told me that.”

  “It is possible that I believe you might—might—have the potential to be even more useful than a capable medic,” said Commander Woodsinger. “In time. If you listen to your tutors and especially your commanding officer. Now vacate the tower: you do not have my permission to be here.”

  Elliot scrambled up, rolled his eyes at her, and made for the door.

  “Wait, Cadet Schafer!” Elliot turned and waited: Commander Woodsinger looked him over, then looked as if she wanted to say something. Her mouth formed a few different, undecided shapes. Eventually, she said: “You always forget to salute.”

  Elliot hesitated. Then he walked quickly back to her, leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek.

  “CADET SCHAFER!”

  “It’s okay,” said Elliot. “You don’t have to tell me that you like me.”

  He took a step back, saluted, and left, taking the tower steps two at a time.

  She didn’t have to tell him, because he could tell. That was what it meant, when people came to find you, when they cared enough to sacrifice for you, when they supported you, when they came back.

  He could tell when someone cared. And he could tell when someone didn’t.

  The next night there was a celebration for the agreement between the Border camp and the elves, and their current ride to war.

  Elliot was not in a party mood, but fortunately his friends were basically terrible at parties. Serene preferred to brood handsomely in a corner, impressing many gentlemen but not really speaking to anyone, and Luke sat being pleasant but twitchy, like an unhappy rabbit, until he could make his escape.

  Unfortunately, the place was full of Sunborns. They were all treated to the sight of Rachel Sunborn grinding up on a distant cousin called, Elliot thought, Ursula Sunborn. It cheered him up a little, as did Luke’s expression, which said, in letters of fire: O Welcome Death.

  “Where are your delightful relatives, Serene?” Elliot asked.

  “They decided not to come because they were certain they would be exposed to the sight of gentlemen behaving in a licentious and ungentlemanly fashion,” said Serene, with deep thankfulness.

  Elliot looked around where many gentlemen were indeed behaving in a licentious and ungentlemanly fashion, getting super drunk and in the case of five members of the Trigon team standing around cheering as Adara Cornripe and Natalie Lowlands made out for their benefit.

  Elliot let his lip curl. “Charming. They certainly are missing out,” he said dryly.

  Said dryness was spoiled when Louise Sunborn spilled half her mead on his head. Elliot sputtered and stared up at her.

  “Sorry, Little Red!” she said, and burst out laughing. “You are hilarious when you make faces! Come and show me some of the moves from your play.”

  Elliot got up. He did it for Louise, who was drunk and wanted to have fun, but having her arms around his neck, looking at her simply beautiful and simply happy face, actually made him feel a little better. He made the stage dance easier so she could follow a few of the more showy moves, and Louise clapped as he shimmied up her body and laughed delightedly when she dipped him. He was concerned he was going to be dropped, but the Sunborn musculature saved him and she didn’t.

  “Ha, you are such a cutie,” she said, flinging her arms back around his neck and whispering in a very loud voice. “Hey, Mum said something interesting to me. So I hear little Luke has a crussssssh! At last. He’s a late bloomer, I’m not meant to tease him. So point out this Dale Wavechaser to me, or I’ll ask Dad to do it! Oh no wait, Dad said I should say I’d ask Luke . . . and I wasn’t supposed to say Dad told as well. . . . This is just a terrible mess, Little Red. Show me my baby brother’s crush or I’ll beat you up. But gently.” She patted his head.

  “You have to promise not to tell Luke,” said Elliot.

  “I will be the soul of discussion,” Louise promised, her finger to her lips. “Or maybe I mean a different word!”

  Elliot sighed and jerked his head in Dale’s direction. He was actually standing near Luke, which Elliot thought was progress, even though Luke was studiously avoiding his eye and talking to Serene.

  “Oh, hello, not bad.” Louise whistled. “Thanks for pointing him out. This way I won’t try to sleep with him.”

  “He prefers men,” said Elliot. br />
  “Sure,” Louise said patiently. “But he hasn’t met me yet. Anyway, doesn’t matter, because I was hoping to make like Cousin Gregory and bag an elf tonight. Someone told me that Cold brought his beautiful young sons and is keeping ’em cloistered! What can I say, I like a challenge.”

  “Do you speak elvish?” Elliot inquired.

  “Um . . . no,” Louise said. “I don’t like books and learning, and I don’t need to bother with them, because: look at all this.” Louise gestured haphazardly to herself, all gleaming curls and generous curves, her scar stretching as she smiled. “Men look at it, and then they find a way to talk to me. You doubt it?”

  “Um . . .,” said Elliot, and spun her and caught her, and they both laughed. “No.”

  “Please don’t sleep with my sister,” Luke blurted out when he returned.

  “Wow, do you think she’d go for it?” asked Elliot, winking at Serene, who shook her head at him in a severe fashion. “I mean, no way I could ever get that lucky, am I right? But if you really think I have a shot, I guess I could make a pass. . . .”

  Louise was ten thousand miles out of Elliot’s league, and even if she would ever be willing to consider it, it would probably be too weird, but it was hilarious that Luke had managed to come up with this one. Elliot was trying to think of a way to milk it further when he followed the new direction of Luke’s scowl to Adara.

  “Hey, Elliot,” she said, pushing her bright locks off her forehead, where they stuck as if she had been sweating. “Do you want to dance?”

  “Sure,” said Elliot, and took her outstretched hand so he could spin her out onto the dance floor. He could not resist saying, with just a touch of malice: “I thought you were having fun where you were.”

  Adara did not look him in the eyes, which was impressive considering they were dancing close and she was a tall girl.

  “Mission accomplished,” she said, jerking her chin in the direction of the corner of the tent, where Natalie was making out with a Trigon player who had an overbite. “She’s having fun with him now,” said Adara breathlessly. “And I’m—I’m having fun with you. Aren’t I? And we could have more fun later.”

  Elliot was about to snap at her when he noticed the slightly choked way Adara was speaking, as if she had misery stuck in her throat. He thought of the way Adara had reacted when he’d told her about Jase, the way she’d spoken to Natalie, and the fact Adara had told him she liked someone else. He felt lousy, suddenly, for being angry at her, for thinking she was performing when she was just like him.

  “We’re having fun,” Elliot said gently. “But we’re not doing anything later.”

  “Why not? Isn’t it enough to just have fun?” Adara asked.

  She had to swallow a few times before she got the words out. She was even more upset than Elliot had thought. Elliot gathered her closer into his arms, made sure her face was hidden against his collar.

  “Not when the person I’m with isn’t having fun. Not when it’s not clean—for fun, or for love, or because there is potential there for one thing to move to the other. And not when the person I’m with wants to be with somebody else more,” said Elliot, into her hair. “Never again.”

  They danced, turning in slow circles. Elliot could see Serene turning her head to talk to Luke, the curve of her neck and the curve of her smile. Elliot could see Myra and Peter dancing together. Peter’s face was alight and Myra’s was not.

  He danced with Adara until the song was over, at which point he left her: another boy was very willing to scoop her up in his arms.

  “Didn’t expect to see you back,” said Luke.

  “I must say considering what Luke has told me that I am surprised as well,” said Serene.

  “Thought she was going to make a spectacle of herself again,” said Luke. “Some more.”

  The slightly snide tone of voice he was using reminded Elliot of the way he himself had been thinking about Adara, before he’d danced with her. He felt the back of his neck prickle with a combination of annoyance and guilt.

  “I don’t think anything she or I do is any of your business,” said Elliot. “Nobody is interested in your opinion. So keep it to yourself.”

  He got up and made his way across the dance floor, to the other side of the tent, where Gregory Sunborn was sitting. He was quite alone but looked entirely satisfied with his situation, as he did at all times, and Elliot recalled the saying “the cat that got the cream” and also how he’d thought of Gregory as a silver lion.

  “Hi,” said Elliot, and went over to sit by him.

  “Oh, hello,” said Gregory. “Luke’s friend. Young Louise calls you . . . Little Red, doesn’t she?”

  “I’m Elliot, but whatever. You know a lot about people, don’t you?”

  Elliot was not making random judgements based on Gregory’s former profession as a famed courtesan for the elves. He had noticed that Gregory was among the few humans who could calm both angry elves and rampaging Sunborns and the general, and that Gregory himself seldom, if ever, lost his temper. If Gregory had actually seemed to care about treaties at all, he would have been an ideal ally.

  Gregory smiled. “They’re my specialty.”

  “Terrific,” said Elliot. “So if someone gave every sign of not wanting anything to do with you—if they left you, and didn’t approach you again, and said they weren’t interested in you—then they don’t care about you, right? And you should leave them alone.”

  Gregory blinked. “I was hoping for something a little more challenging. Yes, you should leave them alone.”

  “Okay,” said Elliot. “That’s what I thought.”

  There was quiet between them that the music flowed through, like a river. Gregory tilted his head, as if appreciating the song.

  “It doesn’t necessarily mean they do not care about you,” said Gregory. “But it might. Eventually, you have to stop waiting for people. If they care about you, they’ll find you when they can: they will show you. And if they don’t . . . after a certain amount of time and effort, isn’t it wasted energy? All light burns out. Best put yours where people will appreciate it and be helped by it, and make it last longer.” He paused. “Caring about people who don’t care about you is a very unprofitable use of your time, and I mean that both figuratively and absolutely literally.”

  “Yes, all right,” said Elliot. “I understand. Thank you for your wisdom. Please, please do not get any more literal.”

  “You’re welcome for my wisdom. Which reminds me of a small favour I’d like you to do me. We’re all very concerned about young Luke,” said Gregory. “And a little birdie might have told me something about someone called Dale Wavechaser. Could you be a darling and point him out for me, or should I ask Luke which one he is?”

  Elliot groaned and hid his face in his hands. “You Sunborns are not subtle. And if you go on being unsubtle, Luke is going to find out, and he is going to kill me!”

  “Interesting, Little Red,” said Gregory Sunborn. “So which one is—”

  “That one,” said Elliot, gesturing dramatically.

  Dale waved innocently back as he danced past.

  “Oh, quite pretty,” said Gregory, eyeing Dale with the air of a connoisseur.

  Elliot put his head back in his hands and thumped his forehead against his palm. “I’m so dead.”

  The party was not cheering, in the end, but good news came in the morning. Apparently the small slice of bandit territory they had managed to reclaim—and Elliot noticed, immediately resettle with humans—was being assailed by murderous mermaids.

  Elliot was overjoyed.

  “I promised I would never come on a military foray without your express permission,” Elliot said virtuously. “And I never will. Can I have your permission to go see the mermaids, please and thank you?”

  “I don’t think you understand what the words ‘direct order’ or ‘ask permission’ mean,” said Commander Woodsinger as she readied her own pack for the expedition. “Or ‘military pro
tocol’ or ‘chain of command.’ Some of your tutors say you’re rather bright, so I’m not sure what the problem is.”

  “You’re so right,” said Elliot, sidling into the commander’s tent. “I have to give you a reason why I would be a valuable asset on the mission! I think I can speak to mermaids.”

  Commander Woodsinger looked around her bare room for patience. “And if you thought you could speak to the little bluebells by the side of the road, should I take you on every forest mission?”

  “I mean I’ve been researching mermaids in depth, and due to that research, I am sixty-eight percent certain I can converse with mermaids, and thus perhaps resolve this matter without bloodshed!” Elliot looked at the commander’s expression. “Seventy-two percent certain.”

  “Cadet Schafer, how would you describe your conversational style?”

  “Er . . .,” said Elliot, and grinned. “Drive it like I stole it.”

  “I am simply wondering where your misplaced confidence in your own ability to have charming and all-resolving discussions comes from.”

  “Fair point,” said Elliot. “But is there anyone else with an even forty percent certainty they can talk with mermaids in the Border camp?”

  Commander Woodsinger paused. Elliot was ninety-five percent certain she was counting in her head, or possibly praying.

  “Fine,” the commander said at length. “But this is going to be under controlled circumstances, with an entire array of armed forces at your back.”

  “Thank you so much for your permission, Commander, you know I would never leave camp without it,” said Elliot.

  All that other stuff seemed like more of a suggestion to him. He was sure the mermaids would not feel like chatting when faced by hostile forces.