As the days passed and Luke carefully avoided Dale and took to following Elliot to the library, he tried to remember that Luke had not meant it.
“Luke asked me out,” he told Serene one evening when he dragged her protesting out to Luke’s Trigon practise. Oh, the tables, how they had turned.
“He told me he was going to,” said Serene.
“I said no.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Serene remarked.
That confirmed everything Elliot had suspected. Serene was Luke’s swordsister. She knew Luke better than anyone, and she would not want Elliot to be hurt again.
This knowledge helped during Elliot’s occasional moments of weakness.
Luke’s cadet uniform got redesigned to incorporate the wings, a sword belt added. During archery practise he couldn’t carry a traditional quiver, but had a whole new shirt that was basically a row of arrow pockets and straps to hold it together.
Everything seemed back to normal when girls started showing up in groups again to watch Luke at archery practise.
Elliot, of course, did not care about archery practise and was waiting for Luke to be done already so they could get some dinner. He was leaning against the fence and reading. He hardly looked up from his book at all.
Maybe he did once or twice. Serene and Luke were having a contest, and Serene was trash-talking Luke in a very polite elvish way, which made Luke throw back his head and laugh. There was a stir and a sigh from the assembled viewers.
That was Luke, the Sunborn champion, the prince from illustrations in a book of fairy tales come to life. That much did not change. Elliot found himself having a number of non-fairy tale-approved thoughts, moving from the rare sweetness of Luke’s laugh to the lean muscles that slid under his skin as he drew his bow, the glitter of sunlight outlining his upper lip. But Elliot remembered watching Luke pull off his shirt on the Trigon pitch. That hadn’t changed either.
The only thing that was slightly different was that Elliot could transform his thoughts into reality. He had turned Luke down, but he was fairly certain that he could take it back. All he would have to do was walk over and lean close, touch Luke, curl his fingers around the swell of his bicep or run a nail down the brown arch of Luke’s neck.
Except that this change was not permanent. Luke was stung by rejection and looking for a safe bet. How Luke looked for him in a room now, how his whole face changed when he caught sight of him, that would all go away soon.
“Are you two done?” Elliot asked, strolling over. “Whichever one of you wins has to bring me dinner, so I guess whatever happens . . . I win! I just made up that rule.”
“It was a draw,” Serene admitted grudgingly, and stomped off to retrieve her arrows.
“Do you remember when you cut up my shirt to allow for the wings?” Luke asked in a low voice.
Elliot studied the archery targets as if he had actual interest in them. “Can’t say I do, buddy.”
He saw Dale Wavechaser often lurking around Luke and looking sad rather than glaring as he did whenever he saw Elliot. Whenever he saw Dale, Elliot had perhaps an unreasonable number of visions of what “in a clinch” might have meant. He also perhaps thought about this too often when thinking about it only made him angry. Elliot told himself that he was just concerned for his friend. He knew that had been Luke’s first kiss, and Dale had ruined it for him with his prejudice and insensitivity, and Dale was probably going to get another chance despite being an idiot who did not deserve one.
When these justifications broke down, Elliot reminded himself that being angry didn’t help. Luke and Dale were going to work this out. Elliot had to protect himself and stay out of their way.
So Elliot continued on as if Luke had never asked him, and focused on work. He heard rumors of trolls and humans seen together. Nobody seemed to know if the humans were from the villages, or bandits again, or if they might possibly be humans from over the Border. He threw himself into researching that, and learning trollish, and wrote to Serene’s cousin Swift, Luke’s cousin Gregory, and Podarge the harpy. He even sent a message in a bottle to his mermaid. He concentrated on being strong and independent and career focused, damn it, and he was not swayed by Luke saying he might ask to be posted to an elven fortress, so he and Serene and Elliot could all be together.
Then Podarge’s letter came, saying that armed troll and human forces had been sighted too close to the Forest of the Suicides, and the harpies requested their new allies’ aid. Elliot started yelling for the commander, Luke and Serene started planning to call in elven reinforcements, and Bright-Eyes the librarian started yelling about the library being a place of quiet and learning.
Elliot realized that this was a call to arms, and they would not be taking a councilor, least of all one who was still in training.
Except that he had to come.
“You have to offer the trolls peace,” he argued. “You have to offer an agreement that looks good. I have to be there to negotiate it!”
Luke shouted back at him. Faintly, as if in the distance, he could hear Bright-Eyes begging for silence, but Elliot did not look at him, or anywhere but at Luke, as if he could make Luke get it through sheer force of will.
“No other councilor was brought to see the harpies. They don’t know anyone else, they just know me! Luke, come on, you have to understand. You’d do anything if you thought it was your duty.”
“I understand,” Luke snapped.
He did not say anything else. Elliot stared at him for a fraught moment, not sure what Luke’s understanding meant. In the end, all he felt he could do was make his own position clear.
“I’m going, with or without your help.”
Luke took a deep breath and said: “I’m helping.”
Whether it was due to the word of a Sunborn or the previous treaty with the harpies, Commander Woodsinger let Elliot come.
“You do get along with the elves,” she remarked.
That was true. Swift was coming, and Elliot would be happy to see her. He was also prepared to make eyes at any valiant elf maiden who might tell him more about elven diplomacy.
They marched through the night, packs on their shoulders, dryads whispering love songs to the crescent moon.
“I wonder if one of the girls will bring me word from Golden,” said Serene. “Not that any of those rough soldier girls would be allowed a moment alone with my treasure.”
“That would be awful,” said Luke.
“A scandal!” Elliot agreed, and they exchanged a grin over Serene’s head.
Later, when morning had turned the sky into hammered gray pearl, Luke’s step slowed and Elliot unconsciously matched it, so they were walking slightly behind Serene.
“I wanted a chance to talk to you before the battle,” Luke murmured.
Panic rose in Elliot, like a bird from a shaken tree. He was relieved to be interrupted by the arrival of the elven army.
The elves moved in a column, hair like silk under helmets of steel, a shining line of defence between them and the Forest of the Suicides. Luke squinted in at one elf in particular, and Elliot’s eyes followed his gaze to a tall blond guy on a horse. Luke was right, he thought for a minute, the guy was super hot.
Then he realized something was very wrong with this picture.
An elven guy, fighting? Elliot looked closer, and noticed that the guy had done something to suggest a lopsided bosom lurking beneath his breastplate, and done his hair as the women wore theirs. This culture of tunics and braids was not Elliot’s culture, so he could not tell how convincing the guy actually was as a woman.
Ahead of them, Serene exclaimed: “Golden?”
Not that convincing to someone who knew him, Elliot reflected, and then he realized the full splendor of what had just taken place before his eyes.
“Serene!” cried Golden, Serene’s sweetest treasure and one true love. “I’ve come to fight by your side! Don’t worry, I can take care of myself! I’ve been practicing with the sword while M
other and Father thought I was doing embroidery.”
Serene made a creaking sound, as if the hinge on her jaw had rusted. That might explain why she could not seem to close her mouth.
Glee filled Elliot, like champagne poured bubbling into a glass. He clutched Luke’s sleeve as if to show him this amazing scene, even though he knew Luke could see perfectly well. He wanted to show the world. He wanted a tapestry made to commemorate this moment.
“Luke,” he whispered. “This is the happiest day of my life.”
“I knew you would understand,” Golden told Serene, with the confidence of a sweet blond bulldozer. “I knew you were open-minded, and caring, and not a rogue who consorts with loose human men like Father said!”
Elliot had no idea his fame had spread to the delicate ears of elven gentlemen.
“You truly respect men! You call them comrades. You fight with them! And now I’m going to fight with all of you!”
“Your—how did you—” Serene croaked, and gestured to her own bosom, which was splendid and not lopsided at all.
“Ah.” Golden looked smug. “I made some pudding and sneaked the extra into bags I sewed up and popped them right in my shirt. They’re very realistic, don’t you think?”
If Serene didn’t marry him, Elliot would.
“Serene. You understand, don’t you? You always told me you believed men were equal to women!”
A sea change, obviously terrifying to Serene as it was delightful to Elliot, swept over Golden’s face. His brown eyes filled with tears, like a velvety pansy filling with dew. His lower lip quivered, proud but overset with emotion.
“Golden, I assure you—” Serene fumbled for words. “Your courage does you much credit and I—”
“Yes?” Golden asked, with menace.
Serene gulped and offered: “I like a man with spirit?”
Golden hesitated, then allowed himself a small smile, and allowed Serene to approach and touch the fingertips of his gloved hand.
“Come away,” Luke murmured.
“Nooooo,” Elliot wailed. “I won’t. I won’t. You’ll have to kill me. This is better than a play.”
“It’s not a play,” Luke said quietly. “She’s our friend, and she loves him, and they could die. Let them have a moment.”
He hooked his arm around Elliot’s neck and dragged him away. Elliot did not fight, because stupid Luke had a point, as he so often did, and he had ruined the entertainment by pointing out it was reality.
The trolls and the enemy humans were waiting in the woods. The harpies were above, wheeling in the sky, and Luke was close to him, close and warm, but he was going into battle as surely as Serene and Golden were. He might not be close or warm for long.
Elliot had wanted magic to be real, he thought, as he had thought a thousand times. Maybe just a little less real than this.
The lurching, dismayed sensation in the pit of his stomach was not at the thought of reality or mortality, but because Luke had grabbed Elliot and flown up into a hut in a tree.
Elliot gave a manly yell of terror, and then stumbled back across an earthen floor. It was the first time he had been inside a harpy’s home, he thought, and it was fascinating in the ways it was like a nest and in the ways it was like a house, woven twigs but with a roof, packed earth at the bottom of the nest. For some reason, it was not quite as fascinating as Luke’s blue eyes in the shadowy hut, or the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
“I’m sorry. You’re right, we do need you for the treaty, and I don’t mean to disrespect that or you, but you’ll be in danger down there and you can’t help until the fighting is done. I’ll tell Celaeno you’re here—”
“Good idea,” said Elliot, who had no aspirations toward being savaged for trespass by enraged harpies, and who also had to concede he was not much use in an actual battle.
“—I’ll tell any harpy I see so they can consult with you and you won’t be stuck here if I get killed—”
“Luke!” Elliot cut in. “I already said good idea! Please don’t talk about getting killed!”
“What? Oh.”
Luke looked truly surprised that Elliot might be concerned about Luke’s potential impending demise. Then he smiled, a small smile, as if the most important thing about Luke’s potential impending demise was that Elliot might be concerned.
Luke was so terrible and impossible. Elliot had no idea how to deal with him. He rumpled his hair and tried to explain why being put in a safe treehouse was all right by him.
“I don’t actually want to be on the field of battle. I wouldn’t be any help, and fields of battle are horrible places. That’s why they’re called fields of battle instead of fields of licorice, or . . .” Elliot could hear himself babbling, much worse than usual, and gave up. “Try not to die, Luke. Okay?”
“I always do,” murmured Luke, which was a blatant lie. “I’m sorry,” he added, and Elliot did not think he was sorry about lying. “This isn’t meant to be disrespect either, it’s just that I am—and you’re so—”
Despair went through Elliot, like a cold wind through winter-bare branches. He’d been trying, so hard, and now he’d said something wrong, right before Luke might die, and he had literally no idea what it was.
“I’m so what? Are you actually about to insult me right before you go off to war? Oh I don’t believe this, you loser—”
He did not get out another word past “loser,” because Luke crossed the floor, took Elliot’s face in his hands, and kissed him.
Wow, Elliot thought. Wow, Sunborns are very grabby.
Men of action and not words, Elliot supposed. Well, it wasn’t like that was a huge surprise.
Elliot was really trying to keep thinking, though he might have lost the ability to do so coherently. He reminded himself forcefully that Luke was not very experienced, and he should be careful, or gentle, or pull away, or something. Except he didn’t do anything of the kind, and Luke was, no surprise, a quick study.
He kissed Luke back, hands sliding through Luke’s soft hair, Luke’s wings draped warm around his shoulders. He felt tense and scared and safe all at once, in the calm place in the middle of a lightning storm.
He was full-on making out with Luke Sunborn, in a house in the sky over a battlefield.
Oh, God damn it, the battle, Elliot realized, and felt honor bound to step back and remind Luke there was a war on.
“Oh,” said Luke, sounding dazed, and then: “Oh. I have to go.”
“No, really?” Elliot asked, trying to be normal and sounding cranky, which was close enough. “Do tell.”
It was a good effort, Elliot told himself. He should be very proud of himself for restoring the status quo.
“Wait,” Elliot called out, as Luke was turning to go.
Actually Elliot was an idiot who ruined everything, always. He ducked past one of Luke’s wings and took hold of his leather shirt in one fist, held him pressed against the wooden frame of the doorway and kissed Luke hard on his startled mouth, with despair and fear and tenderness. Luke kissed him back, as if he had an answer for all Elliot’s questions. His hands would have shaken, if he was not holding on so hard.
Then he let go. He pushed Luke right out of the harpy’s nest and sent him wheeling down to the battle below.
It was nothing, Elliot told himself. Battle ardor. Battle fever. Battle emotional stuff! People did things in battles they wouldn’t necessarily do otherwise, on account of the adrenalin and fear of death. It didn’t have to mean anything.
Elliot sat up in his eyrie, listening to the sounds of battle below, then stood up quickly at the sound of wings.
It was Celaeno, not Luke. Elliot felt betrayed by the universe.
“Luke left me here so I would be safe during the battle,” he explained. “Are Luke and Serene all right? Did we win? Do you need me for peace talks?”
“We are victorious, but I have not seen Luke or his comrade,” said Celaeno. “And you are welcome in my nest at any time, as you are the chosen partn
er of my nestmate’s son.”
Ah, yes. Elliot had forgotten about that particular demented lie of Luke’s.
“Partner, sure,” Elliot said. “Totally. So, peace talks?”
“The trolls have agreed to talk with us,” said Celaeno. “They trusted in a group of humans who are strange to us, and who carried strange weapons that did not work. If they had worked, I fear today might have had a different outcome.”
“Could you take me down?” Elliot asked. “Could you take me down right away?”
Celaeno clasped him in her arms and brought him down on a gentle drift of air to land light as a leaf beside the harpies’ captives. There was a man with his hands tied, sitting propped up against a tree. There was a gun on the ground by his feet.
“I don’t care,” the man said sullenly, as soon as he saw Elliot. “I don’t care what the monsters do to me. I was . . . I was taken to this horrible place when I was a kid, and I told them I wouldn’t be part of their awful camp, and I managed to get away from them. But I always remembered this place. Remembering got worse and worse, every year. So when some guys came and said, do you want to go back and get rid of them all, wash this filthy nightmarish place clean . . . I said yes. I don’t care. I’m not sorry. The things I’ve seen, that creature and dozens like it, a man with wings, awful women pale as ghosts with pointed ears, even the stone animals they said were on our side: it isn’t right.” He squinted up at Elliot, half-resentful, half-afraid. “Are you even human? What are you?” he asked.
Elliot bent and picked up the small, gleaming gun. He saw himself for a moment, reflected in the man’s terrified eyes: someone tall and strong and strange, with wild hair and a cold face.
“Me? I’m just like you. I’m one of the kids they brought over the wall,” Elliot said. “Only I stayed.”
He’d known this would happen. He’d been sure some of those kids would remember, and come back. On both sides of the wall were strangers and weird sights, terrible until you loved them. Our lands were always otherlands, to someone else.