Elliot was left to trail behind. As he did, he thought about Luke talking about literary tropes—the fearless hero, the valiant heroine, and where did it all leave him? Sidekick: a horrible indignity, Elliot refused to accept it. And the other idea was some sort of lurking, jealous figure: an Iago, a pathetic pseudo-villain waiting in the wings to plot and bring the hero down. He wasn’t going to plot against Luke, who had dumb daffodil hair and said “tropez,” for God’s sake.
Delia Winterchild had come back from the war. Her twin, Darius, had not. She trailed alongside Elliot, dragging her feet as the crowd raced triumphantly ahead. He looked at her and was almost ashamed that he was so glad his people had come home safe.
“I’m really sorry,” he said.
“He was a brave soldier,” said Delia, squaring her shoulders as if that gave her some comfort. “And he’s lying in the ground while everyone cheers for the untouchable Sunborns.”
Elliot reached for her hand. She looked surprised, but after a moment she let him. Her hand was chilly in his. They walked back to the camp together.
Elliot didn’t know why he was bothering to think about roles and stories. Any of their stories could end, any of them could stop being a hero and be put in the cold ground at the very next battle. And Rachel Sunborn had said there would always be another war.
The feast went on for a long time. Elliot had a place near the centre of the action, which he hadn’t asked for and didn’t want, and so he had to hear all the battle stories, over and over. There were songs and toasts, but worst of all were the stories. The one where Serene stood at the top of a cliff and Luke at the bottom, bow and sword at the ready, until their troop stopped their retreat, was the worst. Serene proudly showed a notch in one of her beautiful ears, and someone had one of Luke’s old shirts, with a tear and blood on it, which they waved like a flag.
“Aren’t you proud?” asked Dale Wavechaser at one point, and everybody looked at Elliot.
He understood that Luke and Serene were both very good at using weaponry, this had been made very clear to him, but he didn’t really see what there was to be so impressed with about that.
Elliot made a face, and said finally, weakly: “Doesn’t really have anything to do with me.”
Which wasn’t great, but wasn’t “No, not proud at all, and also if anyone tells another of these stories I think I might be sick.”
“And then the treaty was signed and all our brave boys and girls could come home!” thundered General Lakelost, distracting people. Elliot was grateful. Captain Woodsinger, now Commander of the Border camp, had to get up and take a bow, and Elliot clapped along with everyone else.
“Did you get a chance to see the treaty?” he asked Serene, leaning over to her under the cover of the noise.
“Oh, well, no . . .,” said Serene. “Not yet.”
“Uh, she’ll get around to it,” Luke said, his eyebrows raised. “She has more important things to think of right now.”
“More important than the terms of the treaty that got the other side to agree to peace?” Elliot asked.
“But of course they would have signed no matter what, after the beating we gave them,” Luke said, casting an approving eye around, and his scattered troop preened at his praise.
“Oh, of course,” said Elliot. “Because the astonishing fact that some people got killed in a battle would definitely have stopped everyone in their tracks.”
“Elliot,” said Serene. “I will of course be most interested to hear about such matters another time, but you have to be aware we almost died.”
The hall was much more quiet than Elliot would have liked. Elliot felt like everyone was paying attention, weighing him in the balance, and finding him unworthy.
“I am,” said Elliot. “Very.”
“Treaties are important, just—”
“Just not as important,” said Elliot quietly.
The General reached across the table and tugged at Serene’s sleeve. Serene made an apologetic face at Elliot and turned to him. Elliot didn’t even know why he was surprised. Serene had always been a little more inclined to war than council, though brilliant at both: he just hadn’t wanted to see it. Now she had been away at the wars and knew viscerally that war was a matter of life or death. Now she was closer to Luke than she had ever been before; it was easy to see, even in the way they both reached for their cups in tandem. He didn’t know why he had expected Serene to be on his side.
He got up from the table murmuring about the privy, abstracted a book and Swift’s latest letter from one of his many book hiding places, and went back to his cabin. Everyone was at the feast, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the annoying people he was forced to sleep with, and he could read properly. Swift was an oddly excellent correspondent, and Elliot had to figure out where the next war would break out and how to stop it.
Clearly, he had forgotten that his days of occasionally not having to deal with annoying people were over. He’d only just settled down on a pillow on the floor beside his bed and begun reading Swift’s latest, which began somewhat horrifyingly with “My dear little redheaded seeker after knowledge” but continued with a list of common troll phrases, when Luke came in the door.
Elliot thought of several things to say, including “I see we need a refresher course in how to knock” and “It was so lovely and peaceful when you were gone,” but he didn’t particularly want to be accused of callous indifference to heroes who had almost died again. He said nothing.
“Are you not coming back?” Luke asked. Elliot made a noncommittal gesture. “I know that parties aren’t much fun,” Luke went on. “But it’s a tribute to bravery and sacrifice.”
Obviously Luke was very proud of all his bravery and sacrifice and enjoying being showered in glory. Elliot failed to see why he had to participate, but he didn’t say so.
“This is just like you,” said Luke. “Are you seriously going off to sulk over nobody wanting to talk about your dumb treaty? I know you think violence is a stupid last resort, but it was our only resort, and we did well. And you might not want to hear about anything we did, but other people do. People died, and you should show a little respect. And shut up about how unnecessary and useless war is for one night.”
“I hope you’re enjoying your fight with Imaginary Elliot,” said Elliot. “Because I haven’t said a word since you came in.”
“Well, why are you being so quiet?”
“I can’t believe you just asked me that question. Are you aware that nobody in the history of time has ever asked me that question?” Elliot demanded. “Has it struck you that you are being a little hard to please right now, loser?”
“What,” said Luke, and suddenly looked confused. “Are you trying?”
Elliot had to admit that probably, from the outside, leaving a party early in a huff and then administering the silent treatment did not seem like he was trying especially hard. He considered Luke. He looked a little older than when Elliot had seen him last, and a lot more tired.
“I am a bit,” Elliot said eventually. “I’m glad you’re both not dead, and I don’t want to fight.”
“Oh,” said Luke. “Okay.”
That seemed to be that. Luke stopped his righteous looming and came to sit on Elliot’s bed.
“What are you doing, then? Who’s the letter from?”
“Serene’s cousin Swift,” said Elliot. “She’s teaching me troll.”