Elliot sidestepped her. “I will not shush,” he said, frowning. “When have I ever shushed?”
“Can I see you alone for a moment, Cadet Schafer?” asked Commander Woodsinger. “I trust that I have made my position on this subject clear to both of you.”
Serene and Luke cast vaguely concerned glances in Elliot’s direction, but Elliot had already figured out that there were not going to be medals, and in fact that he was going to be told off for some cruel and unjust reason.
It was also possible that they were not concerned for him, but concerned about what he might say to Commander Woodsinger once left alone with her. They were right to be concerned, but there was nothing they could do about it.
Elliot smiled at them sweetly as they went out. They both looked deeply apprehensive.
Commander Woodsinger did not start scolding him. Instead she fixed him with dark eyes and barked out a weirdly personal question.
“What do you love, Cadet Schafer?”
“Serene,” Elliot replied promptly.
Commander Woodsinger closed her eyes and visibly prayed for patience. She did not reach for any weapons when she opened her eyes, so Elliot figured her prayer was granted.
“What else?”
Elliot sunk down low in the chair, hands linked over his chest, and kicked the desk. To punish the desk even more, he eyed it darkly.
“So long as this goes no further,” he muttered. “Luke, I suppose.”
Commander Woodsinger breathed out through her nose. This sounded like an irate horse’s prayer for patience.
“What else?”
“Well, there’s Myra of the Diamond clan,” said Elliot. “I think I just like her a lot, though.”
“What more?” demanded Commander Woodsinger.
“I mean, I quite like Peter Quint, and Adara Cornripe, and the cranky medic who won’t tell me her name, and you,” said Elliot, “but meaning no offence, I don’t think that I’d classify any of that as l—”
“You’re misinterpreting the question, Cadet Schafer!” said Commander Woodsinger. “Fascinating though the complexities of your emotional attachments undoubtedly are. What do you hold allegiance to?”
Elliot frowned. “Well, Serene. And—”
“Do you love your country?”
“What, England?” asked Elliot. “Wow. Am I a poet in 1914?”
“What,” said Commander Woodsinger.
“What,” said Elliot.
“The Borderlands,” the commander clarified.
“I think I’m probably still British on my passport,” said Elliot.
“I hoped that after your years of training, you would have come to think of the Borderlands as your home.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” Elliot pointed out. “I’m only fifteen.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Can a country be a home?”
“What do you think?” asked Commander Woodsinger.
Elliot tilted his head. “Clever.”
“I wish you were more clever,” said Commander Woodsinger. “I’d like it if you were even half as clever as you think you are.”
Elliot stared with his mouth open. He was ready to be disciplined, but he had not expected to be insulted.
“Are you aware that because of your reckless behavior Luke Sunborn left his squad—the squad that he was leading—in order to protect you, as an unarmed civilian?”
“Well, it’s not my fault Luke left his squad,” said Elliot. “I didn’t ask him to. That was his irresponsible decision, and you should tell him off for it.”
“I have already disciplined Cadet Sunborn,” said Commander Woodsinger.
“How could you?” Elliot asked. “He saved my life!”
“Your position on this matter seems to be slightly contradictory.”
“It’s not,” said Elliot. “We saved the day, and that means that I wish you to overlook any slight irregularities. I would like to complain about Luke, as it is my hobby, but I don’t want anyone to be punished. Least of all me.”
“I’m afraid you are going to be disappointed, cadet,” said the commander. “I want you to tutor some of the first-year cadets in history and mapmaking.”
“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” Elliot said. “We’re punishing children now? What have they done?”
Commander Woodsinger did not look amused. In fact, she had the stern countenance of someone who was determined to be oblivious to jokes, impassive as a tree stump or a toadstool. Or as a blank screen: Elliot might be forced to live without technology, but that didn’t mean that he had to descend to nature metaphors.
“Your ‘irregularities’,” said Commander Woodsinger, a woman who could imply quote marks with devastating clarity, “could have led to your own death and that of others. That it turned out well does not mean that you are exempt from the rules, which are in place for your protection. And that of others.”
“It could be the rules need to be changed.”
“Or it could be there’s a reason I’m in charge, and not you,” said Commander Woodsinger.
It was on the tip of Elliot’s tongue to snap that without their support, she wouldn’t be in charge: but the alternative had been much worse. This was the difference between making a bargain and winning a victory. The other side was not getting punished, and Elliot was not getting rewarded.
Elliot would still rather make a bargain.
It wasn’t like Elliot wanted to be in control of a military camp, and he supposed since she did, she did have to enforce some sort of military discipline. Not that he was a soldier, but he was a student here. He’d entered into an implicit contract. He knew the rules.
“Fine, I’ll teach the brats,” he said. “But it still seems cruel to them, if you ask me.”
The commander unrolled a map. It was a map Elliot was entirely familiar with: he knew it from geography class, from Maximilian Wavechaser’s book and hundreds more like it.
“These are the Borderlands,” said the commander. “This is a land of magic and mystery: this is our charge and our sworn duty to protect. This is a land to be loved and served, because nobody can understand it.”
“Well. Nobody has understood it yet,” said Elliot.
Commander Woodsinger looked as if her prayer for patience had not been answered, and she felt personally betrayed.
“Get lost, Cadet. Time’s wasting and I have reports of brigands in elven territory to deal with.”
Once he was finished with Commander Woodsinger, Elliot did not climb down the stairs. He climbed up, to the top of the brief tower, and he gazed down at the vast tapestry of the Borderlands. Like green silk spread as far as the eye could see, the grey satin of mist and sea at the edges, embroidered with the delicate blue of rivers.
Nobody can understand it, the commander had said, and the challenge echoed in Elliot’s bones, as perhaps the commander had wanted it to. A challenge was more familiar to him than love, and felt close to the same thing, as though one led to the other. He felt his heart beat to the double time of two words.
Not yet.
Teaching was as nightmarish as Elliot had expected.
“I hate children,” he announced at lunch after his first lesson, flopping down on the bench and banging his forehead against the table.