The table in front of him was crowded with weapons, but this one was from Louise and she had her current kill count engraved on it, with an encouraging message that said KEEP UP, LITTLE BROTHER! Louise was a terrifying person, and it made them all smile.
“We can do the thing with the funny lamp too,” Luke continued.
“Menorah,” Elliot corrected. “We don’t have to.”
He’d told the others about being Jewish, and tried to explain all that entailed, but he was not sure he understood perfectly himself. They had never practiced. His father had never celebrated anything with him. Theirs was not a house that ever had celebrations.
It was just something that Elliot had understood his mother would have wanted him to know about. He had learned all he could, hoping to please her, in the days when he still believed she would come back. But she had never come, and he had never done any of the things he’d read about. He had never believed in much, once he stopped believing in her.
Serene looked dreamily off into the distance, her fingers lingering on the embossed cover of the book Elliot had given her. “In the winter festival, my mother would wrap my father in a mantle of beautiful snow-white fur. And for that one day, the trees will respond to us and give us fruit once more, their colors like jewels in the frost. Also, of course, there is the blood ritual.”
“The blood what now,” said Luke.
“Maybe all traditions are overrated!” Elliot suggested.
Luke unwrapped his next present, which unlike all the other terrible pointed gifts of death was a soft blue jumper.
“My dad knits,” he explained as Serene nodded with complete understanding and Elliot beamed in astonishment. “He says it’s soothing to have something to do with his hands in between battles. When it was just him and me because Mum was on her three-year mission and Louise was in the camp, stationed out in the north, it was freezing. All the men wanted Dad to knit them something warm.”
It was a nice note to end the present-opening on, and Elliot did not find one particular tradition overrated. He arrived late to his next class—and Serene went late to hers—due to mistletoe in the doorway of the lunch room.
“Oooh, is the elf giving her girlfriend jewelry,” mocked Natalie Lowlands, Adara Cornripe’s best friend, as Elliot slid into the seat next to her.
Elliot gave her a big beaming smile and pushed his sleeve down a little to better display the bracelet. “Sorry you’re lonely!”
In his imagination, being with Serene had been perfect. It wasn’t: people were constantly passing comments, insulting either to him or to Serene—and he preferred the ones insulting to him—even the teachers sometimes made comments, he hardly saw Luke, and he had to weigh every interaction between himself and Serene carefully, trying to get each one right.
Sometimes he got it right without having to try too hard, though.
Even in winter, Elliot and Serene spent most nights outside the Border camp so they could not be caught by teachers, camping in a tent out in the woods. Serene made fires, which meant it was just as cozy as in the awful cabins anyway, and there was Serene under the heaped-up blankets to keep him warm. That night they read through the book Elliot had brought, and Serene pointed out all the places she was familiar with from the pictures and told stories of her childhood in those faraway settings. They laughed and whispered, legs tangling, and exchanged kisses every time they turned a page.
Serene for a season: Serene’s warm skin, the growing-easy slide of his hands up her smooth back, the fall of her hair all around him, the low approving sounds she made as he kissed his way from the curve of her mouth to the curve of her neck down to all the curves of her slim body. Serene as the world edged toward spring, with moonlight turning her bare skin to pearl and her eyes to diamonds. Lying with Serene in the darkness when it was easiest to speak and murmuring secrets and dreams.
Serene eventually did go with just him to the Elven Tavern, where they wrote up detailed suggestions for how to improve the décor. Serene also accompanied him to the blacksmith’s, where the lady blacksmith also had the printing press, and Elliot dropped his old camera on the ground while making loud comments about how exactly it worked and how much the Borderlands would benefit from some sort of daily paper about current tidings.
Being with Serene was worth everything. He could only hope she thought so too.
The first time Elliot managed to run a four-minute mile he promptly toppled over onto his back in the scanty springtime grass. Serene and Luke were waiting for him at the finish line, and Serene applauded.
“Thank you for your support, sunflower of my soul,” said Elliot, once he could breathe again. “As for you, I can’t believe you’re making me do this. I hate you, and I hate your face. I actually think I might be allergic to it. Or maybe that’s the lack of oxygen and hay fever talking, I don’t know.”
“I think you are much improved, my sweet,” Serene told him encouragingly.
“I don’t want to do this anymore!” Elliot wailed. “Can’t I do yoga instead? I could be good at that. I could take deep breaths and find my centre and achieve ultimate zen.”
“Serene’s right. You’re getting a little faster,” Luke conceded.
Elliot laid his arm over his face. “I wish only for death.”
It was pathetic, that he would actually participate in boring terrible physical activity in order to spend some time with Luke.
“Oh, hey guys,” said Dale Wavechaser, coming in through the gate in exercise clothes, looking fresh and fit and ready for anything. His hair was awesome. Elliot hated him too.
“Hello, Dale,” Serene said pleasantly. Elliot waved feebly. Luke went red and mumbled something.
Dale looked mildly puzzled. “I would’ve thought you guys would be with the commander and, uh, Sure-Aim-in-the-Chaos-of-Battle. Did I get that right?”
“What?” Serene snapped.
“Uh, they arrived about an hour ago,” said Dale. “Expect the commander wants permission to foray into the elven territories to deal with the bandits. It’d be great to get chosen to go, wouldn’t it? Well, you have no worries there obviously, Sunborn.”
“Mmm,” said Luke, still red and looking away.
“I bet you get picked,” Elliot said helpfully, because Luke was hopeless. “You’re so great at . . . stuff, Dale.”
Dale winked. “Aw. Thanks, man.”
“My mother is here?” Serene asked. She was standing very straight, her face a shade paler than usual.
“Er. I guess you didn’t know,” said Dale.
He looked alarmed at this suddenly awkward situation. He stared wistfully at the track and the prospect of physical exercise. He and Elliot were just extremely different people.
Serene began to move, and when Serene moved, she moved like a storm: unstoppable and so fast you barely saw her until she was upon you. She went over the fence and not through the gate, and Luke went after her.
“Yes, ‘sweaty and disgusting’ was exactly the look I was hoping for when I met my future mother-in-law,” Elliot muttered, scrambling to his feet and following them.