They were drawing near the commander’s tower when the door was flung open, and the commander’s voice heard at rather a higher volume than normal.
“—it is the duty of the Border guard to protect the Borderlands, and where we are not granted entry, we cannot protect!”
It did not seem like negotiations for a foray into elven territory were going all that smoothly.
“It is my duty to inform you, Commander,” said a tall woman in a black cloak whose back was turned then, “that the elves can protect themselves very well. Any who doubt it can come and try us.”
She must have heard the sound of their running footsteps, her ears elven-keen, for she turned before Serene had a chance to call out.
Sure-Aim-in-the-Chaos-of-Battle’s cloak flared as she turned, and her hair flared too, dark as Serene’s but shot through with silver. She had a face like a judge’s commemorated in marble, beautiful but above all things stern. The very sky seemed to shine brighter behind her than anyone else, as if she were etched on crystal.
“Serene-Heart-in-the-Chaos-of-Battle,” she said. “Greetings, kinswoman of my house and daughter of my heart. You look well. I trust you are training hard, despite the soft ease of your surroundings and studies.”
“Cadet Chaos-of-Battle is an exemplary student,” said Commander Woodsinger unexpectedly. “Nobody expected her to be able to bear the double workload of both council and war training.”
“And yet my daughter is excelling, are you not?” inquired Sure in elvish, deliberately cutting the commander out of the conversation. Her lip curled in satisfaction as Serene nodded. “I would expect no less.”
It did not seem like much, but Serene glowed.
“May I have the honor of introducing my comrades to my revered mother,” said Serene, recalling herself after a moment. She gestured to Elliot and Luke, and Elliot now saw where she had learned her graceful dignity from. “This is my swordsister Luke Sunborn, and my boyfriend Elliot Sch—”
“I don’t particularly care about the redheaded slut you’re amusing yourself with,” said Sure-Aim-in-the-Chaos-of-Battle. Her eyes were gray pools like her daughter’s, but Serene’s were the pools in spring and in Sure’s winter had come.
“Mother, how dare you!” exclaimed Serene.
Sure’s icy eyes slid over Elliot as if he was not worth bothering with. They fixed on Luke.
“But claiming that a boy is—that a boy could be—your swordsister? That is obscene. That is spitting on the traditions of our house and our people. I wish to hear no more of that nonsense.”
Serene put a protective, possessive hand on Luke’s arm. “It’s not nonsense. And the traditions of my people are wrong. He is my swordsister. As soon as we saw each other, we both knew it.”
Sure made a noise that in a less poised and commanding person might have been called a snort. “What does a human know? Look at his pretty dimwitted face. He does not even know what we are saying.”
Everyone looked at Luke, who tilted his golden head and looked down at Sure for a moment with his arms folded.
In faltering, rough elvish, Luke said: “I got it, actually.”
Serene broke into a torrent of elvish so furious and rapid that Elliot had trouble following it himself, and Luke looked completely confused. Sure eyed Commander Woodsinger with an air that suggested the commander was intruding on a private family moment.
Commander Woodsinger eyed Sure-Aim-in-the-Chaos-of-Battle with an air that suggested that moment was happening directly outside her office. Then she rolled her eyes, went back into her office, and slammed the tower door, just as Sure walked a few steps away, summoning Serene with a peremptory nod of her head. Serene came to her mother’s side, and because she still had hold of Luke, Luke had to go with her.
Elliot and Sure’s bodyguard, Swift-Arrows-in-the-Chaos-of-Battle, were left staring awkwardly at each other. Swift was just as beautiful as ever, tranquil-eyed and chestnut-haired, but after Serene’s mother she looked totally normal and comforting. She also looked somewhat abashed.
“Nice to see you again,” Elliot said, smiling and looking up—no, actually, across, when had that happened?—at Swift through his eyelashes. “Thank you for all your letters. Elvish life is so fascinating.”
“I am glad to amuse you, my dear, though I am but a rough soldier who has no great readiness with a pen,” Swift said heartily. “Your dear prattling and jesting missives in return have cheered me on many a lonely night out on patrol.”
“Heh, really? Um . . . cool,” said Elliot, and looked around for help.
Serene had Luke’s arm in a death grip and was now screaming in elvish while her mother bellowed cutting remarks. No help there, then.
“I was saddened to hear Serene had launched a successful attack on the citadel of your virtue,” Swift said.
She sounded genuinely grieved. Elliot was grieved to be having this discussion.
“The citadel was totally into surrendering. Also I personally would not have referred to it as a citadel,” Elliot observed. “Like, ever.”
“No doubt you tempted her. Ah, a man’s morals are frail as they are, sweet silly creatures,” Swift said. “I do think it was up to Serene to control herself, though. She must have known I was considering you as a bride. Your humanity would not have mattered so very much, up in the wild north where I am stationed, but now you have been sullied, of course it is out of the question.”
Elliot gave a shriek that wavered between hysterical alarm and hysterical laughter, and tried to turn it into a coy giggle with very limited success.
“I’m very flattered!” he said. “And taken all unawares by this token of your esteem! But I think you might be a little old for me! No offence meant.”
Swift did not look offended, but she did look rather puzzled.
“The woman should really have an advantage when it comes to age in marriage,” said Swift. “So that she may guide and educate her blushing bride in the ways of the world. Besides which, men are at their most attractive in the first blush of youth, whereas women only grow more distinguished as the years pass.”
“Ha,” said Elliot, not terribly amused. “That’s so funny, because humans think the exact opposite thing.”
Swift chuckled. “I don’t see how humans can argue with facts? Do women get—” She used a word Elliot did not quite understand.
“Tureen . . . stomachs?” he said. “Oh! Pot bellies? Well, some women kind of have them. Less than men, I guess.”