It was never going to be his turn. The world didn’t work by turns: the sun shone on some people and not on others. It was always going to be Luke’s turn, over and over again.
Elliot was aware that what he was doing was wrong, even as he did it, but he still went down to the grounds where the fires for roasting meat were burning down in the mud trampled by all the guests of today. He took off Luke’s jacket and dragged it through the dirt and embers.
He might have done it more than once, until he saw golden curls through the last dying flames, and realized Adara Cornripe was sitting on a log by herself.
Elliot went over and sat down beside her.
“Leave me alone,” snapped Adara. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Believe me,” Elliot said. “I’m not really in the mood to talk myself. But I wanted to say something. I was mad at you, but that doesn’t make it right to kiss you when you didn’t want me to. I liked playing Red Rose, but I wouldn’t want to live that way and I know I don’t: I know who does. I’m sorry.”
Adara studied him, her own beautiful face unreadable. She did not speak, but she leaned forward, took his face between her hands and kissed his mouth. Sparks flew up skyward from the dying fire, as if hoping they could become stars. The sparks burned behind Elliot’s eyelids as he shut his eyes and kissed her back.
Elliot might not have done it, if he had known Serene was coming back the next day.
He didn’t know, and so he kissed Adara by the flickering firelight, and the hiss and crackle of the flame echoed the burning in his blood, the hot touch of Adara’s hands as they slid up his shirt.
After a long time which seemed burningly short, Adara leaned back but stayed in his lap, stayed kiss-close, and murmured: “I take silphium every day with my breakfast.”
“Um,” said Elliot. “Is that a contraceptive? Oh God, of course they don’t have condoms in magic land!”
It had never been an issue with Serene, as elvish women had to undergo a ritual before they could bear children. Once Elliot had explained how this differed for human women, Serene had felt here at last was the reason human women did not exert their natural female superiority.
Elliot couldn’t say she was entirely wrong.
“What’s a condom?” asked Adara. Elliot began to tell her, and after a moment Adara lifted her hand. “Stop,” she said firmly. “You’re putting me off the whole idea. I assume that isn’t what you’re going for?”
He could not see the fire, only the glow it gave her hair and the sparks that burned in her eyes. He could hear the fire, though: the mutter it made, as if it were impatient with him, too.
He smiled and leaned in, pressed his smile softly against her mouth, felt her begin to smile too.
“No,” he murmured. “I think it’s a brilliant idea. And I know brilliant. Let’s go.”
“Come up here,” Adara urged him later, in the privacy of her cabin, the lights of candles glowing on wooden walls and rumpled white sheets.
He obeyed her command, moving from the foot of the bed and sliding up along her body to kiss her, then lay back on the pillow and looked at her expectantly. Adara made a noise of exasperation and pulled him back to where he’d been. There was a moment where they were rolling, both with different ideas about what positions to roll into, and almost rolled off the bed.
“Like this?” Elliot asked, looking down at her quizzically. “With a woman? Would that even work? Are you sure?”
It was true he’d seen it in Peter’s scandalous literature, but honestly that literature had taken a lot of liberties with the truth, and he’d assumed this was one of them.
“Yes, I’m s—with a woman?” Adara asked, her eyes going wide in her flushed, paint-streaked face. “As opposed to what?”
“As opposed to a man,” said Elliot. “What did you think I meant, a mermaid?” He paused. “Though I definitely would give that a shot, if the mermaid was interested and we liked each others’ personalities.”
“So you like both?” Adara asked, and the way she spoke was very careful indeed, as if each word was a foot placed on a tightrope.
“Why, does that bother you?” Elliot asked, his voice careful in turn.
“No, no,” Adara said hastily. “Any guy I know?”
“No,” said Elliot. “On account of, you might have noticed we are surrounded by uncouth miscreants.”
Adara smiled, her eyes sparkling. He’d kind of thought she would like that: one of the few girls among dozens of boys in warrior training, and smarter than all of them.
“Well,” she said. “I am very sure it works this way. The elves have misled you, though they’ve obviously taught you well in various other matters.”
Elliot looked down at Adara, for the sheer pleasure of looking. She was shining by candlelight, her smooth golden skin smudged and streaked with daubs of cerulean blue and forest green and twists of vermilion, her golden curls spread out on the white pillow. She smiled up at him, her face soft and pleased with him, and scratched her nails along his scalp, combing through his hair. He leaned down and kissed her, her beautiful challenging face, as the moment turned slow and shining.
“We’ll try it your way. This time,” Elliot murmured, and Adara laughed.
Elliot woke with the morning light filtering through the windows, paler than firelight or candlelight but still a bright hopeful gold. He was alone, but he could feel the pillow beside him was warm and could hear the sound of Adara hanging up clothes on the steps outside the cabin: he stretched in the embrace of the bedsheets and thought about Adara. She was smart, she was beautiful, and she hated almost everybody.
He might have stumbled into something wonderful here. Perhaps Myra had done him a favor. Perhaps this time, for the first time, he really was in luck.
“Hey, Adara,” came Natalie Lowlands’ voice. “Saw you left a guy’s jacket on the door, so I slept over in the third cabin last night.”
So they had a system for privacy, because they were friends. That was nice. Elliot’s own dormitory mates hated him for random silly reasons like “all the ceaseless screaming and drama” or whatever they kept whining about.
Elliot had never liked Natalie Lowlands much: she was from his side of the Border, but she’d instantly adopted a Borderlands surname. She’d become best friends with a Cornripe, learned every weapon, never referred to the world she’d come from and constantly made cutting remarks about elves. Since she was Adara’s best friend, Elliot might have to try to like her. He’d never understood the urge to fit in, but perhaps that was because it had never been a possibility for him. Perhaps if he were more socially adept, if he could have remained anything like his real self and had friends, belonged—he would have. Maybe he could understand the temptation.
“Don’t tell me you actually bagged Luke Sunborn,” Natalie continued.
“I wish,” Adara sighed. The pillows and sheets abruptly felt a lot less warm. “No, I had a moment of weakness and settled for the nerdy best friend.”