They were arguing far above his head, like adults with a small child. Elliot felt helpless as if he was one.
“Either way,” said Luke. “I’m going back with Serene. I read up on it.” Elliot suddenly and forcibly recalled Luke with his book on elvish customs while Elliot was practicing for the play. “Swordsisters are bound to accompany each other anywhere, their loyalty to each other pre-eminent.”
“You are not her swordsister!” Sure barked.
“Okay,” said Luke. “I also read that if a swordsister’s worth is doubted, said swordsister can volunteer to face any challengers, until her—er, or his—worth is proven or she—uh, or he—dies. So. I volunteer. Send challengers. She doesn’t ride out without me, unless I’m in the ground.”
“That lad reads constantly,” General Lakelost muttered.
“He does not!” Michael Sunborn snapped.
“Fine,” Sure snarled. Serene grabbed her arm, far too late. “Challenge accepted.”
Great, Elliot thought, and shut his eyes, the dead weight of what had been a man cooling in his arms. More killing.
Luke had to go to a disciplinary hearing because of killing a guy. Elliot suspected it was just going to be high fives about being a badass warrior all around, but since Serene had been firmly taken away by her mother, Elliot figured he should wait outside the commander’s tower.
He’d forgotten that Luke’s family was here, and that for other people, when you were in trouble, family came to help.
He was sitting on the step outside when the sun was blocked out by the massive majesty of Luke’s dad’s shoulders.
Elliot squinted up at him resentfully. “I hope Luke stops working out,” he said. “If he turns into a mountain range like you, I really don’t think I’ll be able to cope.”
“What?” said Michael Sunborn.
“Nothing. Sorry, Luke’s dad.”
Mr Sunborn sat down on the step beside Elliot. He was way too big for the step. Elliot was shunted off to one corner. Sunborns took up all the room at all times.
“Michael,” suggested Luke’s dad. “Or Mike.”
Elliot considered this. “Nope. Sorry, Luke’s dad. I don’t think I can do it.”
“Alllllll right,” said Mr Sunborn, drawing out the words as if he was nobly being patient with Elliot.
“You are just like Luke,” Elliot observed. “Must be genetics.”
“Well, might be, might not be,” said Mr Sunborn. “I don’t really know. Rachel’s business. But I did have the raising of him, and I think he is like me.”
Elliot frowned. “Wait. Explain what you said before.”
Mr Sunborn went on because Sunborns took up all the room, were contrary and never listened. “I taught him to play Trigon: first time he caught the ball in his little fat hands I was there to stop him dropping it on his feet.”
Elliot had read about fathers playing catch with their kids. “Great,” he said. “Congratulations. It’s a stupid game, by the way, and he could be spending his time in a far more useful and intelligent manner, but who cares about a tiny thing like that?”
“He likes Trigon,” said Luke’s dad. Elliot made a small helpless gesture: as if Elliot was not aware that Luke liked Trigon, after spending years in the stupid stands watching the idiot sport. “He likes Trigon, and he likes anything to do with blade or bow, he likes horses and hounds and the hunt. He always liked all the things I liked, and he always trained until he could do them best of all, and he liked that I was proud.”
At the foot of the tower, in the clearing circled by cabins, Dale and a few other boys from the warrior-training class were playing ball: not Trigon, not using a glass ball, but something more like catch. Maybe Luke would be playing with them, if Elliot had not failed with Masterson.
Luke’s dad did not have to rub it in. Elliot knew it was all his fault.
“He wanted a friend his own age, and I understood that, and I sent him off to the Border camp with my blessing. I understood he’d be set apart from the others a little, because being the best means being on your own sometimes. I understood the elf, because she was set apart in the Border camp too, and she’s a lovely girl: can shoot out an eye at five hundred paces. But then the letters started arriving, about books and elvish and plays, and I couldn’t put it all together.” Michael Sunborn rubbed the back of his neck. “The only thing I don’t understand about my son is you.”
This was not helping Elliot with the guilt. “I don’t really have much to do with anything.”
“So what about you?” Luke’s dad went on relentlessly. “Do you like him at all?”
“No,” said Elliot. “I constantly spend hours at the idiot games of, weeks at the home of, and literally years in the company of people I dislike. Because I am totally off my head.”
Luke’s dad shrugged. “You’re the one who said it, lad, not me.”
“Look, I know you think I’m a weirdo, but why the third degree?”
“The third degree of what? You do talk the most awful nonsense,” said Michael Sunborn, in that moment supremely Luke’s dad. “I’m just concerned about Luke.”
“Yes, but why are you concerned about Luke and . . . Wait, I’ve worked it out,” said Elliot. “You are concerned about me and Luke in a romantic context. Ahahaha. No. You are incorrect. I hardly have words to explain to you how incorrect you are. He looks out for me because I’m Serene’s friend and he loves Serene. He doesn’t even like me in a non-romantic context.”
Luke’s dad frowned. “Doesn’t he?”
“Oh wow, oh my God, no, no! Obviously not!” said Elliot. “He likes someone else romantically, by the way. He likes Dale Wavechaser! How could you think that? No. Oh my God.”
Elliot could have spent the next several hours alternately saying “No” and “Oh my God” but fortunately Luke’s dad cut him off.
“Who’s Dale Wavechaser?”
“I can’t tell you that! Forget I said anything!” Elliot hissed. “I wasn’t meant to tell you about him liking anyone!”
“So I guess you’d be in trouble if I told Luke,” Luke’s dad said mildly. “Best just to tell me who Dale Wavechaser is, son.” He paused. “This is blackmail. It means you should—”
“I know what blackmail is!” Elliot exclaimed. “I’m highly intelligent! I was just taking a small personal moment to feel betrayed by a trusted authority figure!”
“Dreadful,” Luke’s dad agreed. “So which one is he?”
Elliot looked across the dusty ground and pointed to where Dale was playing, running backlit against the sun, leaping and smiling. It was a flattering angle for Dale.
“Oh,” said Luke’s dad. “Oh I see. Oh well, I can understand that.”
He watched approvingly as Dale horsed around.
“If I preferred men, that’s definitely the kind of man I’d prefer,” he went on, horrifyingly. “I don’t prefer men, mind you.”
“I understand,” said Elliot.
There was a silence. “Nice-looking lad,” said Luke’s father.
“Yes,” said Elliot, despairing.
“Read much, does he?”
“Nope,” said Elliot, even more despairing.
“Plays Trigon, does he?”
“Yes,” said Elliot, too weary to despair.