Total pages in book: 222
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
“That’s what I want to find out.”
He nodded and waved at Lute, who waited by the tunnel. Lute went to the front door. A moment later two men emerged from the tunnel into the courtyard.
The first was about six feet tall, with dark hair and broad shoulders. He wore Southern scalemail, a kind of knee-length tunic of overlapping metal scales, and a plain metal pauldron on his left shoulder. Solentine’s pauldron had been a fashion statement. This one was functional, with a rerebrace, almost a full metal sleeve. The man didn’t carry a shield, and he would use that arm to block in a fight. A simple sword hung from his belt. His skin was an even, warm beige, his features were sharply cut, and his hooded eyes were alert and watchful.
His bodyguard was larger. He loomed three or four inches over Berengur and wore the same armor, except for a full-face helmet, which hid his features. He also carried a simple sword.
They could have been private guards, mercenaries, men-at-arms, or sergeants of some knightage. If you met this pair on the streets, you wouldn’t give them a second glance. This was not their real armor. They didn’t want to be recognized.
The dark-haired man approached the table and put a crest on it. Regular crests, the kind trusted servants and guards carried to show their affiliation with a noble household, were painted over wooden pucks, lacquered, and then wrapped with a cord, so they could be suspended off belts or wrists. Sometimes they were embroidered on clothes. This thing was solid metal. A miniature shield, a green background with a white tower, wrapped in rising rose vines bearing blue flowers. The crest of Berengur.
Who had sent him my way? It had to be the Shears. I couldn’t think of anyone else, but I had to find out for sure.
“Please sit, my lord.”
I invited him to a chair with a sweep of my hand. Clover and Reynald had been teaching me etiquette, and I was getting better at imitating a noble.
Berengur sat. The huge man parked himself behind him, directly across from Reynald. I couldn’t see his face because of the helmet, or Reynald’s because he stood behind me, but I would’ve bet money that the two of them were staring impassively at each other.
“What can I do for you, Lord Berengur?”
“I’m told that you sell information. I’m looking for a man, and I will pay generously.”
That’s what I thought. To tell him or not to tell him? That was the question. If I told him, would it make things worse? I wasn’t worried about the impact on the timeline. I was worried about Pelegrin. If I made a mistake, he would lose his life.
Berengur waited for my response.
Silence stretched.
“Do you sell information?” he prompted.
“Under the right circumstances. I’m trying to decide if helping you would do more harm than good.”
“What is the meaning of that?” His voice held a hint of warning.
“Let me ask you a question. A horse that carried you into battle has gone lame. There is no cure. He will never bear a rider again and the injury prevents him from being a stud. What would you do with this horse?”
Berengur frowned. “I would put him out to pasture. He would’ve given me years of faithful service and deserves a peaceful life. I don’t see how this is relevant.”
Maybe this would work out after all.
“Clover, please bring our guests some tea.”
“Yes, my lady.”
She turned and smoothly glided toward the house.
I faced Berengur.
“Your brother is alive.”
Berengur didn’t seem surprised that I’d guessed who he was looking for. If I truly was a competent information broker, I would’ve heard about it. He’d been looking for his baby brother for over a year.
“He isn’t a captive. He is within the borders of this kingdom in a place of his choosing. He remains there of his own free will.”
Berengur’s face told me he didn’t believe me. I couldn’t blame him. He’d been scammed more than once.
“And how much will his location cost me?”
“Nothing.”
He studied me.
“I won’t be charging you today. I know you love Pelegrin. I know you and your mother are both worried about him. You lost track of him after the Halaros campaign. That was by his design. He doesn’t wish to be found.”
“And why is that?” His tone told me he was clearly skeptical.
“Pelegrin wanted to be a knight from a very young age. He admired your late father. Part of it is your fault. You used to tell Pelegrin stories of your father’s bravery, stories you’d embellished. You made him into a heroic figure, a man of flawless character, who embodied the knightly virtues.”
“How do you know that?”
“That’s not important.”
Clover brought out a platter with a teapot and poured the tea into two cups. She set the cups in front of us, placed a dish of honey between them, and withdrew a polite distance away.