“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.
“Like you and your father, Pelegrin joined the Defenders. The knight orders spend a great deal of time discussing the knightly virtues, while training their squires in violence. And yet, they never address what happens when those two halves of knighthood come into conflict.”
He furrowed his eyebrows. “I do not follow.”
“Pelegrin was knighted at seventeen and given his first command at eighteen. He was very young. His view of the world was simple, but I don’t need to tell you that war is complicated and messy. It demands brutality and sacrifice. Pelegrin was put in an impossible situation, and he had to make a decision that conflicted with everything he had been taught to believe. It haunts him. He dreams of it over and over. He thinks he failed the legacy of your father and failed himself as a knight.”
Berengur stared at me, his face shocked.
“He’s deeply damaged by what he endured. He let the war touch his soul, and he felt too much. When he looks at his hands, they’re still covered in blood, and he’s searching for a way to wash it off.”
“Where is he?” He didn’t say it like a demand. It was almost a plea.
“He has chosen to recuperate at a monastery. He hasn’t taken vows and has no plans to do so, but he conducts himself as a monk. He does manual labor. Growing things in a garden soothes him. He is accepted by the other monks, and the abbot, who is very experienced in these matters, is helping him to come to terms with his past. It’s a simple life and that is all he can handle right now. He is healing, slowly, gradually, but he is healing. If you go there and force him to return to your castle, you will take the little bit of peace he’s found from him. He will obey you, but one day you will walk into the great hall and find him hanging off a beam.”
