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Bertram looked beyond Peregrine at the place where the ocean met the horizon. “He would not understand.”
“Why?” Peregrine didn’t ask it to be contrary—he sounded genuinely curious. “Sorin explained what happened quite well, and thoroughly enough that even the most contrary of us are starting to come around. Do you feel you would be unable to adequately express yourself?”
“No, it’s not that.” A gull or some other seafaring bird swooped into view and broke through the water like a harpoon, plunging out of sight. Bertram watched the spot where it had been while he collected his thoughts, then quietly admitted, “My father is not the kind of man whose opinion would be swayed by such a thing.”
“I think you do not give him enough credit.”
“Perhaps. But I would be more inclined to believe that you don’t know him like I do.”
The gull emerged. Too much distance separated them for Bertram to tell if it had caught anything, but if it hadn’t, it did not try again—it flew off just as quickly as it had arrived, cutting through the skies until it disappeared from sight.
It wasn’t until it was gone that Peregrine spoke again.
“I will admit that my relationship with Grimbold is dissimilar to yours. There will always be a difference between the way he treats me and the way he treats his sons—and I imagine the work you do for him, whatever it might be, further complicates matters. However…”
Peregrine paused for such an unusually long time that Bertram turned his head to look at him. It wasn’t like him to be at a loss for words, and worse, he looked visibly troubled, like he was warring with himself over something. Bertram, fearing he had been too blunt and insensitive, sat up a little straighter and prepared to smooth things over as best he could, but there was no need. Peregrine shook his head and the look disappeared from his face. He gazed out at the sea with a small and somewhat sad smile.
“We are long-lived creatures. Complicated creatures. We have watched generations of humans be born, grow old, and die. The world we were born into is not the world we inhabit today, and likewise, we are not the men we used to be. I am no longer the timid waif I was, and you…” He regarded Bertram from the corner of his eye, and his smile lost some of its sorrow. “I may not know you as well as some of your brothers, but I get the feeling you are not the same man you used to be, either. Why should it be any different for your father? You are not the only one who has been on life’s journey. He has changed enough that I have seen the difference in him with my own eyes. I would not discount him so quickly. I do not think you know the man he has become any more than he knows the version of you sitting here with me today.”
The band of orange striping the horizon darkened and bled out into the sky. It had been blue before—an unremarkable robin’s egg color easy to overlook with so much nearby natural splendor—but it was shedding that part of itself now, dressing up in purples and reds and oranges as the rest of the world was swallowed by shadows.
Bertram’s heart throbbed painfully.
If only Peregrine knew.
“Well,” Peregrine said, a note of finality in his voice, “it will be dark before long, and I really should be on my way. Were Sebastian to know I was up on a roof at this advanced hour, an entire ladder’s drop from the ground, he would be immensely displeased, and even though he is far from here and has no idea what kinds of naughty things I’m up to, I should still try to honor him—at least a little.”
He stood up quite gracefully and stretched to the full extent his body would allow, back arching like a cat’s. Once he was done, he glanced fondly at Bertram and held out a hand. “Would you like to come join me inside?” he asked. “Or would you like to stay up on the roof a while longer?”
Bertram observed Peregrine’s outstretched hand.
Reluctantly, he took it.
Peregrine, all smiles, helped him to his feet, and they walked to the ladder together.
“You wouldn’t have a secure number I could call him from, would you?” Bertram asked as he squatted beside the ladder, holding it in place so Peregrine could descend safely.
Peregrine laughed, and it lit up his whole face. “Oh, darling, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I am not the one you should be asking. Let’s go speak with Misha. If there’s anyone who can discreetly put you in touch with your father, I would bet every coin in Sebastian’s hoard that it would be him.”
28
Bertram
Bertram found Misha in the sitting room, crowing with laughter as an increasingly irate Nate strutted around the room while hunched over, arms flapping like a chicken.
“You are telling me this is not a coq?” demanded Matthieu in outrage, throwing up his hands in frustration. “That is the English translation, no? Coq? It is correct. Do not tell me it is not correct. I have tried all the other words. Nate is acting like a coq.”
Nate kicked at the ground aggressively with his pretend chicken feet and glowered.
According to the scoreboard on the nearby coffee table, the Boudreaux team was not doing great.
Not wanting to interrupt the fun, Bertram made his way around the perimeter of the room, passing behind the assorted chairs and couches until he arrived next to Misha. “A word?” he asked in a whisper, speaking into Misha’s ear.
It took Misha a second to stop laughing, but when he had, he gestured at the door. “In the next room,” he said. “But you must promise you will not keep me long—I do not want to miss their next turn.”
It was a request Bertram was more than happy to accommodate, so off they went, leaving the sitting room to enter the hall, where Bertram cut straight to the chase. “Peregrine told me you would be the one to talk to in regard to procuring a secure line.”
“Peregrine would be right,” Misha said somewhat distrustfully, narrowing his eyes. “But you are a fool if you think I will simply give you my phone. What are you plotting, drakon? You came here to cut yourself off from society, and now all of a sudden you want to make a call? I am not buying it. Tell me why I should help you.”
