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“I agree,” said Oswald, surprised that Roland even had an opinion on his marriage.

“I suppose you’re cutting up rough, because everyone knows you’re flesh and blood now instead of a damn monk,” snorted Roland.

Oswald shrugged. “Is that what everyone is saying?” he asked without much concern.

Roland nodded. “Oh aye, Bevan said playing cards with you was the first time you seemed vaguely human and not like a calculating statue!”

“Well, I appreciate your candor as always,” said Oswald dryly.

“See,” said Roland, pointing a finger at him. “You’re doing it again. Retreating behind a mask. Never saying what you really feel.”

“You want to know what I really feel?” asked Oswald. “I doubt it.”

“Try us,” said Mason, suddenly wading back into the conversation.

Oswald was silent a moment. Well, what the hell. He may as well .“I feel like there’s something corrosive inside my chest.” He said slowly, touching his fingers to his heart. “It’s going to eat its way out. You don’t have the first idea.”

“I do know,” said Mason simply.

“Indigestion?” hazarded Roland looking completely lost.

Mason rolled his eyes. “Jealousy. And you’re right, it will leave a gaping hole in your chest if you don’t do something about it.”

Oswald eyed him with annoyance. “I must have missed the part where Linnet was married to another man before you,” he said sarcastically.

“I thought you said her previous marriage wasn’t legal?” retorted Mason innocently.

“Which, when you think about it,” said Roland frowning. “Puts my sister-in-law in a damn awkward position. Living with him for those years as she did.”

Oswald glared at them both. “You’re both making me feel worse,” he said darkly.

“What are you going to do about it?” asked Mason. “Linnet’s worried. I’m worried. Even Roland’s worried.”

“And how are we supposed to have the first idea, if you won’t ever have any plain, honest speech with us?” asked Roland belligerently. “You never tell me anything!”

“For god’s sake Roland,” Oswald said bitterly.

“How about I start then,” said Roland. “When I was fifteen, I was your squire at Adarva and I saw you cut down in the field and was so traumatized I could not speak of it for three months. By the time I confessed to Father that I thought you were dead, he’d received the demand for your ransom and told me I was not only weak in the head, but a coward for not fighting my way through to your side to check if you were still alive.”

Mason and Oswald both stared at him.

“You saw him cut down?” repeated Mason incredulously. “Why did you not tell me?”

Roland swallowed. “I thought he was dead,” he repeated. “He took an axe in his back.”

“An axe?” repeated Mason.

Both his brothers turned to face him, and Oswald exhaled. “I didn’t know you’d witnessed anything.”

“When I tried to speak to you of it afterward, you dismissed me and said you’d only suffered a scratch,” insisted Roland.

“I know,” said Oswald in a tired voice.

“You think I don’t know the difference between a scratch and a killing blow?” Roland’s voice shook.

“I’m sorry,” said Oswald. “I didn’t realize.”

“The groomsmen used to tell me stories of the undead who return to avenge those who have wronged them. For years I thought you were a wraith come back to get me for leaving you there,” scowled Roland. “Did you know I wet the bed for a six month?”