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“Yes, damn it.”

“Right,” said Roland. “Then I want to know how Sir Arnold Pryke died.”

Oswald eyed him with surprise. “Why are you asking me that? It hardly matters after all this time.”

“I’ve a notion it was you that killed him.”

“What?” thundered Mason, sitting forward in his seat again.

Oswald sat silent.

“Is it true?” demanded Mason.

Oswald closed his eyes briefly. The question hung heavy in the air. “Of course it’s true,” he said simply. “It seemed expedient. I really couldn’t waste any more time playing the prisoner. The situation had become quite untenable.”

Mason looked winded. “An assassin killed Pryke,” he insisted. “He was found with his throat cut.”

Oswald shrugged.

“What does that mean?” demanded Mason.

“Oswald did it,” said Roland. He turned to Oswald looking triumphant. “I’m right aren’t I?”

Oswald didn’t answer him. He looked toward Mason with an odd expression on his face.

“When you think about it, it sort of makes sense,” said Roland nodding his head. “I mean, look at the company he keeps. All those agents always slithering about, passing him notes and such like. Then he’s hand in glove with that Bardulf character. Bev told me he was an assassin.”

“Hardly hand in glove!” cut in Oswald looking annoyed.

“That’s the bit you argue with?” asked Mason incredulously. He couldn’t seem to stop staring at his older brother. He snatched up his cup of ale and drained it before slamming it down. “All this time, I thought you had no taste for killing.”

“I don’t have a taste for it,” said Oswald. “I haven’t killed anyone in five years. If I have my way, I’ll not kill again in my lifetime.”

“You’re supposed to the nice one among us,” said Roland, shaking his head. “With your courtly manners and polite talk. What was it the Queen said about you? The wolf who hides among the palace sheep.”

“He is the nice one,” said Mason stubbornly.

“Am I?” asked Oswald harshly.

“You were the only one who ever gave a fuck about me, growing up,” said Mason. “Nothing you’ve just told us changes how I feel about you. You’re my brother, always were, always will be.”

Oswald flinched. “You still want me for Archie’s godfather?” he asked quietly.

“Don’t be a fool,” growled Mason. “Of course I bloody do!”

“You’re not getting out of that just by being a stone-cold killer,” muttered Roland. “In fact, that probably helps qualify you for the job.”

“Let’s hear some more about these bad decisions you’ve been making of late,” said Mason leaning forward and pouring them all a cup of ale.

“I’ve bought a town house,” said Oswald. “In Aphrany. A huge black and white timbered monstrosity. The kind a very rich merchant lives in.”

“Why in god’s name?” asked Mason.

“Because Fenella once said she likes them,” said Oswald. “In a purely throw-away conversation. But for some reason, every word she speaks is seared on my brain.”

Roland cleared his throat. “Bit impulsive for you, isn’t it?”

“A bit?” echoed Oswald. “I forced the King to sign annulment papers to an eight-year marriage. Simply because I feel sick to my stomach at the idea of her ever belonging to another man. And the worst of it is, that the annulment is the least drastic course of action that occurred to me. For the last three months, in my head I have been drawing up legal papers to sue Thane for the eight years he spent at my wife’s side, masquerading in my rightful place. In her life, in her heart and in her bed.” He heard his voice shake with anger and realized his brothers must too. Taking a deep breath, he continued more evenly. “Each time I mentally draft the petition, I request a more severe punishment befitting of his crime.”