Philip shrugged, lips tightly pressed together. Strange, how empty he felt at the thought of that possibility. If what they had concluded here was at all true, it would all but serve their father right to die. Philip was not actually sure it was punishment enough.

Easy.

“Maybe,” Philip agreed, and he couldn’t help but laugh now, darkly but full-throated: an emotion entirely at odds with the situation, but something real. He ought to write back to Robin. They ought to go see the others, and work out if they were all in this state. They probably ought to look upon their father’s face – now the veil had been lifted from their eyes. Maybe the stroke would kill him, and be a second miracle in as many days. “We can hope.”

And if not... well. They would find a way out, a way to wrest back control. He was already determined about that.

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