“Our father was no important man,” his brother said. “He didn’t oppose the King. There were a hundred others who Edward could’ve had killed and gained more from it.”
“And is that enough for you to believe him?” asked Anthony. “You shame his memory by allying yourself with him and failing to get your revenge.”
“Revenge?” John retorted, arching an eyebrow. “Would you kill the King, so our father’s shade could rest? And after that, what would happen?”
“England would be at peace once more under the Lancastrians,” he responded, but John laughed, shaking his head as if it was all a hilarious jape.
“Do you really believe that?” he asked. “Do you really think the Nevilles, the Talbots and so many others would not rise again in the name of King Edward’s sons? Sons who would grow up planning to avenge their father’s death, dreaming of shooting arrows with your face for a target?” John had a serious expression, mouth tense. “Revenge is a cycle. A wheel. These ones on top then those ones on top, and on and on it spins until the end of times.”
“I shall break the wheel,” he retorted and John arched an eyebrow.