CHAPTER
46
BLOSSOM’S HOOVES THUNDERED IN THE mud.
My fault, I thought. It’s my fault.
The horse galloped through the darkness. Ignoring the protests of the guard on duty, I’d snatched a torch from Holbein Gate on the way south. It was the only thing lighting our way.
My fault.
My body rattled with every stride. I’d never ridden this fast. I tried to do as Lord Ashcombe had taught me. Lift your seat from the saddle Crouch over it. Let your feet support your weight in the stirrups.
It worked, at least for a while. My knees, bent, dampened the shock of Blossom’s gallop, like bow springs on a carriage. But I had miles to go, and my legs weren’t strong enough to carry my weight the whole way. Eventually, I fell into the saddle and just took the punishment. It was no less than I deserved.
That’s enough, child, Master Benedict said gently.
It’s not, I said. It’ll never be enough. It’s my fault.
You’re being unkind. The fault lies where it always lies: in the hearts of the wicked, who do wicked things. You know this.
Even so. They used me.
So they did. Now it’s up to you to undo it. Focus on the problem. Clear your mind and focus.
I closed my eyes, let Blossom guide us down the road. The cleverness of the Covenanters, their deviousness, was almost impossible to believe. It had even fooled the Templars.
So the final act is played,
The final truth decrypted,
Still your master dies betrayed—
For every scene was scripted.
Everything had started with the murders of the servants at the palace. There’d never been any clear reason to kill them. I’d thought the girls had seen things they shouldn’t have, but now I wondered: What if they hadn’t seen anything at all? What if the only purpose of the murders was to show the king there was a threat inside the palace?
It had certainly worked. The palace got locked down. Security was increased. We realized there were traitors inside. Just no one knew who they were.
Once we’d made Whitehall more secure, the Covenanters had—seemingly—moved their plot to Berkshire House. It was no secret the king would be attending a party. If they poisoned the food, maybe they could kill His Majesty there.
But that plot, too, had been exposed—by me, with the aid of the Templars.
Traitors in Whitehall, traitors in Berkshire House. The walls were closing in. It was clear that nowhere was safe.
The smart thing to do would be to move Charles somewhere the Covenanters hadn’t already infiltrated. Get him out of the palace. So that’s what we’d done.
But what was it Lord Ashcombe had said? They can’t attack the palace directly. It would be suicide.
But if they could get the king out of Whitehall… outside the protection of its walls…
And if they knew when the king would be leaving, and where he was going…
I shuddered as I remembered what Lord Ardrey’s letter had said.
Your plan has worked. The enemy and their agent were deceived.
They couldn’t get to Charles inside the palace. So they’d maneuvered us to move the king outside. Where the Covenanter soldiers could attack him.
We’d thought we were leading the king to safety. Instead, we’d sent him into an ambush.
And the Covenanters had used me to help them do it.
I despaired. We’d fallen into their trap. Even the Templars hadn’t realized it, until the end. How could the Covenanters be so clever?
And as I sank in despair, I recalled one more thing in Ardrey’s letter. I could barely bear to remember it.
The man in black informed me, it said.
Walsingham had told me the plan to move the king wouldn’t remain a secret. Even so, there couldn’t have been that many who knew what was happening. And I’d only ever seen one man in black. One man who always wore black.
Lord Ashcombe.
The King’s Warden.
A Covenanter?
A traitor?
My mind rebelled at the thought. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.
But if he was…
Blossom’s stride changed underneath me.
The terrible thoughts in my head faded as my horse began to slow. Lost in my own mind, I hadn’t been paying attention to her.
She was tiring. Great breaths blew from her nostrils, puffing mist in the cool air. We must have covered several miles already, going hard, and she wasn’t built for this. She was a carriage horse, slow but steady, and now she was old.
Fear wrenched at my gut. Sally had said the king left an hour before Tom and I returned to Whitehall. Add another twenty or so minutes to follow the trail of the Templars’ map and find the letter in Lord Ardrey’s room… That meant they had nearly an hour-and-a-half head start. My only salvation was that the king was in a carriage, which moved slower than if everyone was on horseback. Riding Blossom, I had a slim chance to catch them. If I had to stop…
I leaned forward, a hand on her withers. “Come on, Blossom,” I said, and her ears turned back to me. “Please keep going. I need you.”
She seemed to understand. Her pace quickened, hooves thundering on the road once more. I patted her neck. “Good girl,” I said.
Then she squealed, a terrible cry of pain.
And I was flying.
CHAPTER
47
I SLAMMED INTO THE GROUND.
Pain ripped through my body as I hit the dirt. My momentum carried me forward, and what started as a skid turned into a roll. I lost my torch, the flame tumbling in my vision, until it was just a glow in the distance. Then I finally came to a stop.
I was on my back. The stars spun above me, swirling, then resetting their place and doing it all over again. My stomach twisted, but I was too dazed to heave.
What had happened?
For a second, I thought I’d broken everything. Because everything hurt. Then the pain faded, at least a little, enough that I could move. Once again, I tasted dirt, now mixed with the metallic tang of blood.
My face was
