“Water!” Lord Ashcombe commanded his men, and they ran to help the residents.

Niall Ramsay’s house was gone. The entire face was blown away, chunks of pink brick littering the street. The back wall and part of the left side were still standing. Everything else was rubble.

The neighboring houses had taken the brunt of the blast. On the east, the whole side of the home next door had crumbled. The house to the west was pockmarked where the brick had peppered it, the roof starting to burn at the edge. Across the way looked the same, all the windows shattered.

Tom began tearing at the rubble, looking for injured, hoping to find survivors. I helped, grabbing the smaller bricks, while neighbors poured water over the flames, then ran back into their homes to refill their buckets from whatever stores they had. Others sprinted toward the closest wells, the King’s Men alongside to assist.

An old woman staggered from the house on the right, dazed and bleeding from her temple. Tom hurried to help, leaving the wreckage behind. I would have followed, but a croaking voice stopped me.

“Christopher.”

A man crawled through the rubble. He was burned so badly that he barely looked human. I ran to him, hoping I could help, and in the chaos and confusion, it took me a moment to realize he’d called me by name.

He looked up at me, one eye stuck shut.

“Christopher,” he said again.

This time, I made out the Scottish accent. And I realized who it was.

Domhnall Ardrey, Baron of Oxton. Covenanter.

Traitor.

I turned to call for Lord Ashcombe.

“Wait,” Ardrey croaked. “I am not… your enemy.”

The tone in his voice—desperate—stopped me.

I crouched beside him. “You tried to murder the king.”

“No. Not… us. I am… a friend.”

What was that supposed to mean? “You’re a Covenanter.” I paused. “Aren’t you?”

He tried to answer but fell into a coughing fit. Finally, he just shook his head.

I frowned. If he wasn’t a Covenanter… “Who are you?”

He looked me in the eye. “You have… a coin.”

It took a moment for me to realize what he meant.

Then my stomach fell.

“You’re a Templar,” I whispered.

He nodded.

I knelt beside him. He was so terribly burned. “What happened here?”

He gasped for breath. “Knocked out… tied up. All… my brothers.”

He motioned weakly behind him. There I saw a charred, knotted rope. It had burned enough to let the man free.

“This was… our chapter house,” Ardrey said. “Brothers… gone. Templars… in London… finished. Betrayed.”

Someone had betrayed the Templars. They’d tied them up and left them here to die in the explosion. It was a miracle Ardrey had even survived.

I was more confused than ever. “I found a letter,” I said. “It claimed you were part of the plot to kill the king.”

“Not… real. Lies.”

“Then you helped save His Majesty,” I said quietly. “I worked out your final puzzle.”