“What’s there to tell?” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I’ll be back soon.”

He left, limping badly on his wounded leg. I sat on the bed, despairing. Tom was the only person I had left from when I’d lived with Master Benedict.

I called to my master in heaven. What do I do?

Wait for him, Master Benedict said.

It was good advice. But if Tom was leaving… I didn’t know how I’d get by with him not around.

So I did something I’d never done before: I ignored what Master Benedict said. I threw on some clothes as quick as I could and snuck after my friend.

His path away from our room told the tale. The Horse Guards were quartered beside the tiltyard, which was to the west. Tom limped through the palace toward the south. When he entered the Privy Garden, I hurried up the stairs.

There was a balcony over the Stone Gallery. I crouched there, hidden behind the balustrade, peeking down into the garden. Tom approached the men he’d been called to meet.

Lord Ashcombe, Walsingham, and the king.

“Thomas!” The king greeted him warmly. “My brother in arms. Some fight last night, eh?”

Tom flushed, pleased. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“The way you and Christopher rode in on that horse—I thought it was Saint George himself, come to slay the dragon. Richard had already told me the men speak your name with respect. You couldn’t have proved yourself better last night. To them, and to me, as well.”

I don’t think I’d ever seen Tom more proud—or more tormented.

“So, what do you say?” the king continued. “Will you accept my offer and join my army?”

I laid my head against the rail. I’d guessed right. How I wished I hadn’t.

Tom struggled for an answer. “May I ask a question, sire?”

“Anything.”

“What would it mean if I accepted?”

Lord Ashcombe answered him. “You’ll leave immediately for the camp at Gravesend. You’ll train for a year. Then His Majesty will request you back, where you’ll become part of the King’s Men, under my command.”

“And… what about Christopher? Could he come with me?”

Lord Ashcombe regarded him. “He’s free to join,” he said slowly, “but you’re aware His Majesty has other plans for him. Besides, I think you know: Christopher isn’t meant for a soldier’s life.”

“No,” Tom said miserably. “In that case…” He struggled to get the words out. “I’m sorry, sire. I can’t.”

My heart leaped.

Tom turned to Lord Ashcombe, pleading. “Christopher needs me. You know what he’s like. Always getting into trouble. It’s not always his fault… well, not most of the time… well, not some of the time. But he’d have died in Saint Paul’s without me. I can’t abandon him.”

And now my heart broke. Tom looked so stricken.

“Come here, child,” Charles said, and he clasped Tom’s hands.

“You’re not angry?” Tom said.

“Of course not. I know what such friendship is worth.” The king nodded toward Lord Ashcombe. “Christopher is blessed to have you. As am I.”