“But if he’s the killer—”

“All he did was walk into the Banqueting House. Are we supposed to tell the king that makes him guilty?”

Tom made a face. “I guess not.”

“Lord Walsingham ordered me to follow the messages,” I said. “I can decipher this puzzle at the shop. Besides, I want to check on Simon.”

And ask him about the Raven, too, I thought.

We stopped by the stables to get our horses. Both were animals largely retired from service, the groom’s apprentice told us. Tom’s mount, Lightning, was an old, midnight black warhorse with a meandering blaze down his face, which looked a bit like a lightning strike—no doubt how he got his name. Lightning perked up as soon as he was taken from his stall, stamping the mud with excited energy.

I got a former carriage horse. I think the groom’s apprentice was making fun of me. Not just because mine was a carriage horse—the story of my fiery accident had made its way around Whitehall, it seemed—but because my horse was a mare, a docile old girl by the name of Blossom, the farthest thing from a warhorse in the king’s stable.

The apprentice smirked at me, and Tom looked embarrassed. Yes, the stable hands were definitely making sport. I sighed and checked out my new mount.

Blossom’s coat was chestnut, with white socks on her hind legs. She had a star on her forehead and was going slightly gray around her lips. She looked at me with curious, intelligent eyes as I approached.

I took her reins and breathed softly into her nostrils, the way Lord Ashcombe had taught me to say hello to a horse. In return, Blossom lowered her head and nuzzled my hand with her nose. I rubbed her withers, and she stretched her neck, enjoying the scratch. So the joke was on everyone else, because I loved this gentle girl from the start.

She kept a placid pace, enjoying the walk out of Whitehall, not champing at the bit to go faster, like Lightning, who snorted as if he was ready to charge into battle. I wasn’t exactly the greatest horseman, so a slower pace suited me just fine.

It was strange to see how people moved out of our way. And not just because they didn’t want to get stepped on. There was a deference from the crowd, who clearly thought I must be some kind of noble, with Tom my personal guard. Some women even curtsied as I passed, which was mildly embarrassing.

As for Tom, he did look impressive up on Lightning: broad-shouldered, wearing the king’s hat, Eternity strapped to his back. Though his talking to his mount somewhat ruined the effect.

“Who’s a good horse? You are. Who’s the best horse? You are!”

“We should get Sally,” I said. I wanted her to see me up on Blossom—and, well, I wanted to see her, too. “I’m sure she’d like to come with us.”

Tom grinned. “I bet she would.”