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.