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I stand there like an idiot while the jockey and some random rich guy take all the acclaim and my prize money, and I crumple up my claim ticket and drop it on the ground.
I can’t bring myself to clap, but at least I don’t stab her. I finally slide off Quicksilver’s back, my hands clenched around the reins so tightly, I worry that I might snap them.
“Who is she?” I ask, the second we’ve gotten a few dozen yards away from the milling crowds. “You must know.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s Boris’s sister,” Aleksandr says.
Boris, who kept me in that concrete room. Boris who had electric powers. Of course it’s his stupid sister. “Katerina.” I remember Alexei’s story. “She was in love with Leonid or something.”
Mirdza frowns. “How could anyone love—”
“Later,” Aleksandr says. “Right now, we need to try and get to Katerina.”
We do try. But between waiting for the race celebrations to end, pushing our way past reporters, and handling our own horse appropriately, by the time we reach the parking lot, they’re already gone.
“Do we know whether she’s voluntarily helping Leonid, or sent here as some kind of threat?” I ask.
Aleks isn’t even listening, though. “I think she was a distraction.” He holds up his hand and waves us over. Even Alexei, in his horse form, comes over to see what’s going on. “Pizdets!”
I’m a little confused. “But we need to load Quicksilver—”
Aleks stares intently at his phone, turning up the volume. “Watch.”
The video’s small, and there are five humans and a horse crouched around it trying to watch it, but the second we realize what’s happening, we’re all riveted.
“Russia has been in a political freefall since the fourth impeachment of a President in the time since communism crumbled. But no one saw this coming,” one commentator says in English.
“I think you can say that again,” the woman sitting next to him, also British, says. “On the heels of the revelation that there’s an actual member of the Romanov royal family alive now—one of the children must have survived that savage massacre—we have confirmed evidence that there’s also a member of the famous Riurik Dynasty, long thought to have ended in the early sixteen hundreds with Vasily the Fourth. Now there’s a referendum that’s being put to the Russian people that will determine what the government will look like going forward.”
“How likely do our analysts think it is that Russians might vote to revert to a monarchy?” the man asks. “I mean, that really feels like a giant step back, doesn’t it?”
“Well, seeing as it’s in the hands of the people,” the woman says, “I can’t imagine it’s very likely. What person would vote for something that would take away their future ability to vote?” She chuckles. “It’s nonsensical, surely. Probably a publicity stunt.”
“But you’re applying our culture and beliefs to them,” the man says. “This is a people who have long been ruled by might, and our research shows that more than anything else, they long for a return to the strength that used to mark Russia and Russian culture in the international world.”
“A strong president,” the woman says, “seems to be the obvious solution to that dilemma.”
“What I want to know,” the man says, “is who exactly becomes their next ruler if they do vote for this monarch? Is it the Romanov heir, or is it the Riurik Dynasty one?”
“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and watch, and I hope everyone else will tune in with us as this all unfolds,” the woman says. “But we do have some exciting news. The man who has been tested and proven to be a Riurikid heir is named Leonid Ivanovich, and he’s released a public video. Apparently the people supporting him are the ones who gathered the required votes to get the referendum slated.”
My hand’s trembling on Quicksilver’s reins. My jealousy over a palomino mare seems ridiculous. This is it. Leonid’s move. He’s trying to take over the entire Russian government. It’s insane. When his face appears on the screen, I realize that I’d forgotten how visually appealing he is. The people watching are going to love him. And unlike the day we met, this Leonid wants people to like him.
He’s smiling.
He’s approachable.
“Hello, and welcome,” a man wearing a ridiculous toupee says.
“I’m delighted to be here,” Leonid says in Russian. Then he turns toward the camera and says, “Thank you for having me,” in English. “I’m so happy to be here,” in Latvian. “It’s an honor to be able to address everyone,” he says in Italian.
“How many languages do you speak?” the commentator asks.
“Eleven,” he says, switching back to Russian. “You see, when you’re heir to a dynasty, communication’s everything. That’s the real difference between having a ruler who was prepared from birth and someone who has to grasp for that power all the way up. I won’t have lobbies coming after me. I won’t need to cater to mobsters or criminals.” He smiles again. “The only people I answer to are the Russian people. They’re also the only people I care to serve. It’s my sole purpose. That’s what makes a monarchy so much more pure than an elected president, whose interests can be bought and sold, changing like the tides along with his personal interest.”
“I hear there’s another heir who has surfaced, strangely at the same time, a hundred years after Russians cast their monarchy away. Some might call the idea of reinstating the monarchy madness—why would they give up their freedom?”
“Let’s look at what that freedom has brought them,” Leonid says. “Burned churches. Starving people. Riots. Wars. Insurrections. Mobs and mafia. Arms dealers. Drug lords. The Russian people have paid in blood, tears, and misery for more than a century now. It’s time to restore order and strength, and the prosperity that goes with those.”
