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“Try again tomorrow?” I’m fuming now. “I’m getting a saddle on this idiot today, and you jerks are going to feel really stupid when I do.”
It’s a dumb thing to say, really, since saddling a horse isn’t that big of an accomplishment.
Luckily, only Viktor can even understand me, and I was muttering.
Hopefully he didn’t hear.
I practically whip the saddle up off the ground and stomp toward Quicksilver. Any other horse I’ve ever dealt with probably would’ve bolted with the ham-handed way I’m handling this, but for some reason, he shakes a little like flies are bugging him, and then he stays put. I toss the saddle pad over his back again, and then I drop the saddle in place. I don’t waste any time chatting this go round, grabbing the cinch and securing it on one side and then on the other.
I wait for him to freak out, but he doesn’t.
“Hand me the bridle,” I say.
No one moves. Viktor doesn’t even say anything. I whip my head around, and they’re all just staring at me.
“What?”
“You speak Russian?” the man who was just laughing asks.
I cringe. I can’t really say I just know a word or two, because I used a command properly and knew the word for bridle. “A little,” I say. “Not much.” I switch to Latvian. “We had a Russian rider for a while, and he always told me what to do in Russian. I know horse affiliated words the best.”
Viktor nods slowly, opening the gate and passing the bridle through.
I snatch it out of his hand and walk back over to Quicksilver while he translates what I said. They’re all talking amongst themselves now, trying to decide whether I’ve been lying this whole time, and how much of what they’ve said I’ve understood.
I’m mad at myself for slipping. I was too distracted by Quicksilver, I suppose. I’m not like Kristiana or Mirdza. I goof things up all the time. But in this moment, my attention shifts to the stunning grey in front of me. He’s standing still, calm, and sensible.
“Okay, boy. It’s been a day already, and it’s only nine in the morning. I’m sorry we had that incident with the saddle, and I’m still mad at you for biting me, but let’s call it even and move on. What do you say?”
He whinnies.
The hair on my arms rises. I swear, if I didn’t know it was impossible, I’d say this horse understands everything I’m saying. Which is nuts, because he’s as Russian as these guys.
Even in my head, I’m funny.
I can’t help smiling at my lame joke—like the reason he can’t understand me is that I’m speaking Latvian, and not that I’m a human and he’s a horse.
“Alright. I’m going to lift this bridle up and slide this bit into your mouth, and it’s going to fit in a place where you don’t have teeth, so don’t try to bite me again.” Actually, I didn’t think to check whether he has wolf teeth.
I swear under my breath.
“He didn’t have wolf teeth,” Viktor says.
In Russian.
“What?” I ask in Latvian.
“He doesn’t have wolf teeth,” he says in Latvian. “We checked the first time we sedated him.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and start over. “Alright, sir, you’ve apparently been cleared for the bit, so let’s see how you do.” I pat his shoulder. “You handled the saddle well—the second time. That and the way you let me ride you the day we met make me think you’ve been broken before, but maybe by lousy jerks. So let’s take this slowly.”
I move the halter to his neck, and he stomps once, but otherwise stands. Then I touch his nose and ask him to move his head down.
He does.
Sliding the bit into his mouth is as easy as bridling a twenty-year-old veteran. He stands still and calm as I buckle the nose band and the chin strap, and then he turns his head toward me, slightly, as if to say, “Let’s show them.”
I would be a complete lunatic to try and climb on him, knowing what I know about what happened to the last guy who just hopped on.
