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My mother isn’t a strong person.
I realized that for the first time when I was quite young—the day I met Kristiana’s mother for the first time. When you’re a kid, you don’t realize you’re poor. You don’t know your mother’s a bit of a mess. You don’t know the food you’re eating is bad.
It’s all you’ve ever known.
It’s not until you experience something better that you realize the first thing was wanting.
The day we moved to live at Liepašeta was that day for me. Having only ever lived in an apartment until that point, I was blown away by the magnitude of the place. It was huge, and it was lovely, and I couldn’t wrap my brain around the fact that they owned a massive house, a gargantuan barn, and a smaller barn with living quarters attached.
On top of that, at the end of their large stables, there were apartments—bigger apartments than we’d ever lived in, and they simply used them for people who were working for them, as a perk.
We lived in one of those apartments for free, because my mother started cleaning for the Liepa family. I suppose I could have been filled with resentment toward Kristiana’s mother. After all, I envied Kris for most of my life.
But Mrs. Liepa was spectacular.
She was strong. She was brave. She was talented. She was fiery. She knew more about horses and how to ride them than anyone I had ever met. She’s the reason that Kristiana, Mirdza, and I all love horses. She’s the reason I grew up to be strong myself instead of turning out like my mother. She’s the reason I knew that women could grow up this way. She’s the reason I got straight As in English, always. For a while there, I spoke it even better than Kristiana.
But at the end of the day, the easiest way out for me is still to tell Leonid and Boris how to capture Kristiana.
I could do it.
If I called her, she’d come for me. She’d do anything I asked, thanks to the guilt I’m sure she’s feeling about how I took her place.
But her mother’s also the reason I would never do that.
If there’s a heaven, Mrs. Liepa’s there. If there’s a God, she’s got to be one of his most beloved. And there’s not a single solitary chance on this earth that I would ever repay her goodness, her charity, her love of Mirdza and my mom and me and all the broken things in the world, by handing her daughter over to those maniacs.
So as adrenaline courses through my veins, and as I start looking around for the closest exit, the thought never enters my mind to betray Kristiana to save myself.
Even I have limits.
Of course, the second Viktor bows out to go and talk to them, reassuring me it will be fine, but also signaling to all the men standing around that I definitely am the person they’re looking for, I start devising a plan.
“Since the ride has gone so well,” I say, “I think I ought to try breezing him on the track. Wouldn’t it be nice to send a video clip or something to the owner? Show the progress?”
Of course, they can’t understand me.
But I’m pointing, and one of the guys closest to the gate starts to open it.
His buddies are a bit smarter. They start arguing, gesturing, and shoving him. I open my mouth to argue, but before I can say a word, Quicksilver plunges forward, shoving his way through the partially opened gate.
“Whoa,” I say, hauling on his face.
It’s like he can’t hear or feel me at all.
At least the guys can tell that I’m not in control. They’re waving and shouting and eventually, running after us, but Quicksilver isn’t stopping. He pounds down the alley-paddock that runs in segmented pieces from this far end of the property down to the line where we first entered.
Only, instead of tearing right down the main line, he hangs a quick right and heads straight for the main compound, which is right where Leonid or Boris or whoever is waiting. I’m practically positive.
I was trying to stop him before, but now I’m basically ripping his face off. I’ve never had a horse completely ignore me like this, and I ride racehorses. I know how to release and yank and release and yank.
But this guy isn’t stopping.
Just when I think we’re going to sprint right into the main area, he pulls left, and that’s when I realize what he’s doing. He’s heading for the one break in the perimeter fence, the four-foot run that circles around the side of the barn and out the back road.
I’m swearing under my breath, but I’m also patting the side of his neck. “You’re freaking brilliant, you insane beast.”
And when I stop fighting him, we fly.
