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“I am so sorry,” I say. “He’s a very temperamental horse, but he’s saved my life twice now, so. . .”

Gavriil’s eyes widen. “Saved your—I had no idea you were even in Russia.”

“It’s a really, really long story,” I say. “And.” I glance around and then drop my voice. “There are some people looking for me.”

He sighs. “Is this even your horse?”

I cringe. “Not exactly.”

It’s a little sad that he already knows me well enough to ask that. “Did you steal him?”

I’m not sure how to answer that. “Sort of?”

Gavriil closes his eyes.

I’m sure he’s weighing his options and trying to decide what to do. The smart move would be handing me in. I know he and his dad kind of made up, but not really, which is why he’s still working as a racetrack manager instead of running the family business. Even so, it’s not like he’s some powerless guy without options. Getting tagged for his affiliation with me won’t break him like it might a normal guy.

I sound really selfish, even to myself.

“If I had anyone else I could go to. . .” I glance around again.

Quicksilver’s pawing at the ground, but at least now that I’ve yanked him behind me, he’s mostly staying put. “If you could just loan me a stall for him temporarily and hear me out, I’ll do whatever you ask afterward.”

He sighs.

But that’s how I know I have him.

Unlike me, Gavriil thinks things through. He’s methodical, he’s prudent, and he always does the right thing. If he were going to kick me out without even hearing what I had to say, he would’ve done it already. He finally tosses his head, and I realize he’s taking me to the quarantine pen.

“We’re going to find a place to rest for a bit,” I whisper to Quicksilver as I pat his nose. “And maybe you’ll even get some grain.”

He bumps my side.

“Grain, yes.”

He tosses his head. Then he bumps me again.

“Wait, do you mean me?”

“I have food,” Gavriil says, his Latvian still excellent. “But I really doubt if that horse is worried about you eating. You may be crediting him with thoughts he’s not capable of.”

Quicksilver tries to bite him again.

“Maybe you’re not giving him enough credit. He is smarter than any other horse I’ve met.”

“He could do calculus, and I’d still hate him,” Gavriil says.

I can’t help laughing.

Quicksilver nuzzles my arm.

“I doubt he can do that,” I say. “But I swear, Gav, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve asked him something, and he’s responded. It’s uncanny.”

We’ve reached his three separate quarantine stalls, which are luckily all unoccupied, and Gavriil slides the door to the largest stall open.

“Like, watch this.” I pull the saddle off, and then I start to take off his bridle.

“Whoa,” Gavriil says. “What are you doing?”