Page 29

“Just trust me.” I point at the stall. “Alright, Quicksilver. Show him what I’m talking about. Walk into the stall for me.”

Quicksilver stares at me intently.

And does absolutely nothing else.

Well, that’s embarrassing.

“I really thought that would work.”

“He’s a horse, Adriana. I know that sometimes it’s hard—they feel so smart, but at the end of the day, they all have the mentality of a toddler.”

Quicksilver’s pawing at the ground, and I grab a halter. Maybe he’ll be still and steady while I halter him, and then I can. . .

I stop dead.

His pawing wasn’t random.

He spelled out a word.

It’s not a very nice word.

It’s a Russian word.

“Gav.” I point. And I swallow. And I’m still struggling to believe what I’m seeing.

Clearly, in the dirt in front of me, my horse has just written the Russian word for. . .well, it’s a rude name for illegitimate children. And he tosses his head at Gavriil.

He waltzes into the stall, stretches out, and pees on the shavings. Then he turns around, blows out a bunch of air in what sounds like a beleaguered sigh, and stares straight ahead, blankly.

Gavriil swears under his breath, closes the stall door, and kicks dirt over the large scrawled word. He points at the door to the small office by the tack room. “Let’s talk.”

The office only has one window, and it’s on the door that opens to the outside. It doesn’t let in a lot of light, but at least I can see Quicksilver out of the corner of my eye. He’s turned away from us now, not agitated at all as far as I can tell.

I walk Gavriil through as much of what has happened as I can, glossing over the reasons for Nojus’s men being after me and leaving out the fireballs and the electric shock magic. Even without those parts, his eyes get wider and wider, and when I tell him that Leonid allegedly showed up with a police officer, he takes my hand. “Adriana.”

“I know. It’s been. . .a weird few weeks.”

“I’m—I can’t believe you escaped.”

“Well, I stole their horse to do it,” I say.

“The horse none of them can ride and that they just found a week or so ago.”

“Even so, in their mind—”

“They won’t have papers for him,” Gavriil says.

“Not real ones, anyway,” I say.

“That’s true.” He frowns. “Listen, if I call my dad—”

“Are you guys fine, now?”

He stiffens, so that’s a no.

“Then don’t do it. Not for me. Not for this. I don’t want to drag you into—”

“Like I’m going to let you. . .what? Run all alone again?”