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Gavriil looks at his phone. “I’ve got to meet with a few grooms.” He opens the office door. “I’ll make sure they bring some feed for this one. Any idea what he’s been eating?” He’s glaring at Quicksilver, who’s not looking very happy, either.

His ears are pinned to his head, and he’s tossing his head at Gavriil.

I walk him through what we’ve been feeding him. “Don’t take it personally,” I say. “The attitude, I mean. He acts like this with literally everyone but me.”

“Were all the grooms there male?”

I nod.

“Maybe he was abused by men,” Gavriil says. “Or maybe his last owner was a woman who was abused by men.”

I’d never even thought of that. “Almost every horse problem. . .”

“Is a human problem,” Gavriil finishes.

At least he knows that. It’s sadly very, very true.

“Before I get started on all that, I’ll take you to my apartment. It’s not far, and you’re welcome to take a shower and change into some of my pajamas.”

Quicksilver freaks out again, this time worse than the last.

“I might stay in here with him. It’s a new place, and I’m leaving. I think it’s freaking him out.”

“Are you sure you’ll be safe in there?”

“He bit me once,” I say, “but other than that, he’s never hurt me. He’s had plenty of chances.”

Gavriil doesn’t like it, I can tell, but he doesn’t say. The only person I ever let win an argument is a horse, and even that’s rare.

I open the stall door a crack and slide through. “You’re lucky I love horses, mister, because otherwise, I’d have just walked away and let you break your leg kicking the wall.”

He looks smug.

I’ve never seen a smug horse, but there’s a first time for everything, I suppose. He bumps me with his nose, and I rub him under his chin. Then I slide my hand up, along his jaw, and scratch under his dark, thick mane.

“How do you keep so clean?” I ask. “I’ve never known a grey who wasn’t covered in poop stains.”

He snorts.

He does seem to only be going in the corner—I’ve heard that about stallions, that they’re way neater than the usual horse.

“You really do seem to be listening to me.” Actually, this is what we were talking about when I saw Gavriil earlier. I’d just tried to release him, and he’d refused to go. “One thing I was just telling my friend is that, after he loans me some money, I can finally honor my promise to you. I can set you free.”

He freezes.

There’s no doubt in my mind that this horse understands what I’m saying. Maybe not every word, but at least some of it. “On the day we met, when you saved me, I promised that after I was safe, I’d release you.”

He’s still not moving, not even a single twitch.

“But I tried earlier, and you didn’t go. Then you walked right into this stall.”

His head turns slowly, and he presses his nose against my hand.

“Listen, Quicksilver, no one loves horses more than I do, and the fast ones—I love them most of all.” I rub his nose. “But we’re in a country called Russia right now, and I live in a place called Latvia. There’s not a good way, without a lot of paperwork for you, that I can take you back with me. Even then, there’s a quarantine.”

Horses are a little hard to transport in the best of cases, and the last thing I want to do right now, with Leonid on my tail, is start filling out paperwork declaring a horse.

“You were free when I found you, and I intend to make sure you’re free when I leave. Instead of just shooing you away, Gavriil can help me. He’ll take you in a trailer out close to the steppe and release you there. Okay?”