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“But is she fast?” Mr. Rimkus arches an eyebrow.

“Let’s see.” I walk to where one of the grooms is holding her—she’s dancing, which could be from excess nerves. Some of the best mounts I’ve had have been stressed-out disasters before the bell rang. After warming her up, I breeze her for a few laps, and then I stop her. She moves alright, a little jumpy perhaps, but her muscle condition’s alright.

“She’s usually a front runner the whole race,” Lukas says. “Pulls a little when someone’s ahead, but she’s more of a hand ride. Doesn’t like the crop. Her ears go back and she slows up if you use it.”

That’s good to know. “How’s she look up against that Akhal-Teke?”

Lukas frowns. “No way to know since they haven’t gone up against each other.”

“Take her for a lap at her top speed,” Mr. Rimkus says.

It’s not really going to help him, not without any other horses to compare, but I tend to listen when lunatics talk. At least, when they’re threatening to injure me, I do.

Lukas is right—she moves way better when I scrub my hand on her neck than when I pull or when I crop her. I’m optimistic when I put her away, until I look down and notice something very, very concerning. Mr. Rimkus has already left, but Lukas is talking to the groom.

“Hey,” I say. “Come here.”

Lukas frowns, but he listens. “What’s that?” I point at her back left hoof, where there’s a clear quarter crack.

“We’re managing it.”

I crouch down. “Managing it?” I shake my head. “This horse will be lame within a week if you don’t take her off all the strenuous activity.”

“You can’t tell that from glancing at it. You haven’t seen it for the past few weeks.”

I glare. “You’re telling me that it has been improving with her under saddle every day?”

Lukas sighs. “The race’s three weeks away. It’s a balancing act, for sure. Rest her enough that she can recover. Keep her in condition for the race.”

She should be off for six months to regrow that hoof. But what’s he going to say? He’s probably in as deep as I am.

Both our futures now rest on the performance of one lame filly.

We’re so screwed.

15

When I get home, I ask Kristiana’s trainer if there are any horses who need a nice long hack. I really need to get away and clear my head. Luckily, Kris has so many horses that there’s usually one who has been a bit of a basketcase and needs some time outside on the trails. Their biggest vice is usually racing too fast. It terrifies most riders, but it’s not a problem for me.

I saddle up the leggy red roan and head out.

We’ve been out for almost an hour when he finally calms down fully. I ease up on his reins a bit, breathing a sigh of relief, and we walk for a good five minutes. Of course, once my guard is down, that’s when it happens. He jumps at his own shadow, nearly tossing me over his head into the bushes.

I pat his neck. “Really? There’s nothing out here, goofball.”

He doesn’t believe me, pawing at the ground and tossing his head relentlessly. I let him trot and puff for a little ways until we finally reach the stream. “You could use a drink, huh? Me, too.” I can’t help smiling at my corny joke.

I never do this, but I left his halter on underneath his bridle just in case we got to the stream and wanted a minute. I pull his bridle off and clip his lead line on, and then I sit down on the edge of the stream, letting him walk forward and rest.

In this spot, in the middle of nowhere, with no one around, I can finally think about the situation I’ve found myself in. Weeks ago, I thought that was the end. I was sure I’d played my last hand, and I’d gone bust. But then Leonid granted me a reprieve.

And I went from the frying pan right into the fire.

I was held captive, interrogated, and then finally freed, sort of. My savior turned out to be another pile of mess, but I escaped that disaster with a get out of jail free card. Only, when I played it today, I got smacked again. Sheesh.

I wiggled my way free yet again—because though I can’t do anything else very well, I really am one of the best jockeys in Latvia. If you give me a horse that has an ounce of go in them, I can squeeze it right out in a race. One thing I have never done is put a horse in a situation where racing actively damages them.

People are usually in messes they’ve made. Horses don’t get that kind of choice, but if I don’t keep my mouth shut and watch Lukas medicate this poor filly so she can run in three weeks, Nojus’s sadistic brother will rape and kill me.