My Wild Horse King (The Russian Witch's Curse Book 4)

20. Gustav

Her face shines so brightly that it’s hard to see the road. It is, however, easy to see how guilty she feels. I may have chosen not to work with my grandfather because I dislike him, deep down, or even because I blame him. But if that’s the case, I think she loves Leonid almost as much as she hates him.

She may feel guilty about going to him before coming here, but I’m not sure she could have done any differently. She has as much family trauma as I do.

“He was a bad guy,” I say. “In case you’ve been beating yourself up about leaving him.”

“I’m not sure,” Katerina says. “I want to believe that. I really do. It absolves me of my role in everything.”

“No one good tries to rape-steal someone else’s powers.”

“But he did think they were making bad decisions.” Her shoulders slump, and she leans against the side window. “They did refuse to help us, and a lot of our people died in that famine.”

“He used that to justify his decision to do what he wanted, deep down.”

“Maybe.”

“What happened when he tried to force the powers?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Katerina says. “I remember the guys laughing at him. They told him to do his best. They were ready to fight. But then, once they said they were absolutely unwilling to return his power to him, when they said he had no right and that being Rurikid was irrelevant, he set his feet, closed his eyes, and. . .” She shrugs. “I’m not sure what he did, but it felt like. . .like the ceiling was caving in. Like the air was all gone. Like my insides were being forced outside. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

I shudder.

“Whatever he did forced me to shift into my equine form. That’s really the last thing I remember. It had never happened before, a forced shift. Nothing like that.”

“And when you woke up?”

“Leonid woke me up,” she says. “He was patting my cheek and saying my name.”

“You were in your human form?”

Katerina nods. “I know the guys woke stuck in their horse form, but I woke as a human and I could only shift when he specifically ordered it. I think maybe it has to do with my having surrendered to him. I’m not sure.”

“Do you really think we might find the answers in the middle of nowhere?” I want to believe there might be old family journals that explain everything, but it feels highly unlikely.

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “At first, I thought you were like Leonid—maybe from another branch of his family. I thought you were Rurikid. But if they offer you their powers and you don’t get them?” She frowns. “It must be something different. Like Leonid, I think your best bet at finding the truth is going to be searching whatever was written by your family.”

“Or summoning Baba Yaga.” I can’t help my smirk.

“I strongly advise against that,” she says. “Though the girls have apparently seen her from time to time.”

“She scared you?”

“Deeply,” Katerina says.

I yawn.

“I saw that,” she says. “You need to sleep.” Before I can stop her, she’s shaking Grigoriy awake by grabbing his knee. “Your turn to drive.”

I want to argue—I’m learning more from her on this drive than I have from all the chats with the others over the course of days—but she’s probably right. No matter what the guys may be hoping I’ll become, I’m far from superhuman now. If I don’t sleep, at least a little bit, I’ll eventually crash this car and kill us all.

The sun’s about to rise, the first rays brightening the horizon as I finally lean my head against the window and go to sleep. At some point, we stop. People are talking and some are getting out, presumably to eat or go to the restroom. I shrug out of my jacket, ball it up, and go right back to sleep.

I’m not sure how long I’ve slept when I finally wake up, but the sight I wake up to is breathtaking. There’s a gorge—tall, flat-topped but surrounded by sloping mountains with a winding river that threads through them. Maybe the river created the pass. I’m no geologist.

But what’s most breathtaking about them is the color.

The river water is the brightest blue, almost like a blue highlighter. The rocks that form the mountain sides are streaked with bright, flaming reds and oranges. The sky behind it is a light blue, and there’s both scattered greenery along the edges and patches of bright, golden sandstone, leaving the whole thing an almost unbelievable rainbow cascade of colors.

I’m not really one for faith or God, but this could almost change my mind.

I rub my eyes and yawn. “Where are we?” My voice cracks in the middle of we, and I cough to clear it.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Aleksandr says from the driver’s seat. “You’ve been asleep for almost fourteen hours, and we’re almost there.”

“That’s the Flaming Gorge,” Kristiana says. “Isn’t it beautiful? It’s the landmark this entire area’s known for.”

I don’t really want to agree with her, and I don’t want to think about why, so I just grunt.

“It’s absolutely stunning,” Katerina says with a sigh. She’s sitting directly behind me, and something about the way she says it, as if she’s barely ever seen beauty in her life, has me smiling but ducking my head so no one else notices.

“Your assistant called about a hundred times.” Kris chucks my phone at my head.

I barely throw my hand up in time to keep from being clocked in the nose. “Why didn’t you wake me up, then?”

“We did try,” Kris says. “But I think you were operating on a pretty big sleep deficit.”

I finally call Jean back. She answers before the phone has even rung a single time. “The SEC put the IPO on hold.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I can barely formulate words. “They can’t do that. They already approved the filing.”

“They have, though,” Jean says. “Something about chatter that a bunch of Russian nationals and the Russian government are all planning to purchase the shares at a higher than market rate. They said it’s a national security issue.”

Aleks, Grigoriy, Alexei, and apparently, possibly Leonid.

Before they showed up, I would have said that nothing could stop me—my company would go public, and Grandfather would choose me. There’s no way I don’t beat Prescott, right?

Then the harbingers of doom arrived.

They’ve embarrassed me, caused me legal trouble, ruined meetings, and now, it seems they’ve completely torched my IPO, and consequently my shot with taking over Grandfather’s company. I should be full-on livid. I should be calling the SEC. I should be frothing at the mouth. I should be strangling Aleksandr.

The whole situation, or rather, my reaction to it, reminds me of something. When I was a kid, I watched my mother sail over jumps every day. I rode daily as well, but I didn’t jump. Mother was very severe about our form before she ever let us turn the horse toward any kind of poles.

She didn’t even let me ride the kind of horse that had the capacity to jump over more than a few boring crossrails. I mostly rode retired horses, the ones who were a little slower, a little more patient, and a little more arthritic. Big jumps were out of the question. But once, she was busy talking to the trainer, and her horse was all tacked up and ready to go. Instead of waiting on the groom to check my tack, I went and slid the halter off her massive jumper. He dropped his head so I could reach to bridle him.

I took it as a sign.

Two minutes later, I had the stirrups moved to the shortest setting, and I scrambled on top of Kettegast’s shiny black saddle. He threw his head a few times and danced sideways, but I shortened my reins as Mother had taught, and I yanked until he knew I was the boss, and then I urged him forward, and we were off.

At first, everything seemed great.

He was fast—just like I wanted. He was eager, practically diving toward the jumps that were set up in the arena. And he could jump—I knew that. I’d seen him sail over four and a half feet in height just the day before. So I aimed him at the large wooden rail like Mom always did, and I clicked to encourage him, and when we drew near, I leaned forward too.

I knew that when he started to jump, I was supposed to lean forward. I knew that was called “jump position.” I wasn’t quite sure what to do with my hands, so I pulled them back, bringing them close to the saddle so I could grab it as necessary.

Unfortunately, Kettegast didn’t appreciate me popping him in the mouth, and he stopped abruptly just before the jump. That sent me sailing over his shoulders.

There was a split second between his halt and my impact when I realized what was happening and panicked, but then in that next split second, I just let go. There was nothing I could do. I had already done the moronic thing, and now I just had to face the consequences.

That’s how I feel in this moment.

My life was set on this path many years before when I was born to Mom and Dad. I didn’t make them who they were, and I didn’t make Grandfather who he was, either. I can’t control who I am, and I can’t change what the people outside of me are doing. I see the catastrophic crash into the large wooden jump standard coming, but I can’t stop it.

No amount of frothing or screaming or ranting will change the inevitable—I should have worn a helmet, but here we are.

“Daniel?” Jean says. “Where are you? Why aren’t you here? We’ve spent more than six years on this, and it’s falling apart.”

“I’m working on it,” I say. “Believe me, I am, and it’s work I can’t do in New York. Hold tight, keep running Trifecta, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Or, you know, I’ll be dead.

I don’t mention that part.

“But your grandfather’s calling about every five minutes, and he said if you can’t?—”

“Jean.” I pause to make sure she heard me.

“What?”

“You’re going to have to trust me. What I’m doing? It’s our only play.”

“I’m pregnant,” she whispers. “I just told Javi about the baby, and we’re really excited. I need things not to fall apart.”

“Jean,” I say again. “No matter what happens with Trifecta, you will be just fine. Don’t work more than ten-hour days. Do what you can, celebrate your baby with your husband, and I’ll be back as soon as possible.” I hang up.

“We really need to find these journals,” Kris says.

The understatement of the year for me.

“We don’t have an address,” Kris says, “but in a town of four hundred, I bet someone can tell us where she lives.”

Only, predictably, when we park in front of the local grocery store, which appears to also be a hardware store, and walk inside, the people are a little less than forthcoming.

“No,” Kristiana’s saying. “We’re not mobsters. A few of us are from Russia, yes, but I went to school at Oxford, which is a prestigious university in a town about an hour outside of London. Trust me, we don’t mean anyone here harm.”

The woman behind the counter folds her arms and scowls. In spite of her irritated demeanor, I know she’s trying to do the right thing, because in front of her face, there’s a mask of swirling little golden lights. “Amanda’s tough, no doubt, and I’m not sure she’d be scared of you folk, but I’ll tell you this.” She plants her hands on the top of the counter and leans forward. “If you want some snacks or maybe a frozen pizza, I’m happy to help. But if you want personal information about one of my friends, I ain’t playing.”

“We just need to ask her?—”

The woman sighs and straightens. “I’m more afraid of her than I am of you, so I’m not about to send you out there.”

“Out where?” Kris asks. “As in, outside of town?”

I’ll give my sister this much—she’s determined.

Aleksandr plonks a stack of cash on the counter. “We mean her no harm, but it’s urgent that we speak with her.”

The woman knocks the money off the counter without even looking at it first. Bills flutter down and all around, coming to rest in little piles all over the floor. “Offering me cash just confirms that you folks aren’t savory.” She glares.

The door jingles as someone walks in. “Well, Venetia, I reckon you did the right thing by calling me over.” An older man with grey-streaked but otherwise dark brown hair saunters into the already crowded entry. His right hand’s resting on a gun where it sits in a holster. “I’m the sheriff in this tiny town, and think I speak for everyone when I say we don’t want no trouble.”

“We don’t either,” I say, stepping around Kristiana. “My name’s Daniel Belmont, and I’m actually a business owner back in New York City, and?—”

“I watch the news, boy, and I know your city’s a mess.” His face is mostly light, with just small streaks of dark appearing now and again.

“It’s not my city.” I frown. “I’m in the middle of an IPO for my company, and I’m not even supposed to be here right now. Believe me when I tell you that this is a very bad time for all of us, but we need to talk to Amanda Saddler urgently. Once we’ve spoken to her, we’ll leave peacefully and amicably.”

The man scowls, the darker patches flaring a little more often here and there.

“You could come with us,” I say. “To watch and make sure we honor our word.”

“I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve gone my entire career without shooting a single human being.” He sighs. “I’d rather not change that today.”

“We’re on the same page,” I say.

He’s thinking, but he hasn’t made up his mind.

I whip out my wallet and drop it on the counter. “Look here.” I pull out my driver’s license. “Daniel Belmont, just like I said. The address listed is for my apartment in New York. I own it outright—I’m an upstanding citizen. You can run my license and see that I don’t have so much as a parking violation outstanding.”

Kris chokes, and I realize that someone in law enforcement running my ID would lead Leonid right to us, assuming he’s looking, which I think is a fair assumption. I hold my breath, wishing I could kick myself for my own idiocy.

But the old man just bobs his head and says, “Alright. Let’s mosey.”

Mosey?

It apparently means that we’ll go see Amanda. He loads up in his car and waits, a bit impatiently, spitting out the window twice while he waits for all of us to climb into our clown-car of an SUV, and then takes off the same direction we just drove to get here.

We literally drive down the road eight miles or so, and then pull up a drive we blew right past. There’s a big, old, rusting truck at the front of the driveway, which is why I remember it, and the bed of the truck’s full of profusely blooming mums. This woman turned an old vehicle into a planter? What kind of person does that?

As we round a corner and stop in front of the farmhouse, I scan the area, trying to get a feel for what we’re driving into. The long white house is pretty welcoming, with a circular gravel drive, a large open porch with a swing, and big potted mums on either side of the navy blue front door.

The sheriff pulls up and cuts the engine, swinging out and gesturing for us to exit the car, too. He waits until we’re all out before walking toward the front porch. Before he can even knock, the door springs open.

The woman’s voice precedes her. “Archer, what on earth are you doing and who are all those people following you like you’re their mama duck?” The woman’s small, and her white hair’s knotted into a bun on top of her head, wisps escaping on all sides. Her eyes are scanning us with an intense and almost aggressive intelligence I rarely see in women her age.

Her whole face burns like a lighthouse.

“I’m Kristiana?—”

The sheriff cuts my sister off. “They were at the True Value downtown, trying to browbeat everyone in town into giving them your address.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what they want, but I’m here to help see them off if you’re not interested in buying it.”

Amanda’s eyes shift to Kristiana. “Alright, girl. Out with it. Why’d you come?”

“My name’s Kristiana Liepa,” she says.

Amanda’s laugh reminds me of the braying of a donkey. “Oh my, you came a long way just to ask me for money, didn’t you? Latvia, isn’t it? It must be a great deal of money you need this time.”

“Excuse me?” Kristiana’s eyes are round as coasters.

“Your daddy or someone called me a few years back, begging me to buy a share in his farm, as if I’d have any interest in some horse farm in Europe.” She sighs. “Let’s hear it, then? What are you offering me, and how much do you want for it?”

“We aren’t offering you anything,” Kristiana says. “We’re actually only here because?—”

“You missed your long-lost family that much?” Amanda’s frowning. “You think I’ll believe that?”

“No,” Kristiana says. “Well, I mean, sure, we’re happy to finally meet you, but the thing is?—”

“Your daddy called me so many times after I turned him down that I had to change my number. So, the thing is, you heard that I’m loaded, and you want to be friends now that you hear I’m childless.” She shakes her head. “You’re wasting your time. I may not have popped children out myself, but I’ve got family that I love more than any other granny I know. We clear?” She turns to the sheriff. “I’m done here, Archer. Please see them off.”

Aleksandr looks ready to bury the old sheriff under a ton of dirt, but I wave them back. “Let’s not do anything that might make the local news,” I hiss. “We’ll just grab some food and a hotel room, and?—”

But before I can illuminate our plans in a nonthreatening way, Amanda slams the door with a bang.

“At least we know where she lives now,” Kristiana says.

That earns us a pointed scowl from the old Archer guy.

Before anyone can say something that ends with the FBI being called as backup, I wave them back into the SUV. “Food,” I shout. “I’m starving.”

We wind up at some place called Brownings, which also boasts a hotel apparently, and we argue for a bit about our next move. We haven’t really made any decisions when Katerina leans in close and whispers, “The people at the table next to us are talking about some kind of rodeo that’s happening tomorrow, and they said the whole town’s going.”

“So what?” I ask. “Do you like rodeos?”

Katerina glares. “Of course not, but it’s sponsored by Saddler Industries, and I feel like that’s not a coincidence. Maybe we could approach her in a less hostile environment.”

It takes us almost two hours to sort out the details, but by the end of the night, we’ve confirmed that Amanda Saddler’s development company and resort are major sponsors of the rodeo, and she’s likely to be there. As the only US citizen among us, I sign up to do one of the only open events on the roster—something I never in a million years thought I’d ever do.

A barrel race.

“You have a horse?” The woman signing us up eyes me strangely, possibly because I’m wearing six hundred dollar slacks, two thousand dollar shoes, and a button-down french-cuffed dress shirt.

“Of course he does.” Katerina’s beaming. “The prettiest palomino you’ve ever seen.”

“Not a stallion, right?” The woman glares. “They’re not allowed.”

I can’t help wondering whether they’re really not allowed, or whether she’s worried about the greenhorn trying to ride a totally unsuitable horse. “It’s a very nice mare.” I force what I hope is a friendly smile.

The woman isn’t impressed, but she takes my money and writes down my name. I’m pleased it all appears to be done by hand, because that’s less of a record that we’re here.

“This is a mistake,” Aleksandr says. “When’s the last time you even rode a horse?”

“I was on a horse just two days ago.” I can’t help glancing at Katerina.

“You guys worry about talking to Amanda Saddler,” she says, “and we’ll worry about winning that barrel race.”

“Winning?” I raise both eyebrows. “I’m just hoping I don’t fall off.”

“That too.” Katerina’s smile’s a little too bright, given the circumstances.

“Why are you in such a good mood?”

“Leonid has no idea where we are, we actually found Amanda Saddler, and she’s not dead,” she says. “So far, this plan isn’t that far off course.”

When we’re celebrating the person we were seeking being alive, I feel like our plan is doomed to failure, but I keep my mouth shut. A little hope never hurt anyone.

Or at least, I really hope it didn’t.