Page 37 of My High Horse Czar

My insane horse is speaking flawless Latvian and knows all about Russian geography.

“Hey, if you’re really a hundred-year-old czar, why do you speak Latvian, huh?”

“Actually, we’re not sure about that either,” Mirdza says. “But it seems like they can all speak whatever languages the woman who helps shift them can speak.”

“The woman who. . .what?” This makes less than no sense.

“From the moment I saw you, racing away from that idiot Boris in the woods, I could understand everything you said,” Alexei says. “But I do speak six other languages fluently as well.” He shrugs. “Future czars are always highly educated from birth.”

“I want to go back to the ‘woman who helps shift them’ thing,” I say. “How did I shift him? By saying I wished he was a man?” But talking about shifting him, especially in the context of breaking a curse, reminds me of my promise to do three good things. That weighs on me. I’ve never owed God any favors, and I’ve repaid exactly none of them.

“About that,” Mirdza says. “We have a lot to talk about, and some of it might be weird, and some of it might be. . .painful.”

“We can talk when we get settled,” Kris says. “There’s no huge rush.”

“Well, sort of, there is,” I say. “You should probably know who’s after us.”

“We do need to hear all about that,” Aleks says. “We know Boris and Mikhail are awake, but we’re not sure who’s the force behind them. Mirdza said they were answering to someone else.”

Leonid. Even thinking his name makes me shiver. “He’s crazy, and he has some kind of magical powers.”

“We figured that much,” Aleksandr says. “But once we get to my home, they won’t be able to just waltz in after us. I have wards.”

Wards? As in magical barriers that exist only in strange fantasy books about witches and stuff? Things just keep getting stranger.

“I still don’t get why you did it,” Mirdza says. “Why on earth did you go yourself that day?” Her kind eyes well with tears. “Why?”

Grigoriy takes her hand, their fingers intertwining.

“I owe a Lithuanian a lot of money.” Two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have been able to say that. I’d have been too ashamed—so ashamed I’d almost rather die than confess the truth. Pride is a terribly funny thing.

“Why?” Mirdza asks.

I shake my head. “Why what?”

“Why did you owe him money? Did you have a surgery?”

My sweet, sweet sister. She’s always been happy to live on a shoestring in a tiny cupboard under the stairs. She’d never impose on others, not even for a surgery she needs. She can’t even comprehend someone like me, someone who yearns for things she can’t have. Someone who keeps thinking that with a little luck, she can get ahead. She can change her future.

Someone who keeps gambling and losing.

“Because I’m a selfish, greedy person,” I say.

“Stop,” Mirdza says. “None of us believe the crap you think about yourself.”

Her quiet words strike like a slap.

“Maybe we should talk about it once we’re home,” Kristiana says.

Hearing her call Aleksandr’s place home is strange. The entire time I’ve known her, she’s loved only Liepašeta. I can’t even imagine I’d be able to love someplace else, if that was my home. She does look comfortable with Aleks, though. She’s at ease in a way I’ve never seen.

It’s silent for a moment. A long moment. The road flies past, the noise from outside the car muted by the high-end engineering.

“What year is it, exactly?” Alexei asks softly.

For some reason, that question makes me laugh uproariously.

“Is that a funny question?” He narrows his eyes at me. “Why?”

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