Page 51 of My Trojan Horse Majesty

“This is all pretty weird,” I say.

“I thought so too,” he says. “And my father didn’t even stop there. He would also explain to anyone who would listen that our blood bore the magic of Rurik’s line.”

“Which I guess it did,” I say. “But I doubt that incinerating people made him lots of friends.”

“Oh, it was far worse than that,” Leo says. “See, he told anyone he deemed important that we could shift into horses and command the elements—earth, air, wind, water, and lightning.”

“So he sounded crazy, right up until he turned into a horse, I guess.”

“That was the problem,” Leonid says. “He couldn’t use any magic, and he couldn’t turn into a horse. I didn’t know anything more about it, then. I only knew that he would tell these stories, and people would laugh, and they would mock us as crazy, and then we’d be run out of another town. Almost as soon as my father found a job, or as soon as we had a place to eat or food on the table, he’d meet new people, and he’d tell his stories, and we’d be run out of town yet again.”

“That’s horrible.”

“I didn’t have a very good childhood,” Leonid says. “And when I was about ten, he showed the relics to the wrong person, and he was robbed of even those. Frankly, looking back, I was surprised he had them as long as he did. I imagine most people assumed they were fake. But eventually, we found a place to live that was beautiful. He and I both had good jobs—working outside, mostly away from people—and the family didn’t seem to mind his ranting. I knew that it was all absurd, and I told them that while he was delusional, he was harmless.”

“But youcanturn into a horse.”

“I’ll get there.”

“Okay.” We’re almost to Beckett and Robb, but I don’t want to stop listening.

“The daughter of the lord we were working for came to me one day, and she asked for a favor.”

“Okay.” I pull into a parking spot.

“Oh, we’re here.”

I nod. “Yep. The place I was thinking of is right there.”

“I can finish on our way back.”

“Fine.”

He frowns. “What has you so irritated?”

“I want to know what happens—how did you get from the early nineteen hundreds to now, where you’re the czar and you can shift into a horse?”

He smiles. “I have you hooked. It’s all going according to plan.” He rubs his hands together.

I can’t help it. I laugh. “Assuming this is all true, you’ve at least been watching plenty of modern television,” I say. “You mimicked the cartoon villains perfectly.”

“In your life, you appear to be surrounded by people who care for you—friends and family. I was not so lucky. It left me plenty of time for catching up on the modern world.” Leonid’s not someone who feels sorry for himself, clearly, but I sense for the first time an underlying sadness, a vulnerability I never noticed before.

I think he’s lonely.

It must have been hard, being poor in that time period, which meant he was truly hungry and sometimes starving. He was ridiculed. His father was correct—as evidenced by the fact that he can shift into a horse—but that almost makes it more tragic. His father wasn’t actually crazy, just misunderstood and doggedly determined to stick with what he knew.

Leonid exits the car and looks down at me through the glass. Then he tosses his head.

I follow him into the store I drove him to, but when we get inside, I realize this was a terrible idea. There aren’t many articles of clothing here at all. Other than a handful of garments hanging on racks, there’s nothing, actually.

“Did you have an appointment today?” The tall, very well-dressed man looks a little confused, like he knows we don’t.

“We didn’t,” Leonid says.

When the man hears his British accent, his eyebrows rise. “Ah. Well, I’m Curtis, and I manage this location. We usually operate on an appointment-only basis, but as I recognize you, I can guess that there might be extenuating circumstances, Your Majesty.” He bows his head.

Not only was he recognized, but by the very first person we see.

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