Page 115 of My Queendom for a Horse

We only have three jumps left, and I try to think about anything but my leg. I pretend it’s not really my leg, that it’s someone else’s. I pretend I’ve been shot in the middle of a war, and I have to keep riding or the entire army will die.

Obsidian leaps ahead, putting on speed I didn’t think he had as we close on the ditch. We come up fast on Earl Grey as Obsidian leaps, and the pressure from the landing shoots pulses of heat up my leg and into my hip. I bite down on my lip until I feel blood in my mouth. I don’t know where his last minute energy’s coming from, but Obsidian’s powerful flanks push even faster in a massive burst of speed, and we clear the second to last fence with just a half a length separating us from Brigadier General.

By some miracle, I’ve kept the cursed saddle on his back. By an insane amount of luck, we’re closing on the frontrunner.

My mouth’s full of blood, and I turn and spit to clear it. I grit my teeth and hold the post position, urging Obsidian onward. When we fly over the last fence and we’re coming up on the elbow, we’re neck and neck with Brigadier. Rex McComb pulls him sharply toward us and I know if he bumps me, we’re done for. I need to prevent the impact, so I wrench Obsidian to the left, and luckily the course curves around the elbow, so I don’t slam into the rail again. We have room to pull a tight curve, but the saddle cants sideways, and my leg gives out. I collapse against it, both to save my leg, and to try not to fly off.

Brigadier pulls ahead.

I can’t tell whether he pulled ahead before or after we crossed the finish line. As Obsidian continues to slow, he glances back at me and I realize that neither of us knows whether we won or lost. We both turn to look at the announcer.

“We have a photo finish folks, a photo finish!” The audience murmurs. Obsidian Devil whinnies.

I grab his mane just to keep the saddle upright. Now that we’re still, it feels almost harder to stay on, not to mention the difficulty of ignoring my throbbing leg.

But finally an image flashes up on the large screen and the announcer bleats, “It’s Obsidian Devil by a nose, with Brigadier General just behind. That makes Kristiana Liepa the second woman to ever win Aintree’s Grand National Chase!”

I lean over and hug Obsidian’s big, sweaty black neck, patting my martingale with appreciation for its role in keeping me in my seat. “We did it, Aleks. We won!”

The crowd’s going wild, but I turn to look for one little girl. She’s running toward the finish line, and her blonde hair shines in the sunlight as she moves toward us. I raise my hand and wave at her, and she beams.

We didn’t just win for me. We won for all of the little girls everywhere who needed to know that it wasn’t just a token win last time. It wasn’t a fluke. Life hurts sometimes, but if we don’t quit, we really can do anything.

25

Things get really crazy after we win. I think about what must’ve happened and I’m absolutely convinced that Rex cut my girth strap at the re-cinch. I register a formal complaint, and the officials disappear with my saddle for testing on the strap. They seem to agree with me that it was cut. They’ll review the video feed, check Rex’s person for anything he might have used, and search the strap for DNA. All in all, it’s more than I expected them to do. I’d love it if that cheater had to pay.

I stay upright for my official weigh-in, gritting my teeth the entire time against the almost constant pain in my leg. They draw blood from me and Obsidian again, just to verify we weren’t on any performance-enhancing drugs. I secretly worry that his blood test might show something funny, but I’m not sure what we can do about it if it does.

It takes a boost from an official for me to remount Obsidian, now blessedly bareback since the saddle’s evidence. With my leg hollering at me, riding is feasible, but walking is completely out of the question. Obsidian trots over to the winner’s circle, where a million bulbs flash in our eyes from the moment we arrive. I try to smile in between blinks, but my leg hurts so badly now that I worry my smile’s more of a grimace.

They’re all hurling questions at me that I’d rather not answer. “Do you plan to bring any actions against the person who tampered with your saddle?”

“How did you manage to win, without a saddle that was properly functioning?”

“Do you think you were targeted because you’re Latvian?”

“Rumor has it you sold Obsidian Devil. Why are you riding him here, today? Did you lose faith in your other pony, Five Times Fast?”

“There are rumors you’re set to marry Lord McDermott’s son, Sean. Is that true?”

Ignoring them is simpler when I focus on my leg, but there are so many of them, and there’s no clear path through which to escape. After a few moments, a familiar voice shouts at the gathered reporters. “You’ve all gotten your photos. I’m sure these two are tired. Why don’t you let them go?”

I follow the sound of the voice to his face. Sean McDermott’s yelling at reporters on my behalf. The funny part is, they actually move. He’s always had a commanding presence for things like this. I slide down from Obsidian’s back, and Sean walks toward me, arriving just in time to grab me when my leg hits the ground.

If he hadn’t been here, I might have crumpled. Obsidian neighs loudly. The cameras flash.

“Are you injured? What’s wrong?” a reporter asks.

I wave them off. “Just sore from that ride.”

They all smile and make dumb jokes that I ignore.

Sean puts his arm under mine and gestures to John. I notice my dad’s standing behind John, so I’m guessing they walked over together.

Obsidian bumps me with his nose gently. He’s staring at me intently, and then his eyes dart down to my leg. Then he bumps my arm again.

I whisper, for both Sean and Obsidian’s benefit. “I can’t put weight on my leg right now. I hurt something when I slammed into that rail at the Canal Turn. I’m not sure what I did exactly.”

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