Page 97 of My Queendom for a Horse

I feel a little guilty about that. I should’ve reached out to him, since I beat him, but I’ve been too busy.

Someone makes whistling sounds, and I turn to see Sean standing on the sidelines, waving. I smile at him, and he blows me a kiss.

Obsidian bumps my arm. I turn to face him, and he’s shining like onyx. I try to see him as I did the very first time, lining up for the race at Down Royal, except this time, he’s my horse. I’m riding him as his owner. The other jockeys and owners are looking at him, well-behaved, massive, powerful, and shiny, and they’re thinking, “that gorgeous monster’s going to destroy my horse!”

A rush of exhilaration pumps through me. For the very first time in my life, I’m absolutely sure I’ll win. When I bet every last euro I had on Obsidian, I didn’t feel sick like I did at Down Royal.

I felt confident.

So even though he’s been a pain, and even though I’m both sad and relieved that he’s leaving, at least we’ll have this race to look back on.

I look around for my dad and finally spot him coming from the direction of the betting booth. At least I know he didn’t have much to wager, and I’m pretty sure he bet on the winner this time.

When it’s time to regirth, I don’t even bother tightening the straps. All horses breathe in to make sure they have some extra room in their girth when you put on the saddle. A tight saddle’s uncomfortable, after all. Eventually, they let it out and the saddle can be tightened. Obsidian knows a loose saddle might hurt me, so he never does that. I’ve never had to retighten it, not once.

Finn snorts at me. “Not even gonna check it, huh? He’s just the perfect horse for you every time? Doesn’t even try for a little more comfortable ride?” He rolls his eyes.

“Stop. I already re-tightened it,” I lie. “Can’t fault me for getting ready a bit early on an important day like today.”

Finn pats Flaming Shot’s neck. At least he seems less frenetic than he was earlier. “Your horses are always well behaved, I’ll give you that. Even the maniac you bought.”

After the regirth, we mount up and walk in a circle. This time, Obsidian stands completely still, like he’s carved from granite.

“What’s your secret?” Finn asks. “Why do they always love you so much?”

I shrug. “I use carrot-scented shampoo.”

Obsidian snorts.

“I roll in manure?” I smile. “And for my coup d’état, I have fingernails, so I give the best butt scratches.”

Finn wrinkles his nose. “I know you’re kidding, but there must be something,” he says. “Butterscotch? Coffee? Peppermint-flavored beer? What do you give them that makes them love you so?”

Obsidian bares his teeth at Finn and shifts sideways. Flaming Shot practically bounces away, almost unseating my friend. “Even now, it’s like he’s mad at me for giving you a hard time.” Finn shakes his head. “I still feel like that horse threw the race at Down Royal so you could win.” He waves at me with one hand, shifting the reins a bit and startling Flaming Shot. “I know that sounds crazy, so you don’t need to mock me, alright?”

Luckily, before I have time to say much else, they call for the tape.

It’s still drizzling, just like it was at the Grand National when Mom raced. And when Mom died from her fall.

I’m usually uneasy when it’s raining because of that, but today I feel as solid as I’ve ever felt. My horse is a partner, not a liability, and I know he’s got the skill and power to win.

We all shift in an unruly mass toward the tape, the jockeys barely containing our horses, our hearts hammering almost as much as theirs.

We’re all ready to go.

The ground’s heavy, and chunks of it fly up from the horses’ hooves as we trot ahead. My hands are clammy in my gloves, and I shudder. Now that we’ve come down to it, even knowing I’m on Obsidian, even knowing it’s not Aintree and I’m not my mother, part of me wants to back out, to turn Obsidian around and trot him right off the track.

He glances back and whinnies at me, as if to say, I’m here. You’re not alone.

Strangely, it helps.

I breathe in and out deeply. The tape drops and we’re off. I rise to posting easily, and Obsidian’s familiar, pounding run calms my staccato heartbeat.

I hold Obsidian back and he tugs, trying to surge forward, but I want to see the other horses—how they run, how they move, and the way they maneuver. The only chance to do that is to be behind them on the first jump. It’s a plain fence that’s straight, no ditch. Obsidian’s literally chomping at the bit, but he listens to me and hangs back.

Flaming Shot pulls ahead quickly, with Brigadier General less than a length behind him. Down On My Luck and Apex are neck and neck just behind, with In It to Win it and Earl Grey just barely ahead of us. Apex pulls left, and Brigadier holds back before the jump, almost like he dreads the fences. Obsidian sails over the obstacle, his hooves not even brushing the spruce branches laid out on top, not that very many are still in place by the time we finally clear it.

As we come up on the open ditch, our second jump, I let Obsidian go. He flies over it and tears up the turf, chunks of sod pelting the ground behind us, one of them even flying forward to hit my helmet. We pass In It To Win It and Earl Grey before we reach the third jump, which we take going into a right curve. Kempton’s a right-turning triangle track, and I worry for a moment that Obsidian took the jump too fast. But his stride doesn’t falter, and we swing tightly around the curve, passing Apex and pulling even with Down On My Luck. He runs alongside Down for a moment, but just after the fourth fence, we pull ahead of him, too.

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