by Stacy Gregg
CHAPTER 14
Reach for the Stars
“Into the piaffe now! And there you go!” George Mueller slapped his hands down on his thighs. “That one was perfect. A ten, Valentina, a ten! You and Sasha can finish up now.”
The girl mounted on the pink stallion allowed herself just the hint of a smile as she slipped the reins and let Sasha walk out, cooling him down.
Over the past six months, Valentina had found herself in awe of the ability of the Russian Federation’s head coach to always push her that bit harder, making her step up her game until she was riding better than she ever thought possible. “We are perfectionists, you and I,” the head coach would tell her. “You, Valentina, never settle for anything less than a ten.”
And perfection was what she would need to impress the judges on the international circuit. Them and everyone else, it seemed. Olga had gone into meltdown last week when George Mueller announced that Valentina and Sasha had made the team for the international competition. “It is an embarrassment to Russia! We will be known as the circus freaks!”
With the Stockholm World Games only days away, Valentina’s greatest concern was that the judges would look down their noses at Sasha and refuse to give top marks to such a strange-looking horse with no proper breeding.
“Really though, how could anyone not think you are beautiful?” Valentina murmured to Sasha as she did up his stable rug. The pink stallion responded with a gentle nicker and then he burrowed his enormous head into Valentina’s chest once more and gazed up at her. Valentina marvelled at his long, dark, thick eyelashes and his almond-shaped eyes like those of a cat, the taper of his muzzle, the way the nostrils flared, and his massive powerful jaw. Sasha’s profile was so incredible. Oscar had once said to Valentina that her horse reminded him of a dragon. A beautiful, pink dragon.
Valentina was so proud to be riding in the Federation colours. When the announcement had been made about who was on the team, George Mueller had presented Valentina with a set of “tails”: the elegant riding jacket that she would wear for the Grand Prix. Then Molly and Oscar had surprised her with their own gift.
“I know everyone is wearing helmets these days,” Molly said. “But we thought since you used to be a circus girl that a top hat was more appropriate.”
Valentina had almost cried when she opened the package. Inside was a perfect black silk topper, the sort that professional dressage riders wore. The sort that Valentina would now wear.
***
A dressage “test”, even at Grand Prix level, is no more than a series of movements: distinct manoeuvres such as half-passes and flying changes, extended trots and collected canters, which are marked by the judges with a score from one to ten. These scores, along with bonus points for precision, paces, and the stylishness and expertise of the rider, add up to a final tally. At times the marks are so close that the tiniest percentage point can make the difference between winning and losing.
This was not the case for Valentina Romanov in Stockholm. As the numbers flashed up in brilliant neon above the grandstand, there was a dumbstruck silence from the crowd. The Russian rider had just scored an appalling 55.4 per cent for her first test.
Until Valentina saw the results in glaring neon she had hoped against hope that she was simply being too critical of herself. In her heart though she knew their half-passes had been weak, the canter off-beat, and the trot had lacked connection. When the score went up on the board Valentina was not surprised. She was merely devastated.
“It is my fault!” she told George Mueller as she threw herself down from Sasha’s back and began to untack the pink stallion. “You should never have brought me here. I have let the whole team down!”
“Do not talk like that,” George Mueller said firmly. “I am not interested in melodrama or blame. We need to find out what went wrong here today. Valentina, you rode like a beginner. No strength to your legs, no timing. Your hands were shaking. What happened to you?”
“Nothing! That is me! I am a terrible rider! Did you see my pirouettes?” Valentina was in tears. “They were awful! I got a 4.5!”
“Valentina. Stop torturing yourself! The point is we must learn from this experience and look to the next one. Always riding forward, Valentina. Now, tell me, honestly. Why did you lose your focus? What happened?”
Valentina could not look at him. “You’re going to think this is stupid … I got stage fright.”
George Mueller looked stunned. “But you have spent your whole life under the bright lights, Valentina. You are a performer! It is what you do!”
“Yes, but not in front of these people!” Valentina said. “I know how they judge me and my horse. I know what they say. They are all just like Olga – saying how unsuitable Sasha is for the sport, a pink beast with no bloodline. That he will never have the paces of a Warmblood. That he is ugly and I am nothing more than a jumped-up circus kid. And then you tell me to hold my head up and ride elegantly into the arena and impress everyone? How can I do this? How can I magically perform as if I am the greatest in the world when I know what they really think? It is impossible!”
“Look at me, Valentina,” George Mueller said. “Please, look at me.”
Valentina raised her face. She could see that George Mueller had tears in his eyes.
“I forget, Valentina, just how far you have come and how fast. I prepared you as a rider to win, but I did not prepare you personally for the rigours of competitive life.”
The head coach put his arm round her. “Valentina, sadly I cannot tell you that you are wrong. There will always be those who whisper behind their hands and laugh at you from the grandstands. But is it really those people that you are striving to impress? They have made their minds up about you and your pink circus horse, and their minds are terrible, closed vessels. They are not what we ride for, Valentina. We ride only for the truth and purity and beauty of this sport. I have seen in you, Valentina, such great ability. You could be the very best in the world. A perfect ten. As for Sasha, I would not trade him for any horse in the world!”
This got a smile from Valentina.
“There! That is the Valentina that I want to see!” George Mueller smiled back. “The girl with spirit, with fire in her blood. Do not take this setback and go home a loser, Valentina. Use it to make you stronger. Anyone can be great in victory. But a true hero, they will be even greater in moments of defeat. It is at the times when we are at our worst that we have the clearest vision of what we need to become.”
George Mueller walked over to Sasha and slipped the saddle off the pink stallion’s back.
“And Valentina, although Sasha possesses no papers to prove it, I can tell you exactly what breed he is. His regal bearing, his conformation and most of all his loyal and unwavering courage tell me. He is an Orlov Trotter, the most noble and ancient breed in all of Russia. Never before has an Orlov represented Russia, or been ridden in the Grand Prix, but your Sasha is undoubtedly of this lineage. He is brilliant, Valentina, I have complete faith that he will prove himself. And when you believe that too, then you and Sasha will be the greatest dressage combination the world has ever seen.”
That night, when the other riders were all asleep in their bunk beds, Valentina sat up at the table and took out her diary. She made a note of all the dates: the competitions, the training sessions to come and the final countdown to the twenty-third of July. On that date, she drew five interlinking circles.
A secret code, an unbelievable dream. A reminder of her goal.
The symbol of the Olympic Games.
CHAPTER 15
Frozen
“Igor? Igor? What is it? What have you found?”
The voice was so faint, it was like someone calling from far away, and yet Anna knew that they were right beside her. She wanted to cry out, but it was as if her voice had left her body far behind. She was sinking down, down into the snow never to rise up again. She was falling under the black surface of the river and the light was fading. Anna was lost.<
br />
And then, like a diver breaking the surface, she gasped air again. She was freezing cold but she was alive. And there was something hot and searing against her icy cheek. It was the pink, moist tongue of a hound.
“Igor …?” Anna murmured.
“Anna!”
Vasily fell to his knees in the snow, and threw his arms round her.
“Anna! Anna!”
Anna opened her eyes.
“You’re alive!”
Anna smiled at him. “You told me to come home safe,” she said softly. “Here I am.”
***
Later, Vasily told Anna all that had happened while she was missing. “All the drivers had returned by dusk except for you. It seemed very strange that once you had gone beyond the woods none of them saw you or Drakon again. Your father ordered a mass search across the taiga. He sent men out beyond the gates of the estate to hunt in every direction. Then a rider returned saying he had found the debris of your carriage but no sign of you or Drakon. Your father sent fresh horses to the scene immediately. I rode with Igor at my side, but as Count Orlov and his men headed out of the gates of the estate towards the barren taiga, your wolfhound suddenly put up a hunting cry and bolted in the opposite direction. Igor raced back across the estate, heading for the woods by the palace. I tried calling him to heel, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He must have picked up your scent on the night air.”
Anna was surprised. “Borzoi are bred to hunt by sight, not scent.”
“I know.” Vasily shook his head. “And yet he found your trail better than any bloodhound. He bolted so swiftly I had to press my horse to a gallop to keep up with him.”
“So he led you to me?”
“Not quite. When he reached the dark woods I lost sight of him. I could hear his baying and I knew he was close but, I could not locate him. The blizzard had closed in and I was searching blindly when I saw something glow. It looked like a star, it shimmered so brightly. Then I heard Igor resume his baying call – it was coming from the same place as the light. So I ran towards it and that was when I found you.”
“What was it?” Anna asked him. “This light that you saw shining? For I had no fire, no torch with me.”
Vasily gestured to the black teardrop glittering at her throat. “It was your diamond, Lady Anna. The light was coming from your necklace. I cannot explain it, but that is what led me to you.”
***
At first, Anna had been too afraid to ask Vasily about Drakon. Her thoughts went back to that fateful expedition on the frozen river, the day she lost Smetanka. After the race across the taiga, Drakon had been in a terrible state, worse than she was. She remembered the way her brave stallion had fallen, the coldness of his body in the snowdrifts. She felt the tears welling in her eyes. “Vasily? My horse …”
“No, no, do not cry, Lady Anna,” Vasily reassured her. “He is alive! As soon as you are strong enough, I will take you to the stables to see him.”
“I want to go now,” Anna insisted.
Vasily shook his head. “In your state? Katia would be furious with me.”
Anna sat up in her bed, her head swimming, her skin drained even paler than usual, and looked Vasily square in the eyes. “And if you do not take me now I will be furious.”
Vasily carried her to the stables in his arms. Anna was too weak to walk, but she could still talk and they spent the entire time discussing the race. She was pleased to hear that the Kabarda stallion had lost in a surprise victory for Count Petrov and his skinny ewe-necked chestnut.
“Count Smirnov is demanding a rematch,” Vasily told Anna. “There is a grand dinner tonight and the Empress is going to award the winner a golden sash …”
“Sasha and I were in the lead, you know,” she told Vasily quietly. “Way out in front of the rest. If the axle hadn’t broken …”
Vasily glanced at her warily.
“What is it?” she demanded.
“I am not sure,” the groom replied carefully. “Only, I checked the carriage just a week before the race and its axle was solid. I cannot imagine how it could have broken … unless it was sabotaged.”
“You think someone did this to me on purpose?” Anna could not believe what she was hearing.
Vasily looked anxious. “Lady Anna, you must tell no one about any of this. To accuse one of your competitors of such a crime would be dangerous.”
“You are right.” Anna nodded but her brain was whirring.
They walked on to the stables in contemplative silence as Anna tried to think back to those moments before the race began. She had seen Smirnov and Petrov lining up to race against her, but neither of them had shown any twitch or tell, no giveaway sign of what they might have been plotting. Then she thought of her brother Ivan, standing on the palace steps beside the Empress with his goblet held aloft, mouthing to her: Good luck, Sister.
“Drakon is in the first stall on the left,” Vasily told Anna, lowering her to the ground so that she could walk the last few steps on her own.
The grey stallion was staring at the wall in the furthest corner of his stall. Anna unbolted the door of the loose box and walked inside.
“Drakon?”
At the sound of Anna’s voice the horse raised his head. His ears swivelled backwards, but he did not turn. It was as if he refused to believe what he was hearing.
“Drakon,” she said again, softly this time, “it’s me.”
With a snort of consternation, Drakon spun on his hocks and faced her. He stood there in the darkness, his enormous dragon’s head with its wide flared nostrils as beautiful as she had ever seen it.
Then the stallion’s whole demeanour was suddenly transformed. He began vigorously shaking his head, swinging his whole neck up and down, his eyes bright and shining as he trotted up to Anna, nickering and snorting. He plunged his muzzle into the crook of her armpit as if demanding that she throw her arms round him, which of course she did.
“I thought you were dead, Drakon, I thought we both were …” Anna felt the tears welling in her eyes. She held her horse close, and whispered in his ear. “You are truly the greatest horse in all of Russia. No one could ever doubt it.”
***
Katia did not approve of Anna going to the stables, and she was even less enthusiastic about the idea of her attending the grand dinner planned for that evening. “You are still exhausted, Lady Anna,” the head housekeeper insisted. “You should be in bed!”
“And then when I am well again all the guests will be gone and Khrenovsky will be empty as it always is,” Anna argued. “Please, Katia! If I feel unwell I will return to my room, I promise. I so want to hear the guests gossiping and see Count Smirnov trying to be gracious when really he is furious that Count Petrov has beaten him …”
“Very well then.” Katia took the gown that she had put in the wardrobe back out again and laid it on the bed. “I suppose a hearty feast will do you some good – there is venison I hear, cooked with snowberries and violets. But I shall be keeping an eye on you and if you begin to grow paler than you already are, you will be heading upstairs.”
“Yes, Katia!” Anna was delighted.
She put on the pale pink chiffon gown and sat down in front of the dressing table. Igor sat with her as she did her make-up.
“Do you hear that, Igor?” Anna stroked the borzoi. “There is venison for me to smuggle back to you.”
Igor placed his head in her lap appreciatively and looked up at her with his dark eyes shining. Ever since he had found her in the snow he had not left her side.
At the door of her bedroom she was about to tell him to stay but she was unable to resist those dark, soulful eyes.
“You can accompany me as far as the door of the grand dining room,” she told Igor. “But no further than that, milochka.”
They walked together through the stately hallway, Anna’s heels and Igor’s claws click-clacking against the cool, marble floors. As she prepared to descend the staircase that led to the grand dining room, Igo
r began to give a low, fretful growl. Anna looked up and saw Ivan waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.
“Sister!” he greeted her, with a suspicious degree of warmth. “I have come to accompany you to the dinner.”
Anna glared at him as he walked up the stairs and took Anna’s right hand in his own, bending low to give it a kiss.
Beside her, Igor bared his teeth, the hackles rising on his back, his growl deepening.
“Such a loyal hound,” Ivan sneered. “They say he was the one who saved your life yesterday.”
Anna’s heart was pounding, although she was not sure why. “He led Vasily to me,” she agreed. “I would have died without them. And Boris of course.”
“Yes, of course.” Ivan’s face was dark. “The wolves would have got you for certain when that axle snapped if it were not for your precious tiger. Your little team of protectors, always sticking up for you.”
He put his arm out for Anna to take to descend the stairs, but she recoiled.
“How do you know about the axle?”
Standing at Anna’s side, Igor began to growl more fiercely. Ivan looked down at the borzoi and grimaced. “Your bodyguard is always here, isn’t he?” Ivan glowered at the hound. “Well, you will need him, little sister,” his tone was sinister. “For I am always here too. And accidents can keep happening without warning …”
As Ivan said these words, Anna suddenly became aware of how empty the palace hallways were and how high and steep the marble staircase was. As Ivan reached for her arm again she pulled away from him. He stepped forward to grab at her, but the borzoi was too quick for him.
In a flash, Igor leapt, and before Ivan could dodge to the side the wolfhound had Anna’s brother sprawled on his back on the marble floor. Snarling protectively, Igor sat on Ivan’s chest, holding him down.
“Get your beast off me!” Ivan ordered. “Make him stand down!”
Anna looked hard at her brother and then simply said, “Igor, stay.”
Then she skipped down the marble stairs and hurried to the grand dining hall.
