One of them glanced up, freezing momentarily at the sight of her and her brother racing over the field. He straightened and waited, concern buckling his expression as he too saw hers. ‘Señorita Mendoza,’ he said politely. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Where is Indigo? Where is he?’ she cried, running onto the cobbles, her skirt still bustled in her fingers. ‘Is he tacked up?’

‘Not yet, señorita, I am sorry,’ he said humbly. ‘It was decided to wait until the last few minutes, because of the temperatures. We did not want him sweating—’

‘Is he in his stable?’ she demanded, looking wild.

‘Yes.’

She looked across the courtyard. Why then wasn’t he nodding over the stable door? He always whinnied and barged the door at the first sound of her voice.

‘You’re sure?’

‘Of course, señorita. If you like—’

But she didn’t like anything. She didn’t want servitude and obsequiousness. As she looked over at the empty stable, she wanted to know where Indigo was. What had Santi done with him? She knew he had done something, that he had found out from someone what that horse meant to her and used him as a way to get back at her. She raced across the yard, feeling panic switch with anger. He had hidden him? He wanted to humiliate her as their guests assembled for the display by hiding her horse? But how could he have pulled that off? No one could have stolen into these stables and simply walked out with the family’s prized stallion – not without inside help, or a diversion.

She saw the alarmed looks on the faces of the grooms and stable-hands as she ran past, oblivious to how imposing she looked in her habit. She had no sense of the impression she made to others, only the desolation she felt inside that her horse had been stolen. That it was Santi who had done this.

‘Nene, what on earth is the matter with you?’ Arlo asked, sounding desperately out of breath behind her.

She reached the stable and as her hand drew back the bolt, she saw over the half-door and felt a punch of sudden joy: Indigo was there, her magnificent beast on the ground and sleeping, his beautiful dark coat rendering him a polished shadow.

‘Oh my God! Indy!’ she cried, throwing open the door with a relieved sob as all her panic and dismay dissipated at once. ‘I was so terrified—’

Her eyes fell to the thick, hot carmine tide running over the cobbles towards the drain. She stared at it, as though it was an impossible thing to see – a floating lake or pink unicorn, something that defied the natural order. An abomination.

Behind her, Arlo’s cry echoed around the yard, bringing the workers running, but Nene was oblivious, her entire being focused on making her brain understand what her eyes were seeing. Her gaze drew inexorably up the wash, towards the source – a thin tributary at his throat – and Nene felt something deep inside her break.