That we have not been detected despite my clumsiness in a dress is a minor miracle.

“Shit,” I whisper. Again, I have trod on Kiki’s skirts. And again she shushes me.

“I’m sorry, I just hate—”

A hand claps over my mouth as Kiki pulls us both back behind the corner.

Cristobal’s voice comes low and clear, resonating through the dark, silent night. “You do not know with whom you are dealing, Magistrate de la Vega. I am not a man to be trifled with.”

“I assure you, I will draw up the contracts with enthusiastic haste.”

“See that you do. I want those routes before I set foot back on the ship to Spain.”

I catch Kiki’s eyes.

There is a minor commotion as horses are summoned and saddled. My muscles twitch with the urge to peer around the corner, to see what’s going on, but Kiki’s hand on my arm holds me still. It would be far too risky to chance detection like that.

A horse neighs. Then hoofbeats pound the stable floor as one, two, three—no, four—horses ride out into the night.

With a curse under her breath, Kiki gathers up her skirts. And runs.

“Kiki!” A half whisper, half shout is all I dare. There could still be grooms about. Stable hands. Prying eyes that would be best not seeing us. “What are you doing?”

But it’s clear what she’s doing. She is peering over the stall doors, looking for a mount.

“Are you completely mad?” With only slightly more caution than she exhibited, I ease out from our hiding spot. God must be smiling down on us because the stables are largely empty. The sounds of activity drift over from another end of the barn, but for right now, we are safely ensconced by shadow and solitude.

One of the horses—a dappled gray—seems to satisfy Kiki. She holds her hand out for the horse to sniff. It does before butting its snout against her hand. A friendship forged. Delightful. But shortsighted. So very, very shortsighted.

“You can’t possibly be considering going after them,” I say, but Kiki’s already reaching for a bridle. She can ride bareback just fine—I can’t—but she still needs a set of reins.

“I most certainly am.” She examines a bit before deeming it sufficient. Her hands are rising, reaching to loop the bridle around the horse’s head when I grab her by the wrist.

Impatience—seasoned with not a small bit of anger—flashes through her eyes. “Let me go. If I don’t leave now, I’ll lose the trail.”

“Kiki, this isn’t what we came here for.”

“Ana—” She tries to wrest her arm from my grip, but I hold on tight. If I let her go now, I might lose her for good. And that is something I refuse to do.