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Marian tossed her head in an exact duplicate of the motion she made in human form.
What keen eyes you have. Can we go now?
I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
Only the oldest, most noble family lines carried unicorn blood, and that only came out once every few generations. Black unicorns were rarer still, or so I’d heard. And frankly, I’d put the whole lot down to folklore.
But there she stood in the flesh. The wind made her silky tail sway, and her coat, like her eyes, shone under the starlight. Near the tip of her horn, a single band of gold glinted.
The Ring of Aquitaine, a distant corner of my mind said.
It took her muttering “Men!” and cantering off for me to finally break into action.
I wrapped our clothes into a bundle that I strapped loosely to my back, then shifted. That little trick had taken me ages to master — arranging the straps in the right positions for my lion body. Then I shook out my mane and sprinted after her.
I was panting by the time I caught up, because boy, could that unicorn run. Although I did suspect a little showboating, because Marian gradually settled into a more sustainable pace. Even then… Wow. I’d never seen a horse with a smoother gait.
Of course, I’d never seen a horse with a horn either.
When I tripped for the fourth time — a consequence of secretly watching her from the corner of my eye — Marian tossed that silky mane.
Everything all right?
I gave a jerky nod and stared straight ahead.
Sheep turned to watch us pass, and birds circled overhead. I couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t often one saw a unicorn prance by with a lion at her side.
Marian towered above me, gliding along gracefully, while I ran at her side in a long, feline lope. We detoured around farms and villages where horses nickered in wonder and glee. At one point, we passed three huge draft horses in a field, and the trio lined up, bowing their heads.
I gaped, because that sure as hell wasn’t out of deference to me.
Let me guess. You’re their queen, I ventured.
She sighed. Something like that.
I frowned. Why do you sound frustrated? Isn’t that nice?
She snorted — a doubly powerful one, now that she was in equine form. All my life, I’ve been praised for things I can’t control — beauty, wealth, noble standing. Just once, I’d like to be judged by things I’ve worked hard for. Like knowledge. Diplomacy. Charitable work…
Swordsmanship, I filled in. Setting booby traps. You’re a master when it comes to those.
The rhythm of her hoofbeats hitched for a moment, and her eyes glowed in pride.
I do my best, she murmured modestly.
We ran in silence for a while, but eventually, I chuckled.
What? she demanded.
I eyed her horn. Must be handy to have a weapon with you at all times.
She huffed. You try fighting with a sword attached to your head.
With that, she tossed her head left and right, mimicking a sword. And while her movements were as graceful as everything else she did, I could see her point. That horn might be lethal, but it was a little too long and high to be of practical use.
True, I finally said. And poor you. Your tail isn’t even tufted. I gave mine a proud snap. I don’t know how you survive.
She laughed. Yes, poor me.
