Page 106 of Iron Unicorn

“The auctioneers had no idea about Cleveland Bays, and I didn’t check the paperwork until after dinner yesterday while you were reading. The registration papers included the stallion’s registration number, and when I looked up the registration number online, I found records of the breeding program to try to revitalize his genetics. Only one horse was successfully bred, which is Trouble. Trouble was imported to the Royal States prior to breeding, and the owner reported the successful breeding, but he dropped off the radar, likely due to her breaking her leg.”

“He joined this program and couldn’t even be bothered to give her proper vetting?”

“Yep.”

“Fucking moron,” I muttered.

“Yep.”

I took deep breaths until my anger flowed away.

Trouble and her colt were safe. I would have to explain to my queen that we would be housing two priceless freeloaders. Once the colt grew up, I’d have to worry about studding him out and working on a breeding project. “Is there more semen available?”

“Unfortunately not.”

That would only increase the colt’s value. “And the breeding contract allowed them to just dump the mare and colt?”

“I may have requested a copy of the breeding contract for the effort, and there is a clause that bars the conservation society from pressing charges in case of accidental death of the mare. The break, assuming it was legitimately caused by a fall, would count due to the colt’s age. The owner did not have a nurse mare available. So, the auction house was the colt’s best chance for survival. I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

“Don’t be. It just means I’ll probably dig my heels in about heading to Dallas for an extra week to make certain he’s ready for transport—and I’ll be asking if there’s an available stall at the palace to make sure these beauties are closely watched. Is she a recip mare?”

“No, she’s his dam. They did not have any frozen eggs for the project, and there were only three stallions for the semen. The tech wasn’t as good back then, so he’s the only one that made it.”

One was better than none. “So the registration was what the news was based on?”

“Correct. The previous owner did their due diligence.”

“The grullo’s owner dumped her not realizing what she is,” I complained.

Smiling, Olivia petted my Standardbred again, and she whispered soothing words to the mare. “And the auctioneers know good owners when they see them. And anyway, all those Texans needed to know is that you’re from Montana.”

I chuckled at her tone, allowing my dismay and anger to melt away. “That’s true.”

Brenda returned, pocketing her phone as she approached. “So, in bad news, your stallion is quite upset. In good news, the Montana RPS is going to fly him here. He went into the barn, found a stablehand, and led him to the parked trailers. He’s made it clear he has somewhere to be, and it’s not at the RPS ranch.”

Poor Willow. “Maybe we shouldn’t have done this like we did.”

“The range puts you at a Royal rank horse empathy talent, Terry,” Brenda informed me. “Your horse has beenhappyseparated from you by literally thousands of miles.” The evaluator grabbed my wrist and removed the suppressors. “We can resume that experiment after your stallion arrives. I’ll torture Princess Olivia in the meantime.”

“I’m not feeling all that tortured right now,” Olivia admitted. “This is tolerable. Can we keep the torture to tolerable? I can handle this.”

“I’ll think about it.”

TWENTY-FIVE

“Are you serious?”

Every day,we learned something new about the nature of magic. Above all, we learned we truly understood nothing of its nature. Six hours after contacting Montana, Willow arrived at the royal ranch. The years had grayed out my stallion’s muzzle, but he still had pep in his step, trotting my way the instant the driver released him from the trailer. I hugged my old boy’s neck, sighed, and gave him a hearty pat.

In appearance, Willow took bottom slot for being a common as dirt sorrel, dull by the standard of most. According to his genetic tests, he had more than a few recessed genes, which was where he shined. His sons and daughters tended to inherit what Willow carried, from recessed genes to his picture perfect conformation, temperament, and intellect.

Together, we’d served the RPS for over fifty years.

The tension the suppressor had started and hadn’t eased with its removal vanished much like smoke on the wind.

“Better?” Olivia asked.

I nodded. “Much.” I turned my attention to the driver, who I recognized after a moment as one of the stable masters from Montana. “Thanks for bringing him, Wes.”

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