Journeyman’s Ride Page 10

  “So much for sneaking in undetected. I’m sorry, Miranda. They shouldn’t have been here. Most of these things center around their cocoons to the north. It’s faster to go straight through, but I’d planned to take us an extra day to go around spyder central. Guess I made a wrong turn.”

  “No, I think this is all Philippe’s doing. He was expecting me.”

  One of the spyders shot forward and Danner intercepted it. The rockshot he fired did little to its frame, but the minute one of its eyes exploded from the contact, it whirred, whined and ran away. Several other spyders stepped forward, the angry thrum of their displeasure a warning.

  She knew the things had been manmade, but as time progressed, a common belief persisted that the mechanical constructs had developed a unique sentience. They worked on a premise of reconstituted steam and interlocking pulleys she’d once seen up close, when Philippe had tried to impress her with his vast knowledge of science.

  Several spyders drew closer. She wondered if she’d get to the palace alive.

  The spyders nearing Danner hissed and launched several streams of silk at him, which he gracefully dodged. He put more distance between Miranda and himself.

  “I’ll distract them. When I tell you to, run. Stay low, out of reach. Don’t let them get a hold of you.” Danner shot another spyder and avoided a sticker meant for him. She could only hope the spyders were using their nonlethal stickers and not their toxic spikes. Some of their weaponry could deter battle without loss of life, unless Philippe had put fatal poisons in his clicking friends.

  Between one blink and the next, the spyders surrounded Danner. He did well to fight them off, but he couldn’t hold out. One spyder stuck him, and she cried out.

  “Run, Miranda!”

  She couldn’t leave him. She wouldn’t. Then another spyder stuck him, and another. He yelled and retaliated with a jolt of lightning that fried several of the beasts nearest him. But it was too late. His eyes glazed over.

  “Danner, no!” She tried to call on her lightning, to pull down a godbolt, but nothing happened. Her charm remained cold, and the heat that had once blossomed inside her refused to show itself.

  A large spyder chittered as it spun Danner into a cocoon, until only his face remained visible, his eyes now closed.

  Tears dripped down her cheeks as she ran to him, heedless of the spyders around her.

  To her great relief, Danner’s breath fanned her cheek when she leaned close.

  “Must follow.” The metallic voice came through the spyder that had wrapped Danner up. It picked him up carefully and deposited him on its back. Others spyders began clicking their legs together and made odd tinny sounds, as if communicating.

  “I’ll follow. But don’t hurt him,” she snarled and swiped the tears from her face. Time to face Philippe.

  Chapter Ten

  Miranda spent the night and the next day on the back of the spyder carrying Danner. It was the size of four Conestoga wagons pulled together, and surprisingly a comfortable place to sleep. Atop its back had been positioned a thick rug and a pail of water and a bucket for necessities. The auton had levered itself over the spyder when she’d climbed its legs to its back. Apparently Danner had programmed it to stick to her.

  She caressed his face. He appeared to be healthy, if in a deep sleep. What would she have done if the spyders had killed him?

  Perhaps I’m selfish. I should have gone with Vi before, not dragged Danner into harm’s way. If only he had his full Ride, or I had mine. We could have worked together to blast these spyders to pieces. Then we’d take a real piece out of Philippe’s sorry hide.

  She wiped more tears from her face, aware she hadn’t cried so much since her mother had passed. Even threatened by the king, facing the loss of her dreams and stepping into a foreign world out West, she hadn’t wept. But the thought of losing Danner was unbearable. A man who had a hard time trusting or even showing affection. Yet he’d tried for her. He’d thought to sacrifice his life so that she might succeed where he’d failed.

  She knew in that moment she loved him. She also knew he might never let himself love her in return.

  “How could Vi think you were beyond saving?” She stroked the stubbled skin of his jaw. “You mean so much to me, Danner. So very, very much.” She kissed his cheek, his nose, his lips, and pressed her forehead to his. “What are we doing to do?”

  She continued to ask herself that question as the spyders exited their webbed world and stepped into paradise two days sooner than it would have taken her and Danner by foot. No more dry dust and sand. Upon a large grassy field sat the Crystal Palace in all its glory. Like the Spyder Haven, the palace shone with color, the prismatic effect of the crystal walls making rainbows under the bright light of day. The result was blindingly beautiful.

  The spyder she rode didn’t stop until it stood right outside the front doors, where two tall, dark-eyed men waited. They looked enough alike to be twins, both strong guards who looked like they ate spyders for breakfast.

  Philippe’s men wore brown felt derby hats, starched white club collar shirts under red striped vests, black silk ties and tanned canvas trousers over low brown boots. Their tie tacks had Philippe’s signature spyder crest.

  Oh yes, I’ve come to the right place.

  The spyder lowered its body to the ground and dropped Danner’s cocoon with a thud that made her wince.

  “Come with us.” The guard on the left helped her off the metallic creature with a surprising courtliness. The auton followed until the other guard stabbed it with a metal blade and shut it down. The ferocity and speed of his attack had been so quick she’d barely noticed him move.

  Miranda stepped closer to the guard holding her hand. “But what of Danner?”

  The guard by the auton glanced at the cocoon. “I’ll bring him in. Tell the king, Michael.”

  The king?

  Michael nodded. He pulled her with him into the large foyer of an expansive palace. She barely had time to appreciate the rich color, art and mosaic tiles underfoot as she practically ran to keep up with Michael’s long strides.

  He finally stopped at two detailed wooden doors and knocked. Two more guards, both dressed like Michael, remained stationed on either side of the entryway. Aside from security, Miranda hadn’t seen any other people in the palace. Where were all the waitstaff? Where had the many visitors and correspondents gone—those many people rumored to mill about the palace at any given time? And what of the cutthroats who protected Philippe? The guards looked like Eastern tradesmen, not Western villains. For that matter, now that she thought about it, why would cutthroats mingle with the upper class who should have been here in the court?

  The doors opened, and she lost her train of thought.

  Philippe stood, dressed eerily like the guards but for the hat. He wore a huge smile on his face. “Miranda. What a delightful surprise.”

  She didn’t move. His usual sneering contempt had vanished, though he did give her the masculine appraisal she’d grown accustomed to in her travels. His subtle once-over surprisingly made her feel better. Her enemy hadn’t changed. And yet…his heart didn’t seem to be in the rude gesture. Strange. Then she froze as Clarissa wormed her way under Philippe’s arm, her belly full with child, and smiled. The princess glowed with smug happiness, but Miranda could see only her rounded stomach.

  “I’m too late.” She’d hoped to save Clarissa, so that she might start her life anew with a clear conscience. But instead she’d arrived months too late to stop Philippe from soiling her cousin. In the process Danner had been hurt, and she’d given up an opportunity to enjoy the beginnings of a new relationship with her father.

  Furious, she set her gaze on Philippe and flexed her hand. A crackle of energy snarled, and she welcomed the heat.

  His smile disappeared, and he gently nudged Clarissa aside. “Go on, my dear.” He nodded to the door behind them. “I told you not to show yourself until I had her necklace in hand.”

  “But Philip
pe.” Clarissa pursed her lips and glared.

  “Out, wife.” Philippe snapped. “Guards, hold on to our visitor.”

  Wife? Miranda allowed the guards to put their hands on her as she pondered Philippe’s revelation. As much as she wanted to fry Clarissa into a mess of ash, the poor child in the woman’s belly didn’t deserve to feel her wrath. Once Clarissa disappeared behind a door against the far wall of what appeared to be Philippe’s study, Miranda had no such compunction about going easy on anyone, least of all Philippe.

  “Well, well, Miranda.” He leered at her. “You look none of the worse for traveling through uncivilized lands. I’m guessing you bargained your way through the Damned Plains. Perhaps with that brawny fellow my spyders brought with them. Did he fuck you nice and proper, the way a good girl deserves?”

  The lascivious intent in his eyes goaded her beyond control. “You will not talk to me that way.” Small jolts of anger swam through her veins, and though she had no idea how she did it, she let the electrical stimulus reach out and shock those holding her.

  The guards let her go with curses and stepped back. Before they could move toward her once more, she drew on her fear and hostility and allowed a web of purple lightning to leap for the pair.

  They groaned and fell writhing on the ground. Miranda turned, waiting for Michael’s attack, but the large man disappeared through the door, walking away with even, measured strides while he whistled some tune that sounded vaguely familiar.

  “Michael!” Philippe shouted. “You whoreson bastard, get your arse back here!”

  Only the clicking of his heels against the tile could be heard.

  No one moved. Nothing stirred. Philippe stared at Miranda, as if wondering what to do now.

  She grinned, finally able to exact a bit of vengeance for what she’d been through. So much worry, pain and suffering, and all because of this selfish prince and his vain wife. “I want my friend, Danner, brought here right now.”

  “I don’t think you’re in any position to—”

  Miranda shot both hands out, palms outstretched, in Philippe’s direction and let loose a monstrous current of lightning. She didn’t question her innate need to visit justice upon this man. For all his wrongdoings, his warped sense of entitlement and his intent to harm Danner. The last bothered her more than any of his other offenses.

  Philippe shrieked and arched in place, held up on his feet by the godbolt seething through Miranda’s very soul into his. The godbolt felt like home, a way to connect not only with this place, but with this man and those who lived under his realm. She could feel the lick of justice reaching out to provide a new way, a better way, of life. A journeyman in spirit and deed. Finally.

  “Is this why you wanted me here, Philippe? For this?” She slipped the chain holding the charm over her head and dangled it in front of him. Then she tossed it to the ground, awash in the knowledge she’d never needed the pendant, that the power was truly hers to hold.

  “P-p-please, stop.” He cried out in agony, the power of a journeyman’s righteousness burning through his sins to the heart of the man within. Would he live or die? She didn’t know, not yet, not until she found his core.

  She inserted another band of lightning, this one to wrap around the other leeching Philippe’s very breath. As she stared into his eyes, she saw his multitude of sins, as well as his new feelings of love and responsibility for Clarissa. Though aware of her cousin’s neediness and her selfish whims, Philippe wanted to find some redemption in her eyes. And in that quest to love and be loved, he might find a new place in this world.

  Miranda closed her eyes, content with what she’d seen. Her power, and there, just beyond the potent lightning, her Ride. Such a joyous occasion lessened only by Danner’s absence. She stretched her fingers wide and murmured under her breath, praise and blessings to Vi, and more, to the land and life itself. As she did, she burned through Philippe’s cynicism, leaving mostly the good man behind. He still had his foibles and faults, but he had a new purpose, one courtesy of a journeyman who now knew her place.

  She let him go and heard a sound she hadn’t anticipated. She whirled around to face a primed rifle aimed in her direction. Clarissa struggled to hold up the bulky weapon.

  “No, my dear, don’t,” Philippe directed to his wife in a slur. He would have fallen were it not for Miranda’s energy binding him tight.

  “Let him go, you witch.” Clarissa began to sob. “Step away from my husband and leave us. You aren’t welcome here.”

  Oddly enough, Clarissa sounded almost jealous.

  “Clarissa?”

  A loud thump drew everyone’s attention. Miranda turned to see Philippe on the ground, still twitching from the aftereffects of her burn. Despite his physical duress, the clarity in his gaze warmed her.

  And then Miranda knew.

  Travelers—journeymen—worked to help mankind in many different ways. Danner had guided men when needed, along the paths they needed to go. Miranda had a feeling her skills were somewhat different. The need to judge, to look deep into Philippe’s heart and bring him back to his rightful path felt a lot like Danner’s way, yet a bit different.

  “Danner,” she said, unable to keep from voicing her concern. “I want to see him.”

  Philippe managed a nod, and Clarissa finally lost her grip on control. She threw the rifle to the floor, where it fired upon impact and shattered a vase a few meters from Miranda. But the woman didn’t see or hear anything but her husband. She reached for him as quickly as her ungainly body would let her.

  Worried the daft woman might harm herself or her unborn child, Miranda helped her down.

  “Get off me.” Clarissa feebly tried to push Miranda away and wiped tears from her face. “You don’t understand.”

  Miranda watched the pair, full of questions needing answers. “Were you a part of all this, Clarissa? The kidnapping, bringing me here? Why? What did I ever do to you besides try to help you?”

  Clarissa brushed a few strands of Philippe’s light hair from his face and stroked his cheek. It was more affection than Miranda had ever seen the young princess show anyone in her entire life. And her care seemed genuine. Miranda itched to run her lightning through Clarissa, but a vague worry held her hand. She didn’t want to chance the child. Never harm the innocent—a mantra suddenly ingrained in her very being.

  Philippe stirred and slowly sat up. He propped his back against a settee and urged Clarissa up to sit on the furniture. “Go on, tell her,” he said in a raspy voice.

  Clarissa glared at Miranda through her tears. Still uncommonly beautifully, but the princess now seemed more adult. The child, the journey or perhaps Philippe was to credit for the semblance of maturity. She cleared her throat. “I shouldn’t have aimed a weapon at your person. I merely meant to protect Philippe.”

  Miranda stood there, in shock. “Who are you?” Perhaps this wasn’t actually Clarissa, but a look-alike.

  Clarissa gave her a ghost of a smile. “Would you care for a spot of tea?”

  Miranda seated herself across from the pair on a silken armchair, prepared to defend herself if anyone else approached. Confident now in her lightning and her Ride, she could handle these people. But where was Danner?

  Miranda’s stomach rumbled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten in day. “I could do with a drink. And some answers. Like where my friend is.”

  “Of course.” Clarissa pressed a small square button on the round table by the settee and Michael entered as if by magic.

  “You called?” He grinned at the sight of Philippe sitting on the floor in front of a frazzled princess. An odd man, to be sure. Then he winked at her. Oddly reassured by the eccentric servant, she let herself relax.

  “A full tea, if you would. As well as…” Clarissa paused and looked to Miranda.

  “My friend, Mr. Danner. I’d like to see him, please.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Michael nodded. “I just left him in the Lavender Room. Perhaps when the king and queen are fin
ished, I might escort you to him.”

  He left and Miranda raised a brow at Clarissa. “King and queen?”

  The princess flushed and crossed her arms over her belly. “An affectation Philippe assured me would go a long way towards making our status in this new place known.”

  “The Scourge of the West is now a king? Really?”

  Philippe groaned. “I have seen the error of my ways, Miranda. Forgive my arrogance.”

  Clarissa blinked at her husband. “Philippe?”

  “We behaved abominably to Miranda, and you know it,” he said softly to Clarissa before turning back to her. “Frankly, I’d intended to kidnap Clarissa, gain the crown and blackmail you into following her.”

  “But why?”

  He had the grace to appear uncomfortable.

  Clarissa answered for him. “He wanted revenge. Oh, and I’m sure he wanted to do things to you I’d rather not speculate about.”

  “Dearest, that’s in the past.”

  It hadn’t appeared so in the past to Miranda when he’d been leering at her not so long ago, but she’d suspend her disbelief, for now.

  Philippe continued. “You made me a laughingstock, Miranda.”

  “You did that yourself. And you were no gentleman, sir.”

  He nodded. “I know. I was young, stupid. Full of myself. I would ask your apology, but I doubt I’ve done much to deserve it.”

  Surprised at his humility, Miranda wondered at her new ability. Had she turned Philippe into a better man, or had he already been on that road, and she’d finally given him the means to admit it?

  “I remained friends with Clarissa throughout the years. Her aunt and uncle were no better than my father. They wanted nothing more than a breeding pair of royals, and they let us know in no uncertain terms. I found a way around all that when I took the spyders with me.”

  “You did.” Clarissa nodded. “He kidnapped me. I had no idea what he meant, but I didn’t protest overmuch. I did so want to escape the palace.”