Page 69 of Vengeance Becomes Her

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

After breakfast, it was time to go find Samara. Rhiannon couldn’t explain the knots that formed and turned in her stomach. She was apprehensive about what feelings meeting her would bring out. She’d shoved that part of her that Silas had touched so deep down over the last few weeks that she wasn’t ready to come face to face with it again. She worried that being around Samara would be like looking in the broken fragments in that mirror all those months ago.

They’d decided Tristain would wait just off the road until she had a chance to talk to Samara to see what she’d be comfortable with. She remembered her own mistrust of Tristain and didn’t want to put anyone else in that position of feeling ambushed. She knew it was for the best but taking on that emotional labor—especially when Tristain was so much better at it—was slightly terrifying.

They walked through the town. The cool autumn wind wasn’t as harsh as it had been yesterday, but it was still cool enough to require layers. Luckily, Rhiannon had invested in a thick cloak of deep black velvet for the journey. She pulled it across her exposed chest now to block out the chill that was prickling at her skin.

Tristain was on edge, taking long strides. She was barely keeping up with him, her breath coming more rapidly by the moment. Thankfully, they reached the edge of town a few minutes later, stopping before the massive row of wide, needle-tipped trees that seemed to go on endlessly. When Tristain finally stopped, turning on his heel, she was bent over, hands resting on her knees,out of breath.

“What happened to you?” He furrowed his brow, looking down at her like her tiredness was completely unexpected.

She stood up throwing her hands up, then bringing them to rest on her hips. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I’m a bitexhaustedbecause someone with way longer legs than me was doubling my stride for the last ten minutes.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, rubbing the sweat on her black pants. After another minute she finally fully caught her breath, her frustration easing. “Alright, you wait here. I’ll be back. It might be a while though. What are you going to do with yourself while you wait?”

He removed his grey cloak in one sleek move, laying it on the grass. “Take a nap I suppose, I haven’t gotten much sleep lately, what with your snoring.” A pleased grin popped up at that.

She gave him a gesture that told him exactly what she thought of that. “You know I don’t snore. I have heard from various reliable sources that I sleep very peacefully. Like an angel, in fact.” She fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him, which was of course, way too immature for a woman of her age, but it didn’t make it any less tempting. Instead, she turned to go, tossing her tousled waves over her shoulder with a flourish.

“Be nice!” Tristain called after her, his voice faint as she moved quickly down the line of rounded trees. She wondered why the houses were so far outside the town. She supposed it must be for privacy reasons, but it was bordering on inconvenient. After another five minutes, she emerged out into an opening where there were a few dozen homes spread out across the expanse of land that backed up to another dense cluster of trees. She searched for the red stone walkway that Tristain told her would lead her to the right house.

When she approached the grassy border, she hesitated a moment to gather her composure. She wasn’t sure what to say.“I’m here because the same evil man tried to kill us both.”She shook the ridiculous thought from her head. Of course, this conversation would require tact and empathy. She was dreading this more than she expected, but it had to be done if she had any hope of finding Silas and running her dagger through his traitorous heart. She gathered her courage, pushed the gate’s latch up, and stepped over the threshold. She was doing this. Another few steps and she was at the door, she forced herself to knock.

A man with short golden-brown hair that silvered at the temples answered the door. He looked at her, confusion plain on his face.

“Can I help you?” He stared at her blankly. He wasn’t an aggressive-looking man, but the cold stare of blue-grey eyes and closed-off body language made it clear he wasn’t happy about having her at his doorstep.

Rhiannon cleared her throat. “I’m here to see Samara. Is she here?”

The man’s eyes narrowed into slits as he looked her over thoroughly this time. His eyes lingered on the dagger at Rhiannon’s hip.

“What business do you have with her? My daughter has few friends and I’ve never seen you around here before.” He shifted so he was taking up the entire space between the door frame.

He was protective. Rhiannon assumed it was because he didn’t protect his daughter from the greatest danger she’d likely ever encounter. She tried not to judge him for it. She didn’t completely succeed.

“I need to speak with her. Urgently.” Rhiannon didn’t appreciate the way he was sneering at her, as if she was trouble, when she was here to help.

He grunted. “Leave your weapons here, you can speak with her under my supervision.”

“I’d rather speak to her alone. It’s a delicate matter.” She widened her stance, crossing her arms over her chest. If he could posture, so could she. She wasn’t going to back off, even if she couldn’t talk to Samara today.

“Take the offer or leave it.” He started to close the door in Rhiannon’s face when she noticed a woman several years younger than her standing in the background, peeking around her father’s shoulder to get a look at her. The curiosity in her eyes was enough to force Rhiannonto compromise.

“Fine. I’ll comply with your wishes.” She muttered the “for now” under her breath as she handed over her dagger.

After he looked her over once more, he turned and entered the home. Rhiannon followed, closing the door behind her with a loud click.

Now she could get a better look at Samara. It wasn’t just that she was young, she looked much healthier than Rhiannon had after her encounter with Silas. Yes, she had bags under her eyes and looked a bit malnourished, but Rhiannon had been on thebrink of death.

Samara’s hair bounded down her shoulders in glossy golden waves, set against her warm ivory skin. Her eyes were the slate grey-blue of her father’s, but wide and bright where his were cold and suspicious. Her lips were the perfect pink of crushedflower petals.

Samara opened her mouth to say something, but a withering look from her father had her lips pressing together in a straight line. She dipped her head, disappearing within her golden shroud of waves. It was the easy submission of a woman tamed by tragedy and familial disgrace.

Rhiannon’s heart sank at the sight of her folding in on herself. They were wasting their time with this one if she was so eager to please her asshole of a father.

But when the miserable old man turned to sit, she lifted that winter grey gaze and set it upon Rhiannon. There she saw the glint of silver that pierced through her as sharp as any blade—a hidden spark that told her something much greater was ready to be unleashed if only shehad the chance.

Rhiannon was so wrapped up in her appraisal of the woman before her that she didn’t hear her father talking until they addressed her.

“Hmm?” She snapped herself out of it.

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