"I won't do it! You can't make me!"

Meggie was standing in the middle of the room flanked by guards, her arms crossed, looking furious and terrified.

You have no idea how wrong you are, Dustfinger thought as his own set of guards shoved him forward.

"Look who we found trying to sneak into the kitchens," Cockerell crowed.

"Ah, our old friend Dustfinger." Capricorn lounged in his oversized chair as usual. "Back to steal the last copy of your precious book, I assume?"

Dustfinger crossed his arms with a scowl, unintentionally mirroring the girl.

"I'm afraid I need it now more than ever," Capricorn went on. "Our darling Silvertongue Junior here is going to read me out a very special friend."

Junior? So the magic had been passed from father to daughter? Interesting.

"I am not," Meggie declared. "Where's my father?"

Nowhere he can help you, sweetheart. Now, let's see. I think we just found the perfect solution to our persuasion problem. Basta, why don't you help our guest get more comfortable."

Dustfinger watched with growing apprehension as Basta nodded to Meggie's two guards. Together, they grabbed her arms and sent her sprawling to the floor. She struggled to get up until Basta, crouching behind her, flicked open his knife and held it to her throat. She froze then. She was half-lying down, leaning back on her elbows with one knee bent. There was more fear on her face now than anger.

"And as for you, Dustfinger," said Capricorn in that dangerously smooth voice. "Help me show her how much worse her life will be if she doesn't cooperate."

Dustfinger eyed him warily. "How?"

"By ravishing her, I should think."

Dustfinger's mind went blank. He stood there blinking until words returned to him. "What?"

"You're sweet on that kitchen maid, aren't you? Their hair's a similar enough gold. You might even enjoy yourself. Although to be honest, I really hope not." He rubbed his hands together.

One of the guards stripped off Dustfinger's coat while he stood there, still slack with disbelief. The girl meant little to him, but—she was near Brianna's age. And Silvertongue's daughter; Silvertongue, his best hope of getting home someday. Silvertongue would never forgive him if he did what Capricorn was demanding. Nor would Meggie, for that matter; and if Meggie could do what her father could do, as Capricorn was suggesting, then Dustfinger would be destroying two chances at once.

"I don't think—" Dustfinger began, but at Capricorn's gesture, Cockerell kicked the backs of his legs so that he fell on his hands and knees.

"Best not start thinking now," Capricorn warned. "If you ever want to see that thrice-damned fairy-filled forest or your precious family again, you'd better do as I say."

Dustfinger was tired of Capricorn's empty promises, but Capricorn was still the only person in possession of his ticket home. He turned his gaze from Capricorn to Meggie, who remained wide-eyed and tense under Basta's knife. He imagined putting his hands on her. Taking off her clothes while Capricorn and Basta watched, and—

No. He couldn't do it.

He'd have to find another way to get the book.

He tried to stand, but one of the guards poked what felt an awful lot like a shotgun barrel into his spine in warning. Instead, he very slowly sat back on his heels and held out his hands, trying to figure out how to get out of this. One did not simply say "no" to Capricorn.

"There must be a better way," he pleaded. "Can't you wait for Silvertongue to come back?"

"I like this way," said Capricorn. "Get to it, or I'll have you shot and let Basta do the honors instead."

Dustfinger cut his eyes over to the man pressing the blade to Meggie's throat. Basta licked his lower lip and winked at him, looking all too eager to have the girl screaming beneath him.

Now, that changed the stakes twice over.

Dustfinger knew which path he was going to choose, and he wasn't proud of it. Still, his muscles, which seemed to be less cowardly than the rest of him, didn't want to obey. For a few endless, terrifying moments, Dustfinger couldn't move.

It took another shove of the shotgun to kick him into motion. He crawled across the few feet separating him from Meggie, feeling as debased inside as the position made him look. Her expression of disbelief as he approached made his stomach twist.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He swallowed hard. "Keeping us both alive."

"Keeping yourself alive, you mean."

Well, yes, that primarily. But still. He eyed Basta. "Don't tell me you'd rather have him do this."

"I'd rather have nobody 'do this,'" she said. When Dustfinger tried to put a hand on her knee, she kicked out at him. "Don't touch me."

"Meggie—"

"Don't touch me," she said shrilly, and before Dustfinger knew what was going on, she'd twisted backwards and clear of the knife and was scrambling away from the both of them.

Basta caught her, of course. He grabbed her hair with the hand that wasn't holding the knife and dragged her along the floor as she kicked and yelled. When he returned to where Dustfinger crouched, he dropped to his knees, let go of her hair and hooked her into a headlock. It wasn't tight enough to choke her, but it pinned her neck and shoulders to his chest so she couldn't pull free.

"Let me go!" She clawed at his arm.

"Are you ready to read, then?" asked Capricorn, studying his nails.

Meggie paused and took a shaking breath. Looked down at the arm that held her. Looked at Dustfinger. Looked back at Capricorn. Set her jaw. "No."

"Then I don't think so."

But when Dustfinger reached out once more, she thrashed in Basta's grip. This time, she managed to land a blow to the side of Basta's head. He growled and raised his knife hand, but Meggie didn't notice. Dustfinger saw what was going to happen and opened his mouth to warn her, but it was too late. She gasped as her arm sideswiped the blade.

She went still, staring at the slash across her forearm. Blood welled up dark red in the cut and dripped onto her shirt. The wound didn't look too deep, Dustfinger thought. If Capricorn let Resa or one of the other maids bandage it properly, she'd have little more than a long, thin scar to match the ones on Dustfinger's face and her father's arm.

"Try that again and I'll cut you deliberately," Basta said. He shifted his grip to her ribs—just below her budding breasts, Dustfinger couldn't help but notice, given what he was about to do—and brought the knife, now edged with red, back up to her throat.

Meggie had gone quiet and a bit pale. She wrapped a corner of her shirt around her injured arm and squeezed. When Dustfinger knelt at her feet, her leg twitched as though she wanted to kick him back onto his tailbone, but she held herself in check.

Her glare made it clear how she felt about him right now, however. It wasn't far from how he felt about himself.

Slowly, she said, "Leave me alone."

"Meggie, please. Don't make me do this." Don't make me force this on you. He felt oddly dissociated from his body, as if some master puppeteer like Fenoglio were making him reach past her knees with his traitorous arms and unbutton her jeans with his traitorous fingers.

"I'm not making you do anything."

He watched himself draw down her zipper.

"Fine," he said. "If you won't read, can't you just… try to like it?" His marionette hands hooked under her waistband and tugged her jeans down her thighs.

Tears filled her eyes. "I hate you."

Her words felt as sharp as Basta's knife in his heart.

"I don't have a choice," he said feebly.

"Yes, you do."

She was right, of course. He was choosing to save his own skin. He was also choosing to save her an even worse experience at Basta's hands, but she wasn't going to see it that way.

He discovered his latest stupid mistake as he knelt there trying not to look at her: He couldn't get her jeans off because her shoes were still on. With a sigh, he switched over to untying her laces and considered himself lucky she didn't decide to risk Basta's anger to drive her heel between Dustfinger's legs.

Not that he was going to be able to get it up anyway. Not with Meggie's wet-eyed glare and the room full of henchmen anticipating a show.

He turned to Capricorn after he'd worked off Meggie's shoes and set them by her side. "I can't…" he tried to explain, gesturing vaguely at himself.

"Trouble performing, Fire-Dancer?" Basta mocked. "Need me to step up for you?"

Capricorn wouldn't let him off that easily. "Use those clever hands, then," he said, "or the tongue that so skillfully weaves lies and betrayal."

Dustfinger turned back to Meggie. Took a fortifying breath and pulled her jeans off the rest of the way.

"Mo is going to kill you," she said.

Quite probably. He parted her legs as gently as he could and knelt between them. Hesitated with one hand hovering above her underwear.

"I'm twelve!" she said, and that's when her voice broke.

In the Inkworld, that would put her on the cusp of eligibility for marriage. He tried to find the thought reassuring. But women of the same age were younger in this world than in his. Here, Meggie was still half a girl.

His gut in knots, he rested his hand between her legs. Stroked with his thumb, seeking and concentrating on the telltale little nub through the cotton.

She started to cry.

He felt like the lowest kind of vermin. Like the dirt the vermin lived in.

"Meggie—"

She only turned her face away and wept harder.

Slide her underwear down and get it over with, or refuse to continue and hope Capricorn spared his life? Would they force him to watch as Basta forced her? He wanted to bury his face in his hands until it was all over. He wanted to go home.

Meggie made the decision for him.

"I'll do it!" she cried. "I'll do it. Stop."

Relief flooded Dustfinger's body.

"Ah, excellent!" said Capricorn. "Although I'm sure everyone will be disappointed to lose their afternoon entertainment."

Basta certainly looked it. He lowered his knife with visible reluctance.

Meggie swiped at her tear-stained face and curled up, away from Dustfinger. He sat back, unsure what to do. After a moment, he picked up her jeans and held them out to her.

She grabbed them. Her arm was smeared red all over. "Get away from me."

"I'm sorry," he offered. I was about to stop, I swear. Probably.

"I don't want to see you ever again." She got dressed, shaking.

"Put her in the tower with the old man," Capricorn told Cockerell and another guard. "Summon one of the maids to clean her up. We can't have blood spoiling the pages." Then, to Meggie: "Mortola will bring you the book and the dress you're to wear. Practice until you have it down perfectly. I don't want to hear a single mistake."

Meggie sniffed and laced up her shoes.

"For Dustfinger, I believe the crypt will do for now. The Shadow will take care of him tonight. Basta."

Dustfinger stood and collected his coat. Too-familiar sensation of Basta's switchblade handle nudging him in the back. "You know the way, Dirtyfingers."

He cast one last look at Meggie before he was ushered out. Despite her bloody arm and her splotchy cheeks, she held her chin high and didn't acknowledge him.

He let Basta lead him down the stairs and lock him into a cell with nothing but cobwebs and stone coffins for company. Paced for a while. Hoped Farid was having better luck out there. Waited for nightfall, trying and failing to push away the memory of Meggie's accusing glare.