Chapter 2

A Secret Revealed

Dustfinger hunched his shoulders against the rain, standing in the dark shadows of a few trees across the street as he watched the five dark figures move towards the house, wincing at the sound of shattered glass before the men made their way inside. He ran his hands along his jacket as he waited for the group to come back out, wishing the fire in this world would obey him as it had back home, even in the worst of storms or coldest of nights.

After only a few moments, two of Capricorn's men exited the house, another figure slumped between them. Silvertongue must have put up a fight, he thought as he watched them load the unconscious man into the back of the van, the three others, led by who was sure to be Basta, following close behind.

For a moment, he tensed, afraid for the safety of not only his own child but also the one that did not belong to him, especially with the thought that Basta had been so close. But he immediately relaxed at the recollection of the deal that had been made. Surely, the girls had been unharmed, just as he'd been promised. He wouldn't know for sure, however, unless he checked himself; something he found himself almost afraid of. This would be the closest he had been to his daughter in four years and he wasn't sure what her reaction would be to him showing up so suddenly after the abduction of the man she believed to be her father, especially after their argument.

He forced himself to wait until the van had reached the end of the deserted country road before slowly stepping out of the shadows, back into the drizzling rain, though he hardly even noticed it as he made his way quickly across the street. The door had been left ajar, none of Capricorn's men caring to close it when they'd left. He paused outside for only an instant before slowly stepping in and closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

He made his way quietly throughout the first floor of the house, only taking a moment to discover that no one was on this level. He turned his attention to the stairs leading to the second floor; the girls must have been hiding upstairs during the time that the Black Jackets had taken Mo, allowing Dustfinger to release a sigh of relief that they hadn't been downstairs to witness the scene that he'd played a part in.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he called both of the girls' names softly, not wanting to startle them if he happened upon them before they came out of their hiding place - if they even chose to. He was suddenly very thankful that he'd paid attention to the name Silvertongue called his own daughter, hoping that it would help them to trust him a bit more, though he wasn't sure how much good it would do.

Hearing no response, Dustfinger paused and let his gaze sweep along the empty hallway as he tried to think of a way to earn the girls' trust, but he immediately decided that had he been in their place, he wouldn't even trust himself. Still, he had to try.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I swear," he said softly, his eyes wandering from door to door, searching for any sign of where they were.

He'd almost decided to begin searching each room when he heard the soft sounds of movement coming from one of the rooms a few feet down the hall. He carefully walked over to the door and hesitated a moment before slowly pushing it the rest of the way open and stepping into the near pitch dark room. His gaze traveled across the room before landing in the far corner on the other side of the bed where two pairs of eyes stared up at him fearfully.

Dustfinger frowned worriedly as Rosanna, his Rosanna, only met his gaze for an instant before ducking behind the bed with a small gasp, her loose curls flying up for a moment before they settled back against her shoulders. Silvertongue's girl did nothing but stare silently, her back pressed as far into the corner as she could while still keeping her hand on the younger girl beside her, though how Dustfinger even noticed that while keeping his eyes on his own daughter, he didn't know.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said again, softer this time as he took a few steps to reach the other side of the bed, though he kept to the end of it. He could see they were already fearful enough of the stranger who they'd been left alone with; he wasn't about to make it worse by getting any closer to them. "I just wanted to make sure you were safe. Those men can cause quite a fright."

Now that the moonlight was beginning to shine through the window, he could see the tears shining on his daughter's cheeks, the look of utter terror that was aimed in his direction nearly causing him to wince, though he was able to conceal it at the last second. When their eyes met, her gaze held not even an ounce of recognition nor any of the love and adoration that that sweet face had once held whenever she was with him. No, instead she looked at him as if he were one of Capricorn's fire raisers or even a Night-Mare.

Though the look on her face seemed to be silently screaming at him to leave and never come back, and to bring the man she believed to be her father back to her first, he slowly crouched down to sit on his heels so that he was eye level with the two girls, hoping to lessen their fear of him by not towering over them. He suddenly remembered the precious item that he'd so carefully kept safe since he'd found it abandoned seven years ago; the doll that had never left the inner pocket of his jacket once, tucked carefully beside the picture of a very small three-year-old with curly black ringlets that didn't even reach her shoulders.

"I have something that belongs to you," he said softly as he slowly pulled the doll from his pocket and held it out to Rosanna. "I believe you lost it quite a while ago, but I assumed you would want it back anyway."

Rosanna's expression immediately changed from terror to bewilderment as her eyes landed on the small doll in his hand. Even though it was obvious that it held a very special place in her heart just from the way she looked at it, he doubted that she knew just how special this doll was. She had no way of knowing that the doll had been carefully made by Roxane on the nights she'd stayed up with Rosanna as a newborn, no way of knowing that the dress the doll wore was made of scraps of strolling players' clothing, including some of the material that had been used to make both his fire eating costume and one of Roxane's favorite dresses. Oh, how he wished she remembered those little details. Though, he would have just been happy if she still remembered him.

Even so, the young girl stretched her arm out as far as she could so that she wouldn't have to get too close to him and quickly snatched the doll from his hand, holding it tight against her chest as she backed up beside her sister once more. She finally tore her gaze away from him to look down at the doll in her hands, running her fingers along the fabric of the dress for a moment before looking back up at him warily.

"Where did you get this?" she asked quietly, the shakiness in her voice showing how fearful she still was.

"I've had it with me for a very long time," he replied, keeping his voice soft in the hopes that he wouldn't upset her even more than she already was. "I would've given it to you sooner, but Silvertongue wasn't very happy with the idea of you meeting me."

He'd already decided that he would be completely honest with her about anything she asked. And if one thing was certain in this situation, it was that he would never refer to Silvertongue as Rosanna's father, even if his daughter didn't believe him at first.

He sat silently as the younger girl's eyes trailed over his face, examining the scars on his face, the clothing he wore. She looked as if she was trying so hard to remember if they'd ever met before, though she obviously remembered nothing from her past with her real family.

"Why?" she asked hesitantly after a moment. "And who is Silvertongue?"

Why… that right there was a question he'd been ready to answer for the past seven years. Why did the man she believed to be her father not want him near her? But for some reason he couldn't quite explain, he hesitated to answer. This was his chance to reveal who he was, and maybe, hopefully, get his daughter back. But at the same time, his words would destroy her entire world in an instant, and she'd actually begun to calm down. But he couldn't lie. He couldn't come up with another explanation for who he was. Not after trying so hard to get his little one back for the past nine years, ever since the moment they'd been separated. He needed her back in his life so badly, and she needed to know the truth, no matter how this ended.

"Well… you call him Mo," he said finally, hating the word the moment it escaped his lips, even if it did help him avoid the first question. "I call him Silvertongue though because he's… very good with words, to say the least."

"Good with words?" Rosanna asked, confusion filling her tone as she looked over at Meggie. It was obvious she had no idea what the man who'd raised her for nine years was capable of, though that was really no surprise considering the great lengths Silvertongue had gone to hide everything about Rosanna's old life from her.

The older girl said nothing in response, not moving her gaze from Dustfinger for even a second. Distrust seemed to radiate from the girl in waves, making it increasingly difficult for Dustfinger to meet her gaze as he opened his mouth to continue, though he did manage it.

"Has your father ever read you a bedtime story before, Meggie?" he asked, aiming this question towards the young blond girl, refusing to refer to Silvertongue as such to anyone but the man's true daughter.

"A bedtime story?" Rosanna's soft voice filled the silence once more as she looked from him to Meggie once more, her confusion obviously worsening with each word that was spoken.

"What does that have to do with you helping to kidnap our father?" the older girl asked in response, avoiding his question with one of her own.

Dustfinger was so taken aback by her words for a moment that he couldn't speak. He was lucky that he could reveal only the emotions he wished to in situations like this, otherwise, his role in Silvertongue's kidnapping would have been fully revealed. She couldn't possibly know that he actually had something to do with it; it had to be just a fearful suspicion that came from the two events timed so quickly together. If he tried hard enough, he should be able to convince the both of them to trust him, even if he didn't quite deserve it just yet.

"You think that I helped kidnap your father?" he asked, trying to sound as incredulous as he could. He silently thanked the night for hopefully concealing that he couldn't meet either set of eyes that were trained on him. "I had nothing to do with that."

Unfortunately, the moon still provided just enough light to reveal the expression of his daughter, slowly transforming from confusion to something almost like fearful hostility. He silently cursed the older girl's accusations, hating that any of the calming that Rosanna had begun to feel had been immediately extinguished by her supposed sister's words. He looked at her almost sadly as he watched her curl her legs up to her chest even closer, clutching her doll tightly as she looked at him through suspicious dark eyes.

"You had to have done it," she said, though he could tell from her voice that her hostility had just been a face that she'd put on to cover her fears, just as he sometimes did. She couldn't even look at him as she spoke such painful accusations. "We heard you arguing. You said you would be back… for - for me. Then those men came and now our dad is gone. He's gone and it's your fault, isn't it?"

Dustfinger leaned back, feeling as if each word, the shaking of her hands, her voice, physically pained him. As her words began to sink in, however, he realized that if she'd heard every word of the argument earlier that night then perhaps it would be easier for her to believe his words than he'd thought. He just had to make sure he said it as carefully as he could.

"He's not who you think he is, little one," he began, watching her the entire time. "And I'm not who you think I am."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Meggie interrupted, still glaring at him as she wrapped her arm tighter around Rosanna. "Mo is our father and you're one of the men who took him away from us. There's no other explanation for that."

He shook his head as his gaze flickered over to Meggie for only an instant. She was making this more difficult than he would've liked. There was no way he could ease carefully into this conversation anymore. If he was going to say it, it would have to be now.

"He is your father, yes," he replied softly before his gaze shifted back to the young dark-haired girl in front of him. "But… he isn't Rosanna's."