Chapter Three

A Light After Darkness

"Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times if one only remembers to turn on the light."

~Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban; J. K. Rowling

Dustfinger wasn't sure how long he sat there, head leaned back against the cold cell wall, the sleeping form of his daughter still cradled gently in his arms. Though he had closed his eyes long ago, sleep had not found him as it had her. He hadn't let it, worried it would be when he allowed himself to drift off to sleep that someone would come and he wasn't sure what they would do. One thing was for sure, however, and that was that he had to keep Rosanna safe, no matter what. He wouldn't let anyone take her from him once again.

It seemed as though the thought had just passed his mind when the shallow sound of footsteps on the stone flooring reached his ears. Dustfinger could practically feel his heart beating out of his chest as the sound grew louder and louder, closer and closer. He shifted slightly, careful not to wake the sleeping toddler so that he could better get to his feet if he needed to though he silently begged that whoever this was would simply pass them up, that there would be no need to stand or wake Rosanna. But it seemed luck was not on his side tonight, the owner of the sounds stopping in front of the door of their cell. His face was one Dustfinger had expected to see long before now and yet hoped with all his heart he would have no reason to. Basta, of all people; his lips twisted up into a wicked grin.

He tossed the door open, uncaring of the way it clanged against the other side, sending the loud sound echoing throughout their small cell. In his arms, Rosanna startled at the noise, jumping up from a dead sleep with a shrill, terrified cry as Dustfinger quickly rose to his feet, holding her close to him. He never looked down at her, gaze trained on the approaching fire-raiser, but he felt her little fingers curl tightly around the fabric of his shirt. At a quick glance from Basta, the child flinched back, pressing herself as close to him as possible. Her cries quieted some, but paired with her reaction, Dustfinger had a feeling that it wasn't because she was calming down and that thought alone made him feel sick. What had been done to the girl in the days before he arrived here? Obviously, they hadn't just ignored her presence.

"Ah, Dustfinger," came Basta's voice, the sound of it dripping with the hatred he so obviously possessed for him. "I see you've figured out a way to rid your face of the decorations I so carefully carved for you."

At the sight of the knife Basta drew as if for emphasis, Dustfinger stiffened and tightened his hold on Rosanna, stepping back until he felt the chill of the stone wall at his back.

"Orpheus won't be very happy that you're down here, Basta," said Dustfinger slowly and carefully, trying not to anger the fire-raiser further. He knew all too well what Basta was capable of before he acquired such a strong, obvious hatred, a hatred forged in death itself. Sometimes, he could still, after all these years, feel the pain of his knife cutting into his face.

"I'm not afraid of him or his words anymore," said Basta, drawing the silver blade of his knife through his fingertips as he stepped closer to the two prisoners, the movement drawing Dustfinger's eyes to it. He swallowed hard before forcing his gaze back to Basta as he spoke, voice louder to be heard over the sound of Rosanna's cries. "You will never be rid of me, Fire-Dancer. You might as well surrender now for when Orpheus is done with you, you and your precious little daughter will be mine."

Dustfinger kept his eyes trained on Basta as he slowly lowered Rosanna to the ground, standing her on her feet and gently pushing her behind him. He made sure to keep one hand securely on her shoulder, both for her comfort and to protect her. He felt her press herself close to him, the side of her face against his leg as she clung to his pants leg so that she too could keep an eye on their attacker.

"Don't touch her," he said firmly, trying his hardest to keep the fear he felt both for himself and his young daughter from entering his expression and voice. It would only satisfy Basta far too much and scare Rosanna even further in turn. But the way Basta laughed only made his heart beat faster. He wasn't the least bit intimidated by the Fire-Dancer as others may have been and why should he be? Dustfinger was trapped here with nothing, his every action possibly reflecting on the well-being of his child if it didn't go as he planned - and it probably wouldn't.

He tightened his grip on Rosanna's shoulder as his fear turned to panic. What if Basta did choose to attack? Would he be able to protect Rosanna against his knife? Suddenly, he thought of the boy; the way Basta's knife had flown into his back before Dustfinger could even blink, the way he was dead before Dustfinger could catch him, no need even for the White Women. He gently guided Rosanna further behind him, feeling as though he couldn't even breathe anymore.

"You can do all you want to me," he said, unable to keep the desperation from his voice now as those thoughts circulated through his mind. He had only just gotten her back. He wouldn't let Basta take her from him again like he had taken the boy so long ago. Never again would he lose someone he loved so dearly. Never again would he have to feel such an overwhelming pain. "But don't touch her."

The emotion he had unwillingly let come through had had just the effect he'd expected. Rosanna's cries only worsened beside him, the child moving to bury her face against the black fabric of his pants as though she could hide from the fire-raiser there, as a wide grin broke out on Basta's face.

"What's wrong, Dustfinger?" he said tauntingly. "I can carve a new decoration in your face and one in hers to match."

All of Dustfinger's walls crumbled away at Basta's words, allowing all of his fear to shine through in full as images, terrible images full of blood and Rosie's screams, filled his mind. The thought of his daughter going through what he had so long ago; the pain so strong that it sent him into unconsciousness so many times, the fear he felt as he tried to fight but to no avail and was forced to watch as that blade came towards his face, the days and nights of fever as infection set in and the constant pain, so strong even the Barn Owl's best medicines couldn't take even a little of it away. It was only thanks to the fairies that he didn't die then.

Basta laughed loudly, the sound echoing off the stone walls surrounding them and giving it an even eerier sound than it might normally have. He seemed to take joy from the fire-eater's expression, but of course he would. It was Basta after all.

"I may not be able to do anything now," the fire-raiser began, the hostility reaching a new height in his tone as he pointed the knife at Dustfinger's chest. He pressed the tip of it into the fabric of his shirt so that Dustfinger felt the need to hold his breath as though his next inhale would send the knife piercing through his skin. As he continued to speak, he brought the silver blade down to rest only a fraction of an inch from Rosanna's nose, causing her to retreat back behind her father with another small cry. "But I will be back and mark my words, Dustfinger, I will not hesitate to do what I claim."

At the sight of the knife point coming towards his daughter's face, Dustfinger stepped towards Basta as anger swelled inside him, darkening his features. Without even realizing it, a flame burst to life in his hand, flickering violently in the darkness as if it shared his master's fury and desire to protect the toddler behind him. He raised his hand, a clear threat, and the fire grew bigger and burned brighter.

"You go near my daughter," his words came low and every bit as hostile as Basta's, every ounce of his fear having dissipated now in exchange for the anger, "and I will personally send you back to Death myself."

"We'll see about that," Basta spat, though he backed away from the fire and though his smile remained and he tried to stare down the man he considered barely more than prey, his eyes continued to flicker towards the flames. Dustfinger moved as though to send the fire towards Basta, fully willing to do so if the need arose. He would not hesitate to fight this man if it meant it would keep Rosanna safe, even if the very thought brought on new fear.

Basta flinched away from the fire. Death had not rid him of one of his deepest fears; the sight of a flame. Slowly, expression full of hatred, he backed out of the room, shutting the door and locking it, but not without giving them one final promise.

"I will be back."

Dustfinger let the fire in his hand dissipate as he watched Basta leave, eyes trained on his every move until he was well out of sight. Oh, why had Orpheus had to bring him back of all people? Because he knows how that man gets to you, answered his own mind. Because he knows how much he scares you.

When he was sure Basta was gone, he shook those thoughts from his mind and turned his attention back to the toddler standing a few steps away where she had been hiding behind him before he moved forward. His heart skipped a beat at the look on her face; the fear in her gaze, the tiny tears that rolled down those round little cheeks, the terrified cries she gave. Dustfinger had never seen her this way. His Rosie was always the happiest little baby, never sparing of those beautiful, bright smiles she gave. Basta hadn't even touched her, but he had scared her like this and that was enough.

He crouched down, reaching out his arms to the terrified little girl before him. "Come here, little one," he said, keeping his voice as soft and comforting as he could. "You're safe now."

Rosanna quickly toddled forward into his arms, wrapping her own tightly around his neck, little hands clinging to the fabric of his shirt as though her life depended on it. He lifted her up, holding her tightly to him, as he stood and walked back to where they had been before sitting back down against the wall. He held her like that for a second longer before gently moving her to sit in his lap. As she looked up at him, Dustfinger placed his hands on either side of her small face, thumbs moving across her cheeks and wiping away the tears gathered there.

"It's alright now, Rosie," he said softly, lightly kissing her forehead. "I've got you. We're going to be okay."

The thought of Basta's threat kept returning to his mind, sending new bursts of fear through him, but he refused to let even the smallest bit of worry show, not wanting to frighten Rosanna any more than she already was. She was already struggling to calm down as she stared up at him, face flushed a blotchy red and cheeks stained with all those tears. Every time it seemed like she might actually calm down, something would bring new tears to her eyes and even though she sat in his lap, her fingers still wrapped themselves around the fabric of his shirt, clinging tightly to him.

"I'm here," he assured her once again, moving one hand to run across her hair. "You're safe."

Rosanna gave a little sniffle, rubbing one tiny fist across her eyes before leaning forward to wrap her arms around him again. Dustfinger pulled her close, kissing her hair before resting his head on top of hers, eyes trained on the door. With a little time and his comfort, Rosanna seemed to be calming, but there was no way he'd get any sleep after that run-in.

"I wanna go home," muttered Rosanna without moving, voice breaking under the weight of her fear. Anyone could see she was cold and scared and probably hungry too, considering he knew that they at least hadn't eaten anything since he got there. He couldn't even say when they had given her food or water last or what she had already been put through before he got here. Who knew what anyone here had done to his daughter in the days before his arrival.

"I know," he replied quietly. "Soon, I promise."

As he brushed the hair away from her face, one curl shorter than all the rest snagged his attention. His mind immediately went to the lock of hair sent to him in order to persuade him to go with the handmaiden and her guard and he frowned at the thought of his daughter, already confused and frightened enough after just coming back from Death's realm having to deal with someone forcibly cutting a lock of her hair with a knife.

"Very soon," he continued, a new note of determination to his voice. The child gave a small nod at this and silence filled the room; thick, heavy silence only interrupted by the occasional sniffle from the little girl or a few comforting words from the father who held her so protectively. Rosanna's little fingers moved to trace the patterns of red up the sleeve of Dustfinger's shirt. Motley colors, though he no longer performed with them and hadn't for a long time. She was no longer willing to sleep, it seemed, but she still lacked any of the jovial energy she had only hours before.

Dustfinger sat watching her quietly as one hand continued to brush back her curls. It was so strange for Rosie to be so quiet and still. She usually possessed so much laughter and energy, even as the baby she was the last time he saw her; crawling around after Brianna, giggling as they played with her, smiling so brightly at just being held or when they talked to her sometimes though she still couldn't talk back. When he had been pulled into Silvertongue's world, she had only known one word: Daddy. But she had put it to good use. Her little voice calling for him was one of the many things he missed so much over all these years, even when the sound of it was as distant in his mind as the little girl it came from.

Suddenly, an idea came to his mind, triggered by the hazy memories, clearer now that he had seen her face and held her in his arms again, of the baby he had once known and her precious smile. Slowly, he moved one hand away from her and whispered the secret language only few knew, resulting in a small flower of flames growing in his palm as an attempt to make that smile appear again.

Rosanna's gaze moved towards the light in her father's hand and a smile appeared on her lips; an expression that only brightened as he coaxed the fire into different shapes, only for the little girl who watched them. A small smile began to appear on his own face as he watched his daughter's growing attentiveness to the flames. With each new shape the flames took, Rosanna's smile only grew brighter and brighter until it shone like the fire in his hand. There was his Rosie.

The child never took her eyes off the flames, everything forgotten, for a short time at least, except her Daddy and the fire he called his friend. Suddenly, Rosanna leaned a little closer to the fire and the warmth it emitted, allowing a quiet giggle to escape her though she stayed careful to avoid the guards' attention.

"Careful," warned Dustfinger, though he kept his voice soft, as he made sure to keep the waving flames well out of her reach. "The fire may allow itself to listen to you sometimes, but it will still bite if you let it touch you so don't get too close."

"Okay, Daddy," Rosanna said, backing up as she glanced back at him to give a quick nod.

"Good girl," he replied with a smile as he continued to convince the flames to make different shapes for his baby girl. Rosanna watched them just as happily as ever for awhile longer before turning her head to look back at her father once again.

"Hey, Daddy?" asked the child, dark eyes bright as her gaze met his. "Do you think that one day I can make the flowers too?"

The question took Dustfinger by surprise, the shock of it abruptly extinguishing the fire in his hand as he stared down at the excited child in his lap. He'd never really considered either of his daughters taking after his profession, especially after he had been gone from their lives so long. Even with her love for the fire he conjured, he'd always assumed Brianna would take after her mother with a voice like hers, if she even chose a job with the strolling players, and with the way she always got so mad at him for leaving. Even when he'd last seen her at the young age of five years old, she'd already had a prettier singing voice than some much older than her. The fact that Rosie seemed so eager to learn his trade brought a smile to his face as he tousled her hair lightly.

"You'll have to ask your momma what she thinks when we get home," he replied, "But I'm sure you would learn very quickly if she lets me teach you."

Rosanna pressed her hands over her mouth to muffle the sound of the excited little giggles that escaped her. "You can teach me and then we can make the flowers together," she chirped, dropping her hands and turning to fully face him now that the fire had gone and no longer claimed her attention.

"That's nice," he nodded. "Though you can't get too good; otherwise you'll be better than me and we can't have that."

Dustfinger finished by tapping her on the nose with his finger, making it clear he was teasing. Her little hands flew back up to her mouth as the sound of her giggling filled the air once again, all her earlier fear seeming to disappear, replaced by thoughts of fire-eating and her daddy. She looked so happy now.

"I bet Momma and Bianna would be even happier with two fire flowers!" Rosanna cheered excitedly as she looked up at her father, dark eyes sparkling even in the dim, near non-existent lighting from outside the cell. "And Papa and Baby Jehan have never seen the flowers before. I bet they would love them."

"I'm sure they would, little one," he replied, though a certain note of joy had left the conversation at the mention of her step-father. Eventually, they would have to tell her he had gone long ago and he knew she wasn't going to take it well, but for now he let it go just like he did the knowledge that her stepbrother had already seen the fire-flowers. For now, at least, in this place, he wanted her to be able to hold on to as much happiness as she could.

"Why don't you try to sleep? I'm right here to protect you," he said softly, regretting the words as soon as that bright smile disappeared from her face as she looked back towards the door, obviously still scared Basta would return. Dustfinger sighed quietly and leaned back against the wall, his arms securely around his daughter as she moved to lay against him. He could see she wasn't tired, though she lay there in silence once again, her eyes continuing to wander towards the entrance of the dungeon. His hand moved absently across her hair as he let his mind race around thoughts of how to work out a way out of here and back to the farm, but so far, he could think of nothing worthwhile. Every scenario he thought of wouldn't work anyway or put Rosanna in some sort of danger. He could probably get out alone, but with her… he wouldn't risk it… He'd just have to think of something else.

"Daddy," came the little girl's voice, drawing his attention back to her as she lifted her head to look at him, obviously uneasy about all of this. "Can you sing a song like Momma does?"

Even now, he could pull up a few vague memories of the times when Roxane's voice alone could calm Rosanna's cries. Whenever their baby just couldn't seem to get to sleep or something had scared or upset her, it was her mother's voice that quieted and comforted her. Suddenly, he realized he hadn't heard that voice more than a handful of times since his return. Sure she still sometimes sang to Jehan, but before he had been taken from his home twelve years ago, she had sung all the time, sometimes for performances or practice, but also sometimes to just him or just because she wanted to or even absentmindedly humming one of her songs as she did something else. Now she didn't sing very often at all.

He had heard from both Cloud-Dancer and Roxane herself that she had quit singing very often after both he and Rosanna had gone, but even after he returned, she still hadn't quite picked up the habit again. The sudden realization filled him with another emotion to add to the others already fighting for dominance inside him; a type of longing close to but not quite what he had felt all those years. A longing for the happy life they had led before, only now he knew how fragile that happiness could be and he couldn't help but think if he could do it again, he would never have left her side even for a moment.

But Dustfinger only blinked in surprise at her request. Singing had always been Roxane's thing. He had never actually sung to anyone before and he was less than confident in his ability to do so.

"I'm not sure I would be able to sing anything the way Momma does," he answered, voice soft and almost hesitant as he looked down at her.

"Oh," said Rosanna, moving to pat him on the arm as though to comfort him. "That's okay. Everyone says that. Well….not Bianna. She likes to sing with Momma. What about a story? Can you tell me a story?"

"Hmm," he said as he thought over what story he could tell the child. "I should be able to manage that one."

"I want a happy one, please," smiled the little girl as she laid back down against him, keeping her head tilted up so she could still look at him.

"Oh, a happy one," he said, acting as though he had to think of which one though he knew immediately what kind of story to tell. A story from his own experiences; the story of one of the happiest days of his life. The one in which Roxane became not just the minstrel woman and one of his best friends, but his Roxane, his love.

"There were once these two strolling players; one a boy who was very close friends with fire, closer than anyone else, and the other a girl, a minstrel woman who had the most amazing voice in all of Lombrica and Argenta alike," he began. "This girl was also one of the most beautiful girls in all Lombrica and Argenta, too, with long, dark curls and dark eyes and all of the men in the kingdom wanted to marry her. And whenever the men would come and ask, the boy, who the girl had grown up with, would always make fun of them so quietly that only the girl could hear. And she'd try very hard not to laugh as she told the men that she couldn't marry them.

Because you see, she was in love with someone else. But the boy hadn't yet asked her to marry him because he didn't think she would say yes.

Then, one day, after a long day of having to say she didn't want to marry any of the men who asked her, the girl heard the boy make one more joke and she spun around so fast that the boy froze, worried he'd done something wrong. But all she said was, 'if you disapprove of all of them so much, why don't you marry me yourself?'

And finally, the boy and the girl were married and soon after they had a little girl with bright, fiery red hair like her father. And a few years later, to their great happiness, they had another little girl who looked so like her mother that her father knew he'd have to chase away many boys one day," Dustfinger finished, smiling as he looked mischievously at Rosanna, who gave another small giggle in return. He knew even then he would never tire of that sound, so different and yet so similar to the giggling he would listen to when he would tickle her neck or belly or even those little feet or when he would toss her into the air a little and catch her. She had always loved that.

"I really, really like that story," said the little girl, beaming up at him. Her expression was so full of love and adoration even in this dark, frightening place. He knew he may not tell stories like the minstrels, making every story sound like a song, or even like Silvertongue, who could make words paint pictures so vivid you could feel them on your skin, but she really did seem to enjoy it nonetheless and a feeling almost like pride mixed with a little surprise rose in him. It had been twelve long years since he had held a child, especially his own children, in his arms and yet he still knew how to make her smile so easily. It surprised him. Part of him expected to not know what to do at all when he got back.

"I do too," he replied with a slight nod and a smile in return. If only the story had ended happier than he had. If only he had had more time with them then, but maybe this - maybe having Rosanna back - was a second chance. He'd been able to fix things with Brianna and although she was not the little five-year-old girl he remembered at least now she spoke to him, smiled at him. But he would get a chance to raise Rosanna together with Roxane; he'd be able to right what had been done wrong with her too, though she seemed to harbor none of the hurt his eldest had.

As much as he hated that Orpheus had returned, he had to be grateful to him for this one thing. He would escape this place somehow. He would be able to take Rosie home to her Momma and sister and brother. They would all be together again.

"Momma tells me that story sometimes too," she said, a big yawn cutting her off there. The storytelling seemed to have worked to calm her. "It's one of my favorites."

"Does she?" Dustfinger asked, lowering his voice. He had known Roxane told her stories about him, Rosie had said so herself, but he hadn't known she had told her stories like that. He and Roxane had come to some silent agreement since he'd returned not to talk too much about Rosanna. The loss of her had been new to him, dulled only slightly by the fact that he had already believed he had practically lost them all during the ten years in which he was trapped in another story, and even after all those years, it still only hurt Roxane to remember. The tiny grave in their backyard had been a reminder enough. "I can see why; it's a very good one."

"It is," she gave a slow, sleepy nod. "Momma tells me lots of good stories. I like the ones she tells about you and her best, though."

"Oh?" He replied curiously. "Does she tell you lots of stories about me and her?"

"Most nights she does if I ask for them," Rosanna answered before giving another yawn. She stretched a bit before settling back down, still looking up at him as she spoke. "Some nights though, she says she'll tell me a story like that some other time and she would just tell me about you. Bianna said it was 'cause she was sad and I wouldn't be nice if I kept making her tell them so I just let her tell them when she wants to."

"That's kind of you," he said softly. He regretted every minute of sorrow that Roxane had to endure while he was trapped in the other world. Dustfinger tried to no longer be bitter about Silvertongue snatching him away from his home and family, but there were times such as now when his thoughts went to the time he was apart from the ones he missed that he couldn't help the sour feeling.

Rosanna gave a smile at her father's praise before continuing on. "I liked the stories about you too. You and…wait," she sat up and looked around for a moment before her confused gaze settled back on her father. "Where is he?"

"Gwin," Dustfinger said, realizing his daughter must have been talking about the horned marten that had been his companion for so long. "is back on the farm with your Momma and Jehan. He likes to make sure the chickens don't get attacked by anything other than him." He teased her, though the marten rarely did that anymore.

Rosanna gave yet another muffled giggle, hands coming to her mouth, at the mental image of the little creature. "I like Gwin," she told him. "He's funny."

Dustfinger chuckled at the sleepy little girl. "I'm sure he likes you too," he said quietly.

Rosanna nestled into her father's arms, much more contented now that she had been cheered up with stories and talking with her daddy. She blinked heavily as she smiled up at him.

"I hope so," she said, voice soft with the pleasant lull of sleep. Now that the adrenaline must have begun to wear off, fatigue seemed to be hitting her hard and with every blink, she seemed to keep her eyes closed a little longer.

"You'll just have to remember to ask him," Dustfinger said, another small smile coming to his face as he brushed the black curls away from her forehead.

"Mm-hmm," mumbled Rosanna, giving a very slight nod and slowly popping her thumb in her mouth as she blinked once more, but this time, the fatigue won her over and she quickly drifted off to sleep.

Dustfinger continued to run his hand over her hair long after she had fallen asleep. Now that everything seemed to calm and he sat there in the darkness and silence, it truly hit him that this was the first time he'd been with a child this small in twelve long years. He couldn't believe how easily he'd remembered how to care for her, calm her, and make her happy again and sitting there, staring at the peaceful expression on her small face, he vowed to himself that he wouldn't leave this time. He'd make sure she knew who he was and that he didn't miss anything important in her life. They'd both been given a second chance and he was determined to make the best of it.

She looked so tiny curled up in his arms, little feet tucked up in her dress. Dustfinger held Rosanna's free hand in his, feeling how cold it was. Careful not wake her, he gently held her closer, hoping that he'd be able to warm her up even if it was just a little. He should have taken the time to grab his cloak from the house before going with the Queen's handmaiden and the soldier who accompanied her, then at least he could have wrapped her up in something, but the only thing he'd been able to think about was the fact that she was back, trapped in the Castle of Night of all places.

How could anyone delight in doing what they had done to her; locking her up, leaving her here cold and alone and scared, threatening her like they had. She hadn't even actually reached her third year of life and she had already been through too much and that was just while he was here. Who knew what they had done to her before? All that he did know was that nothing else would happen to his little one; not while he was there.