Chapter 27

Dafne went slack in Basta's arms, processing what he had just said. Yes he had said it. I'm in love with you. Hadn't she already known? But to hear him say it, confirming it after all this time, it still came as a shock to her. She looked reluctantly into his tortured expression. It was growing anxious, hungry for her reaction. What on Earth was she going to say? She couldn't avoid hurting him and she was afraid he might hurt her back the way he was most comfortable with. But there was no other alternative. She had to tell him the truth.

I don't love you.

She opened her mouth, hoping the words would just come organically, her face slightly flinching, already bracing herself for the storm ahead,

"Basta I..."

But he cut her off, he took her face in both hands, her face still wet from tears, and brought it to meet his own. Before she could react, his lips sealed over hers. Dafne's eyes went wide as saucers.

He's kissing me!

Her hands travelled up to take hold his hands and rip them away. So she could rip herself away. But time seemed to slow down. It seemed to take them an eternity to reach their destination. Meanwhile he was still kissing her. He tasted like peppermint. He tasted sweet. But strangely she didn't feel repulsion, disbelief and panic yes, but not the former, which surprised her. It surprised her that he was actually a nice kisser. It surprised her that she had suddenly come to this conclusion. She realised her hands had stopped mid-way up, they were hovering.

What the hell are you doing? She screamed at herself, her hands jerking back to life. She tore herself away from him. They were both breathing heavily as though they had just held their breath under water. She regarded him warily. What had happened just then?

"Why did you do that?" she said accusingly.

"I just told you," Basta said tenderly, "I love you. I wanted to kiss you for a long time now."

He reached out to touch her but she backed away.

"Look," she said, the shock of the kiss making her blunt, "I know this is not what you want to hear but I don't..." she faltered, knowing once it was said it couldn't be undone, but she pressed forward, "I don't love you."

Pain leapt into Basta's eyes. It felt terrible starring into them but she forced herself not to look away. If he came at her, she needed to be prepared.

But he didn't. He shook his head vehemently, his expression full of denial.

"Don't say that!" he said forcefully, "You care about me. I know you do."

"I do care about you," Dafne said, seeing this as an opportunity to soften the blow, "I care about you as a friend. I just don't love you in that way."

Basta waved her words away like batting away offensive insects.

"You kissed me back," he said fiercely, pointing an almost accusatory finger at her, "You kissed me back."

Dafne was temporarily lost for words. Had she been? She had stupidly taken her sweet time prising herself away from him.

"No I didn't," she said. She was unable to stop the uncertainty entering her voice.

"Yes you did," Basta cried, "I know what it feels like when a girl doesn't want to kiss you back."

Dafne was silent and this seemed to be more effective. Basta's shoulders slumped dejectedly.

"You said I was good looking."

Dafne smiled sympathetically,

"I did. But that's got nothing to do with why I don't... I can't love you."

"Why then?" Basta demanded. The pain was quickening to anger now.

But she had to be honest. She should have been honest in the first place. She shouldn't have tip-toed around his feelings thinking she could merely avoid them. How foolish.

"It's who you are," she said, "What you do. I can't possibly love a man who does the things you do. You threaten and hurt people, maybe even done worse than that."

"What does it matter?" Basta interrupted savagely, "I treat you well don't I? Why not judge me on that? Why care about the rest?"

Dafne shook her head sadly,

"See? You can't even comprehend that what you're doing is wrong. You enjoy it. You enjoyed kidnapping me and bringing me here. You didn't care how I felt. Back then, you were more interested in Resa."

Basta flinched.

"But that's beside the point," Dafne went on, "I can't share the blood on your hands, Basta. I don't want your ghosts haunting me."

Basta immediately paled.

"There are no ghosts haunting me," he shouted at her, "I'm protected from them. You are as well since I gave you that horseshoe."

"That horseshoe didn't protect me from Capricorn," Dafne said, crossing her arms, "You didn't either."

Basta threw up his hands exasperatedly,

"He gave you a dress! Stop acting like it's the end of the world."

"You always defend him," Dafne hissed, hurt by the callousness of the remark, "Capricorn can't do any wrong in your eyes can he? Let me tell you something Basta, he doesn't care about you. He never has. He's just using you."

Basta recoiled as though she had bitten him instead of deliver the truth. But then he shook his head, his ears and head refusing to listen.

"You don't know anything!" he snarled at her.

"Yes I do," Dafne said, standing her ground, he needed to hear this, "You told me about your past. Capricorn is a master at manipulating people. Especially orphan boys who are desperate for someone to love them. He can make them do whatever he wants. But he's also cruel and he likes to play games. This dress," she grabbed a fistful and waved it bitterly, "This is a game to him. He knew you liked me. He wanted to play with your feelings by making me play dress-up."

"So what if he did," Basta growled, though he did look troubled, "You just stomped all over my heart, little mouse. So don't go acting high and mighty about playing with feelings."

You just stomped all over my heart. Dafne felt awful. But there was nothing she could do.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"You're sorry?" Basta exploded, making her flinch, "Oh that makes it fine and dandy. Sorry Basta I can't be with you because you're an evil jerk. The truth is no one wants you not even Capricorn."

"That's not what I..." Dafne began but Basta cut her off.

"No, shut up. You've said enough," he cursed in frustration, "I'm so stupid. Thinking you would be different. But you're just like the others. Just like Roxanne and Resa and all the rest... No wait, you're worse than them. At least they showed their revulsion for me outright. But you! You tricked me. Acting like you cared about me. I thought I'd found someone who understood me..." he trailed off, pain choking his voice.

"Basta I do care about you," Dafne said helplessly, "Really I..."

The anger flooded out Basta's face, replaced by a wretched look of pleading.

"Then why can't you be with me?" he breathed, coming in close to her, hand stroking her face tenderly, "Just give me a chance, please Dafne."

Dafne put her hand over his, stilling its ministrations to her face. She looked straight into the begging eyes and said,

"I'm sorry. I can't."

She watched the rage ignite in him, terrifying up close, devouring all reasonability. He tore his hand out of hers and with a bestial cry slammed it into the stone wall of Capricorn's house. This was followed by howl of pain and cursing through gritted teeth.

"Damn it! Damn it!"

"Are you alright?" Dafne asked immediately.

He whirled on her, face still black and furious but now contorted in pain. His skinned knuckles had turned angry red and blood was beginning to spring forth.

Without a word, he stormed off, nursing his bleeding hand as went.

"Where are you going?" she called after him, taking a hesitant step to follow.

"Away from you," he spat, not even turning back.

She slumped against the wall with a sigh.

Well that went well.

Now she was alone and she wasn't sure what to do. She didn't want to chase after Basta. He had made it clear that he didn't want be around her. This was understandable. Let him have his space and blow off steam on someone or something else.

But what about her? Where was she supposed to go? She couldn't go back into Capricorn's house. She didn't want to make her way to Basta's in case that was where he was heading. It was too dangerous to simply go wandering around knowing she could run into God knows who (Cockerell mainly). She wondered where Silvio was. The boy had a knack for popping out of the blue. She wished he would do that now. But no. She was on her own.

Or so she thought.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a small moving shadow. A cat? She turned her head to get a better look. It wasn't a cat. It was a marten with horns on its head. Dustfinger's horned marten. She had never glimpsed the animal before but Resa had told her about it. She stared in fascination. It was on the trail of something, sniffing along the edge of the house.

She crouched down,

"Hi fella," she crooned, "Where's your owner?"

The marten glared at her and bared its teeth.

Dafne backed off,

"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

The marten's eyes darted suspiciously this way and that. Then it dashed off, abandoning the hunt.

"Wait!" Dafne cried.

She ran after it, her logic being that it might take her to Dustfinger.

The marten was incredibly quick and it didn't take long for it to evade her, slipping around a corner and vanishing.

Dafne stopped, cursing and catching her breath.

She looked around. Where was she? She had been so focused on the marten that she hadn't taken notice of the way they had come. This was a part of the village she had never seen before. There was a lot covered by overgrown grass. An ancient tree stood in the middle with a tyre swing. Children must have played here once, in the time before Capricorn and his men. She could hear the ghosts of their laughter.

She made her way cautiously through the tall grass, knowing there could be snakes. But all she discovered was a deflated football. She was drawn to the tyre swing. It reminded of her childhood. There had been had been a tyre swing in her village. She and the other children had spent many hours swinging off it and climbing the branches of the tree it hung from.

She pushed the tyre gently, it creaked back and forth.

"I wouldn't get on that if I were you," a voice out of nowhere startled her, "The rope's so old it might snap."

"Who's there?" Dafne demanded. She couldn't see anyone.

A man with sandy hair and a scarred face appeared from behind the tree. Dafne immediately knew who he was. Resa had described him to her.

"Dustfinger," she said. What were the odds? The very person she had been seeking.

"How nice for a lady to smile and say my name," Dustfinger said in a lilting rather self-deprecating voice, "And your own name lady?"

"Dafne," she said.

"Dafne," Dustfinger said, "You wouldn't happen to be Resa's friend Dafne?"

Dafne smiled,

"That's me."

Dustfinger bowed,

"Then it's nice to finally meet you, Resa's friend Dafne."

"Likewise." Dafne said.

"I apologise if I frightened you earlier."

"Oh that's okay," Dafne said, "Can I ask what you're doing here, besides warning folk away from the swing I mean."

"I could ask you the same question," Dustfinger replied, "But since you asked me first. This tree is quite comfy to sleep against."

"You're sleeping out here?" Dafne said in surprise, "Why don't you stay in one of the houses?"

"I like it better out here," Dustfinger answered, caressing the bark of the tree, "I'm used to sleeping outdoors. The air is clearer."

"Well I'm sorry for intruding on your bedroom," Dafne said.

"Think nothing of it. My door is always open," Dustfinger said, making her laugh.

"To tell the truth, I ended up here because I was chasing your marten."

"Gwin? Why were you chasing him?"

"Because I thought he might lead me to you," Dafne said, "which he did."

Dustfinger raised an eyebrow,

"You were trying to find me? I'm flattered. But why?"

"Resa wanted me to find you," Dafne explained.

As soon as she mentioned her friend's name, a dreamy look crossed Dustfinger's face. The look of a man in love.

What about Roxanne? Dafne thought.

"Resa," Dustfinger said, "How is she? I heard she fully recovered from the snake bite. I haven't tried to see her because I was afraid of getting her into trouble."

"She's determined to escape as always," Dafne said, "That's why she wanted me to meet with you."

Dustfinger shook his head and sighed,

"Of course it is. What does she have planned now?"

"It's not a plan exactly. It's an idea. Monster Night."

"Monster Night?" Dustfinger leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes, "She wants to escape during Monster Night?"

"I guess," Dafne said, then grimaced, "I only just found out what Monster Night entails."

"No," Dustfinger said, opening his eyes, looking upwards into the boughs, "They aren't very pleasant."

"So what do you think?"

Dustfinger sighed again,

"What do I think? It's too dangerous. The last attempt was too dangerous. She nearly died."

The thought clearly upset him. He shook his head as if trying to shake the memory from his skull.

"I don't want to help her put her life in danger anymore. Or yours for that matter. I'm sorry."

Dafne trudged over to stand beside him.

"I understand," she said, "You obviously care for Resa a lot."

Dustfinger nodded,

"Oh yes very much," he said, his voice full of tenderness, "she's shown me great kindness."

"I don't think I could have survived here if it hadn't been for Resa," Dafne said, "She's so brave."

"Yes, brave and beautiful," Dustfinger said, "Too beautiful for a scarred man like me."

"Basta gave you those scars, didn't he?" Dafne said quietly, uncomfortably. Resa had told her that.

Dustfinger lifted his hands to his face and touched them, laughing softly, bitterly.

"Basta. Oh yes. These are his masterpiece."

Dafne shifted about in her discomfort.

"Because the woman he loved preferred you," she said.

"So you know the story?" Dustfinger said, "I expected as much. I heard a story myself you know, a story that Basta has gotten himself a maid."

"Yes that's me," Dafne admitted reluctantly.

Dustfinger looked around a little nervously.

"Does he know where you are?"

Dafne sighed,

"Right now he doesn't give a damn where I am."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"It's a long story," Dafne said evasively.

"I'm fond of long tales," Dustfinger said.

Dafne considered this. Maybe it would be better to get everything off her chest.

"Why not?"

Dustfinger listened patiently as she told her story, beginning with her kidnapping and ending with her rejection of Basta's love and his subsequent abandonment of her.

"Well," he said when she finished, "That was quite a story."

Dafne raked a hand through her hand,

"Tell me about it. I don't know what to do, he just left me there."

"Just count yourself lucky that he didn't get his knife out," Dustfinger said.

Dafne shook her head,

"I don't think he would have..." she began but stopped, remembering his fist hitting the wall. She groaned, "What a big stupid mess I've gotten myself into."

"It's not your fault," Dustfinger consoled her.

"I know," Dafne said, turning eyes skyward beseechingly, "God, I'd give anything to just leave this place."

Dustfinger hung his head, looking almost ashamed.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could help you," he said, "It's just..."

"No, it's alright. I understand," Dafne said, "Like you said, it's dangerous."

The noon sun was descending. Capricorn's village was slowly being swallowed in shadow. The winds carried the coolness of dusk.

"I better head back to Basta's," Dafne said, "Whether he wants me there or not, I have nowhere else to go."

"Let me walk you," Dustfinger insisted, "It's not safe. I'm not much of a fighter but I'm good at causing distractions if you need to get away."

Dafne was grateful for the offer. She had no idea how to get back to Basta's house.

"Basta told me you can talk to fire," Dafne said as they walked together, "Is that true?"

Dustfinger smiled,

"Would you like to see?"

"Oh yes please," Dafne said excitedly.

So they stopped and Dustfinger produced a matchbox. He handed it to her.

"Here. I want you to light a match and hold it out to me."

Dafne followed his instructions.

A small vulnerable flame burst into life.

"Good," Dustfinger murmured, watching it almost tenderly, "Good."

Was it Dafne's imagination or did the flame suddenly grow a little larger, a little stronger?

Dustfinger put his hand into the flame, closing his fist around it.

It looked like he had simply extinguished it.

But then he unfurled his hand and there is was, dancing in centre of his palm.

He had scooped it up like it was a stone.

Dafne's eyes widened in amazement.

Dustfinger dropped the fire back onto the matchstick where it ran its course and fizzled out.

"That was incredible," Dafne said, holding the blackened stick close to her eye, fume still spiralling from it.

Dustfinger bowed modestly.

She was about to request an encore but she wasn't given time.

"You think that's incredible do you?" came a familiar menacing voice.

Dafne cringed. Dustfinger's face tensed. They both recognised it.

Basta came marching up to them. Dafne noticed his hand was now bandaged.

"Have I ever showed you how good I am at throwing a knife, little mouse?" he said, throwing Dustfinger a vicious grin, "How about I get Dirtyfingers here to stand against this wall and give you a little demonstration?"

Dustfinger smiled grimly,

"Hello Basta."

"Hello Dustfinger," Basta said scornfully, whipping out his blade and waving it at him scoldingly, "What is it with you? Why do you always try to move in on my women?"

Dustfinger shrugged,

"Sorry. It was my understanding that they weren't yours," he replied.

Basta flushed angrily, gritting his teeth.

"Basta..." Dafne began, fearing that he might lash out at Dustfinger.

"You stay out of this," Basta snapped at her, still glaring at the other man.

It was Dustfinger who looked over at Dafne. The expression on his face was apologetic.

"Please don't be upset with Dafne. She was helping me practice."

"Practice?" Basta spat, "Practice what? Your seductions?"

Dustfinger sighed somewhat wearily,

"Oh come now Basta, really. What kind of seducer do you think I make with these scars you gave me?"

"I'll give you a few more if you like," Basta offered threateningly.

"Basta, please," Dafne cried desperately, catching hold of his arm, "Please leave him alone."

But Basta pushed her away and put his blade up to Dustfinger's throat.

Dafne drew in a sharp breath.

"You keep your smudgy fingers off my maid," Basta growled, his face almost touching the face he had scarred, "Do you hear me Dirtyfingers?"

Dustfinger nodded.

"Good," Basta crooned, "Because if you don't, I'll cut off your fingers so you can never play with your darling fire again."

He withdrew, turning back to Dafne. He knocked the matchbox out of her hand. It hit the ground, the matches inside rustling in protest. Then he grabbed her arm. She winced but Basta showed no signs of caring.

"Come with me," he said, his tone of voice offering no negotiation.

To be continued...