Chapter the Eleventh - in which emotions run high, there is very nearly a discovery most scandalous, and Javaire plays the part of the perfect prat, as per usual.

So the good news is, two updates in (roughly) the same week - huzzah!

Bad news is, after this installment, the story will be on hold indefinitely. Ho hum.

Sorry to everyone who was hoping for regular updates, but with tech week coming up for Twelfth Night, followed immediately by finals and graduation and not to mention several personal projects I'm multitasking on, I'm afraid Stayne and Thacia will just have to wait their turn. I'll do my best to be back by mid May, but I will guarantee right now that this is the last update for April.

*sigh*

So on that cheery note, thank you in advance for every alert/fav/review you chuck my way! and just to reiterate, I take critique of the helpful kind just as well as I take any normal review, which is disturbingly happily.

Enjoy~!

"Father!" Thacia exclaimed, layering Stayne's sudden hiss of "Lord Farian!"

They paused.

"Hide—HIDE!"

Thacia gave a wild, bewildered jump off of the bed. She was using both hands to pin the straggling remnants of her corset to her otherwise exposed chest, and she was shaking with nerves.

"Where?"

"Anywhere! Behind the curtain–"

"The curtain is transparent!"

"Then the closet!"

"There is no closet!"

The doorknob rolled and clicked as someone began to enter. Thacia dove to the floor and scrambled under the bed; Stayne grappled with the discarded bed sheets and rearranged himself, his heart pounding in a frenzied protest that seemed to fill the sudden silence of the room.

The doors were thrust aside as Lord Farian stood impassively on the threshold. Stayne, assuming a disposition of calm he did not feel, sat a little straighter and blinked against the orange light that spilled into the room. He heard Thacia beneath him fidget with her petticoat as it swished softly – the little insignificant noise seemed magnified by the perilous atmosphere, but the most that Stayne could do was to pretend he hadn't heard it.

The Lord of Deymuun entered at his leisure, addressing Stayne heartily as he strode forward.

"Captain Stayne! Good to see you awake at last."

There was a second figure framed in the doorway, not yet entering; Stayne glanced around Lord Farian's encompassing girth to see, with no small chagrin, that it was Javaire. The young man lingered by the entrance, arms folded, and leaning against the wall. The backlighting of the hallway behind him shadowed his face too much to make out his expression – though Stayne doubted it would have been any warmer than the one from his previous greeting in the High Spire.

"Lord Farian," Stayne said, inclining his head in reverence. "I must apologize for – "

"Nonesense." Lord Farian waved his hand gruffly and silenced Stayne. "What's done is done – and what's been done was hardly in your control anyway."

He assumed a seat in the stool that Thacia had occupied only minutes before.

"Even the attending medic couldn't quite figure it out. A seizure of some kind, he insists. Have you ever had black out spells or fainted before, Stayne?"

Stayne's fists clenched impulsively beneath the sheets. Lord Farian was treating him as a grandfather would treat a sickly child. His condescending concern made Stayne feel weak, and he would have given the world to stand up and shout into both of their faces that Thacia had beguiled him – that he was not weak or incapacitated.

Except that his entire world was currently crouched underneath the bed, holding her breath in fear and probably praying that Stayne would deliver her from the unfathomable wrath of her father before she suffocated.

"…No, my Lord." He said at length. "None that I can remember."

"Must be the mountain air playing tricks on you." Lord Farian boomed, unaware of Stayne's stifled indignation.

"Not to worry – the physician assures me that he found no abnormalities. You'll be fit to return to the company of your advance guard by tomorrow – and none too eager to do so, I'll wager."

"My lord makes a deft observation." Stayne returned.

"I wish not to infringe upon your hospitality for any longer than I absolutely must. Deymuun has already imparted more generosity on the Crims standard than we ever could have expected. And, as one royal faction to another, we thank you."

Lord Farian grunted.

"Crims," He muttered over his shoulder to Javaire, as if Stayne couldn't hear him.

"Always so formal. Right then Stayne," He turned back to the captain.

"I'll direct Thacia to send you up a servant to rouse you at dawn. Err, speaking of which,"

Stayne's heart leapt into his throat as he foresaw the inevitable change of topic.

"You haven't happened to see my daughter anywhere about, have you? She's due to man the Firewatch, fifth balcony brigade – but no one's seen hide nor hair of her since about 8 o'clock."

Stayne took a second to think about it and summoned his best look of bewilderment – though he doubted it was completely convincing.

"No my Lord," He said, and then, before he could stop himself, "I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure."

Javaire's snort-turned-cough from the doorway was too well timed for even Lord Farian to remain oblivious to. Stayne could have kicked him, or worse, had he been any closer.

"What's with you, boy?" Lord Farian's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he turned to ask. Javaire paused and looked to his father, trying his hardest not to enjoy the situation he had created. Even in the shadows, Stayne could tell he was failing brilliantly.

"Sorry father – dust in the throat, that sort of thing," Javaire said, feigning another small coughing spasm.

"Might I borrow some of that tea sitting there, Stayne?"

Wordlessly, Stayne reached and offered him the cup. Javaire was deliberately avoiding eye contact as he stepped forward and accepted.

And then the worst thing that could have possibly happened, happened.

As Javaire took a swig and set the tea back down it its original place, Lord Farian's eye caught the extra teacup sitting stone cold at Stayne's bedside. He stared at it along time, as if trying to fathom its existence. Stayne's heart seemed to stop dead for an agonizing eternity.

Finally, Lord Farian spoke.

"…You're positive that you haven't seen The Duchess, Captain Stayne?" He said, his tone flat and unreadable.

Stayne swallowed before he answered.

"Quite my lord." He lied.

"Then why, I wonder," Farian countered, a bit loudly, as if announcing to an invisible third party in the room,

"Is Anathacia's favorite set of china sitting in your guestroom – with place settings for two?"

"I couldn't say milord," Stayne rushed to say, desperate.

"It was present when I awoke not minutes before your arrival."

"Oh come on Father," Javaire pitched in from his spot by the doorway.

"Thacia probably dropped it off before she went to take her Fire Watch shift, while the good Captain was resting. She probably had a spot herself to keep the long night ahead at bay, and just didn't have the time to clear it away before she left."

Lord Farian considered solemnly for several long seconds. The silence that descended was deafening.

"Perhaps." He said at last. He was still unconvinced. "We'd best be leaving Javaire. The council requires our immediate attention to oversee some last minute details on Mirana's troops."

He rose and swept from the bedside. Stayne relaxed a by fraction, though his breath remained baited. Lord Farian shot him a nod that was a bit too curt to be cordial as he left, and Stayne returned the gesture with as much dignity as he could assemble. He was careful to say nothing, however. It was still too soon to test Lord Farian's temper with words.

Javaire and Stayne exchanged mutual glances as the Duke followed after his father. They both knew full well what kind of catastrophe had been averted by a hairsbreadth.

Javaire checked down the hallway to ensure his father was out of earshot.

"Tell my dear sister, undoubtedly doubled beneath the bed," He hissed, his teeth bared in suppressed vehemence, "That she may not be so lucky a third time."

And with that, he closed the door and was gone.

Stayne remained tense for another full minute, wanting to make certain that the shadows lingering just beyond the closed door did not have sentient masters. He knew Lord Farian hadn't bought his façade – and in consequence, Stayne foresaw his stay at Deymuun tripling its worth in wariness.

Once he had decided that the shadows from the hallway were just that, mere shadows, he exhaled audibly and fell back in bed.

"Come out quickly Anathacia," He said finally into the stillness, "Before someone comes back."

There was a great shuffling and ruffling and other such sounds of movement and the Duchess scraped herself from the confined darkness beneath him. Once she was free, she rose into a kneeling position beside the bed, breathing heavily and still shaking. Stayne noticed that her corset had been discarded somewhere along the abandon. He also noticed her gauzy blue undershirt was a great deal more transparent than he thought it would be. Such an unforeseen distraction prevented him from realizing that Thacia was shaking from more than just nerves at first, until he heard the swallowed sob reverberate in her voice as she spoke.

"I'm sorry Stayne," She said – the initial strength of her tone fragmented by a slight wavering as she fought an onslaught of tears.

"It's all my fault. I've been so stupid – how could I have been so stupid? I could have gotten us both tried for treason against my father – against Deymuun – the Royal family – I should never have come in the first place –"

"Enough, Thacia."

Stayne slipped out of bed and knelt beside her, cupping her cheek in one hand.

"This was as much my doing as it was yours. Stop trying to take credit for everything."

He turned and fished out the corset lying forgotten under the bed, offering it to her.

"Come, sit."

He took her by the hand and raised her onto the bed. Wordlessly, Thacia complied as Stayne set about rethreading the coarse cord of thread through each eyelet of the corset. He was deliberately gentle, checking himself each time he pulled the string taught so as not to cause Anathacia any more unnecessary discomfort. A few minutes later, he had fashioned both ends of the chord into a knot, and he sat back a bit to survey his work.

"Is that good?" He asked.

"It's still slipping," Thacia admitted, "A bit tighter."

And so Stayne unfastened his knot and began again. This simple task had an infinitely gratifying effect on both of them, soothing all their frayed nerves that had surfaced during the disastrous discourse of the evening.

Once Thacia was satisfied, she stood up from the bed and adjusted the bosom of her corset, her back still to him. Stayne followed suit and rose after her.

"You'd best be getting on," He said,

"They'll still be wondering what's become of you."

She nodded and made for the door.

"Anathacia," He called softly. She stopped and turned slowly about, her eyes still downcast.

"…You still have my heart."

Stayne saw in her posture that she suppressed a sigh.

"Please Stayne," She said, "Not just yet. I…I need to think…To clear my head."

For one wild moment, he saw, in his mind's eye, himself braving forward and taking her in one last, passionate kiss to leave her with something more definite to think about – but before he could make up his mind to do so, she had unlatched the door and was slipping away into the dim corridor beyond.

"…Good night Captain Stayne."

And then she was gone. Stayne looked after her for a moment, then went back and collapsed silently on the bed, staring at the white washed ceiling without really seeing it.

"…Damn." He said at last.