A/N-- Wow. I actually have nothing to say. That's odd. Enjoy!

Once more, the dividing lines aren't working. Apologies.
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Chapter Twelve
A Question of Salvation
in which a dynasty falls

The world was an endless expanse of blue the next day, a world in which anything might have been possible in the perfect sphere of sea and sky if it weren't for the hollow blue eyes Stephen was looking into.

"You must eat, Cora. I've given you your fresh air, and now you must pay the piper."

She spared a glance for him and looked disdainfully at the plate he held.

"My stomach won't countenance it."

"You must try to eat. It doesn't matter if your stomach rejects it later- at least try."

She sighed and accepted a piece of bread, chewing on the crust and looking back over the taffrail. When she awoke fully she'd asked for fresh air, and Stephen carried her onto the deck in a bundle of blankets amidst a flurry of rather disconcerted sailors. Jack had calmed them and Mowett brought two chairs for their comfort.

It was only natural for Cora to put her feet in Stephen's lap, since she couldn't very well rest them on the ground. The blankets that covered her made it easy for Stephen to put a companionable hand on her calf, which he rubbed every so often when she seemed in danger of slipping inwards once more. She took his hand out of the sight of the others.

Their attention shifted now to the ship anchored alongside them, which had burst into a flurry of shouted orders and running sailors. Jack had gone over to the Running not long after they appeared on deck to supervise the raising of the new mast, and to Stephen it seemed a rather complicated and dangerous business best left for the safety of dry land. It was taking far longer on the Running than it had on the Polychrest, when Stephen last saw the process, and Jack seemed more frustrated now than before.

Cora finished her bread and settled further into her blankets, her toes curling over Stephen's thigh and then releasing. He sighed quietly enough that it was likely she didn't hear him; she was still looking to the Running with saddened eyes. The day could've almost been perfect; their own deck nearly quiet, the breeze wafting around them, and no pressing need for haste. He felt, as he always did when Cora was near, that he could remain in that particular place forever.

"Unless you eat some of the ham Killick gave us, I will be forced to take you back to the orlop." He hinted out of the masochistic urge to break the spell of the moment, and also out of the desire to take her back there anyway. He wanted very much to kiss her- recently it occurred to him that he hadn't kissed her since that morning on Isla Cruces, and it seemed to him that he should have.

To his disappointment, she sat up and reached for one of the items in question, and settled back to eating it. When it was done and no more progress seemed to be made on the Running, she whispered to him that she was ready.

He carried her back to the orlop and set her in her hammock, removing the blankets briefly to check the wound and her pulse.

"You should get some more rest. We'll raise Port Royal tomorrow."

"The Turner side of my family is there." She said softly. "Your captain may be able to get me my pardon with their help."

"It may be that he needs permission directly from England. Your case might need to be heard." He said in vain, knowing full well the powers Jack had as captain of the Surprise.

"Maybe." She whispered back.

He covered her up once more and, after the briefest of hesitations, leant down to kiss her softly. He'd expected her lips to feel resistant against his, that her desires were contrary to his that day, but instead they yielded softly to him, inviting a deeper touch. They remained there for another moment, and then Cora pulled away.

"Will you take me to your cabin?"

As much as Stephen's body flushed with heat at the thought of what she was suggesting, he couldn't countenance such a risk.

"My dear, I do not think you're well enough to-"

"I didn't mean that. I only... I heard you speak to me when I was sick. You said you'd make room for us both." She gave him a small smile. "I have an idea that's a little better than yours."

Out of curiosity more than everything else, and ignoring the voice in his head that said this was madness, Stephen lifted her once more and carried her into his cabin. He hesitated once he was there, unsure of what she wanted.

"Put me down by your desk. I can balance on my left leg there." He did so reluctantly. "Lie down on the hammock."

One he'd complied she made it to his side in one enormous bound, gripping the hammock fiercely to keep her balance. He sat up to steady her and his swinging hammock. Catching her drift, he swung his legs over the side and then took hold of her waist. With their combined efforts, she managed to scramble on top of him, many times nearly taking them to the floor. They clung together in the swaying hammock, waiting for a steady world that they could share. As it quieted their bodies relaxed and Cora stretched languorously on top of him; their bare feet brushed as she ran one hand through his short hair.

"Maybe there is room for us after all." He murmured.

She only kissed him in response, and then settled with her head on his shoulder into sleep.

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Cora knew something was amiss when she woke. Maybe it was a shift in the action on the deck above her, the calls of nervous sailors, or maybe it was the sudden stiffness in the man beneath her, the change in his erstwhile regular breathing. She couldn't say accurately what she was. But she woke with ice in the put of her stomach.

"Perhaps we should-" He said, noting that she was awake.

"Not yet." She lay her head back on his chest with a soft sound of contentment, praying his warmth would be enough to melt her unspoken fear away.

There was no doubt that three hour span- it must've been three hours, they were two bells into the current watch when she drifted off and she heard eight bells now -was the best she'd slept since leaving Isla Cruces. It wasn't just the absence of pain in her leg; it was the complete and utter contentment that enveloped her with Stephen's arms. She never slept well without someone else nearby- she and Ashli always shared a bed -as if the presence of another human being could keep away the monsters.

She felt no peace now that she woke, even as one of his hands glided slowly up and down her back and he kissed her hair absently. Stephen told her about the mutiny, and she deduced that it was James Starre- her mother's brother -who'd led it. The ex-captain was in chains on her own ship, a ship that had surrendered. She should've felt safe no matter what. Very soon she would be free to do what she wanted. And that was the most haunting thought of all.

She raised herself once more, intending to drown herself in Stephen's kiss, when they heard the sound of rattling chains and footsteps above them.

"That is never a welcome sound in our world." Stephen murmured, but she was already struggling to escape the hammock. It was an awkward business, and for a moment she had to put her weight on her right leg. There was a flash of agony but more importantly of memory- her mother's cold blue eyes, and that awful moment just before she pulled the trigger. The sudden realization that she would likely die for the unforgivable sin of falling in love.

"Cora?" He put one hand on her elbow and the other on her waist to steady her, but more importantly to bring her back to the world of the living. "Have you reopened the wound?"

"No." She managed to say. "Get me to the door."

Stephen went to pick her up once more but instead she slung one arm over his spare shoulders and hobbled with him out into the orlop. They were just in time to meet Jack and Mr. Howard.

"There you are, Stephen. The most awful thing has happened while you were hiding out down here. We were aiming to raise that new mizzen and one of our thrice damned landsmen let go of his rope at the most inopportune moment, and the whole thing collapsed to the deck. The Running has been very badly damaged. Our men are doing everything they can to save her, but I thought it prudent to move the prisoners down here to the orlop since our brig is out of commission. Will you mind the intrusion? It will only be for two days at the most. We're going to leave them in Port Royal to face their fate. The idea of stringing them up at the yardarm myself is distasteful- I wouldn't do that to the old Surprise."

That would explain the rattling they'd heard. Cora looked in the narrow space between the captain and the marine while Stephen gave his answer. The rattling was mostly done now as the armed lobsters escorted their prisoners to the dark corner. Her heart ached at the sight of every one of them- her uncle James, Anamaria, ancient Cotton and his fourth interpretive parrot (this one more foul-mouthed than most), and a dozen others she'd known from birth. Secretly it was waiting for the blow that would fall. It was waiting for the woman who knew her before her birth.

Then her heart stopped.

"Is that all of the prisoners?" She asked suddenly. Both Howard and Jack turned around with vague confusion at her frantic tone.

"It ought to be," Mr. Howard said. "We cleared the ship of everyone but Mr. Lamb and his mates and the sailors at the pumps."

Her heart began to work again. It began to pound every cold drop of blood through her body.

"Then where is my mother?"

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Stephen was the last one to get up on deck, having taken a handful of seconds to sit Cora down and beg her to stay where she was that the other men spent dashing out of the orlop. He rejoined them as a longboat was being prepared and took two pistols from the nearby bucket. Jack, Mr. Howard, and five of his marines were the rest of the party.

"I knew there was something amiss when Joe didn't come over with us, I knew it, I knew it," One of the marines kept saying, as if it could bring his missing mate back.

"Quiet there, Mr. Nolan." Howard hissed. "Calm yourself, man."

Their boat touched the water and Nolan calmed himself by taking up the oars with another marine.

"Handsomely now," Jack whispered. "As quiet as ever you can."

"Weapons at the ready." Howard added.

Stephen was the first over the side, by virtue of his continuous mishaps with climbing aboard a ship. For a few moments every man below was more worried about him falling over than they were about the murderous pirate they'd just noticed was gone. It was almost absurd.

Once on deck he raised his pistol, scanning for any sign of life. Jack was next to join him, and after that Howard and the marines in rapid succession. The deck was treacherous now, and they slid several times as they began to traverse it. The mast had fallen at an angle, thank God, so as not to cleave the ship directly in half. The starboard bow was utterly wrecked and even towards the middle of the ship Stephen could look down and see the lower decks. By strange fortune the mast had slid off the slanted deck and down into the sea, meaning that only the cracks below the waterline left them in imminent danger of sinking. Given Stephen's dislike of swimming, it was an uncomfortable thing to realize that while they searched the ship for said murderous pirate, it was slowly succumbing to water beneath them.

"We'll search the ship one deck at a time, as a group. Leave no cranny unmolested."

By the time they were done searching the deck they were already on, Stephen's hand was slick with sweat on his pistol. It was a sort of relief to descend through one of the hatchways into the deck below them, where it was cooler. More precious time spent searching- still nothing.

The deck below that was filled with the rank scent of death. Every heart pounding, they rounded the corner, following the stench.
They discovered Mr. Lamb and his mates, their tools forgotten in their hands, the seawater around them red with blood. Every throat was cut.

"At least the worst of the damage is repaired. She'll hold for now." Jack's voice came low and soft in the relative darkness. They could hear the pumps working elsewhere in the ship. The other sailors were safe.

The brig wasn't far away from their current position, and when they moved back towards it they found the missing marine with his throat in similar condition to the carpenters'. Nolan was quietly sick nearby. One of his other companions went to his side and was speaking in a soft voice.

"The blood of those poor men was still warm. I felt it." Howard said to Jack. "Sir, it's possible she is still on this deck. We must press on."

Jack nodded.

"Tend to your man first."

As they spoke both the soft murmurs and the retching had stopped. Howard reached the two marines and stood next to them, bending over slightly at a word from Nolan. He waved his hand wildly for them to approach, then pointed down at their feet.

A trail of blood led away from the body of the marine, whose bayonet was also red.

They followed it as quietly as they could back to the scene of the carpenters' deaths, where for a moment they lost it in the confusion of blood. They picked it up again heading in the same direction, this time thicker. Stephen was strangely relieved at the sight; she'd have to be feeling weaker now, and with any luck the wound was already fatal. But why was she heading this way instead of for the upper decks?

The trail continued for some time through the twisting corridors of the ship. The eight men followed in single file, with Mr. Howard at the head and Jack and Stephen behind. They walked so closely together that when Howard stopped Stephen found himself with a mouthful of Jack's uniform.

"What is it?" The captain hissed.

"The trail stopped." Howard said. "There's no more blood."

"She must've bandaged the wound." Stephen ventured.

"What do we do now?" This from Nolan in the rear.

Jack stood silent in thought for a moment, then nodded to himself and spoke. "We keep on this tack. There's a dead end up ahead. She must be in the next room. Spread out now, with myself and the doctor behind you, and prepare to fire."

True to Jack's word, there was only one way to go from there, and they took every step with the greatest care, counted every heartbeat in the fear that it would be their last. At last they reached an inconspicuous door whose handle was crimson and warm.

Jack and Stephen stood to the back of the room, their pistols ready, while Howard and four of the marines fanned out in front of them. Nolan went slowly to the door, rested his hand on it for the briefest of moments, and then flung it wide and prepared to stab with his bayonet.

They were met with a dark, empty room.

At a signal from Howard, Nolan crept into the room with his musket still at the ready. He went into the middle and turned in a slow circle, then looked back helplessly at the others. Howard made another signal and he and the marines headed into the room, Jack and Stephen behind them. With all of them inside it was terribly stuffy and dark. They were in one of the very lowest parts of the ship and somewhat forward Stephen thought, but he wasn't entirely sure of where.

"I don't understand." Nolan whispered. "There was nowhere else for her to go."

"Except for backwards."

They turned too late. The door was shut and a lantern that was closed opened. She stood just to the side of the door, the lantern aloft.

"You murdering bitch!" Nolan screamed, his musket going off in a flare of heat and smoke.

"Do not fire!" Jack shouted, tossing the weapon away from the enraged marine. "Don't you see where we are standing?"

The stuffy room was suddenly still, as if everyone had stopped breathing.

"Where are we?" Stephen asked, befuddled by the sudden fear in the eyes of the other sailors.

"We're standing at the entrance to the powder magazine." The pirate smiled. "One wayward spark, and we all go to visit Davy Jones. And I'm holding a lantern full of fire."

Every heart in the room slowed at those words, as if by beating less they could sustain themselves.

"What do you want?" Jack's voice came hoarsely in the dark.

"I want you and him," She gestured to the captain and Howard. "To go back to your ship and tell them that the Running is safe now. Send my pirates back over here, and do not attempt to pursue us, or I will kill every man standing in this room now." Like lightening she drew the cutlass in her belt and drove it up under Nolan's ribs. He fell to the ground wide-eyed and pale, blood trickling from his mouth.
"And that," She said. "Is to prove that I'll do it."

Stephen was on his knees beside him out of instinct, and if for nothing else than to close his eyes in final rest. When his task was done he met Arlen's eyes with a strangling hatred inside of him. She met his eyes and frowned slightly; then she seemed to put something together at last in her head and smiled.

"Ah, so you are the surgeon. Good. I almost hope the captain here doesn't obey me. It would be such a joy to kill you." She leveled her cutlass at him. "A very great joy."

He heard Jack's shout and felt the sudden movement behind him, but then the lantern fell.

It happened before anyone saw it. Jack's lunge had been interrupted in favor of throwing his coat on the growing fire. He didn't see it. Howard and the marines were bent in similar task. Even Stephen, caught strangely in the crossfire with nowhere to turn, didn't see it. Yet they all noticed at the same time, about when the flames were out, that Arlen Starre was no longer on her feet.

It looked like a mirror had been brought into the magazine. The two women poised atop each other were nearly identical. It was only the difference in their dress that separated Cora from Arlen.

A pool of blood was spreading towards them, joining Nolan's. Arlen smiled up at her daughter.

"Pirate," She spat, and then lay still.

Cora staggered to her feet, withdrawing the knife they'd found in Kevin Andersen's body from that of her mother and dropping it to the floor. She reached for the pistol Arlen had drawn. As she sat back on her heels, staring at the body in disbelief, she leaned it idly against her temple, her bloody finger poised on the trigger.

Stephen crawled to her side and replaced the gun with his lips, having learned that fate was not something to toy with.

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Cora had torn open her wound again in her frantic race to reach the Running, probably when she was swimming. That was when the agony started. She'd nearly fallen crawling up the ship's side.

It had taken her too long to decide to follow the eight men who'd gone over to find her mother, and while she cursed her indecision at the time it saved them in the end. If she'd been earlier she would've been just as trapped. Instead she opened the door to the powder magazine in time to see a marine dead on the floor and a cutlass at Stephen's throat.

There was no question of what she had to do. Not then anyway. It was almost an accident, the way they both fell to the ground and the way Cora's knife sunk deep into her mother's chest as if that was its natural home. And then her dying curse- pirate. The knowledge that even if she was free on paper inside she would always be branded.

When she rested the pistol she took from her mother against her head, she'd contemplated pulling the trigger. It seemed so easy to just give in. But then Stephen was there with his arms around her and a kiss, murmuring that she was bleeding and she needed to rest. She did give in- but only inside.

She had vague memories afterwards. Stephen carrying her back aboard the ship, laying her in her hammock and caring for her wound. Giving her another kiss. Later on bringing her soup. His eyebrows drawn in consternation when she tried to reject the spoon, as if feeding someone shouldn't be so hard. He'd almost made her laugh.

Then James came to see her, waking her with a touch of his hand on hers and the rattle of his chains. She was vaguely aware of a marine behind him and she knew he'd come to say good-bye- knew that he and the rest of the crew were going to prison for her salvation. It didn't worry her too much. There wasn't a prison built that could hold their crew for long. Some of them might dance for the hangman, but not all of them. Never all of them. She was so safe in this knowledge that most of what he said was nothing more than meaningless, soothing sounds. She was nearly asleep, in fact, when his lips made sounds that were like bullets into her stomach.

"Your mother always loved you, Cora."

She was wide awake now, staring straight at her uncle.

"Would she love me for killing her?"

"She would love you for saving her."

She laughed.

"Cora, what happened wasn't your fault-"

"I stabbed my mother in cold blood. I think that's the baldest definition of patricide there is."

"That's not my meaning. Our Lone Star was destroying herself these past twenty years. She was probably destroying herself from the moment she was born. Who knows how much longer it could've gone on without her taking us down too?" James sighed. "As daft as it seems you saved her, Cora. You saved all of us."

The thought unsettled her more than it assured her. Even after James left, Cora found that sleep remained just out of her grasp. She flitted from the shoals of unconsciousness into the choppy waters of awakening more times than she could count. It was only when Stephen resumed his place at her side and took her hand in his that she slipped away at last.

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A/N-- There you have it. Our almost resolution. But where does this turn of events leave Cora and Stephen...? Read and review to find out in the last chapter! Huge hugs and M&M's to my reviewers (FuchsiaII, Kelly Tolkien, silverwolf of the night, Oriana and Snape's Opera Rose). And yes, you do get an extra ration of grog.