A/N: Thank you SnidgetHex, beeblegirl, and pallysAramisRios for reviewing!

Chapter 2

Athos made his way down the street, surveying the exterior of the building to his right. He almost ran into a pair of men hauling out some broken and dusty furniture through the open door into the place. They loaded it into a cart already packed full with junk, then climbed up to drive away with it. Athos turned to go inside, only to almost get hit with a broom and a puff of dust as Ninon vigorously swept the entryway clean.

"Athos!" she exclaimed. "Apologies, I didn't see you there."

He coughed lightly and removed his hat. "I heard you were setting up a…shop here."

Ninon beamed with obvious excitement. "It used to be a printing press, though it hasn't been used since before the war. The Queen is sponsoring free education to anyone who wants it." She propped the broom against the doorjamb and turned to cross the room toward a dilapidated looking machine set in the back. "I'll be able to print educational materials. Do you know how many more people I'll be able to reach with this?"

Athos regarded the old thing skeptically. "Do you even know how to use it?"

Ninon shot him a dry smirk and reached behind the press to pick up a manual. "This is why education and books are important," she said smugly.

Athos shifted in discomfort and cast a glance over his shoulder at the open doorway. "Don't you think it's dangerous establishing yourself like this in the city? You're increasing the chance that someone may recognize you."

Ninon shrugged glibly. "I'm not worried about that. Most of the courtiers from my former circle have left Paris for the countryside. And they wouldn't dare be seen in this neighborhood."

"The Queen will most certainly recognize you," he pointed out.

"Constance is the one who set this up, and she's acting as intermediary to the Queen. There's no reason I should ever have any interaction with anyone outside of the people I'm here to help."

Athos huffed in growing vexation. "And what about when the Queen wants to come see the fruits of her sponsorship? She does like to get involved." More so than the King did.

Ninon smiled at that. "Yes, I've always admired that about her." She strode past him to pick up the broom and resume sweeping. "And when the time comes, I might choose to reveal myself. I think the Queen of all people would keep my secret, since I am not, in fact, a witch. And she believes in what I'm trying to do here."

Athos's jaw tightened at either her blatant disregard for her own safety or sheer naiveté. It was a familiar frustration that reminded him of when they'd first met.

"I'll let you get back to work, then," he said and backed his way out of the room.

Ninon gave a clipped nod in response, eyes fixed on her task.

Athos sighed as he headed back to the garrison. When Ninon de Larroque set her mind on something, there was no stopping her. One would think years after losing everything, that passion would have tempered some. It hadn't. Something Athos found both alluring and vexing all in the same breath.

He walked into the garrison and spotted d'Artagnan having breakfast at the table under the balcony.

"Morning," d'Artagnan said between bites. "You went to see Ninon?"

Athos pulled up short, eyes narrowing.

D'Artagnan just smirked at him. "Constance told me about the Queen sponsoring free education for the people and how Ninon would be running the printing press. I think it's an admirable pursuit."

"One that's going to get her discovered," Athos groused. "Something she's not the least bit concerned about."

D'Artagnan arched a brow at him. "But you are."

"It would be regrettable if I was forced to arrest her."

"We both know you wouldn't do that."

"If her identity is discovered and she's charged as a fugitive witch, I will have no choice."

D'Artagnan leveled a serious look at him. "With the Cardinal long gone, there's a chance those charges could be revoked. And if not, we'd find a way to help her, just like last time."

Athos's eyes narrowed further. He didn't like talk of treason…even though they had, on occasion, committed it.

D'Artagnan leaned his arms across the table and met Athos's gaze. "This isn't about that, though. You're worried about her."

"I'm worried about the fallout."

"Mm-hm," he hummed skeptically. "You keep telling yourself that. But the rest of us know better."

"I would appreciate it if you all wouldn't gossip about my nonexistent love life."

"Nonexistent is right, at the rate you're going."

Athos rolled his eyes and turned for the stairs to put an end to this conversation, but he was stopped short by Porthos storming toward him, clearly in a sour mood.

"Did you know about this?" the large musketeer asked, shoving a note at Athos.

Athos took the parchment mildly and read its contents. His mouth turned down.

"On an errand for the Queen. Can't say more. Will be back as soon as I can. Aramis."

"No," Athos said, frowning in confusion.

"What is it?" d'Artagnan asked, standing up and moving closer to see for himself.

Porthos scowled in displeasure. "Found that in Aramis's room this morning. He didn't even take Rhaego!"

"If he's on a simple errand in the city, he wouldn't need Rhaego," Athos pointed out.

"He left on horseback last night," Porthos growled. "The cadet on watch saw him leave."

Athos's frown deepened. Why wouldn't Aramis have taken his dragon on official Musketeer business? And why wasn't Athos, Captain of the Musketeers, informed about it?

"Should we ask the Queen?" d'Artagnan said.

Athos fingered the vague note, the mystery of the situation carrying a measure of unease. "Not yet," he decided. If it was secrecy the Queen wanted, she must have a reason for it. Athos would give Aramis some leeway here.

And hope he wasn't about to get himself into a world of trouble.

.o.0.o.

Aramis had to ride all through the night to reach the designated rendezvous point by morning, and he really missed the speed and ease of dragon flight. Not to mention someone to talk to who was a little more responsive than the horse. He didn't know what Rhaego would think of this secret mission. Probably he wouldn't care as long as Aramis wasn't leaving him behind—which would be another fence to mend when he got back. He honestly didn't know what he was going to say when he returned to Paris and the others asked precisely what errand he had been on. He'd have to hold his ground about keeping the Queen's secret and hope his brothers respected it. It would create tension among, them, no doubt.

And while he was loath to cause any of that, he also knew he couldn't betray Anne's confidence. She had so few people she could trust, whom she could be open and honest with. Really, there was only Constance, and there was no way Aramis would have her conduct secret meetings with Spain. If Aramis could be another friend to Anne, then he was honored to be entrusted with that friendship. She had such a kind soul, a regal and noble beauty that came not from bloodline but from strength of character; she didn't deserve the hardship and loneliness her status brought upon her. And to be stuck between her husband and her brother, surrounded by people who would so quickly turn on her for being Spanish…it was no wonder she was desperate to prove herself.

So, Aramis may not like the circumstances, but he would continue to support the Queen in whatever she needed.

It was two hours past dawn when he finally rode up to the ruins. A horse was already tied to a post outside the crumbling walls; looked like the Spanish ambassador had arrived.

Aramis dismounted and walked his horse the rest of the way, then tethered the reins to the post. No one came out to greet him.

"Buenos días," he called as he ventured inside.

There was a campfire crackling languidly and a saddlebag on the ground next to it, but no sign of anyone. Perhaps the ambassador was taking a look around.

"¿Señor?" Aramis moved slowly into the center of the ruins, making sure to appear nonthreatening. He had his sword but had left the musket and pistols with the horse. Something felt…odd, though. There was a prickle at the back of his neck.

Aramis took a few more steps and finally spotted a swatch of black leather amidst the greenery against the dilapidated wall. Gut pinging with warning, he moved closer, only to pull up short at the body lying on the ground, tucked out of the way. Vacant eyes stared out at nothing, his clothes splashed with blood. The gold seal around his neck marked him as the Spanish ambassador.

Aramis hesitated only a second before backing up, his eyes sweeping around the ruins on full alert. He started to backtrack toward the exit, but several men poured in through the opening, blocking his path. Aramis cursed under his breath as he caught sight of more coming out of the depths of the ruinous walls in his peripheral vision. How had he completely failed to notice the place was surrounded?

The men immediately charged him, though he noted none had their weapons drawn. Apparently they weren't aiming to kill just yet. He threw a punch at the man that reached him first, then frantically tried to get the letter out of his doublet. There was only one way anyone could know he and the Spanish ambassador were out here—there was a spy within the backchannels the Queen had used to send her initial message. And Aramis could not let them get their hands on her letter.

Multiple hands seized his arms, and he twisted in their grip to swing a few more punches. He managed to knock a couple men backwards into their compatriots, but there were plenty more to replace them. There was no time to go for his sword.

Aramis scrabbled for the letter as his other arm was wrenched behind his back. He finally grasped the parchment and flung it into the campfire, then spun to fight back with everything he had. But someone caught his next punch and both arms were torqued backwards. He grunted as someone kicked out the backs of his legs, driving him to his knees. Too much weight bore down on his shoulders to give him any leverage at dislodging them.

A pair of boots stood next to the campfire, and Aramis looked up in dismay as Raymon Boudier plucked the letter from the fire, batting out the flames that only managed to singe the edges.

"You're supposed to be in prison," Aramis blurted.

Boudier shrugged as he shook out the letter, sending embers sprinkling down to the ground. "I have a new benefactor." He removed a glove and carefully slid a finger beneath the wax to lift it from the parchment without breaking the seal itself. A smile curved his lips upward as he read the contents. "And he will be very pleased with this."

Aramis strained against the men holding him, but they only yanked his arms back and up further until his shoulders threatened to pop out of their joints.

"What do you want to do with him?" one of them asked.

Boudier considered Aramis for a long moment. "I'll keep him alive for now. He may prove useful later. Take him to the farmhouse."

Aramis struggled as he was hauled to his feet. He refused to go quietly.

It was a paltry display of defiance. Boudier merely drew his pistol and gripped the barrel to swing it like a club. The butt clobbered Aramis in the head and he fell back into his captors' arms, senseless.