A/N: Thank you pallysAramisRios and LordLady for reviewing the last episode!
Chapter 1
Rochefort moved through the darkened corridors of the palace, soft footfalls finding his way without the need of a torch. He didn't want his movements marked, after all, especially at this hour of night.
He headed down to the private chapel, pausing at the door to make sure it was empty. The sub level chamber was wreathed in shadows and the faint flicker of votive candlelight. Rochefort scanned the Stygian corners for concealed figures. Hm, she was late.
He moved further into the room, crossing to the votives to light one in case anyone came upon him. He had to keep up appearances.
When he turned back around, his heart gave a small jolt as Milady detached from the shadows, stepping into the light like a creature formed from their inky tendrils that clung to her cloak like sticky webs. Rochefort glowered in response.
"Have you made arrangements to dispose of Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan?" he asked without preamble.
She regarded him coolly for an extra beat. "I used to meet with the Cardinal in these chambers," she said instead, ignoring his question. "We were both once his top spies."
Rochefort took a menacing step forward. "The Cardinal would have been the first to condemn you to the fire for turning down this path of blasphemy," he hissed.
"The Cardinal was not above using whatever means necessary to accomplish his goals," she seethed back. "Including the use of magic." She gave Rochefort a simpering moue. "As are you."
"We are not here to debate the practice of witchcraft," he retorted. "Now, tell me your plans to be rid of the musketeers before I decide to offer up your head to the King instead."
Her eyes flashed dangerously, and he smirked, tapping a medallion hung around his neck.
"I came prepared," he warned, the seal adequate protection against any spell she might want to throw at him.
Milady's lips curved upward. "So did I."
With a flash of reflexes, she whipped out a dagger and plunged it into his side. Rochefort gasped and went rigid, fire spearing through him.
Milady leaned in close. "I have waited this long to plan my revenge, and no one is going to dictate how I carry it out."
Rochefort lashed out to grab her wrist that still held the knife in his side, but she yanked it away, pulling the blade out with a vicious squelch. He cried out and dropped to his knees, cupping his hands to the wound that pumped blood out into his palms.
Milady straightened and backed away, sinking back into the shadows to disappear.
Rochefort struggled to turn toward the door, but a shockwave of pain toppled him to his side. A glacial iciness was seeping through his stomach, replacing the burn of the stab wound. He tried to lever himself up and drag himself across the floor, but he only made it a few inches before he collapsed again, his lifeblood pooling on the stone around him.
.o.0.o.
Athos was just about to retire to bed when a loud banging on his outer door reverberated throughout the office. He crossed the room to answer it, braced for whatever urgent news it must be. Colbert, the musketeer on night watch, was standing on the landing.
"Rochefort's been attacked," he reported.
Athos reached for his coat hanging behind the door and slipped it on. "By whom?"
"Don't know. Treville only sent word that it happened."
"Get Aramis and Porthos," Athos instructed as he retrieved his weapons belt next. Assuming they were in the barracks. D'Artagnan, of course, lived at the dragon compound next door, but Athos didn't feel inclined to wake Constance and Jean at this hour in order to summon him.
Only Porthos looked like he'd been roused from slumber as he shuffled out of his room. Aramis had dark circles under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights ever since Milady had tortured him with the ghosts of Savoy.
"What's this about Rochefort?" Porthos groused.
"All I know is he was attacked," Athos replied as the three of them set off toward the palace.
"Shouldn't that be somethin' for his new palace guards to be investigating?"
"Treville wouldn't have sent word this late if he didn't want us there."
"Maybe he's dyin'," Porthos muttered.
Athos didn't say anything to that. Aramis didn't say anything at all.
They reached the Louvre and came across servants in a tizzy, running to and fro with shouted orders to get more clean bandages and water. The musketeers made their way through the corridor to Rochefort's chambers where they found Treville, along with the King and Queen in their night robes, standing outside.
"It's serious?" Athos asked Treville in a quiet voice. Both Louis and Anne looked upset as they stood in the hall.
"A stab wound in the side," Treville replied. "He was found in one of the private chapels."
"What was he doing there?" Rochefort didn't strike Athos as the spiritual type.
Treville just gave him a look that said he didn't know.
They continued to wait outside as servants came and went, rushing in with towels and removing buckets of bloody water. The longer it went on, the more Athos began to suspect that Porthos's earlier prediction of Rochefort dying might prove true. The King and Queen certainly grew paler as they watched the grim procession.
"What is happening?" Louis demanded impatiently.
"We must let Doctor Lemay work," Anne said, reaching out to clasp his hand, though it was clear she needed as much comfort from the touch as she was trying to offer.
After several more minutes, the door finally opened wide and a servant curtsied in indication they could enter. They all filed inside and gathered around the opulent bed where Rochefort lay, chest swathed heavily with bandages that were seeping red. To their surprise, the Comte was conscious, his face gray and pinched in obvious pain.
"Rochefort," Anne breathed, pressing a hand to her throat.
"Doctor?" Louis prompted, voice cracking slightly.
Lemay looked nervous. "The wound refuses to stop bleeding," he said regretfully. "I will have to resort to cauterizing, but he insisted on speaking with you first."
"Who did this to you?" Treville asked Rochefort directly.
Rochefort peeled his eyes open, irises clouded. "The witch," he gritted out. "Milady."
Louis's and Anne's faces drained of color, and the King spun on his musketeers.
"This is the second time the witch has come into the palace and attacked an important head of state! Obviously, she is not just after the three of you." His voice rose in shrill pitch with each amplifying word.
Athos internally flinched under the castigation yet managed to remain outwardly stoic. It didn't make sense, though he wasn't about to say so in front of a very distraught King. Why would Milady have risked coming into the palace to attack Rochefort? Or perhaps it wasn't that great a risk; she did know all the secret passages from her time as the Cardinal's spy and assassin. Still, what was her motivation? Unless Rochefort truly was making progress in tracking her down.
"Perhaps Rochefort was getting too close and she felt threatened," Treville spoke up, ever the diplomatic captain. The kind Athos was supposed to be acting like were it not for the personal weight this situation held for him.
"I was," Rochefort put in, sucking in a sharp breath. He flailed a hand over his bandaged stomach. "Most likely she spelled the blade. I've heard of magical wounds like this before. No mortal treatment can heal them."
The Queen made a small gasp. "But you wish to cauterize?" she asked Lemay.
The physician nodded. "I may not be an expert in witchcraft, but I have yet to see a wound withstand that level of treatment."
"Then proceed," Rochefort ground out tersely.
Lemay waved for them to leave. "I'll need the room. Aramis," he added. "I hate to impose, but have you had experience with this type of emergency?"
Aramis's jaw visibly tightened but he forced out a stiff nod.
"I could use an extra pair of hands," Lemay said apologetically.
Aramis nodded again and started to undo his weapons belt and remove his coat, which he handed off to Porthos.
Rochefort's face was bloodless, he was clenching his jaw so tightly, though whether from the pain of his wound or the fact he had to endure a musketeer helping him, none could say.
The rest of them reluctantly filed out to the hallway to once again wait for news.
"I want the guard at the palace doubled, Treville," Louis said. "Are there any musketeers whom we can trust to protect us at this point?"
"We mustn't blame Athos and the others," Anne swiftly put in. "This witch is clearly a madwoman. And it is only because of Rochefort's expertise in hunting her that has caused this."
Athos tried not to shift awkwardly in place. He wasn't quite convinced of that. It wasn't like Rochefort had made much progress over the past few weeks.
"We can station dragons on the grounds along with a handful of musketeers who have had no dealings with Milady in the past," he said, stepping back into his captain's role.
Louis exhaled heavily and gave a clipped nod of acceptance.
A horrendous scream rent the air, even through the closed door, cutting off any further discussion. Anne flinched and hugged herself tightly as tears pooled in her eyes. Athos wanted to suggest she not remain here to listen to this, but he suspected the notion would insult her. Louis definitely looked like he wanted to flee, but he didn't, not with everyone else holding their ground. Athos would have left if not for Aramis having stayed to help Lemay.
The tortured screams went on, so much so that Athos and even Porthos began to wince in sympathy. No man should have to endure that.
When at long last it went silent, they were all grateful, though there was also a measure of dread hanging in the air for what the news would be. The door opened and Lemay and Aramis stepped out, both looking pale and sweaty as they rolled down their sleeves.
Lemay took a steadying breath. "It didn't work."
Athos's brows rose in surprise.
"Is he dead?" Anne gasped, voice breaking.
"No, Your Majesty," Lemay rushed to assure her. "He still lives. But the cauterization failed to stop the bleeding as I'd hoped."
"You assured us this would work," Louis snapped.
Lemay looked lost. "I have never seen anything like this, Your Majesty. The cauterization sealed the flesh yet it continues to weep. I am afraid if I cannot stop it, he will die."
Athos exchanged subtle looks with Porthos and Aramis. None of them could honestly say such a fate would bother them overly much. Although there was the matter of needing Rochefort's help to continue hunting Milady.
Lemay cleared his throat awkwardly. "Though I consider myself a man of science and hold more faith in its tenets than I do those of the otherworldly, there is something that might help." He turned to the musketeers. "Do you remember that miracle flower from the Jura you retrieved to cure Aramis of that scorpion bite?"
Athos tensed minutely. "Of course."
"I had not believed it would prove effective, but it did," Lemay went on. "It might work in this case."
"We must try anything," Anne urged, giving them all beseeching looks.
Athos inclined his head stiffly. He was not looking forward to a dangerous mission to the Jura, and for Rochefort no less, but they could not refuse their Sovereign's command.
"We will leave at first light," he said.
The Queen nodded gratefully.
"Your Majesties should get some rest," Treville put in.
Louis nodded and gestured for Anne to accompany him away from Rochefort's chambers.
"I shall return to my patient," Lemay said. "Good luck."
Porthos snorted softly as the doctor left. "Maybe Rochefort will die before we get back."
Treville shot him a warning look.
Porthos scowled. "You know if our places were reversed he'd take his dear sweet time helpin' one o' us."
"Most likely," Aramis said quietly. "But we are not him."
Porthos huffed at that and handed Aramis his coat and belt back.
"We have our orders," Athos said. "Besides, that flower can supposedly cure any ill, and we may find ourselves in need of it for future magical attacks Milady might throw at us."
They all shared grim expressions.
"Agreed," Treville said. "Be quick, but try to collect as much as you can."
They nodded. With the way the battle with Milady was going, they were obviously going to need a magical arsenal of their own…