A/N: Thank you Issai, pallysd'Artagnan, and LadyWallace for your reviews!

Chapter 3

Athos woke again to a sharp pounding in his head that throbbed in symphony with the dull pulsing from his hangover. He had hoped to be dead by now, but apparently his suffering wasn't complete yet. He could feel the cold stone floor beneath his legs where they lay, slightly bent at the knees, still unable to move but burning from the knife cuts. His back was against the cold wall where he had apparently been moved and his arms were hanging out to the sides of his head. Ropes around his wrists secured them to some bolts in the wall. Trying to wriggle free of the bonds would only shred his wrists down to the muscle, not that freeing himself would do any good anyway.

Anne sat at the table, just watching him, half her profile in shadow and the other half aglow from the candlelight.

"You work for the Cardinal?" Athos said hoarsely.

She gave him a bland look. "Does it matter?"

He supposed it didn't. Still, being trapped in a dark cellar gave one time to reflect.

"The scorpion," he said next. "Aramis. That was you?"

"The box was meant for you," she replied.

Athos closed his eyes against a swell of grief. He had almost lost his brother because of Anne's quest for vengeance against him.

"But all good things come to those who wait," she went on. "And I find I prefer this close up view of your suffering."

"Then just get on with it," he snapped. This toying with him was grating on his nerves more than the pain of actual torture. Why didn't she just end it? If his brothers were dead like she claimed, there was no reason for him to keep living. He'd barely survived such loss once; he wouldn't be able to again.

Anne rose gracefully and stalked over, bending down and caressing a hand down his face. His heart clenched with the ghost of memory from another life. Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Athos's mind froze for a split moment in surprise, but then he let her continue the kiss, muscle memory betraying him as it remembered the sensual touch of her embrace.

He indulged it for a moment longer before finally turning his head away.

Anne's eyes were like granite. She drew her knife from up her sleeve and pressed the point into Athos's shoulder. He gritted his teeth, then sucked in a sharp breath as she began to torque the blade, screwing it deeper into his flesh.

It took everything Athos had not to scream.

.o.0.o.

It took a lot of coaxing to get Rhaego off the ground and back to the garrison. The flight had been tense, with Porthos watching worriedly as the dragon dipped and lurched with Aramis on his back, but they made it back in one piece. Aramis immediately took his dragon back to his den while Porthos and d'Artagnan headed for the infirmary.

Constance was lying in bed with a few pillows to prop her up. Doctor Lemay had gone.

"Did you find him?" Constance asked when she saw them.

"No," d'Artagnan said regretfully as he went to her side. "How are you feeling?"

"I'll be fine." Her expression pinched. "What do you think happened to Athos?"

D'Artagnan hesitated and flicked a glance at Porthos. "We found signs he may have been grabbed."

Constance looked distressed.

"Jean," Porthos spoke up. "Someone left cayenne at the scene to throw off the scent. Rhaego got a nose full and isn't doin' so well."

Bonacieux's eyes widened. "What?"

Constance made to get up but d'Artagnan quickly stopped her.

"Whoa, what are you doing?"

"Rhaego needs help. His nostrils are probably inflamed, or burned. He must be miserable."

"I'll take care of him," Jean assured her, reaching over to squeeze her shoulder before heading out.

"Aramis took 'im to his den," Porthos added as Bonacieux left.

D'Artagnan helped Constance get settled again, and Porthos lingered, at a loss as to what to do next. Frustration made him fidget where he stood. They knew someone had been targeting Athos, but they'd gotten slack in their guard after nothing had happened for a while. And now someone had made a move against his brother and he didn't know who or why. Porthos clenched his fists and finally turned to go outside.

The garrison was mostly empty; every man was out searching for the perpetrators behind the church bombing. Maybe Porthos should have gone with them. At least then he'd be doing something. The two events had to be connected, right? It couldn't have been a coincidence…

"Porthos!"

He turned to see Cornet striding through the gate.

"We've arrested one of the men we believe was responsible for blowing up the church," the older musketeer informed him. "He's on his way to the Chatelet for interrogation."

Porthos straightened. "He say anythin'?"

"Not yet. The captain's on his way there to question him. I thought you'd want to be present."

Porthos gave a clipped nod. Hell yes he did.

The door to the infirmary opened and d'Artagnan stepped out. "Where are you going?"

"The Chatelet. They have a suspect in custody."

D'Artagnan closed the door and quickly fell into step beside him.

"You can stay with Constance," Porthos said. "We all understand."

D'Artagnan quirked a rueful smile at him. "Constance insisted I not. She said it's bad enough she can't do anything to help." His mouth turned down. "She told me to find Athos."

Porthos nodded.

The three musketeers made their way through Paris to the Chatelet. Treville was already there with the prisoner in one of the cells, the man seated in a chair in the middle of the room with two guards at his back. Porthos, d'Artagnan, and Cornet slipped inside silently, receiving a mere glance from their captain before Treville returned his attention to the prisoner.

"Why did you blow up the church this morning?"

The man didn't respond, just leaned back in the chair with a casual air.

"You are facing execution for the attempted murder of King's Musketeers."

The man's brows furrowed a fraction at that.

"Yeah," Porthos spoke up. "You failed."

The prisoner slid his gaze over, eyeing him for a moment in surprise. "Well…then if no one died, the charges ain't as severe."

"The King does not take kindly to attacks on his personal guard," Treville said. "You will be executed. The only question now is a matter of whether it will be quick."

The prisoner narrowed his eyes. When he still didn't speak, Porthos cracked his knuckles and stepped closer. The move earned him a slight flinch.

"I don' like people tryin' to kill me, not unless it's to my face."

The man leaned further back in his chair. "It wasn't personal," he said. "You were just a means to an end."

"What end is that?" Treville asked.

The prisoner clamped his mouth closed again.

"Was Athos the target all along?" Porthos pressed.

"I don't know Athos."

"He's a musketeer who's missing," d'Artagnan put in impatiently.

"Can't help you with that."

"Give me ten minutes wit' him, Capt'in," Porthos growled.

Treville's mouth was set in a tight line as he considered the situation.

"Let's just give this guy to Savron," d'Artagnan huffed.

Porthos's hard expression cracked into a grin. "Now that's a good idea. It's his rider who's missin'. Not to mention that stunt with the cayenne pepper hurt his den mate. The silverback is bound to be mighty upset."

The prisoner's brows knitted together. "Silverback?"

"You didn't realize you tried to blow up a bunch of dragon riders?" Porthos went on.

The man started to shift uneasily. "Like I said, no one died…"

"But yer still guilty. An' Athos is still missin'. So if you got nothin' left to say, I say we give the dragon somethin' to play wit'." He arched a brow at the captain, who didn't say anything.

"You wouldn't," the prisoner blurted. "By law I deserve a trial."

"The last accomplice this villain in the shadows worked with was slain in prison before his trial," Treville said.

D'Artagnan threw a covert glance at Porthos, who kept his expression schooled. They couldn't know that for sure, but if this was the same person who'd targeted Athos before by framing him for murder, then this guy here was a loose end that probably wouldn't see the sunrise tomorrow.

Treville paused meaningfully. "So if you are expecting this person to perhaps release you, I don't think you'll appreciate their version of freedom."

The man looked to be considering it. After a few moments, he rolled his shoulder uncomfortably. "I was hired by a woman, but I don't know her name."

Porthos perked up at that and exchanged a piqued look with the others. It was a woman who had delivered that box with the scorpion. But was she the mastermind or just the messenger?

"Where can we find this woman?" Treville asked.

"A house on the edge of the river."

"Who else is there?"

The man scowled in apparent frustration. "She hired four of us. If the other three haven't been caught or run off scared, they're probably there."

"And the missing musketeer?" d'Artagnan spoke up.

"He's there," the prisoner grumbled.

That was enough for Porthos.

"Get a troop together," Treville told Cornet, then turned back to the prisoner. "Directions."

Porthos left the cell and followed Cornet back to the garrison to get Aramis. He found the marksman at the dens, fighting to hold Rhaego's head still on the ground as Jean attempted to flush out his nostrils.

"He gonna be all right?" Porthos asked.

"Yes," Jean replied. "Though he won't be smelling or tasting for a couple of days."

Aramis looked up at the sound of musketeers scrambling to assemble. "What's happening?"

"We have a location on Athos an' the person behind the explosion at the church."

Aramis glanced down at his dragon with a torn expression, but before he had to make any decision, Constance made her way over.

"I'll help. You go," she said.

"Should you be up?" Jean asked doubtfully.

"I'll rest when Rhaego is taken care of and Athos is back," she replied staunchly.

Aramis shot her a grateful look and stood up. Jean handed his daughter the water and took Aramis's place wrestling with Rhaego as he thrashed his head. The dragon could be a little shit sometimes, but Porthos truly felt bad for his suffering.

Aramis retrieved his weapons, and by the time the troop of fourteen musketeers was ready, Treville and d'Artagnan had returned from the Chatelet. The captain chose Savron, Vrita, Kilgar, and one more dragon to accompany them and guard the perimeter when they arrived at the house to make sure none of the culprits got away. Then they set off, the dragons taking wing to follow from above.

The musketeers approached the house with stealth. There didn't appear to be any guards on the outside. When the dragons were in position, the musketeers moved forward to make entry. As soon as they stormed inside they were met with resistance from three men. The suspects shot first, musket balls striking the wall and shattering plaster, but once those rounds were through, the musketeers broke upon them like a wave, quickly subduing them.

Porthos grabbed one by the front of his shirt and shook him. "Where's the musketeer?"

"Ce-cellar," the man stammered.

Porthos flung him to the ground and whirled to find the stairs.

"Here!" d'Artagnan called.

Porthos and Aramis converged on his location at an open door that descended to the level below. The passage was dark, but a flicker of orange illuminated the bottom.

"Secure the rest of the house," Treville ordered the other men as the three charged downstairs.

The cellar was mostly empty, save for a table and two chairs. And Athos, tied to some bolts in the wall. Red stained the entire front of his shirt in criss-crossing streaks. His head was slumped forward, chin to his chest, eyes closed. Porthos's heart dropped into his stomach.

Aramis immediately rushed forward, closely followed by d'Artagnan. Porthos was about to join them when he heard the grinding of stone in the back. He snapped his gaze around the dimly lit room, almost not seeing anything, but then his eyes caught a protruding lip in the wall and he strode toward it. There was a passage extending into a tunnel out of the cellar. Porthos shouldered the slab door open in time to see a flicker of torchlight sweep around a bend. Without further thought, he launched into the tunnel to give chase.

Shadows nipped at his heels as he kept pace with the receding halo of light. He couldn't make out much of his quarry, shrouded in a full cloak as they were. But then the tunnel came out into the open daylight along the edge of the wall above the river.

"Stop!" Porthos bellowed, drawing his pistol and pointing it at their back.

It didn't look like they were going to listen, but then Savron and Vrita landed, blocking any path of escape. The figure stumbled to an abrupt halt, then turned back to Porthos. Under the hooded cloak, he caught sight of feminine features, the expression looking trapped but determined. Her cloak rippled and he saw the barrel of a pistol glint between the folds. Stiffening, Porthos squeezed his own trigger.

Two shots cracked the air and fire seared across his bicep. The woman reeled backwards, knocking into the wall and flipping over the edge. Porthos darted forward. He heard the splash before he reached the wall and looked over into the Seine. The dark waters undulated like liquid metal, revealing nothing.

Savron and Vrita joined him, arching their necks overhead and gazing out at the river.

Porthos leaned back, mouth set in a grim line. There wouldn't be anything to find. With a nod to the dragons, he turned to go back to the others.