Author's note: Welcome to the sequel! I hope you all enjoy this as much as the first one.

There are several other works in this series, by me and other approved writers. Because they aren't all by me, they aren't all posted here on ff.n, but you can find them at collections / Powers_verse if you take out those spaces. You don't have to read them for this one to make sense.

Chapter One

d'Artagnan quietly volunteered himself for the first watch on the way back to Paris. Athos had deigned to untie Comte de Rochefort, but Porthos was sitting very close to him, grinning, and the flow of complaints had more or less stopped.

Athos excused himself after a short time and came to join d'Artagnan on the edge of the clearing. "What do you make of our new..." He had to stop and think before coming up with "...companion?"

"I don't make anything of him. I can't get any kind of read on him."

"Nothing?"

"If I try, it's like I slide off his mind. If I don't try, there's – an emptiness, a nothing. It's – unnerving."

"Is it something he's doing deliberately? An Ability?"

"I can't tell. Some people just can't be read. A fluke of the mind. If it's something he's doing, I'll get through eventually. No shield lasts forever."

"Be careful. If he is doing it on purpose, he may be able to tell what you're doing."

"I will," d'Artagnan agreed. He glanced sideways at Athos. "You don't like him."

"Our paths never crossed much even before he fell to the Spanish. His lands are far from mine, and he was the Cardinal's stooge for some years before his capture."

"And you don't like him."

"And I don't like him," Athos admitted with a sigh. "He has never seemed – honest. Far more than the usual Court deception."

"Maybe we won't have to have much to do with him."

Athos glanced at him. "When do our lives ever go that well?"

d'Artagnan snorted softly. "Get some rest. I'll wake you in a while."

"Keep an eye out," Athos warned him, and d'Artagnan nodded.

It was odd, having Rochefort there. d'Artagnan could sense the others, as always, steadfast Porthos, quicksilver Aramis and private, self contained Athos. But Rochefort was either nothing at all, or an odd sliding, wrong sensation. The only thing he could compare it to was trying to look at Porthos when he'd Faded; his eyes always wandered away, no matter how careful he was, no matter how certain he was that Porthos was right there.

Rochefort stood after a while, walking around the campsite. d'Artagnan kept an eye on him but didn't try to stop him. There wasn't anywhere for him to go, and if d'Artagnan shouted the others would wake immediately.

Rochefort wandered up to stand beside him, studying the landscape. "You're a new Musketeer, are you, d'Artagnan?"

"Nearly a year commissioned, nearly another before that apprentice. Quite new."

"And you enjoy it?"

"Far more than I would have enjoyed farming. You never thought of serving?"

"I was busy running my lands." He studied the landscape for a moment. "They've probably been absorbed by the Crown now."

"No one else to inherit?"

Rochefort stared at nothing for a minute. "I missed France," he said finally. "Spain smells different."

"I've never been," d'Artagnan said politely.

"I hope you never will. Terrible country."

d'Artagnan smiled awkwardly. "I'll remember. I need to walk the perimeter. You should sit back down, just in case Porthos wakes and gets the wrong idea."

Rochefort scowled. d'Artagnan moved off, glancing at Porthos as he passed him. The other man was awake, and d'Artagnan was only a half dozen steps further on before he heard Porthos demanding to know what Rochefort thought he was doing.

He completed the circuit on autopilot; he didn't need to be looking to be reasonably sure they were alone, although he was more paranoid now than he would have been otherwise. But the night was quiet and still enough that he'd have heard anyone coming long before they were close enough to attack.

He woke Athos when he got back to camp, reported quietly on the lack of movement, and added, "Rochefort spoke to me."

"About what?"

"About nothing, really. I got the feeling he was probing, trying to find something."

"Do you think he found it?"

"Hard to say. I don't know what he was looking for." d'Artagnan leaned against a tree, thinking. "He wears a rosary," he said thoughtfully. "If I could get my hands on that…"

"We don't need to know that badly," Athos said firmly. "Certainly not yet. We've no proof he's done anything other than escape the Spanish."

"Proof," d'Artagnan muttered. "So inconvenient."

Athos smiled. "Isn't it, though. Go and get some sleep. We'll make Paris tomorrow, and hopefully we'll find out what he wants then."

d'Artagnan nodded, heading to the empty bedroll and settling in, letting the sense of his brothers block out the unnerving empty space on the other side of the fire.

"You forget yourself, sir! Bow to your future king!"

Aramis desperately wanted to get a hand on the child – he looked healthy, but appearances could be deceptive – but it wasn't possible. He had to settle for smiling at him from a distance.

"Thank you, mademoiselle…"

"Marguerite."

"You're the Dauphin's governess?" An utterly ridiculous title, since the boy was barely two days old. She'd be a glorified nanny for the next four years. "A distinguished position."

"Her majesty does me great honour," Marguerite agreed.

"I'm certain you will perform most admirably." He couldn't get at her hands, so he bowed, smiling. "I hope to see you again soon, mademoiselle."

She watched him as he walked away.

Athos was waiting for him, and d'Artagnan joined them a moment later. "Who is that?" he asked, glancing back into the hallway."

"Lady Marguerite, governess to the Dauphin," Athos told him.

"Ooooh…be careful there, Aramis."

"Careful," he repeated, following Athos out into the grounds.

"I nearly fell in love with you myself just walking past her."

"Only nearly?"

"Well, I've heard you snore."

"I never snore in the presence of a lady."

d'Artagnan snapped his fingers. "That's where I've been going wrong!"

"Entertaining as this is," Athos said mildly, "Porthos is waiting for us."

"Does Porthos snore in the presence of a lady?" d'Artagnan wondered.

"Porthos snores in the presence of everyone. It's one of his many charms."

"Charms?"

"One of the lesser ones," Aramis allowed, smiling as they reach Porthos, waiting patiently with their horses.

d'Artagnan smiled, swinging up onto his horse. "I'll try to remember that next time it keeps me awake."

Aramis glanced back towards the palace, just once, and then followed Athos back towards the garrison.

d'Artagnan would have let Lucie kiss him if he'd thought she really wanted it. Watching her brother slowly fade was weighing heavily on her, and he didn't want to take advantage of that.

Constance was standing in the gateway when he turned away from Lucie.

"The Queen sent me to inquire after General de Foix's health," Constance said, voice a little high pitched.

"He's weaker." Constance nodded, turning away, and d'Artagnan hurried down the steps after her. "Constance…"

"We've said it all already, d'Artagnan," she said tiredly. "I can't leave him. And we can't – do what we were doing." He reached for her hands, holding them lightly. "d'Artagnan, I'm the Queen's companion now," she reminded him. "I have to be above question."

She wanted him; she was trying her hardest to stand firm against it.

"What did your husband think?" he asked.

"Not much of it." She tugged against his hold, freeing herself and taking a step back. "What is the general's prognosis?"

"Not good. The wound's infected and the journey drained him too much." Again he silently cursed Rochefort. The man had seen the injury before Aramis could get to it, knew what he was looking at, and had kept checking back. Aramis couldn't do anything to help, though he'd kept the pain down as much as he could.

"I will tell the Queen. Thank you." She nodded awkwardly, turning to leave.

"Goodbye," he murmured.

Her steps faltered, but she didn't stop.