Page 30 of Bluebeard’s Key

Perhaps a woman’s touch would be better. He was coming to understand they were both fragile souls.

“Join me for some refreshment,” she said, handing him a glass of whiskey. Quite nice whiskey, by the looks of it, and he was apparently the only one to have the pleasure. The servers were offering only champagne.

“Santé,” he said, raising his glass and appreciating another small aspect of his new wife.

He didn’t understand how it was possible, but she was wriggling through his impenetrable defenses and into his heart. He hadn’t felt this…what? He didn’t know what he was feeling. Lust was there, certainly, but it was tempered with tenderness, and perhaps affection. He hadn’t felt these subtle emotions since, well, his first love, the enchanting Annabella.

“And to yours,” she responded with that mysterious smile, guiding him away from the crowd and to a more private corner of the hall.

“You’ve turned into a disheveled rogue with all that athletic dancing,” she chided. “Allow me.”

She pulled a comb from her hair and ran it through his beard. Oh, the liberties this woman took with him, and how they inflamed him.

“There’s my handsome Lord, fit for polite company. Shall we rejoin the fray? The Cardinal of Cynchester has been angling for an audience, and you can’t avoid him all evening.”

Such was his fate. They all accepted his invitation, ate his food, and still came with their hands out.

As he led his wife to the courtyard, away from the crush of dancers, the Cardinal pounced with hungry eyes. After minimal pleasantries, he got directly to business. “The cathedral is nearly completed at Ile Saint Martin. It’s a splendid location, accessible to worshipers from both sides of the river.”

Bluebeard couldn’t help but admire the shrewdness of the man. When they finished the cathedral, they’d be ministering, and accepting tithes, from both the highborn on the north side and the low across the river. It was cunning placement, and with careful scheduling, the two need never see each other.

“The towers are up, the highest structure in Cynchester, apart from the royal palace, naturally. We employed the stonecutters at Norhelm for the gargoyles and the noted sculptor Etienne Evrard for the façade, depicting the gates of hell, so it is sure to stir the fires of the soul.”

Here it comes, Bluebeard thought. The open hand.

“We are hoping to commission the rose window from the glassworkers of Oxholm. They employ dragons, you see, and their work is unsurpassed. Unfortunately, that is currently beyond our limited budget, but we have been sending out our prayers.”

And there it was. He would naturally provide the funds. It was essential to retain strong ties with the church to avoid any hint of the need for an inquisition. As usual, he would submit the donation anonymously, but the people who needed to know—the church and the royals—would know. But he couldn’t bear to make it too easy. He needed to make this pompous ass squirm.

“Sounds impressive, but my own faith is more private. Perhaps you’ve seen my humble chapel here at the Château? I’d be happy to show you.”

The Cardinal waved his hand dismissively. “Faith is never constrained to a single house of worship.” Bluebeard struggled not to roll his eyes. “Personal devotion in a castle chapel can only be exalted and magnified by the voices of many at the seat of the church.”

“Your argument is compelling. Could you put numbers to the magnitude of the holy magnification? As you know, I am a lowly man of science, and I leave matters of faith to the experts.”

“The cathedral will seat nearly three thousand, three thousand golden souls singing their praises and gratitude."

“Alas, the chapel at Château des Fleurs allowed only seven at my recent nuptials, and that was the absolute maximum capacity. Let me see, doing the math, that is a factor of slightly under 430.” Did the Cardinal know he was mocking him? It was hard to say, but Bluebeard couldn’t help but continue the jest, saying, “That magnitude of spiritual magnification would be most welcome, given the informality of our house of worship here at the castle.”

The Cardinal added, “I failed to mention that the cathedral will also host an additional 500 believers in the stalls.”

“Ah yes, we mustn’t forget their essential contribution to the accounting of holy devotion. Perhaps you could arrange an appointment with my steward, Thierry. I’m sure the two of you could arrive at an accurate sum for this sacred equation.”

Beatrice interjected at precisely the right moment, “Dearest, the Lord of Riverford has arrived, and you know he’s been angling to speak about the possibility of hunting in your forest.”

“Please excuse us,” Bluebeard said, extracting his wife and himself from the clutches of the clergy.

As they walked to their next assignment, Beatrice whispered, “Let’s give it another hour, then we can slip away. I have some ideas for that handsome blue beard, and the other blue beard you’re hiding downstairs.”

He had some ideas of his own, and he fought back the impulse to leave the tiresome gathering immediately. But before he was captured by another clique, hungry for his attention, Thierry strode through the crowd and tapped him on the shoulder.

“If I may, Mage Bluebeard, there is a small matter at the gatehouse that requires your immediate attention. My Lady, I apologize, it will take only a moment, and I will return him forthwith.”

He knew his steward well, and although others couldn’t see it, he easily noted the tendril of concern under Thierry’s stolid demeanor. This must be important.

“You’ll excuse me,” Bluebeard said and followed his steward. As they crossed the courtyard, he demanded, “What in the bloody blazes…”

Uncharacteristically, Thierry raised his hand and interrupted him. “Attend. There may be ears and eyes.”