Page 31 of Bluebeard’s Key

Curiosity piqued, Bluebeard followed his nervous steward to the gatehouse and down the spiral stair to the dungeon. Only then did Thierry speak.

“It is with deep shame that I report there is treachery in our midst. It is entirely my fault, and for that I apologize, and I will do all that is necessary to atone.”

“Get to the point,” Bluebeard said, losing patience. He had guests waiting above, and the promise of new adventures with his comely wife.

“Recently, I’ve been noticing that Lady Beatrice has been asking many questions.”

He’d seen this, too. She was constantly chattering about her hobbies and excursions to the village, peppering him with questions about the castle and his work. “She is a curious woman, yes.”

“So you’ve noticed it as well. My suspicions were piqued when I came upon her in your study, examining your plans for the Château.”

“Yes, she mentioned that. She suggested that we modernize the lavatories.”

“That would certainly be welcome. In any case, I launched some discreet inquiries and obtained some troubling news.”

“Get on with it,” Bluebeard said. He didn’t get angry with Thierry often, but this rambling admission was pushing him to his limit.

“My sources have today uncovered evidence that the Lady Beatrice is here under false pretenses. I have obtained definitive reports that the Lady has benefited from a financial arrangement with the Ageless brand of wellness resorts.”

“What, she’s a spy?”

“Apparently so. I have found additional evidence that she has been feeding them information on the layout of the Château grounds and your alchemical practice during her visits to Riverford, and further, one or more of their agents may be on her guest list for this midsummer celebration, currently underway.”

This was intolerable! Bluebeard pushed his steward roughly away and stalked immediately to the door of his laboratory. He knew precisely what these intruders were after: his Philosopher’s Stone, the secret to transmutation of the elements and eternal life. To his knowledge, he was the only person capable of creating the Stone, and word must have leaked out. Sure enough, the faceplate of the lock showed signs of tampering, but when he entered, a quick survey of the room beyond showed no obvious incursion. The Key had done its job once again, keeping the door magically locked and safe from unwanted visitors. He moved quickly to the piles of rocks and masonry, his clever hiding place for the treasure, and the Stone still rested among its ruder kin.

Moving next to the small laboratory he had assigned to his apprentice, he found that the lock had been forced, and inside, the signs of a hasty search. The laboratory’s small safe was open and one of his decoy stones was missing, a ruby red gem enspelled to exude warmth and a faint aroma of brimstone. His subterfuge had worked again. These miscreants never changed, never once in the centuries he had been doing this. They were always easily distracted by shiny objects.

There was nothing to do. The wretch was probably long gone, whisking his false treasure off to his soon-to-be-disappointed employers. But how to deal with his treacherous wife? He was used to deception—deception was a key element of the entire dance—but this was beyond the pale. All those nights of seduction, all of Beatrice’s soft and creative touches, they were all served on him with a purpose. That miserable oil, and the things she did to him with it! What had he admitted under the thrall of her villainous fingers? His chest surged with rage. The Great Work, his noble alchemy, was too good for the likes of her. This evening. A kiss at the promontory or an embrace in the tower, feeling her surprise as she fell from his arms. Or better, his sword, given to him by his father, a family heirloom from the Crusades. It hadn’t tasted blood in far too long. He grinned with the thought of it. So many appealing options battled for primacy.

Catching his thought, Thierry said, “Begging pardon, I would remind the Mage that his clients eagerly await the next preparation of Elixir. Already, they clamor for attention.”

Damn it all, his steward was correct. He couldn’t simply throw this opportunity away. As satisfying as her quick death would be, it would require far too long to arrange for another wife, another wedding, another promise. He didn’t have the time to waste on it.

Then, the solution appeared in his mind like a gift from the gods. Apart from the insult of having a stranger pawing through his laboratories, the entire travesty was entirely to his favor, vastly streamlining his plans. He usually had to choreograph the final dance with his wives, finding a suitable enticement to drive them to their final encounter with the Key, but that would be no problem with the treacherous Beatrice. She would certainly jump at the slightest opportunity, so he merely needed to dangle it before her. He would relish seeing her insidious smile fade when he laid her out on the table, watching that smile progress from fear to terror to grim resignation.

But that would be a future pleasure, to be anticipated, held tightly in his pocket to provide spice to their days ahead. Maybe this autumn, winter at the latest. There was so much to prepare. Tonight, he was feeling more himself, feeling his body take the helm. Enough of soft hands and gentle caresses and that blasted oil. It was far past time for Bluebeard, the Mage of Château des Fleurs, to assert control, claiming that which was his.

A new lightness of step betrayed his enthusiasm as he mounted the stairs to rejoin the party. He spied his apprentices dancing under the stars, lost to the world, and he judged this a success too. From the devoted look on Thomas’s face, Zayan was clearly making steady progress in his seduction. Perhaps all was not lost, as he had thought. Perhaps Zayan wasn’t completely worthless. Perhaps, if fortune would have it, he could still be molded into enough of an alchemist to play his essential role in the grand plan.

CHAPTER 23

Zayan knew the moment their lips touched: Tom was falling for him, and falling hard. Tom’s kiss, their first kiss, was a fairytale kiss, warm and open, polite but also filled with longing, like a sigh, begun and ended in moments but leaving a memory that would last a lifetime. The problem was that he was falling too, and he was already anticipating their next kiss, despite it feeling like a betrayal.

Far too quickly, they broke from the kiss but remained, hands around waists, rubbing noses, sharing breath. Tom looked close to swooning, so Zayan held him tight, lengthening the moment, letting his worries disappear at least for the moment in the closeness of this enticing man.

True to form, now that Tom’s mouth was free, he had to fill the silence with words, saying in a soft, husky voice, “Best. Kiss. Ever. I feel like I could…”

Zayan stopped the inevitable flood with another touch of his lips, making this kiss a question rather than an affirmation, an invitation for the rest of their romantic evening. From the eagerness of Tom’s lips on his, the answer was unanimous. But was it the right thing to do?

“Tom, Zayan,” Bluebeard called, shattering the romantic moment in an instant. “I’m glad to see you’re enjoying the festivities.”

They both turned to see Bluebeard marching back to the dining hall, sporting an ear-to-ear grin. Zayan understood the reason for that smile. His seduction was a success, and Tom had fallen for him. It was obvious to anyone at the party who cared to look, including the Mage.

Tom said, extricating himself from Zayan’s embrace, “Evening, Mage Bluebeard. Great party!”

Bluebeard said, “Thank you, young apprentice. Have you seen my lovely bride recently?”

“Last we saw her, she was still in the dining hall.”