Page 56 of Bluebeard’s Key

“But you’re so much better at all of this. The palace intrigue and calming angry hordes of villagers. I can’t see myself dashing in on Hollyhock and saving the day.”

“And that’s exactly the point! I’m far too prone to that kind of dramatic excess. And, I think it will be important to have you in charge, given what I’m planning to do.”

Tom stopped and looked at him, curiosity and a tinge of alarm written clearly on his face. Zayan wondered, once again, how anyone could be so open and genuine. Truly, the land of Greenhaven would come to love the new leader of Château des Fleurs. The castle was in good hands…the right hands.

Tom asked, “And what is that?”

How could he explain without painting himself in too bad a light? He said, “You know I’m no shining prince like you are. I’m not going to do the honorable thing and destroy the Philosopher’s Stone and all of Bluebeard’s books. I’m an alchemist now, and I simply can’t do it.”

Tom laughed at that and said, “I understand. Frankly, I’d have trouble, too. The things you’re doing are too immense to let go. We’d regret it for the rest of our lives. We’re talking about mountains of gold and eternal life here.”

Now he needed to get to the point. He said, “You’ve got that right, but here’s the problem. With eternal life right here in our hands, it’s going to be a massive temptation, and you know me. I’ll inevitably give in to it.”

“Um…” Tom said, creasing his brow as he began to fathom the challenges ahead.

“So, I want you in charge. If you see me tipping into evil, I want you to kick me in the nuts until I stop.”

“Of course,” Tom said, with no hesitation. “I do that already.”

“That you do. So, I’ll warn you. I’m not going to give up on immortality, and I’ll need your help every step of the way. We have a lifetime to figure this out, without resorting to secret dungeons and bloodthirsty keys and dead wives. And when we do find the answer, you’re the one I want for my happily ever after.”

Tom laughed, delighted, gripping his hand and dragging him up the spiral stairs to the bedroom, adding, “...and after, and after, and after…”

EPILOGUE

“I, Zayan Dalton Sarim, gladly and every time, take thee, Thomas Sarim Dalton, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for fabulously richer, for rarely poorer, in sickness and in health, to love always, cherish even more, and occasionally obey, until death us depart.”

“Don’t be silly,” Tom admonished, mopping his tears like he did every year. “This is serious.”

“Then don’t be so adorable,” Zayan countered, letting his own tears fall into his silk handkerchief.

Thierry handed them their rings, absent from their fingers for the short duration of the ceremony, saying, “With these rings, I announce thee wed.” He then winked, the scamp, and added, “Again.”

Tom gathered Zayan in his arms and shared another joyous kiss as husband and husband, taking care to capture the inevitable tears in his handkerchief.

They deposited their sodden handkerchiefs in the pristine crucible, spotlessly cleaned for the ceremony, and stepped aside, allowing Hoyle and Charlie to take their places in front of Thierry.

“I, Charlie Woodward Marshall, again take thee, Hoyle Marshall Woodward, to be my…”

After they renewed their vows, they all retired to the dungeon to witness the calcination. Zayan was convinced it made a difference when all were there, magnifying and strengthening the vitality that welled in their loving tears, and they always complied since he was the expert.

Thierry walked to the back wall, laying a hand on the tangle of thorns carved in the stone. Thorns surrounded by 163 roses, carefully gilded in shining gold from the remains of one melted and powerless key.

“Not ready to join him yet, are you?” Hoyle called.

“Alas, no,” Thierry said, turning back to see the crucible consigned to the flames. “I still cleave too tightly to life.”

“And the castle would crumble without you,” Charlie said.

“You flatter me,” he said, but his vanishingly small smile showed he agreed with her assessment.

Zayan added the spirits, and they caught in a flash, sizzling as the volatile elements burned away. He removed it from the fire and quickly, while it still held the heat of the purifying flame, added white sulfur and foam of the moon, waiting for them to liquify, then dusted in the mercury salts and arsenic. Nature delights in Nature.

Zayan looked up from his work as the mix smoothly melded and solidified. “You know, Thierry, you need to make a decision soon, in the next decade or two. I exalted the last of Bluebeard’s blood months ago and your stock of Elixir is running low. You have perhaps fifty years left, then we’re going to need to sort out an alternative source of vitality for you.”

Tom wandered over and said, “You know, you could muster up all your devotion to Bluebeard and add a few tears to the mix.”

Thierry said, “Perhaps next year.”