Page 50 of Bluebeard’s Key

Zayan stood, holding Tom’s hand, and backed toward the cliff edge, coaxing him along.

“What are you doing?” Tom asked. Zayan seemed ready to jump, for them both to jump.

“It may be the merciful option,” Zayan answered, cryptically.

“I don’t understand, but no,” he said. They would get through this together, whatever it was. “That’s never the right choice.”

With this, Zayan deflated, allowing him to sit back down. He felt so weak. And why was there so much blood? It was dripping down his finger now.

Bluebeard approached Zayan and took him by both shoulders, saying, “You have a difficult decision to make now, young apprentice. You can indeed take the easy path, and the pain will disappear in an instant. Or you can take the exalted path and endure the pain, and watch it wane over lifetimes, surmounted by the glory of the Great Work.”

Zayan stood helpless, hands covered with blood, with Tom’s own blood. Tom’s mind reeled, and he wondered again: Why is there so much blood? He watched in horror as Bluebeard took Zayan’s hand and lifted it to his mouth, licking the blood from Zayan’s fingers. It was too awful. What did it all mean?

Bluebeard said, fire blazing in his blue eyes, ignoring Tom completely and appealing directly to Zayan, “Join me, and the entire world will be at our fingertips. You’ll be a king among men. I tell you from experience, it is a life like no other, the life I offer you now. You simply need the strength of will to accept it and take it for your own.”

Zayan extracted his hand from Bluebeard’s grasp and paced, trapped like a wild animal, eyes wild, and Tom still couldn’t understand. He tried to capture Zayan’s hand, but he brushed it off, frantically pacing, scanning madly right and left, to the castle and to the sea, looking for escape. Then, suddenly, Zayan slowed, setting his jaw, showing grim determination. The light dimmed in Zayan’s dark and beautiful eyes, the eyes he knew so well, but smoldered with a new resolve.

Zayan turned his back on him, squaring his shoulders and facing Bluebeard directly, saying, “I have made my decision, but I have one demand. You must let me do it without interference.”

“Brave boy,” Bluebeard said, looking proud. “That is as it should be, as I had planned. The Great Work will yield a far more satisfactory result if done by your own hand. I gladly agree to your demand. Shall we?”

It was all words to him, through the hazy fog clouding his mind, but he found the strength to nod when Zayan kneeled at his side and whispered, “Do you trust me?”

CHAPTER 35

Despite his strong words, Zayan was clearly balking, weak and indecisive, so Bluebeard took the initiative into his own hands, hefting Thomas over his shoulder and beginning the descent to the castle. Carefully now, as this would be the most difficult part. He must twist the narrative, ensuring that Zayan had the will and strength to perform the transformation. If the boy was truly irredeemable, he could always do it himself, but remembering the disappointing outcomes with his recent wives, he was certain the product would suffer. He didn’t have the love these two shared, the sparkling devotion that would vastly magnify the quality and quantity of the final Elixir.

Thomas’s blood was not yet flowing freely, and Bluebeard thanked the maker of the Key for that, gods rest his soul. The exsanguination was always agonizingly slow with the ones who were driven only by curiosity to disobey, or as with Thomas, driven by his chivalry. Greed and treachery were so much quicker and easier, despite the inevitable impurities that resulted. But in this case, Thomas’s motivation worked in his favor, since they mustn’t waste a single drop of his precious blood on the trail. One thing was certain. Nothing could stop it once the Key made its judgment.

As they passed through the gates, Zayan ran ahead and blocked his way, demanding, “Put him down. I can’t do this. We’ll find another way.”

It was all going according to plan, and he would crush Zayan’s laughable anger into resigned determination. “It’s far too late for that. You will obey, or you will die. I’ll have his blood, and you will do it. There is no other way. You will see, it is all for the best.”

The boy pounded on Thierry’s office, screaming, “Thierry, you must help! Hoyle, Charlie, where are you?”

“Alas, they’re not here,” Bluebeard mocked. “I sent them to Riverford. It’s only you and me and destiny.”

Zayan looked properly shocked, but stopped his blasted shouting, and there in his eyes, Bluebeard saw exactly what he had expected. He had not misjudged the boy. Zayan was weighing options, almost accepting what he must do. Echoing his thought, Zayan asked, “Must I do it myself? I don’t know if I can bear it.”

“The bonds of love will manifest in the alchemy, resulting in the purest vitality. It was so with my dearest Annabella, and it will be so with you. Yes, you must.”

Zayan looked truly torn by the decision ahead of him, asking, “And there’s no other way?”

Bluebeard softened, saying, “There is no other way. The blood must be consigned to the flame by your hand, and the Elixir must be exalted by your will. This will be the most deeply personal experience of your life, and you will not regret it.”

“And you will not intervene?”

“I must not and I will not. It is the only way.”

Bluebeard hefted the boy over his shoulder, heading for the dungeon, feeling Thomas’s hands grasp at his shirt the whole time.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Zayan rallied, scurrying around him and retrieving the sword. At last, some true initiative. This could be turned easily to his advantage. He would dash his hopes and leave only one path forward.

He ignored his apprentice completely, pushing through the open door and laying the barely conscious Thomas on the slab. He took a moment to arrange Tom’s hand over the basin. There was bound to be some theater ahead, but this way, they wouldn’t waste a drop.

He then turned to his apprentice. It was time for him to grow up.

Zayan looked slightly more proficient with the sword than his lover, but Bluebeard doubted he’d ever used one in battle. It simply wasn’t part of the modern world, but his own training had been steeped in swordplay. He strode over and easily slapped the blade aside, wresting it from Zayan’s grip and tossing it out the door. Then he backhanded the boy, knocking some sense into him, sending him spinning to the slab, draped over Tom’s silent form.