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He mumbled through the pillow, “It’s going so slowly. I fear he may never be ready for the Great Work.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, starting on his lats. She did have a magic touch. He felt the strength in her hands, but at the same time, her delicate fingers made him appreciate his own muscular strength.
She asked, “Great Work? I’ve never heard you mention that. What makes it great?”
“It is the pinnacle of alchemy. Transmutation. Life and death.” He turned his head slightly, catching a glimpse of her naked shoulder as she straddled him. “Nothing you need concern yourself about.”
She applied her elbow to the hardest knots in his back, and he grunted with the pain and pleasure of it. Truly, she knew her way around a man’s body. He hadn’t felt hands this talented in many a year.
She laughed lightly, like a tinkling bell, and said, “Really? I thought that was all the stuff of storybooks. Magic and all that.”
“It’s real enough,” he said. “And I’ll be happy if I can get my blasted apprentice to manage the half of it.”
“I’m sure you will,” she crooned, shifting lower and straddling his buttocks, digging her fingers into his lower back. “Down there in your mysterious dungeon.”
“To be fair, he’s almost ready for the Stone, ready for his first exaltation.”
“That’s nice, dear,” she said, rubbing her hands down to his buttocks, forcefully kneading the sides and gently spreading.
“What are you doing back there?” he asked. His wife was always full of surprises.
“Relax,” she said, spreading his cheeks more deliberately and circling her oil-slick fingers ever closer to unexplored territories. “I promise you’ll like it. You mentioned a stone?”
CHAPTER 20
Total waste of time, Zayan thought, fresh from his shower and surveying the costume on his bed. True to form, it had appeared mysteriously, undoubtedly laid out by Thierry while he was busy at work in the laboratory. It was another improbable concoction, with frilly lace cuffs and a high collar, the deepest shade of burgundy. Sometimes he wondered if it was all worth the bother, but it’s not like he had any choice. Beatrice had been planning the Midsummer Ball for weeks, and there was absolutely no way he could skive off and live to tell the tale.
He didn’t need the distraction at this critical moment in his studies. He’d managed to achieve a truce, or at least a ceasefire, with Bluebeard. The oppressive hands-on training sessions were now punctuated with sufficient time alone, when he had the freedom to relax and put the methods into practice. He had almost convinced himself that the arcane alchemical procedures weren’t merely the self-delusion of a narcissistic mage. Somehow, he knew it. He was going to create gold. It flew against everything he’d been taught back in the world he used to inhabit, but maybe the rules were different here in the Château. The slim chance it was true kept him going, despite the bruises.
A knock at the door brought him back to his first night at the castle, and he knew for certain who was on the other side of that door, and what he was holding. He simply could not be more delighted. This was exactly what he needed to break him from his gloomy mood. He opened the door and, sure enough, Tom stood there with the same sheepish smile, a breath of fresh air in his increasingly claustrophobic life, fully costumed apart from his tie.
“You’re hopeless, you know,” Zayan teased, standing there almost naked in front of his fellow apprentice, with only a towel wrapped around his waist. In reality, he didn’t mean it in the least. In a single glance, he realized he’d been missing Tom’s gentle exuberance.
“You speak truth, mighty alchemist of the deep and dark dungeon. The lowly chemists of the realms of light require your assistance.”
He had to laugh. It was so Tom. “You’ve been practicing that, haven’t you?”
“Maybe, a bit. But really, I need help.”
“Why? Thierry is just going to retie it when we get upstairs.”
“I feel like I should at least make an effort. Which means you and I, because I’m hopeless with ties. We should make an effort.”
“Come in. Keep me company while I dress, then we can battle these ties together.”
He said this with very little guile, although the opportunity was right there, ready for the taking. He could simply drop the towel and return the invitation Tom gave him in his lab. It would be so easy, but he felt completely off his game after being stuck in the dungeon for so long, trying to fend off an impatient Bluebeard, and he wondered if Tom was even interested anymore. And truly, he only wanted some friendly company. No pressure, no goals, no expectations.
He turned his back and tossed his towel on a chair, feeling Tom’s hungry eyes. This was one of his better angles, so he lingered for a moment longer than needed, bending just so to retrieve his boxer shorts, giving Tom a treat before slipping them on.
“You’re so sexy and handsome,” Tom said, sounding surprised when the words left his mouth.
“Thanks, cutie,” Zayan said, looking back over his shoulder. “You’re pretty sexy yourself.”
Tom backtracked then, catching himself, saying, “I never apologized for grabbing you, back in my lab, back when you were helping me with testing. Remember?”
“Yes, I remember, and there’s no need to apologize.” He left it there, no invitation and no remonstration, simply leaving the door open. He slipped on his pants and got to work on the shirt, turning to let Tom watch. It felt good to be appreciated. He’d almost forgotten what that felt like.
As expected, Tom was turning an adorable shade of pink when he stuttered out, “Okay. Thanks.”
