The Eye of the Beholder (22 page)

After that, the servants began to join in one by one or in small groups. The male servants became more of a presence in my corridor, and they began to chip in as well. They helped scrub floors and windows, and there were some who had obvious skill with carpentry, for they set about repairing the doors and frames. Their steady, careful hands moved with assurance over the wood. They sawed it, smoothed it, and carved it into intricate, delicate, and beautiful designs that were marvelous to behold. Watching them work reminded me of my father, and thus granted me pleasure.

However, it was nothing compared to the sight that greeted my eyes one morning as I stepped from my chamber with tools in hand, prepared to begin cleaning another window. At least twenty servants moved about the corridor carrying out various tasks. Bodies that had once moved as slowly as if they were made of lead now had a spring to their step. I wept as I stood there watching them, until one of the maids came over to me and took me by the hand, leading me into the group.

More than anything, I feared that Lysander might discover our efforts, and I took great pains to conceal them from him. I worried that he might grow suspicious, but after a time I realized that he took my wish for him to remain away from my corridor as evidence of my need to have some sense of sanctuary. The relief was enormous, and I allowed him to continue in his mistaken belief. Were I the only one working on the corridor, I would not have worried so, but I had made the servants complicit by asking them for tools. I was not about to break my promise; I would do whatever it took to protect the servants from Lysander's wrath.

One particularly productive day, I found myself humming as I prepared for an afternoon with Lysander. I had spent the morning cleaning the corridor with the servants, and the ache in my weary, sore limbs made me smile as I scrubbed away the grime. Before leaving to meet him, I stood out on my balcony and titled my face up toward the sun, allowing its light to warm me. I was still smiling when I walked into the library.

"You seem particularly pleased this afternoon," Lysander stated, his voice sounding almost disapproving.

"It is a lovely day. Spring has fully arrived at last, and the sunshine is golden today. It was a pleasure to stand upon my balcony breathing the clean air and gazing out at the green of the forest." I sat in a chair across from him and smiled up into his face.

"Bah!" he replied scornfully. "It is so tiresome to listen to others wax poetic about nature!"

"Shall I wax poetic about something else then?" I asked brightly, tilting my head inquisitively.

A ghost of a smile crossed his face, but he did his best to conceal it. "What is so wonderful about nature?"

"Perhaps if you stepped outside of these castle walls once in a while, you would know," I offered.

A few days ago, I had pleaded with him to take a walk outside with me, but he had refused. He had mumbled something about it being damp, but I knew that he did not wish to step outside because he did not want to see himself in stark relief under the bright light of the sun.

"I suspect that you rhapsodize about nature because it is the fashion. You may like the trees well enough, but you likely faint at the sight of insects, and I cannot imagine you would allow yourself to become soiled," he said mockingly.

I smiled and shook my head at him with a sigh. "How little you know of me, then. Do you think me a fine lady of the town? I have worked the earth with my own hands, and I am not afraid of insects. On the contrary, I understand how very useful they are."

"Useful indeed," Lysander murmured.

"Oh, but they are," I said, pretending to take his comment at face value. I knew his cantankerousness was intentional, and I was not about to indulge him. "I could tell you what I know, if you like. I believe I also noticed a fine book of reference on insects in this library. I could search for it, if you wish."

"Do not be ridiculous. Why should I wish to talk of insects?"

"Is there something else you would like to talk of?"

"I find your cheer vexing."

"Then I shall leave," I said, standing. I had taken no more than two steps when he stopped me, as I had known he would.

"Do not go," he said quietly.

"Why should I stay if you find me vexing?" I asked, remaining with my back toward him so that he would not see my smile.

"Why do you insist on provoking me?" he huffed. I could hear him rise from his chair and approach me, and I did my best to compose my features into a bland expression before he reached me.

"Because I believe you could do with a good bit of provocation now and then," I replied, as he came to stand before me.

He tried to look angry, but I could see the spark of interest that was always present in his eyes whenever I challenged him. Though he would never admit it to me, I knew that he enjoyed it when I argued with him. Truth be told, I also enjoyed arguing with him.

"You have a talent for being infuriating," he informed me. He was not far from me; if I wished to reach out and touch his arm, I could. Once, his nearness might have frightened me, but I had grown accustomed to him. I was no longer scared he would harm me.

"So you have told me many times," I replied with a smile.

At last, he admitted defeat and gave in to his desire to smile. "You are the most vexing creature."

"You have told me that many times as well," I said carelessly. I turned from him and walked back to my chair. "Now, are we to continue with our reading or would you rather stand there and insult me all day long? I warn you, if you continue to do so, I shall begin to wax poetic about nature again."

There was uncertainty in his eyes. He seemed to struggle with something for a moment, and then sighed nearly inaudibly and returned to his chair.

"Read on, then," he said. "I do not think I could stomach any more of your rhapsodizing over nature."

Hiding a smile, I opened the book and began to read aloud.

Chapter 21: Blackness

Somehow, Mira had managed to grab hold of every one of my intentions and dash them to pieces. The more I was with her, the less able I was to enact any of the plans I had so carefully devised. Though she had always had the upper hand, she had not known it, and I had promised myself that she never would. She knew nothing of the curse, and so she could have no idea of just how much power she wielded, yet she had somehow managed to discover another sort of power over me. What frustrated me most was that I had allowed her to discover it.

She charmed me. There was no longer any use pretending otherwise. Denial was a fool's refuge, and I liked to think that I had never been a fool. Rather, I preferred to tell myself that my acknowledging Mira's power over me meant that I might one day discover the means to do away with that power. This, then, was my true denial, for I do not believe I would have tried to do away with that power if I could.

The more I saw of her, the more I was enchanted by her smiles, by her laughter, and by her rather playful spirit. Even as the shadows of the castle seemed to lengthen and the knowledge of my own mortality loomed larger and larger, she seemed to blossom. She had been lovely the day she had set foot in my castle, but now she was dazzling. I found myself noting such things as the sparkle in her eye as she said something impertinent to me, and how her impossibly long eyelashes cast shadows upon her cheeks in the flickering light of the library fire at night.

Mira had taken to reading aloud to me. This had come about after she had one day observed my struggles with a book. Reading would have offered a pleasant diversion from the endless hours of the day, but I had never been able to master the ability to read in my new incarnation. I had tried countless times over the centuries, and I had tried once again in front of Mira. When she had seen me fumbling with the book, her eyes had taken on an expression of pity that had temporarily infuriated me. The edges of my vision had gone bright, something I recognized from past experience. I had known that if I did not reign in my temper, the blackness would follow and I would be lost. Through a mighty effort of will, I had managed to grab onto the last threads of my self-control and to subdue my anger. I had turned my back to Mira and, by the time she had arrived at my side, I had managed to regain control of my faculties.

She has seen the beast without. Do not allow her to see the beast within as well or all will surely be lost…

I had repeated these words over and over in my head, so that when she had reached out and taken the book, I had been able to prevent myself from tearing the bookshelves from the walls. I had come perilously close to losing control, to losing everything, and I felt a ferociously heady sense of triumph that I had managed to avert disaster. My sense of victory was short-lived, for my rage was not to be denied. Though I did my best to quell it, it seethed inside of me, festering.

This was the reason for my sour mood when she met me in the library. My anger had continued to claw at me from within, and I had been brooding over what course to take when Mira had arrived. I had just decided that it would be prudent for me to spend some time away from her in the hopes that my anger would subside. If it did not, it appeared that I would have no choice but to leave the castle under cover of night and hope that Mira would not notice my absence. Once I was safely in the midst of the forest, I could give myself over to my anger, purge it from my system. If I tore the library apart in my rage, Mira would notice. If I rampaged through the underbrush and felled trees, she would not.

Tearing my thoughts away from my troubles, I forced myself to concentrate on the sound of Mira's voice. When she read, she was transported to another world, and she never noticed if my attention wandered. This day was no exception; though I had not heard a word she had spoken since she had opened the book, Mira's reading had not faltered.

She was at her loveliest in these moments. The written word held such charm for her that it had the power to draw out an animation in her features that nothing else could. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed becomingly. Her voice was clear and lovely to hear, well-modulated and articulate. Had she been reading nothing but gibberish, it would have sounded beautiful and wise falling from her lips. There had been times when I had forgotten myself, when I had allowed myself to be lured in by that extraordinary voice. For a brief time, I was able to forget who and what I was, for she swept me off to worlds where there were no beasts, where Edward, King of Organdy, had never existed.

This had only happened twice. After the second occurrence, I had never again allowed myself to become entranced by her voice, for when she finished speaking and I became once more aware of myself, I was angry. I was angry at her for making me forget, and I was angry at myself for allowing her to make me forget. Once the forgetting was over and consciousness returned, it was as if I was reliving the day of my transformation, when I had first seen myself in all my hideousness. It was nearly more than I could bear.

"Drivel," I said, when she had finished and closed the book. She had been reading to me from a social history, which in and of itself was a test of my patience. I supposed that the only reason I had allowed such books in my library was because I had never before bothered to open them and study their subject manner. Had I known of their contents, I would surely have burned them.

"How can you say that?" Mira asked, regarding me with an incredulous expression. "How can it not move you to hear such tales of the suffering of others?"

"What are those others to me? I do not know them, so their suffering cannot be of any consequence to me."

"How can you be so devoid of compassion?"

"What do I have to gain by being compassionate?"

Mira's nostrils flared fetchingly as they always did when I managed to rile her. "How can you not see that indifference like yours is the cause of most of the world's strife? You may not think it in your interest to care about others, but would it not benefit us all to live in a more just, compassionate world?"

"Mira, you are a sentimental fool," I said, shaking my head and smiling rather condescendingly at her. "Your heart bleeds for those who know nothing of you and care nothing for you. Why waste your time?"

"Why do I even bother to discuss these things with you?" Her eyes were full of reproach, and I could see that I had ruined her cheerful mood.

"Why do you?" I sneered.

"Never mind." She tossed the book aside rather fiercely and rose from her seat, stalking over to the bookshelves on the other side of the chamber.

I watched the rigid set of her shoulders as she moved. I knew exactly why she read such things to me and then attempted to discuss them with me. She was searching for some good within me, attempting to give me the opportunity to prove myself redeemable. She was incurably naive in this respect.