The Eye of the Beholder (32 page)

I released a breath I had not known I was holding. The tension I had felt as I waited to see how he would react to the sight of his new chambers eased, and I found myself smiling. He thanked me. He actually thanked me. This had been a big moment for Lysander, a test of sorts, and he had passed. I could not help but feel a renewal of hope, a strengthening of the conviction that he actually did mean to change.

"I am glad you are pleased," I said. The words were simple, but I felt it best for my reaction to be measured. Lysander looked as if he wished he could say something in response, but I could see that he was overwhelmed, so I spared him the effort by taking his arm again.

"Come," I said. "Let me show you what we have done."

For a long and pleasant while, Lysander and I roamed his chambers examining furniture, tapestries, and wall sconces. The windows seemed to be a source of some discomfort to him and, as the view outside of them remained rather desolate, I decided not to trouble him about them. I would allow him to find the courage to approach them in his own time; hopefully, it would not be long.

"I cannot believe you have accomplished all of this in so short a period of time," Lysander said once we had finished with our tour. There was a note of something like admiration in his voice.

"Your servants are far more capable than you know," I chided him.

His treatment of his servants was another area in which I expected to see some improvement, for I would not trust he was entirely sincere until his newfound consideration extended to them. For far too long, they had been mistreated, and I had grown to feel quite protective of them.

"It would appear so," he replied.

"You should not underestimate them. They are strong, resilient, determined. They are afraid of you, but I believe they would rather admire and respect you."

Lysander sighed deeply. "I have long been used to ruling by fear."

I could hear the struggle within his voice, and it made me take another step toward trusting him. "You have made great strides thus far. I confess that I had my doubts as to your sincerity, but I am pleased that you have become so adept at proving my fears unfounded."

"You thought I might be beyond hope, did you?" he asked, meeting my gaze with a humorless smile.

"Yes, I did," I confessed.

There was a moment of quiet between us, and then he said, "So did I."

I looked up into his eyes and saw them as blue-gray pools. They had always appeared stormy to me, but now I could see that there was a center of calm to them. At that moment, I felt as if I were looking into his very soul. "Then I hope you take pleasure in proving yourself wrong."

"I believe I am beginning to do just that." Though his smile was slight, I could see that it was sincere.

"I am very glad to hear it. Still, I must warn you: if you are not cautious, you may find it brings you more happiness to be a pleasant person than a tyrant." Though I kept my voice light, teasing, there was weight to my words, and I could see that this did not escape him.

"Some of us deserve pleasure and happiness and others do not," was his mild reply.

"Even if you were undeserving in the past, it does not meant you must continue to be undeserving."

"Mira," Lysander said, turning toward me. "I admire your convictions. But I believe there are times when you have too benevolent a view of the world."

"What do you mean by that?"

Lysander sighed, and I could see he was struggling with the words. "If you truly knew to what depths of depravity a creature can sink, you might perhaps find the idea that anyone can be deserving of happiness holds no merit."

His words disturbed me greatly. "Perhaps you are correct and it is not always possible to atone for the wrongs one has committed, but it is always possible to do some good for the world.

"There is much that I do not know of you, Lysander, much that remains a mystery to me. Who were your parents? How did you come to be in this castle? What is behind your self-loathing? I know there are many secrets that you conceal from me, but I suppose I hope that, in time, you might grow to trust me enough to share them with me."

There was a long silence between us, and I could see that he was considering my words. I waited, hoping he might have something to say in response, but it seemed that he did not. I was disappointed, but I hoped that we might continue the conversation in the future. Lysander had taken several steps, but I was impatient for him to take a few strides.

"You have had little privacy since your injury," I said. At the sound of my voice, Lysander started, and I was more determined than ever to leave him for the time being. He needed some time alone to reflect. "I shall leave you now."

I turned to leave, but he reached a paw out and gently laid it on my arm. "Mira…might we meet in the library this evening? As we once did?"

The slight hesitation in his voice made me smile. Gone was the careless, commanding tone with which he had once spoken, and I found its absence most welcome. "I would be delighted," I answered. "As long as you promise not to rudely conceal yourself within the shadows once more."

Lysander laughed, a sound that was somewhat akin to a dog's sharp bark. "Do you call my behavior rude when it was designed to spare you the necessity of gazing upon me?"

"Was that the reasoning behind your behavior? Did you truly conceal yourself to spare me, or did you do it to spare yourself?"

With those words, I departed his chambers and set off for the servants' quarters at a brisk pace. The day was young, and Lysander's positive reaction to the renovations to his chambers had energized me. My head was full of plans for the improvement and restoration of the gardens, and I was eager to recruit some of the servants to help me in my task. The years I had spent in the cottage had given me some knowledge of plants, though the knowledge tended more toward the agricultural and less toward the ornamental. This did not worry me overly much, for the servants had proved to possess such diverse talents that I was certain there would be at least some amongst them who had some knowledge of gardening.

The day was bright, the sun determinedly pushing its rays through the filthy glass of the castle's windows and, as I walked, I found myself imagining how glorious the corridors would be once they were filled with the bright beams. When I had first arrived at the castle, I had seen little to admire in it, but I had come to appreciate its hidden beauties, and they were numerous. Fully restored, the castle would be a thing of glory.

My conjectures about the servants proved to be correct, and several who had knowledge of gardening were soon huddled over parchment with me, drawing up plans. It was a challenge to communicate without words, but the servants were eager and innovative and, through a combination of gestures and sketches, we were able to communicate quite well. My eyes eagerly devoured the lines they drew upon the parchment as they created plans for paths, rows of plants, and the placement of various pieces of statuary.

"Might we begin now?" I asked. I was under the impression that the servants were amused by my eagerness, but they nodded their assent and my feet practically flew over the marble floors as I hurried to my chambers to change my gown.

Stepping outside of the castle was like a revelation. Since my arrival, the only time I had spent outdoors had been my brisk daily walks and the short periods I spent on my balcony. I was struck by just how much I had missed being outside of the confines of walls. So much of my day at our cottage had been spent out of doors carrying out various chores that I had come to take my love for the work for granted. The warmth of the sun on my face and the freshness of the breeze as it stirred my hair were wondrous things. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, so that my face was fully exposed to the sun.

When I opened my eyes, I saw the servants gathered in a loose group with me at the forefront. Some of them were doing as I had just done, closing their eyes and tilting the faces up to the sun. Several of them stood with arms outstretched, as if they wanted to embrace the sun's light. Others had gone down on their knees, sinking their fingers into the earth and letting it sift through their hands. Though the milky white orbs of their face stood out in startling contrast against their skin, in the bright light of day they were beautiful to me.

Who were these servants and from whence had they come? I had seen the blind before, when we had lived in town, but their eyes had been nothing like those of the servants. In addition, the faces of the servants remained strangely expressionless, as though they were incapable of manifesting their emotions. Their strange appearance coupled with their inability to speak was truly puzzling to me but, as I pondered this, I felt a return of the strange, crackling energy that so disturbed me.

Too close. I am too close to something I am not meant to know,
I told myself as the sensation of the energy caused my heart to fill with dread. I forced myself to turn my thoughts away from my questions about the origins of the servants, and to focus instead on beginning to work on the gardens.

With the help of the servants, I divided the gardens into six sections, one for each of the servants who had gardening knowledge. Each of them would oversee the work on their section, while I and the rest of the servants served as physical laborers. Our first step would be to clear the gardens of the debris and weeds that had overtaken them, and it was a task that would take a good deal of time to complete, for the gardens were even worse off than I had suspected.

I was distracted by sorrow as I thanked a servant, who handed me a pair of leather gloves. As I tugged them on, my eyes traveled over the ruined gardens and I felt a growing sense of dismay.

This is an impossible task,
a small, negative voice within me whispered.

For a moment, I felt hopeless, but then I recalled how I had felt when I had first set foot within Lysander's chambers, and I knew that the feeling of hopelessness would pass. Even if progress proved to be very slow, it would be progress. I could stand about in the gardens all day long lamenting their sad state and mourning their lost beauty or I could work and do something to restore that beauty. I chose to work.

Spring had taken a firm hold on the land during the weeks of Lysander's illness, and I could feel a hint of heat in the air that spoke of the summer to come. It had been several months since I had arrived in the castle, and I was rather startled to realize just how much time had passed. Some days it seemed as though I had spent an eternity in the castle, while on others it seemed as though I had only just arrived.

I felt oddly as though I was two separate women; the woman who had lived in a small cottage in Everforest, and the woman who lived in a castle with a fearsome beast. Trapped within its crumbling walls and filthy windows, time had become something of a foreign concept to me. The days had seemed to blend into one another but now, out in the open, I was reminded that I had once been that woman living in a small village. I was quite astonished to realize just how small my perceptions had become, how they had shrunk to the size of the castle. All the things I had wanted to do, all the dreams I had once cherished had been forgotten when I had made the decision to come here in my father's place.

A sense of longing filled me, and I halted my work. I stared about me but saw nothing, for my mind was occupied with a rush of thoughts I had not dwelt on in some time. For a brief moment, I burned with anger. I was angry with my father for having insisted on taking the forest road to Swan's Hollow. I was angry with Lysander for having deprived me of my freedom. Most of all, I was angry with myself. Why did I not excel at focusing on what was best for me, as did my sisters? What good had it done me to constantly tamp down my feelings, to sacrifice my wishes and desires for the sake of others? I was now trapped in a gloomy castle with a group of mute servants and the beast who was their master. The realization filled me with bitterness.

I am better than this,
a voice inside my head chided.
I will not sink to the level of pettiness of my sisters. What I did, I did out of love. I thought it would be a sacrifice, but has it truly been much of a sacrifice? There have been no demands placed upon me. I may do with my time as I like, all while I live in relative luxury.

There was a part of me that clung stubbornly to my old wants and dreams. I did not mind giving something of myself, but I did not want to give everything. Captive or no, my dreams were my own and I had a right to them. I had a right to long for things, even if I was certain I would never have them.

One of the servants startled me out of my reverie, and I stared blankly into her face until my head cleared and I understood that she was pointing out the position of the sun. We had been working in the gardens for hours and dusk had begun to descend. If I was to meet Lysander on time, I would need to return to my chambers to bathe and dress.