The Eye of the Beholder (19 page)

Unbidden, my mind replayed the words the enchantress had spoken all those hundreds of years ago. She had said that I must win the love of another but that I must also learn to love. For three hundred years, I had scoffed at the very idea of my learning to love anyone other than myself. I had been certain that I could feign love and break the spell but, for the first time, I was uncertain. Could the spell be broken if the maiden loved me but I did not love the maiden? Surely the enchantress must have seen that I was incapable of love. Why else would she have placed such a condition on her curse?

But am I incapable of love?
a small voice in my mind asked.
Or have I simply convinced myself that I am incapable of it because I have never known it and worried that I never would?

"This is madness," I growled insistently. "Love! What is love but weakness? And I am anything but weak! I have no need, no use for love. It is the curse that the enchantress has placed me under that is causing me to have such foolish thoughts. She was not satisfied with destroying my body; she also wished to destroy my mind!"

The torment I felt was second only to the torment I had felt in the days immediately following my transformation. I, who had never doubted myself, found my doubts weighing so heavily upon me that they would not allow me a moment's peace. I wanted nothing more than to lock myself in the library and never again emerge, but I could not. If I were to lock myself in the library, I would never again see Mira.

Retiring to my chambers offered me no abatement of the torment I suffered. I cursed myself for having destroyed the panes of glass in the windows, for the wind blew ceaselessly throughout the night and it seemed to me that with every gust, I could hear Mira's name and smell the beguiling scent of roses and lavender.

Chapter 18: Touring the Castle

I could sense the nervous tension in the air the moment I rose from my bed. Apparently, Lysander had informed his servants of his intent to escort me on a tour of the castle. I watched in amazement as my normally composed maids raced about my chamber in what struck me as a state of near-panic.

They wish for me to like their master, but why? They know I am his prisoner and cannot leave here by choice, so what does it matter whether I like him or not? Are they simply afraid of his wrath? But that does not make sense! Why should he be wrathful with them if I do not like him? As far as I can see, it seems as though he has never been particularly concerned with seeing to it that others are fond of him.

I did not puzzle over these thoughts for long, for almost as soon as they began to tumble through my mind, I again felt the strange, unnerving thrum of energy. It seemed that the servants could feel it as well, for they looked at one another and then at me. Were they able to talk, I believed they would all have been chattering nervously at once.

"I-is my meal ready?" I asked, for lack of something better to say.

Instantly, the energy dispersed and the servants seemed to slump with relief for the briefest of seconds before they returned to their tasks. One of the maids nodded at me and raised a hand, gesturing toward my breakfast.

"Thank you," I said.

The strange energy and the nervous bustle of my servants had discomposed me, and I was able to eat little of my meal. I must have lingered over it for some time, lost in thought, for I was turning a bit of ham over and over with my fork when one of the maids gently rapped on the table in order to claim my attention.

"Oh my, I have lingered overlong, have I not?" I asked.

She nodded briefly at me, and I rose from the chair and rushed to my bathing chamber. I disrobed quickly and climbed into the tub, washing hastily. Wrapping myself in a towel, I hurried into the dressing chamber thinking that I should ask one of the maids to assist me. This was not necessary, for two maids were already in attendance in the dressing chamber. I saw that they had laid a gown and slippers out for me, but I was not able to examine them, for the servants immediately began dressing me, their fingers flying over hooks and laces. When they were finished, I was seated rather unceremoniously so that they could see to my hair. I was some distance from the looking glass, so I was unable to see what they were doing to me.

At last, their work was done, and I stood up from the chair and looked at them. They looked at one another and then at me, both of them nodding. They held their hands clasped before them in apparent delight. Moving over to the looking glass, I could not help but see what had given them such pleasure.

Looking into that glass was one of the strangest sensations of my life. I knew that it was my own reflection that I studied, but the young woman staring back at me seemed to be an entirely different person. She was clad in a stunning gown of crimson and gold samite that was embellished with gold embroidery. The square neckline showcased an elegant neck and smooth skin. The sleeves were tight up to the elbow, at which point they became loose and flowing, so long they almost brushed the floor when she let her arms fall to her sides. When she moved, the sleeves fell back gracefully, accentuating delicate arms. Her hair had been pulled back from her face and arranged in a becoming mass of curls that tumbled gently over her small shoulders. Several tiny broaches embellished with garnets had been clasped in her hair, and the gems winked and flashed as she turned her head, their fiery light bringing out the red-gold highlights in her hair. Her face was becomingly flushed, her eyes large and luminous.

"Is that me?" I whispered, reaching a hand out and touching the glass in disbelief.

I could see the reflections of the maids standing behind me. Their smiles grew even broader, and they nodded simultaneously.

"I…I hardly know myself," I breathed, addressing my reflection.

The maids allowed me a few more seconds' leisure to continue staring disbelievingly at myself before one of them gently touched my elbow. I turned away from my astonishing reflection and made my way to the door that would lead me to the corridor.

As I walked through my chambers and the corridor, servants stopped and turned their heads toward me as I passed. I could feel myself blushing even more furiously at these attentions, and I fixed my gaze on the marble floor. No one had ever before considered me lovely, save my mother and father. My sisters had always attracted admiring stares, but I never had, and I did not know how to conduct myself. The attention embarrassed me and I found that I felt uncomfortable in my own skin.

"I am not lovely!" I wanted to tell them. "This is some sort of illusion, some sort of trick! I am simply plain old Mirabelle, whose very name is a mockery."

But I held my tongue, though it pained me. I was relieved to reach the library doors at last. Here, at least, I felt that I need not fear any sort of admiration, for Lysander seemed to admire nothing. As I reached for the doors, I remembered that this was to be the first time I would see Lysander in the light of day, and my sense of relief vanished as my heart began to pound fearfully and my stomach tightened.

I will seem even lovelier once the two of us walk side-by-side through the castle,
I thought. A nervous laugh escaped me, and then I was ashamed of myself. I paused for a moment while I allowed the shame to wash over me. I did not like this side of myself.

Is it so unjust to have such cruel thoughts of him? It is not as if he has any redeeming qualities. He is every bit as hideous on the inside as he is on the outside.

But was he? Was there not some glimmer of humanity in him? Did I truly believe him incapable of seeing the error of his ways?

Humanity in a beast, there was an interesting thought. In many ways, Lysander was human, but there were ample amounts of bestiality that accompanied the small amount of humanity. And yet I found myself wondering, almost wishing. Perhaps there was something in him worth saving, perhaps there was some small spark of good that lay underneath that could be coaxed into a brighter flame.

"I believe that anyone can be redeemed, if they truly wish for redemption," I whispered to myself. The world was not a black and white place, I knew this. No one was entirely good, and I wanted to believe that no one was entirely evil either. For as awful as Lysander was, he had shown some small glimmers of consideration.

There was a new sort of energy in the air at my words. This energy did not make me uneasy as the thrumming energy had. Indeed, this one was quite pleasant. The air seemed to shimmer for a moment, and I found myself smiling.

It is hope,
I thought. The air grew even brighter, and I thought of the window at the end of my corridor. The word that the servant had inscribed upon its grimy surface still stood out in vivid contrast to the filthy window.

Suddenly, I felt a warmth in my heart that I had not felt since my mother had died. It was as if she was with me, her hand upon my shoulder as she smiled down at me. I felt her presence so strongly that I could almost smell her familiar perfume of bergamot and ginger. She had taught me to be kind to others, to be patient and fair. If I could follow her lesson, if I could be kind and patient and fair with Lysander, perhaps some good of it would come, for us both.

Breathing deeply, I pushed the doors open and entered the library. Though it remained dim inside because only the faintest of light from the sun was able to penetrate through the layers of grime on the windows, it was rather brighter than it was at night. My eyes wandered the chamber, but it did not take long for them to spot their object, for Lysander stood before the great fireplace, his body turned so that I saw his profile.

I was certain that he had sensed my presence even before I had opened the doors, but he did not move as I slowly entered the chamber, fixing my gaze on him and refusing to allow my eyes to glance away, though the sight of him was nothing short of terrifying. He had not been mistaken when he had told me that the light was not kind to him. It threw every one of his frightful features into stark relief, and I saw that he was even more hideous than I had thought.

In spite of my fear, in spite of the revulsion I could not help but feel when I beheld him, I also felt a sense of sympathy for him. As I had told myself, he could not help how he looked, no more than I could help that I had brown eyes. It was true that he was hideous, but he was also growing familiar to me and even the ugliest of objects can grow pleasant to the eyes of one to whom they are familiar.

As I continued to gaze at him, I picked up on details that had been overlooked in the initial state of fright with which I had first beheld him. He was dressed in deep blue breeches, a white linen shirt, and a deep blue vest with a matching frock coat. It was strange to behold a beast dressed as a man, but no stranger than a beast that walked, talked, and thought like a man.

It occurred to me that I had been standing and studying him for quite some time, and I blushed, hurrying forward to greet him properly. At the sound of my step upon the inlaid wood of the library floor, Lysander turned to face me. There was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes as he took in the sight of me. Though I had not noticed him slouching, it seemed he had been, for he drew himself up to his full height as I continued to walk over to him.

"Good day," I said, smiling and curtseying.

The gesture seemed to surprise him, and he looked at me for a moment before responding. "Good day," he replied, bowing at the waist.

"There, see how proper we can be?" I asked.

The lightness of the response seemed to catch him off guard. His smile was quick; a smile that I had come to recognize as genuine, a smile that I knew caught him off guard because it was unanticipated. It extended to his eyes, and for once their stormy blue-gray depths seemed pleasant rather than disturbing.

"Very proper indeed," he responded.

"Forgive me for being late."

"I am not patient." There was a slight edge to his voice.

"Yes, I have seen ample evidence of that," I said mildly.

His eyes widened as he regarded me, and he shook his head very slightly, the gesture almost imperceptible. "There are times when I do not know what to make of you."

"I suppose that is only fair, as I do not know what to make of you the majority of the time."

He smiled again. "I suppose I should be pleased. I have no wish to be easy to understand."

"You need have no fear on that account, for I find you quite incomprehensible."

This time his head shake was distinct. "You are not what I expected."

"Then I confess that I am pleased, for I have no wish to be predictable."

"You need have no fear on that account, for I find you extremely unpredictable."