The Eye of the Beholder (23 page)

"Would you rather I read to you about wars and pestilence?" she called, after a long moment of silence. She remained with her back to me, and she ran a rather listless finger over the leather-bound spines on the shelves.

"Why should I wish to hear about pestilence? I have already told you numerous times that the sufferings of others are meaningless to me. Perhaps if I were suffering from a pestilence myself, I might muster some curiosity on the subject, if only in the hopes that it would enable me to find a cure."

"Of course. You care to hear of something only if it directly involves you." The line of her slender shoulders grew even tauter, and I watched as one of her hands balled into a fist. I could see her body heave as she took a deep breath, and I knew she was attempting to quell her anger.

"Wars are another matter," I said, wanting to stoke her anger before she could regain her faculties and answer my scathing remarks with smiles, as she had taken to doing as of late.

She turned to eye me warily. "Indeed?"

"Certainly." I sat back in my chair. I felt a sense of satisfaction creep over me as I watched her face. My next words were certain to provoke her. "There is appeal in hearing about those who have used might and brutal force to take what they will."

There was a flicker of horror in her eyes, but her recovery surprised me. "Not everyone is as unscrupulous as you," she said triumphantly, her smile returning. "I shall be glad to read you war tales. Shall I start with the tale of the ancient Eudorian king who went to war to free the slaves of Lynere, or would you prefer the history of the knights of Altheria who swore their lives to the noble service of stamping out injustice wherever they encountered it?"

Ah, but two can play at this game.

"Neither. I would prefer for you to read the history of Marcus the Black, who went to war for the sheer thrill of cutting down his enemy."

I watched as Mira scanned the shelf and removed a book. She walked over to me and deliberately flung the tome into my lap. "Read it yourself then." She spun on her heel and stormed out of the library with a furious rustle of silken skirts.

For several moments, I was far too stunned to do anything more than sit and stare dumbly at the door through which she had passed. Once my astonishment wore off, it was replaced with something very sinister. The anger that had been clawing its way out of me for days began to rear its ugly head, and I heard myself emitting a low growl as I rose from my chair, the book hitting the floor with a loud thud that I barely heard. Who did she think she was, to speak to me in that manner? How dare she throw that book into my lap as she had! How dare she openly express her scorn for me!

There was a small part of me that tried desperately to fight for control. It told me that I needed to return to my quarters and brood until night fell, at which point I should run and run until I was leagues away from the castle and safe from Mira's gaze. But the larger part of me seethed and demanded recompense for what had just passed. I wanted her to answer to me. More than that, I wanted to frighten her. I wanted to see her eyes widen in terror, to know that she understood the full extent of my power. In short, I wished to break her spirit.

I stepped into the corridor and pricked my ears. Though she was now some distance from the library, I could clearly hear the sound of her rapid footfalls as she hurried toward her chambers, and a slow smile spread over my face.

Her sanctuary. I have not been anywhere near her corridor since she arrived here. I told myself that I would allow her a place where she need not fear I would tread. Now I shall show her that this castle and everything within it is mine. She is my prisoner and she will submit to my will. I will show her that there is no sanctuary from me.

I waited, crouched in the corridor as my anger began to lap over me in waves. I could feel it begin to pull me under, and a bolt of fear so strong that it nearly broke the rage's hold shot through me. The respite was only temporary, for my rage had grown too large for me to control. I had never been able to control it. It had been foolish of me to think that this had somehow changed. I should have fled into the forest days ago.

Finally, I decided I had waited long enough, and I began to lope down the corridor that would lead me to Mira's chamber. The edges of my vision had begun to dance with bright pinpricks of light.

Nay! I must fight this! I must! I will lose everything!

Nausea washed over me as I tried to fight the rage. My entire body shook with effort and, though I was still running toward Mira's chambers, I had succeeded in slowing myself. I had nearly managed to force myself to a complete stop when I reached the corridor in which her chambers lay.

It was bustling with activity. Servants moved to and fro carrying buckets of water, brushes, carpentry supplies, and rags. There were servants scouring the floor, servants polishing windows, servants repairing doors that I had destroyed during my many rampages throughout the castle. And at the center of it all was Mira, smiling as she gestured to one of the servants. They were making so much noise that I wondered that I had never before noticed it. They were making so much noise that they did not notice my presence.

"What is this?" I snarled. The sound of my voice froze everyone where they stood and, even though the voice was my own, it made my fur stand on end. It was the most malevolent voice I had ever heard.

"Lysander," Mira gasped. She pushed one of the maids behind her, as if to protect the girl. "It was my idea! The servants bear no responsibility for this! I asked them for the supplies and I began cleaning. If you wish to punish anyone, punish me!"

"You dare to defy me?" I asked my servants in the same bone-chilling voice.

They fell to their knees before me, hands clawing at their faces.

"You dare to defy me?" I repeated, my voice rising to a deafening roar.

Mira took a step toward me. "Lysander!" she called, her voice high with fear. She tried to take another step toward me, but several servants seized her arms and held her back.

"I will show you the price of your defiance!" I roared.

The cowering servants scrambled away from me, covering their ears. The blackness was now creeping over the edges of my vision, and I could feel it eating away at me like a cancer. There was no stopping it. I had been a fool to even try.

My last memory was that of lashing out at a ladder, causing it to burst through the window at the end of the corridor. Glass shattered, raining down on Mira and the servants who were restraining her. I heard the sound of a high-pitched scream and I knew it had to belong to Mira, for the servants were mute. Then the blackness engulfed me and I knew nothing more.

Chapter 22: The Rage

I had never before been so furious with Lysander. I had tried my best to maintain my patience, to redirect the conversation, but to no avail. He was apparently determined to prove to me that he was a truly depraved being, and he had succeeded. How foolish it had been of me to ever think there might be something worthy inside of him, something that I might discover and draw out. How arrogant it had been of me to assume that I would have the power to help him change into something he was so clearly determined he would not be.

The expression in his eyes as I dropped the heavy tome in his lap was one that I would not soon forget. I had astonished him in the past, but this time I truly stunned him. His disbelief was plain, and I knew he had believed I would never have the courage to take such a stand with him. I took great pride in having proved him wrong. Lysander could engage in a battle of wills with me all he liked, but it had been foolish of him to assume that he would always have the upper hand. He held no dominion over me, nor would he ever, and I was going to prove it to him.

My steps rang out angrily upon the marble floors as I stalked back to my wing of the castle. I needed to be away from him, needed to do something that would free my mind of him, and I knew that seeing to more castle repairs would be just the thing. It was an act of defiance against him, but it was also constructive, and that would satisfy me immensely more than ranting and raving in my chambers would. Perhaps I might even indulge myself by taking a beater to the curtains and pretending it was Lysander I was hitting rather than innocent fabric. It was petty but, nonetheless, it did make me feel better.

As I entered the corridor leading to my chambers, a smile of genuine pleasure spread over my face. The servants bustled about it setting it to rights. There had to be at least thirty there, the largest number yet, and watching their efficient industry did my heart a great deal of good, making me all but forget my quarrel with Lysander. It was simply impossible to hold onto feelings of anger and resentment when met with the picture of progress before me.

I wended my way through the servants, pausing to praise their labors and express my genuine delight over the wonders they had managed to work. In a surprisingly short amount of time, a corridor that had once been in such a state of disrepair, so filthy and gloomy that it had seemed almost beyond salvation, had been nearly restored to its former glory. Standing there surveying the emerging grandeur of the corridor left me breathless with wonder.

"It is wonderful," I said quietly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a slight movement and turned to see one of the maids nodding her head in agreement with my words. She turned her face toward me and we exchanged a nod, and I realized with a start that I had ceased to shiver at the eerie nature of those sightless orbs trapped within the gray faces of the servants. I had once thought of them as wraiths, but I was beginning to see that they were, in fact, people. My face burned with shame at the remembrance. It was so easy to take the high ground when I was with Lysander, but my conscience was there to remind me that I was not always as morally superior as I liked to think myself.

Suddenly, I could tolerate my own idleness no longer. Seizing the hand of the maid, I gave it a quick press before I turned and fairly ran to my chambers, eager to change into my work clothes and join the servants. I did not fail to notice the little start of surprise that my contact had provoked, and I promised myself that I would make more of an effort to get to know the servants in any way that I could, to show them the compassion I should have shown them when I had first laid eyes upon them.

After hastily changing gowns and tying my hair back, I went straight to the manservant who was acting as foreman. He gestured at me with great excitement, and I knew he was eager to show me the work they had done while I had been talking with Lysander. I could see that he was proud of what they had accomplished, and I could feel my own heart swelling with pride as I smiled and allowed my eyes to follow his sweeping gestures.

"It is as if you have worked magic. I can scarcely recognize this corridor," I breathed. "You have all worked so hard. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your aide."

That moment, that one perfect moment, was one of those rare, beautiful moments in life. It was a moment in which I felt at harmony with everyone around me, and I was filled with a sense of contentment and satisfaction so heady that it nearly made me giddy. The cynical side of me should have known that such happiness rarely lasts.

"What is this?" The voice was so filled with malice that it sent a chill down my spine, freezing the blood in my veins, and making the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

All motion ceased and, for one distressing instant, I could have sworn that the servants were made of stone rather than flesh and blood. The gray pallor of their skin, the blank orbs of their eyes, and the rigid set of their features made me feel as though I was surrounded by statuary.

"Lysander," I gasped, as I whirled around to face him. The look in his eyes was one of such danger that my throat was immediately parched with terror and my heart began to race. Without even being fully aware of what I was doing, I pushed one of the maids behind me, wanting to shield her from that look, from the fury that rolled off Lysander in waves. "It was my idea! The servants bear no responsibility for this! I asked them for the supplies and I began cleaning. If you wish to punish anyone, punish me!"

"You dare to defy me?" he snarled at the servants in the same awful tone of voice. They fell to their knees in soundless supplication, tearing at their own faces in fear. Their reaction terrified me, and my entire body shook.

I cannot allow this to happen!
an inner voice screamed at me, and I fought the instinct that told me to shrink back in fear.

"You dare to defy me?" Lysander repeated. His voice rose until the sound of it made my ears throb in protest.

I knew I had to act. What would come would come. I had known the risks when I had started this foolish enterprise, and I was going to accept the consequences of my actions. I would not allow Lysander to take his fury out on the servants. It was my responsibility to protect them, no matter the cost.