The Eye of the Beholder (29 page)

Now I may have lost those moments of observation forever. Worse, I may have made Mira feel as though I had violated her privacy. How was it that the more determined I was to do what I could to improve her opinion of me, the more I did to lend her the support she needed to continue to have a bad opinion of me? My own clumsiness was almost too much for me to bear.

The simple fact of the matter was that Mira had become necessary to me. I had once viewed her as little more than a means to an end. Then I had begun to view her as something of an amusing plaything, someone I might manipulate for my own enjoyment. Now, I found that she was necessary to my peace of mind, and my previous views of her caused me acute shame and pain. Part of the reason why I had been in a rather cantankerous mood when she had entered her chamber was because I had longed for her presence. I had missed her with a power that left me aching. The other part of the reason was that I could not help but be angry with myself for having missed her, for having discovered that she was necessary to my well-being.

"I have decided to begin renovations some distance from these chambers. You need rest in order to continue to recover, and I do not wish to disturb yout with the noise the renovations will create," Mira said, interrupting my thoughts.

"Very well," I replied, disappointed that she would not be near. I knew I had asked her to start the renovations, but I sorely regretted that they would keep her away from me during the day.

"Shall I read to you for a while?" she asked, peering into my face curiously. My changeable moods were doubtless a source of much confusion to her.

"If you would." I was relieved that she had made the suggestion. I hoped that if she concentrated on reading to me, I might be able to compose my thoughts and behave in a more even manner, one less likely to give away too much of what I was feeling.

The afternoon rapidly slipped by as Mira read, though my mind wandered so often I could not remember what it was she read to me. All I knew was that most of my thoughts centered on Mira. Now that I had acknowledged my love for her, the logical course was to attempt to make her love me in return, but I was afraid, and not only of failure. Even if I somehow could win her, the thought of earning her love frightened me almost as much as the thought of not earning it. I had been convinced that love made one weak, foolish, and careless, but never before had I imagined how terrifying love could be.

Mira had just closed the book when the servants appeared with our dinner. Little conversation passed between us while we ate, and though Mira looked composed enough, I felt as if I were on edge the entire meal. I warred within myself over what I should and should not say to her, with the end result of my saying precious little indeed.

When she had finished, Mira rose from her chair and walked slowly over to the balcony doors. I watched as she opened them and closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath of the night air. After a moment, she opened her eyes again and gazed out into the night sky.

"It is very clear tonight. I can see the great star Branthis. Aside from the moon, it is the brightest object in the night sky," she said.

I was rather startled by this statement. "I had not thought you an astronomer."

She turned her head to smile at me. "Why is that? You know of my love for reading."

"Aye, but I did not suppose that astronomy was something that would capture your fancy."

"Ah, I understand you now. You thought I read nothing other than gothic tales of romance and horror," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Nay, of course not," I said hastily. She smiled broadly, and I felt myself relax. "Only a fool would question your intelligence. I suppose it is merely that I have always had precious little interest in the sciences. Perhaps I assumed that everyone feels as I do."

"That does not entirely surprise me." My natural instinct, of course, was to bristle at this statement, but the warm smile did not leave her face and I knew that she meant to be lighthearted with me, not insult me. "You may be right. It may be that everyone does feel as you do, save for me. I have always been something of an oddity."

"What is the attraction in such a study?" I asked, thinking that the question came out rather more rudely than I had intended.

"It is fascinating!" she exclaimed in a voice that clearly expressed her disbelief that I did not find the study as fascinating as she. She turned her attention back to the outdoors. "There are such wonders to be found in the night sky. And even if you have no interest in stars and planets and moons, how can the myths behind the constellations not intrigue you? I find it endlessly fascinating to contemplate the ways in which people attempt to explain things they cannot understand.

"For instance, there are the Sisters. It is said that they were once powerful sorceresses, but they were so blinded by their ambition that, one night, they performed a spell they could not control, causing an explosion that seemed to signal the end of the world, and night was indistinguishable from day for a week. The explosion propelled them into the heavens where, centuries later, they remain, unable to return to land and continue with their experiments. The light of the Sisters is inconstant, and it is said that whenever their light is momentarily extinguished, it is because they are gathering all their strength for the spell that will return them to their home. But no matter how hard they try, their efforts inevitably fail."

I had no idea that such an interesting story existed with reference to the stars. Then again, I had never before been much interested in any tale, legend, or history that was not about the triumphant reign of a despotic leader.

"I have never heard that tale," I said.

"It is one of my favorites." Her gaze remaining fixed on the stars.

"It is rather fanciful, do not you think?" I had not meant the question in a mocking manner, but I feared she would misconstrue it as such.

"Of course it is," she said, turning to me at last. She smiled and shook her head, and I was relieved to know that my words had not offended her. "Myths are always fanciful or they would not be myths. Stories that are mostly grounded in fact are histories. And while I did study my histories most faithfully, I did not study them with nearly as much enjoyment as I studied mythology."

"Are there many other tales like that about the stars?"

"Oh yes, a great many. I could tell you several more, but I would not wish to bore you with a topic that does not interest you." I could hear the faint taunt in her voice, and her smile signaled a challenge.

I felt my back straighten in response, and I sat up taller in the bed. "Since when have you become afraid to bore me with a topic not of interest to me?"

She looked truly delighted to find me jesting with her, and I could not help but smile as well. "I cannot help it if you are not interested in the things that are truly interesting," she sniffed.

"I see. So the fault is mine, is it? But did you not say just a moment ago that I was likely right and that you were likely the only person interested in astronomy?"

"So it seems I must concede the point to you," Mira said in a voice of good cheer, gracing me with a short bow at the waist.

"My brain was not addled from the ague, you know. I am capable of meeting a greater challenge of the wits than that," I taunted, my smile growing wider.

"Ah, so now you do mean to insult me!" Mira exclaimed, but the good humor dancing in her eyes told me that she was enjoying our game.

"There is no shame in losing to one of superior intellect."

"Superior intellect indeed!" she scoffed. She left her post by the doors and came to sit at my bedside, her expression growing serious. "Lysander, I should like to renovate the gardens soon."

"You may renovate whatever you choose."

"When they are finished, you must walk with me in them."

"What?" I asked, involuntarily recoiling from her.

I had not ventured outside except under cover of night, and I did not think that a midnight stroll through the gardens was quite what she had in mind for me. The decision to allow the renovations of the castle had been an enormous one. I had felt a mixture of pain and fear at the thought of light once more being allowed inside, but the castle would still offer me some safety in its more shadowy recesses. To venture out of doors in the light of day would force me to expose myself to her in a manner that I had not the courage to do.

"Mira," I responded, my voice sharpened by the sense of panic I felt, "that is something to which I cannot agree. You may renovate the gardens as you like and you may stroll within them whenever you wish it, but do not ask the same of me."

She was quiet for a moment, studying me with eye brimming with sadness and compassion. Hesitantly, as if she was afraid I might reject her, she reached a hand out and laid it on my paw. "Lysander, you have hidden in the shadows for far, far too long. Can you not imagine how good it would be to feel the warmth of the sun on your face and breathe the freshness of the air?"

"Do not ask it of me," I insisted, turning my face away from her. Her hand was warm upon my paw, and the contact provoked a longing in me that I feared might never be answered.

"We can none of us help what we are on the outside," she said quietly. "We can only control what we are on the inside."

She withdrew her hand, and I heard the rustle of her skirts as she stood and walked away from the bedside. The door to the corridor opened and closed and, when she was gone, I was bereft. Her words were both a comfort and a curse. What would she think if she knew that I did control what I was on the outside, that I and I alone was responsible for my appearance?

Despite my misgivings, I could not ignore the faint flicker of hope her words had ignited within me. Was it possible that she could look past what was on the outside and see me for the man I was determined to be on the inside?

Chapter 28: A New Road

Lysander's reaction to my plans for the garden was not unexpected. While I had long ago formed conjectures as to why Lysander had chosen to conceal himself within the castle walls, my survey of his chambers had provided me with all the proof I could ever need. While it seemed he was finally facing what he was on the inside, I knew that he had not yet faced what he was on the outside. It puzzled me why Lysander was willing to tackle the daunting task of changing for the better, but was afraid to look at himself in the mirror. I finally realized that, as difficult as it would be for him to change, it was perhaps easier for him than having to accept that he could not alter what he was on the outside. Lysander's outward appearance was something over which he had no control, and I came to believe that lack of control was his worst fear. If he was to ever have any hope of being free of his torment, he would have to learn to accept his appearance. Venturing from the castle in the light of day was a necessary step.

In the days that followed, I spoke no more with Lysander about the gardens, but I knew it weighed heavily upon his mind. When I returned to my chambers for the night or to share meals with him, I would sometimes catch him gazing toward my wall of windows with an expression of mingled loathing and terror on his face. Whether his terror and loathing were for the gardens or for himself, I could not say for certain. I suspected that it was a little of both. It was impossible to remain unaffected by his struggle, especially in light of his improved conduct. I was still suspicious of him, but it made me heart ache with sympathy to see him struggle so mightily with learning to accept his appearance; it was a struggle with which I was all too familiar myself.

Why did I care so much about what became of Lysander? I was certain it would be impossible to find a single person who would tell me I owed him something. But I gradually came to see that I did not wish to live my life in that manner, always measuring what was owed and what was given, as if I were nothing more than a scale that, if not in perfect balance, would cease to function. My sisters always questioned what benefit they would receive from their actions, and I did not want to find myself becoming like them. If I could learn to rise above such pettiness with Lysander, I could conquer pettiness, banish it from my life. Lysander needed me, that much was clear. If I failed, I could spend the rest of my life berating myself for a fool but, if I succeeded, I would achieve something very worthwhile.

This did not mean that I would give of myself indiscriminately. Lysander would have to prove sincere in his wish to change who he was inside in order for me to continue to give of myself. I had decided to give him that chance. Until he definitively proved himself one way or another, I intended to take him at his word and do everything I could to try to assist him in making that change.

The renovations to his chambers were proceeding very well. As the days passed, the number of servants willing to assist continued to grow. I could sense the fear in them as they set foot in their master's chambers. At times, I caught them directing their sightless gazes toward me and I felt as though I could read their thoughts. They surely wondered if I was mad, and even I could not help but wonder about it at times. After a while, I could sense a shift in their feelings, and I witnessed the transformation as they allowed themselves to be swept away by the tide of activity. Their rigid posture relaxed gradually, and they ceased to turn their heads from side to side, constantly on watch for their master, scared of his wrath. Slowly, this fear was replaced with something that seemed almost like contentment, and I could see that they had begun to truly concentrate on their tasks.