The Eye of the Beholder (30 page)

Several days into the work, I stood surveying the work that had been done to the chambers, and I caught sight of a familiar servant. He was working with several other servants to restore what must once have been a magnificent chandelier that had hung over Lysander's bed. I watched him for several moments before he became aware of my gaze. When he turned his face toward me, I felt a flash of recognition.

"Hope?" I asked him.

His mouth remained still, as always, but he nodded in confirmation of my question. For a second, I almost felt as though I could hear his voice in my head repeating the word back to me. It was then that I truly realized the power of that one word. Hope took root in me for the first time since I had set foot in the castle.

That night, I felt a deep sense of contentment and something approaching happiness. My head was filled with visions of the splendor that would be Lysander's chambers once the work was finished. I did not know if it would please him but, even if it did not, it would please me. If I failed, I would know that I had tried, and I would never regret making the attempt.

My mind must have been far away, for as I unwound the linen binding Lysander's wound, he said, "You are humming."

"I am humming?" I asked, startled. My fingers halted, and I looked up into his blue-gray gaze. Though I had looked into those eyes many times, there was something different about this time. I saw something in his gaze that struck a chord deep within me.

"Aye," he responded. His gaze grew rather guarded, and the next words he spoke tumbled from his mouth so quickly that I knew he had not allowed himself to think about them before speaking. "Are you happy?"

I abandoned my task for a moment, allowing my hands to fall away from his injured arm as I reflected on his question. I could not say that I was happy, but I felt that if things continued on the same course, it was entirely possible that I could one day be. A sense of shock accompanied this realization, but it was not quite as powerful as the wonder I felt at the thought that Lysander might care about my happiness.

"My work has given me a sense of purpose," I replied, my words carefully chosen. Although he must have already known just how great a power he wielded over me, I found myself reluctant to give him any proof of that power. With little effort, he could destroy what small happiness I had managed to find. "There is a certain contentment to be found in that."

Lysander did not speak for a long moment and, though his gaze remained guarded, I could see that my words had caused him to think. "You find contentment in industry?" he finally asked.

"Yes. Do not you?"

"I confess I have never thought of industry as the road to happiness."

"Industry is but one of many roads to happiness--or at least it is for me."

"Of what other roads do you know?"

"You are aware that you ask me to reveal much of myself, are you not?" I asked, meeting his eyes with a direct gaze.

To my astonishment, I could clearly see that my words discomfited him. After a moment, he seemed to recollect himself, and he put up his guard again.

"I was merely making conversation," he said, and his voice took on a rumbling tone that I had come to know quite well. It was most often present whenever I said or did something unexpected, something that caught him off guard.

"That is untrue. If you were merely making conversation, you would have asked me about the weather or perhaps commented on a book. You would not have asked me such a question."

"If you have no wish to speak with me, simply say so," Lysander said sharply.

I smiled gently at him. "Come now. Surely you know me well enough by now to know that had I no wish to speak with you, I would have ceased speaking to you long ago."

Seemingly in spite of himself, Lysander smiled, though he quickly emitted a deep sigh, as if to do away with the expression. "I have noticed that you are rather unafraid of speaking your mind."

"It would be difficult not to notice it," I said pleasantly, as I took his arm and returned my attention to the bandage.

"Aye, that it would," he conceded.

"I find you rather difficult to understand at times. There have been occasions upon which I have thought that, perhaps, you might wish to become friends with me. But your actions are not indicative of such a wish. You remain as closed as ever, even as you expect me to reveal more and more of my own secrets to you."

Lysander winced, and I knew it was because of my words and not because of my attentions to his wound. I felt a deep sense of satisfaction both at the sight of the pale new skin and the knowledge that I had forced him to contemplate uncomfortable thoughts. I took a brief moment to congratulate myself on a job well done.

"Your wound is healing beautifully. There is no longer a need to keep it bandaged." I gathered the soiled bandage and carried it over to the basket.

"I have always closely guarded my thoughts and my feelings," Lysander said. His words halted my movements, for his voice was so strangled I knew that what he said was difficult for him to admit. "I do not know how to act in any other manner."

"That is an excuse." I turned to look at him.

His eyes blazed for a second, and I feared that I had pushed him too far and that the old Lysander had returned. But then he sighed and looked away from me, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"Perhaps it is," he said, his voice faint.

"What do you wish for us?" I asked him bluntly.

Something unreadable passed over his face. "What do I wish for us?" he echoed.

"Yes." I approached the bed. "What am I: your prisoner, your nurse, your source of diversion?"

"You are not my prisoner," he said gruffly.

"And yet I am, for I am not free to leave if I wish to do so. Do not attempt to avoid the truth of the matter."

"Very well then," he answered, his voice rising slightly. "You are my prisoner."

"What need do you have of a prisoner?" I gently perched upon the bed, forcing him to meet my gaze. I took his paw in my hands. "Would you not prefer to have a friend?"

I do not think I could have shocked him more had I tried. He stared at me in blatant amazement, his paw slack in my hands. Confusion, fear, anger, uncertainty… each emotion passed through his eyes as the chamber fell silent. The very walls seemed to vibrate with the words I had spoken.

"A friend?" he asked at last. He spoke the word as if it was the first time he was pronouncing it.

"Yes, a friend," I said gently, looking into his eyes.

He turned his gaze from mine and stared off toward the shrouded windows. The set of his shoulders, the way his paw trembled slightly spoke volumes for me. We had been on a long journey ever since my arrival at the castle, and it seemed that he and I had now reached a crossroads. It was up to Lysander to choose the road that we would take. I knew without his telling me that he understood the gravity of the situation, and that it was rather frightening for him.

"Why should you wish to be my friend? You have every reason to despise me." He spoke the words as if they tasted bitter.

"I shall not lie to you: I am very angry with you about how you treated my father. I am angry that you demanded he return here as your prisoner or send one of his daughters in his stead. I am angry that your demands have caused him the agony I am certain he is feeling.

"Additionally, I have frequently found your conduct and your words reprehensible. Some of what you have said has disturbed me greatly. You have often spoken without regard for my feelings, and your treatment of the servants is deplorable.

"As hurtful and as cruel as you have been, I do believe that you are sincere in your desire to change, and I want to give you a chance. There is a glimmer of something within you that I hope you will cease to keep hidden."

"You truly believe that of me?" he asked. He quickly spun his head so that his eyes met mine once more, and his gaze was very earnest.

"I do," I confirmed softly.

He looked at me for a moment before shifting his eyes so that he was looking past my left shoulder. "I am not a good creature," he said frankly, his gaze clouding over so that I knew he was reliving past transgressions. "You should be angry with me; I am deserving of your anger. I am hurtful, I am cruel. You know this about me. But what you have learned hardly scratches the surface of who I have been."

The candor of his words surprised me, and I gave him my undivided attention. I had not thought he would ever be so open with me, and I was even more astonished to realize that, along with the surprise I felt, there was a tingle of warmth, a feeling of something like victory, for it seemed as though I had finally managed to breach his defenses.

"There is nothing you can do to change the past," I said. "It is up to you to decide how you shall live from this point forward. Do you wish to continue on the path you have chosen, or would you rather try a different road?"

"I…I would like to try a different road." Lysander's voice was a soft rumble in the chamber, and his eyes were stormy as he looked at me. I could see that he was at war with himself, that his old nature born of deeply ingrained habits was trying its best to break free while he did his best to hold onto his desire to change.

"Then I will be your friend. You need not travel that road alone."

"I am…glad."

Those simple words warmed my heart as nothing he had said up until that point had. I had promised myself that I would be guarded, that I would not allow myself to place my faith and trust in him, but I was finding it difficult to remain so objective. I wanted to believe that Lysander could change; I wanted to believe it with all my heart. Perhaps I would live to regret the faith I was placing in him, but I could not stop myself.

As if he could sense something of my thoughts, Lysander gently flexed his paw so that it stirred within my hands. I looked up at him and he smiled at me, a smile that extended to his eyes. There was nothing to be done now but close my eyes and take the leap of faith.

Chapter 29: A Friend

Mira has offered me her friendship. She has offered to be my friend!

The words repeated in my head in an endless, stupefying loop. I could not believe my good fortune.
A dizzying whirlwind of emotions swept through me, but the strongest of all was my sense of wonder. What other woman would ever have agreed to stand by me after all that I had done?

I felt a strange sense of unreality as I smiled down into Mira's lovely face. My paw still rested between her two small hands, and I moved it very gently, afraid that if I made her too aware of the contact, she would release my paw. Just the thought made me feel bereft. Mira's touch caused my breath to quicken and my heart to pound, and I could only hope that she would not notice these physical changes.

Though my resolution had been firm, there had remained a part of me that fought viciously against it. From the moment I had fully awakened from my illness, I had expended a great deal of energy fighting against my old nature. But when Mira took my paw, I felt a sudden strength and stillness unlike anything I had ever known. All my life, it had seemed as though the rage lived within me, as if it boiled just below the surface, constantly threatening to spill over at any moment. Somehow, when she took my paw, the rage subsided and I was left with an inner peace that allowed me to see all the possibilities that lay before me. For the first time, I felt as though my life was my own. I had been a slave to my rages for far too long; the time had come for me to prove to myself master of them.

I could not sleep that night. I lay awake into the wee hours listening to the soft sound of Mira's breaths, imagining the possibilities. Our friendship was a fragile, wondrous thing, and I was determined to act with great care so as not to destroy the gift she had given me. I had never before known gratitude, and the depths of the gratitude I felt for Mira took my breath away. I wanted to tell her how I felt, but I had not the words. Instead, I contented myself with the resolution that I would show her just how grateful I was. I could and I would change. I would show Mira that I was deserving of her trust, deserving of her regard, and deserving of her friendship.

And, perhaps, deserving of her love?

It was this thought more than any other that robbed me of the ability to rest. Mira was like the roses that had climbed the castle walls for nearly three hundred years. She was beautiful, vibrant, strong enough to endure the worst of the elements. I had long wondered why the enchantress had left me those roses, but now I believed I understood. She had wanted me to appreciate the value of unspoiled beauty, to see that it could exist and even thrive in a place of great darkness. It had taken nearly three centuries, but I had finally come to appreciate it.