The Eye of the Beholder (36 page)

"She arranged a party for me, to celebrate my tenth birthday. It was a lovely evening, and it ended with her revealing a beautiful, white cake. I felt as though my eyes would fall from my head at the sight of it but, just as my father reached out to cut it, she began coughing... She...she tried to hide it, but I saw the bloodstains on her handkerchief before my father could carry her up to their chamber and out of our sight."

"Oh, Mira," I breathed.

She took a long, shuddering breath. "She died two months later." She began to weep again, and I silently held out my handkerchief. She took it, burying her face in it and giving vent to her grief.

I wished more than anything that I could hold her in my arms, but I simply sat quietly next to her, allowing her to grieve. When her tears slowed, she lifted her face from the handkerchief, dabbing her eyes.

"She was... I do not know how to describe her. She was...magical. It was she who taught me to love stories. She would read to me for hours, and I liked nothing better than to please her with some insight about what we had just read.

"She was kind, generous, and so full of life and, when she was gone, it was as if all happiness was gone. My father had been a successful merchant, but he could not focus without her and we lost everything: the light of our lives, our joy, our home."

I was stricken. For centuries, I had wallowed in self-pity, thinking of myself as a tragic figure. But while I had squandered my good fortune and then cast it away with both hands, Mira had everything stolen from her. Yet she had not descended into bitterness as I had. She had tried her best to make a new life for herself, to find her own happiness. Once again, that happiness had been stolen from her, and I was the culprit. Never before had I been more aware of the depths of my own villainy.

"She sounds...wonderful," I said, pushing aside my sense of self-loathing. Later, when I was alone, I would think of it, would flail myself for being the cause of more pain to her. Now, Mira needed me.

Chapter 34: Sharing

Pouring my heart out to Lysander seemed strange at first, but he listened with such a sympathetic ear that I felt like something loosened inside of me, and I began to talk of things I had not even realized I felt. Papa and I had grieved for Mother together, but I had never been able to share all of my thoughts with him, and I knew there were many things with which he had chosen not to burden me. I had never realized how much I longed for someone with whom I could pour my heart out, someone with whom I did not have to pretend to be strong.

"When my mother was alive, I felt as though I knew my place in the world. When she died, I was at a loss. But I never really had the chance to explore that loss, to try to understand what it meant for me. I had to keep everything together, for Papa's sake. He was so lost, and my sisters would not do anything to help him." I took a shuddering breath. My tears were finally beginning to slow, and I dabbed the last of them from my eyes.

"It must have been exceedingly difficult for you." Lysander's voice was gentle, and I glanced up at him to see that his eyes were filled with sympathy.

I nodded, looking down at his handkerchief, twisting it between my fingers. "I feel like I have spent so many years simply reacting to my life, rather than choosing what to do next. One moment, I was a wealthy, privileged girl leading an easy life with two loving parents. The next, I had to learn how to cook, how to raise crops, how to care for our home--and all without the slightest help from my sisters. All while watching Papa struggle and knowing that, as difficult as it all was for me, it was infinitely harder for him because he felt as though he had failed us."

There was a troubled look in Lysander's eyes. "You have been forced to adapt not just to life in the cottage, but also to life here."

"I have lost a great deal of my freedom," I confirmed.

He looked away for a moment before responding. "Mira, I want you to know that your presence here…it has made a difference. You have helped me to see things I long refused to examine. Just as with your family, you have put the needs of others here above your own. But you also deserve to have your needs met, and I am truly sorry I was too selfish to acknowledge that up until now."

Lysander placed one of his great paws over both of my hands, and, for the first time, it did not frighten me to see how it swallowed them, how I was dwarfed by his sheer size. Rather, it comforted me to know that I was in the presence of one so strong, one who cared deeply about me. Oh, yes, I knew that he cared. I knew it with every last fiber of my being. The time he had spent with me and the changes in him told me everything I needed to know. While I was glad that he had decided to reform, it also frightened me. Where could all of this lead? Gently, I withdrew my hands and touched my miniature.

"Your mother was lovely, but…" Lysander began.

"I know," I interrupted, turning my face away. "I look nothing like her. It is my sisters who favor her, as they are fond of reminding me. I favor my father."

"Why should they be fond of reminding you?"

I laughed derisively. "Because they are beautiful like her, of course. And I, well, I am…" Suddenly, I grew conscious of what I was saying and I could feel my face burning in response.

"Surely, Mira, you cannot think that because you do not favor her… You are so…" Lysander fumbled for words.

"Mousy? Small? Plain?" I offered, humiliated.

Lysander's touch amazed me even more than his words, for never before had he touched me with such tenderness. As he turned my face so that my gaze met his, my stomach fluttered in a most disconcerting manner. "You are so beautiful," he told me, his voice very soft.

It was the first time anyone other than my mother or father had told me such a thing, and I was utterly astounded. I stared incredulously at Lysander while my blood ran hot and then cold. My head was strangely light; so much so that I was glad I was sitting, for had I been standing, I felt certain my knees would have given way.

In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to run. I was more terrified than I had ever been in Lysander's presence. This confused me greatly, for his gentleness should have been a balm to me after having witnessed the depths of his rage. I could not make sense of my feelings for him, could not name the emotion in my heart.

Or will not name it?

I realized that he and I were still gazing at one another, that he was still touching my face. There was something in his eyes that I did not recall ever having seen before, something that I felt I perhaps did not want to see, and I turned my head abruptly, hiding my face from his. I could feel my color rising, and I hoped he would attribute my turning away from him to embarrassment. I did not want him to know how tormented I was, did not want him to know that his show of tenderness was somehow worse to me than his cruelty had been.

"I…I, well…that is," I stammered.

"I hope you do not mind my saying so," he said, in a voice so small that I could scarcely believe it belonged to him.

"No, I…" I darted a quick glance at him, and could not bear the look of mingled worry and fear that I saw on his face. "It was very kind of you. I simply do not know what to say."

"You need say nothing at all." Relief was evident in his voice.

Glad that he had taken my words at face value, I felt my shoulders ease a bit as some of the tension left me. Though it was true that I did not know what to say, it was not because I was feeling modest, as I believe he had assumed. It was because his compliment had been flattering, and I could feel my very being rejecting it with vehemence.

"You must be very weary," I said, rising abruptly from the floor and bustling over to the fire, poking it with a vigorousness that was wholly unnecessary. "I have talked your ear off when you should have been resting. I pray you will forgive me for that. I did not mean to indulge myself as I did."

"Mira, I am your friend," he said, sounding a little hurt.

"I know." I turned and graced him with a very fleeting smile. "But what sort of friend am I to take advantage of you when you are in such a condition? Shall I bore you to tears with my petty worries simply because you are a captive audience?"

I attempted to make my words sound teasing, glancing at Lysander as I spoke. However, I could see that he sensed something was amiss, for he frowned and looked at me in a rather anxious matter.

"Are you quite well? It may be nothing, but you seem so distressed now that I fear I may somehow have offended you."

He had offended me, though not in any manner he may have imagined. Or did he know the truth? Did he know that it was his display of affection that had so discomfited me? The thought made me feel badly, but I could not bring myself to soothe his fears away. There was too much turmoil in my own thoughts, and I simply had to be away from him.

"You did not offend me." The words rushed out of my mouth. "I am simply feeling somewhat…out of sorts. Perhaps I need some air. Yes, yes I think that is it. I think a walk in the garden would do me a world of good. You do not mind, do you? If you should need me for something…"

"No, Mira," he said, his words faint. "I would not impose upon you, especially when you have done so much already. I would not ask you to stay, if you would prefer to go."

His words made me cringe, and I turned my head quickly, hoping he would not see the expression on my face. He did know that he had made me uncomfortable, that I wished to be away from him.

"Try…try to get some rest," I said.

"I shall try." His voice was muffled.

I heard rustling, and when I turned to look, he had turned his back to me. There was something ragged about his breathing, and I fled the chamber before I could hear any more of his tortured breaths.

I stumbled out to the gardens, my eyes swimming with unshed tears. My head was heavy with thoughts of which I could make very little sense. Lysander and I had become companions, but I was again fleeing from him as I had in our first days together, when he had inspired in me a fear I had not known it was possible to feel.

Oh, but I do fear him again. It is simply a different sort of fear
.

I wandered sightlessly for I knew not how long. Many of the paths in the garden were familiar, and my feet carried me along these well-trod grounds without my eyes seeing them. I walked until I was exhausted, until I felt I could not walk another step, and then I looked about me for a place to sit, realizing that I was in a part of the garden that I had never before explored. It had not yet seen the careful, loving hands of the servants, either, for it was wild and overgrown, vaguely threatening in the gathering dusk.

Confused, I turned to look behind me, but I could not see the rest of the gardens. I had wandered past a tall hedge and, as I looked around, I realized that more hedges surrounded me.

A maze!

I had believed that I knew the scope of the castle's gardens, but as I looked about, I saw that I had misjudged their size. They were simply more extensive than I could have imagined. From what I could see of the castle, I did not appear to be near my chambers or those of Lysander. As I turned in a slow circle, I felt a shiver of fear race up my spine. It seemed I was well and truly lost, and I tried to prevent myself from panicking. Breathing deeply, I slowly began to move forward, trying my best to formulate a map of the maze inside my head, but it was no use. The more I walked, the more confused I became.

Finally, I could truly walk no further. As I collapsed to my knees on the overgrown path, my eyes were blinded by tears. Angrily, I wiped them away, scolding myself for being so foolish. If I had stayed with Lysander and tried to sort our my feelings, I would not have found myself in this predicament. Twilight crept across the sky, and if I could not find my way out, I would be spending the night in this place.

Forcing myself to calm and attempt to think clearly, I looked about me. Nothing at all seemed familiar, and I was about to give in to my tears when I noticed a strange, shimmering light. Frowning, I blinked and looked again, certain that I must have been imagining things. The shimmering was there, reflected back on the waving branches of a nearby hedge.

Water? But I thought all the pools had been drained.

Curious, I moved over to the water. At first, I saw nothing other than a wavering reflection of myself against the unruly hedge and darkening night sky. Then the surface of the pool rippled, as if I had dropped a pebble into it. I drew back, alarmed, but the pool settled and, as I leaned over it apprehensively, I saw that the scene within it had nothing to do with my surroundings. Instead, the reflection was moving.