The Eye of the Beholder (40 page)

Beams of weak light began to appear in the chamber, and I vaguely realized that another night had passed. At least my mother had me thinking of her, all these years later. I may not have known anything about her, but there I was, acknowledging that she had lived. Who would acknowledge that I had? It was true that the enchantress had cast her spell so that the villagers would forget they had been governed by me as their king, but, even so, there was no one on whom I had made any sort of impression. Perhaps Mira might remember me, many years down the road when she was an old woman tucking her grandchildren into their beds, an unwelcome memory causing her to shudder and thank her lucky stars that she had escaped me.

Or perhaps not. She had said her piece and then she had left. It was more likely that she would hurry to return to her old life, hurry to block this span of time from her memories. This thought stung like salt being poured into my open wounds, but I also knew that I could not blame her. Had I been her, I too would have wanted to forget everything about the beast.

I did not want to dwell on what might have been. I did not want to indulge myself in fantasies, but I was powerless to stop the flow of my thoughts. The pain was abated by these fantasies though, when they ended, the pain returned and was keener, deeper. Despite this, my afflicted mind insisted on building elaborate dreams of a life with Mira that had never happened and would never happen. I imagined her confessing her love for me, telling me that she never wanted to be without me, just as I never wanted to be without her. I tried to imagine the return to human form these words would spur, but I could no longer remember how I had looked.

I pushed this realization aside, intent on picturing the look on Mira's face when she witnessed my transformation. Though she had fallen in love with the beast, she would be even more deeply in love with the man. She would be unable to believe her good fortune, just as I would be unable to believe mine. It filled me with awe to imagine discovering that Mira loved me as desperately as I loved her.

The fantasies became progressively more colorful and progressively more unrealistic. It struck me as so strange that my heart's desire now consisted of a family, a wife, children. These were things I had never before wished for in my life. Even though I knew it was my duty as king to produce an heir, I had refused to seriously entertain thoughts of marriage. Now, I not only wanted these things, I wanted them so desperately the bitter realization that I would never have them left a metallic taste in my mouth.

As the taste grew stronger, I gradually came to my senses and realized that the metallic flavor was due to the blood that was in my mouth, blood coming from my lip. I had bitten it so hard in an effort to control my emotions that I had drawn blood without realizing it. Finally, I broke. I wept and wept as if I would never stop.

There were many reasons to weep. I wept for shame, for having kept Mira against her will, for having been cruel to her father, for denying her the comfort of seeing him in the pool. I wept for the unfortunates of my kingdom, who had led lives of misery because I could not, would not be bothered to care. I wept for my lost mother, a woman I had never known and would never have the chance to know. How different might my life have been had I known the kindness, the warmth, the comfort of a mother's love?

I was lost, so very lost. Never before Mira had there been direction in my life, and I had not felt the lack of it. Once she had come into my world, I had gradually begun to find a purpose, a reason for living rather than merely existing. Now that she was gone, I felt horribly adrift. My world had revolved around her for a comparatively short amount of time when considered against the length of my life and, yet, I could scarcely remember what life had been like before her. I did not want to know what life was now to be like without her. Though I had precious little time, I thought of the hours and days remaining to me as ravenous wolves, mouths widely agape in order to swallow me whole.

More time passed. Servants came and went, bringing me food and water. I must have partaken of at least some sort of sustenance, for I continued to linger. It seemed strange to me that I was caught in such lassitude. I would have thought I would be angrier than I had ever been, that I would have descended into the depths of a rage so black it would kill me. There was no rage, though. There was only pain; sharp, unendurable pain without cessation.

Chapter 38: Homecoming

When I opened my eyes and found myself in my bed at home, my father seated in a chair beside me, I thought I was dreaming. Papa stared straight ahead, looking at nothing, and when I moved, causing the bedclothes to rustle, his head turned sharply toward me and he began to weep in great, heaving sobs.

"Mira, oh Mira, I can scarce believe it is you!" he cried, falling to his knees beside the bed and lowering his head onto my coverlet. His fingers scrabbled for my hand, seizing it and holding it in a vise-like grip.

"Papa?" I asked, still wondering if I was dreaming.

"Yes, my darling girl. You're home. You're safe now." He took my hand between his and pressed a kiss to it.

"But how did I…" I began. I wanted to sit up, but I felt so horribly weak and achy that I could not manage more than a slight movement. My lips felt parched and my head throbbed.

"I found you just beyond the edge of the forest," my father said quietly. He seemed to sense my thirst, for he took a pitcher from the table next to my bed and poured some water into an earthenware mug. Cradling my head gently, he moved me into a semi-reclining position and tipped the mug to my lips, helping me to drink as if I were a baby. When I had drunk my fill, Papa gently lowered me back down upon the bed.

"The forest," I said, and, just like that, everything returned to me. I remembered the conversation I had with Lysander, remembered my flight into the forest. I did not remember almost making it to the forest's edge but, by that time, I must have been delirious with exhaustion.

"You were ill, sweetheart, babbling nonsense. You…you spoke of…" His voice trailed off and I could see the strain on his face.

"The beast?" I asked, hearing the rasp in my voice for the first time.

"Yes," Papa said quietly, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

I turned my head away from him, blinking back tears. "But what…what did I…"

"You did not know what you were saying." Papa stroked my hair gently. "You were burning with fever."

"Does anyone know about…" Suffused with panic, I attempted to sit up, and Papa gently laid a quelling hand on my shoulder.

"No one else knows about the beast. We told everyone else that you had gone to visit a long-lost aunt. I think people found it strange, but they did not question." Papa's hand moved away from my hair and I turned once more to look at him. He twisted his hands in his lap, staring at them as if he had never before seen them. "It was your sisters' idea. I wanted to rescue you from that horrible monster. I set out immediately, trying to find you, but I rode for hours and never arrived at the castle, even though I swore I followed the route that led me there the first time. Finally, the light failed and I returned here. I wanted to go on, but I knew the search would be easier by daylight. I set out at dawn the next morning, and it was as if I rode in a circle, no matter the direction I took. Each time, I found myself back at the edge of the forest, near our cottage."

There was a sick knot in my stomach because I was relieved that Papa had not discerned the true source of my panic, but I ignored it and thought about what Papa had said. It had seemed strange to me that no one had ever before stumbled upon the beast's castle. However, I knew there was magic there, and I wondered if it protected Lysander from the eyes of the world. If that were so, why was my father able to find his castle? Why had I been able to find my way home?

"I kept trying, for days. I would have continued, but I was not fit to do so. Your sisters had to convince me to keep silent, as I wanted to raise the villagers. They said everyone would think I was mad if I told them tales about a beast and a hidden castle in the forest." The shame in his voice was sharply evident, and it made my heart ache.

"They were right," I said. I moved my hand to take one of his, and it cost me much more effort than the slight gesture merited. It was incredible, that I would agree with my sisters but, in this instance, I did. I could only imagine what the people of Everforest would have thought had my father tried to convince them of the existence of Lysander. How could anyone believe a tale so incredible unless they had actually seen the beast for themselves?

"I felt…" Papa began, his voice trembling so violently that he fell silent for a moment, visibly steadying himself. "I felt that I had failed you, my own child. I cannot tell you how I felt when I awoke and found that you had left in my stead. Mira, you should not have done so. I feared that the beast would do all manner of terrible things to you. Not a single night went by during which I managed to sleep, for I was plagued by terrible nightmares."

"Papa, please," I begged. My exhaustion made it difficult to speak, but I knew I had to set his mind at ease. "Lysander was…he was unpleasant, at first. But he never harmed me. And after I had been in his castle for some time, he became…kinder."

"But that horrible monster! He…Lysander… Did you call him Lysander?" Papa's tone conveyed his confusion.

I felt my color rise. "I…yes. Papa, it is very difficult…and I am so tired…"

"Sleep, child," he said, seeming to forget, instantly, that I had named the beast. "We shall talk more when you are stronger."

The words had barely left his mouth before I drifted off again, but there was little rest for me. Lysander haunted my dreams. When I was awake, I often found myself staring at nothing at all, my mind wandering idly. Papa must have noticed, but he said nothing. My sisters were not so timid.

"So you are back," Thomasina said, when they finally troubled themselves to come for a visit.

"It is good to see you too, Thomasina," I said, fixing her with a steady gaze. Too long had I allowed my sisters to abuse me. That would no longer be the case.

"Only be sure not to say anything to anyone about this…this beast," Rowena added, glancing over at our sister.

"Indeed," Thomasina said, in a hard voice. "For I am certain I am very nearly on the verge of a proposal from the squire of Arlington's son, and if he should catch wind of any tales about a beast…"

"Yes, well, your well being is certainly my greatest concern," I said.

She appeared not to have caught the bitterness in my voice, for she nodded her approval. "Perhaps your sojourn has done you good."

I could feel my hands balling into fists. "Sojourn? I was not at a long-lost aunt's, you know, despite what you told the villagers."

My sisters stared at me as if I was simple. "Of course not," Rowena said. "But now that you have returned, you ought to become a normal part of the household as soon as possible. People do talk, you know, and poor Thomasina cannot afford…"

"Well, I certainly would not want to compromise poor Thomasina's reputation," I said, coldly.

They made no further attempt at small talk and quickly took their leave of me. It was apparent that they had not come to visit me out of any sort of sisterly concern, but merely out of self-interest. It made no difference at all to them where I had been, what I had experienced. Their only concern was to ensure that I did not make any trouble for them.

"They were worried about you," Papa insisted, when he came to sit with me that evening. "They simply do not know how to show you."

"Dear Papa," I murmured. "Let us speak of other things. My sisters will take care of themselves, as they always have. I want you, instead, to tell me how you fare."

"What does that matter? I care nothing for myself, as you should know. I would, instead, hear of how you fared while you were at that castle." I could hear the note of rebuke in his voice, and I knew that, mixed with his fear and worry, he was angry that I had defied him and set out for the castle myself. "When I think of the danger you were in, I simply..." Taking a ragged breath, Papa covered his face with his hand.

"Please, Papa, be easy. I was not in danger, but you seem determined to believe that I am spinning pretty lies to set your mind at ease," I sighed.

"What else am I to believe? Do not forget, Mira, that I saw that monster with my own two eyes. It was me he threatened, I who should have been his prisoner. And why are you no longer his prisoner? How did you escape?"

"I did not escape," I said, looking away as my mind returned to the terrible scene of my last encounter with Lysander. "Lysander let me go."

"Why do you insist on giving that…that thing a name?"

The flash of anger I felt startled me. Though I loved Papa, it offended me that he referred to Lysander as a thing, as if Lysander was a piece of furniture instead of a living, breathing soul. "Papa, please," I said sharply. "You know I do not like it when you refer to Lysander that way. He is not a thing."