The Eye of the Beholder (2012)

by Elizabeth Darcy

  He tried to look angry, but I could see the spark of interest that was always present in his eyes whenever I challenged him. Though he would never admit it to me, I knew that he enjoyed it when I argued with him. Truth be told, I also enjoyed arguing with him.

  "You have a talent for being infuriating," he informed me. He was not far from me; if I wished to reach out and touch his arm, I could. Once, his nearness might have frightened me, but I had grown accustomed to him. I was no longer scared he would harm me.

  "So you have told me many times," I replied with a smile.

  At last, he admitted defeat and gave in to his desire to smile. "You are the most vexing creature."

  "You have told me that many times as well," I said carelessly. I turned from him and walked back to my chair. "Now, are we to continue with our reading or would you rather stand there and insult me all day long? I warn you, if you continue to do so, I shall begin to wax poetic about nature again."

  There was uncertainty in his eyes. He seemed to struggle with something for a moment, and then sighed nearly inaudibly and returned to his chair.

  "Read on, then," he said. "I do not think I could stomach any more of your rhapsodizing over nature."

  Hiding a smile, I opened the book and began to read aloud.

  Chapter 21

  Blackness

  Somehow, Mira had managed to grab hold of every one of my intentions and dash them to pieces. The more I was with her, the less able I was to enact any of the plans I had so carefully devised. Though she had always had the upper hand, she had not known it, and I had promised myself that she never would. She knew nothing of the curse, and so she could have no idea of just how much power she wielded, yet she had somehow managed to discover another sort of power over me. What frustrated me most was that I had allowed her to discover it.

  She charmed me. There was no longer any use pretending otherwise. Denial was a fool's refuge, and I liked to think that I had never been a fool. Rather, I preferred to tell myself that my acknowledging Mira's power over me meant that I might one day discover the means to do away with that power. This, then, was my true denial, for I do not believe I would have tried to do away with that power if I could.

  The more I saw of her, the more I was enchanted by her smiles, by her laughter, and by her rather playful spirit. Even as the shadows of the castle seemed to lengthen and the knowledge of my own mortality loomed larger and larger, she seemed to blossom. She had been lovely the day she had set foot in my castle, but now she was dazzling. I found myself noting such things as the sparkle in her eye as she said something impertinent to me, and how her impossibly long eyelashes cast shadows upon her cheeks in the flickering light of the library fire at night.

  Mira had taken to reading aloud to me. This had come about after she had one day observed my struggles with a book. Reading would have offered a pleasant diversion from the endless hours of the day, but I had never been able to master the ability to read in my new incarnation. I had tried countless times over the centuries, and I had tried once again in front of Mira. When she had seen me fumbling with the book, her eyes had taken on an expression of pity that had temporarily infuriated me. The edges of my vision had gone bright, something I recognized from past experience. I had known that if I did not reign in my temper, the blackness would follow and I would be lost. Through a mighty effort of will, I had managed to grab onto the last threads of my self-control and to subdue my anger. I had turned my back to Mira and, by the time she had arrived at my side, I had managed to regain control of my faculties.

  She has seen the beast without. Do not allow her to see the beast within as well or all will surely be lost…

  I had repeated these words over and over in my head, so that when she had reached out and taken the book, I had been able to prevent myself from tearing the bookshelves from the walls. I had come perilously close to losing control, to losing everything, and I felt a ferociously heady sense of triumph that I had managed to avert disaster. My sense of victory was short-lived, for my rage was not to be denied. Though I did my best to quell it, it seethed inside of me, festering.

  This was the reason for my sour mood when she met me in the library. My anger had continued to claw at me from within, and I had been brooding over what course to take when Mira had arrived. I had just decided that it would be prudent for me to spend some time away from her in the hopes that my anger would subside. If it did not, it appeared that I would have no choice but to leave the castle under cover of night and hope that Mira would not notice my absence. Once I was safely in the midst of the forest, I could give myself over to my anger, purge it from my system. If I tore the library apart in my rage, Mira would notice. If I rampaged through the underbrush and felled trees, she would not.

  Tearing my thoughts away from my troubles, I forced myself to concentrate on the sound of Mira's voice. When she read, she was transported to another world, and she never noticed if my attention wandered. This day was no exception; though I had not heard a word she had spoken since she had opened the book, Mira's reading had not faltered.

  She was at her loveliest in these moments. The written word held such charm for her that it had the power to draw out an animation in her features that nothing else could. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed becomingly. Her voice was clear and lovely to hear, well-modulated and articulate. Had she been reading nothing but gibberish, it would have sounded beautiful and wise falling from her lips. There had been times when I had forgotten myself, when I had allowed myself to be lured in by that extraordinary voice. For a brief time, I was able to forget who and what I was, for she swept me off to worlds where there were no beasts, where Edward, King of Organdy, had never existed.

  This had only happened twice. After the second occurrence, I had never again allowed myself to become entranced by her voice, for when she finished speaking and I became once more aware of myself, I was angry. I was angry at her for making me forget, and I was angry at myself for allowing her to make me forget. Once the forgetting was over and consciousness returned, it was as if I was reliving the day of my transformation, when I had first seen myself in all my hideousness. It was nearly more than I could bear.

  "Drivel," I said, when she had finished and closed the book. She had been reading to me from a social history, which in and of itself was a test of my patience. I supposed that the only reason I had allowed such books in my library was because I had never before bothered to open them and study their subject manner. Had I known of their contents, I would surely have burned them.

  "How can you say that?" Mira asked, regarding me with an incredulous expression. "How can it not move you to hear such tales of the suffering of others?"

  "What are those others to me? I do not know them, so their suffering cannot be of any consequence to me."

  "How can you be so devoid of compassion?"

  "What do I have to gain by being compassionate?"

  Mira's nostrils flared fetchingly as they always did when I managed to rile her. "How can you not see that indifference like yours is the cause of most of the world's strife? You may not think it in your interest to care about others, but would it not benefit us all to live in a more just, compassionate world?"

  "Mira, you are a sentimental fool," I said, shaking my head and smiling rather condescendingly at her. "Your heart bleeds for those who know nothing of you and care nothing for you. Why waste your time?"

  "Why do I even bother to discuss these things with you?" Her eyes were full of reproach, and I could see that I had ruined her cheerful mood.

  "Why do you?" I sneered.

  "Never mind." She tossed the book aside rather fiercely and rose from her seat, stalking over to the bookshelves on the other side of the chamber.

  I watched the rigid set of her shoulders as she moved. I knew exactly why she read such things to me and then attempted to discuss them with me. She was searching for some good within me, attempting to give me the opportunity to prove myself redeemable. She was incur
ably naive in this respect.

  "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 i
n 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.