The Eye of the Beholder (2012)

by Elizabeth Darcy

  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.

  But while I appreciated that beauty, it also tortured me. The beauty of the roses had moved me, had made me feel things when I wanted nothing more than to be numb. I had wanted to horde them, to keep them all to myself. This is why I had reacted so strongly to her father's taking one. They were mine, my possessions, and I coveted them in a manner that was almost indecent. Rather than sharing their vibrancy with the world, I had wanted to hide them so that no other could enjoy them, so that the sight, smell, and touch of them would belong only to myself.

  Like the roses, Mira's beauty was unspoiled. She moved with an unconscious grace, and I was certain she had no idea just how radiant she was when she smiled. Even when she returned to her chambers at the end of a long day of physical labor, she was the loveliest sight upon which I had ever laid eyes. The work heightened her color and caused wisps of curls to escape her careful coiffure, so that they framed her face and accentuated the brightness of her eyes. There was nothing of artifice about her. Her smile was genuine, an expression of pure happiness, and the sound of her laughter was music to my ears.

  The urge to covet Mira was strong, and I had initially wanted to jealously guard her as I did my roses, hiding her vibrancy away from the rest of the world. I had no right to cage her, but that was exactly what I had done. Even worse, not only had I wanted to hold her prisoner, I had also wanted to ensnare her spirit. For a time, it had been my aim to rob her of the radiance that made her so breathtaking. I did not think I could ever forgive myself for this desire. So caught up in my remorse was I, the force of Mira's reminding me of the freedom I had denied her hit me with an almost physical force. As grueling as it was to face my own acknowledgment of the wrongs I had done her, it was far more wrenching when Mira confronted me with them.

  With Mira so preoccupied with her renovations to the castle, I was often left alone in a chamber that was far too silent, left with far too much time to think. I wanted to be angry with the enchantress for what I saw as another punishment. Surely she had known that if I could change enough to earn the love of another, I would come to understand just how undeserving of that love I was. But I could not be angry. The enchantress had not been the one to render me unworthy of love; I had done that on my own.

  I had known physical agony due to injury and the aftermath of the black rages, but I had never known anything like the anguish I now felt. I loved Mira more than I had ever loved anything or anyone in the world, but I had begun to think that the kindest thing I could do for her was restore her freedom and do everything in my power to prevent her from ever returning to me. At a selfish level, I wanted her love more than I had ever wanted anything, but there was now a selfless part of me, a part of me that Mira had awakened, and it was certain that Mira would be far better off without me.

  Hiding my melancholy from her was impossible, but the way she looked at me led me to believe that she attributed my depressed spirits to my fear of walking in the gardens rather than to their true source. I was grateful for this for, while the thought of being without Mira was quite frightening, the thought of confessing my feelings to her was even more terrifying. If she rejected me, it would be well deserved, but it would cut deeper than any blade ever could.

  I was restless. I had been abed far too long with little to occupy me other than my own thoughts and, though I would miss having Mira near, I was anxious to return to my own chambers. Oddly, though I felt very well, she seemed determined to find the minutest concerns about my health, concerns that would not allow for my removal back to my own chambers.

  "Surely you fret far too much over my health," I said to her in exasperation one night. "I assure you that I am very well. It is far past time for me to relinquish your chambers to you once more and return to my own."

  Mira frowned at me. "Are you questioning my judgment?" she asked. Though her tone sounded serious enough, there was a certain gleam in her eyes that gave her away, letting me know that she was in something of a mischievous mood.

  "Aye," I responded, trying to suppress a smile.

  She smiled and then regarded me with a mock stern look. "You may return to your chambers in the morning. I think you need to remain here for one night more before I will feel comfortable enough to declare you fully healed."

  Muttering under my breath, I settled myself against the pillows. My dissatisfaction must have been evident on my face, for Mira rolled her eyes at me and sighed mightily.

  "This is the thanks I am to receive for caring for you all this time?"

  "I do appreciate your caring for me," I said soberly. Though it remained something of a struggle, it was gradually becoming easier to express my gratitude to her. "It is simply that I will run mad if I am forced to remain in this bed another moment longer."

  Her gaze was sympathetic. Reaching out, she laid one of her delicate hands over my left paw, effectively stilling my movements. "I am sorry. I know I have been very much occupied lately, and I have left you here with little to amuse you."

  How badly I wanted to tell her just how much I had missed her but, coward that I was, I could not find the words to do so. "It is not for you to amuse me," I settled for saying instead.

  "I suppose not. After all, I am not your jester. I would be very unbecoming in motley."

  I could not help but smile at her attempts to tease me out of my bad mood. "Perhaps you should allow me to be the judge of that?" I suggested.

  "Ha! Now I understand you for what you are. Well, you can just forget that I said anything. I will not prove myself a fool before you."

  "It is too late for that," I could not resist saying.

  Mira rose from her chair, planted her fists on her hips, and regarded me with a scowl, but the mirth in her eyes betrayed her. A smile spread over my face, and I could see the corners of her mouth twitch as she fought against her own smile but, after a brief struggle, she gave in and smiled back at me.

  "Since you insist on playing unfairly, I believe I shall now go to sleep," she declared in a haughty tone, turning from me and moving toward her dressing chamber.

  "Sleep? But it is early," I complained. I almost winced when I realized just how very much I sounded like the petulant child I had once been.

  "Not all of us have been lolling about in bed all day long," Mira said, her eyes twinkling. "Some of us have labored very hard and are tired. Not to mention that--as you so kindly pointed out--it is not for me to amuse you. Therefore, you will simply have to accept that I intend to sleep and will have to find some manner of amusing yourself."

  "Very well then. Go to sleep," I replied, feigning indifference. I did not fail to notice the slight smirk on her face as she disappeared into her dressing chamber.

  In truth, I would have liked nothing more than to pass the night in conversation with Mira. There were so many things I wished to ask her, so many as
pects of her personality that had piqued my curiosity. The longer she remained in the castle, the more I wanted to know about her.

  A familiar stillness settled over the chamber once Mira had drifted off to sleep. I could not see her, for she slept upon the divan that was positioned with its back to the bed, concealing her from my view. However, I could hear the soft sounds of her breath as she slept, and I was astonished to realize that it had become one of the most soothing and peaceful sounds I had ever known. Occasionally, she would sigh softly and I would find myself wondering of what it was she dreamed--yet another thing about Mira I longed to know.

  Soon after the first rays of light crept over the chamber, I could hear Mira stirring and knew that she would soon rise. I had not slept at all; instead, I had passed the night quite content to listen to her breathe. As she rose from the divan, I closed my eyes and feigned sleep. I could hear every one of the soft sounds Mira made as she tiptoed around the chamber. As she passed the bed, the faint scent of lavender wafted over to me, and I nearly forgot myself and uttered a sigh.

  Mira was not long in dressing and, as she emerged from her dressing chamber, I pretended as though I was just beginning to stir. When I finally allowed myself to open my eyes, she was standing beside the bed. Had I truly been sleeping, it would have been glorious for her lovely face to be my first sight of the morning.

  "Did I wake you?" she asked softly.

  "Nay," I said, attempting to make my voice sound rough with sleep.

  The door to the chamber opened and several servants entered. Mira gestured to them and they disappeared into her dressing chamber.

  "Did you sleep well?" she asked me.

  "Quite," I lied.

  "And how are you this morning?"

  "Ready to climb the posts of this bed if you will not allow me out of it."

  She laughed softly and bent over to inspect my now healed wound. The scent of lavender was much stronger now, and I could not help but close my eyes for a brief second and inhale deeply. Mercifully, she appeared not to have noticed as she straightened up with a look of satisfaction on her face.

  "Well, as your wound is now fully healed, and as you have begun to vex me with your moaning over your state of boredom, I suppose you are well enough to quit the bed now."

  "Thank you, kind nurse," I said dryly.

  "Save your thanks. You might not have such fond regard for me once I have billed you for my services," she said with a wink, causing me to smile. "Now I will leave the chamber so that you can be dressed, and then you and I will sit before the fireplace and have a proper meal at a table. Then I shall escort you to your chambers."

  "That is really not necessary…" I began to protest, but she pressed her lips together firmly and shook her head.

  "I can hear none of your protests," she said, as she sailed from the chamber.

  My gaze was fixed on the door through which she had just passed when the servants emerged from her dressing chamber and came to assist me. As I rose from the bed, my body protested loudly that it had been too long neglected. I felt a sudden longing for a hunt later that night, but I pushed the desire forcefully away from me. At long last, I had made some progress with Mira. I would not allow anything to ruin that.

  The long illness and the weeks spent in bed had taken their toll on me, and I was very slow and clumsy and, for once, grateful for the aide of my servants. As they helped me to dress, I studied their faces and found that they appeared more at ease. They had lost their sickly gray pallor, and they moved with a sense of purpose rather than the fearful or sluggish movements with which I had become so familiar. I was still wondering at the change when they finished dressing me and left the chamber. As soon as they passed through the door, Mira returned with several servants bearing trays in her wake.

  "Would you care to join me for breakfast?" she asked, as two servants arranged the wing chairs and a table before the fireplace. This finished, they deposited the trays on the table and, at a nod from Mira, left the chamber.

  "Aye, I would." I followed her over to the dining area the servants had just arranged.

  It was a very pleasant breakfast. Mira spoke to me of inconsequential things, but I was happy just to be in her presence, to have the pleasure of hearing her lovely voice and her laugh. I said little myself for I found that I far rather would listen to her, but if she noticed my silence, she said nothing about it.

  When we were finished, we departed for my chambers. On impulse, I offered her my arm. Time froze as she looked up with me with an uncertain gaze. Several unreadable emotions passed through her eyes before she finally smiled and placed her hand lightly in the crook of my arm. Strange warmth filled me as we walked companionably through the corridors but, despite my fervent wishes, the walk did not last forever. As we approached the doors of my chambers, Mira dropped my arm and moved to stand before them. Puzzled, I studied her.

  "This is my gift to you," she said. "New chambers for a new life."

  With those words, she pushed the doors open, and I could not help but stare before me in wonder. My chambers had been scrubbed, polished, and restored to a splendor I honestly did not remember them ever having possessed. Though Mira had mercifully left the windows shrouded by long drapes, I knew that they had been repaired, for the chambers were still and quiet. The atmosphere within them was astonishingly different from what it had been when the wind had howled and whistled through the broken panes of glass. The sights before me humbled me and left me with the forceful realization of just how valuable a gift was Mira's friendship.

  "Thank you," I said, my voice hoarse with emotion. I was incapable of any other words.

  Chapter 30

  Longing

  I released a breath I had not known I was holding. The tension I had felt as I waited to see how he would react to the sight of his new chambers eased, and I found myself smiling. He thanked me. He actually thanked me. This had been a big moment for Lysander, a test of sorts, and he had passed. I could not help but feel a renewal of hope, a strengthening of the conviction that he actually did mean to change.

  "I am glad you are pleased," I said. The words were simple, but I felt it best for my reaction to be measured. Lysander looked as if he wished he could say something in response, but I could see that he was overwhelmed, so I spared him the effort by taking his arm again.

  "Come," I said. "Let me show you what we have done."

  For a long and pleasant while, Lysander and I roamed his chambers examining furniture, tapestries, and wall sconces. The windows seemed to be a source of some discomfort to him and, as the view outside of them remained rather desolate, I decided not to trouble him about them. I would allow him to find the courage to approach them in his own time; hopefully, it would not be long.

  "I cannot believe you have accomplished all of this in so short a period of time," Lysander said once we had finished with our tour. There was a note of something like admiration in his voice.

  "Your servants are far more capable than you know," I chided him.

  His treatment of his servants was another area in which I expected to see some improvement, for I would not trust he was entirely sincere until his newfound consideration extended to them. For far too long, they had been mistreated, and I had grown to feel quite protective of them.

  "It would appear so," he replied.

  "You should not underestimate them. They are strong, resilient, determined. They are afraid of you, but I believe they would rather admire and respect you."

  Lysander sighed deeply. "I have long been used to ruling by fear."

  I could hear the struggle within his voice, and it made me take another step toward trusting him. "You have made great strides thus far. I confess that I had my doubts as to your sincerity, but I am pleased that you have become so adept at proving my fears unfounded."

  "You thought I might be beyond hope, did you?" he asked, meeting my gaze with a humorless smile.

  "Yes, I did," I confessed.

  There was a moment o
f quiet between us, and then he said, "So did I."

  I looked up into his eyes and saw them as blue-gray pools. They had always appeared stormy to me, but now I could see that there was a center of calm to them. At that moment, I felt as if I were looking into his very soul. "Then I hope you take pleasure in proving yourself wrong."

  "I believe I am beginning to do just that." Though his smile was slight, I could see that it was sincere.

  "I am very glad to hear it. Still, I must warn you: if you are not cautious, you may find it brings you more happiness to be a pleasant person than a tyrant." Though I kept my voice light, teasing, there was weight to my words, and I could see that this did not escape him.

  "Some of us deserve pleasure and happiness and others do not," was his mild reply.

  "Even if you were undeserving in the past, it does not meant you must continue to be undeserving."

  "Mira," Lysander said, turning toward me. "I admire your convictions. But I believe there are times when you have too benevolent a view of the world."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  Lysander sighed, and I could see he was struggling with the words. "If you truly knew to what depths of depravity a creature can sink, you might perhaps find the idea that anyone can be deserving of happiness holds no merit."

  His words disturbed me greatly. "Perhaps you are correct and it is not always possible to atone for the wrongs one has committed, but it is always possible to do some good for the world.