"Please," I pleaded. "I am certain you would prefer to see the castle clean and bright. I know that I shall perish for want of sunlight if this gloom persists."
At the mere mention of sunlight, the servants turned toward my windows, lifting their faces to the weak winter light. Though their eyes were expressionless as always, I could see the naked hunger in every line of their bodies. Studying them closely, I realized they were not the same maids that had attended to my chamber the previous morning. Startled, I thought back over the last few mornings and realized that the servants who attended to my chambers seemed to rotate. It seemed odd not to have had the same maids every day.
Finally, one of the maids stepped forward, her stance speaking of her determination. Everyone paused for a breathless second, their faces turned toward her with rapt attention, and then she nodded. It was a firm nod, and the sight of it caused a smile that spread over my entire face.
"Thank you. Oh, thank you!" I was utterly delighted at the prospect of the physical labor, thrilled that I would finally have something to distract me from the endless loop of my thoughts. "I promise you shall not regret your decision. I will take full responsibility for the cleaning and repair of the castle. You must do no more than bring me the tools and supplies, and if your master asks, I shall claim that I procured them myself."
The maid who had stepped forward bowed her head in acknowledgment of my words. I watched as the other maids turned their faces toward one another with an air of indecision but, one by one, they all bowed their heads to me.
"Wonderful." I was nearly unable to restrain my happiness. "I shall begin on the morrow."
I walked swiftly to my desk, eagerly seizing quill and parchment. I wanted to shout my triumph to the heavens, but this did not seem likely to ensure the secrecy of my plan. It would be impossible to conceal my efforts from the beast forever, but I hoped to make as much progress as possible before he noticed the changes. Perhaps once he saw how magnificent the castle could be, perhaps once he saw the sunlight again, he would be unable to protest any further and the servants might be permitted to clean and repair the castle at will. This was a cheering thought indeed--and perhaps also a wishful one.
Before I even managed to sit, I began to draw up lists and make preliminary plans for the improvement of the castle. I decided that I would begin to clean and repair the corridor just outside my door. As far as I knew, the beast had not ventured down it since I had taken up residence in the castle, and I hoped that this meant he would be quite unlikely to venture down it anytime soon.
Progress would be slow; of that I was certain, but the thought did not make me unhappy. On the contrary, for the first time since I had arrived at the castle, I felt a rising sense of hope. I had been lacking a purpose for far too long and now that I had found one, I was not going to begrudge the idea of its being a very lengthy and slow task. Indeed, the slower it was the better. There was more to be done that I could possibly complete on my own, and the prospect of useful employment helped me feel as if my future was defined rather than the yawning emptiness it currently seemed.
That afternoon, I found happiness in industry. By the time I had finished my evening meal, I was feeling quite cheerful, as though I could face anything the beast might throw at me. Though my chamber was quite cozy with a roaring fire and the glow of many candles, I decided to venture down to the library to see if the beast might be found there.
For the first time since I had arrived at the castle, I walked down the corridor leading to my chamber without a sense of fear. Instead, I closely examined the shadowy corners and niches, taking note of what needed to be done and calculating the amount of water, rags, and soap I would need to clean them. I also took stock of what repairs needed to be made and what tools I would need to make them. When I returned to my chamber, I would record all of the information and incorporate it in my plans for renovation.
When I reached the library, I was quite disposed to converse with the beast, for conversation with him was certain to be entertaining, if not infuriating. I had to admit that there was something liberating about putting social conventions aside and openly engaging in a good argument with someone whose opinion I did not respect.
He was in his usual corner, and I sat in a chair near him without preamble. I could hear him shuffle in his chair, and I suspected he was somewhat taken aback by my conduct.
"Good evening," I said, smiling in his general direction. I turned my chair so that I sat directly across from him.
"Good evening," he replied, his astonishment evident in his voice.
"Must you always sit so deeply in the shadows? Not only is it difficult to speak to you, for I never know if I am looking in your direction, it is quite rude. Do you not find it offensive for me to be always addressing the air rather than you?"
The beast did not speak for a long moment, and I felt a deep sense of satisfaction to have rendered him speechless. "I have not thought much about it."
"I hardly find that surprising, for your manners are rather lacking."
I believe I was roughly as surprised by my words as the beast. Where they came from, I confess I do not know. Though I had sought his conversation, my intent had not been to try to provoke him to fight. At least, that had not been my explicit intent, but perhaps there was some part of me that was spoiling for a fight with him. What truly surprised me was the complete lack of fear I felt at having confronted him.
As I reflected on this, I understood that I had unconsciously decided I would no longer be scared of the beast. My decision to defy him by renovating the castle had been the first step toward rebellion. I understood now that it had also given me the resolve I needed to refuse to allow him to intimidate me.
"Pray tell, does such an assertion fall under the mantle of fine manners?" the beast asked, a growling edge to his voice.
"No, I suppose it does not," I replied, laughing as I acknowledged the truth of his words.
The beast shifted in his seat with what I thought was impatience. I heard him take several breaths, pause, and then release them. Finally, he said, "Has it occurred to you that, as you are passing judgment on my own conduct, you have altered yours to match mine?"
His words stopped me in my tracks. My astonishment must have shown, for he smiled slightly, and it made me cross. "Do not compare yourself to me. I am not vicious merely for the sake of being vicious."
"Ah, self-righteousness. Then why have you decided to dispense with politeness? Do you seek to instruct me?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.
I barked out a small laugh. "No. I assure you I do not have such delusions of grandeur. I could hardly find a more unwilling pupil, could I?"
"It is to your credit that you possess the intelligence to divine this."
"Oh, my. I do believe you have wounded my delicate feelings," I said derisively.
The beast laughed. "I understand you now. When propriety is in your favor, you are for it. But when it is in mine, you would rather dispense with it entirely."
"Despite what you may think, I did not seek out your company merely to provoke you. It is so tiresome to argue with you."
"Is that so? If you did not wish to argue, why did you not discuss the weather or some other inanity?"
"I see you have no confidence in the veracity of my words."
"I have very little confidence in the veracity of anyone's word."
It was now my turn to be rendered speechless. The beast held so much back from me that when he did share something it inevitably astounded me. The more I knew of him, the more obvious it was that he was very unused to the company of others.
"I am sorry to hear that," I told him. "I would not wish to live in such a manner myself."
"Then you are very foolish, for most people are not to be trusted."
"How fortunate for me that I do not have such a cynical view of the world."
"Then you are, as I said, foolish."
I shook my head in exasperation. "Because I disagree with you, I am a
fool? I confess, I am sorry for you. It must be so difficult to live with such convictions of one's own rightness."
"No more difficult than it is to be as easily led as you," the beast growled at me. "You would be wise to learn it is dangerous to rely on anyone other than one's self."
"That sounds very lonely to me."
"I care little for your opinion," he snarled.
Silently, I studied him. He seemed so irredeemable, but he had showed some modicum of compassion for both me and my father. Had he not fed Papa and offered him shelter for the night? Had he not spared Papa's life? Had he not seen to it that my every need was anticipated and met? It was inexplicable to me why the beast seemed to be earning my compassion. These small instances of good in what was otherwise a very bad creature did not merit my tolerance. Yet there was something about him that made me care what happened to him, and I did not understand it. I had never been the sort of person who fancied she could somehow fix others.
Suddenly, I knew what it was I should call the beast. "Lysander," I murmured.
"Pardon me?" the beast asked, his anger replaced by confusion.
"That is what I shall call you: Lysander." A release of a man…He was a beast, not a man, but it seemed to me that he had something like the soul of a man.
"Lysander," he repeated. "Would you be so kind as to tell me precisely why you wish to call me that?"
"In time, perhaps; for now you shall have to content yourself with the knowledge that it is a name I find particularly fitting for you."
"I would like to know why that is," he said, his voice a low growl.
"Well, then, I suppose you will have to trust that I will someday tell you," I said airily, rising from my seat. "For now I will bid you good night."
With those words, I walked from the chamber and closed the door behind me, leaving the beast alone with his thoughts.
Chapter 15
The Meaning Behind the Name
Our conversation was very different that night--Mira was very different that night. I sensed it the moment she entered the chamber. Gone was the hesitation tinged with fear, the reluctance to come near me. She seemed infused with a confidence and determination I had never before witnessed in her and, much to my displeasure, this change in her put me off my guard.
The chair she chose was much closer to me than she usually sat, and I was both rewarded with and punished by the best view I had yet had of her. Her confidence rendered her more beautiful than ever, wrecking havoc with my composure. Her brown eyes shone with something like satisfaction, and for the first time I noticed the flecks of gold within them. Her hair had been most becomingly arranged, and it shone brightly in the firelight. It was difficult to tear my eyes from the appealing curve of her smile.
What is it about her? What qualities does she possess that lend her the power to captivate you? I wondered.
I wished I knew. Perhaps if I could discover the source of her power, I could do something to eliminate or at least lessen it. I did not like the hold she had over me; it was dangerous. It made it far too easy for her to say things or to look at me in a manner that breached my walls. No one had ever breached them before, and I had not intended to ever allow anyone to do so.
It was surprising how taken aback I was by her question about my always sitting in shadow. In truth, I had given this subject little thought. I had always had a vague notion that it would be mutually beneficial if I were to always conceal myself in shadow. My appearance was simply too terrifying for anyone to feel comfortable in my presence, and my pride was far too strong for me to willingly expose my bestial appearance. There was a time when I had been considered quite comely, when I had been actively pursued by the princesses and queens of many foreign lands. Of course, once they knew me, my appearance--no matter how handsome--was not enough to compensate for my personality. This had never disturbed me, for I had never had any wish to marry, but I had been extremely proud of my uncommonly fine looks. After all, I felt myself deserving of every possible advantage and gift, and so I had taken my comeliness for granted, a fact the enchantress no doubt had in mind when she had decided how I was to be punished.
I was relieved when Mira changed the subject, but my ire was soon raised as she began to berate me for my bad manners. She could not know how fortunate she was that I was so taken aback by her candor. Had I not been as thunder-struck as I was, my anger might have been unleashed. As it was, I could see that she refused to be daunted by my displeasure, which only served to render me both angrier and more astonished. Quite literally, no one had ever before taken a stand against me or had challenged me as she was now doing. I was ashamed to admit that I was so unprepared for such a challenge that I found myself at a loss. I was even more ashamed to admit that some small part of my interest was piqued by her challenging me, and I did my best to ignore the quickening of my blood that this inspired.
Just when I thought the evening could not get any worse, Mira dubbed me Lysander. I knew she had an interest in the Greek language and that she must have studied it extensively, for many of the books she had taken from the library were myths and tales written in Greek so complex that they were not for the amateur scholar. What Mira did not know was that I, too, had studied Greek extensively and could read and understand it with nearly as much ease as I could read and understand my native tongue. I knew that Lysander meant "a release of a man" and, for a brief, mad moment, I feared that she had somehow discovered the nature of the curse that bound me.
My panic was short-lived, as her response to my questioning her choice of the name gave me no indication that she was aware of the irony. But if she had not chosen the name for the reason I thought she had, why had she chosen it? I did not like the idea of its having some sort of meaning to her that she refused to share with me. Asking me to trust her was an affront to everything for which I stood and I believe she knew it. I never trusted anyone or anything other than myself.
I sat alone in the library for some time after she left. I was wrathful but, fortunately, I was able to stave off the black rage that pricked at me. Never before had I possessed the power to fight the rages off, but never before had so much been at stake. Fortunately for me, my resolve had grown stronger due to Mira's presence in the castle, but it was a strength tinged with desperation, for I felt my end drawing ever nearer. Mira had not been in the castle long, so I tried to convince myself there was still time to try my best to win her, to obtain the confession of love that would free me. However, there was no denying that time was slipping through my fingers, and nothing was progressing according to my plan. There were precious few days left to me, and this knowledge was driving me to the brink of madness. With each day that passed, it became more imperative that I find some way to make Mira love me, but I was flailing about in the dark. I did not even know how to make her like me, let alone love me.
"Cursed enchantress," I growled quietly, and the sound of my own words seemed to mock me. I had spoken them many times before, and every time they were spoken I was reminded of my own impotence.
Too little time remains. I sit here night after night in the hopes that Mira will enter this chamber, in the hopes of sharing some conversation with her that might somehow convince her she should love me, but every time I see her, I present her with a multitude of reasons why she should not like me. This will not do. I must see more of her if I am to have any hope at all of winning her, and I must cease sabotaging my own efforts. I must allow her some small victories over me if I am to have any hope of inspiring an attachment. As distasteful as it is, I know I must alter my conduct, for I can see that, thus far, I have earned only her censure. How can I possibly expect her to fall in love with me? I must at least feign the appearance of changing or I will never have any hope.
The truth behind these thoughts did not matter; they were intolerable to me. I was on the point of resolving to forget everything and to continue as I was when I was suddenly struck with the understanding that to do so was to concede victor to the enchantress
. As little as I would like to act as though I was becoming a kinder, gentler version of myself, I liked the idea of the enchantress savoring a victory over me even less.
I will do it, I thought, growling low in my throat. Even if it kills me, I will do it. I must do it. There is no other way. I simply cannot allow that enchantress to win. No one has ever defeated me before, nor will anyone ever defeat me.
It was time to become Lysander. Mira had known me only as a beast in both appearance and personality. It was time for me to show her a more human aspect of my personality, for it was the only hope I could ever have of winning her.
That idea is most beguiling, is it not? Mira is lovely and intriguing, and I do so wish to spend more time with her. More time to study the curve of her neck, the softness of her cheek. More time to allow her to bewitch me with her spirit, her sharp mind. Pleasant thoughts indeed…an insidious little voice in the back of my mind spoke.
"I care for nothing other than the breaking of this spell!" I roared, the rage creeping ever closer. Just to prove that I did not entirely have a hold over it, I seized my chair and threw it with such force that it flew across the library and smashed into the door through which Mira had exited a short time ago. Both the chair and the door shattered on impact, their splintered remains skittering across the floor.
Stop! Stop immediately! I cannot afford such outbursts! There is too much at stake! She may very well have heard me and what will that have achieved? She may have challenged me this eve, but if I show her the true nature of my bestiality, I will surely fail to gain her affections.
With a snarl, I bounded from the chamber and down the stairs, seeking the servants' quarters. After that very first rage those hundreds of years ago, the servants had seen the wisdom of concealing themselves when they heard or saw signs of my black rages. This meant that they did not appear to see if I wished them to clean up in the rage's aftermath. I had always had to ring for them or seek them out if I wished to command them to clear away the remains of whatever I had destroyed.
The Eye of the Beholder (2012) Page 11
