The Eye of the Beholder (43 page)

My father went terribly still at my words, and he studied me searchingly. I do not know what he saw in my eyes. All I know is that, whatever it was, it caused him to loosen his grip on me. "You love him?"

If he had tried to hide the note of horror from me, he had failed. There was something else in his tone that I could not identify. "Yes, Papa, I love him. I love him so dearly, but I could not face it and so I ran. I abandoned him, and I shall never forgive myself for it."

My father shook his head slowly. "This is madness. You cannot ask this of me."

"And you cannot ask me to stay."

Slowly, his hands released me. "Oh, Mira, my child," Papa said. Tears sprang to his eyes and trailed down his face. "Do not ask me to make this choice. I have always loved you best, you know that. How can you ask me to give you willingly to this beast?"

I took his hands in mine, gripping them so hard I knew I must be causing him pain. "Because I have never asked anything of you, but now I am. You will break my heart if you refuse me this."

He turned away from me, his shoulders heaving. Faintly, very faintly I could hear his voice say, "Go." The word had barely left his lips before I began to run again, my panic driving me so that I felt as if I were flying.

As soon as I entered the forest, I knew the path to take. I could not believe my father had not found it. The path between the castle and Everforest was there, clear as day.

"I am coming, Lysander," I called. "I am coming. Wait for me!"

It did not take long to reach the castle, but my steps did not slow at the sight of it. Rather, I moved even faster, for I felt an impending sense of doom. My heart was in my throat as I raced around the castle, looking everywhere for Lysander and finding him nowhere. It was as if the castle had been abandoned for centuries, and I would have thought myself mad if not for the evidence that I had been there. Here were the clean windows, with the light of the rising moon shining through them. There was the neat library, where Lysander and I had passed many an hour. But no matter how many chambers I examined, no matter how hard I looked, I could not find him. Even stranger, I saw no sign of the servants either.

His chamber was the last place I could think of to search, and I stood before the door for a few seconds, afraid that I would be unable to bear the pain if he was not within. Indeed, as I raced inside, frantically searching everywhere and seeing no sign of him, I felt as if my heart was dissolving.

"I have lost you. I have lost you forever," I sobbed, sinking to my knees beside his bed. I clutched his bedclothes, burying my face in them and smelling his scent, as if he were beside me once more. I sank until I was prone on the floor, lying trembling on the smooth, polished marble, holding onto Lysander's bedclothes with a death grip.

"Why do you weep so, child?" a kind voice asked. The sound scared me half to death and I jumped.

"Who are you?" I asked. It took me a moment to locate the source of the voice and, as she stepped closer, I could scarcely believe I had ever been unable to see her. Light emanated from her, a light so bright, so white, so pure that it dazzled my eyes, and I raised an arm to shield them. She was beautiful beyond imagining, even though her face was suffused with sorrow.

"I am Oriantha," she said.

"I do not understand. Where is Lysander? Where are the servants? Did something happen to them?"

"They are in the garden," Oriantha replied.

Of course! How could I have neglected to search there? I sprang to my feet, ready to dash out to them, but Oriantha halted me with her words.

"It is too late."

"What do you mean?" I asked her. Fright, keen and silvery, shot through me.

"Lysander is no more."

"No," I whispered. Then I began to repeat the word, my voice rising in a crescendo of despair. "It is my fault, my fault. Oh, Lysander. I was false to you, my best and dearest friend. I was such a coward! How could I have abandoned you, left you to die alone? How could I leave you when I love you so?"

Oriantha was silent as I allowed my grief to pour from me. The castle was horribly still around us and would be forevermore.

"Why did you go?" Oriantha asked gently, after some time.

"I was such a fool," I replied in a hoarse whisper. I clutched the bedclothes again, terrified that his scent would leave them, that I would lose every last trace of him. "I feared what I felt for him."

"You were not the only one to have this fear." Wordlessly, I turned my gaze to her. "He was afraid as well."

"He… he told me that he loved me," I whispered, my voice so low that the words were very nearly inaudible. "He opened his heart to me and, like a coward, I fled from him."

"But you returned."

"What does that matter now?" I asked, my tears starting anew. "I am too late. He is gone, and he did not have me at his side to comfort him. But I do not understand. He was well when I left."

"He had no time left."

Clarity unexpectedly struck, and I understood. "This… this was all a spell, just as I suspected. Was it not?"

Oriantha nodded her stunning head. "Your friend doomed himself to a life as a beast as penance for his actions."

"He did not attempt to conceal his cruelty from me. He could not have, even if he had wished. He was cruel to me and to my father. I knew what he was, but it was not what he remained." I was pleading with her, willing her to believe me.

"He changed much," she agreed. "He learned much."

"And it is my fault that the spell was not broken in time." I could taste the bitterness of my own words.

"Lysander is no more, but you may yet find what you seek."

"How?" I asked, angrily. "All I want is Lysander. All I want is to tell him that I love him, that I am sorry for leaving him, that I will never again leave him."

"I am sorry child, truly. We cannot always have the things for which we wish."

"Did he feel any pain?" I had to know. I hoped it had been quick, merciful.

"I cannot lie to you, child. He felt a great deal of pain at the loss of you."

My burning eyes again filled with tears. "I shall never forgive myself," I repeated.

"You forgave Lysander his serious trespasses, and you must learn to forgive yourself yours."

"I cannot."

"Poor child," Oriantha said sympathetically. She extended a luminous hand and caressed my bowed head. I felt fleeting warmth, a fleeting comfort. "Go, Mirabelle. Say your goodbyes to Lysander."

When my mother had died, I thought nothing could be worse than the fierce ache I felt in my chest, but that could not compare to the leaden weight I now carried. I would never again see my Lysander. I would never again sit with him in the warmth of the library, reading to him and discussing what we had read. I would never again hear the sound of his voice, see the sparkle in his eye as I matched wits with him. There were not words enough to describe the depths of my sorrow, to express the magnitude of my loss.

As I moved slowly from the chamber, I could do nothing more than nod my head slightly in acknowledgment of Oriantha. She did not seem offended, and she studied me with eyes full of sympathy. There was something else there as well, but I could not identify it. It did not matter. All that mattered now was getting to Lysander, now that it was too late. I needed to be with him, to say the things to him I should have said before I lost him. He would not hear the words, but I must speak them, though there would be no absolution for me.

Chapter 41: Second Chances

Dying was a peculiar experience. It was not painful, but there was certainly something odd about feeling my life force begin to gradually ebb. My mind drifted, thoughts floating about me like a river. I remembered strange things, things about which I had not thought in centuries. I remembered one of my nursemaids showing me kindness, which caused me to embrace her, the word
mama
slipping from my lips. I wondered that I had forgotten about the stricken look that had come over her face. I remembered the distinct scent of my father's study, parchment and dust, and the mixture of sweat and fragrant herbs that emanated from his advisors as they began to speak to him about policy, while a different nursemaid dragged me from the chamber. Truly, my life was flashing before my eyes.

Once my mind's eye turned to memories of Mira, it lingered. I had no concept of time at this point, but it seemed that I dwelt for a much longer period on memories of her than I had on any of my other memories, as if my time with her had lasted a great deal longer than the centuries without her. Blessedly, I felt no sorrow in these memories, simply a strong sense of peace. Perhaps she could comfort me in my final moments after all. She had also granted me the gift of the sense that I had managed to do something good in my life, no matter how small. How I had longed for a life with her, but I was happy to have at least had her in my life.

When the moment arrived, I was prepared for it. Great warmth suffused me, as if I was being cradled in loving arms. There was light and a feeling of nearly overwhelming joy. I opened myself to it, gave myself over to the sensation, and my thoughts subsided, my body became lighter and my soul began to fly. I knew nothing but blackness for a time, and then a sense of confusion. I could feel myself returning to consciousness, and this did not make sense to me. How could I be waking when I was dead?

Turning my head was difficult, exhausting, but once I had managed it, I saw a familiar statue. It was one of the few that I had not destroyed, and Mira seemed to have been particularly fond of it. I had observed her spending long minutes studying it with a wistful expression on her face. The statue was of a young girl caught in the midst of a dance. One arm was raised above her head, fingers gracefully poised. There was a slight smile on her face and her eyes were closed, as if she was lost in the music of the dance. There was a feeling of such movement to the statue. Her hair was a mass of long, flowing strands and her gown swirled about her. She seemed vibrant, alive, as if at any moment she might spring to life, marble becoming flesh. Before Mira, I had paid the statue little mind. Before Mira, I had paid a great many things little mind.

Confused, I attempted to sit up. Everything felt wrong. It was as if my center of balance had shifted and I felt ungainly, which was saying quite a lot, considering I inhabited the body of an enormous beast. My head throbbed as I pulled myself upright and I groaned at the pain. The sound brought me to an abrupt halt and I could feel my breath catch in my chest. Slowly, very slowly, I raised my arm. I was trembling everywhere and as my eyes caught sight of what was at the end of my arm, I began to shake in earnest.

"What is the meaning of this?" I asked in bewilderment. My voice was passing strange, and it took me a moment to understand that it was the voice of a human, lacking the depth of tone and the growling quality of my bestial voice. At the end of my arm was a hand. Not a paw, but a hand.

Suddenly, Oriantha was once more before me. She was so radiant that I had to blink, even though some part of my brain registered that the light was not affecting me as it once might have. It was bright, but exposure to it did not cause me the same level of pain as it had when my eyes had been more sensitive.

"I do not understand," I said. "Is this Elysium?"

Oriantha laughed and the sound was warm and sweet, more beautiful than the song of the nightingale. "Nay, Edward, it is not Elysium."

"But…I died…"

"Edward did not die. Lysander did."

"But I failed to break the spell. I loved Mira, but she did not love me. I thought…"

"If that was true, you would not be Edward again."

I stared at her uncomprehendingly. New information began to invade my consciousness. It was bright and sunny outside. There was a heady scent of roses in the air, and the sound of birdsong seemed to ring out from every tree.

"Birdsong?" I asked, my voice full of wonder.

"Aye, birdsong," Oriantha replied in a soft voice.

Slowly, I rose to my feet. The pain was lessening now, but the awkwardness remained. I must have been more used to my beastly form than I had realized, for it now felt strange to be human. I staggered a bit as I took a few tentative steps, but I soon grew steadier on my feet. Without conscious choice, my feet carried me to a nearby reflecting pool. It was not the magical pool and a voice told me that it was a waste of energy to move toward it for it would be empty, just as every other pool save the magical one. But when I reached it, I found that the pool was full again; pure, clear water sparkled in the sunshine. My breathing was shaky as I leaned over it and when I saw my reflection, I gasped.