The Riddle - Alison Croggon [178]
The thought seemed to make no difference.
I must find Hem, she said to herself. I have to find Hem. But there was no answering resolve within her. She found she could not picture Hem’s face; her memory of him seemed abstract and distant, and she had to build the picture laboriously, instead of summoning a vivid, precise memory. She turned her thoughts to Cadvan, and realized she couldn’t remember his eyes. They’re blue, she thought fiercely: blue. But she could see only the icy blue of the Winterking’s eyes, their strange slitted pupils, and hear how he had said, I thought to honor you as my queen.
I’m so tired, she thought. So very tired. I can’t undo his ensorcelments. I can’t turn my face from him and pretend that I don’t feel as I do. She was certain the Winterking had spelled her, and yet she was, at the same time, quite sure that what she felt was not false. She didn’t want to leave the Winterking, even for her own sake, although she knew she must.
Gradually her limbs stopped shaking, leaving her bleak and empty. She picked up her lyre, which lay on the bed beside her, and very slowly drew her right hand over the strings, so each note sounded out singly. The icy light glimmered and faded, revealing the rough rock walls of her dungeon, and she began to feel a little less weak. Ten strings, ten notes, ten runes, she mused distractedly. Three tongues, three names, three meanings. That makes nine, and leaves one over. The keystone of the music, the answer to the riddle. What would that be?
She plucked each string again, wondering if each note also belonged to a rune. She couldn’t see how they would, and she thought that it would probably make no sense unless she had the runes the Nameless One had stolen. There must be twenty runes, if the Song was split in half. Did the Nameless One have a lyre as well, with ten strings?
She sat upright, irritated with herself, and, as she did, it dawned on her that she did know how to deceive the Winterking. He knew when she was absent, when she vanished from his view. So she must make a semblance, which was like her in every respect, to replace her when she used her own power and vanished. She was never disturbed when she was asleep, so she must appear to be sleeping. If it worked, she would have a few hours’ start before her absence were noticed. The best time would be right now; the Winterking was sure of his power over her and he would be unwary. And perhaps, after reading the Song, he too was exhausted, although she did not know if Elidhu felt weariness. Perhaps his vigilance had lapsed.
She considered the idea, turning it over thoughtfully, prodding it for flaws. There were many. She had made a semblance only twice before, when she studied with Nerili in Thorold and again in the mountains to trick the iriduguls, and although she knew she could do it, and could remember the charm, it wasn’t as if she were practiced. She had never worked two charms at once, and she did not know if it was possible. If she tried and failed, she would be discovered, and she didn’t want to think what might happen to her. She put that thought out of her mind. Instead, she placed her lyre carefully in its case and packed it away with her other belongings and, without taking off any of her clothes, got into bed and drew the covers over herself.
She would first have to make a shield that would hide her magery from Arkan, but would not hide her. Beneath that shield, she could weave the semblance, preparing it to the point where she need only set the charm that would manifest it. Then she would have to vanish, ensuring that the two spells were so finely coordinated that her vanishing and the manifestation of her semblance were seamless.
It all seemed impossible, and she sank into black thoughts for a few moments. But then she remembered the wolf that had spoken to her. Unless she had imagined it, which she did not think she had, it had been waiting for her. Perhaps someone, hearing of her capture, had sent it to help her. It could not have been an ordinary wolf. Perhaps she