The Riddle - Alison Croggon [179]
Maerad brushed her doubts aside and focused on the first question: getting out of the palace itself. She would have to do all the spells lying down in her bed, looking as if she were sleeping, which was not the ideal pose for magery. She lay on her back, as straight as she could manage, and then, tightening her lips, began on the shield.
This took a little time, since it had to be detailed. She concentrated on concealing any magery beyond the little the Winterking believed she had regained, but not concealing so much that she might appear to vanish. It was risky, since her magery would not be concealed until she completed it, and she had to make it slowly, bit by bit, cautiously releasing her power in increments so it could not be perceived. She kept her senses keen for any changes in the palace, any shift of the light that might alert her that she had been detected. She closed her eyes, mentally said the words that activated the spell, and cautiously tested it. It seemed, as far as she could tell, to be good, and, as far as she could tell, it had not been noticed.
Then she began work on the semblance. Making the semblance took some considerable time; it could not be merely a rough form, meant to fool from a distance. It would not only have to look like Maerad, but feel like Maerad too. She worked in layers. She visualized her mind first, the colors of her emotions, the charge of her power, and carefully wove its outlines, testing them as she went to ensure they felt true. When she had finished, her mind held a replica of itself, a shell which, when she plucked it, seemed to resonate with her self. Then she started on her body, weaving it through the specter of her mind: bone, blood, veins, muscle, and last, skin and hair.
The semblance now existed in her mind, precise in every detail, and awaited only the word of power to make it appear, to set it breathing. Maerad took a deep breath and prepared herself for the final, most difficult part of her task: the creation of the semblance and her simultaneous vanishing. She had emptied her mind, patiently gathering together her power, when she heard steps approaching her chamber. It was Gima.
Maerad cursed silently and paused, teetering on the brink of releasing her power. It was as if she had gathered herself for a leap, and then had been forced to stop, holding all the energy in check, without falling over, without losing the momentum of her jump. She heard the curtain over the doorway pulled aside, and the steps approached the bed. They stopped, and she could hear Gima’s heavy breathing. Then she turned and left the room.
Maerad waited until she was sure the footsteps had retreated far enough, and then took another deep breath. Her mind was hurting from holding both charms in abeyance, and her body was trembling. Then, very carefully, she released the semblance and, drawing on deep powers within her, made herself vanish.
She didn’t get it quite right; there was the smallest moment when there were two Maerads, side by side on the bed, and she disconcertingly found herself looking into her own face. She got out of the bed and listened, all her senses agonizingly alert for any disturbance in the palace. It was blanketed in silence, apart from the retreating footsteps of Gima.
Maerad bent to pick up her pack and realized that she had made no semblance for it; Gima might notice it was missing. That charm was easy after the spell she had just made, and this time she managed the timing perfectly, vanishing one as the other appeared. She fumbled around for her pack. Then she swung it onto her back and looked around the room that had been her prison for the past few days, pushing down a sudden sharp regret. The Winterking would believe her to be a traitor. He had no right to think that, given that he had captured and imprisoned her, but he would think it all the same.
On an impulse, Maerad drew one of her precious pieces of paper and her pen and ink out of her