Arista knelt and spread her gown out around her. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and tilted her head back. She took another deep breath, then sat still. She did not move for a long time. She sat breathing very slowly, very rhythmically. Her hands opened. Her arms lifted, as if floating on their own—pulled by invisible strings or rising on currents of air. She began to sway gently from side to side, her hair flowing back and forth. Soon she began to hum. The humming took on a melody, and the melody produced words Modina did not understand.

Then Arista began to glow. The light grew brighter with each word. Her dress turned pure white, her skin luminous. It soon hurt Modina’s eyes to look at her, so she turned away.

The light went out.

“Did it work?” Modina asked. She turned back to face Arista and gasped.

When Arista opened the door, the guard stared at her, stunned. “Your Grace! I didn’t see you come in.”

“You should be more watchful, then,” Arista said, frightened by the sound of her own voice—so familiar and yet so different.

The guard bowed. “Yes, Your Grace. I will. Thank you, Your Grace.”

Arista hurried down the stairs, self-conscious and fearful as she clutched three strands of hair in her left hand and a chunk of chalk in her right. She felt exposed, walking openly in the hallways after hiding for so long. She did not feel any different. Only by looking at her hands and clothing could she see evidence that the spell had worked. She was wearing imperial robes and her hands were those of an old man, with thick gaudy rings. Each servant or guard she passed nodded respectfully, saying softly, “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

Growing up with Saldur practically as her uncle had one advantage—she knew every line of his face, his mannerisms, and his voice. She was certain she could not perform a similar illusion with Modina, Amilia, or Nimbus, even if she had them in front of her for reference. This took more—she knew Saldur.

By the time she reached the first floor of the palace, she was gaining confidence. Only two concerns remained. What if she ran into the real Saldur, and how long would the spell last? Stumbling through what had to be an advanced magical technique, she had worked solely by intuition. She had known what she wanted and had a general idea how to go about it, but the result had been more serendipity than skill. So much of magic was guesswork and nuance. She was starting to understand that now and could not help being pleased with herself.