You Are Her Double

The collective gaze of the entire room was fixed upon her. A hundred pairs of eyes, belonging to the most formidable figures in the realm, converged on Jianna in a silent, unified scrutiny. Even Malakor, who had maintained the rigid stillness of a stone effigy since kneeling before the Council, had permitted himself the barest shift of his head to observe her from the corner of his eye. A frigid tendril of dread coiled around her bones. Could she truly be the twin of the woman who had dedicated the past two days to ending her life?

She faltered, her voice a tremor in the cavernous silence. “That’s impossible.” The notion was absurd. She’s older than I am, Jianna thought wildly. How could anyone be the twin of someone senior to them?

Aria shook her head, her voice resonating with the clear, serene timbre of a distant bell. Within the depths of her ancient eyes lay a profound and unwavering certainty. “We have considered this possibility. We concluded that sufficient time has passed for her twin’s soul to perish and be reborn into a new vessel. There is no doubt, child. You are her reflection. The resemblance is undeniable.”

“Alright,” Jianna managed, her mind reeling as she attempted to process these staggering revelations. “Let’s assume for a moment that I am Lady Zovira’s twin. What is it you want from me?”

This time, it was Lord Pherrus who answered, his voice a coarse growl that scraped the air, stripped of all courtesy. “Simple. You will be the one to destroy Zovira for us.”

“What?” The word was torn from her throat, a primal sound of utter shock and horror.

King Kyron intervened, casting a sharp, reproving glance at Pherrus. His calm, authoritative voice smoothed over the raw brutality of his councilman’s words. “Lady Zovira possesses a raw power greater than any we have encountered, and it continues to amplify. As her duplicate, you share that same untamed wellspring of potential. Her own magic has become a fortress we can no longer breach, but yours, once fully realized, should bypass her wards without issue.”

“Powers?” Jianna echoed, the word feeling foreign and ludicrous on her tongue. “What are you talking about? I didn’t even know magic was real until a few days ago! How could I possibly have powers?”

At her declaration, Flitterwing’s gaze darted to the floor, a flush of guilt coloring his features. Jianna also caught the subtle, rigid tightening of Malakor’s broad shoulders.

Frowning at Flitterwing, who steadfastly refused to meet her eyes, Jianna pressed on, her voice gaining strength. “I don’t have any powers. Understand?”

The Feyan produced a strained, nervous laugh. “Well… about that. Do you recall when the Aelvin first attacked, and you assumed it was Malakor or I who saved you?” After Jianna gave a hesitant nod, his words began to spill out in a frantic, stumbling rush. “Yes, well, that wasn’t us. The truth is, you were the one who drove them back. You summoned lightning from a clear sky. Bolts of it crashing to the earth all around you. Naturally, no sane creature would stick around to fight someone doing that, so they fled. You fainted immediately after, and when you came to, you couldn’t remember a thing, so we… well, we allowed you to believe we had been your saviors.” He finally dragged in a long, shaky breath.

“Let me be certain I understand,” Jianna said, her tone dangerously quiet. “I called down lightning, and that’s what repelled them? And the two of you simply decided to take the credit and not mention it?”

With a gulp, Flitterwing offered a miserable nod.

To her own surprise, a dry, humorless laugh escaped Jianna’s lips. “Frankly, I’m not sure whether I should feel insulted or flattered.”

From the dais, King Kyron’s regal voice sliced through the tension. “Florian’s doppelgänger must be weary from her journey. The Council has urgent matters to attend to, but we will address all your questions. Malakor will escort you and your companions to the guest quarters to rest and refresh yourselves before the evening meal. We shall speak of this at greater length then.” He paused. “Malakor.”

At the sound of his name, Malakor looked up at the human king, his expression a carefully constructed mask of neutrality.

“See these three to the west tower. Ensure they are provided with fresh clothing after they have bathed. And see that you return to us once your task is complete.”

“Yes, my lord,” Malakor replied. The profound deference in his voice, so contrary to the defiant, arrogant Demon she knew, startled Jianna yet again. He rose with fluid grace and began to lead them from the chamber, only to be halted by a sharp, commanding voice.

“Wait, demon.”

It was Queen Lyraxis. Malakor turned from their path and approached her throne, his posture one of unnerving patience. As she descended, Jianna’s eyes widened at the sight of her lower body. Where legs should have been, the queen’s torso tapered into the long, powerful tail of a serpent, its scales shimmering like polished obsidian. Lyraxis slithered across the marble floor with a silent, sinuous grace, coming to a halt directly before Malakor.

The queen reached out with a long, slender-fingered hand and seized his chin in a firm grip. She tilted his head from side to side, her inspection clinical and unnervingly thorough, while the demon kept his jaw tight and his gaze averted.

“Not even a fracture,” she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. Her forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air, before she released him and dismissed them all with a curt, imperious wave.

The moment the great doors of the chamber boomed shut behind them, Jianna rounded on Malakor. “Alright, what was that back there?”

“The proper question is, ‘What was that about?’” he corrected, his long strides barely faltering.

“You know perfectly well what I mean. That wasn’t you in there. And the way they treated you! Why didn’t you say anything? What was going on?”

A low, menacing rumble started in Malakor’s chest. “You heard the queen. I am one of The Returned. That is all the reason they will ever need.”

“So it was true, what Lord Pherrus said?” Blynn whispered from behind them. “You really are one of The Returned?”

Jianna could not miss the strange note of awe in the Satyri’s voice, which was laced with an unmistakable undercurrent of disdain.

Malakor gave a single, sharp nod, his gaze fixed on the corridor ahead as he navigated the palace with the confidence of one who knew its every turn.

Before Jianna could frame her next question, Flitterwing cut in, attempting to change the subject. “So, we’re a prophesied band of heroes, destined to save the world?” He laughed and swept a hand through his hair in a gesture of bravado. “I never thought I’d be so pivotal.”

Malakor let out a contemptuous sneer. “I suspect her foresight has gone awry,” he stated. “This is hardly a group of distinction.”

“Ari’s foresight has never been wrong in all the time I’ve known her,” Blynn retorted hotly.

“And how long has that been?” Malakor shot back, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “When did you last see her before today?”

Blynn’s confidence wavered, and he bit his lip. “It’s been a while,” he conceded.

“Well, in case you failed to notice, she is growing old,” Malakor continued, his voice edged with cynicism. “And one’s prophetic abilities rarely sharpen with age.”

Blynn had no answer for that. He was spared from needing one when Malakor came to an abrupt halt before a heavy wooden door.

The demon rapped on the wood with a hard knuckle. “Your rooms are at the top of this staircase,” he muttered. “The first three doors on the left are prepared for guests. Someone will bring clothing. I will return for you before supper.” With that brusque farewell, he turned and strode away, his form quickly swallowed by the long shadows of the hall.