Through the open windows of Vylas’ home came a voice, hearty and scraping.
“Ah! I thought you had forgotten where I live!”
Jularra smiled as she strolled toward the house, brushing her fingers against the rain-smoothed stones of the front wall. The planters along the base of the wall and under the window were empty now, but Jularra knew they would be filled with herbs and flowers when spring came; the same herbs and flowers that were there every year, for as long as she could remember. She loitered outside, listening to the clank, clank, ting of Vylas’ kitchen tinkering.
“What are you up to in there?” Jularra called curiously.
Vylas cackled innocently but didn’t answer.
Jularra leaned over a spit with two roasting rabbits and danced her nose through the smoke. Her empty stomach stole most of her attention as the dying fire and homegrown spices seduced her senses. She pulled away, reached for a small log, and placed it on the fire under the rabbits. As she did, Vylas appeared at the front door, slapping his hands dry. Jularra kicked a larger log over and rolled it a few feet closer to the fire. She tipped it up and took a seat.
“Mmm, those are about done.” Vylas walked over to the fire and sat down across from Jularra. He wrapped a worn rag around the end of the spit and turned it to confirm his suspicions.
“Let’s get this side a little crispier,” he said, tossing the rag away. He turned his attention to Jularra, sitting awkwardly with her wounded leg stretched out straight in front of her.
“What’s that all about?” Vylas asked casually. “Been practicing a little too hard with the Spire?”
Before Jularra could respond, he shot back up as though suddenly remembering something. “Do you want some tea?”
“Please,” she said with a grin.
Vylas gestured at her to continue talking while he jogged back inside.
“No, actually,” she started, speaking a bit louder. “I was out walking a few days ago and got attacked.”
“What?” Vylas shouted from inside. He reappeared in the doorway, frowning, and sat back down beside the fire after handing Jularra her tea. “I assume you won, then. Who was it?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, shaking her head. “We didn’t have much of a conversation.”
“And how's the leg?”
“It’s still bleeding a little, but it’s mostly stopped.”
Vylas grunted and stood back up. This time, he went to the open kitchen window and reached inside for a jar, which he handed to Jularra.
“Salve,” he said, sitting back down. He sipped his tea before continuing. “Was it a robber? Or something else?”
“An assassin. He was fairly skilled, had a nice sword, and... well…”
Jularra trailed off. She twisted herself away from Vylas, opening the jar of salve and stretching her leg wide to reach the dressings. She pulled them back just enough to expose the receding wound.
Vylas sat his tea down on a neighboring tree stump. “'Well', what?” he asked gently.
“He had a doppelcharm of some kind,” the queen answered, still somewhat disbelievingly.
Vylas nearly choked on his tea. “What? A true doppelganger?”
“Yes, I’m fairly certain,” Jularra replied. She tucked in her bandages after securing them again. “I killed the man, then moments later a spectral clone emerged from his body and continued the fight. It wasn’t as skilled as the living man was, but—”
“Did it speak? Was it fully formed from head to toe? Eyeballs, or energy?”
Vylas couldn’t contain his excitement at such advanced magic.
“It never spoke, but it was a complete, human shape from head to toe. With full eyes,” she answered.
Vylas looked off into the woods, considering the information.
“I just don’t see how that’s possible nowadays,” Vylas said, his brow furled in confusion. “What kind of assassin could have access to that kind of magic?”
“Surely there are still people who know of such things?” the queen prompted.
Vylas sipped his tea while nodding. “I’m sure, but they would be extremely few and far between, I would say. I’ve spent my whole life studying; I have dozens and dozens of Credellions, but even I don’t know how to conjure anything like a doppelganger. Whoever had a hand in it is extremely skilled, at least in conjuration.”
The queen shrugged and turned back to face Vylas. She then rubbed her hands on her trousers to rid them of any remaining salve.
“Is it possible the assassin created it himself?” she wondered.
“I suppose it’s possible,” Vylas allowed, “though I would wager that his weapons were supplied from elsewhere, in which case his methods are secondary. Someone powerful wants you dead. That would be my main concern.”
Jularra slowly climbed to her feet, testing the ground with her wounded leg. She looked to Vylas and nodded.
“Feels better.”
Jularra meandered away from the fire. Her hands were on her hips as she strolled in and out of the nearby clover, tilting her head from side to side. The fire popped as Vylas took the two rabbits off the spit.
“Rabbit’s done,” he said.
Jularra didn’t respond immediately. She continued her contemplative pacing. When she spoke next, it wasn’t about rabbit.
“You know, there are half a dozen countries that would benefit greatly from my death,” she said. Her voice was light and pragmatic.
Vylas chuckled through a bite of rabbit. “Oh, is that all?” he asked.
“Well, I’m just trying to think of possibilities. Someone obviously wants me dead, and I need to start taking action.”
“Mmm-hm. Well, as far as the magic goes,” Vylas began before swallowing, “I don’t see how that could have come from within our borders. I have a good grasp on the magic being done in Acorilan, and that kind just hasn’t been practiced in these lands in generations. I would think that your best chance of tracking that down would be in the coastal countries.
