They were led through the palace by attendants in blue and Meira couldn't stop her marveling gaze as they walked through the open-air halls, gardens and courtyards visible beyond their delicate railings. She was busy examining the deep lapis outline around the geometric ceiling above them when the group stopped. Farren's look was cutting as she bumped into his back. When his arm moved up, she couldn't help her flinch, waiting for the fierce man's stinging hand. Instead, it grabbed a leaf from her hair, his look of disdain clear as he twirled the stalk between his fingers in front of her face and turned away.

Heat flushed her skin as Meira realized how unkempt she must appear for even Farren to be offended. Running her fingers through her rapidly disintegrating braid, Meira tried to smooth the strands into some semblance of decency. The knots in her collarbone-length hair contended her goal, but she managed to remove a few more remnants of their journey, dropping them softly onto the tiled floor. She glanced at the Juri'a that surrounded her, their bodies held tall as they looked straight ahead towards the soaring doorway before them.

With no need for wielding, two guards opened the large wooden door into a room Meira could not have dreamed existed. Datran was shades of tans and green, influenced by the forests near the northern city. As she stepped into the large domed space, every other hue vied for her attention. The intricate patterns flowed off of the ceiling and down the five main points of the of the muqarnas of the dome like petals of an impossible flower. Large open windows had been cut into the dome in their own pattern, a warm haziness filling the room as the light filtered across the three levels. People stood in smaller archways and alcoves, silently looking down upon the group advancing into the ornamented room.

The group paraded past a large pool of water in the center of the room, directly under the center of the dome and the largest hole in the ceiling. Two smaller pools framed the large one at a distance, each in a covered alcove decorated with intricate tilework and imagery that seemed to show some sort of deity. Meira arced her head up as they passed the central pool, catching a falcon flying overhead. Kirsi poked her in the side and Meira returned her gaze to the earth, noticing their destination in the room for the first time.

Two forceful gazes met Meira's from a dais under the largest arch. An imposing man was not unusual for Meira to see as a Khaantul, but the woman sitting on the platform was. She sat on a large circular chair, candles and offerings on the tables and floor surrounding her. Her khol-lined eyes were enhanced by the sheer hooded robe she wore low over her forehead and tight silvery curls dropped by her dark temples, despite the youthful appearance of her face. Though she stared with unblinking intensity, there was a softness to her lips of a joke it seemed only she was privy to know. She exuded an entrancing tenderness that did not hide the strength lurking below.

Meira felt adrift as the sea of familiar Juri'a around her parted and convened behind her once they reached the space before the platform. No one spoke. The commanding woman stood, her sheer golden robe falling over the mulled wine of her draped dress as she walked towards the edge of the dais.

Her arms opened wide and Meira felt the warmth as she said, "Tala i Palat'a Virna, D'vasia Sventasis."

Meira couldn't help the turn of her head towards Kirsi as the woman continued to speak in Juri'a, her words ringing throughout the cavernous room with an authority bred of experience.

"She's welcoming you to the city," Kirsi's low whisper grazed Meira's shoulder. She never thought that she would be thankful for the woman who kidnapped her, but it flared in her chest as Kirsi tried to interpret without notice. Finally the golden woman paused, staring expectantly at Meira.

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"Your majesty--exellency," she adjusted as she heard a hiss from Kirsi, "I was brought here against my will. I have been told that they think I'm some sort of savior but I assure you, I'm not."

The room erupted into murmurs as her Khaantul filled the hall, the harshness of the language's cantor a stark contrast to the soft flowing of Juri'a. The leader held up her hand and the gossip quieted.

"I just want to go home." Meira hated the way her voice broke on the last word, the way Dorian's smile flashes in her mind, and how the ghost of Caelum's last hug surrounds her.

The woman returned to her seat as the commanding man to the right of the circular throne leaned towards her. Meira had been trying not to see his stare, the sneering contempt in his hazel eyes clear even as the rest of his face remained impassive. The conversation between the two became sharper, the man's body language losing any deference he'd held for his companion as he gestured at Meira, lips turning down. He talked in Juri'a, but Meira didn't need Kirsi to translate the way the man practically spat the word Khaantul from his lips. Her eyes narrowed in response and her fingers curled into fists at her side.

The woman in purple placed her hand lightly on the man's forearm, and he pulled back, resuming his outwardly indifferent pose.

"Khaantul woman, what is your name?"

The woman's flawless Khaantul makes Meira stumble slightly in her response, but the woman smiles gracefully and continues in their common language.

"Do you know why you were brought here, Meira?"

"No." It's hard to push down the sting of relieved tears as Meira feels she will be heard for the first time in days. The feeling is snatched as the woman on the throne continues.

"You have special abilities. Ones we believe could help the Juri'a live peacefully in this uncertain world. Show us what you can do."

"I will not."

The woman's blink is the only indication that she heard the defiance of the command, but Meira hears the Juri'a around her, throughout the room, suck in a breath of apprehension.

"I do not have powers, so I have nothing to show," she continued.

She could swear that the man's lips almost lifted in amusement or vindication, but his bearded face remained placid when their eyes met for a moment. The woman tilted her head to the right, locking gazes with Kirsi who stood behind Meira's shoulder.

"You said you found the Spirit Wielder. Why do you believe this is her?"

Kirsi stepped forward slightly, nervous wobble in her legs as she bowed to the woman before them.

"Verena," she greeted reverentially. The nerves missed her voice as she spoke in Khaantul, "she wielded air and water during our journey, killing an attacker and nearly hitting me."

The Verena ignored Meira's sounds of protest, glancing up at the man at her side as Kirsi resumed her description of events, "She amplified my wielding when touching man I was trying to heal. Then I knew she was D'vasia Sventasis."

"Horseshit!"

Meira stepped away from the redhead at her left and the other Juri'a around her scrambled out of her path, moving behind their comrade. Ioan's face lingered in Meira's mind, the red snow vibrant as the tiles below her feet.

"You killed him, I was there!"

The room remained silent as Kirsi looked at the Verena for help, eyes darting back to Meira and the wrath radiating from her form. The Khaantul woman's jaw was clenched as tightly as her fists, and the sting of injustice prickled sharply around her heart.

"I have a solution," the woman's soothing voice called from the dais, making Meira turn.

"It is important that we are sure. If you are the Soul Wielder as it is claimed, you are blessed by the Moon Goddess and her powers are strongest on a full moon—in two weeks time. You will stay as our guest and we can evaluate what powers" she held up a hand at Meira's protest, "if any, you have."

"But I'm not a Spirit Wielder! Just let me go!" this time the tears did leak, anger and frustration rising to desperation as the golden woman signals to people hovering on the edge of the room. She speaks to them in Juri'a and they move towards Meira, gently turning her and guiding her to one of the side doors. Though she tries to resist, their actions broker no argument and their lack of Khaantul leaves her words unheeded.

As the central hall begins to clear, Verena hears the gossip beginning to stir in the eves of the room.

"Is that enough time to determine if she is an imposter?" she asks the man next to her, his stance unchanged by the raging woman's departure. Sorin gives her a single nod.

His voice is vengeance, "I'll bring the spy to her knees."