Those damn air wielders, Meira thought as the grabbing hands finally released her into a large room. They had used bursts of air under her feet more than once to ease their way down the winding hallways and staircases of the palace. She turned her head to look at the door that had clicked shut with a deep finality, grabbing her locket and returning her gaze to the room where she had been brought.

They called her a guest and were following the ruse, the spacious quarters filled with fine furniture and fabrics Meira would have expected for an ambassador or king. Or a Saint, her mind whispered. Meira abandoned the thought where it fell, distracting herself with the wide balcony framing the mountains in the distance. She crossed the room, lush rugs sinking under her heavy boots, and pulled the sheer curtains aside. The stonework wrapped the three sides of the balcony in detailed carvings, angles softened by the curves and arches repeated throughout the city's architecture. Meira grasped the railing by a stone lion's head, pushing up on its raised paw to increase her height as she looked out. To her right, immense gardens luxuriated in the sun, thirty meters below. They ended at a wall that dropped off the rocky cliffs directly beneath her. The palace was built directly from the high cliffs who's base did not stop until the riverbed, another twenty meters below the garden. The balcony was only good if she had wings, and her jailers knew this.

Her shaking limbs brought Meira from her perch on the lion as she sucked in breaths of air quickly, dread coming in burning waves. Her grip on the locket changed, fingering for the clasp for the first time in days as she sat, leaning against the balcony's feline guardian. She cursed as her trembling fingers missed more than once. A soft click and Meira's heart swelled in both comfort and agony as Dorian's frozen smile gazed at her.

He was in his dress uniform, wide grin crinkling his eyes. Their warmth, and the memory of his pride at the recent promotion, brought fresh tears to her own. She let them fall for a moment, marinating in the churning hysteria that rose with the bile in the back of her throat. Still Dorian watched adoringly from the oval.

Until we're there, looking up at the banner of the sky together from that little house on the coast, know that I am watching every moon, every star, and wishing only of you.

The words from his last letter bloomed in her mind and she took a few steadying breaths. Her finger traced the sepia image softly once more and she clicked the locket closed. She was going to get back to him.

Meira stood, pushing her way through the curtains and surveying the room before her in detail. The refined elegance was unable to stand up to the tumult as Meira worked her way through, searching for weapons, tools, secret passages; anything she could use to protect herself and get out of the gilded cage. Thirty minutes of searching and there was nothing.

A sharp knock brought her face up from below the bed, and she watched a veritable army of attendants enter, arms laden with clothing, food, and amenities she couldn't begin to name. The one who appeared in charge eyed the overturned pillows and carpets, signaling to her companions to get to work straightening out the decorative devastation Meira had wrought. The woman then signaled to another holding piles of fabric and they walked towards where Meira crouched at the bedside. The managing attendant heaved a sigh and began grabbing at Meira's hair, while the other kneeled low and began to pull at Meira's boots and trousers.

"Stop. Stop! What is all of this?"

The women pulled their hands back but didn't say anything, looking at each other heavily before slowly bringing their hands back towards the Khaantul.

"I don't want any of this," Meira cried, pulling away from the women and backing towards a small bench near the wall.

The women talked to each other in Juri'a, gazes and gestures going to Meira as they discussed the situation at length. Meira curled onto the bench defensively as they walked towards her again. She could feel the leader's longsuffering stare in her bones, but finally the woman clapped, saying something that took all of the attendants out of the room.

Meira stayed folded on the bench, waiting for their return. The silence was interrupted a few minutes later by another knock, this one tentative and nearly missed. Wanting to stop the assault before it began, Meira scrambled to the door, startled to see Kirsi's raised hand as the woman deliberated a second rap.

"What do you want?" Meira couldn't help the hiss of betrayal that leaked into her voice. What had she expected of this woman, this kidnapper? She'd been foolish to begin to trust her, and now she was locked in a tower, like in her childhood stories.

Kirsi had the decency to look humble as she replied, "Verena asked me to stay. I speak your language. I help you."

"It's you who got me into this with your Verena and her glorious solutions," Meira mocked. Anger dotted Kirsi's cheeks at the disrespect but she didn't reply.

Two guards in blue framed the door like statues, ignoring the stilted conversation. Whether they were doing it out of courtesy or ignorance, Meira wasn't sure, but she didn't need an audience.

"Fine." Meira walked away, leaving the door open for Kirsi to follow. She positioned herself in the sitting area on a sofa that made her aching muscles groan in delight. Kirsi took the grudging invitation and joined her, settling in on a matching seatee. The circular table between them sat low and was laden with the abundance of foods that the attendants had carried in. Kirsi took a moment to pour tea into tall glasses between them, sliding the first to Meira. The older woman ignored it.

Kirsi looked around the room as she sipped her tea, unease moving her fingers along the seam of her cushion where she sat. Her eyes returned to Meira who remained unforgiving as she stared at the unwelcome interruption.

"You are not hungry?" Kirsi asked gently, gesturing to the overflowing golden trays between them. Meira said nothing, even as her stomach clenched at the recognition of sustenance. She could not trust these people or their food, however tempting it might appear.

Kirsi pulled a lock of hair between her fingers, weaving it through them as she tried to think of something to fill the oppressive silence.

"There are clothes. You have blood."

Meira looked down to where Kirsi had gestured at her, seeing the darkened spots on the shins of her trousers for the first time. Ioan.

"Do I have to worry that you're going to try to heal me? We saw how well that worked for my friend, Ioan; for your brother."

Guilt hissed through her cracked heart as she watched Kirsi drop her head to swallow deeply. The granules of shame were swept aside by the squalls of fury and panic that had been building for days.

"I tried to heal, but it was too much," Kirsi said softly, eyes planted on the bowl of fruit on the table. Meira bit back an immediate scoff as the grief pauses its howling, recognizing the mirror in the other woman's voice.

"I could not save E-wun," Kirsi pronounces the foreign name slowly, finally looking up at Meira as she says it, "but I make him safe."

The truth is written across the healer's anguished face, her inability to save the man a heavy weight in her own conscience.

"How?" Meira whispers. She is asking so much more and the redhead knows.

"You take wielder spirit and use as your own," Kirsi tried to explain gently, "And you make us stronger."

The tugging on her hair becomes stronger as she tries to find the words in Khaantul, "You touch him and I feel you. You help me ease his pain and make safe to cross."

The beliefs of the Juri'a and the Khaantul were similar in a broad way, so Meira had enough of an idea about what Kirsi was talking about with Ioan's crossing into the afterlife. While she still couldn't wrap her head around this whole Spirit Wielder business, the storm's rage lessened further as she accepted what Kirsi shared. If she had even a small hand in easing Ioan's passing, she could be grateful for that part of it.

Meira still didn't trust all that the healer said, but a small smile of gratitude pulled at her lips for the woman's actions and Kirsi seemed to melt as the tension rolled out of her body at the sight of the open hostility waning. They sat in silence and Meira watched moisture bead on the untouched glass of tea on the table.

"You said Spirit Wielders takes someone else's spirit, how does that work?" Meira's thoughts were now spiraling in a different fashion, pulling pieces of memory from the last few days together into the picture building in her mind.

"The Spirit Wielder. You are only one. And you..." Kirsi trailed off, unsure. She held her hands in front of her chest, gesturing from herself to Meira in a pulling motion, as if that would make it clearer.

"You take, but not all," she said finally. She heaved a deep sigh at Meira's raised eyebrows.

"I am just girl from the north. The Verena will know. She is guardian of Juri'a and the Saints. Of you."

Meira waved away Kirsi's certainty in her sainthood, "I only need to get through the next two weeks and when the Verena sees that I am not this Spirit Wielder, she'll have to let me go."

The easy assurance Meira spoke with betrayed none of the disquiet whispering urgently in her soul. Kirsi's explanation may not have been clear but Meira pushed down the truth and fear that accompanied it. The other woman's fingers began to twist in the gray fabric of her lap and the pursed lips made Meira's failing bravado waver further. She gestured for the woman to speak.

"You want to be Spirit Wielder, Meira," she said, pushing forward as the other began to protest, "if you are not, General Sorin will kill you."