Meira was a daughter of Datran. The Khaantul Empire capital had prepared her for many things in her life; but as the mountains gave into rolling hills, nothing could have prepared her for the Juri’a citadel straddling the wide river below.

In the Khaantul camps, Palat’a Virna was spoken of in harsh lingering whispers, as if the magic its people possessed would come down upon whomever was speaking about the foreign city.

It’s white as snow because they’ve enchanted the walls with the bones of their enemies.

Meira’s gaze lingered on the alabaster structures that made up the vast city. Hundreds of buildings hugged the curving hills and swept through the valley across the waterway, colored domes bursting from the milky ziggurats. Her training had told her that Palat’a Virna’s position in the small, arable region between the Hygyk mountains and the Gundat desert was important; but her instructors had failed to mention the large buildings, sprawling plazas, and thousands of Juri’a people that lived in the principality.

The colorful figures dotting the city moved with an unhurried ease that Meira immediately envied, even if she could not make out their details. The city itself seemed to be a live thing, sending a breath of welcome contentment to all who came near. Meira watched as her captors eased back in their saddles, their faces relaxing with every step forward. Even Farren’s perpetual scowl loosened into a simple line.

The horses continued their plodding, joining the riders to the main road leading to the city. Merchants with heavily laden carts moved amongst the group, wares ready to be displayed at the market within the city walls.

Outsiders aren’t allowed in unless they are willing to fight to the death against their wielders.

The group had stalled in a line outside of the wall and Meira looked around, the chaos a tempting opening. The Juri’a must have had the same thought as Farren and the female fire wielder pulled their horses up next to her, continuing to stare ahead.

“What are we waiting for?” Meira was impatient, dread dripping into her stomach in the shadows of the imposing walls.

“No weapons allowed in the city,” Kirsi threw over her shoulder as she leaned toward her brother. Dusan had fared better during their shorter ride today, but the heat as they approached the city seemed to make him wilt.

Meira watched the merchant ahead of them get his cart checked, the light breeze swirling the scent of spices in their direction from the covered wagon. He wasn’t Juri’a or Khaantul, but that was all Meira could be certain. His wrapped head suggested that he was from some of the eastern lands beyond the mountains, provinces and kingdoms Meira had only seen the names of written on the great maps in her father’s study. The merchant was one of hundreds who seemed to have traveled along the trade routes toward Khaantul that Palat’a Virna centered.

A rumbling pricked Meira’s fear as Shadow’s head whipped up at the sound. High on the white wall before them, two wielders stood, muscular arms wide and reaching. As they motioned, a broad gap in the solid stone began to open up. The merchant, unfazed by what was a regular occurrence for him, directed his cart through the gap, waving to the guards before they closed the space once more.

Meira’s eyes were disks as the Juri’a talked to the guards outside of the wall, processing the control she had seen displayed so casually. The guards wore blue tunics and pants, the simple pieces standing out against the bright clarity of the stone they stood before. All were barefoot, as most Juri’a were. Meira realized that the only time she’d ever seen a wielder in shoes was in the snow after the Vadek attack. Her throat thickened, and she shoved Ioan’s face out of her mind with force.

The scraping of stones pulled her focus back to the wielders at the top of the wall, watching their movements as they opened an entrance for the party to pass. Where Kirsi’s movements had been delicate, focused in the minute details of her fingers, these wielders used broad strokes to accomplish their task. One appeared to be pulling, arms moving through the air toward his body deliberately. The other matched this pace, pushing her hands from the center of her body in the direction of her partner. The wall of stone matched this movement, following whatever cosmic energy they were putting out that allowed them to make holes in solid stone. Meira felt a shudder pass through her body as Shadow walked through the gap in the wall, the intensity falling over her like a thunderstorm bursting overhead.

Krys guided the group through the Palat’a Virna Market. Stalls, carts, and booths were set up farther in every direction than Meira could see. The horses rode steadily through the fracas, ignoring the crowds of people darting between the beasts. Children dodged the kicking legs of animals and merchants alike, screaming with excitement as they found trinkets and treasures in the vast bazaar. Meira had never seen so much color in her life, the deeply dyed fabrics swirling around her on people and in the stalls. The gold embroidery on one fabric seemed to glow, the vibrant purple background falling away as it glittered in someone’s bartering hands. Her eyes were drawn to the fruit sellers, selections of produce with scaly shells and deep indigo berries making her turn in the saddle. As she turned forward again, she noticed the whispers. At first it was easy to dismiss. No matter where you were from, a market was the place for gossip. Then the whispers began to race them, sprinting ahead of their slow march through the busy lane. Meira felt the prickles of energy as foreign eyes turned toward her.

She tried to straighten her shoulders and felt the rough wool of her uniform brush her neck. Her uniform! Meira unbuttoned her jacket, sighing as one of the jacket’s brass buttons plinked off of her thigh and into the street. A small child claimed it immediately. Pulling off the heavy material, she folded it and placed it carefully on the pack behind her saddle. Though her discomfort still made it clear that she was an outsider, at least now they couldn’t tell exactly how far from home she was. Still, the whispers continued.

They have pacts with dark spirits to protect the city and the Juri’a.

Meira’s body relaxed slightly as they reached the end of the market, turning onto a road leading up a broad hill. Wiping the sleeve of her white shirt across her damp forehead, Meira was grateful for the breeze the river offered, the desert heat emanating strongly from the southwest as the group rode through the city. As they traveled, her head swiveled, taking in the surrounding people. Most appeared to be Juri’a, and many were using their wielding to conjure or complete daily tasks. Meira watched a water wielder complete laundry, while another changed the direction of the river for a boat headed upstream. An air wielder beat a rug outside of his home, and another floated blossoms in the air for laughing toddlers. The Fire wielder cooking in a spacious outdoor area yelled out as they passed, recognizing Lucian’s shock of blonde hair. They conversed happily in Juri’a, and Meira soured at her inability to understand. She’d never been the stranger before, never not understood.

After a few more moments, the group continued up the hill. They rode until they reached another bleached wall, more cobalt guards waiting. This wall, however, had an elaborate gate, swirling tubes creating an intricate pattern Meira had seen repeated on the guard’s tunics and in other embroidered pieces throughout the market. Curiosity burned brighter than the perpetual fear she’d been holding.

The tubes appeared as an interconnected triad, looping together over a raised circle made of stone. One point was centered at the top of the gate and two other points balanced the image below. Meira studied the piece and the endless connection of the points while Dusan talked to the guard. While she now expected wielding, Meira was unprepared to see four wielders assume position at the corners of the gate.

As one, they each pulled their arms wide, then thrust them forward to their center, blasting their respective element into points on the gate. Meira watched as water flowed into the top point, fire at the bottom right and air at the left, the equal force spinning the triad slowly to the right. Rotation complete, the Earth wielder moved the circle that the triad was centered on flush with the gate, the last piece of the complicated lock.

The two pieces of the gate swung open haltingly, with a gust from the air wielder. Meira blinked as the light shining off of the fountains in the center of the grand courtyard hit her. Tall buildings reached for the high sun as if offended by the slight. The white stone was decorated with refined embellishments that accented the massive geometric arches and walkways around them. Fresh flowers and plants adorned the space, dizzying scents enhancing the splendor.

They dismounted at the bottom of a low staircase that stretched to an elaborately domed archway above large doors. Meira grabbed her uniform jacket at the last minute, needing the protection it gave her, even if only imagined.

For the first time since she had met them, the Juri’a looked nervous, whispers winding between them haphazardly. Kirsi turned to look at her, an excited certainty reflected in her forested eyes.

“It is time, D’vasia. This is the Saint’s Palace.”