A Wicked Game [The Crown Saga II] (Under Editing)

Trial of Hearts

I tossed the staff halfway across Art's studio.

"Why won't this stupid thing work?" I shouted as Art teleported to catch my weapon before it hit the floor.

It had felt so natural—so easy to wield the broom shaft when I'd fought those bullies in the Golden City. The sensation was still vividly alive in my mind, but I couldn't reproduce it. Why?

"You must recall the sensation of pushing your powers through the staff," Art said for the sixth time today as he handed me the cursed stick again.

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" I grumbled, stomping back to my spot on the floor.

Art had returned yesterday—a few days following myself and the other suitors. He hadn't told me about his trip, nor had I dared to ask, given his bitter mood.

Apparently, the winds had carried word to him about my little adventure in the streets of the Golden City. He'd had to cut his trip a week short, and I'd spent the better part of the morning in his studio, explaining the exact details of the event.

I'd told him everything except about the Mortis Crow. It had flown away immediately after we'd locked eyes, so there hadn't really been much to tell anyway.

Art ignored my complaint and stepped back to give me a clear shot at the statue before me. "Again."

I grunted, frustrated, and tightened my grip on the rounded handle. Spitting curses wouldn't get me anywhere, so I aimed the staff at the statue, mocking me from the shelf, and commanded the wind.

Nothing. Still nothing.

"Cursed bones!" I exclaimed, hurling the staff into the ground, desperately hoping it would break in half. It didn't.

Two hours... For two hours, I'd been straining my body, trying to tame the damned weapon. Nothing. I hadn't even been able to summon a faint breeze.

I stared angrily at the weapon in front of me. "Is it the staff? Did you give me a defective weapon?"

Art sighed and stepped closer. "There is nothing wrong with your weapon. Otherwise, your little fit would've broken it." He picked up the staff again and placed it in my hand. "Listen, Will. It may seem as if the universe is conspiring against you, but this weapon is no different from the broom shaft. You have done it before, and I know you can do it again. Concentrate and recall what you did that day."

Fine. If he wanted another useless demonstration, he could have it.

I curled my fingers bitterly around the wood and marched back to the statue of the most hated Pavo descendant of all time—at least in my opinion.

Recall what you did that day.

I'd been angry because those Iridis had been picking on a helpless boy. They may as well have been picking on Tristan.

The thought sparked a surge of fury that spiraled through my mind and tainted my blood—a fury powerful enough to turn my winds into storms.

I desired nothing more than to send those two boys—and this wretched statue—on a one-way trip to the Golden Cave, never to be found again.

I raised the staff above my head and leaped forward, but just as I was about to unleash the forces I'd been saving for this moment, Art's voice tore through the stirring air. "Stop, Willow!"

It was too late.

Winds the size of hurricanes blasted from the tip of my staff, breaking much more than the insulting face of the fifth Pavo. The shelves behind the bust collapsed, causing all the books and decorations to drop and scatter across the floor.