Page 13 of Swift Wings Shadowed Heart
“Singer…?” he says, voice laced with ice.
“Wyndward,” I answer.
“Singer Wyndward, put your hands on the table. Like this.”
He rests his forearms on the wooden surface, then holds his hands up as if he’s holding a large ball. When I copy the pose, it looks as if we’re both holding the same ball. My fingers are so close to his, they almost touch. I stare at his hands to avoid his glacier gaze. They are large and callused. The fingernails are trimmed short. There’s a scattering of dark hairs that peeks from under the cuffs of his shirt.
“I want you to slowly release your skill,” he says, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine.
I inhale deeply to hide my reaction and nod. It’s a duel then. I’ve never participated in one. The Academy forbade them, and I always followed the rules as did most of my mates. Few were foolish enough to risk getting thrown out and never making it here.
But why a duel? I could never beat this man, so what’s the point of the test? He’s bonded, while I only have my own Embernia given skill—yet unenhanced, capable of no more than a summer breeze, even if, in comparison to other Singers, I’m considered powerful. There’s only one possible explanation. He wants to measure my strength, then compare it to Phoebe’s and Gilbert’s.
Slowly, as he indicated, I release my skill. Small air currents sprout from my fingertips, whirling into tight spirals. High Prime Stormsong’s own power jumps to capture mine, connecting, forming a pathway between us, a whirlwind caged between our hands. His blue eyes glow lightly, speaking of his bond with Fragor.
“Is that it?” he asks as if disappointed.
“No. There’s more.” I smile and go up a few notches.
“Better,” he says, though he sounds unimpressed.
I push more power out. The whirlwind grows, blowing back the High Prime’s silken locks.Goddess!He’s achingly beautiful under the blue-white light from his eyes. Being this close to him, playing this little game, has my heart pounding.
“Good,” he says as if I’ve reached some sort of acceptable threshold, except I still have more.
Inhaling, I dig deeper and push further. The whirlwind doubles in size, throbbing like a heart. We lean back.
One of High Prime Stormsong’s eyebrows goes up. Satisfaction swells inside of me. He’s impressed, right? He thinks that?—
Pain bursts in the back of my eyes, sharp as knives. A grunt escapes me. The whirlwind grows even larger and wobbles on its axis. My hair flies backward as I squint to protect my eyes.Wyrm’s rot!Is this supposed to happen?
“What in all the levels of hell?” High Prime Stormsong says.
Judging by his reaction, this is definitely not normal.
He tries to pull his hands back, break the connection, but seems unable to do it. “Disengage, Singer Wyndward,” he orders.
“I can’t,” I say, after trying and failing.
My powers seem to be feeding off his, locked into place, and I’m not the only one. He’s the one with more experience here. He should know what to do.
The whirlwind continues growing. The candelabra rattles above. We stand. He kicks the table out of the way. It crashes against the wall.
“What are you doing?!” he demands, hair standing on end, eyes narrowed.
“Nothing. Just what you told me.”
“This isn’t… supposed to happen,” he says between clenched teeth, trying hard to break the spell.
“I figured.”
“Pull.” He throws his weight back, physically pulling away.
I don’t see how that will help, but I do as he says. The whirlwind only grows bigger but then begins shrinking.
“Oh, thank Heratrix!” I exclaim.
“I wouldn’t celebrate just yet, Singer.”
