Free Fire Falling by Elise Kova Page A

more composed.
    “Aldrik,” she whispered. Even his minor withdrawal hurt her more deeply than it should have. It felt like a piece of her had been carved out.
    “All you need to do is repeat that process, what you felt. I think you can figure that out on your own.” He still didn’t look at her.
    “ Aldrik ,” Vhalla pleaded.
    “You can ask Larel for help also. Just pick a motion and repeat it as you Channel. Repeat the action every time you try, so when you succeed you will begin to associate the act with that trigger.” He turned back to the table, picking up the parchment he’d been reading earlier.
    Vhalla wasn’t sure what she had done wrong, but he had completely shut himself off from her. He was the one who had suggested the Joining; what was he suddenly so afraid of ? She sighed and pulled herself to her feet.
    Aldrik didn’t look at her as she slipped back into her armor. It was a short walk but the last thing she wanted was to leave a man’s tent—the crown prince’s tent—less dressed than when she came in. He said nothing and made no motion toward her.
    “Well,” Vhalla said uncertainly, “thank you.” A splash of bitterness crept into her voice. He made no motion as she turned to leave.
    “I will call on you,” he said abruptly, just as she was about to pull back the tent flap.
    “What?” Vhalla turned, her heart racing on hope.
    “Work on your Channeling, you will need it for what I’m going to ask of you,” Aldrik said, turning to her. “We shall begin when I am satisfied with your progression.”
    Vhalla nodded and searched his guarded gaze for a long moment. She saw it there still, his turmoil. But turmoil over what? That was a question she had yet to answer.
    “Very well. Goodnight, Aldrik.” Vhalla pulled back the tent flap, making her departure.
    “Goodnight, Vhalla.”

T HE DAY WAS overcast and hot. There was a dry breeze, but it offered little respite from the oppressive heat. It was the kind of day that one wanted nothing more than to find a cool, shady corner to curl up into. But the sun beat down on her shoulders.
    She stood before a grave. It was in the center of a glass-covered garden. Many plants had been landscaped and most were hanging on despite the temperature. But the crimson flowers that surrounded the sculpted marker before her were wilted and shriveled. It was not the first time she had been in this garden of the dead.
    The grave before her was shaped as an obelisk. Sitting at its top was the figure of a woman. She had long hair that hung perfectly straight, almost to her waist, and a soft, yet stern, visage cast in the flawless marble. Behind her was a golden and ruby sun that cast a red haze on the ground below.
    Vhalla held out a hand and touched the familiar letters, as though it would connect her to her dead mother. There was nothing but stone beneath her fingers. She sighed, shifting her weight. She really hated being here.
    “Stop fidgeting,” came a strong voice from next to her. She turned her face upward but the sun shrouded the man towering over her.
    Vhalla turned and cracked open her eyes. The back of her hand rested against her forehead. She stared at the slowly illuminating canvas above her. It was a strange dream that played more like a long-forgotten memory. Vhalla ran through it again and, despite the overwhelming nostalgia, nothing seemed familiar on a second review. She was too tired to give the dream much attention and went about her morning duties.
    Joining , that was what Aldrik had called it. Vhalla fidgeted over breakfast, trying to force herself to eat. She still didn’t understand the widening of the Bond, as Aldrik had put it, but it had certainly been significant. The ghost of him was still upon her. She could still feel the caress of his essence throughout her bones. Vhalla stared at her hands. Learning how to Channel seemed so unimportant in comparison.
    “How did it go last night?” Fritz asked as he joined her and