So Vhalla closed her eyes as well.

At first, there was nothing. She heard her breathing and felt his hands on her. His fingertips warmed and then, faintly, she heard her heartbeat. No, she realized, it wasn’t her heartbeat, it was his. Her initial reaction was to panic at the sensation of another heart beating in her chest, but Vhalla forced herself to stay still and calm. Soon the chorus of sound extended to his breathing, overlaid on the noises of her own body. The din reached a crescendo that threatened to consume her awareness. But Vhalla remembered his words and she gave into it, into him, letting the wave crash upon her.

There was one inhale, one exhale, one heartbeat between them.

She melted into the strange warmth of the communal existence, relinquishing the last of her physical senses. It was unlike anything she had ever felt. Like life and death all bundled neatly into one moment of beauty. She tried to find where her own self ended, to find where he began, but there were no ends or beginnings anywhere. They were infinite.

She felt as he felt, and he thought as she thought.

Suddenly there was a warm breeze blowing over her metaphysical self. It was strong. Something she had known from birth, known her whole life, without ever really having words for it before. As Aldrik opened his Channel, hers opened alongside it in all its brilliance.

She felt him pulling away from her and, in her mind, she objected. There was a safety there, a reassurance, a compassion, and more she dared not give words to. It was a gentle departure, but a departure all the same. Vhalla sighed faintly as her eyes fluttered open. Aldrik stared back. His chest expanded slowly with every deep breath.

For a long time they sat unmoving. Her body felt the same, but everything had changed. His hands slowly fell away from her face, and the last connection was through their gaze.

“Vhalla, I ...” he uttered over a thick tongue.

Some madness overwhelmed her, and she grabbed for his hands. “Aldrik,” she breathed, clutching at him desperately. Vhalla searched for some validation of what she had found in their brief period of shared existence.

Aldrik stared back at her. Long before he pulled his hands from hers she saw a moment of panic, a moment of want—and he withdrew mentally. Vhalla realized he may be unable to hide anything from her again in the darkness of his eyes, she’d seen it all as though she was looking in a mirror. She wasn’t sure if this Joining was a blessing or a curse.

“I think we have accomplished enough for tonight.” Aldrik looked away, sitting straighter, 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.”

THE 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 Larel.

“What?” Vhalla snapped herself out of her thoughts.

Larel’s interest had clearly been piqued. She hadn’t inquired last night when Vhalla returned, exhausted and bleary eyed, and had been silent all morning.

“With the prince,” Fritz dropped his voice. “Do you have a better idea of how to Channel?”

“I think so.” Vhalla nodded.

“Good, good!” Fritz beamed. “You’ll get the hang of it in a few weeks, I’m sure.”

Vhalla felt the magic crackling around her fingers. She didn’t need a few weeks, she could do it now. Her body knew it. But she didn’t have an opportunity to correct Fritz as the horns blew, summoning everyone back to their places in the host.

The soldiers moved more slowly now. A week of marching had begun to take its toll on the new recruits. Vhalla’s legs were stiff and sore-ridden from her own saddle. She had no idea how the men and women who walked were managing. How would they fight when they reached the North?

Aldrik was slow as well this morning, the host was practically moving when he rode up from the outside. Even in all his bulky armor he was still full of poise atop his War-strider. Her heartbeat began to race and, as if sensing it, Aldrik’s eyes found hers. Tension radiated between them, even across a dozen people.