My training with Freya has been going well. At her insistence, we have been focusing on defense rather than attack, and today we threw up a barrier that Salathiel, Anathalie, and Ruhamah together could not breach. Salathiel was very pleased. All of us were, except for Freya. She was just quiet. She has been quiet for days now.
Normally I would not press her, but it is our opinion now that whatever Asoharith is planning, it will happen on the anniversary of the day I met her. That day has meaning for both of us, and it is only ten days away. And while I am not necessarily afraid, I do think we may not have the luxury of patience just now.
So this evening when Freya put her computer away after a bit of time spent writing, I settled down next to her. “Something is troubling you,” I observed.
She was unsurprised by the implied question. “I’ve been debating whether or not I should say anything.”
“You can tell me anything.”
“People always say that,” Freya said, leaning back against the head of her bed, “but there are always consequences for what we say.”
“Then we will handle those consequences together,” I said.
She sighed and turned to face me, curling against her pillow. Her eyes moved over my face. She has told me that over time, my features have shown more clearly to her—that I have begun to look almost human in her eyes. I did not ask her to show me, because I felt it would be vain, but I do wonder what it is she sees.
“I told you that I love your courage,” she said. “I’m beginning to rethink that decision. I almost lost you when Neige came after us, and then you ran right off to talk to Asoharith. And I know you did that for good reasons, but…” She lifted one hand and traced a finger gently over the deep scars that come down across my eyes. “She reminded me of something that makes it harder to send you out into danger.”
I did not have to ask what that something was—I have been intensely aware of it myself.
“I believe in forever now,” she whispered. “I know that I will last, whatever happens. But you won’t. If you die now…there’s no more you. And a part of me will be empty forever.”
Her voice was shaking. It was very hard for her to say those words.
I tried to reassure her. “I would not be entirely gone. The Father would use the pieces of me to create more souls, more lives.”
“But none of them would be you.” Abruptly she pushed up from the bed and left the room, throwing lights on as she went. I followed her down into the kitchen, where she put the kettle on and stood watching it.
“I am afraid of that, too, Freya,” I told her, and it is true. “I do not want you to lose me.”
She had her arms wrapped tightly around herself, and I knew better than to try and touch her. “You’re not scared enough,” she said. “It’s easy for you—you’re not the one who has to live without you.”
I had no answer for that.
Shaking herself, she dug a cup out of a cabinet and went searching for tea. “Have you ever thought—or would you think—” She stopped and set the box down on the counter, turning to face me. Her face was white, her mouth tight. “Ace, if I asked you to incarnate now, would you do it?”
Nothing she could have said would have astonished me more. It was some time before I could speak. “You—you want me to leave you?”
“No,” she snapped. “That’s the whole point! I want you forever, and if you incarnate, that’s guaranteed. Your soul is safe once you’re human. You can do it whenever you want, right?”
“Yes, but—the battle is still coming! You need me—”
“I have other protectors,” Freya said. “Other angels and people too who can protect me. And none of them are in as much danger as you are.”
It felt like pieces of me were ripping off and falling to the floor like paper. “I can’t just leave this fight to the others—I started all of this!”
“You can’t tell me that they wouldn’t be glad to finish it,” Freya said. “Anathalie, Orison, Salathiel—you can’t tell me that they wouldn’t be so relieved to know that you’re safe.”
She wasn’t wrong, and yet I couldn’t bear to even consider it. “Freya, I can’t just leave you!”
“You said you would go if I wanted you to, didn’t you?” she demanded. “Was that just words? What if I want you to go right now?”
Into the stunned silence that fell between us, the kettle began to shriek. Unable to bear it all, I turned and fled.
It is so easy for fear to lead to doubt, and so painful. I would rather have Neige tear out my eyes again than believe, as I did at first, that Freya truly wanted to send me away from her. The grief of that was all but overwhelming.
But as the wind and silence of the night began to calm me, I thought of what had been said, and I came to understand Freya’s viewpoint a bit better. After all, have I not tried to set her out of the reach of danger myself, more than once? I would do it even now, but I know that to do so would cause harm to her spirit, and that is what she did not understand.
And so I went back to her, thinking to find her asleep, and that I would explain it all to her in the morning. But even though it was well after midnight by this time, she was downstairs on the couch, staring at the wall with an empty wineglass sitting on the table beside her.
She jumped up as soon as I arrived, but rather than meet my gaze she looked down at the wineglass. “I decided tea just wasn’t going to cut it,” she said.
“A fair decision,” I agreed, to ease the tension as she wished. “Freya, I am sorry I ran away from the conversation. I have an answer for you now, if you would like to hear it.”
She did not say anything, because she was not sure that she wanted to hear it.
I had put myself back together by this point, but it still felt like there were deep cracks in my heart, and they burned as I spoke. “I will keep my word,” I said. “If you want me to leave you, I will go. But I will not incarnate. My answer to that is no.”
Her shoulders slumped, and I was not sure if it was relief or despair.
“May I explain why?”
She sat back down on the sofa and curled into the corner of it. Keeping her head low so that her hair would cover her face, she nodded.
I knelt in front of her, but again I did not try to touch her. “We are allowed to move on to our next life whenever we feel ready,” I told her, “but feeling ready and being ready are two different things. If I become a human too soon, or under duress, I begin the most dangerous journey of my existence without the right preparation. That puts me at risk of falling. And I will not put my soul at risk that way. Not even for you.”
I had expected to struggle to say those words—as if my love were not enough to risk everything for her. But as I spoke, my voice became steadier and stronger. It made it clear to me that true love is being the best I can be, being truthful to myself, so that I am free to care for and support her in the same way.
Freya did not say anything for a long time. Finally she lifted her head, and I saw that she was crying.
“I shouldn’t have asked,” she said. “Ace, I’m just so scared. I can’t lose you. Not now.”
“I know,” I said to her. “But there is another reason that I cannot do as you ask. When I do incarnate, I will forget this life. That means that even though you still exist somewhere, to me it will be as if you do not. And I am afraid of that, Freya. As frightened as you are that you might lose me, I am terrified of that day when I will lose you.”
Freya slid closer to me then, and I could see her heartbreak less as a barrier now and more as a doorway. “And as long as you’re afraid of it,” she whispered, “you’ll never be ready.”
I nodded.
She covered her face. Then she laughed softly. “Well, we knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but—fuck.”
Somehow the curse broke the heavy tension in the air, and I laughed, too, in the same soft, sad way. Finally I felt permitted to close my wings around her. “I know you just want to protect me,” I told her, “and I’m glad of it. I will promise you to be as careful as I can be. I will protect myself for your sake.”
She wiped her eyes and looked at me, and the heat of her aura began to rise again. “How about you just stay with me,” she asked, “and I can protect you myself?”
“Yes,” I said. “I like that better, too.”