"Vardor!"
Vardor...
Her voice ripped me from my dreams. My favorite. The beginning of us.
You need to be ready.
It was hard to tell if I was awake or asleep. Darkness surrounded me, but that's when I realized I could open my eyes.
What did you do to me?
My mind cried, because my lips wouldn't comply.
Your just punishment for betraying me. Now be ready.
I should have been mad. Furious even. On some level, I was aware that she had made me sleep for thousands of years, but how could I be mad at my goddess? The one who had given me such pleasure, power, and so much more?
Vaelora wasn't a goddess of kindness or mercy. She was a goddess of balance, of what must be. She couldn't afford emotions. Which was why I had always known that her wrath would be boundless for what I had to do. But I didn't regret it. Never.
This time, though, when she woke me, it was different, and I hoped it meant she had finally forgiven me. Had I been able to, a smile would have tugged at the corners of my mouth. I loved her more than life itself. She was my core, the beat of my heart when it had still pounded inside my chest. Now there was nothing, a stillness that should have frightened me but didn't because I felt her with me.
"Who were you?"
This time her voice didn't just sound in my head, I could feel her presence. The sound of her voice was lighter than I remembered, with an accent I couldn't quite place, but it washer. There was no mistaking it.
I picked up a small sound, something I wouldn't have ever heard before, but it was there. The faint ping of a drop hitting the linen my body was wrapped in. The small drop saturated thematerial, and my dried-out skin underneath breathed the liquid in like life. Another drop. Elation rushed through me as I felt her presence flooding me.
The whisp of a hand brushed over me like a sigh. This time, I would not fail. I would prove to Vaelora that I was worthy of her love. Whatever she needed me to do, I was ready. As soon as my body was mine again, I would do her bidding, unquestioning, like I had always done.
My mind drifted back in time as I surrendered myself to memories of her. Memories that had sustained me for ten thousand years. Every day, every hour, every second of our time together was ingrained in my memory as I replayed them over and over.
My dress was a dream of cream and gold with a plunging neckline that exposed much of my swelling breasts. The delicate lacy border only emphasized the neckline instead of, as I had originally hoped, hiding some of it. The same lace had been added to the sleeves that reached the middle of my lower arms and tickled my skin.
The bodice was tightly fitted over the corset that had needed two maids to adjust, making me feel like I was suffocating. Cumbersome panniers made my hips appear flared, accentuating my now tiny-looking waist.
Every discomfort became insignificant the moment I looked into the mirror. I had never looked more beautiful. I even liked my hair, as one of the maids had curled it beautifully at my back and the sides of my face, holding most of it back with an intricate bun. The lace contrasted nicely with the black, a color I had always hated. Even now, when it looked the best it ever had, I eyed one of the maids’ blonde curls enviously.
What would the Earl say when he saw me?
I tried hard to look at myself objectively, but despite my expansive, indulgent wardrobe, this dress was beyond compare and all I could see. Cream and gold should have made my skin even paler, but it didn't. Instead, it gave it a slight pink hue that gleamed in the gaslight.
"What do you think?" I asked Maude and Sophie, the maids.
"Oh mistress, you look so beautiful," Sophie's fingers brushed over the muslin material of my skirt. "The Earl will surely swoon."
"You look like a queen, mistress," Maude added.
Both women were about the same age as me; to my twenty-two, Maude was three years older and Sophie one year younger. Both of them had served me since I was sixteen, and I knew they hoped I would keep them as my ladies' maids after my wedding. As much as I had grown fond of them, I strongly doubted that would be the case. I might still be learning the responsibilities of a countess, and my father might have handpicked these two, but they weren't prepared for this responsibility. I hadn't told them yet, though. I was still contemplating keeping them on despite how ill-fitted they would be, because I knew, no matter what, they would stay loyal tome. And that, I was sure, would be a valuable asset in my new position.
Oh, decisions, decisions, decisions—so many to be made. They were starting to give me a headache.
Absentmindedly, I twisted my new ring on my finger. The one I had accidentally taken from the sarcophagus a couple of nights ago. I hadn't meant to take it, but when I discovered it in my pocket the next day, I couldn't resist wearing it. It fit perfectly on my middle finger, and the strange black pearl emitted a soothing sensation.
I had studied it a little bit closer in the morning light and found that both the inside and the outside of the ring were engraved with symbols I wish I could decipher. Unfortunately, I never got another chance to go back since that first night, and movers came today and took the sarcophagus to Piccadilly where the Great Belzoni would do his magic. A show I was fully committed to attend, hoping I could talk my fiancée into taking me.
Fiancée. I mused. I hadn't even met him yet.
"Mistress, a carriage is pulling up," breathlessly called Peter, the stableboy whom I had shanghaied into holding watch, as he raced into the room.