Page 48 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor's Destiny
Roweena was alive in a way Vaelora had never been.
And I did not know what to do with that.
She was not weak, no. Even in her fear, there was something defiant in her, something unyielding. But she wasalso something Vaelora had never been—vulnerable. And for the first time in my existence, I felt the weight of my duty differently.
I was not merely a warlord standing at the right hand of a goddess.
I was her shield. Her sword. Her keeper.
And yet, if I woke Vaelora, what would become of Roweena?
Would she be gone, erased as if she had never existed? Or would she become something else entirely—something I could no longer hold like this, no longer touch, no longer protect?
A flicker of movement pulled me from my thoughts.
Roweena stirred and her breath hitched as her lashes fluttered against her cheeks. Her brow pinched slightly, as if she were fighting the pull of sleep. Then, her gaze found mine.
For a heartbeat, she did not look at me as Roweena.
She looked at me as Vaelora.
Recognition flared in those blue-violet eyes, raw and aching, like a lost soul seeing home for the first time in centuries.
"Vardor," she breathed, her voice like a whispered prayer.
The sound of it nearly broke me.
I clenched my jaw, something sharp and foreign twisted inside me. This was what I had wanted. What I had waited for. For her to remember. For her to return to me.
And yet...
When she blinked again, the recognition faded. Confusion flickered in her expression as she looked around the cabin, her lashes heavy with exhaustion.
She exhaled a soft, broken sigh. "I'm so tired."
I swallowed and forced my voice to remain steady. "Rest, little one."
Her eyes blinked a few times before they drifted shut and her breath evened out once more. I sat there, clenching my fists, allowing a war to rage inside me louder than the storm had outside before. It was my duty to take her to the temple andawaken Vaelora. I needed to bring my goddess back. Yet, even as I remembered my duty, a whisper of doubt coiled in the darkest parts of my mind. Because for the first time, I was not entirely sure I wanted to let go of Roweena.
The moment my boots touched solid ground, the world tilted strangely beneath me. I had gotten used to the sway of the ship, and now that the ground beneath me was unmoving once again, my equilibrium was thrown off even more than it had been when I boarded the ship. The gentle, sometimes rocky sways' absence was unsettling in its stillness. It made my legs feel weak, like they had forgotten how to hold me upright.
I swallowed, trying to shake the sensation. The journey from England had been uneventful, save for that one horrible storm and for Vardor's constant presence—a silent, immovable force at my side. I grew used to it, used to him, in a way that I wasn't sure I liked. It reminded me too much of Thomas.
How I had once convinced myself I could grow fond of him, even when I knew what he planned for me. Was this the same? A slow, creeping acceptance of what I could not fight?
But no. This was different.
Thomas had worked in secret, plotted behind my back. Vardor didn't scheme. He made his intentions quite clear. He was powerful and undeniably dangerous, but honest in a way that made my stomach twist.And insane, I reminded myself. A fact that I seemed to forget all too easily. He was still convinced he was a god, no matter the fancy clothes he was wearing now. He was uncomfortable in them, that was easy to see. Heconstantly fidgeted with his cravat and his shirt or adjusted the legs of his trousers. In a way, it was endearing, and that was exactly where the danger lurked for me. I was seeing more of the man behind the massive body. A man who was trying to fit in and cared for me in ways I had never known before. He fussed over me, made sure I got enough to eat, and ordered baths, much to the captain's and crew's chagrin. We started playing games at night, sometimes cards, sometimes backgammon or chess, and soon, he mastered all of them. Especially chess. His pride in himself was boyish and over-jubilant and made me smile. He was becoming more and more my companion, not my captor, and that frightened me. I had yet to muster the courage to ask him what would happen once we reached Cairo. He believed he was a god and I a goddess. He was convinced my memories would miraculously return once I saw the desert. What would happen when he found out they didn’t? I pushed these thoughts from me as always when they arose, unwilling to face reality. Just like I had always done. Living with my father had taught me that. It was easier to live by hoping things would be different in the future than by facing the reality of the present. Those lessons had ill-prepared me for Thomas. And now I was making the same mistake with Vardor.
The bustling port of Gibraltar was before us, and its sights distracted me. The air was thick with salt and spice; the scent of the sea mingled with roasting meats and tangy citrus. Men shouted in Spanish and English, their voices rising over the creak of docked ships and the constant chatter of merchants bartering their wares.
A group of sailors came toward us, passing too close on the overcrowded dock, and one of them accidentally brushed against my arm as he stumbled past, laughing drunkenly.
Vardor moved with his usual unnatural speed. One large hand shot out and gripped the sailor by the front of his salt-stained tunic, yanking him back with effortless strength.
"Watch yourself," Vardor growled.
The sailor's eyes bulged, and his friends froze in mid-step as they took in the sheer size of the man holding their companion captive.
