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Hel slowly smirked. “It is you, you old bastard. You look good for your age. You could use a comb, however.”

Layala glanced back and forth between the two. “What am I missing?”

“This is Presco, your old right hand. You’re too-smart-for-his-own-good dragon scholar.” Hel crossed his arms. “Have you been here this entire time?”

He stood up, bringing the candle with him. “Off and on to attempt to keep this place from falling into ruin. Valeen always said she’d come back one day. Then a couple days ago the goddess of wisdom sent me a message to come and wait here. She didn’t say why but now I know.” He started for a room off the hall and waved for them to follow.

Soon Layala sat in a dusty blue armchair with her hands folded on her lap. Presco lit more candles on the fireplace mantel and on various side tables, and found a seat across from her. “Good gods, it’s been what, two thousand years and you both look exactly the same except you’re elven. If the council knew you were here…”

Hel plopped down in the seat beside Layala, letting loose a puff of dust. “They knew we were in Adalon and killed us two other times after our initial exile. Hence why we are here now. Valeen needs to… train. By the way, she prefers to be called Layala now.”

Presco stared at Layala for an uncomfortable amount of time. “I apologize for gawking; it is surreal seeing you again after such a long time.”

It suddenly hit Layala she’d seen him before in her dream. He was the one who’d told her that her lily mark was a mate bond. He looked older, more rugged with less boyish charm, but he still held onto youth even if he had a few lines around his eyes and forehead now.

“So Layala,” he said as if tasting each syllable. “You don’t remember me. You don’t remember who you are, do you?”

“Yet,” Hel said, crossing his ankle over the top of his thigh. “It’s complicated.”

“I remember some things,” Layala answered. “Not much, I’m afraid. But I’ve been informed of the major details like I’m supposedly a primordial goddess and he was once my husband.”

Presco pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “Supposedly?”

“Like I said, it’s complicated.” Hel tapped his fingertips together, watching Presco with a predatory cognizance. He didn’t trust him. Layala could see it. “Why aren’t you surprised to see us together? The last time we saw you, we were at war.”

Presco lifted a shoulder. “Well, Zaurahel it’s not surprising to me in the least that you two would end up together again given the nature of your relationship.”

“We’re not together,” both Layala and Hel said at once. Layala tucked her hair behind her ear and avoided looking over at Hel, though she felt the heat of his gaze on her.

The dragon scholar’s eyes flicked back and forth between them. “At least you’re not enemies anymore?”

“We’re—reluctant allies with a common enemy,” Hel offered.

Presco raised his eyebrows and slowly nodded. “Uh huh. Alright, well, where is War?”

“Thane is back in Adalon. We were going to get married until…” Layala trailed off and stood up. “I’m going to take a look around and see if anything jogs my memory. Is there a room I can stay in?”

Presco stood, holding his hand over his abdomen, a gesture of ceremony. “Certainly, Valeen, this was partly your house. Your room was upstairs, first door on the right. I brought fresh bedding for all the rooms.”

“Thank you.” She quickly left and found the stairs. They creaked as she headed up the spiral. She avoided touching the railing due to the cracking paint and dust.

“War is now Thane?” Presco questioned. “And a wedding?”

Hel’s voice followed her up the stairs. “How about I give a quick version of the last two thousand years.”

Layala came to the top of the stairs and paused before the first door on the right, left open a crack. The white paint peeled and chipped; the gold handle was round and partially rusted. She pushed it open, and a memory flashed.

“What is she doing here?”a familiar female voice hissed.

“She asked,” War replied. His voice was one she knew all too well.

“So, you are at her beck and call? She is your cousin’s wife! She’s his problem, not yours.”

She stood at the top of the stairs, listening to them argue with a single bag in hand.

“I know who she is,” War snapped.

“This will cause a war. And not just between the gods. You rule Ryvengaard. You’ll drag my father and the dragons into this. Take her back now.”