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Her memory was slow to return, more often when Presco and Hel spoke about the past. Flashes of things came here and there on her own or at times in her dreams. Simple things like riding her chariot through the night sky. The pretty colorful lights over her territory, and how she controlled whether or not to let the sun in or keep the skies dark. It was strange and yet normal to think she had control and power over an entire realm. She even remembered flashes of a beautiful blonde goddess, with a laugh that was infectious, and a smile that lit up the sky. Katana, she thought her name was. She loved her like she loved Aunt Evalyn. Was this her sister?

Some nights Hel left. He never said anything to her; she’d only hear the front door open and close. Where he went, she didn’t ask. With the sounds of beasts growling and throaty calls echoing in the dark, and terrifying screams, she worried he wouldn’t come back.

With her hair combed and tied back in a braid, Layala came down the stairs with a bundle of dirty clothes. It was wash day again. She only had four sets and according to Presco the nearest large town was two days away, as the dragon flies, and she hadn’t made it there yet. Maybe soon but she needed to start cleaning up the yard. The weeds and foliage were overgrown everywhere and took over the outside of the manor, even climbing up to the roof.

She stopped by the library where Presco usually was in the mornings. The shelves were free of dust, the lamps and vases shined with new life. He sat at the desk with a small open book in front of him. His quill scratched over the parchment inside it.

“Good morning,” Layala said.

His head lifted with a grin, and he pushed his glasses up. “Morning, Valeen.”

“Any plans today?”

“Nothing too important. Would you be interested in going to the city in the next couple of days? I told my wife I’d be here for a few weeks at least but I want to give her an update.” He set the quill down.

“That would be great. I need more clothes too,” she raised the pile in her hands marginally higher, “and I want to meet her, and your children.” She didn’t remember Presco well but enough that she cared for him now. Even if they didn’t have a past, she would like him. He was kind and good company over the last several weeks, and she got the feeling that he would die for her if he must. That was how much he cared.

“Excellent.” He smiled again. “It’s funny seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Doing laundry, cleaning floors. Not that you ever shied away from work but you’re a queen and a primordial goddess.”

“Oh,” she said and shrugged. “But I’m also an elf raised by a human as well. What are you working on?”

“It’s my journal. I’ve documented many of my days for most of my life.”

“Am I in some of them?”

His brows raised and he scratched his head. “Certainly. However, most of them from that time were destroyed after your… banishment. Nearly everything in this manor was confiscated. Most of what is here now I brought over the years. I managed to save a few items before they came, but not much.”

Her shoulders sagged. It would have been nice to read about her life.

“We may not have my journals from then, but your journals are in perfect condition.”

She perked up. “Mine? Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“Well, it didn’t occur to me, and they were confiscated rather than destroyed, but they currently reside at the Drakonan Treasury. One of the most secure places in all the realms. Even many of the gods store items there. At least, they did.”

“Drakonan?” she repeated. That was Prince Ronan’s last name. “That is the name of the royal dragons in Adalon.”

“They are one of the most powerful families here. Although not royalty, I’d say they are just as powerful as the king and clan leaders if not more. They have more treasure and hold everyone else’s.”

“So, if I tell them who I am, will they let us inside?”

He laughed. “Oh no. Unfortunately, they are bought and paid for by the council, and came to an agreement after your apprehension all those years ago. You’re an enemy even if they once worshiped you and War.”

“Then my journals may as well not even exist.” She let out a heavy sigh.

“Not necessarily. They are in a secure vault along with the rest of your belongings. With yours and Hel’s magic, we might be able to get in.” He leaned back in the wooden chair, and it creaked under his weight. With his hands folded on his abdomen, he said, “But if we manage to get them without being arrested or killed, they are written in the primordial language. It’s not the tongue we speak now.”

“My original language?”

“Yes. It is what the gods speak. It has only changed marginally over time, unlike many languages that vary and reconstruct on the whim of the next generation. That’s why I prefer it.”

“How many languages do you speak?”

He cleared his throat and she thought he might be blushing. “One hundred and thirty-two. With all the realms and different species and dialects, I only know maybe even a quarter of those in existence.”