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“Well, I can’t keep resisting it. Like you said, it puts me in danger.”

“When you do remember, you’re going to hate me more. Because old you despises me even more than new you.”

That wasn’t true. Remembering made her hate him less. It revealed a side of him she didn’t see now. A funner, relaxed version of Hel. Even if he wasn’t the same person anymore, there was a glimmer of hope for him.

Layala tore her gaze from his and looked toward the castle. From this side of the ravine, she couldn’t be sure if they had a new training exercise or what was going on, but the guards ran toward something. And she hadn’t noticed it before, but dark storm clouds had rolled in overhead, blocking out the sun. It must have come in fast. She had just marveled at Hel flying in the sunshine.

“Whatever this is.” He motioned back and forth between them. “This momentary comradery we have, it won’t last.”

“It could.”

“You won’t say that forever.”

“We could call a truce now and make it hold even later.”

“A truce,” he said flatly.

“Yes, a truce between you and me and Thane. That even when we remember we won’t fight each other.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing now? You’re the only one of the three of us that doesn’t remember who you are.”

“I mean not a temporary truce. One that lasts after you get whatever it is you want from me.” She sighed, annoyed that he still wouldn’t tell her what that was. “I’ve heard of the wars we caused. The fighting between realms when people chose sides. We could promise to never let that happen again.”

Layala held out her hand to shake on it, and he only stared at it. He wasn’t willing?

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“A promise not to go to war with each other when we no longer need each other.”

“You realize I still have an entire army of cursed elves. Aren’t you going to work that into the deal?”

“If we don’t fight then you have to release them from their curse, and that would mean now. It’s their nature to kill and infect mine and Thane’s people. Our people. They’re your people too.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Screaming pierced the air. Layala whipped around to face the castle grounds. This wasn’t a training exercise. The guards were actively fighting something.

Chapter28

THANE

Thane’s back began to ache after sitting at his desk for so long. The wooden chair was uncomfortable and his neck stiff from the hours leaning over the book he found in a hidden room behind his father’s bookshelf. There was hope that something in these handwritten accounts could trigger a memory but so far there was nothing but stories of appearances the gods made and lore he couldn’t decide if it was myth or real.

He had to figure out why Layala—Valeen left Hel in the first place. In his own memory before the council, he said he turned her against Hel, convinced her to go with him and leave Hel, but he wouldn’t do that, would he? She must have left him because she wanted to not because he tricked her.

Did he truly fall in love with his cousin’s wife and steal her from him? With all he knew about their friendship, he couldn’t imagine it. Hel was his brother, Valeen his friend. But how could he have turned her against him? What could he have said? It made him ill to think he’d betray them both like that. Poring over the pages for hours didn’t recall the memory of why Valeen left Hel, but it did bring back something else…

The Past

War walked the path through the front grounds of his manor in Ryvengaard. High walls surrounded the property, so high in fact one could see nothing but the tops of trees on the other side. But such was common in a place with shifters. Dragons could fly, yes, but shifters of all kinds called this realm home, along with beasts, and flora and fauna twice the size of any other realm. Even the beetles grew to reach his knees in height.

The king of the dragon shifters, Zeir, strode toward him with his advisor at his side. Both males were over seven feet tall and broad. Zeir wore a long blue tunic that reached mid-thigh, with the sigil of his house on the chest, a red dragon. War had never seen him without his royal robes, a white fur-lined velvet material that draped around his shoulders and to the back of his knees. “High praise, god of war,” the king said and dipped into a bow, as did his advisor. Zeir’s shoulder-length white-blond hair fell forward.

“King Zeir, what brings you here today? Your correspondence didn’t reveal a topic. Only that it was important.” He and the king had become friends over the last century, but the young king still regarded him in awe each time they met up.

“Can we walk and talk?”