Page 36 of Henrikk’s Secret

Asher wanted none of it, opting to ignore him rather than tolerate listening to his reasoning.

Which was deflating because holding the answers Asher would have dearly liked to know was the only currency he had to trade. And it would have been the first step to making reparations.

Asher denied him that chance, refusing to move his chess pieces.

Being ignored was a new experience for Henrikk, and he was quite at a loss as to how to behave. ‘No more games’, Asher had said, except this felt like another game, one that Henrikk didn’t know the rules to.

Knowing Asher was angry with him bothered him greatly, in a way that it never had in the past.

At first, Asher alternated between moods. He was unimpressed by the hut Henrikk had built, and the various supplies he’d brought from the castle. He would refuse to speak to Henrikk unless absolutely necessary, like on the second day of their stay when Henrikk had shown him where to refill his water flask in the freshwater trickling stream. He simply grunted in acknowledgement when Henrikk offered him fresh clothes (only a little musty from being stored in a crate) and military boots (their feet were the same size, as were other things). Sometimes, Asher would grow optimistic and go exploring the island, as if determined to uncover Henrikk’s supposed secrets. Except that there was no way off the island—Henrikk had tried to tell him this, but it only seemed to make the general more determined.

More often than not, Asher was angry; a quiet, hot rage that was quick to boil. Henrikk had learnt to stay away when he was like that, for fear of being scalded.

In the past, Asher had never yelled at him. Not that he could recall, anyway. Certainly nothing notable.

But now?

It was wiser not to speak.

Asher did not believe him about the white dragons.

Henrikk thought he spotted one once, and eagerly dragged Asher to a grassy outcrop to see.

“I don’t see anything,” Asher said, staring vaguely at the horizon where Henrikk was pointing.

“Just wait. It was there a minute ago. It was white, and soaring majestically amongst those clouds. A divine creature, pure and full of magic…”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just a bird?”

Henrikk wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Asher. Instead, he gave up a piece of information, one that he wasn’t sure he had permission to share. “Once, a long time ago, the skies in this world were filled with flying demonic creatures that terrorised the white dragons. These dark creatures were small but vicious, and would feed on the dragons’ young, snatching them from the sky and devouring the eggs. Dargotika took it upon herself to rid their race of these demons, and so she hunted them, swallowing them all, along with their magic. She should have been hailed a hero amongst her kind, but consuming that evil magic…it changed her. She became like those demons, and the white dragons, rather than help her, broke her wings and forced her to flee beneath the ocean. But those white dragons are good, Asher. I’ve seen them in her dreams. Dargotika says—”

“Dargotika lied,” Asher interrupted. “She lied to you, Henrikk, to make you believe that she is good. That she can be saved. So that you would make the deal and take on her magic in the first place.” Asher gave him a pitying look. “She took advantage of your greed. Tempted your ambition for power. And she saw the goodness in you—no, you were never virtuous, but you were decent. You wanted to help her, and she took advantage of that. Meanwhile, you thought you could use her power to become a great leader…” He trailed off, stopping short of pointing out the kind of leader that Henrikk had actually become.

Asher gave him another pitying look and left.

Henrikk stood on the grassy outcrop, speechless. He stared at the clouds, but he saw neither dragons or seagulls, only thin air.

The days passed. Asher avoided him.

Henrikk didn’t know what to do with himself.

He visited Dargotika, and sustained new scratches on his arms. The coral was laced with bacteria, and his wounds were slow to heal, stinging where the skin stretched and becoming infuriatingly itchy.

Asher appeared one morning and placed a lime onto the tree stump beside Henrikk. “You should treat those scratches with this.”

Henrikk had stared at the fruit. A gift from Asher?

He hid his gratitude by raising a sceptical brow. “Lime juice? Will that work?”

But Asher had walked away.

The lime juice hurt like an absolute bitch, from which he decided that it did work as a disinfectant, though the logic of that conclusion was somewhat flawed.

Asher still hadn’t met Dargotika and made it quite clear that he had no intention of doing so.

Which complicated matters somewhat.

When Henrikk continued to show up in the underwater cavern without Asher in tow, the dragon had made its displeasure known in the form of a heavy swipe of its taloned foot. Henrikk had been crushed against the wall, bruising several ribs in the process.