Page 61 of Henrikk’s Secret

They followed the young Asher across the base to a far corner where the tents were deep in shadows. Henrikk couldn’t help but notice that his posture had lost some of its pep, and he gave a sad sigh when he reached his tent.

“You look a bit mopey,” Henrikk commented.

“I wonder why,” Asher said dryly. “You’d asked me to the festival, heavily implying that it was a date, and then you disappeared.”

Henrikk felt a twinge of guilt. Yes, that night was supposed to be their first date. He’d finally gotten the courage to ask Asher, and he’d been quite looking forward to it. “Yes, well…I had a fortune teller to kill.”

“You said that was an accident.”

“It was. But it's much of a muchness for the wizard.”

The sound of clothing rustling came from within the tent, followed by a camping stretcher creaking.

“Poor Asher, gone to bed alone.”

“I was fine,” Asher grunted.

“No, your feelings were hurt. And rightly so.”

Behind them was the shuffle of approaching footsteps.

They turned in time to see a younger Henrikk arrive. He looked haggard in appearance, with weary eyes, wet hair, and drenched clothes that dripped water in his wake. His cheeks bore the telltale marks of coral—nasty grazes that would sting for days to come.

Asher frowned. “This is not how I remember it. You didn’t arrive back until much later—”

“Shh, just wait,” Henrikk said.

The younger Henrikk strode towards the tent with purposeful steps. He stooped and was just about to sweep the tent flaps aside when a lantern flickered on. Asher’s silhouette appeared magnified on the canvas walls.

The young Henrikk froze, clearly debating whether to go in.

“I’d just been through the portrait portal in the wizard’s caravan,” Henrikk explained. “I had no idea how I would explain my appearance to you. I wasn’t sure if you’d believe me if I started telling you tales of magical realms with tropical islands and bargains with evil dragons.”

“All in a day’s work for you, huh?”

“Something like that.”

The young Henrikk made up his mind. Straightening, he backed away, slipping into a nearby tent quietly. A minute later, he emerged, wearing a fresh uniform, and his tousled hair orderly again. Poor Thomas Milkins had received five lashings for reporting tardy the next day with a damp, wrinkled uniform.

“Ahh, I see,” Asher said.

Young Henrikk moved towards their tent again, lingering outside. His expression was etched with longing, the sight of which unsettled Henrikk as much as it seemed to surprise Asher.

“I stood there like a schmuck for a long time,” Henrikk said, looking away uncomfortably as Asher moved closer to stare at his younger self.

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just go in?”

“The dragon,” Henrikk said simply. “I wanted to enter, but it compelled me to toy with you.”

The dragon had won that mental battle, a fierce tug of war that had made Henrikk’s head hurt. It was the first of many battles, but it had been the most important one. The loss had made his head feel like mush, and he’d never quite been able to shut the dragon out after that.

Asher gaped as the young Henrikk strode away, disappearing into the night.

“Do you remember what happens approximately two hours from now?” Henrikk asked.

Asher nodded. “You brought Vivian home.”

Henrikk paused, mulling over that word. ‘Home’. It had never mattered to Asher if it was an inn or a palace, field or stable, half-asleep on horseback or using a rolled-up jacket as a pillow beneath the stars. He’d always referred to any space they shared together as ‘home’. Just the two of them.