Page 67 of Henrikk’s Secret

There was no shift in the air, no distant rumbles from a faraway world, and no beastly screeching in his mind to signal that the dreadful dragon was dead.

And so, Henrikk had no way of knowing her fate, or that something significant had transpired at all.

But he suspected.

Ever since Asher and his copy had left, Dargotika had spoken to him often, her voice faint as it crossed some infinite distance between worlds to reach him. The dragon’s fixation with Barbara the witch had become incessant, and she’d become irritatingly chatty in her pursuit of the witch, alternating between sweet words and menacing threats to coerce him to find her.

And then suddenly, without warning, the dragon had ceased speaking in his mind.

It was quiet.

It had been weeks, and not a word from Dargotika. She generally liked to check in at least twice a day to inform him of her discontent.

But now…nothing. Not so much as a peep.

What did it mean?

The silence had been a welcome reprieve at first. Now, it was just awful.

Dread seeped into Henrikk, paralysing him to remain sitting long after the Throne Room had emptied.

Suddenly, the doors opened and Nathaniel entered, which was almost unexpected, except for the fact that Nathaniel often turned up when Henrikk least expected it.

To keep me on my toes, I suppose.

Nathaniel stopped before the throne and bowed respectfully. He was the picture of a dutiful son, his real feelings carefully concealed. He was only fourteen years old, and yet he’d already learnt to play the game of courtiers.

But not well enough. Nathaniel proceeded to ask him about Asher. Where was the disgraced general? Was he dead yet, or had His Majesty found another use for him?

Oh, Nathaniel phrased the questions convincingly, to be sure. But Henrikk saw through his mask of indifference. Nathaniel cared about Asher, that much he could clearly read. He hadn’t been a good father of late, but he knew his son well.

And Nathaniel (he was both proud and sad to say), was almost certainly plotting against him. At first, Henrikk had thought he was being paranoid.

Only the paranoid survive.

Henrikk tapped his nails on the arms of the throne, letting the silence drag out before answering his son. “Asher has been taken care of—permanently. You will not be seeing him again.”

Nathaniel was motionless, except for his eyes, which widened with shock. He would have to learn to master those tells if he hoped to adopt collusion as a hobby.

“Is he dead?” Nathaniel asked.

“What difference is it to you?” Henrikk countered.

A pause, his son clearly wrestling with his need for closure, and his desire to keep his motives hidden. Nathaniel had been close to Asher, who’d been something of an uncle or father figure to him. It was natural that Nathaniel missed him. After another moment, Nathaniel managed a shrug. “I merely wondered who would take his place—as your second in command.”

Henrikk’s lip curled. “Are you hoping for that honour?”

Nathaniel’s lips parted as if he was taken aback, and his next words struck Henrikk by surprise. “I hope to make you proud, father.”

He leant forward on his throne. Nathaniel had sounded so earnest, so vulnerable, that the simple words wheedled into his heart. And his eyes…they still had an innocence to them, and were the eyes of a boy who was still seeking validation from his father.

Love.

That’s what it was. And it was a bridge, an invitation to shed Dargotika’s influence off once and for all and return to the land of the living.

To be a good king. A good father. A good man.

Except that Asher was gone. Without him, he would never manage to find his way back to the light. Without Asher, he would never be able to face the things he’d done.