Page 39 of Henrikk’s Secret

“The dragon belongs to no one,” Henrikk said. “If anything, I belong to it.”

“Does it have a name?”

“Dargotika. But it didn’t have one until I named it.”

“And when was that, exactly?”

“Five years ago.”

Asher sighed again. “It’s like pulling teeth with you. Are you going to explain or not?”

“Are you going to listen?” Henrikk retorted, his caution vanishing.

Asher leant back, the open collar of his shirt revealing a generous V of his firelit chest. “I’m listening.”

“I’m sure you recall the festival our company of soldiers attended five years ago. We were given the night off to enjoy ourselves.”

“And enjoy it you did,” Asher mused. “Vivian, was it?”

Henrikk and Asher winced at the same time—Henrikk because he didn’t want to remember his fling with the vampiress, and Asher most likely because he’d shown his hand. He remembered how Henrikk had brought Vivian back to their tent, and it still hurt him.

“Not her,” Henrikk said quickly. “Earlier that night, I consulted a wizard to read my fortune. I harboured strong hopes that he would foretell extraordinary things in my future.” As he spoke, Henrikk traced the smooth edge of a stick of bamboo, fancying that he might try turning it into a flute or panpipe. “I was sure I was destined for greater things than the life of a conscripted soldier.”

“And were you destined for great things?”

Henrikk’s jaw clenched. “Yes. But not according to the wizard. So, I waited on the outskirts of the camp for him to take a break. I followed him to his caravan to convince him to reconsider his position on my future.”

Asher’s eyes widened. “Oh no. What did you do?”

Henrikk snorted bitterly at the stick of bamboo, which strained as he bent it into a curve. “I made it clear I would accept nothing less than a truly exceptional future. Wizards have a way of influencing the future outcomes of things, or so they like us to believe.”

“And the wizard helped you rise to power?”

Henrikk gave another bitter laugh, one that displayed his fangs. “No. He refused to help. So, I helped myself.”

He met Asher’s horrified eyes at the same time that the bamboo went—

SNAP.

Asher flinched.

Henrikk continued, speaking quickly, the same way one would try to swallow a foul-tasting medicine to get it over with. “I drank his blood. It did not make me magical, but it unlocked many secrets in his caravan. Hidden compartments full of treasures: a magical music box, a rather talkative teapot, and some interesting pieces of art. There was a portrait of a landscape that I nearly overlooked—a dirt path through a jungle of palm trees.”

“A portal?” Asher guessed.

“Correct. It led me here. And I had the great misfortune of happening upon the black dragon. She called to me, speaking in my mind and drawing me near.”

Asher nodded. “She speaks to me too.”

Henrikk startled at that. It hadn’t occurred to him that the dragon would communicate with Asher. It should have, but it hadn’t. He’d been too busy trying to block out its incessant hissing to consider that possibility. “What does she say?”

“She’s rather insistent that I meet her.”

“She never leaves the water. Only for rare exceptions—you do not want to be one of those.”

Asher looked towards the beach, as if expecting to see the monster emerge, its blackened scales gleaming and its eyes aglow with malice.

Dread coiled within Henrikk, and he wondered if the threat of the dragon worried Asher too. If it did, he hid it well.