Page 19 of Henrikk’s Secret

Dizzying questions swirled in Asher’s head, forgotten almost immediately. He could not seem to piece a sensible thought together.

A door creaked open. The new arrival clicked their tongue in disapproval, followed by an elderly man’s shrill voice. “I told you not to use that contraption.”

“This breathing apparatus is the only thing keeping General Asher alive,” Melody protested. “The other healer said—”

“That other ‘healer’, as you put it, is a mere apprentice,” the elderly man scoffed. “Besides, witches are illegal.”

“But their magic is not.” Melody’s haughty answer almost made Asher smile.

“I am the master healer. And I strongly advised against using that device. If King Henrikk sees we’re using magical artefacts—”

“I somehow don’t think he’ll mind,” was the curt response. She sounded hurt, but Asher couldn’t quite recall why that would be. “Besides, no one takes issue using the other artefacts—the horseless carriages, the magical chandeliers, the self-cleaning chamber pots. And your smoking pipe, I believe, Master Healer…It also uses magic, does it not?”

The healer gave an indignant snort, clearly not appreciating his smoking pipe being compared to a chamber pot.

A laugh began to build in Asher’s chest, but it was a horrible scrunched-up feeling that had no place to go as his rigid body kept it contained until it died.

Asher’s thoughts drifted in a daze, only barely able to follow the continued argument. The elderly healer insisted Melody allow him to remove the breathing apparatus. “It’s untested and archaic.”

A new voice, cold and level, spoke up. “I think it’s revolutionary.”

The atmosphere grew tense as the new arrival walked in.

“P-Prince Nathaniel,” stammered the healer, a swish of robes suggesting he’d swept into a low bow.

“Thank you, Master Healer. Your expertise has not gone unnoticed. However, I fear that Asher is not long for this world. Would you allow me a few minutes to say goodbye?”

“O-of course, Your Highness. I shall wait outside.”

Retreating footsteps sounded and then a door closed.

A tense silence fell, Asher’s ears straining for sound.

Melody spoke. “How was that?”

“A passable performance,” Nathaniel responded, his voice drifting closer. “No one will suspect a thing.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Are you?” Nathaniel retorted. “He’s your brother.”

“And Henrikk is your father.”

“He is no father of mine.”

Asher felt the sting of Nathaniel’s response on Henrikk’s behalf, though he could not blame the prince. He felt compelled to speak, to console Nathaniel and smooth the hard edge from his voice.

“Move,” Nathaniel instructed, and he heard Melody scurry away.

Only then did Asher question where he was. Lying down. A bed? No. Far too solid against his back.

A bench, maybe. Or a table.

“Can you hear me, Asher?” Nathaniel asked.

Asher dearly wished he could respond or give some sign that he had heard the prince.

A soft rustle of clothes as Nathaniel moved towards him. A shift in the air, as if he was reaching for him.