Page 37 of Henrikk’s Secret

He’d barely managed to bear the pain long enough to swim back to shore. Within the next few hours, however, it had descended upon him as his shock wore off. It hurt to move, to sit, and to lie down. Rolling over was hellishly painful, and Henrikk gritted a rag to muffle his groans whenever he did so.

Not that Asher slept anywhere near him.

Henrikk’s hut was nestled amongst the palm trees, at the base of the hilly forest and just out of sight of the beach.

Meanwhile, Asher had built himself a simple shelter close to the shoreline. When he wasn’t taking his anger out on chopping down innocent trees or trekking about the island, he sat on the wooden bench he’d made that he called a bed and stared out at the horizon.

Asher never said so, but Henrikk knew he was looking for ships.

There would be no ships. There were no humans in this world—a good thing, according to the black dragon.

Henrikk’s ribs healed enough that he could go spearfishing. He did not go to his usual spot near the reefs. Instead, he was careful to dive where Asher might see him, without being too obvious about it.

He hadn’t had much practice at it, but he was immensely pleased when he hid himself above a coral ledge and surprised an unsuspecting kingfish on the other side.

He was even more pleased that Asher was still sitting on his bench when he returned to shore.

“Caught something?” Asher asked, stating the obvious.

“Kingfish.” Henrikk smiled, lifting the silvery fish by the gills.

“Trevally,” Asher corrected.

Henrikk stopped in his tracks. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m positive. Smaller. Different flavour. Kingfish look…vastly different.”

“It’s silver and has a yellow tail,” Henrikk insisted.

“As do trevallies.”

“Ah. Well…” He hoisted the fish a little higher, staring at its lifeless eyes, willing it to be bigger, for the tail to be yellower, for Asher to be impressed.

“It will do,” Asher said. “Dinner?”

There was no smile, but no anger either.

Just a slow return of Asher’s generosity of spirit.

Henrikk nodded. “I’ll get this started.”

Asher stayed to watch him descale it, which gave him a thrill despite his nerves having the general observe him silently. Henrikk had a terrible time trying to debone the fish, the fragile bones splaying out everywhere amidst the flesh.

Asher watched over his shoulder. “Not a trevally,” he concluded as Henrikk failed to slice a fillet, “but something a lot like it. A reef fish.”

Henrikk’s mood soured further.

“I’m sure it will make for good eating,” Asher said kindly, and at his suggestion, Henrikk tossed it onto the fire to cook.

Later, they ate every last scrap and were able to pluck the tender meat directly from the bones with ease. Perhaps it was their meagre diet of coconuts and salted pork Henrikk had stored, but Asher gave a happy sigh and concluded that it tasted as fine a dish as any served at the castle.

The shared meal was a moment to be cherished, but at the mention of Wintermaw Keep, the atmosphere grew tense, and Asher muttered a ‘goodnight’ and left moments after.

Henrikk concentrated his efforts on spearfishing, and though he did well, he failed to produce anything other than the silvery trevally-like fish—which Asher had generously begun referring to as ‘kingfish’.

Fish, fish, fish.

Henrikk soon grew tired of it and began eyeing other options longingly.