CROWNS I: Of Desolate Hope | ✔

24. Draken's Last Chance

Draken lay facedown on the sand. It was getting in his nose and his eyes but he didn't particularly mind on this occasion . Theoras had told him that it was highly probable that he would secure the loan for his father and that was all he cared about. Although the beaches in Andris were picturesque and tranquil, there was no place he'd rather be than home. He wiggled his toes a little in a vain attempt to remove the sand from between them. Sand...I hate sand. As nice as it was with the sun blazing and the gentle breeze, Draken preferred the beaches in Anador even though he had only ever gone when his mother was alive. Instead of sand, they mostly consisted of pebbles. "It's a shingle beach," the Grand Sage had said when Draken asked why there was no sand. When I return, I'm definitely going to the beach. I wonder if Venaessa will come...

"You," said Theoras, whose voice sounded muffled. "It is probably better for you if you breathe."

Draken rolled over sluggishly and sighed in relief. "Yes, that is better," he said. 

"Who would have known?"

Draken turned to his friend and smiled. He liked how Theoras was often blunt and straight to the point. It sped up conversations unlike those with the King who would flatter him for what seemed to be hours until the real discussion began.

"It shouldn't be too long until you get your crown back," said Theoras, his gaze fixated on the horizon.

"Hopefully," replied Draken, cheerily, "but it's actually a coronet. Only my father wears a crown."

"I assume that it is going to be rather strange seeing the people who sent you away, again," said Theoras, visibly downcast.

The people who sent me away...Draken had never thought about it in such a way. When he had first left Anador he did wonder whether his father had only given him a task to be rid of him. His suspicion had quickly been dispelled after he met Anerion. Draken shaded his eyes and looked across the glistening sea. He could just about make out the shoreline of the other half of Andris through the distant grey clouds. It was rumoured to be one of the most beautiful places ever visited by man, or so he was told by Theoras who was now staring directly at the sun as if in a trance.

"Theoras, are you alright?" asked Draken, slightly concerned. "You ought to not do that. If the Grand Sage was here, you'd never hear the end of it."

"I'm fine," he replied, turning his attention elsewhere. "I was looking at that." He pointed at a streamlined, white figure soaring through the air.

"Anerion..." 

Theoras stood up and began to drift toward the sea. "Yes, that is its name."

"Her name, you mean," corrected Draken, watching his friend dip his toes in the clear water. "Are you sure you should be wearing that white robe thing in there?"

"I will be quite alright," he called back as he drifted along the beach.

Draken grabbed his brown doublet that rested by his side and put it on. Something sharp scratched his back. He wriggled around until he pulled it out. The whistle. The young Prince hadn't used the whistle once since the Grand Sage had given it to him all those months ago. Well, now seems as good a time as ever to try it. Draken shook the sand from it and put it to his lips. He blew with all his might into the smooth, wooden whistle. A quiet but high pitched sound was produced. That's never going to get her attention, he thought as he put the whistle down.

"What was that!" cried Theoras, from quite a distance away. His hands were cupped around his ears and Draken could just about see him wincing.

"You heard that?" exclaimed Draken, in shock.