Power Hungry

Chapter Six

     Naya woke to a sense of panic. Her knife was gone.

     The first thing she noticed, laying sprawled on the dirty floor of the abandoned bakery, was the sense of unease. The familiar tingling feeling of her magical knife was gone for the first time since she'd received the gift, and it wasn't a welcome feeling. Naya craved, lived for, really, the feeling of the magic so close to her. She needed to have it, and it was gone.

     Naya's first thought was that she'd left it in the forest somehow, by accident. She recalled how it had slipped from it's sheath the day before, and wondered if it could have happened again while she ran to the bakery. But no, she thought. That wouldn't make sense. I would have noticed it's absence. 

     Naya's mind hurtled through conclusions before she could think any of them over. Perhaps the palace guard had taken it, a thief, it'd fallen out, she'd taken it out and didn't remember it.

     Nothing seemed very likely, but Naya had no clue what had happened to her knife. She only knew that it wasn't good.

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     Alan's view was obstructed. He couldn't see beyond the palace turrets, glowing spirals of yellow, green, and red topped with iridescent, glass domes. The sun was just rising, and it played in the glass, throwing fragments of light everywhere. Alan hoped he was hidden from the patrolling guard's view, but he couldn't be sure without peeking around the wall. It was a risk, but one he had no choice but to take. He'd taken much worse risks lately, anyways.

     With a quick glance around the colourful wall, Alan saw his chance. He sprinted across the courtyard, diving into a bush that skirted the garden on the other side. There he sat for a moment, chest heaving, Naya the only thing on his mind.

     He couldn't stop thinking about her: her face in the moonlight, tears streaking her mask. Tears he'd caused. He'd wanted to save her. He'd wanted to help. He thought he'd helped again the night past. Her dagger in his jacket was a firm reminder of how he'd betrayed her. He didn't expect that she could ever forgive him. If he was in her position, he wouldn't forgive him. But even though he knew it was futile, he couldn't help but hope. Hope for a future with the girl he loved, with the girl who hated him. She had every right to hate him, he knew that. But still. It was his hope that had kept him going all those months in the royal guard, and it was his hope that kept him going now, even after all he'd done to shatter her trust. 

     Gathering a deep breath and his focus, Alan scanned the area once again. He couldn't see anyone, and so he ran. 

     He ran through the palace gates, down the stone path, through the crossing of the Brick Road, down the service way, and Alan ran all the way to a bakery.

     In the sliver of shade outside of a stone building labeled Olde Bakery, Alan ripped off his palace mask for the last time, shoved it into his jacket pocket opposite Naya's dagger, and pushed the door open for a second time that night.

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     Naya froze when she heard the door squeak. She had her head buried in an old oven, fishing out the griddle at the back she had hoped could be a sufficient weapon, and she was certain she'd been caught.

     It wasn't illegal for her to be in the old bakery, but the guards would surely recognize her, Naya having cast her fancy mask aside for the dirty job.