The sword sang. A thin, high note. It cut the air. Then it hit bone.

Maren gasped. She pushed the blade away. Not hard. Just enough. The man fell. He scrambled back. His face was pale. White as chalk.

"Stay back," he whispered.

He was the King’s Guard. I knew that. He wore the blue cloak. The crest was a lion. The lion was gold. It was tarnished now.

Maren did not attack. She stood still. Her hands were steady. Her heart was not. It beat like a trapped bird. *Thump. Thump. Thump.*

"Who are you?" the Guard asked.

"I am no one," Maren said.

Her voice was low. It was rough. Like gravel underfoot.

The Guard looked at her. He looked at her hands. He saw the calluses. He saw the blood. Not hers. It was red. It was fresh.

"You killed him," the Guard said.

It was not a question.

Maren looked down. There was a body on the floor. It was a servant. A young boy. He was dead. His eyes were open. They stared at the ceiling. The ceiling was high. It was painted with stars. The stars were cold.

"No," Maren said.

The Guard raised his sword. Again. The metal glinted. It was bright. It was sharp.

"I did not kill him," Maren said.

"Why are you here?"

Maren looked at the door. The door was heavy. It was oak. It was locked.

"To find him," she said.

"Find who?"

"Thomas."

The Guard frowned. He did not know the name. Or he pretended not to.

"Thomas is dead," the Guard said.

Maren shook her head. Slowly.

"He is not dead," she said.

The Guard laughed. It was a short, dry sound. Like a twig snapping.

"Look," he said. He pointed his sword.

Maren looked. The body was small. It was curled up. It was Thomas.

No. It was not Thomas.

Maren’s heart stopped. For a second. Then it started again. Hard. Fast.

It was not Thomas.

She knew Thomas. She knew his face. She knew his smile. She knew his hands. He had big hands. They were gentle. They held her hair. They held her when she cried.

This body had small hands. They were dirty. They were thin.

"It is not him," Maren said.

The Guard stepped forward. His boots squeaked on the stone.

"It is a boy," he said. "It looks like him. That is all."

"Who is this?" Maren asked.

"I do not know," the Guard said.

"You know," Maren said.

She stepped closer. The Guard raised his sword. The tip was near her chest.

"Back," he hissed.

Maren did not move. She looked at him. She looked into his eyes. They were dark. They were wet.

"You are afraid," she said.

The Guard stiffened.

"I am not afraid," he said.

"Your hand is shaking."

The Guard looked down. His hand was shaking. Just a little. A tremor. Like a leaf in the wind.

He pulled his hand back. He hid it in his cloak.

"Go away," he said.

"I will not," Maren said.

"Why?"

"Because I love him."

The word hung in the air. *Love.* It was heavy. It was warm. It was dangerous.

The Guard lowered his sword. Just an inch.

"Love is not a shield," he said.

"No," Maren agreed.

"So you are a target."

"Yes."

The Guard looked at her. He looked at the body. He looked at the door.

"The King is coming," he said.

Maren closed her eyes. She breathed in. The air was stale. It smelled of iron. It smelled of sweat.

"Let him come," she said.

The Guard stared at her. He looked confused. He looked afraid.

"You will die," he said.

"Maybe," Maren said.

"Your brother is dead."

"No," Maren said. "He is not."

"Then why are you here?"

Maren opened her eyes. She looked at the Guard.

"To protect him," she said.

"From what?"

"From the truth."

The Guard lowered his sword completely. He rested it on the ground.

"What truth?" he asked.

Maren did not answer. She looked at the door.

Footsteps.

They were heavy. They were slow. They came from the hallway.

The King was coming.

The Guard picked up his sword. He stood tall. He straightened his cloak.

"Stay here," he ordered.

Maren smiled. It was a small smile. It did not reach her eyes.

"Stay here," he said again. His voice was softer now.

Maren looked at him. She saw something in his face. It was not fear. It was pity.

She knew then.

The Guard knew. He knew who the body was. He knew who Thomas was. He knew what had happened.

And he knew what the King would do.

The door opened.

The light spilled in. It was bright. It was blinding.

The King stood in the doorway. He was tall. He was old. He wore a crown of gold. The gold was dull. It was dark.

He looked at the body. He looked at the Guard. He looked at Maren.

His eyes were cold. They were like ice.

"Who is this?" he asked.

The Guard stepped forward. He bowed.

"A trespasser, Your Majesty," he said.

The King looked at Maren.

"She killed a servant," the Guard said.

Maren looked at the Guard. She did not say anything. She did not defend herself.

The King nodded. He looked satisfied.

"Take her away," he said.

The Guard looked at Maren. His face was blank.

"Come," he said.

Maren looked at the body. She looked at the small hands. She looked at the face.

It was not Thomas.

But it looked like Thomas.

The King looked at her again.

"Where is my son?" he asked.

The Guard looked down.

"I do not know, Your Majesty."

The King’s face changed. It twisted. It became a mask of rage.

"Find him," he said.

The Guard bowed again.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The King walked past Maren. He smelled of perfume. It was sweet. It was cloying.

He looked at the body. He looked at Maren.

"He is a traitor," the King said.

The Guard did not look at Maren. He looked at the floor.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the Guard said.

The King walked out. The door closed.

The room was quiet.

Maren looked at the Guard.

"He is a traitor," she said.

The Guard did not answer.

"You know he is not," she said.

The Guard looked at her. His eyes were red.

"I know what I must say," he said.

"Why?"

"Because it is the law."

Maren laughed. It was a sad laugh.

"The law," she said.

The Guard raised his sword.

"I am sorry," he said.

His voice was quiet. It was rough.

Maren looked at him. She saw the tears in his eyes.

She did not raise her weapon.

She did not run.

She stood still.

She looked at him. She looked at the sword.

She thought of Thomas. She thought of his hands. She thought of his smile.

She thought of the night they had walked by the river. The water was dark. The moon was bright.

He had held her hand.

*I will always come back,* he had said.

*I will always come back.*

The Guard raised the sword.

Maren closed her eyes.

She did not pray.

She did not beg.

She just breathed.

*Thump. Thump. Thump.*

The sword fell.

It was fast.

It was cold.

The world went dark.

***

The trial was short.

It was in the courtyard. The stones were wet. It had rained. The sky was grey.

Maren stood in the center. Her hands were bound. The ropes were tight. They cut into her wrists.

The King sat on the throne. He was far away. He was high up.

The Guard stood beside him. He held his sword. He did not look at Maren.

The judge spoke. His voice was loud. It echoed off the walls.

"Maren Holloway," he said.

Maren looked up.

"You are accused of murder," the judge said.

Maren did not answer.

"You are accused of treason," the judge said.

Maren did not answer.

"You are guilty," the judge said.

Maren looked at the Guard.

He looked away.

The crowd was silent. They were many. They were faceless.

The King raised his hand.

The crowd gasped.

The King spoke.

"Let it be done," he said.

Maren looked at the sky.

It was getting dark.

The stars were coming out.

She thought of Thomas.

She thought of his hands.

She thought of the river.

She thought of the moon.

*I will always come back.*

Maren smiled.

It was a small smile.

It was real.

The guards stepped forward.

They pushed her.

She fell to her knees.

The stones were hard.

The stones were cold.

Maren looked up.

She saw the stars.

They were bright.

They were far.

They were waiting.

Maren closed her eyes.

She did not see the sword.

She did not feel the pain.

She only felt the light.

It was warm.

It was soft.

It was home.

The sword fell.

The world went dark.

But it did not end.

It only changed.

Maren was gone.

But she was not dead.

She was free.

The Guard watched.

He watched the body.

He watched the blood.

He watched the stars.

He lowered his sword.

He looked at the King.

The King was angry.

The King was afraid.

The Guard bowed.

He left the courtyard.

He walked to the stables.

He took a horse.

He rode into the night.

He did not stop.

He did not look back.

He rode to the river.

He found the body.

It was small.

It was Thomas.

The Guard knelt down.

He touched the face.

He wept.

"I am sorry," he said.

"I am sorry."

The wind blew.

The water moved.

The stars shone.

The Guard stood up.

He looked at the sky.

He looked at the moon.

He knew the truth.

The truth was heavy.

The truth was cold.

But it was there.

He took the body.

He wrapped it in his cloak.

He put it in the saddlebag.

He rode back to the castle.

He did not go to the King.

He went to the gate.

He opened the gate.

He let the body out.

He let the truth out.

He closed the gate.

He walked away.

He disappeared into the night.

The castle stood alone.

The King sat alone.

The stars shone alone.

The story was over.

But the memory remained.

It was in the stone.

It was in the wind.

It was in the silence.

It was in the heart.

Maren was gone.

But she was not forgotten.

Her name was spoken.

Her face was remembered.

Her love was felt.

It was a small love.

It was a quiet love.

But it was true.

And true things do not die.

They only wait.

They wait in the dark.

They wait in the light.

They wait for the next dawn.

The dawn came.

The sun rose.

The birds sang.

The world turned.

And Maren was free.

She was in the wind.

She was in the water.

She was in the stars.

She was everywhere.

She was nowhere.

She was home.

The end.