The Golden Crossing
The sword broke against the stone. It did not shatter. It snapped. A clean, dry sound. Like a bone giving way. Maren stood in the courtyard. The mud was deep. It sucked at her boots. Around her, the King’s men held their halberds. They did not move. They watched. The rain fell in thin, cold sheets. It mixed with the blood on her hands. She looked at the broken hilt. The gold leaf was peeling...
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