Rathborne looked wretched in the flickering candlelight. He was thin as a spindle, and his pale skin had adopted a greyish hue. Shadows pooled beneath his eyes and the hair around his temples was fraying. It was obvious he wasn’t sleeping at night, and Wren knew from Celeste that he’d been anxious about something. Well, the only thing he should be nervous about was her. ‘Willem looks like a corpse,’ whispered Celeste. Wren hmm’d in agreement. After tonight, he’ll be one.
