Maxen stands at the window, hands clasped behind his back. Warren can’t stop trembling. His teeth chatter and there’s a cold in his bones he can’t shake. The weather’s warming but the cellar of the Steward’s house is as cold as ever. He can’t remember the last time he woke without a deep ache in his muscles. Sometimes, just moving makes him yell with pain.
Today is no exception.
Maxen sighs and turns from the window. He pulls one of the curtains across then sits at the huge, wooden desk in the middle of the room. His face is set in a frown but there are dark craters around his eyes. His skin is sallow. He looks ill.
Warren watches warily. He’s only been in this room a few times, but every time before this, it hasn’t been Maxen sat at that desk, sorting through that precious paper. It’
