The Beastkeeper's Redemption

Three

Three

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The Night Of Ravensfield Ball

The knife's edge flickered as it caught the light from the sconces interspersed around the elaborate study in Ravensfield House. The blade lay against the forest green fibres of the carpet covering the parquet flooring before the stately mahogany desk, before the very drinks service where Blayne Leowyn lay, his side weeping blood from a wound inflicted by that knife.

Against the dominant green of the rug were entwined webs of golden threads that formed a becoming pattern of vines and leaves, and against this lay darker spots that followed no uniformity but lay in haphazard disarray around the gilded weapon.

And on its curving tip leaked a droplet of blood with a languidness that belied the upheaval in the chamber.

Kaede C'lainn sat on that very same carpet, his knees drawn up, his head between his hands and his tail limply curling around him, as he stared transfixed at that knife, unable to tear his gaze away.

"It's not your fault," Caëlhon said, not for the first time, as he crouched beside him, a consoling hand on his shoulder. "Kaede, you did not know-"

His brother's words were lost in the tumultuous rush bludgeoning the realms of his mind, and Caëlhon may as well be a stranger talking to a wall rather than his anguished twin.

The remnants of the enchantment Kaede had unwittingly imbibed but moments before still trickled through his blood- he could feel it lingering, almost sparking his nerves into action, encroaching on the fringes of his autonomy that a weaker male wouldn't have been able to defend against.

Tonight, he knew, he had proven himself to be the hot-headed, impulsive younger Draëllian they all thought him to be. Shame welled up within him, constricting his chest. The horror that he had stabbed one of his closest friends, a male who had only recently found his heartmate, been chosen with sacred mark of one of his gods- and none was more deserving that Blayne Leowyn of the happiness that Lady Mildred Adams seemed to bestow him- a hot surge of bile scoured the back of his throat.

He should be apprehended for his part. The authorities should shackle him and throw him into the darkest pit this land could offer. Unwillingly, Kaede's eyes drifted to the side, finding his fallen brethren. A sight he had been trying to avoid. His wife and her sister knelt at his side, tending to the wound as best they could with a makeshift compress they frantically pressed to Blayne's ribs. They were speaking, the youngest- Millie- issuing orders to the occupants of the room with a tangible authority that the other males were quick to obey.

Rogane To'ran, one of the four beastkeepers present, had been quick to depart in search of a healer, and then Lillian Adams, Millie's eldest sister, soon took her leave with an errand.

Kaede, however, was ignored. Millie would not look at him while she addressed the others, or her husband, and he couldn't blame her.

She should exile him from the property, banish him to the farthest reach of the globe.

There was every possibility Blayne could die from the injury that Kaede had issued. The use of magical healers was severely restricted in this realm, the punishment for such an act so extreme that many healers had taken to hiding their abilities altogether. It was a rare occurrence to locate an individual who would be willing to take that risk.

The thought made him physically ill and he couldn't endure it a moment longer- not the anguish on Millie's face, or the light pallor of his friend's skin as small breaths struggled past his lips, not the pitying look in Caëlhon's shifting green eyes.