Kestrel's POV
Mum helps me to the bathroom, her touch is gentle on my bruised and bleeding skin. The bathroom is all marble and gold with a sunken tub large enough for three people. My mother fills it with warm water and healing herbs, the steam rising with a soothing scent that does little to calm my racing heart.
"Let me see," she says, helping me out of my torn and bloodied clothes.
I wince as the fabric pulls away from the welts on my back, fresh blood seeping from the deeper cuts. My mother's face crumples at the sight, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
"He's getting worse," she whispers, more to herself than to me. "The rage... it's consuming him."
I step into the bath, the warm water stinging my wounds before the herbs begin to work their magic, numbing the pain. My mother
