Dark Moon Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 509. Patterns II
Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 509. Patterns II
Cley stood beside the desk, arms crossed but posture tense. Chancellor Allan had gone quiet too, his earlier shock replaced by the heavier silence of someone realizing the king had brought more than a foreign medical mystery into the study.
This was old magic.
Not simply poison.
Angel’s fingers rested calmly against the desk, but beneath his ribs the dark power stirred once, faintly, like something sleeping had heard its name whispered from another room.
He pushed it down.
Only Angel and Rose knew the truth of what sat inside him, what pulsed beneath his magic, what answered to songs that should have been dead for centuries.
So when Edwin said the tonic’s structure resembled his own dark power, Angel only gave the answer a king would give.
Coldly practical.
“Do what you can,” Angel said.
Edwin’s head lifted.
“And the sooner, the better,” Angel continued. “If you need me, send a magic messenger.”
The alchemist looked at him for a moment, then huffed under his breath. Not disrespectfully. More like an old scholar forced to accept that his king was about to do something exhausting and stupid again.
“I assume you are leaving again.”
Angel stood. “Correct.”
Cley immediately shut his eyes like he had been personally wounded by the confirmation.
“Of course,” Cley muttered. “Why would His Majesty act like a normal ruler?”
Angel ignored him with the practiced ease of someone who had survived years of assistant complaints.
Edwin began carefully sealing the sample into a reinforced glass container, his movements sharp and efficient. The residue reacted faintly when enclosed, dark veins crawling briefly across the inner surface before fading.
“I see,” Edwin said quietly.
Then he paused.
His fingers remained on the lid.
“Just a reminder, Your Majesty.”
Angel looked at him.
Edwin straightened slightly, old eyes serious now. “I don’t know how you acquired that dark power.”
The room tightened again.
Edwin continued carefully, choosing each word like he was stepping across thin ice. “Your bloodline is holy knight royal blood. Asterian royal blood. Your natural affinity should not move this way.”
Angel’s gaze stayed calm.
No denial.
No explanation.
Edwin understood enough not to ask. “But,” the alchemist said, voice lower now, “whatever the origin is, using that much power back and forth may form backlash.”
A faint wind pressed against the windowpanes. The study smelled of ink, old leather, and the sharp bitterness of alchemical reagents.
Edwin’s tone became firmer. “And if you experience that backlash in enemy territory, it will be a disaster.”
Angel’s eyes narrowed faintly.
Edwin did not retreat. “Not only for you,” he added. “For Euphorion.”
That landed more deeply than a warning about his own body would have.
Angel cared very little for warnings aimed only at him. Pain was simple. Exhaustion was manageable. Backlash was inconvenient.
But Euphorion?
That was different.
If he collapsed inside Pontus, Seraphine would move, Rose and Jane would be forced into danger, and the entire balance could crack before he had proof.
Angel understood the equation perfectly. He inclined his head. “I understand.”
Edwin’s expression softened slightly, but only slightly. “Then please act as if you do.”
Cley made a small sound that might have been a laugh trying very hard not to be one.
Angel glanced at him.
Cley immediately looked at the wall with suspicious innocence.
Angel returned his attention to Edwin. “Thank you for the reminder.”
Edwin bowed. “I will begin the analysis immediately. If the tonic contains active bloodline resonance, I will need time to separate the base compound from the magical imprint.”
“How long?”
“If I work alone? Two days.”
Angel’s gaze sharpened.
Edwin sighed. “If I wake the restricted herb unit and threaten three apprentices with dismissal? Half a day.”
“Do that.”
“Already assumed.”
Angel took one final look at the sealed sample.
Roric’s chance.
Jane’s future.
Pontus’ fracture point.
All of it sitting inside a tiny glass container in Edwin’s careful hands. “Send the messenger the moment you identify the cure path,” Angel said.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Angel stepped away from the desk.
The others bowed.
Edwin bent at the waist with the sample secured against his chest. Allan lowered his head deeply. Cley, despite his complaints, bowed too, though his jaw remained tight with worry.
Angel lifted one hand slightly.
Dark power stirred around him.
The temperature dropped.
The shadows beneath the shelves stretched unnaturally, crawling toward his boots. The candle flames bent inward, their light dimming beneath the pressure of magic that did not belong in any holy royal bloodline.