Dark Moon Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 540. The Cure VII

Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 540. The Cure VII

Roric stared at the vial.

After years.

Years of headaches.

Years of forgetting.

Years of doubting his own thoughts.

All of that suffering had somehow become small enough to fit inside glass.

His fingers felt cold.

“Master Edwin confirmed the tonic was influencing your mind,” Angel continued. “This should neutralize the active residue.”

“Should?”

“It is not instant restoration.”

Roric looked at him.

Angel’s gaze remained steady. “Your memories may return unevenly. Emotional distortions may remain for a while. Some may hurt.”

Roric swallowed.

Jane stood beside him now.

He looked at her.

What memories would return?

The night he chased her carriage?

The day he drove her away?

Things he had done under influence?

Things he had done entirely as himself?

That possibility frightened him more.

Because blaming Seraphine for everything would be easy.

Finding out some cruelty had genuinely belonged to him would not.

Angel removed the vial and held it toward him. “Drink it.”

Roric stared at the silver liquid and reached out.

His fingers closed around the glass.

Cold.

He uncorked the vial.

The scent was strange.

Mint first.

Then something metallic.

He raised it.

Angel’s voice came low. “May this clean your mind.”

Roric drank.

The liquid touched his tongue.

Cold.

Then fire.

His eyes widened.

The vial slipped from his fingers.

Jane caught it before it hit the floor.

Roric staggered backward.

His hand flew to his head.

Pain exploded behind his eyes.

Not the familiar headache.

Something deeper.

Something tearing.

“Roric!”

Jane caught his arm.

He grunted, dropping to one knee.

Memories flashed.

Jane laughing.

Seraphine holding a cup.

Blood.

A battlefield.

Darius shouting.

Jane crying inside a carriage.

His own voice saying leave.

Another voice whispering kill her.

Then suddenly, beneath all of it, his own voice screaming louder.

Run, Jane.

Run before I hurt you.

Roric gasped.

Angel moved closer but did not touch him. “Let it happen.”

Roric’s fingers dug into the carpet.

The pain climbed.

Then broke.

Like glass inside his skull finally shattering.

He inhaled violently.

The room came back.

Candlelight.

Sugar.

Jane kneeling beside him.

Angel standing above them.

And silence.

Real silence inside his head.

No second voice.

Roric’s eyes slowly widened.

Jane whispered, “Brother?”

He looked at her.

Really looked.

Roric’s breathing remained uneven, his body still kneeling against the carpet as the antidote burned its way through whatever poison had nested inside his mind for years. Sweat dampened his hairline. His fingers trembled against his knee, but his eyes stayed on Jane as though looking away might make the clarity disappear.

“Jane…”

Her hand tightened around his arm.

Roric swallowed. “I remember.”

Jane went still.

Angel remained standing a few steps away, silent now. He did not interrupt. This was no longer about medicine, magic, or strategy. Whatever was breaking loose inside Roric belonged to the siblings first.

Roric pressed two fingers against his temple, searching through memories that no longer felt like shattered glass thrown into a box.

“She came to my room.”

Jane’s expression slowly changed.

Roric’s voice roughened. “Seraphine. It was after I returned from battle. The headaches had already started because of the head injury. I couldn’t sleep properly. Sometimes the room spun when I stood too quickly. Sometimes I forgot names for a few seconds.”

He laughed once, bitter and disgusted.

“Nothing extraordinary for someone who had taken a weapon to the skull.”

Then Seraphine had appeared carrying concern.

Roric could see the memory now. Seraphine entering his chamber with her sleeves rolled slightly higher than usual, deliberately making herself look less like a queen and more like someone coming to care for family. A steaming cup between her hands. Her expression warm. Almost maternal.

“She told me it was a family recipe,” Roric continued. “Something passed through her bloodline. She said it would lessen the trauma and calm the headaches.”

Jane’s lips parted. “And you drank it.”

Roric nodded slowly. “Why wouldn’t I?” His jaw tightened. “She was being nice.”

The words came out filthy.

As if kindness itself had become something obscene in his mouth.

“I thought she was trying to help.”

His gaze dropped.

“And after that, my condition started deteriorating.”

He tapped his temple.

“Not physically. My mind.”