Xan studied Joon, taking in the familiar fond worry etched in the old beta servant’s eyes, and nodded. “I’d like to see him, please.” He’d make sure Ray was being cared for and then he’d see his pater, come hell or high water.
Following Joon through the marble-floored foyer and up the grand staircase, he noticed the sepulcher-like quiet of the mansion that was usually bustling with servants. “Where are the others?” he whispered.
Joon glanced back over his shoulder. “The ones not too sick to come in to work are needed at home caring for family members who’ve come down with this virulent, horrendous flu. There’s only me and the cook left well enough to care for the house and your family.”
“Aren’t you worried that you’ll get sick too?”
“I’ve never had the flu once in my life,” Joon said, as though the insinuation that he might take ill was an insult. “And Cook, it seems, is immune to it as well. He’s been helping feed all the sick families in the neighborhood, but he remains healthy as an ox.”
“It’s that bad here in the city then?”
“It’s a wave of death, Mr. Heelies.” Joon glanced at him curiously. “It hasn’t reached Virona?”
“Only just. Janus brought it with him. We’ve been advised to keep him isolated so it doesn’t spread to the town.”
“If they keep the trains running, it’s only a matter of time before Virona is down with it too. The doctors are run ragged here. They’ve brought some in from the countryside to help out, but this strain is too strong and moving too quickly for them to keep up.”
Xan thought of Urho in Virona, and he could clearly imagine the mixed feelings this knowledge would bring up for him. He’d want to be here helping, but he would also want to ensure Vale and the baby’s health first.
Once that was taken care of, though, there was no doubt in Xan’s mind that Urho would put aside his sworn promises to stay in Virona with him and Caleb. He’d want to leave for the city immediately to do his duty as a doctor. And he should. But Xan hated the idea of Urho walking into the heart of this contagion like an armorless warrior into a lion’s den.
But wasn’t that exactly what he’d done himself? He wondered if Urho was worried about him. The thought gave him a warm glow. How strange to think he might be cared for even in his absence, and how sweet to feel certain that he was.
“Your brother was brought here last week by his omega friend who had found him passed out on his apartment floor. He’d already tried the hospitals, but they were full, and no doctor could be reached.”
“What friend is this?”
“He didn’t leave his name, sir.” Joon cleared his throat awkwardly.
Xan suspected there was more to the story, but Joon put his finger to his lips as they passed the wing to his parents’ rooms. Xan held his breath until they were behind the door of the “nursery wing,” as they still called the hallway of rooms that had belonged to the Heelies children.
They stepped silently down the corridor past Xan’s old room, then his long dead brother Jordan’s still-intact room, and stopped in front of Ray’s room—usually only used during Autumn Nights feast weeks—at the end of the long length of blue carpet.
Joon nodded at the door. “He’ll likely be asleep, sir. I’ll leave you to it and don’t linger too long. I’d hate for your presence to upset Mr. Heelies. He’s already quite distraught over your pater and brother being so very sick.”
“Thank you for letting me in, Joon.”
The old man hugged Xan and patted his back, bringing a flood of fond memories of childhood. “You’re a good boy. I’m sorry for all of this…this….” He shrugged, obviously not sure how to encompass all that he was sorry for in the lives of the Heelies family. Then he hustled on down the hall and closed the doors to the wing behind him.
Coughing came from Ray’s bedroom, and Xan pushed the door open, stepping in carefully. It was gloomy and close inside, with the scent of sweat and sickness rising up all around him. It filled his nostrils and he gagged slightly, holding in the horror at finding his brother so very ill. He wondered when his sheets had last been changed, though he hated to doubt the dedication of Joon’s care.
He crossed to the windows and opened the curtains slightly, letting fresh, morning light into the room. Ray stirred in the bed, coughing and moaning softly.
“Ray?” Xan asked, crossing to him.
Beneath layers of sheets and blankets, Ray shivered violently. Xan gasped. Ray was sweaty and sickly, with dark circles like stains beneath his eyes. His nose was red and sore-looking, and his lips dry and crusty. “Wolf-god,” Xan swore under his breath.
Ray’s cheeks blazed with fever, and his eyes as he blinked them open were glassy. “Xan?” He sounded so uncertain that Xan wondered if he’d been having hallucinations from his fever.
“It’s me. I’m here. Let me help you drink some water.” He turned to the pitcher and glass beside the bed.
“You can’t—” Ray shook his head, coughing hard. “You can’t be here. You have to leave.”
“Father can’t keep me away from you and Pater. Not when you need my help.”
“Joon takes care of me,” Ray said. His voice was a rasping version of its former warm, thick tenor. “The heirs need to stay well. This isn’t a typical flu, Xan. People are dying.”
“But not you,” Xan said, touching his brother’s cheek and almost hissing at the heat. “You’re going to be just fine.”
