Two Weeks (COMPLETED)

Chapter 7

Virgil raised his hand to knock on the door to the throne room but then stopped, suddenly scared. Did he really want to do this? Yes, he did. But everything suddenly looked so imposing. He felt like a small child again, waiting for his new friend, who he had just found out was the princess, to ask her dads if he could stay in the castle. He felt like a little orphan boy again with no connections to his family apart from an irresponsible older brother and a timid little one. The door seemed to have grown, the light filtering through the corridor bounced off the cut-glass handles. The wood of it had darkened, as well. It wasn't brown now, it was black. Black like evil, black like dark magic, black like.... black like death. This didn't help Virgil's case, which was already on the edge of panic attack. Virgil took a breath and knocked on the door three times.

"Enter." A voice called and Virgil stumbled in, feeling as if he had been pushed. Quickly, he bowed to the two men standing near a window.

"Your Highnesses."

One of the men tried to smile but failed, a great emotional weight dulling the cheerful spark in his eyes. "Hello Virgil."

"The Princess said that my brother was ill. Is he going to be alright?"

"We aren't sure." The other man said, turning away from the window and facing Virgil. "The chances of his surviving are high but... getting lower by the day."

"Logan, there's no need to terrify Virgil." The other man muttered.

"We need to be straight with him, Patton. He needs to know that Issac may not survive." Logan said, dropping his voice to a whisper.

"Can I see him?" Virgil asked, pretending not to have heard what Logan had said. "Can I see my brother?"

Patton looked at Logan quickly before nodding. "We've insisted that he should stay in his bedroom."

Virgil nodded, bowing again before leaving the throne room and running up the servant's staircase. Patton bit his lip and turned back to Logan.

"And you're sure there's no chance?"

Logan shook his head gravely, looking to where Virgil had been standing. "In three days, the boy won't have any chance at all."

Virgil opened the door to his younger brother's room carefully, letting daylight filter into the almost pitch black room. The curtains were drawn along the East-facing windows and the only light came from a smoky, guttering candle by the bed. Issac was turned away from the door, the plain cotton bedsheets all the way at the bottom of the bed as if he had kicked them down there and his back was rounded as if he was trying to keep himself together. From what Virgil could see, the black hair on the back of his head and neck was shiny with sweat and as Virgil sat on the bed, taking Issac's hand in his, he saw his brother's face was screwed up in pain. His little brother opened his eyes slightly, the shine coming from them unnatural and unhealthy.

"Virgil?" He asked, his voice just above a croak. Virgil smiled weakly and ran his thumb over the back of his brother's hand.

"Hey Issac." He whispered. Issac tried to turn his head but closed his eyes suddenly as the sunlight fell near his head.

"Too bright." He whispered. Virgil got up and quickly closed the door.

"What happened?" Virgil asked, wanting to keep Issac conscious and talking, fearing that if Issac fell asleep, he might never wake up.

"I was playing with a girl from the village." Issac smiled slightly. "She was really pretty. One day she said that her little sister had died. The next day, she couldn't come out to play. Then I got sick."

Virgil carefully felt Issac's forehead. "Issac, you're burning up. How long have you had to stay in bed?"

Issac closed his partly-opened eyes, trying to remember. "I think maybe four days?"

"Has Remy not helped you at all?" Virgil asked, feeling anger boil inside him at the thought of his older brother not helping his sick brother.

"Remy had to go away." Issac said. "He said he had to go do something very important for the castle. He had to go a fight somewhere."

Virgil couldn't imagine Remy ever getting out of a fight alive and the anger in his stomach was drowned out with guilt and sadness. He sat down next to his little brother and took his hand again.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere until you're better?"

"What about Rosie?" Issac asked. Virgil smoothed his brother's hair, smiling slightly at the him.

"Rose can look after herself. She's a clever girl." Issac smiled and turned onto his side, closing his eyes and falling asleep.

Virgil felt tears prick the corners of his eyes but he shook his head, scrubbing at his eyes. Issac would be fine. Virgil had to be optimistic about this. Issac would be fine. He would get better. He would. These thoughts didn't stop the sinking feeling in Virgil's stomach or the pain in his heart at the thought that his brother, not just ten years old, might not live to see the end of the week.