Jem, having cleaned the blood from his hand with Will’s handkerchief, took the packet and stared down at the yin fen. “I have enough of this,” he said. “For at least another month.” He looked up then, a sudden flicker in his eyes. “Or did Tessa tell you—”
“Did she tell me what?”
“Nothing. I spilled some of the powder the other day. I managed to retrieve most of it.” Jem set the packet down on the table beside him. “This wasn’t necessary.”
Will sat down on the trunk at the foot of Jem’s bed. He hated sitting there—his legs were so long, he always felt like an adult trying to squeeze behind a schoolroom desk—but he wanted to bring his eyes level with Jem’s. “Mortmain’s minions have been buying up the yin fen supply in the East End,” he said. “I confirmed it. If you had run out and he was the only one with a supply . . .”
“We would have been put in his power,” said Jem. “Unless you were willing to let me die, of course, which would be the sensible course of action.”
“I would not be willing.” Will sounded sharp. “You’re my blood brother. I’ve sworn an oath not to let any harm come to you—”
“Leaving aside oaths,” said Jem, “and power plays, did any of this have to do with me?”
“I don’t know what you mean—”
“I had begun to wonder if you were capable of the desire to spare anyone suffering.”
Will rocked back slightly, as if Jem had pushed him. “I . . .” He swallowed, looking for the words. It had been so long since he had searched for words that would earn him forgiveness and not hatred, so long since he had sought to present himself in anything but the worst light, that he wondered for a panicked moment if it were even something he was still able to do. “I spoke to Tessa today,” he said finally, not noticing that Jem’s face paled even more markedly. “She made me understand—that what I did last night was unforgivable. Though,” he added hastily, “I do still hope that you will forgive me.” By the Angel, I’m bad at this.
Jem raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
“I went to that den because I could not stop thinking about my family, and I wanted—I needed—to stop thinking,” said Will. “It did not cross my mind that it would look to you as if I were making a mockery out of your sickness. I suppose I am asking your forgiveness for my lack of consideration.” His voice dropped. “Everyone makes mistakes, Jem.”
“Yes,” said Jem. “You just make more of them than most people.”
“I—”
“You hurt everyone,” said Jem. “Everyone whose life you touch.”
“Not you,” Will whispered. “I hurt everyone but you. I never meant to hurt you.”
Jem put his hands up, pressing his palms against his eyes. “Will—”
“You can’t never forgive me,” Will said, hearing the panic tinging his own voice. “I’d be—”
“Alone?” Jem lowered his hands, but he was smiling now, crookedly. “And whose fault is that?” He leaned back against the seat, his eyes half-lidded with tiredness. “I would always have forgiven you,” he said. “I would have forgiven you if you hadn’t apologized. In fact, I wasn’t expecting you would. Tessa’s influence, I can only guess.”
“I am not here at her request. James, you are all the family I have.” Will’s voice shook. “I would die for you. You know that. I would die without you. If it were not for you, I would be dead a hundred times over these past five years. I owe you everything, and if you cannot believe I have empathy, perhaps you might at least believe I know honor—honor, and debt—”
Jem looked actually alarmed now. “Will, your discomposure is greater than my anger warranted. My temper has cooled; you know I have never had much of one.”
His tone was soothing, but something in Will could not be soothed. “I went to get you that medicine because I cannot bear the thought of you dying or in pain, certainly not when I could have done something to prevent it. And I did it because I was afraid. If Mortmain came to us and said he was the only one who had the drug that would save your life, you must know I would give him whatever he wanted so that I could get it for you. I have failed my family before, James. I would not fail you—”
“Will.” Jem rose to his feet; he came across the room to Will and knelt down, looking up into his friend’s face. “You begin to concern me. Your regret does you admirable credit, but you must know . . .”
Will looked down at him. He remembered Jem as he had been when he had just come from Shanghai, and had seemed to be all great dark eyes in a pinched white face. It had not been easy to make him laugh then, but Will had set himself to trying. “Know what?”
“That I will die,” Jem said. His eyes were wide, and fever-bright; there was a trace of blood, still, at the corner of his mouth. The shadows under his eyes were nearly blue.
Will dug his fingers into Jem’s wrist, denting the material of his shirt. Jem did not wince.
“You swore to stay with me,” he said. “When we made our oath, as parabatai. Our souls are knit. We are one person, James.”
“We are two people,” said Jem. “Two people with a covenant between us.”
Will knew he sounded like a child, but he could not help it. “A covenant that says you must not go where I cannot come with you.”
“Until death,” Jem replied gently. “Those are the words of the oath. ‘Until aught but death part thee and me.’ Someday, Will, I will go where none can follow me, and I think it will be sooner rather than later. Have you ever asked yourself why I agreed to be your parabatai?”
“No better offers forthcoming?” Will tried for humor, but his voice cracked like glass.
“I thought you needed me,” Jem said. “There is a wall you have built about yourself, Will, and I have never asked you why. But no one should shoulder every burden alone. I thought you would let me inside if I became your parabatai, and then you would have at least someone to lean upon. I did wonder what my death would mean for you. I used to fear it, for your sake. I feared you would be left alone inside that wall. But now . . . something has changed. I do not know why. But I know that it is true.”
“That what is true?” Will’s fingers were still digging into Jem’s wrist.
“That the wall is coming down.”
Tessa could not get to sleep. She lay unmoving on her back, staring up at the ceiling. There was a crack across the plaster of it that looked sometimes like a cloud and sometimes like a razor, depending on the shift of the candlelight.
Dinner had been tense. Apparently Gabriel had told Charlotte that he refused to return and partake in the training anymore, so it was going to be only Gideon working with her and Sophie from now on. Gabriel had refused to say why, but it was clear Charlotte blamed Will; Tessa, seeing how exhausted Charlotte looked at the prospect of more conflict with Benedict, had felt heavy with guilt for having brought Will with her to the training, and for having laughed at Gabriel.
It did not help that Jem had not been at dinner. She had wanted so badly to speak to him today. After he had avoided her eyes at breakfast and then been “ill” at dinner, panic had twisted her stomach. Was he horrified by what had happened between them the night before—or worse, sickened? Maybe in his secret heart of hearts, he felt as Will did, that warlocks were beneath him. Or maybe it had nothing to do with what she was. Maybe he was simply repelled by her wantonness; she had welcomed his embraces, not pushed him away, and hadn’t Aunt Harriet always said that men were weak where desire was concerned, and that women were the ones who had to exercise restraint?