Author's Note: Yay for chapter three! I have to say I'm rather pleased with this installment - mostly for the fun banter between Will and Jessamine. I think theirs is definitely a love-hate relationship, and one that is vastly underrated. Anyway, I'm babbling. Please enjoy and let me know if there is anything at all I could be doing to make your reading experience more pleasurable : )

The spot across from Will was empty, as was the spot beside it. Charlotte coughed nervously from her place at the head of the supper table. "Sophie," she said, much more calmly than she felt, "Would you please go and fetch Master Jem and his guest? I am sure they have been catching up and simply lost track of the hour."

Will said, "How unimaginably rude."

At his elbow, Jessamine said, "Catching up? Is that what they call it in China?"

Charlotte frowned. "Enough, both of you."

But when she turned to converse with Henry about the likelihood of Nan enjoying English cooking, Jessamine leaned close to Will's ear.

"He was meant to be Jem's parabatai, you know, back in Shanghai."

Will raised an eyebrow, but tried to keep his voice steady as he said, "Jessamine, how could you possibly know that?"

Jessamine shrugged. "Jem told me. He said they were friends since childhood. They had already scheduled the ceremony and everything when Jem's parents were murdered and he was sent here. Their parting was quite heartbreaking, from what I hear…."

Will frowned and took a sip of water. But, "Don't talk about Jem's parents," was all he said.

"Aw," Jessamine cooed, a devilish smile on her face. "Poor Will. You're not jealous, are you?"

Will calmly set his glass back on the hardwood of the table. "Jealous?" he asked, attempting his best haughty indifference. "What – of Jem's childhood playmate? Hardly."

"Oh don't be like that," Jessamine purred. "Or rather, do. But wait until Jem gets here. We have a bet."

"Jem doesn't gamble."

"You're right; he doesn't. But he was uncharacteristically eager to defend your nobler virtues. He finally bet me a shilling that you wouldn't be absolutely green with envy."

"You bet against me," Will said, "How very predictable."

"You're awfully moody. You'll have to do better than that if you're going to fool Jem. Then again … maybe not. He doesn't seem to see much of anything with Nan around."

"I'm sorry, Jessamine, did I mistakenly give the impression that I was enjoying our conversation? Let me be blunt: silence would be highly preferable."

Jessamine huffed but occupied herself with her wine glass and soon lost all interest in taunting Will. This was fortuitous, as it gave Will more time to mope.

When finally Jem and Nan showed up to the dinner table, Jem was looking flushed and giddy. "My apologies, everyone. Nan was giving me news of old friends. I did not mean to make you wait for your supper; I'm sure you are all hungry." He gestured Nan to his place across from Will, then took for himself the place at Nan's right-hand side. "I know we are famished."

Will rolled his eyes, but he was almost certain Jem didn't see him.

They might not have come to supper at all, for all the attention they paid the rest of the table. They whispered back and forth constantly. Rapid-fire Mandarin, heads tilted in towards one another, whispering and giggling and sharing covert glances. If anyone were to address Jem, his head would jerk up and he would blink as if waking from a dream. "I'm sorry?" he would say, and then pointedly ask the speaker to repeat themselves.

He had eyes for no one but Nan, and Will could not help but marvel at how truly similar they were, now that they were seated beside one another. Will had always thought of Jem as an Englishman, whatever his mother's heritage had been. With the exception of his eyes, there was nothing left to single him out as exotic in any way; he had long since lost the dark pigment of his hair and eyes. But now, watching the two together, Jem and Nan, Will might have called them brothers.

Jem spoke a language Will could not understand – a language he had only ever used jokingly with Will. It transformed him somehow. He became more exotic, more ancient and spiritual. Gone was the stiff formality of the English gentleman; when Jem spoke in his mother's tongue he became another man altogether.

"Do you think Nan would like to see the city?" Jessamine asked suddenly, deceptively sweet.

Jem nodded, and forgot his manners as he said excitedly around a mouthful of food. "Oh, yes. Nan has always wanted to see London, ever since I came here with my father as a boy. We had planned an excursion for tomorrow."

"Lovely," Jessamine clapped her hands and added: "You ought to let Will tag along. He knows the city better than anyone."

Jem swallowed his food and looked at Will for the first time that evening. Will thought he saw the color rise in his parabatai's face, though he couldn't have been sure. "Yes," Jem agreed, suddenly sounding far less enthusiastic, "he certainly does."

Jessamine looked from Jem to Will. "Wonderful," she smiled, and Will could have killed her. "You boys will all have such fun."

So this was it, then. The game was on.

Will took Jessamine's wine from her hand and finished it off in one swallow. He looked across the table at Nan, knowing full well that the stranger could not understand his words. He smiled devilishly, leaned forward dangerously, and said: "I like fun," before excusing himself.

And one did not need to speak English to understand Will's meaning. Whatever his words might have been, the tone was crystal clear. It was a challenge.

Will hardly slept a wink that long night. He had gone to bed with every intention of pulling his hidden flask from between his mattresses and drinking himself into a dreamless coma. He heard Jem and Nan come up the stairs about a half an hour after he had left dinner, however, and became instantly more interested in their doings than in any previously-formed plan.

At the sound of their voices, Will set aside his drink and tiptoed over the hardwood to his bedroom door. Pressing his ear against the cool surface, Will could hear them laughing together. Jem's laugh – so familiar, so warm and genuine that it made Will's heart stutter. But then Nan made some remark and Will frowned at the sound of his voice over Jem's.

Will waited until he heard Jem's bedroom door shut. He then retrieved his flask and set up camp on the floor, leaning against the doorframe and listening in for any sound of movement.

For a while there was only conversation – quick voices back and forth, quiet laughter, companionable silences. Then Will heard the all too familiar sound of Jem's violin and his stomach contracted painfully.

The song Jem chose to perform was one Will had never heard, and he couldn't have said if this pleased him or further inflamed his anger. On the one hand, he didn't think he could have stood to heard Jem play one of the song he had so often played for Will … on the other hand, why were there songs Jem had never played for Will?

Will could picture them together – Jem standing tall and ethereal before the white-framed window of his room, moonlight casting shadows on his face, his shoulders, his fingers as they held his beloved instrument close as a lover. And Nan, sitting on Jem's bed with his absurd posture and his lovely skin, watching Will's parabatai with the same wonderment that Will felt whenever Jem played. He took another healthy swig from his flask.

The music went on for nearly an hour and Will soon tired of trying to decipher the meanings behind the songs Jem chose. After the performance came more talking – quieter now, with each participant speaking for longer and longer stretches. They didn't laugh as often, and Will was torn again, wondering if this were a good or a bad sign. At one point he thought he heard his name, but he couldn't have been sure.

It was well past midnight when Will finally drifted off, cheek smashed against the hard wood of the door. He never heard Nan leave Jem's room.