Will twirled the stele between his fingers with far less finesse than Jem had, his hands strong and capable but never quite as graceful as Jem's. He could feel the weight of his parabatai against his shoulder, heavier than he would have expected from his thin frame had he not guessed that his marks for strength were starting to fade. Without a word he turned their hands over and pulled Jem's arm into his lap, unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt and folding it back to reveal a patch of unmarked skin.

Not glancing up at Jem as he lied—it was obvious, at least to Wil, after so many years—he focused his attention on marking the pale skin beneath the tip of Jem's stele. "Sounds like I'll be traveling to your motherland, then," he lied right back, "I'm sure ancient relics are a dime a dozen there." Lifting his gaze, he caught the exact moment when a smile dawned on Jem's face and lit it with more of the silver light that seemed to constitute every part of his being. How could he be angry with Jem for laughing when he had so many more reason not to?

Scoffing, he finished the rune and slipped Jem's stele into his pant pocket. "Sophie is always cross with me. I think it would sour her mood more if I returned without a new reason for her to carry on hating me." Which, of course, was the way it needed to be as much as Will hated to treat any of their servants with pompous superiority. "Besides, I'm comfortable here. The view is lovely, and the company isn't half bad, either," he said as he looked over at Jem with a smile.