Unspoken

UNSPOKEN

Also by Sarah Rees Brennan

THE DEMON’S LEXICON

THE DEMON’S COVENANT

THE DEMON’S SURRENDER

By Sarah Rees Brennan and Justine Larbalestier

TEAM HUMAN

Sarah Rees Brennan’s short stories included in:

ENTHRALLED: PARANORMAL DIVERSIONS

THE GIRL WHO WAS ON FIRE

First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Simon and Schuster UK Ltd

A CBS COMPANY

First published in the USA in 2012 by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York

Copyright © 2012 Sarah Rees Brennan

Interior illustrations copyright © 2012 Beth White

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

No reproduction without permission.

All rights reserved.

The right of Sarah Rees Brennan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

1st Floor, 222 Gray’s Inn Road

London

WC1X 8HB

Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney

Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978-0-85707-807-0

eBook ISBN 978-0-85707-808-7

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

www.simonandschuster.co.uk

www.simonandschuster.com.au

For Natasha

IOU approximately four million dollars for early-morning wake-up calls with cups of tea, listening to involved plot summaries, museum stories about daggers and teeth, company on a trip to Egypt, and company on a thousand trips to the cinema. For being excited about this book, and your eternal devotion to lady sleuths in general, Miss Marple and Veronica Mars in specific.

What do I owe you for being so awesome, and living with me longer than anyone aside from my family (who, poor souls, had no choice in the matter)? Well, nothing. That is priceless.

Contents

PART I

LORDS OF THE MANOR

1. The First Story

2. The Prince of Aurimere

3. The Secret in the Woods

4. Blood and Sunlight

5. Listen for a Whisper

PART II

BEYOND IMAGINATION

6. The Other Lynburn

7. You Are Not Safe

8. Yet She Says Nothing

9. Real Now

10. Falling All Around You

11. The Haunted River

12. The Crying Pools

13. Belief and Unbelief

PART III

BRING TO LIGHT

14. A Life of Crime

15. Burning or Drowning

16. Underwater Light

17. Alone upon the Threshold

18. The Water Rising

19. The Bell, the Mist, and the Knife

20. The Forgotten Sacrifices

PART IV

BECOMING REAL

21. From Year to Year

22. Happy in the Hour

23. Waking the Woods

24. Ours Is Hungry Magic

PART V

DIRECT FROM THE SOURCE

25. These Three

26. Monkshood Abbey

27. In the Shadow of the Manor

28. A Heart in Your Hand

29. Yours to Break

PART VI

CLOSING THE STORYBOOK

30. Source of Light

31. Trust the Sun in Me

32. Shine and Entwine with Me

33. Red and Gold

34. The Last Words

35. Nothing Gold

Part I

Lords of the Manor

Somewhere or other there must surely be

The face not seen, the voice not heard

—Christina Rossetti

Chapter One

The First Story

THE RETURN OF THE LYNBURNS

by Kami Glass

Every town in England has a story. One day I am going to find out Sorry-in-the-Vale’s.

The closest this reporter has come to getting our town’s scoop is when I asked Mr. Roger Stearn (age seventy-six but young at heart) to tell me a secret about our town. He confided that he believed the secret to Sorry-in-the-Vale’s high yield of wool was in the sheep feed. I think I may have betrayed some slight disappointment, because he stared at me for a while, said, Respect the sheep, young lady, and ended the interview. Which leaves us with a town in the Cotswolds that has a lot of wool and no secrets. Which is plainly ridiculous. Sorry-in-the-Vale’s records date back to the 1400s. Six hundred years do not go by without someone doing something nefarious.

The Lynburns are the town’s founding family, and we all know what the lords of the manor get up to. Ravishing the peasants, burning their humble cottages. Fox hunting. The list goes on and on.

The Lynburns have dark secret written all over them. There is even a skipping song about them. Skipping songs may not seem dark to you, but consider Ring Around the Rosy, a happy children’s rhyme about the plague. In Sorry-in-the-Vale they sing this song:

Forest deep, silent bells

There’s a secret no one tells

Valley quiet, water still

Lynburns watching on the hill

Apples red, corn gold

Almost everyone grows old.

The song even talks about secrets.

During this dauntless reporter’s lifetime, however, the only Lynburn in Aurimere House was Marigold Lynburn (now deceased). Far be it from me to speak ill of the dead, but it cannot be denied that Mrs. Lynburn was a ferociously private person. To the point of ferociously throwing her walker at certain innocently curious children.

Today, after seventeen years in America, Marigold Lynburn’s daughters have returned to Sorry-in-the-Vale. If the family does have any dark secrets, dear readers, you can have faith that I will uncover them.

Kami stopped typing and glared at the screen. She wasn’t sure about the tone of her article. A serious journalist should probably not make so many jokes, but whenever Kami sat down to the computer it was as if the jokes were already there, hiding behind the keys, waiting to spring out at her.

Kami knew there was a story in the Lynburns. They had gone away before she was born, but all her life she had heard people wishing that someone sick would recover, or a storm would bypass the valley, and in the same breath say, but the Lynburns are gone. She had spent the summer since she heard of their return asking questions all over town, and had people instantly hush her as if the Lynburns might be listening. Kami’s own mother cut her off every time, her voice equal parts severe and scared about her dangerously disrespectful daughter.

Kami looked back at the screen. She couldn’t think of a title besides The Lynburns Return. She blamed the Lynburns, because their surname rhymed with return. She also blamed the kids who were messing around in the woods beyond her garden: tonight they were making a sound that was almost howling. It went on and on, a noise that struck her ears hard and set her temples throbbing.

Kami jumped up from her chair and ran out of her bedroom. She thumped down the narrow creaking stairs and out the back door into the silver-touched square that was her garden at night. The dark curve of the woods held the glittering lights of Sorry-in-the-Vale like a handful of stars in a shadowy palm. On the other end of the woods, high above the town, was Aurimere House, its bell tower a skeletal finger pointing at the sky. Aurimere House, which the Lynburns had built when they founded the town, and where they had lived for generations, the masters of all they surveyed. There was no place in Sorry-in-the-Vale where you could not see the mansion, its windows like watching eyes. Kami always found herself watching it in return.

For the first time Kami could remember, every window was lit from within, shining gold.

The Lynburns were home at last.

The howling reached a pitch that raked up Kami’s spine and sent her running to the garden gate, where she stood with her eyes full of darkness. Then the sound died abruptly. Suddenly there was nothing but the night wind, shushing Kami as if she’d had a bad dream and running cold fingers through her hair. Kami reached out past the boundaries of her own mind and called for comfort.

What’s wrong? the voice in Kami’s head asked at once, his concern wrapping around her. She felt warmer instantly, despite the wind.

Nothing’s wrong, Kami answered.

She felt Jared’s presence slip away from her as she stood in the moonlit garden for another moment, listening to the silence of the woods. Then she went back inside to finish her article. She still hadn’t told Angela about the paper.

Kami had been hearing a voice in her head all her life. When she was eight, people had thought it was cute that she had an imaginary friend. It was very different now that she was seventeen. Kami was accustomed to people thinking she was crazy.

You’re crazy, said her best friend, Angela, as the bell rang to signal five minutes before the first class on the first day back at school.

Angela had moved from London to Sorry-in-the-Vale when Kami was twelve. The timing had been perfect because Kami’s first best friend, Nicola Prendergast, had just dropped her for being too weird.

They said that about all the great visionaries, Kami informed her, hurrying down the hall to match Angela’s long-legged stride.

You know who else they said it about? Angela demanded. All the actual crazy people. She gave Kami a look that said she wished Kami would stop bothering her.

Normally this would not have worried Kami. Angela always looked at people with that expression, and Kami could usually talk her into doing what Kami wanted anyway. But Kami had never wanted something as much as this.

Last summer, when we volunteered as assistants at cricket camp—

"When you volunteered us without asking me, yes," said Angela.

Kami ignored this trifle. Remember how I encouraged the kids to keep diaries, which turned into an exposé about the seamy underbelly of cricket camp?

I have found it impossible to forget, Angela told her.

And remember last year when I started the petition to get Miss Mackenzie fired, and she chased me around the pitch waving a hockey stick, and we had to speak before the school board?

Again, unforgettable, said Angela.

My point is, here we have an opportunity to champion truth that doesn’t involve sports, Kami persisted. "It’s a step toward me becoming the greatest journalist of our time. You have to help, Angela, because Ms. Dollard has this notion that I’m a troublemaker and she’s only—finally—letting me set up a school paper because I told her you were on board."

Angela rounded on Kami, her dark eyes blazing. "You did what?"

I knew that once I explained the situation, you would understand, Kami said, holding her ground despite Angela’s looming over her, alarming and overly tall. She continued swiftly in case Angela was considering beating her to death with her schoolbag. I was hoping you would agree out of real enthusiasm for the project and because you are a true friend, but if you insist on being without vision—

I do, Angela said firmly. Oh, I do.

There is one other factor, Kami said. The office we’re being given to run the school paper has a sofa in it. She paused for effect. And we’re allowed to go to the office during free periods to tirelessly pursue truth and justice. Or, say—

Nap, Angela finished, in the reverent tones of a knight who has finally spotted the Holy Grail. She stood lost in thought, her fingers tapping against the strap of her school-bag. Then her perfect mouth curved ever so slightly. I guess I do have a few ideas for articles.

They walked into class in full accord, Kami beaming with victory. I have more than a few. I’ve already started an article.

Angela slipped into a chair one over from the window, and Kami took the place beside her. About what?

Kami leaned across the desk, keeping her voice low. Yesterday I was at the sweetshop talking to Mrs. Thompson about the Lynburns coming back. She glanced out the window of the classroom. Fields stretched to the south in a green blanket. To the north rose a hill steep enough to look like a cliff. On the edge of that rise stood Aurimere House, and below it were the woods, like a regiment of dark soldiers with a bright general.

She looked back at her friend in time to see Angela’s raised eyebrows. So you were basically interrogating poor Mrs. Thompson, who is probably a hundred and twenty years old?

I was acquiring information, Kami said calmly. Also licorice.

You are shameless, Angela said. I hope you feel good about your life choices.

Kami looked out at the valley again. There were stories to be found here, and she was going to discover them all.

You know, she said, I really do.

They were interrupted by the entrance of Miss Mackenzie, which forced both of them, Kami smiling and Angela shaking her head, to turn to their books.

It wasn’t until the end of the day that Kami and Angela had time to make their way up the stairs to the second floor and check out their newspaper office. The Sorry-in-the-Vale school building—the town was so small that there was no need to have more than one—was over a hundred years old. It accommodated all Vale kids from age five to eighteen, and there were still quite a few rooms in the school that weren’t used. Kami couldn’t wait to use this one.

"So tell me about the articles you have in mind," Kami said to Angela on the first step.

I was thinking I could write tips for people who are too busy to exercise but want to stay in shape, Angela said. People like me.

Kami nodded. You’re always busy trying to find a napping spot.

Exactly, Angela told her. I can’t be distracted from my search by having to do Pilates or whatever. Here’s one of my tips: always take steps two at a time.

She demonstrated.

I thought you did that just to mock my stumpy legs.

That too, Angela conceded. But the main thing is that taking steps two at a time is like a StairMaster workout. The result? Buns of steel. Angela casually slapped the buns she referred to, proving her point.

Angela had a perfect body. She had a perfect face too, but at least she put some effort into that, her makeup always flawless and her abilities with eyeliner unnatural. Kami focused more on clothes than on makeup. She was always forgetting to put on lip gloss as she rushed out the door, but she felt the likelihood of forgetting her clothes was not high.

Kami slapped her own ass experimentally and made a face. Buns of corrugated tin, she said. On a good day.

What’s going on with you? Jared asked out of the blue. Kami felt his mind turn toward hers, away from his own life. It was like being in the middle of a conversation in a crowded room and having someone in an entirely different conversation among an entirely different group of people catch your eye. Multiplied by a thousand because, instead of eyes meeting, it was minds.

Beginning a new era of journalistic history, Kami told him, sending her cheer through their connection. Also, to be perfectly honest, Angela and I were slapping our asses.

As one does, said Jared.

And you?

There was a feeling like a shadow touching her, letting slip that Jared was unhappy, but he answered: Just reading. Beginning a new era of being a useless layabout. He absorbed her cheerfulness gratefully, and she could tell he was pleased for her.

Kami grinned up at Angela, who gave her a forbearing look. Kami realized that she had been standing and staring blankly for a little too long.

Coming? Angela asked with a small smile. She knew about Jared, though Kami tried not to talk about him too much. That was what had lost her Nicola Prendergast.

Have I mentioned, thanks for doing this? Kami asked.

Angela slung an arm around Kami’s shoulders as they went up the stairs. Your soul is like the souls of a thousand monkeys on crack, all smushed together, she told Kami. But enough about you. Show me to my napping sofa.

They reached the blue door at the top of the stairs. It had a little window of clouded glass and wire mesh. Kami pulled out the chunky silver key that Ms. Dollard had somewhat reluctantly entrusted her with, turned it in the lock, and opened the door with a flourish. Ta-dah!

Kami and Angela peered into their new headquarters. The room was small. It had a wiry gray carpet, whitewashed brick walls, a big cupboard, several desks, and Angela’s much-desired sofa. It was also filled, floor to ceiling, with empty cardboard boxes.

I hate you so much right now, said Angela.

Kami and Angela spent twenty minutes clearing out their new office together. Then Angela gave up, gave a low moan, and fell onto the sofa, which was still covered in boxes. She lay there, her arm thrown over her eyes.

Kami kept cleaning up, whistling to herself as she folded and stacked piles of cardboard and dust fell around her like soft gray rain. Her glittery blue scarf, pencil skirt, and vintage Liberty blouse were not, she had to admit, the ideal clothes for manual labor. But she’d wanted to make a statement on her first day as a journalistic pioneer.

Kami was wrestling with a box that was determined never to fold, when there came a tap on the open door. She looked up from her giant origami creation, into the eyes of the best-looking guy she had ever seen.

There were two things about him that were more important than good looks. One was that he had a serious, substantial camera hanging from around his neck. The other was that Kami had never seen him before in her life, which meant he must be a Lynburn.

Chapter Two

The Prince of Aurimere

Kami’d always retold her fairy tales to make the fair maidens braver and more self-sufficient, but she had never had any real objection to the handsome prince. And here one was, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans instead of armor, with golden hair that curled at the ends and eyes the ridiculous blue of high-summer skies, drenched in sunlight and melted clouds.

Those blue eyes were, of course, fixed on Angela. Uh, hi, said the Lynburn, wearing the same expression all boys did when they met Angela, as if they had been smacked in the face and were enjoying it. Are you Kami Glass?

Angela lifted the arm over her eyes a fraction. Go away, she commanded. I only date college guys.

You don’t know any college guys, Kami pointed out.

Angela’s gaze went to Kami, and she smiled. Which leaves me with more time for napping. She closed her eyes again, leaving Kami and the Lynburn looking at each other.

Kami had to hand it to the guy. Most males were in retreat or infuriated when faced with Angela’s inexplicable rudeness. This guy’s expression had not changed, apart from a slight widening of his eyes. She admired his self-control.

I saw a flyer on the bulletin board about the school newspaper needing a photographer, and it said to come here after school. He had a lovely, drawling American accent: more proof he was a Lynburn.

His voice also sounded unruffled. Was he really offering to be a photographer for the paper, despite the fact that he’d just been insulted and their office was awash in cardboard?

Angela sat bolt upright and glared at Kami. You put up a flyer? Before you even talked me into this?

Angela, Angela, Kami said. We can dwell on the past or we can move into the future!

I can hide your body in these piles of boxes. Nobody will ever find it. Angela made a gesture of dismissal at the new kid. Do you mind?

He looked at Kami, who gave him a winning smile. This was how it went after Angela dismissed a guy: then he would take a look at Kami. Which didn’t always work out for Kami. Angela was the one with the exotic beauty, which was unfair considering that Kami was the one with the Japanese grandmother. Kami’s hair was black but shot with brown, not the raven’s-wing black of Angela’s hair. Kami’s features were subtly different from her schoolmates’, and her skin was pale gold, but she was betrayed by a nose dusted with freckles. Exotic beauties did not sport freckles.

The Lynburn smiled back at her. Kami liked his smile almost as much as she liked his camera.

Seriously, said Angela. Go away now.

There was only so much rudeness anyone could be expected to take. Kami seized Angela’s arm and pulled her from the sofa. Would you excuse us for just one moment? she said to the Lynburn. My colleague and I need to confer in our office. With that, she hauled Angela into the empty stationery cupboard and shut the door behind them.

In the darkness, Angela asked, Why am I in a cupboard?

There are only two important things for us to discuss right now, Kami said. The first is that to be a success, our newspaper requires a photographer.

What’s the other thing?

He’d be excellent decoration for our headquarters, Kami said. You have to admit, he’s very good-looking, and I need a photographer, so can I keep him, please, oh, please?

Angela sighed. In the cupboard, the sigh was like a gust of wind. Kami, you know I hate guys being around all the time. They won’t stop staring and bothering me and giving me the sad, sad eyes like a puppy dog until I just want to kick them. Like a puppy dog.

So you have some puppy issues, Kami observed.

The cupboard door swung suddenly open.

The new boy stood framed by the bright light of the office. Sorry to interrupt, he said. But I can hear everything you’re saying.

Ah, said Kami.

Don’t worry, he said. I can take a hint. Especially if the hint is along the lines of— He did a good imitation of Angela’s dismissive gesture. Go away now.

Angela looked fondly reminiscent. We’ve had some good times together, haven’t we? I’ll always remember them. After you go away.

The boy’s brow wrinkled slightly. Also, you might not have noticed, but this is a cupboard.

I admit our private office is of modest dimensions, Kami told him. But that’s the way we like it. Just because we’re the editors doesn’t mean we need special privileges. We’re not snobs. She climbed out of the cupboard, and the new guy offered his hand. She didn’t need it, but she took it all the same.

He smiled again. My name’s Ash Lynburn.

Kami beamed at him. I thought so. We don’t get many new people in town. Tell me all about yourself, and let me get a pen so I can write it down. Did I mention that you’re hired?

Kami’s always like this, said Angela.

Even though Kami knew Angela was saying it with love, she was saying it in front of someone Kami wanted to impress. She hesitated, then reached out to Jared in her mind, and uncertainty washed away in the wave of reassurance she got back. True, Kami said cheerfully. I am a born reporter. But you know, the old family moving back into the manor house—everyone who comes into my mother’s place is talking about it. She looked at Ash. My mum’s place is Claire’s, she said. Bakery in the morning, restaurant in the evening. Best food in Sorry-in-the-Vale. We’ll take you there when we have weekend staff meetings.

I’ll look forward to it, Ash said. He still had hold of her hand.

Kami shook hands firmly, then pulled her hand away and walked over to her desk: she needed it to take notes. I’m Kami Glass, she said once she had a pen and a notepad. She waved at Angela. This one-woman welcoming committee is Angela Montgomery. Congratulations! You’re part of the team. Your first assignment is to go out to the stairs and take some pictures of Angela standing on them slapping her ass.

Angela said, I’m going back to the cupboard.

They all ended up at the stairs, Kami coming in order to drag Angela and staying in order to interview Ash. Ash ran from the top to the bottom of the stairs a few times, trying to get the best shot of Angela (though there was no way to get a bad shot of Angela, all swishing hair, snapping eyes, and perennial annoyance), and answered all Kami’s questions pleasantly, if cagily: Where had the Lynburns been? Oh, all around. Where had he liked living most? Oh, here.

So, now that you’re back, do you think you’ll be staying? Kami looked down at Ash, pen poised over her notepad.

Ash lowered his camera and looked up at her. Light flooded down the corridor, lending his hair a sheen of hazy brightness. Sorry-in-the-Vale is where we belong, he answered, and for the first time he did not sound calm and lighthearted. He sounded as if he was making a promise, one he intended to keep. We’re going to stay here forever.

Kami woke that night from a dream of being someone else, to the sound of screaming in the woods. She reached for Jared.

He answered, awake too, comforting and curious at once. Are we going to go see what’s happening?

As soon as the silent voice in her mind asked that, the sound stopped.

Kami told herself to get a grip: she was only allowed to be a certain degree of crazy. There were always kids messing around in the woods. These noises were perfectly normal.

Through her connection to Jared she could feel again the chill she’d felt earlier today, the knowledge that he was unhappy. I’ll be intrepid another time, she told him. I was just dreaming about you. How are you doing?

Kami had to reach for him across the boundaries they had built up so they could both have their own lives and not look entirely insane. She only got bits and pieces of what Jared was thinking, especially since the summer before last. She thought of it as their decision: Kami had found it was easier to act like he was real, and they’d both made the rules.

She leaned against the boundaries between them now, venturing into his space a little, and tried to make out his feelings. His weariness dragged at her senses, like holding hands with someone who was walking slowly.

Does it matter? he asked.

Of course it matters, Kami said, and pushed at him, bullying a little. Tell me.

My mother asked me if I still talked to you, said Jared. I said yes.

Neither of them really talked about the other: hearing a voice in your head made you act weirdly enough without discussing the voices. Back when they were kids, when Kami had been young enough to send an English penny to an address she’d made up somewhere in America, their mothers had both been worried. Kami’s mother had been really scared, obviously convinced that Kami might actually be going crazy. Kami had been the only child for years before her brothers arrived. She’d been brought up by young, frantic parents and her grandmother, knowing they all had to work together to make their family work at all. She was supposed to be self-sufficient. She was not supposed to be a problem child who terrified her mother by inventing an entire fantasy life for her imaginary friend.