Unmade (The Lynburn Legacy Book 3) (25 page)

One more sacrifice. Then I promise you on my word as the Lynburn of Aurimere, there will be peace for Sorry-in-the-Vale.

How he must have laughed, thinking about how he would keep that promise.

He was not laughing now. He sounded very solemn. “Your parents were my bitter enemies, and you have always been determined to follow their example, to walk the same tired path your parents walked, in narrow-minded blindness. It has been a dark irony and a torment to me that I should love you above all others.”

“Very romantic,” said Lillian, her voice now like the sound of snapping dry bones in her bare hands. “A middle-aged Romeo, and a Juliet who wants a divorce.”

“The time has come to stop tearing at each other. We are made of the same stuff, Lillian, if you would only see it. It is simply that my vision is grander than yours. I see a greater future for both of us, for our children, than you have ever been able to imagine in all your narrow dreams of this cold house and this pathetic town. We do not have to waste our lives in this backwater. There are a few other sorcerers in London, in Hong Kong, in Berlin—not the desperate strays hardly worthy to be called sorcerers that we are most familiar with—these are true magical aristocrats, with true power. They know how to take the power from sources, rather than letting sources control them. They know that those without magic are cattle to be used and disposed of, not pets to be cosseted. We could join them, be part of the true elite rather than moldering here in this medieval old house, pretending to rule over a rabble who grow more disrespectful every year and who do not deserve any of the benefits we have showered upon them or the mercy we have shown them. We could be immortal. We could be glorious.”

“And how is all this glory to be attained?”

“The townspeople have given me their tokens of submission,” said Rob. “I have had my equinox sacrifice, delivered willingly into my hands. The moon of the new year is coming, and soon I will have enough power to encompass the whole town in my mind, as Elinor and Anne Lynburn once did. I will hold it in the palm of my hand, and then I will crush it. The death of a whole town, the end of an old way of life, will give me enough power to live on for a golden age.”

“I see,” said Lillian. “And I am supposed to believe this is all for our good, and has nothing to do with the fact that you hated my parents for stopping your parents from killing? I am expected to pretend this has nothing to do with revenge?”

“Do not talk as if it was something noble. Your parents killed my parents, turned against their own kind, stole my life and told me that they had shown me mercy,” Rob murmured. “Yes, I hate this town for being more important to your parents than their own blood. I hated your family, and I want the shining legacy of the Lynburns they held so dear to end. This has
everything
to do with revenge.”

It was so simple, and they hadn't seen it. They had known Rob's story, of how his parents and he had killed for power, how Lillian's parents had come down from Aurimere and battled their own cousins but spared the child. Rob had told them nobody had any idea of what his end game was. They had almost guessed it, speculating about Rob's motives and his ultimate plan, his hatred of Sorry-in-the-Vale, but Kami supposed they had always had a picture of an evil overlord in their head, bent on ruling. But the power to rule meant the power to destroy—that was the darkness at the heart of ruling. It meant you had the power of life and death over people, and because you had the power, you thought that meant you had the right.

Lillian had said nothing in response to Rob's passionate speech of hatred and vengeance. Rob spoke again, his voice low and eager, coaxing now. Kami realized he was the type who found a woman's silence encouraging.

“Do you see how I love you now, my darling? I hate as lesser men could never dream of hating, with fire that will burn when the sun is ashes in the sky. My enemies are dust, and as dust I despise them still. Every one of their dreams will be dust, or my vengeance will not be complete. There is no force in the world as strong as my hate, except my love. I could have had my vengeance and put you in the ground with your family and the rest of their precious town, but I cannot do other than want you by my side. My love spared your life. My love will lift you up in glory, because glory is my destiny and I will have you share it. Glory is not complete to me without you. No woman is real to me but you.”

“Rosalind was real to me!” Lillian snapped. “Why do you think I would be interested in your point of view, when you are so blatantly uninterested in mine? Your love, your grievances—why do only yours matter?”

The situation was obviously desperate: Lillian Lynburn was actually arguing for someone to feel more empathy.

“I think I have made clear why my claims are preeminent,” Rob said coldly. “I have made clear that I am preeminent. The time of me catering to your whims is over. All I have done, I have done for your good. The time has come for you to accept it, and accept me as your master. The time has come for you to submit.”

“And I shall,” Lillian said unexpectedly.

Even Rob seemed to find that surprising. He did not speak.

Lillian continued, “What choice do I have? I said I know who I love. I love my sons. You said that I care for power, and you were right. I'm not a fool. I can see that you have all the power. I can see that there is nothing I can do to stop you, and all I can hope from you is that you will spare my life and the lives of those I love.”

Rob whispered, “I will give you more than that. We will live forever with our sons. I will crown you with power. I will make you a goddess among women.”

“I'm curious,” said Lillian slowly.

Kami heard the clear, sharp sound of her boot heels hitting stone. She heard Rob's indrawn breath.

“Suppose I said this to you: ‘I never loved you. I never will love you. That I trusted you enough to think you were worthy of a place at my side, that you could be left alone with my sister or my sons, is my greatest regret. I will never forgive you for the deaths you have already caused, and I will hate you until the seas are deserts if you destroy my town. I will never willingly touch you, and I will hate every moment when you touch me. But I will stay with you, and keep faith with you, because my sons are hostages for my good behavior.' What would you say to me? Would you let me go, as I wish? Or would you keep me close?”

“I would have you with me,” said Rob. “Always.”

Kami heard the soft sound of a kiss. She felt Jared at her shoulder, turning violently away as if he could somehow make it stop by not listening to it. She felt Ash's helpless misery thrumming through her, and she reached out and caught Ash's hand.

“And so,” Lillian whispered. “I see there is not one drop of mercy in all your love.”

There was a crack then, a sound as if the whole faraway room had been made of china and abruptly dropped. Kami realized that Lillian had crushed the shell in her pocket before they could hear any more.

They knew Rob's plan. They had heard enough.

They knew that they had to do whatever they could to stop him.

T
he last day before the spring equinox, they hid in the Prescott farmhouse like rabbits in a burrow. Even the boys were quiet, either from fear or with hushed solicitude for Angela.

Of them all, Jon was the one who was most active, the most obviously worried, pacing the floor with restless helplessness. Kami wished she could make him feel better. She knew that being the last adult, he thought he should be able to fix everything. She knew he blamed himself for her mother's fate and for Rusty's. She knew he would solve it all for her if he could.

Her dad had always been a young dad, a fun dad. She'd never looked to him with the perfect faith that the boys had. She understood now better than ever that you could want to do the right thing, try as hard as you possibly could, and fail. She looked at him pacing, looked at his tired face with lines on it that had not been there before this winter, and loved him better than she ever had before.

The bells in the river were ringing again, marking the hours, the sounds flooding to them over the fields. The bells tolled for the town, and Kami's head felt filled with the din, hammered with despair. There was no other sound in the night until there was a knock on the door, and Dad seized Tomo and pulled him close.

The door of the sitting room was open. They could see all the way down the long hall. The front door swung wide. Lillian Lynburn stood framed in the doorway.

“I came as soon as he was asleep,” she said.

Jared and Ash were suddenly on their feet and running toward her. Ash grabbed her at once, the first of them to reach her. Jared hung back, hesitating. Lillian had to reach out to him. She put one arm around each of them, drew their heads down to her shoulders.

“I went with Rob so that I could learn his plans and spare all your lives,” Lillian explained. “But I had to come back. I feared you would not hear the communication I sent you, and think I had turned to his side.”

“We didn't think that,” Jon said. “It might have escaped your attention, Lavinia, but you are not a terribly subtle person.”

“And we heard,” Kami added. “Thank you. It was good to know.”

“It was good to know that creature is planning to destroy our town?” asked Lillian.

Kami was mildly surprised—she would have expected Lillian to say “my town.”

“Yes,” said Kami. “If he's planning to do it, better to know. I always think that it's better to know.”

Even if what you knew meant that you had to stop someone, or die trying.

It was why she had first wanted to be a journalist, be like the splendid figures of the past who had found power through words. She'd wanted to be like Nellie Bly, who had pretended to be mad and exposed the truth of what went on inside asylums more than a hundred years ago, or Gloria Steinem or Nancy Wake. She had looked up to such women, been so happy when she found a picture of a woman called Komako Kimura marching for women's suffrage and read about how she started a magazine called
New Real Woman.
She had loved the idea of spreading truth like a fire, like touching a lit candle to another candle and watching its flame come to life, until the whole world was bright and you saw everything clear.

Do you know how you want to spend tonight?
Ash asked, and their link meant that Kami saw both the question he had meant to ask and the question that lay beneath it:
Do you know how you want to spend your last night?

Kami looked from Ash, to Angela, to Jared, to Lillian, to her family.

“Yes,” she said aloud, even though none of them knew what Ash had asked. “I think I do.”

THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF AURIMERE

by Kami Glass

I know the story of Sorry-in-the-Vale now.

Everybody knows that the Lynburns came to this place and created this town because it was a perfect place for magic. They called the other sorcerers to them, and the other sorcerers and their families served them. More people came, those without magic, drawn to the Lynburns' power and the prosperity of the town. They wanted to live in peace and happiness, on the wealth of the land. They believed that one sacrifice chosen from among the townspeople was a fair exchange for the protection and the plenty that the Lynburns offered. Even when the Lynburns left, we spoke of “when the Lynburns return” as though life without them was impossible, as if they and their power over us were as inevitable as the seasons.

From that day to this, the Lynburns have ruled us all. I worked so hard to find out the truth hidden at the heart of the town, and this is what I found. Magic and masters. What I want to ask you now is this: Do you believe their story? Do you believe that your town was a creation of the Lynburns, that you are the Lynburns' creature, that you and your home were never anything more than that?

Nicola Prendergast died first, and Rusty Montgomery died last. Chris Fairchild, the Hope brothers, Ms. Dollard, Ingrid Thompson. So many have died for the Lynburns. They used to write in their books that our sacrifices would not be forgotten, but every sacrifice has been forgotten, was taken for granted, was taken as their due.

Our lives are worth more than that.

Rob Lynburn murdered Rusty Montgomery the day before the spring equinox, and he has more power now than any Lynburn has had for a century. He is going to use his power to destroy this town, because he believes that your lives were always due to him.

The whole town knew Rusty. He died to defend children. He taught women to defend themselves. Was he worth nothing because he had no magic, because his family was new to this town? Remember him.

Remember something else. Perhaps you stood by, when blood was spilled, when battles were fought. Perhaps you were scared for a moment and felt you had missed your chance. Perhaps you feel as if you are committed to a course of weakness, perhaps you blame yourself for blood already spilled.

Do not remember you were afraid before. Remember something else about yourself. Remember the best and brightest thing about yourself: the memory in your life that makes you the happiest, the action you took that makes you the most proud. If you lost someone, the day before yesterday or twenty years ago, remember what you loved about them and what they loved about you.

You do not have to believe in me. You do not have to believe in the Lynburns either. I am asking you to believe in the best part of yourself. Believe nobody else has any right to that, or ever did.

This is the real secret at the heart of Sorry-in-the-Vale: the stories whispered behind closed doors are lies. The Lynburns are not protecting us by terrorizing us and demanding our loyalty. If someone has the power and desire to protect you, they should do it and not ask for any exchange. You owe them nothing. Anyone who ever told you that it was the Lynburns' right to rule was spreading a lie the Lynburns made up. They made up an excuse to take what they want, a lie because they did not want to give up power over you. They had to lie. They could not afford for you to know the truth. You were not born in their power. You lost nothing when they left. You lived without them, and you can live without them again.

You do not have to follow Rob Lynburn. You do not have to follow Lillian Lynburn either. It does not matter if your masters are kind or cruel, because either way they are trying to master you, and they have no right. If you were free, what would you choose to do? Do it. You are free.

This is true inside and outside our town. Other people will try to steal power that is yours. Never let them. Always fight. I do not believe that our power can be taken away from us forever.

Every town in England has a story, and our story can change.

Kami read the article aloud to her family and friends as they stood all together in Room 221B, Kami's newspaper office. They had magically broken into the school.

“My baby girl has a way with words,” said Jon. “You're wasting your talent on journalism, though. You should write the text for video games.”

“I don't like the title,” said Lillian, and implicit in the words was her feeling Kami should change it, that a Lynburn still gave the orders around here.

Kami would take Lillian's suggestions sometimes, but she was not taking any orders, and she was not letting Lillian influence her writing. It was the one thing that was all her own.

She wheeled on Lillian, looked her in the eye, and said calmly, “I don't care if you like it.”

“I like it,” said Jared, kneeling on the ground and photocopying as others talked over his head.

His aunt sniffed. “You like everything that suggests chaos and the lower classes.”

Jared grinned up at her, heedless of his scar, his eyes pale and wild. “I
am
chaos and the lower classes.”

Lillian did not argue. She ruffled his hair and her fingers lingered for a moment, playing with the ends of his hair, her touch light and loving.

They had all agreed to spend the night putting a photocopy on every door in the town. Kami knew that Lillian was only doing it to please her boys, that the whole group was not arguing with Kami because of what might happen tomorrow. If she was going to die for them in the morning, they would do this for her tonight.

They went in groups. Lillian insisted that Ash and Jared would stay with her. Kami had asked her father to go with Holly, so she could stay with Angela. She didn't want to leave Angela too, not until she absolutely had to. Almost the worst thought about dying was how alone Angela would be.

But at least Kami could try to do what Angela wanted. She could try to punish the people who had taken Rusty away from her.

Kami and Angela went around the town affixing Kami's article to every door. Angela started complaining two doors in, and did not stop until they were done. Once they were done, though, once they were walking in the dark past the last house on Shadowchurch Lane, Angela said, “Remember the time you asked me to set up the school newspaper with you?”

“As I recall,” Kami said, a little rueful, “I didn't so much ask you.”

“I could've said no,” said Angela. “I'm actually rather expert at it. ‘Do you want to go out with me?' guys say, and I say, ‘Why, no, I'd rather spend an evening marinating my own eyeballs in a lemon sauce.' ‘Do you feel like getting up before three p.m.?'
No.
‘Can you give me a smile?'
No.
‘Could you be less of a bitch?'
No.
If you didn't hear it from me a lot, there was a reason for it. I wanted to say no to the whole world, until you. The stupid sorcerers would have come without the newspaper, would have—would have done what they did, but because of your newspaper we made friends with Holly, and we won over Ash. And we got to yell at people. I like doing that.”

Angela stared across the square, up Shadowchurch Lane. The moon was low among the branches as if it was a softly glowing lantern hung from one of the boughs, and it had caught the cobblestones and made the normally dark street blaze like the path the moon sometimes painted across water.

“I guess I'm trying to say, thanks for making me do your dumb newspaper with you.”

“Thanks for doing it with me,” said Kami, tucking her chin against Angela's shoulder. “Every step of the way.”

“Yes, well, I know how easily you get into trouble. I didn't want you to do it alone.”

There was one thing Kami did have to do alone, though. She told Angela that she would meet her back at the inn, and she crossed the square.

Kami touched her mother's outstretched stone hand as she went, not sure if it was in benediction or in the hope of getting a blessing for herself. She walked up the two stone steps and she wove through the gravestones, the wind-worn words and the tufts of grass, the angels and the shadows, until she reached the gravestone of the person who had belonged to her.

The stone was simple, as was the kanji inscribed on it. Kami had seen her father weeping and raging here this winter. There were snowdrops fringing the side of the grave now, and it was so quiet that rage seemed impossible. Kami looked at the gravestone as if it was a window her grandmother might appear in if she waited and watched long enough. Her Sobo had been small with dark hair and direct eyes, confident and impatient, always sure Kami was going to get into trouble and always sure she could handle it. Kami had been her grandmother's favorite, as Ten was her dad's and Tomo was her mother's. She remembered telling Rusty that her every thought had been different because she shared thoughts with Jared, but Jared did not define her, had not been all that made who she was. She had been shaped by someone else, though her grandmother had never known what she was shaping her for. Kami hoped that she would have been proud.

She closed her eyes and tried to summon strength from the place that had made her.

“Obaasan,” she whispered, and laid her hand on the moonlight-cool stone. “Wish me luck.”