CHAPTER FOUR: BLUEJAY
Claire
Cliff House wasn’t the ancestral home of the House of Vallais—that was Nightingale Grove—but it was where its prince had chosen to reside. It was also where Claire had grown up, and she was very fond of it. The large, three-story house overlooked the Narrows Bridge and the Puget Sound from a private lot in Skyline, and during the day the light would sparkle off the water far below. There was enough space in the gardens to get lost in when she wanted to be alone, whether it was family or friends she wanted to escape; and at night, the suburb below them and the houses across the water in Gig Harbor would shine like a thousand diamonds in the darkness. The only thing Claire didn’t like about Cliff House was that at night the light pollution made it hard to see the stars.
She stepped into the foyer, bag over one shoulder, and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time until she reached the long hallway that led to her bedroom. The door clicked shut behind her and she breathed out. Finally, privacy and freedom.
Guides, she needed to shower.
Once that was done, she changed into something more comfortable, took off her necklace, and laid it on the bed before her, staring at the glass bead, the talisman every royal child was given to focus their magic before they came of age and were granted a glassblade, the ultimate talisman, weapon, and expression of a Wielder’s power. She wished the events of the day would just make sense, and considered trying to divine the answer, but as her hand hovered over the bead, she changed her mind. She’d never been any good at visionary stuff. Her senses were fine, but trying to pull the truth out of thin air like Mr. Heart could? Trying had always made her nauseous.
Officially the Council laws rigidly governed the pace at which children from the Families were to experiment with their powers. Wielders were not, by council law, supposed to learn advanced magic—and especially combat magic—until they turned fifteen. Children were too mercurial, too impulsive, and couldn’t be trusted with that sort of dangerous knowledge. Officially, she would not know if she possessed an Aspect and its attendant abilities until her Coming of Age ceremony, when she would be tested with the other children her age in the family manor of Nightingale Grove. Officially, that was the rule. Until then, a girl such as her was to keep to her studies and refrain from playing with the more dangerous arts mature Wielders could command.
Since she was seven years old, Claire had disregarded those rules, with help from Mr. Heart, who had tutored her in more advanced magics in secret. He’d trusted her with powerful knowledge, and now, apparently, with this.
Claire took a long, shaking breath as everything Heart had told her flowed through her mind in a cascade carrying quiet discomfort. They were desperate.
They were planning on kidnapping people. Claire suppressed a shudder. The dual truths warred in her mind. Mr. Heart clearly didn’t doubt the necessity of what he’d done, yet everything, from his voice to the look on his face, had begged her not to hate the dead, no matter what they’d been plotting. They were desperate.
They planned to kidnap my own kin. They were planning to lay hands on the blood royal.
And after her father had made the largest donation to the Kitchens—the largest humanitarian organization in their world—they’d ever received. He’d taken a risk, doing that. Royals weren’t supposed to court alliances with the commoners, and yet her father had shown his unwavering support to both the Kitchens and the Reformists. Why would Commoners, who stood only to benefit, object?
Her father had always acted with the interests of everyone he protected in mind. She knew this. She knew it.
Didn’t she?
Claire’s phone buzzed, and she nearly leaped off her bed, scattering sketchbooks, markers, and pens across the floor. Her hand snapped up the phone. Her cousin—who rumor had it was named Melissa, but had always gone by Issa. “Hello?”
The voice on the other end was eager, nervous. Claire could see the waifish blonde vibrating in her chair. “Claire, big news.”
Issa was kind, sweet, and she was Claire’s oldest friend, but definitions were important here. “Okay, big like… ‘whose-going-to-the-Azores’ big, or like ‘Coming-of-Age-Ceremony-has-been-postponed’ big?” Please not that, please not that.
“Okay, so,” Issa said, a creep of worry in her voice, “my mom just got back from a meeting with her regional team, and I overheard her warning my father that House Adelin is petitioning the Council to do a Crackdown soon.”
A cold knot cinched itself in Claire’s gut. Everything that Mr. Heart had said ran through her head a second time. “What?”
“Mmhmm,” Issa said. Her cousin’s excitement was mingled with just as much unease as she felt herself. “I guess there was some incident and a group of like… four Commoners were murdered? It’s not official decree yet, but apparently rumor is retainers might be pressed into double-duty keeping everything contained if it happens. They don’t want the mortals getting all stirred up about it.”
Claire sat back, resting her head against the headboard of the bed in silence. If House Adelin was petitioning it, did that mean it would be their retainers doing it? Would they enlist retainers from other families to do it?
Would Mr. Heart be doing it?
“Hold on,” she said. “A Crackdown on just the Outsiders? Or on all the Commoners?”
Issa was quiet for a moment, then Claire heard her say “I don’t know, but mom seemed really worried.”
Claire let a quiet breath out. “Maybe this explains why Dad’s been so preoccupied this last week.”
Issa’s voice got a little hesitant. “I’m kinda surprised you didn’t know before I did.”
Heart had just told her something he theoretically wasn’t supposed to, but this sounded like something different. More Outsiders dead. Did Heart know about this? He’d been on medical leave, after all.
Claire didn’t know exactly what went into a Crackdown. There hadn’t been one since when she was eight, a year after her mother died, and that one had been only against the Outsiders, who were both the poorest, most desperate of the Commoners, and the most troublesome. If she remembered right, it had been about finding and killing members of the Undercourt, the violent faction that had long ago declared that they would overthrow and kill every royal in Wielder Society, at any cost. She remembered that kids like her were supposed to stay home while it happened, and that it involved the royal families putting forth their strength to keep the peace amidst Wielders who weren’t of the blood.
A vision of Mr. Heart’s hands, white upon the wheel of the car, of the anger in the eyes of the woman he’d talked to—and her fear when she’d seen Claire—passed fresh through her mind. Then she remembered that she was still on the phone.
“Thanks for telling me, Issa. I think Dad’s gonna be home soon, and if anyone knows more about this, he does. I’ll call you back.”
Just as she was putting her phone down, she heard the sound of wheels on the driveway outside, and the voices of her father and Heart exchanging words as a car door closed. She had a little while yet to process everything, to decide what to do next.
Claire clasped her hands in her lap. A Crackdown didn’t affect her. It was nobody she knew. Just people who had broken the Threefold Pact—the Council Law by which all Wielders lived—having to deal with a visit from the retainers, a stern lecture, and maybe a few nights in the oubliette under a Cerement ritual that would temporarily suffocate their magic. This was what every rational person she knew would say. This is normal. Nothing unusual. She looked down at the bead on the bed, and something her mother had said to her a long time ago flitted briefly through her mind:
Normal and Right have little to do with each other, Bluejay.
And Claire didn’t think of her cousins, or her friends, or what was normal and wasn’t. She thought of an angry woman looking at Heart with eyes full of grief, and she thought of his words in the car. They were desperate.
What would a Crackdown do to the woman named Annie? To the families of two desperate men?
Nothing, she told herself. So long as they obeyed the rules, they’d be fine.
Claire pushed herself off her bed, squared her shoulders, and headed downstairs to greet her father.
They ate dinner together on the stone-tiled back patio, with an exquisite view of the yard behind Cliff House and Skyline beyond. Claire stared across the space between them. Jacob Anthony Vallais was a tall man whose slight frame and thin face belied the strength of the Will beneath. His hair was a lighter shade of red than hers, and his eyes were gray where Claire’s were a bright blue. It was sometimes weird to sit across the dinner table from the head of the Vallais family, a man who commanded power of life and death over many, at least in theory, the head of one of the Six Families (once Seven) that possessed seats on the Council.
To Claire he was just ‘Dad.’
Mostly.
Then and there she was acutely aware of what Mr. Heart and Issa had independently told her. Of the need to get through dinner without betraying either’s trust, while finding out things for Issa, if she could. And then there was everything else. God, she missed when dinner with Dad had been simple.
“It doesn’t matter how long you stare at your meat, Claire,” her father murmured. “You’re not going to melt it with your eyes.”
Shit. She’d let it show on her face. Blinking, Claire looked at her father and smiled with a diffusing laugh. “Sorry Dad, busy day.”
He glanced up at her, brow furrowing for just a moment. “Did something happen?”
Oh, so much. She hesitated for just a moment, contemplating the plate in front of her with a practiced neutrality. “I mean school was, y’know, school,” she said. “Dance was good. Mostly I’m just tired.” She paused. How do I ask you whether or not you’re going to participate in something terrible? She gulped and tried not to show it. How do I ask if you’ve already had Mr. Heart do terrible things?
Terrible things done for a reason, she reminded herself.
Yes, but was that reason good enough?
She thought of the angry, grief-stained eyes of the woman her teacher had been talking to. Was any reason good enough? Think, Claire, think. Then, after a moment, her brows drew together and she poked her plate with her fork. Don’t be a chicken about this. “I just had some homework I needed to catch up on during a free period.”
For a moment, Jacob Vallais’s face registered something close to relief, then he asked, “Shakespeare again?”
Crap. “Dad,” she said with a sweet smile. “I get Straight A’s. You don’t need to test if I’m skipping studying.”
A wry smile followed. “God.” Her father said. “You sound more like your mother every day.”
Normal and Right have little to do with each other, Bluejay.
“I heard something weird today, some rumor about Outsiders dying?”
Jacob Vallais’s eyes flicked up at her. “There’ve been several incidents, yes” he said. “What do you want to know?”
What will you tell me? She thought. “I’ve heard about two,” she said carefully. “One was… two guys, I think?” Careful. She watched her dad. “Something to do with our family?”
Jacob’s eyes looked down for a moment, and his shoulders sank slightly. “I suppose you would’ve learned about that sooner or later. I didn’t want to worry you, but yes. Our retainers dealt with a small group of dissidents who were plotting to hurt members of the family. Unpleasant business.”
Dealt with. Our Retainers. It wasn’t a lie, but it left Claire feeling uncomfortable. She met her dad’s eyes and didn’t look away. “You mean they killed them?”
Jacob’s face paled just a little. “That was not our first recourse, but yes. That was how it ended. Unfortunate.”
She decided not to push further. “And the other incident?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss it,” her father said. “Rest assured that the Council is looking into the matter. You don’t need to concern yourself.”
Don’t need to concern yourself. That touched a nerve. A small, sharp wound deep in Claire’s gut. Something that she carried around with her every day but never spoke of. Impolitic. Impolite. She shouldn’t have said what she said next, but even trying to keep her voice quiet, she couldn’t quite keep the anger out. All at once Claire’s mouth was dragging her forward and her good sense was trying to catch up.
“Like with Mom?”
Even when the topic was only being broached between herself and the father who kept it from her. Even seven years after her death, Isabel Vallais was a subject father and daughter seldom spoke of.
Her father put down his fork and fixed his eyes on her. Assessing. Reserved. Yeah, she knew that look. It was a wall bracing itself and preparing to be immobile. That just made her want to hit it harder.
“We’ve been over this,” he said.
“Isn’t it past time you told me what happened to her?” Her breath was coming quicker. The old wound was sharp, now. Scar tissue being jabbed by a knife of her own making. They were wildly off her intended topic, but there was no stopping it now.
“No, it isn’t,” her father said. He’d donned his Prince’s voice now. Authority and intractability entwined.
Claire’s fists clenched under the table. Issa’s words about a Crackdown were running through her head. She should’ve been focusing on that. “You always told me that she died doing the right thing,” she pressed. “That I should be proud. I just want to know what I’m supposed to be proud of.”
That seemed to penetrate the outward, Princely layer, tinged with anger. Jacob Vallais’s face grew tired and his voice shifted into the formal cadence of high speech. “I am not permitted to break faith with the Council, Claire. Not even for my own daughter. As ruler of our family—”
“What did she do?” Claire demanded, and her voice twitched into formality as well. “What did she do that was so horrible that you can’t even speak of it, but so noble that I should spend all my days proud?”
She was a hair’s breadth from calling him a coward in the manner of royals, and this time he caught it.
Claire’s father sharpened his tone. “Claire Isabel Vallais, you are among the most privileged in both our society and the ordinary world without. You have every resource. Every opportunity. You have magic and a Wielder’s potential. But even you don’t have the right to challenge Council Law.” His tone softened a little. “I need you to trust me, and I need you to listen.”
“I can’t listen to what you won’t tell me,” she snapped.
A spark of anger lit in her father’s eyes, normally cooler than her own. “What do you want from me?”
Claire abruptly stood. “I want to know,” she said, voice formal and frosty, “why my father wants me to feel so proud, when all I see in his eyes is shame.”
They stared at each other for a longer moment, hurt and anger tangible between them. She’d forgotten to ask about the Crackdown, but it hardly mattered now. Then, before he could answer again, Claire said, “I’m not hungry anymore,” and walked back inside.
She was just inside the door when she heard her father answer his phone. “Sylvia?” she heard him say. That was Issa’s mother. Claire’s aunt and her father’s sister. Back when Jacob had first been elected Prince by the family’s elders, she remembered hearing that Aunt Sylvia had been considered as an alternative. She wasn’t sure why her father had ultimately been given the high seat, but every so often Claire wondered what her life might have been like, had her father not been their family’s leader.
“No, I’m alone,” he said. “Speak freely.”
Claire moved behind the doorframe. If her father chose to put a silencing enchantment on the deck, she wouldn’t be able to listen in without cluing him in to the fact that she knew how. Jacob Vallais was a superb Mender, endowed with powerful healing gifts, but his Sixth Sense was also exceptional. Claire could work her way around many enchantments, sometimes even her father’s… but there was no way he wouldn’t notice if she pierced his obfuscation.
He didn’t silence the air around him.
“Adrian and Alexandra?” This time his voice was sharper, and Claire knew there could be only two people he was referring to: Adrian Adelin, Prince of House Adelin, and Alexandra Pierce, Prince of House Pierce. Both had been principal rivals of the Vallais family in the past, the Adelins especially since the mass death of their former most ardent rivals, the Schwans. Back before their mysterious murder, the Schwans had been the Vallais’s closest allies, the leader of the Dawnward voting bloc on the Council. Schwan, Weber, Vallais, closely aligned with the Reformist Commoners, and opposed by the Regnant bloc, led by House Adelin, or at least that was Claire had been told.
Her father’s tone grew bitter. “So, it’s official, then.”
It was risky, but if she enhanced her hearing just a little, Claire thought, she might be able to pick up what Aunt Sylvia was saying. To hell with it. She deserved to know. The fingers of her left hand wove through the air and her right grazed across the glass bead around her neck. The world grew a little louder at first, threatening to overwhelm her. Focus. She put forth her will and bent her hearing towards her father’s phone.
“Alexandra initiated it,” Aunt Sylvia was saying. “Or so I’m told. That’s a third of the families, all of the Regnants, and an appreciable voting bloc.”
“It might have been Alexandra’s initiation,” Claire’s father murmured, “but the Regnants have held together for years, and she’s Adrian’s right hand in their fucked up alliance. They’ll be holding a vote on a Crackdown, then. I suspect House Tyre will vote with them.”
“That leaves Castel and Weber to force a tie,” Sylvia agreed.
“I know Adisa, and he’s still nostalgic for the days of the Dawnward bloc, even if it’s in shambles now,” Jacob said. “Leave the Webers to me. Castel is harder.”
“That’s because they don’t give a fuck,” Sylvia answered. “About the balance of power, about the Commoners, or the Outsiders, or anything. Martin just wants to fuck off on his yacht.”
“A Crackdown would require his family—and him by extension—to actually do something,” Jacob replied. “Even if it was only against the Outsiders, it would require him to stay out of the way. Against all the Commoners? He won’t like that. We just need to remind him that he hates politics.”
“… You get credit for using a man’s laziness to get him to do something worthy.” Sylvia’s tone was wry, but appreciative.
“Can you make the dilettante bestir himself long enough to vote with us?” Jacob asked.
“Just because I’m your big sister doesn’t mean I’m the best one for the most annoying jobs.”
“But you’re so good at them.”
There was a pause, then Sylvia said, “How many Reformists do you think you could get in the streets to support us if we needed it?”
Claire’s father was quiet for so long that she wondered if he’d just hung up, then he said “If they take to the streets, Adrian and Alexandra will start killing people. You know that, I know that. Our Commoner allies are an Armageddon bluff, but they’re just a bluff. If they get out there, first the Regnants will attack them, then they’ll attack us. Then it’s war.”
Sylvia’s answer was sober. “… Fair enough. You owe me.” A pause followed, then she said “they’re strengthening their numbers, Jacob. The Pierces have a bunch of new retainers in training right now.”
Jacob sighed. Claire could see him in her mind’s eye, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Then it’s time to call everyone up,” her father finally answered. “As young as eighteen. All family members of age. Every retainer. War is unlikely, but damned if we’re not going to be ready.”
A long pause followed, then Claire heard Sylvia say, “I’ll tell Danielle.”
“I’m sorry,” Jacob said quietly.
“The day always comes,” Sylvia answered. “It did for us.”
Claire’s face was pressed against the wall, now. A hand touched her shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her shoes, then found Mr. Heart standing there, looking down at her with one eyebrow arched.
“… The wall is comfortable,” Claire said.
“And you have homework,” Heart said. “Best get to it, before you have to come up with an even weaker explanation than that for your father.”
Claire stared at him for a moment. Heart looked at her over the rims of his glasses, then said, “chop chop.”
It was later that she finally got to calling Issa back. She sat on her bed, the lights of Skyline twinkling outside her window and the sky dark and rainy. It was getting colder at night as the autumn deepened. Still, Claire had the window open, her flannel pajama pants keeping her legs warm.
“C’mon Issa, pick up,” she muttered under her breath as the buzz of the other end echoed in her ear. Ordinarily they’d just text, but it felt like a bad idea to have a written record of what they were going to talk about. Even deleting messages wasn’t always safe, when some clever Seer might ensorcel your phone and pull the truth from its electronics.
She still didn’t know how that worked, and not all Seers could do it. She wondered idly if Mr. Heart could.
Abruptly Issa’s voice echoed on the other end of the line. “Claire?”
Her cousin’s tone was markedly different from earlier, a shock mingled with dread echoing across the connection, implying a hundred nameless worries that set Claire’s mind humming with unease.
“Issa, are you okay?”
“Danielle’s getting called up.”
“I heard,” Claire’s voice softened. In the flurry of the moment listening to her father’s conversation, there hadn’t been time to absorb that Issa’s older sister might be in the family’s fighting ranks soon. She’d passed the coming of age ceremony years ago, of course, and received her glassblade. But being bladed and ready was different from actively serving. Serving meant being ready for the call, for patrol, protection, duels, death, and a hundred worse things.
Claire still dreamed of it sometimes, and right that instant her worry warred with the sharp spark of envy.
“It sounds like Dad’s calling everyone of age, though,” she tried to sound comforting. “It’s not like she’ll be alone.”
There was silence for a moment, then Issa said “she’s gonna start driving me to school, so I guess we’ll see each other more now.”
“Yeah,” Claire said. “That. That’s good. Listen, I talked to my Dad, and then I overheard him talking to your mom. The Regnants are holding together with House Adelin and House Pierce in charge.” She couldn’t keep the disgust from her voice. “And it sounds like you were right… they want a Crackdown.”
She explained the rest in as even a voice as she could. Even still, the tapestry of it all unfurled in her mind’s eye with a mingling of feverishness and fear. She was thinking of the things her family had had to do. Of the worst that the Council might command, if her father lost this vote and couldn’t hold his coalition together.
The thought of war between the Houses was terrifying.
… But a small sliver within her couldn’t help but feel a pull towards the thought of a grand adventure.
To finally hold a sword. To be bladed and deemed ready.
But then she thought of gentle, kind-hearted Issa losing her sister, or her mother, or brother, or any of their other family. Not everyone even had an Aspect, the strength of power to manifest one of the great four gifts. Some of Claire’s kin—though admittedly few—were basics who could barely summon Wielder’s Fire.
The thought of anything happening to any of them filled her belly with glacier-water.
“Issa,” she started. Faltered. Then tried again. “You be safe, okay? I don’t know if things are gonna get bad but like… I just need to know you’re gonna be okay, yeah?”
“I… I will,” Issa said. “I’ve never been so glad to be too young for this; or felt so guilty that I wasn’t older.”
Claire was quiet for a moment, then she said “I can relate. I’ll see you at school, okay?”
Another pause followed, then Issa’s voice, somewhat calmer came back. “Yeah. Yeah, we’ll talk at lunch.”
They said goodbye, and it was hours before Claire was able to sleep.